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My eyes drop to his leg, his injury. Of course. I’m so insensitive. I put the weapon back into my bag. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t considered.”
“Don’t consider it. Please. Don’t.”
That’s the first I’ve heard real anger from him—or is it frustration? I know so much of his history but am still learning his moods. He knows even less of me, who I really am.
I draw in a breath at a sudden thought, a small wonderous realization. I can tell him something of me and of him. “Do you remember that game in the FAA Cup when you scored three goals and single-handedly defeated a team in the Premiere League?”
An uncontrollable smile rolls across his mouth. “Best game of my life.”
I smile back, pin him with my gaze so he knows how much I mean what I’m about to say. “I watched the whole thing online. Me, cross-legged on my bed, laptop in front of me, a pillow hugged to my chest, and...” I lick my lips. “It was so early in the morning, I kept burying my mouth into my pillow, biting it, screaming into it while I watched you so I wouldn’t wake anyone. You were so beautiful.
“The way you slashed madly down the pitch, glided and spun and scored. It captured me. When the game was over, I was shaking. It seemed my heart was full and broken all at once. Full of joy and broken, because I never thought to see the likes of that stunning performance again.”
His eyes don’t stray from mine. I feel as if, for the first time, he isreallyseeing me, seeing my truth. “But then, years later, you walked into a soup kitchen, and my heart leapt, and everything I had felt that day happened all over again, and my heart was full and broken all at the same time.”
“Ach,” he growls out, and it sounds constricted and tight and this time, it’s all he needs to say.
I know he gets the fact that I see him. To me, there is no difference in Sean sprinting with all his pre-injury skills down the pitch or limping down the cafeteria line waiting to be served free food.
Of course, there’s so much more to him than either scenario can capture: the lion heart of him that puts his body on the line to help others now, as much as he did then for his team, the humor and passion, the artist and protector.
After another moment, he reaches out, then runs a hand down the side of my face.
I lean into him, wanting his warm touch more than I can say.
He whispers, “When you asked why I don’t see you as a nun, I had tidy answers. None true.” He takes a deep breath in and exhales it out.
I put my hand atop his large one, pressing both to my face and feeling our deep connection radiate warmth through my skin.
He says, “But the truth was—is—I can’t see you as a nun because that’s a role, an identity that slips from my eyes every time I look at you. You’re fire and grace, intelligence and wit, black and beautiful, sexy and determined, gentle and fierce. And it doesn’t matter what costume you put on, what’s on your head, hands, or feet, I’ll always see that truth when I look at you.”
I lean toward him.
He rushes forward and his lips meet mine in a wild joining that explodes into an instant intense throwing-caution-to-the-wind kiss.
Oh, and can the man kiss. I’m lost to the pull of his lips, strong and soft. The smell of him, masculine and natural. The heat of him, pressing against me. The heavy tangle of our breaths, the magnetic pull of our bodies. I want him in an aching, heavy way.
A coyote howls in the distance, reminding us of the danger lurking everywhere.
We draw back from each other at nearly the same instant, bumping against our seats.
Breath heavy—as loud as my heartbeat—I don’t explain away anything. It wasn’t the right moment, true enough. It was also the perfect moment, because this is the situation we met under—caught between traffickers and a serial killer. A situation where there might not be an easier or better tomorrow… a situation where there might not evenbea tomorrow.
When our breathing evens out, I say, “Are you ready?”
He clears his throat and adjusts himself in his pants. “Born ready, luv.”
15
DADA
With my mind somehow put straight by that glorious kiss with Sean, I survey the flat desert expanse before getting out of the Cadillac. Thanks to stars being brighter than any I can remember seeing and a bright partial moon, it’s fairly light out. I probably won’t need the flashlight in my bag or the night vision goggles I’ve hooked around my neck. Grabbing my backpack, I open the door, which cracks with a metalsnap, as I step out.
Sean, already outside, buttons up his flannel then walks to the trunk.
I meet him there, and he opens it, but he’s disabled the trunk light.
I take out my flashlight after all, needing it to look inside.
