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“Why did you lie to him, Natches?” Her voice was soft, and the sound of it tried to ease the ragged edges of his soul.
“How do you know I lied?” He crossed his arms over his chest and stared back at the woman who held his soul with such silken bonds that he knew he would never be free.
And he felt just as unworthy of those bonds now as he had in Iraq. Not that it was going to stop him from tying her to him, and better she learn what he was now, rather than later. But sometimes, in the darkest reaches of his soul, there were moments that he cringed at the thought that he was dirtying her.
“I’m a trained interrogation specialist, lover. That’s what I do. Remember?” Her smile was just as hard and just as tight as his had been earlier. But that word on her lips. Lover. Hell, no one had ever called him “lover,” even teasingly. It was such a simple word, and often used so carelessly. But it wasn’t a word Natches had used, or had used for him. And it sank inside him, tried to warm him in all the places he had gone cold and hard. For years, he had existed on autopilot, a Marine, a man who knew he had no true home, no family other than the cousins and uncle who still yet belonged to others. Nothing was his alone.
Until Chaya. And here he stood trying to protect that one precious thing in his life, perhaps two, and he could tell she was going to fight him tooth and nail. Just as his cousins fought him.
He shook his head and moved into the room, staring around it, and realizing why he had moved from the houseboat to the garage apartment the year before. This wasn’t a home. He hadn’t wanted it to be a home.
“Natches, you’re not talking to me. ” His head jerked around at the slightest thread of fear in her voice.
She stood across the room watching him, her arms wrapped across her breasts as she stared at him. And those pretty eyes, such a warm, sweet honey color, seemed to spill inside him.
“He was part of the reason your daughter was killed. ” He spoke the words slowly and watched her flinch, watched her and made her accept that betrayal. The group Dayle Mackay was a part of had found a way to authenticate a strike that had never been approved. The strike that had killed her child.
“You weren’t. ” She swallowed tightly as he watched her battle her tears.
He had only seen her cry once, and God help him, those tears followed him in his nightmares. Wrenching sobs tore from her soul as he held her safe beneath him, forced her head to his chest and watched that hotel explode.
And that night, the first time he had loved her, the night her daughter had died, he’d had to tear his gaze away from her, turn his back on her and clench his fists to keep from going after Dayle Mackay then and there. Killing him would only solve a part of the problem. Just one part out of a dozen. But he wanted to kill.
Because he remembered her screaming sobs as he dragged her back to the small hotel where he stayed sometimes. There he had held her, rocked her, loved her, and he let silent tears fall from his own eyes.
“His blood is mine. ” He turned back to her and shook his head as he felt the chill inside him.
“And your blood?” she whispered as she moved to him, took his hand and placed it on her stomach. “You’re blood is here, Natches. ”
He caressed her stomach through the clothes; he couldn’t help himself. Her heated flesh met his calloused hands, and as he did when he held her at night, he imagined he felt life there. Hope.
He shook his head and wanted to pull away from her, but he couldn’t force himself to.
“And when this is over, you may curse the night you allowed me to come inside you. ” He found the strength to pull back from her, to walk away.
“You son of a bitch!” He didn’t get far before her fingers gripped his wrist and she jumped in front of him. “Excuse me here? But are you daring to walk away from me?”
He dragged his fingers through his hair, a frown jerking between his brows at the anger on her face, the accusation in her eyes.
“I have things to do, Chaya. ”
“And of course you’re not going to do the ‘partner’ thing you’ve been preaching about here and tell me what the hell they are. Right, Natches?”
He nodded slowly. “That about sums it up. ”
She looked as though he had slapped her. Natches stared back at her in confusion as she backed away from him, her face paling.
“So much for all my courage and strength that you so highly respect,” she sneered. “I guess, once again, I’m delegated back to the weak little woman who has to be protected. Right?”
“This is my fight,” he bit out.
“Because it’s your blood?”
“Fucking A,” he snarled.
“Well, excuse me, Mr. Mackay, but there’s a damned good chance I’m carrying your blood inside me, so I think that makes it my damned fight as well. ”
And how the hell was he supposed to counter that argument?
