Under Fire (Elite Force #3)(26)
Author: Catherine Mann

“Completely. My buddy Hugh Franco always took on the riskiest assignments. He had this frenzy, like if he could save enough people, somehow his wife and kid would come back to life.”

“Yeah, that pretty much sums it up. And I really thought the therapy and the dog was all working for Brandon. He seemed clearer. Not exactly happy, but focused. He started making plans for the future. He was building an agility course in his backyard to exercise his dog.” She settled back into his arms more at ease now, as if they were genuinely curled together to talk and watch John Wayne save the day on TV. “I just can’t reconcile in my head that he’s anything but honest—and while he may not be one hundred percent steady, my gut tells me he’s legit, in spite of all the PTSD jamming the wires. The same gut that led me through SAR missions… You understand what I mean, right?”

“I do. Absolutely.”

They had so much in common, something that had really thrown her six months ago. She’d been drawn to Liam—beyond just wanting to boink his brains out. But all that in-common stuff had muddied the waters and scared her to death. Still did. Not many men understood about her work. Or rather what she used to do for a living.

Although he totally got what she did now too, and why she’d gone this new route with her life. He was scary good. “Why did you want to know so much about Brandon anyway? Do you still suspect him too?”

“I was jealous.”

So she’d been right about the kiss earlier. “There’s nothing going on between Brandon and me. There’s no reason for you to be jealous of him.”

“Of Brandon. Caden. Any guy in your past.” He flipped her ponytail over her shoulder and cupped her neck, his touch sending tingling currents to the tips of her toes. “When have I not made it clear I think you’re sexy as hell and intriguing to boot? I want you. No news flash there. I made it clear the moment when we pulled off the road, hell, when I just held on to you in my kitchen. My feelings haven’t dimmed in the past six months.”

The intensity of his words, of his voice, his eyes, everything about him, couldn’t be denied. To be wanted this much was a heady thing. “I’m starting to understand how you talked three women into marrying you.”

Chapter 7

Liam took in Rachel’s smoky brown eyes and knew he could easily kiss her right now. He wanted to kiss her, feel the soft and familiar texture of her mouth fitting to his. Even if it turned out someone might be listening, no one was watching inside. He’d been promised that much at least.

So that kiss would probably go further, leading them into one of those bedrooms together. If they even made it that far, before ripping each other’s clothes off.

He’d burned to have her since he first saw her lowered from a helicopter in the Bahamas. But he wanted more than one night. If he leaped on this opportunity—leaped on her—she could very well roll out a list of regrets in the morning. He wouldn’t toss away this second chance to be with her.

Although his need to keep her at arm’s length and in constant sight made for a serious pain in the libido. He needed help to rein himself in tonight for his sake, for her sake—and for the sake of any listening devices that may have been planted around this place. The television would muffle their voices, but it wasn’t as foolproof a trick as they made it out to be in the movies.

Talking about his ex-wives should be as libido dousing as jumping straight into icy Alaska waters. “Three wives, but not at the same time.”

She rolled her rich brown eyes. “Minor technicality.”

He rested his chin on her head, breathing in the scent of his soap on her body. “I had my burnout time too, a while back. During my Army Ranger days. In those days, though, it wasn’t acceptable to talk about it. PTSD was a career-ender. So most guys drank, quit, or one way or another self-destructed.”

Easing back, she forced him to meet her gaze. “Since you haven’t quit or self-destructed, is this your way of telling me you’re an alcoholic?”

“Not hardly.” He glanced sideways at her, although it would sure be easy to lose himself in the intoxication of raw sex with Rachel. “I managed to get a career change that helped ease up my stress level.”

She snorted, so magnificently natural and without pretense. “You call working search and rescue a stress reducer?” Rachel leaned back against his chest, his arms sliding naturally around until his hands rested on her stomach. “You are seriously screwed up.”

“No argument there.” The echoes of old explosions, images of friends he’d lost, flashed through his mind, setting him more on edge than ever. “Saving on occasion felt good. Although it still didn’t keep me from sabotaging myself in three marriages. So I didn’t get off scot-free. Or as you so eloquently said, I am seriously screwed up. Not very technical, but apt.”

“Liam,” she said softly, but firmly. “You can’t blame yourself for everything. Back in the Bahamas you told me that wife number two was unfaithful.”

Cheated with everything in pants, anytime he was deployed or on base. Or hell, she could sneak in a quickie cheat when he stepped out to pick up pizza.

Disco yawned, stretching and inching forward until he head-butted Liam’s leg. He patted the spot next to them on the sofa and the dog jumped up. He scratched the Labrador’s sleek nose. “I was no picnic to live with.”

“That doesn’t excuse her cheating on you—” Her voice rose sharply, then she touched her lips as if realizing she’d spoken too loud. She continued, softer this time, “If she wanted out, she should have done so honorably.”

“You’re right.” He leaned back to give himself space from the tempting scent of her. “Hey, let’s give this a rest. The day’s sucked enough already. And all the dating websites say it’s bad form to ramble on about the ex. Or in my case, exes.”

“We’re past the initial dating stage… not that we’ve actually had a date.” She touched his hand lightly and she might as well have stroked up his leg for how hot and hard that one simple contact made him. “But we’ve kissed each other and even faced a gunman together. So talking about your ex-wives doesn’t qualify as bad first-date etiquette. And honestly, I want to know.”

Her eyes brimmed with curiosity and something else he couldn’t place but made him certain he needed more of that distance. Fast.