The Captive's Return (Wingmen Warriors 10)

"You should sleep. Tomorrow's walk will be a real bitch even if the rain holds off."

"Is there anything you want to ask me about the past five years?"

Oh, he wanted to know more, all right, but his questions would only drive a rift between them he could never recover from if Lucia truly was his—a mind-blowing thought. For the child's sake, he needed to go through the motions of accepting what Sara had said since he didn't have a clue how to be tactful about asking the questions that lingered. He definitely needed to rein in his emotions and focus or they would die.

Steeling himself against feeling too much, he reached, skimmed his knuckles along her cheek. She didn't flinch away or move forward.

If he talked to her much longer, he would lose himself in the sound of her voice. So he opted for a safer move and slid his hand to her back, palming her forward against his chest.

"You're safe now, free again, and I swear I won't let anything or anyone hurt Lucia."

Sara sighed. "Gracias."

"De nada." He stroked Sara's back, a sensitive thing to do. What she would expect, right? Not a lame-ass excuse to touch her.

Her shuddering breaths eased, slowing into even breaths of sleep echoed by the child's puffy huffs.

The irony of the present mirroring the past didn't escape him. Five years ago he'd snuck Tomas out of the country so Ramon Chavez wouldn't get his hands on the boy and indoctrinate him.

She'd wanted Tomas out of the country. Surely that meant she wanted out, as well.

But old survival instincts were hard to shake.

Finally, he gave up and allowed himself to bury his face in her hair and breathe in the scent of her. Alive. He exhaled long, hard, five years of grief crashing up against relief.

After so long apart, he should have been able to resist her. As his thoughts winged back to the past, he realized nothing had changed since that day he'd accepted he couldn't dodge the attraction anymore...

So much for a solitary lunch in the embassy courtyard. Lucas gripped a pillar and started an about-face.

But Sarafina Tesoro looked over her shoulder.

Seated on the garden bench, she smiled, ambushing him far faster than any enemy missile. Not to mention she was blowing soap bubbles into the air. Definitely not what he'd expected when he stepped out for a quiet meal alone to review a brief for the ambassador.

Her hair lifted with the wind and bubbles. "You caught me."

Caught her? Funny, since he'd been running like hell since she knocked him on his ass two weeks ago. High-maintenance women weren't his style. He'd made the decision out of fairness to those who fit the profile since he would only let them down.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to disturb your... lunch? "

She lifted the small bottle and bubble wand. "I imagine I've ruined my dignified professional look. But, well—" she shrugged "—I love the way the sun glints through them."

"I'll leave you to it." He started to turn again, already knowing his chances of escaping her allure were evaporating faster than jet fumes on a windy day.

"Wait! You must have come out here for a reason."

Ah, crap. He was in trouble. He faced her again. "I was looking for a quiet place to eat and review notes for a briefing."

"And I am not a quiet person."

He laughed, couldn't help himself—no surprise around the extroverted interpreter. A pampered princess, but still so damn...cute?

Sexy. Definitely sexy, with lush curves and the sultriest dark eyes known to mankind.

Sarafina cleared her purse from the stone bench. "Sit. I promise you won't even notice I'm here."

She teased him with her eyes, her smile and the shared recognition that they were very aware of each other. He'd sure as hell noticed her the minute she'd walked into that press brief.

Of course this woman never merely walked. She strolled, swished, stopped to look at heaven only knew what or speak to anyone from the president to a janitor. Floating through life like one of those bubbles carried on the wind that he couldn't stop watching. Of course bubbles eventually burst and the soap stung like hell.