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“I really need my crutches.”
“I shouldn’t have said that. I—”
“Give me my crutches.”
“I don’t want you to think—”
Being trapped like this, unable to cross the room unless she crawled, squeezed like a vise on her chest. “Now, dammit! I will not be held prisoner by my injury or you.”
His eyes widened with shock, and he bolted from the bed and brought them to her without a word.
She scooped up her scattered clothing, using the crutches to pull the items closer so she could reach them, then hobbled into the bathroom.
Once the door was closed and locked, she faced herself in the mirror and took several deep breaths to try to get her emotions under control. Once she figured her voice would be steady, she called for a cab.
Knowing she had several minutes before it would arrive, she took her time cleaning up, trying to compose herself into the calm, cold woman who’d faced down an armed SEAL and chose continued abduction over rescue because the cause was greater than herself.
She’d risked her life, put absolutely everything on the line for the right reason, and no one believed her.
Well, no one except Morgan and Freya. But people would say her FMV bosses had their own reasons for backing her story. If Diana was wrong, she’d likely destroyed their entire operation.
No one would trust a tip from anyone associated with FMV again. No more tracker implants to call for rescues.
Her hands shook as she smoothed her hair and reapplied lipstick so she wouldn’t look like she’d just gotten fucked to the cab driver and everyone she passed in the hotel lobby.
Not that it mattered, but she wanted to pretend for just one moment that she hadn’t just made a colossal mistake and slept with the SEAL who’d rescued her in Jordan.
What had she been thinking?
It had been better when he was nothing more than an impossible superhero.
She took several deep breaths, centering herself. She remembered those early days of training with Freya, and how she’d learned to shove away her pain and grief and focus on the job. Freya had explained how important it was to never allow her face to reveal what was going on inside her head and had taught her tricks for changing her headspace.
She used it now as she prepared to say goodbye to Lieutenant Chris Flyte one more—and very final—time.
She opened the bathroom door and there he was, dressed again and pacing the room. He turned to face her. “Diana—”
“Thank you for the orgasms. My cab will be here shortly. I will see myself out.”
“I’ll walk down with you—”
“No. You will not.”
“Diana—”
“Goodbye, Lieutenant Flyte.” She made a beeline for the door and wondered what she’d do if he attempted to follow her to the lobby. She didn’t want to make a scene that would cause trouble for him, but he also needed to respect her boundaries.
Thankfully, that was what he did. The door closed behind her, and she slowly made her way down the endless empty corridors for the elevators. With no one able to see her face, she relaxed her guard, but then had to hold her breath against tears.
If she started crying, she’d never stop.
No. She had to get home first, then she’d fall apart. She’d give herself twenty-four hours to feel the hurt, then she’d cut off that part of her heart like she’d had to do with Salim.
Lieutenant Chris Flyte would be as dead to her as her deceased fiancé.
As soon as she arrived in her condo, she wrapped her foot and ankle in a watertight cast cover and filled her deep, jetted tub with hot water and a liberal amount of bath salts and aromatherapy oils.
She’d smelled his scent on her body the entire cab ride home, and while it was a pleasant smell, she didn’t want to be reminded of him with every breath.
