Page 132 of Missile Strike

“Morning.” Bella’s voice, still soft and warm with sleep.

His shoulders stiffened. He’d been so lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t heard her open the screen door.

He turned to face her.

The smile tilting her lips disappeared. “What’s wrong?”

She was barefoot, wearing his white dress shirt from last night. It might as well have been a dress on her, and all his brain could focus on was whether she was naked beneath it.

His throat tightened. Not that he’d have the chance to find out.

“I have to leave.” The words barely made it out.

Bella stilled.

“Now?” A shocked whisper when he’d almost rather have her shout. “Why?”

“An assignment. I can’t turn it down.”

Silence.

The warmth drained out of her expression. Then her face shuttered, and she slipped away from him without taking a step. “When.”

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts to keep from reaching for her. “This afternoon. My plane leaves at two-thirty.”

She disappeared into the house.

He followed. “It’s only for a week. I’ll be back.”

“I understand.”

“Bella.” He tugged on her arm so she’d face him. “I will come back. I’m going to put in for a month’s leave.” God knows he had the time saved up.

Bella’s chin lifted, her eyes darkening. “And then what?”

He could only stare. This was not how this conversation was supposed to go. It was supposed to be wine and candlelight. A declaration of love.

Instead, Ryder’s call had turned their first real morning together into another goodbye.

And somehow, they were already arguing about a future they hadn’t even had the chance to imagine.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Bella. If I could stay, I would. Maybe you can stay with your parents until I get back.”

The words had no sooner left his mouth when she went rigid, her lips forming an O before they flattened. “I don’t need a babysitter.” Her words were sharp enough to cut. “I’ll be fine on my own—just like I was before you showed up.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Jesus. He shoved his fingers through his hair.

Every time he opened his mouth, he stuck his foot in it.

Setting his mug on the counter, he pulled her into his arms. She came, but not all the way. Her back was too straight. Arms held rigidly at her sides.

“I have to go. I will come back.”

I love you hovered on his lips, but it felt like manipulation to trot out the words now, when she was upset.

He’d tell her when he came back.

They’d have that fancy candlelit dinner.