A SEAL's Seduction (13 page)

No, he realized.

Because of Alexia.

He waited. Now that the door was open, she’d ask questions. She was intuitive enough to sense his loss was more than just a team member—although that’d be devastating enough. She’d make him talk about Phil. About what he’d meant, how hard it was to adjust to life without him.

Blake’s stomach, cast iron in battle, shuddered.

“That has to haunt you,” she said quietly. “And make you second-guess your decisions, be extra cautious when it’s costing you to slow down and be careful.”

Blake drew back to stare at her. That wasn’t prodding and poking. That wasn’t pushing him into facing things. Where was the emotional aggression? She was trying to kill him, wasn’t she? Or worse, make him fall in love with her.

“You need to remember that life’s short,” she said, her palm skimming his cheek. “We don’t get to pick the how or the where. All we get to do is live the days we’re given to the fullest.”

Blake had fallen off a cliff once. You’d think it would be a wild and fast plummet to the ground, filled with fear of the pain that was surely waiting on impact. And it had been. But it had also been surreal, a time to assess every decision, every mistake and totally analyze the misstep that had brought him into the free fall. It was oddly comforting to know that dive to the death provided plenty of time for regret.

That’s how he felt right now. He was falling. He could feel it and knew there was no reversing the direction, no halting the fast plunge. That the landing was going to hurt was unquestionable. That he’d regret not watching his step was guaranteed.

Yet, for all that, if someone tossed him a rope to haul him back to safety, he’d have refused. Because some things just had to happen.

Like falling in love with Alexia.

* * *

B
LAKE
WAS
LOOKING
at her as if he could see all the way into her soul. As if he knew what was in her heart and was waiting for a confession. Alexia swallowed, wondering what had just happened. And how she was going to deal with it. Because whatever it was, it felt huge.

And she didn’t mean the erection rubbing against her thigh.

She figured she had three options.

Reach down and slide her fingers over that erection, so they both changed focus to something a lot more pleasurable.

Voice any of the dozens of questions clamoring in her mind, like, who had died? How close had Blake been to him? How was he dealing with the loss after all these months? And oh so many more nosy, prying queries.

Or she could face her own fears and ask him what he was feeling. Ask him what it was like to face the death of someone he cared about, and how he could keep on when he could be next.

She could ask him if she was just an escape, a way to get his mind off those worries. A warm pair of arms and an easy distraction. Or if she was more. If they could be more, together.

That last one was a little terrifying.

Could she deal with whatever he was feeling? Was she ready to hear it? If she asked Blake to open that door, she’d have no choice but to face whatever emotions were on the other side. And then, in the name of fairness, she’d have to give him access to her emotional closet, too. That secret place where she stashed all the feelings she was too afraid to deal with.

She wanted to go with the first option. But she knew she’d hate herself if she didn’t at least try to open the emotional door.

“Since life is so short,” she said, picking up from the last comment she’d made, “don’t you think it’s important to be honest about what you want?”

“I honestly want you,” he said, his words teasing, but the look in his eyes deep and intense.

And there she was, back to choosing between the easy route—sex—or the harder one of emotional honesty. Before Blake, Alexia would have sworn that she’d always pick emotional honesty. But it was easy to think that when there was very little at stake.

She took a deep breath, then asked, “And what else, besides me, do you want?”

She figured he’d sidestep. Dance away or turn the query back to something sexy. A part of her hoped he would. Then she’d know she’d tried, given it her best, but that it was all his fault they couldn’t dive into the messy, core-wrenching pain of honest feelings.

“I want to make a difference. I want to know I’ve done my best.” He looked past her for a second, as if he was scanning his want list. Then he met her eyes again, and made Alexia’s heart stutter. “I want a full life. One that’s more than just the military. I want a home. Someplace, someone that accepts me for who I am. For what I am.”

Stuttering just a second ago, now her heart tripped, not sure if it should run toward him or skitter away in fear. He wanted everything. And she knew he’d give everything in return.

Frozen, more afraid in that second than she’d been when the rat terrorist had offered her up to his henchman, Alexia tried to figure out what to say.

Suddenly a loud buzz rang out. Lights flashed.

Blake’s expression shifted from sexy man to soldier in the blink of an eye as he looked past her shoulder toward the equipment bank.

Fear, already hunkered down in her belly, exploded.

“Is that them? Did they find us?”

“No,” he assured her, sliding from her arms and the cot. He moved toward the equipment, grabbing his pants as he went. “It’s just a message. We check in every couple of hours, remember. Nothing to worry about.”

Bless the navy, she thought as the tension poured out of her, leaving her limp and exhausted. Maybe after some sleep in her own bed, some time to sort through her own thoughts, she’d be ready to talk emotions with him. Ready to share what she felt—hell, maybe she’d know what she felt.

But right now, this second? She was just grateful for the interruption.

She watched him answer the radio call, too relieved at the emotional escape that she wasn’t even curious about the message.

Then she shivered. Without his body there keeping her warm, she was chillingly aware that she was naked. She tugged the blanket closer, but it didn’t help. As she watched him pull his shirt over his head and tuck it into his fatigues, she reluctantly reached for her own clothes.

Interruption or not, they were going to have to finish that conversation. It would have been so much easier naked.

She’d got as far as tugging the second pair of socks over her feet when he returned to her side.

“Time to go,” he told her.

“What?” Shocked, she stared at him, trying to read more in his face. More what, she didn’t know. All of a sudden, fear gripped her belly. This tent wasn’t home. It wasn’t even civilization. They were in the godforsaken middle of frozen hell. But this tent had become a haven. Safe and secure.

Now they had to leave?

He sat opposite her, tugging on his boots.

“They took Lukoski at 0400. The area is secure.” He looked up from tying his laces to give her a quick smile. “You get to go home.”

“Home.” The image of her condo, with its bright colors and big soft bed, filled her head. Even better, the beach only five minutes away. Hot sand, warm water. She was going to spend her first two days home curled up under her blankets, sleeping like a baby. And the next handful on the beach soaking up as much sunshine as her body would hold.

“Can’t go until you put your boots on, though,” he prompted, handing them to her as if to hurry her along. She tugged, tied and stood in under a minute.

Not bad time for having spent part of it peering at her lover, trying to figure out why he felt so far away all of a sudden.

“Ready,” she said as her head popped through the top of her sweater.

Busy with their outer gear, Blake didn’t say anything.

“What about all this?” She gestured to the tent, the equipment. “Do we pack it up?”

He shook his head.

“A team will come in later, after we get you out of here.”

“We should do the dishes.” She looked at the cots, one pristine with blankets still tight enough to bounce a quarter on, the other mussed and tumbled, with two imprints clear on the pillow. “Or at least make the bed.”

Blake followed her gaze with unreadable eyes. Why was he so distant now? Was he ashamed of what they’d done? Was he so tied to rules and regulations that he regretted their lovemaking? Or just that he’d opened up to her? Hadn’t he meant what he said about wanting a full life? Or had he meant it, but realized that it simply didn’t apply to her.

He handed her the heavy coat she’d worn on the trip in, then shrugged into his own. Before she could finish zipping hers closed, he tossed the can of chocolate into the trash bag, shook out the blankets and gave the pillow a good, solid punch.

Alexia winced. Her heart wept as she forced herself to finish securing the coat.

Good thing she hadn’t bared her heart. It looked as though he was finished here.

13

B
LAKE
WANTED
to
punch something harder than a lousy pillow. A brick wall. A steel door. An angry lion. Anything.

Why then? Why did the call have to come then? Why not in an hour. Or two, even. That would have given him time to deal with the emotional mess he’d fallen into. To finish the discussion and bring, what had she called it before? Closure?

Yeah.
Closure.

Because facts were facts. Feelings, no matter how intense and inviting, wouldn’t change them. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—ask her to be a part of the life he’d chosen. No matter how much he loved her.

“Are you ready? The rescue team is meeting us at the top of the mountain in fifteen minutes.”

“We have to climb a mountain?”

He wanted to laugh. He wished he could find a little humor in this ending. Some way to leave them both with smiles. But he couldn’t.

“The rescue vehicle can’t make it down to this elevation,” he explained, his voice a little stiff. “It’s not a big climb and there’s a pulley system in place. It’ll be like taking an escalator to the second floor of the mall.”

“Just like the mall,” she muttered, looking as irritated as he felt all of a sudden. “Except for the freezing temperatures, wind trying to knock us over and blinding snow. Maybe we could get a cinnamon bun when we get to the top.”

Blake felt rotten. He knew she was reacting to his tone, to his attitude. Just because he knew they had no future didn’t mean he wanted to make her angry. Or worse, upset.

There you go, Landon,
he mocked.
Rescue a gal from a raving lunatic, have sex with her all night even though you know better, then make her feel lousy about it. The Stud of the Year trophy should arrive any day.

“Cinnamon buns, hmm?” he said, trying for a light tone. He took a deep breath, then crossed over to finish securing her winter gear. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He made quick work of her gear. Within seconds, she was ready to brave the elements. Swathed like a mummy, her face concealed and her vivid hair under wraps, she was all eyes. That should mean she was less expressive. But those eyes spoke volumes. Worry, sadness, a regretful goodbye. They were all there, screaming at him loud and clear. So were the embers of passion, so easily ignited between them. All it’d take was a look in return. A word, not even a promise.

And he could keep this going.

She’d regret it, eventually.

She’d hate his job, his connection to a man she felt so negatively toward.

He’d hate hurting her, resent the silent—or eventually not-so-silent—pressure to change.

But between now and that happening, they could have a whole lot of time exploring that passion. Having incredible sex. Enjoying the hell out of each other.

That was living in the moment, wasn’t it?

Even though you knew the moment was going to hurt like hell eventually.

“Let’s rock and roll.”

With that, and a quick smile, he pulled his own face gear into place and gestured her out the tent flap.

They didn’t say another word, even when he hooked her safety line and showed her how to climb. It took them a solid ten minutes to traverse the ledge. When he’d arrived, after setting up the tent, he’d put the pulleys into place and carved hand- and footholds into the icy snow. They’d filled in a bit in the thirty or so hours since, making for a few dicey moments. But mostly it was a simple, easy extraction.

As before, Alexia kept up. He wanted to tell her she had military in her blood. She was as good, as solid, as many of the people he’d served with. But he didn’t think she’d see that as a compliment.

At the top, he dug his fingers into the deep snow and heaved himself over the edge. Then he reached down for Alexia. Without hesitation, despite there being a thirty-foot drop behind her, she let go of the mountain and put her hand in his. He pulled her up, first over the edge, then to her feet.

They both looked around.

The sound came first. Like a purr beneath the roar of the wind, it slowly grew. Lights, blurred and hazy, bobbed toward them.

“Your chariot,” he said, recognizing the light pattern, but still gesturing her behind a rock and pulling his gun. SOP until he saw the driver and knew it was safe.

“Boy Scout, this is Magic Carpet. Do you read?”

“This is Boy Scout, I read. You’re in our sights.”

“The package is ready to go?”

“Affirmative.” The package was staring at him through huge brown eyes as she listened to the communication through her own headset.

“Handoff is imminent. CHAOS will take delivery in person. Magic Carpet out.”

Shit.

The admiral was in the Snow Trac?

He should warn Alexia. He might have wiggled out of personal responsibility for not telling her his connection to her father in the past, given the situation. But this time? He knew who her father was, where he was and, Blake eyed the lumbering vehicle still a mile away, just exactly when he’d arrive.

Telling her was against regulations.

Not telling her was the end of their chances together.

He pictured Phil’s mom’s face at the funeral. Someday, it could be him in the flag-covered box. Could he ask Alexia to accept that? To take the chance that someday she’d be sitting there, accepting a folded flag and military condolences?

Because he loved her enough to want forever, he realized with a painful grinding in his heart. And forever was something he couldn’t promise.

Better to promise nothing, to ask nothing. And to make nothing available. She wouldn’t get hurt that way.

And his hurt? The excruciating, gut-wrenching misery in his heart? Hey, he was a specially trained soldier, equipped to push through any pain and survive.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice soft as a whisper through his headset.

Afraid of what else she’d say, Blake quickly shook his head, then pointed at the Snow Trac vehicle rumbling across the white expanse. Privacy time was over. Communications were open now. Wide-open.

Blake clenched his jaw.

Time to say goodbye.

* * *

A
LEXIA
WATCHED
the
huge monstrosity trudge toward them, looking like a giant metal turtle crossing the snow. It was her way home. Escape from the bizarre hell her life had turned into this last week.

So why did she have a desperate urge to shimmy back down the side of the mountain and hide in the tent?

Or better yet, burrow into Blake’s arms and beg him not to let her go.

He hadn’t let her thank him. Because they’d be overheard, or because he wasn’t comfortable with the praise, she didn’t know. But he’d saved her. Saved her life. Saved her virtue. And quite likely saved her sanity.

He was a hero. She watched him as he stood between her and the oncoming rescue vehicle, rifle at the ready. Even though he’d talked to them himself, he wouldn’t take a chance with her safety until he was sure it was U.S. military in that snow-tank thing.

Everything he’d done suddenly crashed over her. All because he was a soldier. A SEAL. A hero. How could she take issue with that when it was because of all those things that she was alive? How could she ever wish him to do anything else when he was so fabulously talented at being a SEAL? As long as there were freaks and lunatics and evil in the world, men like Blake stood against them. Kept the rest of the world safe, just as he was keeping her safe now.

She wanted to thank him again. To tell him how much he meant to her, how much she appreciated what he did. And how wrong she’d been to reject him based on his job.

She wanted a chance.

A chance for them.

But now it was too late.

As if mocking the timing of her realization, the Snow Trac grumbled to a loud, whining stop twenty feet away. The lights flashed. Code, she realized as Blake lowered his weapon.

“Your chariot,” he told her, gesturing to the vehicle.

Everything she wanted to say was bottled up inside her like a shook-up soda. All intense and mixed up and ready to burst. She wanted to tell him so many things.

But she’d had her chance.

As she’d done so many times in the last day, she hooked her fingers in his belt and put her feet into the indentions he made in the snow.

They reached the vehicle and he gestured her to come around. Two soldiers stood on either side of the open door, both with rifles at the ready. Covering them, she realized with a nervous shiver.

“Be safe,” Blake said as she moved toward the steps.

“What?” She turned back, shaking her head.

“Aren’t you coming?” He had to be. She had so many things to say to him. So much to try to work out. “You’re not staying here, are you?”

“I’m meeting my team back at the compound for cleanup,” he said, sounding as official as if he’d been delivering a report to a superior. Or talking to a stranger.

Despite their audience, not caring how it was perceived, Alexia reached out one gloved hand. Before she could figure out what to say, how to say it, a familiar voice harrumphed.

“Well done, Landon. Now, move on to phase cleanup.”

Ice formed along Alexia’s spine. She felt like one wrong move and she’d crack into tiny pieces.

Suddenly as cold as she’d been in that tiny cell, she turned to face the man in the doorway of the Snow Trac. Like her and Blake and the rest of the soldiers, he was dressed in white camouflage, a helmet, mask and goggles obscuring his features. No matter, she’d know him anywhere.

“Father,” she greeted quietly. “I didn’t realize you were here.”

“Let’s go.” That’s all he said. No greeting. No explanation. Just an order.

Heart heavy, Alexia looked back at Blake. His lack of reaction told her that he wasn’t surprised to see the admiral. He’d known he’d be there. And he hadn’t warned her.

If he’d held up a sign that said Not Interested, the message couldn’t have been clearer.

Shaking, her knees so wobbly that only pride allowed her to manage the steps into the vehicle, Alexia suddenly wanted to be gone. And she never, ever wanted to see snow again.

“Lieutenant,” she said, looking over her shoulder to give Blake a nod to acknowledge all he’d done. Including breaking her heart. “Thank you.”

* * *

“Y
OU
SURE
YOU
DON
’
T
WANT
some chocolate cake? Or maybe ice cream? I can run out and get fresh strawberries to go with it.”

It took all her strength for Alexia to pull her gaze from the view of her parents’ garden. The entire time she’d been doing her
hostage routine,
as her brother had termed it once he’d stopped crying, she’d fantasized about her own bed. Yet three days after she’d climbed into that Snow Trac and rolled out of hell, she still hadn’t made it there.

At first, it was easier to stay here. Her father’s connections and pull had meant the debriefing team and the navy psychologist made house calls. The admiral’s gruff attitude had meant that Edward, filled with guilt that she’d been kidnapped for research he’d instigated, kept his exhausting visits to a minimum. And her mother’s newly found nurturing streak—and her chef—had meant that Alexia was pampered beyond belief. Margaret had even called in her beauty team and a masseuse that morning to give her daughter some much-needed pampering.

“I’m okay,” she told her worried-looking mother. She’d never realized Margaret had the hovering gene, but for the last couple of days it’d been out in megaforce. “I’m still full from lunch.”

“Lunch was four hours ago. You’re not eating enough.”

“I was only gone five days, Mother. Not nearly enough time to lose weight and need constant feeding,” Alexia said with a teasing look. She patted the belly of her jeans to show it still wasn’t flat.

Her smile faded as her mother’s face crumpled. And not, Alexia knew, because she was horrified at her daughter’s curves.

“Don’t,” she begged, sliding from the bench seat and wrapping her arms around her mother. “Please. You keep crying and I’m going to need a transfusion. You know I’m a sympathy weeper.”

“I was scared,” Margaret admitted. “I’ve never been scared like that before.” Her fingers clutched her daughter for just a second before she sniffed, stepped back and carefully dabbed the dampness from under her eyes.

Alexia dropped back to the window seat and stared in shock.

“You were scared?” But she’d seemed so calm when she’d welcomed Alexia home. Margaret had gotten a little weird, with the hovering and all. But Alexia hadn’t realized that was fear.

“What do you think?” Margaret snapped. “My daughter, kidnapped by a lunatic. Hauled off to some icy hellhole. We didn’t know who, or why. And when we did, it was even worse.”

She paused to take a deep breath, then continued. “I was terrified. Your father was, too, although he tried not to show it. He called in every marker he had, Alexia. He handpicked the SEAL team, he demanded the best to rescue you. Even then, we had no idea...”

Her words trailed off, and she sniffed, but held her hand out to say she was getting control of herself. So Alexia stayed seated. Truthfully, she was too surprised at the idea of her father worrying to have the strength to stand.

“Michael and I waited here, of course. But your father refused to. He insisted on going to Alaska to get you. He even yelled at Daniel Lane.”

“He yelled at the rear admiral?”

Reeling a little and not sure how to deal with it, Alexia absently patted the cushion next to her. To her surprise, her mother took the invitation and sat.

“As I said,” Margaret told her with a quick, uncomfortable pat to the knee, “I’ve never been so scared.”

“You must have been, though. I mean, Father served his entire career in the military. He fought in two wars. How was that not scary?”

Heck, just thinking of Blake doing cleanup at that nasty compound gave her chest palpitations.

“Because that was his job,” Margaret said with a flick of her bejeweled wrist, as if dismissing the question as ridiculous. Alexia waited to feel slighted, stupid, as she would have so often in the past when her curiosity was rebuffed. But her mother didn’t seem to be closing the dialogue. Just responding.