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Now he had to figure out how to convince Micah that he wasn’t insane, either. Because sure as hell Micah was falling into that emotional pit of darkness that men never seemed to claw their way back out of.
Love, my ass, he thought. He might as well blow Micah’s head off himself, because there was no doubt in his mind it was going to explode before this mission was finished. And God help them all if Risa didn’t survive Orion’s determination to kill her.
“Yeah.” Tehya rose, long gorgeous legs filling his peripheral vision as her voice echoed with anger. “I answered my own damned question. Good night, boss man.”
He didn’t speak. He didn’t let his eyes follow her, but damned if it wasn’t hard. If any woman had been created to be a weakness, then it was Tehya. And Jordan promised himself, No weakness.
FOR THE FIRST time in his life, Micah felt the knowledge that his heart was in danger. Staring into the dim light of the bedroom as dawn filtered through the heavy drapes, he felt his chest clench with emotions he wasn’t entirely certain he was ready to face.
Tucked snug and warm against his chest, Risa slept on, exhausted and replete. Her body conformed to his, soft where his was hard, tender where his was tough.
He stroked his hand down her naked back, feeling the warmth of her, the tender flesh, the silkiness of her skin. As though he had never touched a woman’s body before, he luxuriated in the feel of her. He committed each dip and curve of her body to memory, and reminded himself that dead men weren’t supposed to dream.
That was one of the rules.
Dead men don’t talk.
Dead men don’t dream.
Dead men don’t love.
Dead men don’t have families.
Dead men didn’t have memories.
And dead men definitely weren’t able to have a weakness.
Micah had a weakness. A small, beautiful, passionate weakness that he feared could become the destruction of his soul.
Once, long ago, Micah had wondered if settling down, being a lover and a husband, would ever be a part of his future. Until six years before.
Until he had disobeyed the order that had come down through the chain of command in the ranks of the Mossad. The order that Orion was off-limits. All investigations into his identity were to be halted.
That order had come down just weeks after Micah’s mother’s death. It was an order he and his father had been unable to follow. And they had both died because of it.
His father at the hands of a suicide bomber.
Micah, or David as he had been, had died when Orion’s bullet had grazed his temple and he had thrown himself overboard from the freighter he had tracked the killer to.
Somehow, the man Micah had been had been betrayed by his own. He’d made the mistake of calling in Orion’s location and requesting a backup. Orion had found him instead.
Now, Orion threatened the woman who had managed to work her way into Micah’s heart, when he had sworn he didn’t have a heart to enter.
Dead men don’t have a weakness, he reminded himself. He was a dead man, part of the Elite Operational Unit that existed in the dark, deeper than black ops, independent of government interference.
David Abijah no longer existed. Micah Sloane’s identity could be terminated at any time and a new name, a new identity, could be created. A relationship, especially marriage or a family, could never survive the pressure.
His hand lifted to touch her hair, his jaw tightening at the silken warmth of the thick strands. Nothing, no other woman, had ever felt as warm in his embrace, nor as perfect.
“No one has ever held me like this.” Her voice was soft in the twilight, a whisper of awe that had him blinking back a strange moisture from his eyes.
His Risa had never been held in a lover’s embrace, and she had been born for a man to protect, to cherish.
“You could have had your pick of lovers,” he told her, knowing it was true. “But I won’t say I’m sorry to have been the first.”
He turned to her, holding her against him as he stared into her upraised face.
The smile that curled at her lips was faintly disbelieving. “I’m not exactly beautiful, Micah.”
