Holding Out For A Hero: SEALs, Soldiers, Spies, Cops, FBI Agents and Rangers (143 page)

They lay wrapped in the warm afterglow of shared passion, breathing synchronized, heartbeats decreasing to a normal pace at the same rate.

"Frank, I…" Angel paused as though reluctant to continue.

"What is it, Angel?" He kissed the top of her head, finding it somehow below the cushion of curls. He tugged one stray lock off her face and wound it around his finger.

"About last night…"

Warning buzzers screamed inside his head. But surely she wasn't having second thoughts, not after this morning's repeat performance. He eased her back so he could see her face, examine the depths of feeling that would surely show in her eyes. He saw uncertainty, vulnerability. Her teeth tugged at her lower lip.

"You aren't going to ask me if I still respect you, are you?" he teased, fearing that was exactly what she was going to do, judging from the expression in her wide, brown eyes.

"No…"

"That's good." He pulled her back against him.

"Not exactly."

He eased her away again.

"What do you mean 'not exactly'?" He scrutinized her expression, frowning slightly, and she averted her eyes. She looked so uncomfortable he wanted to tease her out of it. "Angel, how could I not respect you? Not only did you make me wait until after we were married, you held off another two weeks just to be sure." He flashed his most playful grin, trying to ease her obviously taut nerves.

"Frank, be serious," she said, but grinned back at him. "I really need to ask you something."

He stroked his hand across her cheek and allowed his face to lapse into a more serious expression. "All right, sweetheart. What is it?"

She glanced at him uncertainly, as though expecting him to drag her off track again at any moment. "I just… I mean, I'm feeling a bit vulnerable this morning. I thought and thought before I decided to… I mean before I thought it was okay to… I…" She dragged a hand over her face. "Oh, rats, I'm doing this all wrong."

"Just relax, sweetheart. I'm not going to bite…" He grinned again. "Not right now, anyway. And never hard." He nibbled at her shoulder with his lips.

She batted at him and giggled, but he could hear the nervous strain.

He pulled back. "Okay, I'm sorry. I'm all ears."

"I just want to make sure you're okay with what happened last night. I mean… I probably should have talked to you about it first but… I was pretty sure… I mean, you said you loved me and you've given every indication that you wanted—"

He stroked some hair behind her ear as he stared at her incredulously. "Angel, how can you even ask? Of course, it was okay with me. Better than okay. It was marvelous. Fabulous. Stupendous. Break in anytime with superlatives of your own, honey."

She laughed and he was pleased to hear that the tension was gone. He kissed her forehead.

Angel climbed out of bed, relieved that Frank understood. She'd been worried that after the fact he might be unhappy, since they hadn't really solved anything. After her shower, they spent a lovely day together enjoying each other's company. They started with Sunday brunch at a quaint little restaurant just off Broadway. Then made love. They lit a cozy fire in the stone fireplace and curled up in each other's arms to enjoy the rainy afternoon together. Then made love. They prepared a simple spaghetti dinner and savoured it by candlelight. Then made love. When evening arrived, they decided the phrase 'early to bed' had some interesting connotations.

Angel yawned, opening her eyes to glance at Frank stretched out beside her, his breathing deep and even. Waking up in Frank's arms had to be the closest thing to heaven she would ever know. Pain stabbed through her at the thought of having to give him up, but she steeled herself against it. For now, she would allow herself only to feel the joy of his presence. She would deal with the pain once he was gone.

She slid her fingers through the sprinkling of curly hair on his chest. "Are you awake, Frank?"

"Hmm?"

She nipped his shoulder. "I asked if you're awake."

"No," he murmured. His eyes remained closed, but she could hear the smile in his voice.

She grinned and lowered her face to his skin, intent on tasting his firm male flesh. Her tongue traced the line of his collarbone, then dipped down to his hard male nipple. She licked the tip.

Both his eyes popped open. "I am now."

He smiled at her and she felt her insides melt.

"Don't tell me you're tired?" she teased.

"Heavens, no. Why would I be tired? We haven't done anything interesting today."

"No? Are you saying I'm boring?" Capturing his nipple in her teeth, she nibbled, satisfied at his moan of approval.

"No. Definitely not boring."

His hands stroked her hair over her shoulder, out of the way. She dragged her hands down his abdomen, enjoying the feel of his hard muscles under her fingertips—until she felt her finger drawn along a diagonal line marring his smooth flesh. She blinked and stared at a long white scar extending from the bottom of his left rib cage to three inches over his navel. A sick feeling gurgled through her. She pulled back and stared at Frank's face.

"Frank, where did you get this scar?"

His sleepy smile drew tight, his face turning serious. "Angel…"

"Where, Frank?"

"In the line of duty."

Suddenly, she found it difficult to breathe. She pushed her hair back off her face, holding it there as she stared at him intently. "Which case?"

He hesitated and that told her more than she wanted to know.

This scar, he must have gotten it…

She remembered watching Cavaglione's men hold Frank tightly by the arms when she'd walked into her cabin in Hawaii. She'd forced her face to remain impassive, knowing it could mean both their lives if she'd shown her true emotions. She'd held her cool and calmly told Domenic all about Frank and his partner, watching Frank's love burn away, consumed by hatred. She'd left the room and steeled herself against the sound of fists hitting flesh—Frank's flesh, and his grunts of pain.

She'd managed to get Frank out of there alive, but she'd never allowed herself to think about the physical cost to him. Now, it stared her in the face.

"Angel, don't think about it. It doesn't matter." He reached out to stroke an errant lock of hair from her face, but she jerked back as though his touch would burn her. She spun away from him.

"Angel…"

She felt his hand gently rest on her shoulder and she bolted off the bed. She hurried into the living room, desperate to distance herself—from Frank and from the evidence of the pain she'd caused him.

She grabbed the curtains and stared into the darkness. The drapes billowed around her, allowing her to escape the confines of the room, but not quite giving her the freedom of the night. Rain drizzled down the window, blurring the lights of the city. She tried to blank her mind, but she couldn't block out the memories. And she couldn't block out the feel of Frank's presence in the room. He'd followed her. He stood behind her.

"Angel." He drew her into the room again, tugging the drapes from her numb fingers. They dropped back into place, hiding the night.

"No, Frank," she cried. "I put my job above your safety. I threw your love away to save my cover." Her fingers drifted to the angry scar and she traced the length of it. "I caused you immeasurable pain. How can you forgive me?"

He surrounded her fingers with his own and drew her hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to her palm.

"I do forgive you, Angel." His solemn gaze held hers, somehow making her believe in forever. "Anyway, you've more than made up for it." He drew her into his arms. "You've given me your love." He nuzzled her cheek. "You've given me your innocence." He stroked his hand along her shoulder. "And once you've given up your cover and we're—"

She stiffened. "Given up my cover? What are you talking about?"

Frank's eyes narrowed. "I'm talking about you and me, married, having kids. I'm talking about leaving the deception behind and pursuing an honest relationship. Isn't that what you had in mind when you decided you'd make love with me?"

She stepped back, horrified. "Why would you think that?"

Pain lanced through Frank as he realized he had misunderstood her intentions, erupting into anger as he realized nothing had changed between them—except one physical barrier. Important as that was, he needed far more. He didn't want Angel for a couple of weeks or months. He wanted her for a lifetime.

"Because, Angel, you'd never been with a man before. I didn't think you'd have done what you did last night—that you'd give yourself to me—if you weren't ready for a commitment."

"Frank, this morning… I thought you said that you were okay with this?"

"That was before I knew this was a temporary arrangement." Blazing fury heated his face. His fists clenched at his sides. "How could you do it?"

Angel's bewilderment suddenly turned to anger. "Do what, Frank?" she asked in a tight voice. "What a million other women do every day? Show the man they love how much they care? Share a loving relationship with him?"

"You should have discussed it with me first."

"Why?"

He spoke between gritted teeth. "Because maybe I wanted to hold out for forever with you, not have some cheap affair."

Her gaze darted up to meet his, her eyes widening. She drew in a shaky breath. "Oh, Frank, I—"

He glared at her. "You made me believe in happily-ever-after, Angel. Just like you did four years ago." The words came out gruff, anguished. He crossed the room in three quick strides, slamming the bedroom door behind him. A few minutes later, he returned fully dressed and strode out the front door.

Oh, God, what had she done? She'd had no idea Frank would make the kind of assumptions he'd just revealed. Damn it! She had given him her love in the only way she could, and she had hurt him.

Again.

He'd said he'd believed in happily-ever-after. Didn't he know that only existed in fairy tales? A tear crept over her cheek.

Didn't she?

* * *

Angel didn't know what time Frank had come home last night. Which surprised her. She thought she'd be awake all night, frantically reliving their discussion, but she'd finally fallen asleep, exhausted by anguished sobs. This morning, she saw evidence that Frank had been home. An empty coffee mug in the sink. The sports section of the paper lying on the table. A note stuck on the fridge reminding her to make an appointment for him with Vendetti.

When she phoned home later, she got the answering machine and left a message, knowing he was probably there—avoiding her. He continued to avoid her that evening, staying out until late. Oh, God, how long could they go on like this? She heard him come in about an hour after she'd turned out her light and listened as he got ready for bed, disappointed when she saw the light streaming under her door go out. He must have settled in on the couch to sleep.

Her heart ached. She missed him. She longed for his arms around her, to hear his sweet words of love. The longing she'd felt for him before their love-making had been bad enough. Now it was sheer agony.

The following week Frank started working for Vendetti. Frank maintained a polite, professional attitude with Angel at home, as he would with any partner with whom he had no emotional attachments. Which is the way they should have left it, she realized. She had seriously overstepped the bounds of professionalism for the first time in her career, and with disastrous results, for both herself and Frank. At least he was maintaining a professional attitude. At least she could attempt to do the same. So, all the time they were together, she longed to reach out to him, to feel his arms around her, but she resisted her urges and filled him in on the workings of Vendetti's office and prepared him for his new role.

Vendetti intended to work Frank into the organization slowly, giving him a few odd jobs at first, like picking up shipments of money from a number of offices around the city. Frank didn't tell Angel the details of the jobs, but gave her a log of the businesses he picked up cash from, how much he received from each, and where he delivered it. They went through this each day and, in turn, she showed him logs of the calls she handled for Vendetti and the correspondence that passed by her, both paper and electronic.

Angel watched Frank across the table as he reviewed the day's logs, a bitter emptiness gnawing at her stomach. It didn't make sense. She and Frank loved each other. They should be making memories together while they had the chance. But no. She'd hurt him. Again. Her cover—her damned stupid cover—always came between them. Frank had embraced it for now—for the case—but all too soon he'd leave. And then she'd be left alone. Again.

Maybe she'd be better off.

Frank glanced up at her, the blueness of his eyes emphasizing their lack of warmth. A warmth that used to sizzle in their depths when he looked at her.

Better off? Without Frank. Who was she trying to kid?

* * *

Frank drove past the large sprawling warehouses that littered the industrial area. A full moon provided the only light besides the headlights of the pickup truck he drove. He pulled around the back of the building at the end of the lane to park out of sight of the road.

Closing the door behind him with a quiet click, he climbed the splintered, age-worn wooden steps leading to a steel security door. He pulled and it opened easily. The darkness inside felt like a smothering presence as the door drifted closed behind him. He stood still, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the blackness, listening for any sign of movement. He pointed his flashlight toward the ground and flicked it on. With slow, careful movements he made his way to the office that he knew was twenty paces forward and five to the left. A rustling sound alerted his senses and he snapped the flashlight towards the noise, but all he saw were a couple of mice scrabbling around some old boxes, then flickering out of sight. They'd been gnawing on the cardboard, judging from the ragged, torn edges of the cartons.

"Frank."

Frank jerked around, shooting the beam of the light towards the voice. "Dennis. I didn't think you were here yet. I didn't see your car."