Forged in Smoke (Red-Hot SEALs #3)

“I just started dinner,” she blurted the information out—only to silently cringe—as though he couldn’t see that fact for himself.

This current of unease was exactly what she’d wanted to avoid. With a deep internal sigh, she stiffened her shoulders. Things couldn’t get much more strained between them, might as well clear the air and bring the invisible pink elephant into the open.

“Look. It’s obvious I’m attracted to you and you’re attracted to me. That’s plain human nature, and nothing we need to tiptoe around.” Look at her, being all grown up and mature about the situation when six days earlier she’d refused to allow him near her wounds for fear he’d realize how attractive she found him. “What happened in your bedroom was perfectly natural and nothing to get all bothered about.” She floundered, feeling like she’d lost her point somewhere. “Just because we feel the attraction doesn’t mean we have to act on it.” She stumbled into silence, all platituded out.

His eyes lost focus and his head started to turn.

Faith glanced in the direction he was turning, but didn’t see or hear anything. “What’s wrong?”

He froze and jerked back to face her, a mask sweeping over his face.

“Nothin’.” He hesitated and then his face softened. “Look, this has nothin’ to do with you. The timin’ sucks, you know? I mean to start somethin’ up . . .”

His voice suddenly picked up speed and strength like he was trying to talk over the radio, even though the room was silent. She could tell the moment he realized what he was doing, and forced his volume back down.

“Things are kinda . . .” He frowned, and looked down. “I’m not in a place . . .” With a slow shake of his head, he ran a tense hand through his blond hair, leaving it rumpled and sexy. “Yeah, the timin’ just sucks.”

Why in the world would his halting explanation spark regret instead of relief? Since she didn’t want to examine that question too closely, she concentrated on a question she did want an answer to. “Did you get hold of Wolf?”

“That I did. Your medications will be on the next chopper out,” he said, his eyes losing focus again.

She smiled in relief at the good news, but the emotion soon faded. From the tension on his face, and the nerve twitching in his cheek, something was wrong. “Then what’s the problem?”

That brought his attention back to her again, at least for a second. But then the stack of chocolate chip cookies suddenly mesmerized him. He just stood there, totally still, and stared at them.

Okay, this is weird. Is he in some kind of cookie-induced trance?

“They’re for eating.” She intended the comment as a joke, but it came out entirely too soft and serious.

He started, as though he’d forgotten she was there. But he instantly rallied, an expression of determination descending on his face. “I did some lookin’ into heart transplants online after talkin’ to Wolf.”

Uh-oh.

From the shadow building in his eyes, he hadn’t liked what he’d found.

“Okay . . .” She rolled the word out cautiously.

He ran his hand through his hair again, rumpling it even more. “You said you had your heart transplant when you were fourteen—fifteen years ago.”

“Actually . . .” She caught herself and dragged her eyes from the gleaming mop of blond hair. In her appreciative daze she’d almost corrected him. She’d had the second transplant at fourteen, the first one had been the year before. However, that information wasn’t necessary for him to know. “That’s right.”

He grunted. An honest-to-God grunt that somehow managed to sound disapproving.

“Accordin’ to every article I found, the average viability of a transplanted pediatric heart is eleven years.”

Faith cocked her head and eyed him with curiosity. Where was he going with this? “I’m aware of that.”

“Your transplant was fifteen years ago. You’re four years past the average lifespan now.” He reminded her tightly, shoving his hand through his hair again.

“I’m aware of that too.” She shot another glance at his gleaming white-gold head. Maybe this constant scalp massage was his secret to such a thick, sexy head of hair.

“Sweet Jesus.” The words broke from him softly. He caught her gaze and held it, then gave an oddly resigned shrug. “Then you have to know you’ve reached the end of your heart’s viability.”

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