As if the sound had pulled her magic bell, Gia reappeared. She smiled with the serenity of a Madonna, leaning over to wipe his face with a warm wet towel. Garrett yanked it from her, finishing the job himself. The last damn thing he wanted right now was sympathy or tenderness.
The last damn person he wanted to be right now was the monster living in his skin.
Way to pull down the impressive stats, Hawk. One fucked-up vodka haze. One disgusted best friend. One abandoned woman, waiting in your bed at the base. And oh yeah, one cock that can still drill through the side of a tank.
And zero points in the decent human being department.
“Gia?”
The woman stepped back over with the grace of a duchess. “Yes, Sir?”
“No,” he growled. “Not ‘sir.’ Just Garrett.” He steeled himself, forcing his gaze to stay focused on her while the room spun. “Garrett…who badly needs a shower. You have one of those around here?”
“Of course—though I must warn you, the ‘hot’ is only given when the gods feel very generous.”
He snorted. “That’s fine. Right now, I’m not interested in the ‘hot.’”
Chapter Six
Sage gave as many details as she could to Rayna, though she deliberately glossed over the grittier stuff. How did one talk to their friend, even after what they’d been through together, about feeling the way she did from Garrett’s behavior? Hey, Ray, I know you were pinned in that cave and had your body altered against your will, but can I tell you about how wet I got when my fiancé held me down and smacked my pussy? Did I mention how it made me think of nothing but begging him to tie me up and then fuck me until thinking became impossible?
God help her, it still sounded like heaven. She’d done more thinking in one year than most people could handle in a lifetime.
She still stuck to the basics with Rayna—which still got weird when arriving at the part about Garrett’s invasion-of-the-body-snatchers exit. Luckily, Rayna wasn’t able to ask too many questions by that point, because everything turned back into a mess of sobs. True to form, her friend held her through every tear. It was easy to feel the trembles in Ray’s own frame too. Both of them needed only one hand to count how many times they’d allowed themselves emotions like this over the last twelve months. When survival was more important than feelings, breaking down simply wasn’t an option. Maybe they needed to make up for lost time now.
Lost time.
The words jolted her like sunlight breaking through clouds.
Lost time.
She gasped from the revelation. Damn it, why hadn’t she seen it? Garrett had gone through a year of hell too. He’d endured her funeral, for God’s sake. While she’d assumed he was alive—no, somehow she’d known it—and clutched to the hope of that to keep herself going every day, he’d been learning to live without her. No wonder he’d gawked like she’d turned into a zombie. Maybe to him, she still was.
Oddly, that thought gave her a surge of hope as Rayna walked her back to the room. It was almost lunchtime, but she declined her friend’s invitation to the cafeteria. Her eyes were swollen from crying and heavy as bricks with exhaustion. The second her head hit the pillow, she plummeted into sleep.
Though a bomb could’ve hit the embassy and not roused her, she felt Garrett’s presence the second he got back. Her senses were instantly alert to his every sound—not that he made a lot of those. She listened to the rasps of his boot laces, the clunks of the dog tags tied to them, the thuds of the shoes hitting the floor. After a few seconds, she expected to hear the sough of his pants coming off. He always stripped them off after his boots. At least a year ago, he did. And hell, had she loved it.
Against the backs of her eyelids, she hit the play button on a beautiful scene of him peeling off his bottoms after a day at the base. She stood at the door like she always did, openly ogling as his powerful thighs and calves got bared, breaking into a grin as he turned, erection a bold silhouette against his briefs. Many times, he’d follow that by crooking his finger, beckoning her to come to him. Or sometimes he’d pace over and get her for himself, gaze filled with blue flames while exposing his intent for her evening’s “appetizer.”
A light touch at her forehead jerked her from the fantasy.
She popped open her eyes. He was just a breath away, on his haunches, gazing at her. His hand hovered near her temple, his fingers wrapped in a strand of her hair.
Wow. He’d gotten really good at the sneaky thing. Fantasy or not, he hadn’t made a single noise in crossing the whole room.
After getting over her initial shock, she gazed at him. The sight…was heaven.
Or maybe not.
“Hey.”
His rasp matched his appearance. Rough. Tangled. Tired. And something else, weird and intangible, making her hitch up on an elbow in confusion.
Especially when he dashed his gaze away from her as fast as he’d given it.
What the hell?
Where had he been?
His case of cagey deepened, digging into the creases at the corners of his eyes. Sage stared harder, as if that would peel back his walls and reveal…
What?
She hauled in a deep breath—as if that would help.
Let the air clutch in her throat…and when it did…
Oh, God.
Sweat. Booze. Cheap soap.
And cheaper perfume.
She lowered to her back and squeezed her eyes shut. Like that was going to cut out the humiliation and agony. Nausea assaulted her thankfully empty stomach—though her brain made up for the reprieve. Her stupid imagination was stuck on the freeze-frame of him from the bedroom back home, still beckoning to her. Still wanting her.
She shook her head, setting free a bitter laugh. The embassy honchos who’d greeted them had talked about medals waiting stateside for Rayna and her. She had a good idea of what they could put on hers. We award this medal to Captain Weston for bravery, valor, persistence of will, and enduring a fatal strike to her heart after her rescue…
“Idiot.” She slammed the heels of her hands against her eyes. “I’m such a damn idiot.”
“Sage.”
“Don’t. Can’t you leave me with a shred of dignity here?”
“Sage.”
“I get it, okay? My body isn’t what it once was. I don’t fire your chamber anymore. Done. Let’s move on.”
“Sage, damn it!” The bed sagged with his weight. He leaned over her. Hell, even in her fury, her body woke up to his nearness, his heat, the spiritual zipper that refastened every cell inside her to him again. God, she really hated that connection right now. “Look at me. Fuck…please. It’s not what you th—”
“Seriously? You’re going with that one? I’ve been on the run in Africa for the last year, and that’s old even for me, buddy.”
He pressed closer. “I’m sorry that you think—”
“Shit. That one, too?”
“Are you going to listen to me?”
“No,” she snapped. “There’s nothing for you to say. There’s nothing you have to explain, all right? You thought I was dead. You moved on, to whoever—whatever—it is that you do now. I understand. So at least you tried, and thank you, but—”
Suddenly, he’d plunged his hand into her hair, clawing her scalp, forcing her head toward him. “The fuck I moved on!” It seethed from his locked teeth. “My life stopped the second I walked into your parents’ living room and saw the chaplain sitting there.” He stopped, his chest pressing against the confines of his T-shirt with his hard breaths. “I couldn’t move, Sage. I didn’t move.” He shook his head. “I could only move again when the rage set in. It sucked, but at least it filled the goddamn crater inside after they told me you were—” He cleared his throat with a ragged cough. “After they told me you were gone. But at least I could function again. At least I could think again—if that’s what you could call it.