Page 53 of Keeping a Warrior

“My pleasure.”

Despite the chill, and their fatigue, neither one of them made a move to go inside. Her eyes were soft, luminous, as she gazed up at him. “You want to—” she started to say, whatever it was lost forever when Rhys’s phone chose right then to buzz loudly in his pocket.

Devon blinked, and she took a giant step away from him, clearing her throat. “Better get that.”

Intending just to silence the damn thing, Rhys yanked it from his pocket, only to freeze when he saw the number—and the picture—on the screen.

Lani.

After a split-second hesitation, he hit the decline button and stuck the phone back in his pocket, but it was too late; he could tell by her face the spell had been broken. A wave of disappointment swept through him. Had she been about to invite him to her room?

“Ms. Lowe.”

They both started at the sound of the deep voice behind them.

“I’m sorry to interrupt.” It was the Special Forces major who’d given out the awards at the banquet, the one so impressed with Devon’s cultural skills. “I know it’s late, but might I have a word?”

“Of course, sir.”

The major held the door to the transient quarters open for her, and indicated a small table and chairs next to a coffee machine in the corner of the lobby. Rhys hovered uncertainly, wondering if she needed him to stick around...

Why would she? She was more than capable of talking to an Army officer by herself.

At the bank of elevators, Rhys turned to glance back in her direction, but she didn’t even look at him, she was so caught up in what the SF guy was saying.

Curiosity, exhaustion and regret fought with a low-grade arousal that, all combined, made Rhys want to punch something. Once in his room, he yanked his shirt over his head, intending to change and go for a run. As he did, the heady scent of Devon’s perfume wafted to his nose, and crumpling up the fabric, Rhys buried his face in it.

If she had been about to invite him to her room, would he have gone? He let out a tortured groan. Yeah. In a heartbeat.

Shaken by the realization, Rhys changed his clothes and ran down the stairs instead of taking the elevator. In the lobby, Devon was still talking to the major, their heads close together as they looked over a sheaf of papers.

What did it all mean? Was Devon about to be pulled off the SEAL team and attached to a Special Forces ODA?

He clenched his fists as a myriad of emotions fought for dominance. All he knew was that the dynamic of their team—their makeshift “family”—suddenly felt threatened, and the loneliness it’d been keeping at bay now roared back to life.

Needing desperately to outrun it, Rhys charged from their quarters out into the night.

Chapter Ten

“Those two just need to beat each other up already.”

Devon smiled when Aaron ambled over to her, hands in the pockets of his pants. He jerked his head toward Matt and Shane, who were bickering, as usual, while they helped load everyone’s gear onto the C-17, bound for Coronado.

“Ha, totally.”

Or kiss. Or something.

At the banquet the night before, she’d watched Shane try his best to engage Matt in conversation. After about the tenth futile attempt, he’d given up and attached himself to a rowdy group of Army Rangers, finally disappearing off somewhere with them, which left Matt visibly furious.

Devon remembered rolling her eyes, thinking she’d better go talk to him, and then Rhys had asked her to dance...

“So, how’s it goin’, Ms. Lowe?”

Aaron’s voice was easy, conversational, but still, Devon heard something in it that instantly shot wariness through her.

“Fine,” she said cautiously. “Glad to be going home for a little decompression time.”

If you could call “home” yet another transient barracks on yet another base. But who was she to quibble about semantics? At least she wouldn’t be sleeping in the woods.