Honor Reclaimed (HORNET #2)

Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

She crossed to him, grasped his hand, and led him the few steps to the narrow bed. His lips flattened into a grim line, but he sat where she indicated and stiffly swung his legs up to the mattress. When he stretched out on his stomach, his feet hung over the end of the bed by several inches. He turned his head on the flat pillow to watch as she slid off her shoes and discarded her jacket and sweater. Unlike Kabul, where it was only in the forties, or up in the mountains, where it was even colder, this town sat low enough in altitude and far enough south that the temperature still hovered in the mid-to-high seventies. She’d been sweltering since they’d arrived here and it felt amazing to lose a few layers.

She knelt on the edge of the mattress and hesitated. God, his back. Even his scars had scars. “Will it hurt you if I sit on you?”

He lifted his head and…was that a twinkle of humor in his blue eyes? “Yeah, because you’re a regular elephant.”

Her heart did a happy little jig at his sarcasm, but as much as she loved that he’d finally relaxed enough to joke, she couldn’t let him get away with that one. She whacked his hip with the back of her hand. “You wanted me to tell you when you’re being an asshole? Well, there you go. Exhibit A.”

Something that might have been a smile twitched at the corner of his lips. “Of course you’re not going to hurt me, Phoebe. You’re, what? Five-three, one-ten, fifteen? What can little thing like you do to me that hasn’t already been done?”

Annnd there went the moment of levity.

“We need to work on your sense of humor.” She swung a leg over his waist and straddled his back, sitting down hard because—well, damaged or not, he deserved it for the elephant remark.

He huffed out a breath, then sent her a scowl over his shoulder. “Easy.”

She used her arm like a trunk and trumpeted.

“Smartass,” he muttered and stuffed his face in the pillow. She suspected to hide a smile. Someday soon, she’d see his smile. And maybe he’d even give it freely, without feeling like he had to smoother it. But for now, she’d mark that hidden smile as a point in the win column. It was progress.

Phoebe squirted some of the lotion into her palm, cupped her hands together, and blew on it to warm it up. She started at his neck and worked her way down his spine. Under the scars, he was all lean muscle, built like a runner. He used to be bulkier, she knew. She’d seen photos of him from high school, when he’d been offered a full ride to Notre Dame on a football scholarship. She’d also seen photos of him and his ill-fated team directly before they left for their last mission. And, honestly, she liked his body better now, scars and all. Liked the way his muscles felt under her fingertips as she worked his skin.

Wait. No. She shouldn’t be liking his body at all.

Except, dammit, she did. And in response, her body was heating up in all the right places and the groan of pure masculine pleasure that rumbled from his throat did not help. Her breathing shallowed until she was almost panting.

She was already wet for him, which was kind of embarrassing because she knew for a fact sex was the absolute last thing on his mind. At least he couldn’t feel her arousal through her jeans.

Focus.

She simply had to focus, like when she did a nude portrait shoot. Only the subject was important. Their pose, the way the light played off their skin. Everything else was just background noise and she had to blur it out and focus.

On Seth.

Right. Focusing on him really hadn’t been the problem since he barreled into her life. Focusing on anything but him, on the other hand? He’d gotten under her skin, invaded her every thought, and she couldn’t shake him loose.

She traced the indent of his spine, fanned her hands out at the small of his back. Oh, but he had a beautiful body, even with the scars. Would she ever love to get him into her studio back home. He was determination and loyalty personified and would make an amazing addition to the Naked Emotion collection she’d been working on for a past few years.

Then again, she didn’t want the world to see him naked. She wanted to see him naked.

No, no, no. Focus.

Needing a moment’s distraction, she leaned over and reached for the bottle of lotion she’d leaned against the wall next to his head. His hand shot out, long fingers closing around her wrist. For a solid five seconds, he didn’t move, didn’t say anything, merely held on to her wrist, and she held her breath. Then, slowly, he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm.

Heat sizzled up her arm from the contact of his lips and she exhaled shakily. “Seth?”

His lips grazed her inner wrist and she gasped, her thighs involuntarily clenching around his waist. Who knew wrists were so sensitive? She certainly hadn’t but when he opened his mouth and added an experimental flick of his tongue, the caress rocketed straight through to her sex.

As she swam in the heady, lust-drunk sensation, Seth changed their positions, and she suddenly found herself tucked underneath his body. She opened her thighs to cradle his hips, welcoming his weight and the growing bulge at the front of his shorts pressing against her core.

Was this really happening?

He answered her thought by lifting her up and yanking off her tank top. He made short work of her bra clasp and tossed the garment aside, then dipped his head to her breast like a man starving for intimacy and teased her nipple with his tongue. It was almost an assault—in the best possible way, with all of her senses humming from the bombardment. He was rough and impatient and she loved every second, moaning her encouragement to take what he needed from her.

And he did need it, same as he’d needed the massage. He was hyped up, tense, still high on the adrenaline rush of their close call in the valley. She had no illusions that this was anything other than an act of release and she was okay with that. More than okay if he kept using his teeth to tug at her nipple like he was right now.

“Seth!” she gasped his name, clutched his head to her chest and arched toward him, riding the waves of heat pouring off him and into her.

He released her breast and pushed himself up to his knees. Blue eyes burning hot with unfulfilled lust raked down her body, but he didn’t touch her again.

With a vicious curse, he jumped off the bed and paced by the foot. He made an impressive sight with his muscles and scars and the erection jutting from his hips, covered by only a thin layer of cotton. She watched him for several beats, dazed, still expecting him to return to her and send her flying with his mouth and hands. And more. Oh, yes, please more. Maybe he was looking for a stash of condoms because they would definitely need those before things went any further.

The sheen of sweat on her skin started to cool and the haze of lust cleared from her mind. He wasn’t coming back to bed.

She sat up. “What’s wrong?”

He stopped pacing and stared down at his feet. “I’ve only ever been with one other woman.” The back of his neck reddened at the admission and he wouldn’t look at her. meet her gaze.

“Um…” She struggled to wrap her mind around why that was a problem. “It’s okay. I’ve only ever been with is my ex-husband and one college boyfriend.I’ve only ever been with two men myself. So if you’re nervous about?—”

“No.” If his neck got any redder it’d catch fire. “Jesus, no. That’s not—I’m not a novice,” he said roughly. “I know what I’m doing. Even used to be good at it.”

Yes, she absolutely believed that. Just with his hands and lips, he’d brought closer to climax than she’d ever been without the help of a vibrator. “I guess I don’t understand what you’re getting at.” But as soon as the words left her tongue, his meaning became painfully clear: he was talking about his ex-fiancée. The woman whose picture he still carried around.

Yeah. That snuffed out any remaining spark of lust.

Phoebe found the edge of the blanket and drew it up over her naked breasts.

“This, uh, isn’t going to happen between us, is it?” Resigned, she sat up on the edge of the bed and held the blanket to her front. She could still feel the lingering heat of his mouth on her nipple and her body hummed with anticipation, but she could also see the writing on the wall. He wasn’t ready for intimacy yet. Had to wonder if he ever would be.

“No,” he said and his shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, Phoebe. I never should have started it in the first place, but I haven’t…since before. The massage felt so good and the urge to—” He paused, cleared his throat. “Honestly, I don’t even know if everything still works like it should.”

A lump rose in her throat, but she swallowed it back and drummed up a smile. “It looks to me everything’s working just fine.”

He gripped his erection through his shorts like he wanted to hide it from her. “I’m disfigured. Scarred.”

“I don’t care,” she whispered.

He stared at her in silence for so long, embarrassment warmed her cheeks.

“You’re…” He seemed to search for the right word, but came up empty and shook his head. “How can you have so much compassion? Isn’t it exhausting caring so much?”

“Not as exhausting as pretending not to care about anything.”

Haunted blue eyes dropped to her mouth. A second later, he was leaning down, closing the distance between their lips. He kissed her reverently, like a man cherishing something priceless. And she couldn’t help it—her heart melted into a puddle.

This man. What was it about him that made her go weak?

She shouldn’t want him. Shouldn’t allow herself to want him. Not with everything…

Seth cupped the back of her neck and tilted her head with the pressure of his thumb against her jaw, angling her mouth toward his to deepen the kiss. His tongue swept over her lower lip, asking gentle permission, and she opened to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders. Kissing him was…

God, she couldn’t even find the words to describe the sensations he ignited with only a touch of his lips. All she knew in that second was the burning need to get closer to him. Feel more of his mouth and hands. Join with him.

No bad memories. No guilt. Just the two of them giving and taking pleasure from each other.

As he leaned over her, Phoebe lay back on the bed and dragged him with her. His muscles instantly stiffened and bunched under her fingers as if he was preparing to bolt, but she held on, unwilling to let him back away a second time.

“Please stay,” she whispered in the millimeters separating their mouths and traced one of the scars on his shoulder. “I don’t care that you have scars. I don’t care what was done to you in the past or what you had to do to survive. It doesn’t change anything for me. I still want you, the man lying beside me, right here, right now, in this moment. Can you live in the moment for me, just this once?”

Groaning, he buried his face in the crook of her neck. He stayed like that for a long time, unmoving, and she held him, running her hands along the curve of his back. All that lean muscle twitched under her touch. Then his lips, soft on the underside of her jaw, caressed the line of her throat to the edge of the blanket and a thrill jittered through her belly. He tugged the blanket away, exposing her breasts to the cool air. Her nipples immediately puckered and he swirled his tongue around one, and then the other, until she was arching off the bed.

“More.” She reached between their bodies and found his length growing harder against her thigh. When she touched him, his erection bobbed in response and peeked out from the band of his boxers. She gazed down, anticipation like butterflies in her bloodstream.

Small, circular scars covered the flared head of his penis.

Burns.

She forgot everything else. The heat, the need, the promise of erotic pleasure. Tears blurred her vision. The man had suffered so much. And in that moment, she wanted nothing more than to give him pleasure to help ease away his pain. She circled her fingers around his shaft…

Seth froze, then lurched away from her like her panties had caught fire and he didn’t want to risk more burns. “I can’t do this.” Without looking at her, he tucked himself back into his boxers, found his cargo pants, and yanked them on. Next came his shirt. Then he picked up his boots and was half way to the door before she untangled herself from the blanket and jumped off the bed. She caught his hand.

“Seth, wait. What’s wrong?”

He stopped, but wouldn’t look at her. “I’m not a pity fuck.”

She couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d dropped a bomb at her feet. “A pity fuck? No! Seth, that’s not?—”

“Then why are you crying?”

Oh God. She hadn’t even realized the tears were dripping down her face. She swiped her free palm under her eyes, wiping the offending droplets away. “Because I hurt for you. For what you went through. But that changes nothing. I still want?—”

“No.” He pinned her with a dead, glacial stare. “If you’re so desperate to get laid, ask one of the undamaged guys to do it. Jean-Luc’s quite the ladies’ man. Marcus, too, for that matter. Hell, I don’t even care if you try for Ian.” He freed his hand from her grasp and opened the door. “Any-fucking-one but me.”

Seth hated himself the moment he turned away from her pale, stricken expression. He didn’t know why he’d said that to her. It was an asshole comment that topped his already huge list of assholery and he should go back and apologize.

He couldn’t.

In the hall, he stuffed his feet into his boots without bothering to tie the laces, then stalked toward the main room. He’d left his gear in the bedroom, but whatever. Not like he hadn’t slept on a dirt floor before. Not like he even slept anymore.

“Hey, Seth,” Gabe’s voice called as he passed one of the bedrooms. He stopped, but wondered if he’d get away with pretending he hadn’t heard.

Probably not.

In the end, he backtracked and leaned into the room. “Yeah?”

Gabe sat on the bed with his bad leg elevated and that was—hell, kind of a shock to see. True, Gabe walked with a cane unless the team was training or on a mission, but the handicap had always seemed almost like an afterthought. Never had it been as apparent as it was in this moment with the big man bedridden, his ankle enclosed in a soft cast and propped up on pillows.

“Nice shooting out there today.” Gabe nodded in a show of approval. “I’m starting to see why Quinn’s so adamant about keeping you around. He said you’d surprise me and you have.”

“Thank you, sir.” It took a huge amount of willpower not to salute the guy. After all, Lieutenant Commander Gabe “Stonewall” Bristow was the stuff of legends. He had a whole fruit salad of medals and would probably still be earning them if not for the car accident that ended his SEAL career last year. Had to wonder if the guy resented where he’d ended up. Didn’t look it. He seemed at peace sitting there, content to be ordered to bed rest for the night by Jesse, the ever-sensible medic.

So what was his secret?

Gabe said nothing more and, not wanting to stand there like an idiot, Seth started to back away, sure he’d been dismissed.

“What do you think we’ll be up against tomorrow?”

Gabe Bristow wanted his opinion? This was a change and he couldn’t quite keep his shocked expression under wraps. “Uh…more of what we faced today. And they’ll probably come down on us hard once they discover the bodies of their buddies in the valley.”

Gabe nodded. “I agree. We did it Phoebe’s way—tried to be quiet and respectful—but I think today proves we need a more aggressive approach. Tomorrow, we’re going in like operators, not kids playing dress-up in their mother’s clothing.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And I’m putting you in charge of Phoebe.”

Another shock, and not necessarily a pleasant one. “Me?”

“She trusts you. She’ll listen to you.”

“Uh, sir, you have met her, right? I’m not so sure she listens to anyone but herself.”

“She listened to you today,” Gabe pointed out. “You told her to stay put, stay covered, and she did. It could have ended badly for her if she hadn’t.” His lips thinned into a grim line. “To be honest, I’d prefer to leave her here. It’ll be rough going tomorrow and I don’t want her caught in the crossfire. Is there any way you can talk her into staying behind?”

Seth winced, the memory of his final words to her filling his chest with heavy regret. “No. That won’t happen. I just…kinda…pissed her off. She’s not going to talk to me unless I apologize.”

A wide grin split Gabe’s face. “If she’s anything like my wife, probably not even then.” He sobered. “Apologize anyway. That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir.”

Gabe settled against the wall behind him. His jaw tightened as he shifted his bad foot, but otherwise, he gave no indication that he was in pain. “All right, listen. I don’t have to tell you this mission is personal for every man on this team. Hell, it’s more personal for you than any of us, isn’t it?”

Seth didn’t dare speak, afraid of what might come out of his mouth, so he merely bobbed his head.

“And we’re going to bring Hendricks home. I promise you that, but”—he pointed in the general direction of Phoebe’s room—“I don’t want Hendricks’s rescue to be at the expense of that woman’s life.”

A chill of dread crawled down Seth’s spine. “Nor do I.”

“So you do whatever necessary to keep her safe, you hear me?”

“Roger that, sir.”

“Good.” Gabe waved a hand in dismissal. “Oh, and, Harlan? Drop the fucking ‘sir’ already.”