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“Are they still at it?”
Macy bit her lip. “No. They were killed in a small-plane crash on their way to report on a new orphanage in India. Happened about eight years ago. Uncle Todd was my last living relative. It’s just me now.”
Blake frowned. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up such painful memories.”
She patted his arm. Her fingers tingled from the contact. “You didn’t. We were talking about family. I just wish I had what you had and have with your mom. I believe the world would be a better place if more parents were like yours.
“I’m lucky that I have great friends all over the world. They helped me when I lost my parents. I was doing an internship in Bosnia with a newspaper and the military guys I’d been following arranged for me to get a flight home on one of their transports. One of them even flew with me and stayed until Uncle Todd could get to the base. I never forgot that. Kevin Donaldson was his name. He had two kids and a wife who adored him. Anytime I was stateside, they insisted on me coming to visit.
“Wow. Look at me telling you my whole life story. Who is interviewing whom, here? I never talk to anyone like this.”
He winked at her. “It’s the green tea. Has mystical properties in it.”
They both laughed.
“Do you want another bowl?”
“Sure. The stew is good. I miss home cooking.”
She handed him another full bowl and shoved the plate of French bread at him so he could reach it. “I—I did some digging. As I mentioned, I’ve covered the military for years for various assignments. I know you can’t tell me exactly what happened, although I do know about the ambassador. That’s a matter of public record. And that you guys saved him and the others who were investigating the ammunitions camp someone had discovered in the Congo.”
“You have done your research.” His voice was guarded again.
“I don’t want to ask you anything I know you can’t answer. What I would like to know is how it happened. Several of your men were hit, but luckily everyone survived.”
He sat his spoon in the bowl and stared down at it.
“Some were luckier than others,” he whispered.
Her brow furrowed. “Do you mean the injuries?”
“Yes, and the nightmares. Some of us are having a tough time letting go what happened there.”
“What did happen?”
His deep brown gaze cut to her. “You know I can’t give you details.”
She sighed. “Was it an ambush? From what I’ve figured out so far, you guys had a peaceful week there until you were getting ready to leave. Then all hell broke loose.”
As if Harley had sensed the tension, she nudged between them and put her head on his thigh.
He sucked in a breath.
“Is she hurting you?”
“No. It’s just sore, like a bruise. Mind you, her head is like a ton of bricks.”
“It is very large. She accidentally bumped my nose earlier with her head when I put food in her bowl, and I thought for sure I’d have black eyes.”
He smiled, but it was weak.
Stupid. As professional as she was, it bothered her to realize she’d triggered such old memories—hurtful ones from the look of concern on his face.
That was it. He wasn’t just a hero. He was a man. That would be her story. No one needed to read about his nightmares of that terrible day, or the darkness that clearly haunted him. How often had she told that story? Heroes deserved to be recognized, but maybe she could focus on who they were after they came home, rather than who they were then.
So many soldiers were affected by the experiences they’d gone through. Some—not in a good way. But some said that it made them more aware of how small the world could be.
“I have chocolate chip cookies for dessert. Actually, I was going to show you the best way to eat them.”
“Well, I thought you ate cookies with your mouth.” He gave her an odd look, and she rolled her eyes.
“Ah, where is your sense of food adventure? In fact, I’m going to take that adventuresome nature of yours to a whole new level.”
“Bring it on, Macy. I can take whatever you’ve got.”
The seductive, whiskey sound of his voice and his choice of words did all kinds of naughty things to her.
Be careful.
But it was too late. She’d already crossed the line with Lieutenant Blake Michaels, and she wasn’t at all upset about it.
3
BLAKE TOSSED AND turned in his bed. Thoughts of Macy in those jeans and that lacy red top made it impossible for him to sleep. He’d wanted to kiss her as soon as he saw her lick the whip cream from her lips. That pink tongue had darted out and all he could think of was capturing it with his mouth. He’d wanted to cover her in the white confection and lick every inch of her.
Damn. He had it bad for her.
He sat up on the side of the bed. He needed a shower, a cold one.
Why did she have to be a reporter? If she had any other occupation he’d be doing his best to get in her bed. He couldn’t remember when a woman had affected him the way she did. Her laugh, smile and the way she walked with those lovely curvy hips swaying back and forth held his attention.
He thought back over their conversation. Even though she’d pried, she did it respectfully. True to her word, she hadn’t asked him a single thing he couldn’t answer. And when she dug a little too deep, she’d backed off and made them chocolate chip cookie pies, her version of the whoopie pie.
She was hot. Smart and funny. The perfect combo.
But he couldn’t risk hanging out with a woman who might reveal secrets he prided himself on keeping. He might slip up, get carried away. And the last thing he needed was for his superiors to see something like that in the newspaper.
He’d been thinking about taking the honorable discharge on offer, and maybe settling down like his friends Rafe and Will. They’d all met when Will was their captain on missions in Iraq and Afghanistan.
Will had retired and Rafe had been in charge the day of the ambush. Rafe had all points covered. There was no way they could have anticipated the assault. There would have been a lot more casualties if they hadn’t been so prepared.
Before the memories pulled him into the darkness, Macy’s smile flashed before him.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
He needed to go for a run, but the docs said it would be another three weeks before his leg could take the pounding.
The town might be small, but they did have a health club that was open twenty-hour hours, specifically for folks who worked shifts.
Grabbing his swim shorts, he pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Throwing on his leather jacket, he was at the club in less than five minutes. A swim would be the only thing to burn off the excess energy. It was his substitute form of meditation since he couldn’t run. The club was nearly empty at four in the morning, and for that he was grateful. He didn’t have to make conversation or smile. The sleepy girl at the desk waved him by when he flashed his membership card.
Diving into the water he struck out hard, his arms and legs going at a blistering pace. After twenty or so laps, he slowed down and cleared his mind. The blank slate, his therapist suggested to calm his nerves, was hard for him to find some days. Tabula rasa, she’d called it. It was a challenge to find it when the sexy woman’s face kept popping up over and over again.
Then there was his mother who had waited up to pepper him with questions when he’d returned the night before. Macy had nothing on his mom, who kept giving him strange looks and then smiled when he said he was tired and needed to sleep.
He’d never understood women, and his mom was the most confusing of them all.
“I don’t know what that water ever did to you, but I hope you’re never that mad at me.” Macy’s voice penetrated his concentration. He nearly gulped a mouthful of water as he stopped abruptly. He was at the end of a lap, and she stood above the lane in a formfitting navy swimsuit.
Hell. The woman was trying to kill him.
His cock was so hard it hurt. He leaned up against the wall and put his arms on the side of the pool to hide the evidence.
What was he, twelve?
Get yourself under control, Marine.
“I have to give up running for a few more weeks and this is the way I meditate.”
She chewed on her lip. “I thought you did yoga, or sat and chanted to mediate.”
He smirked. “That’s awful closed-minded for someone who has traveled the world. Some people do. But I have trouble shutting off my brain if I’m not moving. When I sit still— Well. I have insomnia and sometimes exercise is the only way I can get myself to calm down.”
She sat down and dangled her legs in the water. “I hope it’s not because of what we talked about last night,” she said worriedly. “It’s my nature to push at people until they give me what I want. I tried not to do that with you, but sometimes I just can’t help myself.”
He couldn’t tell her the truth, so he lied. “No, it wasn’t that. Well, maybe a little. But not in the way you think.” He’d made a fool of himself. “Why are you here?”
She pointed through the window where a man had Harley on a treadmill. “One of the trainers from the rescue shelter is working with Harley. The treadmill is made for people who have bad joints.”
“She didn’t seem to have any trouble running around the other day.”
“No, but she shouldn’t have done it. Running like that is bad for her. We’re trying to teach her to walk at a fast pace on the treadmill. This was the only time Jack could do it. He’s a vet tech at the shelter and his shift starts at seven.
“I thought while they worked out, I’d come do some laps. I didn’t realize it was you until you made that last turn. I guess, though I never thought of it that way, swimming is my meditation, too. I do it more to make the puzzle pieces of my life and the stories I tell fit together. When I’m doing something physical, it helps me figure stuff out. And like Harley, I have a bad knee. I like running, but it doesn’t like me.”
He glanced at her left knee, there was a round puckered scar there, and then a long line that intersected it. His head snapped up, his eyes met hers. “You were hit.”
She nodded. “About three years ago. It was a through-and-through, but did some ligament damage on the way out. Nothing like what you’ve experienced.”
The thought of her being harmed brought out his protective instincts. He pulled himself up out of the water and sat beside her. “You don’t have a limp.”
“Nah. I had some great physical therapists.” She traced the scar on his right leg. “Wow, that’s nasty. Must really hurt.”
Her touch had an instant affect on him. Thankfully her eyes were fixed on his right leg and knee. The scars went from his midthigh through his knee and calf. In all he’d taken three bullets in the one leg. And another one in his back. “It’s a lot better than it was six weeks ago. What were you doing when you got hurt?”
“Researching a feature on the Arab spring. A demonstration I was covering got out of hand. Had to run for the border the first chance I got, and we were attacked. We were lucky that the marines were waiting on the other side.
“I got hit. They fired back. Luckily a navy surgeon fixed me up right away and then sent me to a good surgeon and physical therapist in Florida where he had a practice.”
“You shouldn’t have put yourself in danger like that.” The words had more of a bite than he’d meant them to. “You could have been killed.”
She pulled her fingers away from his leg as if he’d shocked her. “Uh, it’s my job to report the tough stories. And trust me, I’ve been through worse.”
Lifting her curls, she pointed to an ugly scar on the back of her neck.
The air left his lungs.
“That was the one that really scared me.” She stared at the water.
He reached out and touched the wound.
She jerked away. “But that’s a story for another day. I need to get my workout in. I’m sorry I interrupted yours.” She stood and he noticed her toenails were painted a violet color. Something about that made him smile. Then he remembered what he’d done.
“Sorry I touched you. I can’t stand violence against women. It—It’s one of my triggers.”
“Triggers for what?”
“A story for another day,” he repeated the phrase back to her. Then he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist. “Have a good swim.”
4
WHEN BLAKE TOUCHED Macy it was all she could do not to wrap her arms around him. No one had ever looked at her so tenderly or been so concerned. Her ex had been the one who sent her out on some of her roughest assignments. He’d expected her to be able to handle herself, and she did. But there was a small part of her that wished he’d worried about her once in a while. She should have known something was wrong when she called to tell him that she’d been shot and all he’d worried about was how she was going to get him the story.
She’d made the surgeon wait an hour so she could pound out ten pages and email it to the paper.
Blake would have been frantic worrying about her.
Hey, you are not turning into one of those women.
She refused to be the type of woman who needed the man in her life to save her. Macy prided herself on her independence.
Jumping into lane five, she sluiced through the water. When she thought of the marine, she tried to focus on the story she wanted to tell. But it was complicated. She didn’t quite have all the pieces yet. She needed to talk to his mother and others who knew Blake. Well, duh, the whole town knew him.
She wanted a different perspective.
The idea was just out of her grasp. She pushed herself harder and harder until ten laps later she was out of breath and hanging on to the edge of the pool in the same way Blake had earlier.
She glanced through the window to see how Harley was doing. Jack gave her double thumbs-up and she smiled.
Why couldn’t she go for a guy like Jack or even his boss, Josh? They weren’t the subjects of a story and, as far as she knew, they didn’t have any battle scars. Though, she sometimes wondered about Josh. He’d been wounded in some way. It was that haunted look in his eyes.
No one knew better than she did how those scars and secrets could weigh a soul down.
The treadmill slowed, and Jack gave Harley a treat. Climbing the ladder out of the pool, she dressed quickly.
Professional ethics kept her from loading Harley into her car and driving straight to Blake’s house. She wanted to comfort him. To hold him in her arms and maybe even slip her legs around him and absorb some of the pain he’d experienced.
When would she realize, she never did simple.
After drying Harley off with a towel, she got her settled in the SUV without any fuss. The dog was too tired to fight her. She lay across the backseat looking exhausted.
As Macy pulled up the long drive to her house, she quickly slammed on the brakes.
Harley growled at her.
The marine plaguing her thoughts sat on the tailgate of his truck more handsome than any man had the right to be.
What was going on?
Her body heated. One glance in the rearview and her cheeks were the color of primroses on a bright sunny day.
Every cell in her body screamed at her. She needed him just as much as he might need her.
Oh.
Cherie would start charging her by the hour.
But before she called her friend, she had to find out why the Blake was here in her driveway. His expression said the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders.
She let Harley out of the backseat.
“Hey,” she said as the dog ran up to Blake. He bent over and rubbed the animal’s ears.
Macy tried her best not to be jealous, but it wasn’t easy.
One small touch from Blake, and she already craved more.
“Hey,” he said eyeing her warily. “Sorry I just showed up. We need to talk.”
“About?”
“The fact that I touched you without your permission. I was taught better than that. I can write you a letter of apology if you’d like, but I thought it might mean more if I said it in person.”
She laughed. “Letters are so old-school. You could have texted me.”
He shrugged. “I kind of like the old-school ways, besides, I didn’t have your number. And there’s something else.”
“What’s that?”
“I really want to kiss you.”
She was in big, big trouble, she could confirm, because she wanted that, too.
* * *
“WOW. FOR A MARINE, you really aren’t afraid to tell it like it is.” Macy gave him a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes. He’d made her uncomfortable, but he had to speak his mind. If she told him off, so be it, but he had to let her know how he felt.
If he’d learned anything the past six months, it was that life was short. And from his therapist, that the truth was important.
“It’s true. It’s who I am. And I understand you and I can’t— Well, that is, you have ethics. Some journalists don’t anymore, but I can see that you do. We have a connection. I’m fairly certain you’ve noticed it.”
She nodded.
Good, at least the attraction wasn’t one-sided.
“But you’re writing a story about me and that’s a conflict of interest.”
“Yes, it is.”
“So, I think I have a solution.”
She sat next to him on the tailgate and petted Harley.
“Don’t write the story.”
Immediately her back stiffened. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not? You’re the publisher of the paper, right? Your uncle left you the whole thing, so you make the decisions. Or you could have someone else write the story, though, I’m going to be honest—I wouldn’t trust anyone else.”
She sighed. “Why do you have to be so—you.”
He chuckled. “I’m not sure what that means, but do you agree with me?”
“The story is already compromised because you do strange things to me, Lieutenant Michaels.”
He lifted her chin with his fingers and waited. She nodded her approval.
“Strange things?”
“Yes,” she said softly. “I always seem to be too warm when you’re around.”
“Hmm. Maybe you have a fever.” He held the back of his hand to her forehead. Then let his fingers trail down her cheek. He leaned in to kiss her.
Harley let loose with a harsh bark.
They broke apart chuckling.
A giant head was eye level with them. Harley’s paws were up on the tailgate, and she gave them a look that said break it up.
“I think she’s hungry,” Macy suggested. “I should feed her.”
The dog grumbled.
“Do you mind if I help?”
Macy pursed her lips.
“Hands off, I promise. I won’t touch you again until you ask me.”
“This isn’t a good idea,” she said.
“What? Feeding your dog? Surely she would disagree.”
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