ROAR (64 page)

He held up his arm and pulled the sleeves of his suit coat and dress shirt back to reveal his watch. It wasn’t a new one, so she quirked a brow at him.

“I’ve already purchased a dual-zone watch and set it to Afghan/Denver time so I’ll always know when it’s the best time to text, e-mail, or call you.”
So I can feel closer to you.
“You let me know how you’re doing every day.”
Reassure me you’re still alive and well
.

“Kristoffer, I’ll be fine. And back in Denver before you know it. I’ve been making these trips for years and have a dozen under my belt already. Please, try not to worry.”

He bent to brush his lips against hers before grabbing and holding her against him, kissing her with something akin to desperation. When their lips parted, he ached to keep her close to him like this forever.

While he admired her for sticking to her commitments, she also had a commitment to him. In the future, he might become a little more selfish and demanding about her time overseas saving the world. Yeah, she’d already saved him, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t use regular maintenance.

“I’d better go, or they’ll be paging me.”

The pain in his chest was unbearable. “Don’t forget your homework assignment. It may be some of the hardest work you’ve ever done, but consider everything so you can give me your answer when you get home.”

As a businessman, Kristoffer wasn’t one to ask a question without being almost certain of the response. But in affairs of the heart, he was far outside his comfort zone. And after her breakthrough the other night in the condo, he was even more certain of her answer. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if she chose not to wear his collar, but after the idea came to him, it seemed the perfect way to make a one-of-a-kind commitment to her. One that didn’t put her in competition with Tori.

Not that he saw this as any kind of contest. “Call me when you get to Frankfurt. And Dubai.”

She nodded. “You try to get some sleep, too. Don’t be waiting by the phone all hours of the day and night.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Grasping her hand in his while wheeling her carry-on beside them with the other, they started toward the TSA line. Before he reached the point of no return for him, he kissed her again. “Stay safe, Sprite. No shopping in the marketplace. Stay inside security.”

She smiled. “Yes, Sir. I’ll take care of myself and be back with you before you know it.”

The only way for that to happen would be if he were placed in a drug-induced sleep for the next month.

He shuddered at those words and pulled them back from the universe. Being comatose wasn’t anything to joke about.

He tried to keep the fear out of his voice. “Come home safely.”

“I will. I love you.”

One more kiss, this one initiated by Pamela, and he watched her walk away. His heart felt as though it had been ripped in two again.

She stood in line five minutes before turning around and racing back to him. “Kristoffer, in my heart, I’m already home. Right here.” She touched his chest, left of center—right over his heart.

Before he could respond, she was back in the line. He watched her go through the scanner and lined himself up to see her as far as he could before she turned one last time to wave at him, and then she walked out of sight.

How am I going to get through the next thirty-four days without her?

He returned to his car in the parking garage and drove home. Noma greeted him at the door, looking to see where her new mistress was, no doubt. Pamela had been here long enough that her scent, her memory, her very being was on just about everything in the place.

He’d hang on to those until she returned.

God of Thunder, bring her safely back to me.

K
ristoffer slammed the lid down on his laptop and pushed it away as he sat back in his chair. He hadn’t been able to concentrate on a bloody thing since seeing Pamela off at the airport three weeks ago. But it would be nearly two more before she finished her contract and made it back home. Before he’d know she was safe.

He tried to take it day by day, but not only did he miss her, he was worried sick about her. How did military spouses handle the deployments of their loved ones who could be gone for a year or more at a time? Gunnar told him not to watch the news, but Afghanistan wasn’t a daily item as it once was, anyway. Kristoffer had managed to find sources of information via internationally focused news sites, but after a few days of assuming every roadside bomb or mortar attack had taken her, he’d had to quit looking.

He wasn’t so much worried about whether she’d accept his collar as whether she’d be killed before he could prove to her what she meant to him. He’d lost Tori in the blink of an eye, and while he hoped his wife had known how much he loved her, Kristoffer wanted to make sure there were no doubts about that with Pamela.

Trying not to pour out his loneliness—and neediness—to her in his daily e-mails, he forced himself to focus on work. She’d kept up her agreement to text or e-mail daily, though her correspondence was brief. He knew she must be extremely busy and didn’t want to become a distraction to her, but restricting himself to sending just one daily e-mail was a challenge. If he could, he’d hold an ongoing, nonstop back-and-forth conversation with her. At least when she replied, he knew she was okay for that moment in time.

Could he survive until he held her again? The only pain worse than this had been losing Tori, but he reminded himself this separation with Pamela was finite.

His phone pinged.

GUNNAR:
Meet me in the garage.

KRISTOFFER:
What garage?

GUNNAR:
Ur fuckn garage!

What the hell was he doing in Denver again? He had just been here Thursday—two days ago—and seemed to drop by all the time lately.

KRISTOFFER:
Give me 10. Come up?

GUNNAR:
I’ll wait.

Kristoffer hurried to the bedroom to dress. He hadn’t bothered putting on suits to work in at home since Pamela left. And he wouldn’t wear one tonight, either. Gunnar wouldn’t be dressed formally. After donning a polo shirt and jeans, he slipped on his shoes. A few minutes later, he exited the elevator to find Gunnar leaning on the rear spoiler of his restored 1968 Ford Mustang Fastback. That car just might have saved Gunnar’s sanity after his discharge from the Army. He’d practically slept in it the first six months.

But he rarely drove it unless he was in a particularly nostalgic mood—or had a hot date he wanted to impress with something more than his mansion, kink, or good looks.

Dressed in jeans and a green
Army of One
T-shirt, Gunnar shook his head. “You’re a soup sandwich.”

Kristoffer cocked his head. “Speak non-Army English.”

Gunnar shook his head. “Civilian. You’re a
mess
. Have you eaten since the last time I was here?”

“You came all the way back to Denver to ask me that?”

“No, I came to take you out to eat, because every time I’ve seen you the past few weeks, you’ve looked like fucking death warmed over.”

Kristoffer shook his head, but couldn’t fight back the grin. When Gunnar was in one of these moods, Kristoffer felt like a teenager again, back when he’d idol worshipped his cool older cousin. While only six years older, Gunnar was decades ahead of him in wisdom and experience. But Kristoffer had come away with quite an education that summer he’d hung out with Gunnar after running away from home.

Man, had his mother ever been pissed at the language Kristoffer picked up. Lots of disparaging words had been thrown out about the riffraff around the fishing town in Winter Harbor, Maine, where Gunnar, and both their dads grew up. Special Forces had nothing on those fishermen and their salty language.

“Shotgun.” Kristoffer opened the passenger door, settled into the bucket seat, and buckled his seatbelt. Gunnar had told him once this was the first model to have shoulder belts, a safety feature Kristoffer appreciated.

Gunnar settled in and started the engine, gunning it a few times for effect. “Steaks?”

“Sure.” Kristoffer didn’t eat a lot of red meat, but he hadn’t had anything since breakfast and skipped most meals yesterday, too. He wasn’t sure he had much of an appetite. He’d lost it when he’d dropped Pamela off at the airport. His body didn’t crave anything—well, nothing except Pamela.

But he welcomed Gunnar taking his mind off worrying about Pamela for a few hours. His cousin had been finding ways to get him out of the house a few times a week over the last three weeks by either calling him to Breck for last-minute meetings to discuss nothing that couldn’t have been handled by phone or e-mail or, like tonight, coming to Denver to hang out.

“Did Pamela tell you to keep an eye on me?”

“You’ll have to ask her. I don’t break confidences.” Gunnar put the muscle car in gear and burned rubber out of the garage to punctuate his words.

Kristoffer grinned and shook his head. “Show off.”

“Just blowin’ off some steam. Fucking wasted on you, Cuz. You never let your hair down. How’d you get so highfalutin?”

They’d tried to analyze this many times before. “I suppose living with my mother. How she and Dad hooked up in the first place is beyond me.”

“You know how those summer romance things go.”

“Yeah, well, there is that. But it wasn’t like they had to marry. She didn’t have me for a couple more years.”

“Maybe she miscarried or something.”

Kristoffer shook his head. “Doubt I’ll ever know. Their marriage lasted more than fifteen years, though—longer than your parents, who each came from the same social class.”

“True.” Gunnar was silent a moment then sighed. He drove in silence a few minutes. “How’d you get rid of the guilt over the night of the wreck? I know you blamed yourself in the beginning.” The question was so far out of left field that Kristoffer wondered where his cousin’s mind had gone.

He hadn’t told Gunnar about seeing Rick for counseling. Not out of shame, but they hadn’t had as much time together since he’d been with Pamela. “Before I went to California, I starting talking with a therapist at Tori’s facility. He helped me sort out a lot of stuff, including the fact that sometimes random shit happens. After the wreck, I tried to micromanage and plan everything, thinking it gave me more control. Rick helped me see that what happened that night was just a horrible accident. I could make myself crazy with all the what ifs, but that wouldn’t bring Tori back.”

“No.” He paused then added, “But you did get fucking anal about planning, even more so in the past two years.”

Kristoffer shrugged. “I wouldn’t say anal. It’s not unusual for a financial manager and planner to be that way, you know.”

“Yeah, but you were controlling every fucking aspect of your life down to how to put your shoes on in the morning.”

He hadn’t been that bad.
Okay, maybe at first
. Man, did anything get by Gunnar?

“I think Pamela helped a lot, too. I set out trying to train her to live in the moment and realized I’d better start practicing what I preach.”

“ ’Bout time.”

The corners of Gunnar’s lips lifted. “Now, how the fuck did we get talking about deep shit like this? We’re supposed to be celebrating.”

Kristoffer went quickly through the internal database of special occasions in his head and came up blank. September fifth. Labor Day was still two days away. “What’s the occasion?”

“We’ll talk about it over dinner.”

How he was supposed to celebrate something he didn’t know about was beyond him, but at least he wasn’t pacing around the condo waiting for tomorrow morning’s e-mail from Pamela.

When he merged onto I-70 East, Kristoffer had a clue they weren’t stopping at the neighborhood steakhouse. They discussed some business until, instead of heading downtown, Gunnar headed north on I-25 instead.

“Have you given any more thought to how you’d like to do the collaring ceremony, Kris?”

“I don’t have her answer yet.”

“Pfft. She’s crazy about you—and it really is the best way to show her how special she is to you. She’ll say yes. You just wouldn’t let her tell you before she left.”

“You’re the one who said make sure she thought it through a while.”

“Yeah, but I thought you’d give a few days, not almost five weeks.”

“What’s done is done.” Kristoffer shrugged. “But to answer your question, yes, I have. I looked up the ceremonies you mentioned and think the white rose is the one I’ll use.”

“Bullseye.”

“I’d like her tattoo done as part of the ceremony.”

“I know a great ink artist who’d come out to Breckenridge for a chance to see my dungeon. I’ll call her as soon as you give me the go-ahead and some dates.”

Kristoffer had fantasized for weeks about Pamela—dressed in a simple white gown, surrendering herself to him as he placed his collar around her slim neck. He’d had the choker specially made by the artist in Big Sur after calling and explaining what he was looking for.

Another detail he wanted to incorporate was having her key tattoo altered. He’d looked over a lot of designs and found one with a heart-shaped padlock, a chain connected to the key, and a ribbon banner below, where the artist would ink the name “Roar.”

If she didn’t say yes now, he’d keep all the plans at the ready for the day she would trust him enough to make that commitment. They had time.

Don’t jinx it.

When they passed Thornton, he knew they were heading to their old stomping grounds in Fort Collins. Did he have a class reunion at Colorado State or something? Kristoffer hadn’t gone to school there, but had hung out with him and his friends that summer and kept up with the couple of guys Gunnar enlisted with immediately after graduating.

He glanced at his cousin’s T-shirt and ragged jeans. Doubtful he’d go dressed like that, although with Gunnar you never could tell. He liked to buck the status quo.

Driving into Fort Collins, Gunnar skirted the campus and drove into the Old Town area and parked at Sonny Lubick’s Steakhouse. When Gunnar had splurged on dinner the one previous time they’d been here, the restaurant had been called Nico’s Catacombs. It was the place Gunnar had taken him the night before sending him back to Connecticut to finish school.