Текст книги "Off Base"

Автор книги: Tessa Bailey

Соавторы: Sophie Jordan
сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

Chapter Six

Beck woke to the smell of incense and buried his face closer to the source. No. They were sheets, not Kenna. It smelled better on her skin, and he wanted to get a fix. Where was she? Beck cracked an eye open in the early morning light and searched for her across the bed. Not there. He sat up too quickly, causing his head to swim, but it gave him the second he needed to calm himself. They were in her apartment, after all. She couldn’t have gone too far. Even if the apartment was so silent and still he could hear his own sprinting heartbeat.

He untangled himself from the flannel sheets and stood, marveling how rested he felt. Lord, he’d slept like the dead after what they’d done. Had she been expecting him to wake up last night for round two? He wrapped a hand around his heavy cock and groaned. Round two was a definite possibility right now, but a nagging intuition told him Kenna would still be in bed if that’s what she wanted. Would he ever face another day without wanting what she’d given him last night? He doubted it. Doubted he’d want it with anyone else, either.

He’d always figured his first time would be a necessary evil, a jumping off point after which he’d get better. Learn how to please a woman. But Kenna, she’d been pleased. More than that, she’d given him a glimpse at her vulnerability. He hadn’t expected that, and the woman beneath had addicted him more than sex ever could. If she was still lying in bed, Beck worried he might have crawled on top of her and demanded to know every single thought in her head. So maybe it was a good thing he’d been given this time alone to think before going to find her.

Beck pulled a throw blanket off the end of Kenna’s bed and wrapped it around his waist. Unable to resist a quick look at her possessions, in the hopes it might give him some insight, he stopped in front of a framed picture on her dresser. A teenage Kenna in an oversized orange jumpsuit picking up garbage on the side of the road. She looked directly into the camera, her expression defiant. Daring the person snapping the photograph to comment. He recognized that look.

Growing up, his grandfather had owned a stable of horses, located just on the edge of the peach orchard. He didn’t make a trade breeding, merely keeping them for pleasure riding and traversing the narrow orchard lanes. One afternoon, his grandfather had come home with a beautiful unbroken filly whose previous owners hadn’t even succeeded in saddling her. Beck could remember the wariness in her brown eyes, the way she’d reared back when anyone got too close. Stay away or else. At least, that’s what Beck’s childhood imagination had interpreted from the filly’s wild look. About a week passed of his grandfather approaching the horse with a bridle with no success. Then one of the mares had gone into labor—a difficult one. Shocking everyone, including the vet, the usually standoffish filly had stood outside the mare’s stall throughout the night, refusing to budge.

Yeah. Beck had a fair idea that Kenna wouldn’t take kindly to being compared to a horse, gorgeous as the filly had been or not. Be that as it may, he’d seen two sides of Kenna during the last couple days, whether or not she’d intended him to. Wild, wary Kenna and selfless, nurturing Kenna. The girl who’d flashed him in her father’s house and the girl who’d been outraged at his lack of a welcome home. The girl who’d traced his shrapnel wound like she was willing him to heal.

Beck ran his thumb over the picture of Kenna stuffing garbage into a trash bag, wondering why she’d chosen to display this particular memory instead of a happy one. Did she have any happy ones? She better. He wouldn’t appreciate knowing she’d been unhappy.

With one last glance at the picture, he left Kenna’s bedroom, already knowing he wouldn’t find her in the apartment. He tried unsuccessfully not to stare at the armchair where she’d blown his mind hours before. The way he’d spoken to Kenna hadn’t horrified her at all. On the contrary. What else about his tastes could he reveal without turning her off? Resolving to think about it later, he quickly dressed in the living room. He patted his back pocket to make sure he had his wallet, frowning when he didn’t find it. There. On the floor. Beck stooped down to pick it up, wincing when he saw it was open. A photograph taken at his high school’s homecoming dance stared back at him. In it, he had his arms around Mary. Had Kenna seen this? If she was already spooked by them spending the night together, the picture definitely wouldn’t help his cause.

The few words she’d spoken at dinner the night before were the only thing standing between him and alarm. Workspace. He remembered she mentioned that she had a workspace downstairs in the garage. On his way down the back stairs, he saw a flare of sparks through a plastic garage window. Heard a sound that called to mind harsh rain pinging off metal.

She didn’t turn around when he walked through the open door. A good thing because the sight of her in frayed jean shorts, sexy lower back exposed, wielding a torch was just about the hottest thing he’d borne witness to in his twenty-six years. If her stiff shoulders and anxious energy weren’t telling him loud and clear she wouldn’t be receptive to touch, he’d already be working the button of her shorts, begging in her ear to let him give her an orgasm. His new favorite pastime.

Beck gave her wide berth as he circled the worktable, avoiding the blue sparks vanishing as they hit the concrete floor. She wore a mask, so it took an extra second for her to spot him in her peripheral vision. When she did, the sparks ceased immediately and the mask was pushed back onto her head.

“Morning,” she said, with an impatient swipe at her face.

Avoiding his eyes, huh? Okay. Might have been expected, but it still made something spiky stick in his stomach. “Morning, Kenna.” He started to ask her how she’d slept but a metal sculpture to his left, shining in a patch of sunlight, grabbed his attention. It stood nearly as tall as him and resembled a tree. The trunk had been fashioned from what looked like a car bumper whose edges had been rounded, reshaped to zigzag side to side. Pieces of metal in various shapes were attached at intervals, making him think of palm fronds. They’d each been painted a different vibrant color, and broken glass shards had been fashioned to the edges. Each component of the sculpture was striking on its own, but all together, the effect was extraordinary. “This is one of yours?”

A shuffle of boots behind him. “Yeah. It’s mine.”

He walked closer, seeing subtle nuances as he went. “Where do you get the parts?”

“Here at the garage, mostly. Scrap metal or discarded car parts.” He turned to find her staring at him, but she quickly averted her gaze and began straightening tools on the worktable. “It’s part of the reason I chose this place. Easy access to materials.”

“Did you explain that to your father?”

“No.” Her surprise at his question was clear. “He didn’t ask.”

Beck approached the bench, much the way his grandfather approached the filly all those years ago. She seemed to be bracing herself to run if he tried to reach out for her. And damn if he didn’t want to touch her so bad his palms itched. Keep her talking while you figure out how to get the privilege again. “Why do you enjoy doing this?”

Her gaze snapped back to his. “What do you mean?”

“I want to know why you love it.”

“I never said I loved it.”

“Kenna, no one makes anything that beautiful unless they loved every minute of the process.”

A hand flew to her mask, as if she was considering flipping it back down to cover her face, but it dropped to her side after a beat. “Thank you. I do love it,” she mumbled. “I guess I don’t think pieces should be tossed in the trash because they have a dent. Or they’re not perfect like the shiny new parts. They still have a use if you take some time to look.”

I am looking. The words brushed the insides of his throat, seeking escape, but he swallowed them. They burned going down. Standing so close to her without speaking his mind got harder by the minute. It wasn’t him. He might have an iron will when it came to most things, but apparently it didn’t extend to her. There was a sense of urgency gaining strength, too. Leaving in two days. He was leaving in two days. Something needed to happen here and while he didn’t know what just yet, a wind pressed at his back, telling him forward was the only acceptable direction.

“I’m seeing you again, Kenna Sutton. Don’t try and pretend different.”

Her mouth fell open. “Pretty confident for a one-timer, aren’t you?”

Beck ground his teeth together, commanding himself to be patient. “Respectfully, darlin’, it might have only been once for me, but if I counted correctly, it was three times for you.”

A grin started to transform her mouth, but she banished it. “Look, Major—”

“I’ve slept in your sheets and seen my sweat cooling on your gorgeous skin. I’ve spent myself in your mouth and between your legs.” Attempting to reel back his irritation, he very carefully placed his hands palm down on the table separating them. “You’ll call me Beck.”

“Beck, then,” Kenna said, voice hoarse. She snatched up the torch, as if she had a mind to use it on him. “It’s natural to get attached to the person you’re with the first time. I certainly didn’t, but I’ve heard that.” Her smile was tight. “It’ll fade, I swear.”

Patience, do not desert me now. Every instinct screamed at him to drag her across the table, remind her of how deep their attraction ran, but he knew it would be a mistake. It would give her a reason to keep him away. “How long until it fades, you reckon?”

Kenna shrugged. “Probably when you go home and meet another big-haired, big-busted blonde. Probably.” She dropped her torch as if it were on fire. “God. I don’t know why I said that.”

All right. Safe to say she’d seen the photo in his wallet. “Kenna, I didn’t keep that picture because I still have feelings for Mary.” He sighed when she picked up a pencil and started to sketch on an oversized notepad. Scratch. Scratch. “It’s a fond memory, a simple one. I needed as many as I could get over there. Didn’t feel right throwing it away, even after what she did.”

“We had one night together, Beck. No big deal. I don’t know why you’re even explaining this to me.” She shoved the pencil behind her ear and fidgeted. “You don’t see me going into detail about all my past boyfriends.”

He saw it coming. Saw she’d located the weapon in her arsenal and was prepared to use it. “Don’t—”

“You’re not the first soldier I’ve brought back here from base, Beck. Far from it.” She wouldn’t look at him. Good thing, because in two sentences she’d managed to invoke jealousy and resignation he was nowhere near ready to feel. Not because her having partners before him made him want her any less. No, he’d just hoped she wouldn’t try to distance him with that knowledge. And like any man who felt for a woman, thinking of her with other men didn’t sit well. At. All.

“So, what you’re telling me is I’m a notch in your bedpost.” His jaw was bunched so tight it hurt to speak. “I just want to be clear.”

Her hesitation was brief. Too brief. But at least it told him he’d live to fight another day. “That about sums it up, Beck.”

Not trusting himself to speak, he nodded once. It took every ounce of his will not to look back as he walked out the door. Back to his empty apartment on base.

He’d give her until tonight. No longer.

Chapter Seven

Kenna stared out at the milling patrons of Bombs Away, her drink gone warm in her hand. The bar was packed tonight thanks to the live country western band currently playing “Sweet Home Alabama.” For the third time. The crowd consisted almost entirely of Black Rock soldiers, most of them men, which made Kenna and Darla veritable celebrities. Neither of them were feeling very chatty, however, and their expressions must have mirrored that, because after two rounds of drinks had been sent their way and rejected, they’d been left alone. Alone. Just the way she liked it.

She took a hefty swallow of room-temperature bourbon, hoping it would douse the guilt and anxiousness burning in her stomach. It only kindled the fire. God, she felt like pond scum.

“Why do we come here?” Darla grumbled beside her. “They don’t even have Wi-Fi.”

“They have cheap liquor.”

“Oh, right.”

Kenna twisted a red cocktail straw around her middle finger, the movement restless. She didn’t want to be at Bombs Away tonight any more than Darla, but avoidance had always been her knee-jerk reaction to anything uncomfortable, so why switch it up? If she stayed at her apartment, Beck might come over. And although she’d done her damnedest to sever their connection, if he showed up, she would drag him inside and ride him like a mountain bike. The best sex of her life just had to be with a stand-up guy, right? He just had to hold her so tightly while she slept that she woke with her heart lodged in her throat. At the very least, he could have been dismissive or ambivalent toward her work, right? No. No, he couldn’t. Major Beck motherfucking Collier.

Darla batted the straw out of her hand. “Stop fidgeting. That’s my thing.”

“Ouch.” She scowled at her friend. “What’s my thing then?”

“Brooding. You’re nailing it, by the way.” Darla heaved a sigh and returned her attention to the crowd. “You know, this is a big enough sausage festival even I could get laid. Your impression of a gargoyle is foiling any chance I have of male interaction.”

Kenna massaged her forehead. “I’m sorry. I dragged you out on a school night and I’m being a twat.”

“Yes, you are, but I know how you can atone.”

She quirked an eyebrow. Go on.

Darla dipped a finger into her cranberry juice and popped it into her mouth. “Tell me what happened with the virgin.”

“What?” Her spine snapped straight. “Don’t call him that. What?”

Darla snorted. “Your reaction is not telling whatsoever.” She shifted in the cracked leather booth to face Kenna. “Come on. Unburden yourself. It’ll be like, I don’t know, losing your virginity or something.”

“You’re the twat.”

“I’ll own that.” Darla stacked her hands beneath her chin and stared. “Wait-ing.”

Kenna set her bourbon down with a thunk. “He…spent the night.”

Her friend did a double take. “Uh, the whole night?”

She nodded.

“Like, sleeping until dawn, pass the milk, borrow your toothbrush—”

“Yeah, there was neither milk passing nor toothbrush borrowing, but it was dawn when he left.”

Darla was silent a moment. “You sent him packing.”

“Understatement.” Her stomach rebelled at the memory of Beck’s face after what she’d said. The lies she’d told to make him leave. Because what was the other option? Have him stay and do what? Eat pancakes? No. That wasn’t her. Okay, she might have developed some murky feelings for the major, but they couldn’t be more opposite. He was a relationship guy. She’d rather hear “Sweet Home Alabama” a fourth time. Sending Beck packing had done him a favor. Come Thursday morning, he could board the plane to Georgia with a clear conscience and some handy sexual experience. If she gave him any more encouragement, he might do something stupid. Like stay at Black Rock. For her. Which would make things much harder when he finally left. Because it would only be a matter of time.

No one stuck around forever.

“Can we drop it now?”

Darla lowered her glasses. “I haven’t said anything in ten minutes.”

“Huh.” Kenna reached for her glass, but her hand froze in midair when Beck walked in. On cue, her thighs felt hot, her breasts heavy. The oxygen in her lungs seeped out like air from a tire. In faded jeans and a fitted navy blue T-shirt, he was the male equivalent of a triple fudge sundae with a cherry on top. Every man in the bar stood at least half a foot shorter, save the dark-haired man at his side who was also pretty tall, but still quite didn’t reach Beck’s height. Shit, she was staring at him like a certified goober. He hadn’t seen her yet, thank Christ. She scooted into the shadows and ducked her head down. “He’s here. He’s here. Is there a back entrance?”

“Now there’s a question a virgin would ask,” Darla murmured. “He must have rubbed off on you.”

“Save the comedy act. We’re in full-on crisis mode.”

Darla calmly sipped her drink. “Point him out to me before we steal into the night. I earned that by putting up with your twattage. I want to see the first man who managed to breach your apartment door.”

Kenna dropped her head into her hands and groaned. “Blue T-shirt at the bar. You can’t miss him, he’s huge.”

Her gaze scanned the crowd and stopped, mouth falling open. “How did that stay a virgin?”

“Long story involving a preacher’s daughter and self-imposed abstinence.” Jealousy over the two-timing Mary bubbled in the region of her midsection and she ground her teeth. “Can we go?”

“You’re not going to introduce me?”

“Darla.”

“Okay, fine.” Darla scooted off the booth and stood. “You stay here lurking in the dark and I’ll scout alternative exits.”

She sent her friend a grateful look before hunkering down to wait.

* * *

The day was fast becoming the worst of Beck’s life. And when you’ve lived through sandstorms and had tiny pieces of shrapnel removed in the field, that was definitely saying something. On the barstool next to him sat his best friend, Cullen Flanagan. They’d gone through boot camp together, side by side. Prior to shipping out, he’d asked Cullen to watch out for his sister, Huntley, while he was gone. Cullen had agreed without question. Beck’s end of the bargain had been to look out for Xander Gibbons, one of Cullen’s recruits and mentees. Beck had failed in that endeavor.

After Cullen had recruited Xander right out of Arizona State, the younger man had surprised no one when he’d followed in Cullen’s impressive footsteps and chosen to specialize in EOD. Cullen had even submitted a request for Xander to train under him at Black Rock after he completed his basic training. The two really had been like brothers, hanging out after hours, too. Unfortunately, the fact that it had been Cullen to teach Xander how to properly disarm a bomb was the reason this conversation was so damn hard.

For six months Xander lived in Cullen’s shadow, learning everything he could, but it hadn’t been enough. As hard as this was on his friend, Beck knew it was only about to get harder.

“You’ve been back for two days?” Cullen tipped his bottle of Heineken back, his expression surly, which wasn’t exactly breaking news. They didn’t call him “Sullen Cullen” for nothing. Finishing his beer, he signaled for another. “You don’t even stop by the warehouse to say hey? What have you been doing with yourself?”

Avoiding this painful conversation. Getting lost in a beautiful, fascinating girl who couldn’t get enough or him one minute, and turned pricklier than a cactus the next.

Astute as usual, Cullen tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “You meet someone, man?”

He started to say no, since he had no concrete answers when it came to Kenna, only shifting sand beneath his feet, but he couldn’t deny his curiosity. Cullen would know of her, being that she was Sutton’s daughter. Might be able to tell him something useful. Hell, maybe another part of him wanted to delay the world of hurt he was about to put Cullen in. “Yeah. I met someone.” He shuffled the coaster between his hands on the bar. “Kenna Sutton.”

Cullen choked on his beer. “Say again?”

“I’m guessing you know her,” Beck said, trying to keep his voice even. Cullen was known for his reputation with women. If he’d spent time with Kenna, Beck didn’t know how he’d react. Definitely not well. “If you’ve dated her, you best tell me now and get it out in the open, but I’m seeing her again, regardless, so watch what you say.”

“Have I dated her?” Cullen laughed under his breath. “Are you serious?”

Beck’s neck heated, right hand curling into a fist at what he deemed confirmation that Cullen and Kenna had been involved. Breathe. “Do I look serious?”

Cullen gave a rare smile. “Relax, man. They call her No Men-na Kenna. She’s sealed up tighter than a nunnery at midnight.” When Beck narrowed his gaze, Cullen signaled for shots. “Not that I’ve made any attempts to scale the nunnery walls. Tempting though she is.”

Beck’s body relaxed in degrees, temper cooling like he’d been doused in ice water. She’d lied to him? In an attempt to push him away, no doubt. Too bad it hadn’t worked. Her past made no difference to him as long as he was in her present. Add to what he knew now—that Kenna’s behavior toward him had been out of the ordinary—and his bone-deep feeling had been proven correct. This gravity he felt when they were together wasn’t imaginary. She felt it too, dammit.

The wound in Beck’s side demanded he shift positions. Cullen eyed him curiously as the shots were poured before them, but didn’t comment. Beck left his shot untouched, but didn’t object when Cullen motioned for anther round. This was it. A little fortification wouldn’t hurt, and alcohol might help numb Cullen to the blow Beck was about to deliver.

No more putting it off. He’d had the trip home to digest how things went down over there, but it would be fresh for Cullen. As if Xander had just died.

“Beck!”

His sister’s warm voice brought him up short. Until hearing her speak, he hadn’t realized exactly how much he’d missed Huntley. He’d been away so long, concentrating on the job, staying alive…keeping others alive. After a while, missing his family had become an ache he’d learned to live with. An old injury. Having her familiar, smiling face so close made it new again. “Huntley.” He stood and pulled her into a bear hug. “You look just the same.”

“You look a touch meaner.” She stepped back, wiping tears from her eyes. “When you helped get me this job here, I had this crazy idea you would be around. I’m so mad at you for being gone forever, I could smash something.”

“Now that would be an interesting change,” Cullen said behind him. “Your brother asked me to look out for you, but I can only check up on you at the library or coffeehouse so many times before I die of boredom.”

She pursed her lips, but humor danced in her eyes. “Check out a book next time. You might learn something useful.”

Cullen winked at her. “Curiosity killed the cat, sweetheart.”

Beck wanted to stay quiet, observe this new dynamic between his best friend and once painfully shy sister. When she first arrived at Black Rock, Huntley hadn’t been able to look at Cullen without turning red, but she’d apparently gotten over her shyness while Beck had been gone. If he could have sat there all night and left the news weighing down his shoulders for another time, he’d do it, no question, but the longer he waited, the harder it would be to get the words out.

“Huntley,” Beck started, then immediately had to stop to clear his aching throat. “I didn’t expect you tonight. There’s something I need to speak with Cullen about. Let’s meet tomorrow.”

“You can’t tell me whatever it is, too?” his sister asked, a flicker of hurt in her blue eyes. Rightly so, considering she was his twin and there had been a time they’d shared almost everything.

Cullen had gone still, except for his knuckles tapping on the bar.

One of the drawbacks of going through basic training with someone meant there were no surprises. Beck’s tone had been enough to warn the other man. “Had a feeling this wasn’t just a friendly get-together.”

Cullen inhaled and motioned for another round of shots. They were poured in swift order and he downed his glass in one motion. Beck didn’t touch the one sitting in front of him, his gaze fastened to his friend. Cullen motioned at Beck’s waiting glass. “You going to drink that?”

“I’m good, man,” Beck replied, wincing when Cullen downed the hatch.

Huntley blinked at Cullen, disapproval beginning to color her expression. “I didn’t realize we were getting drunk tonight.”

“I didn’t realize you needed to be consulted.”

“Is that how you speak to my sister?” Taking a breath to allay his irritation, Beck shifted again to ease the pressure on his wound. “We’ll have this discussion later.”

Cullen continued to stare straight ahead, not a hint of emotion on his face. “It’s about Xander, isn’t it? You finally gonna tell me what happened over there?” A muscle ticked in his cheek. He gestured for another drink and watched impassively as it was poured. “When you called to tell us he wouldn’t be coming home, I knew you were holding back. You’re a shit liar, Beck. Out with it. How’d he die? What the hell happened over there?”

There would be no swaying his friend once stubbornness had set in, but dammit, he hadn’t wanted an audience. Huntley and Cullen might be friends now, but Beck doubted he would want her to hear this. This was Beck’s fault. He should have been more vigilant. If he’d fulfilled his promise to protect Xander, none of this would be happening. “If I could keep this from you forever, I would, because there’s no sense in both of us feeling guilty, Cullen. But it’s going to come out in the casualty report this week and I want it to come from me.”

Both Huntley and Cullen remained very still.

Beck released a weary sigh. “We were extracting a group of POWs. They’d been there a week, but we couldn’t get close enough or get an accurate count of the insurgents guarding them.” He swallowed hard. “One of the POWs was a high-profile journalist and there was pressure to act faster than I felt comfortable with. We went in at night…and they’d moved locations through an underground tunnel. We missed them by mere minutes and when we entered the tunnel, there was an explosive device waiting for us.” Cullen tensed beside him but maintained his hundred-yard stare. Beck closed his eyes, scenes from the tunnel bombarding him from all sides. “Xander was the most experienced specialist among us, but he—”

“Finish what you have to say,” Cullen demanded, his voice quiet.

“He got it wrong.” Wood splintering, earth falling, shrapnel lodging in his side. Being unable to reach his friend. “The explosive went off and half the tunnel caved in. Most of us were in an offshoot that remained standing.” Huntley pressed her face to his shoulder and Beck wrapped an arm around her. “This isn’t on you.” It’s on me. “No amount of training—”

Beck didn’t even flinch when Cullen’s fist shot out, sending the shot glasses crashing behind the bar because he’d known it was coming. Nor was he surprised when Cullen scraped back in his chair and took off toward the bar exit.

Beck started to go after Cullen, but Huntley, her eyes full of unshed tears, laid a hand on his arm. “I’ll go.” She rubbed her nose. “I’m a nurse. I work with grief-stricken soldiers every day. He thinks he’s responsible, and that’s worse than grief.” She looked in the direction Cullen had gone, then back at Beck. “It’s going to take him some time.” Her blue eyes sharpened on him. Her hand reached out and touched his side through his shirt, as though assessing his injury. “I’m glad you’re back and it’s over, but you could have died over there, too, Beck. You’re a part of me. I couldn’t have handled that. Please don’t keep anything like that from me again.”

“I won’t.”

He only had a second to marvel over how strong his sister had become in his absence before she turned and went after Cullen. When the door of the bar slammed closed behind her, Beck felt it reverberate in his head, like a gunshot going off, telling him he shouldn’t have come home. More than anything, he wished he’d made different judgment calls that would’ve resulted in having his friend home healthy. If such things were possible, he’d have switched places with Xander. Too heavy. The weight of that night, the things he’d heard and seen, was a two-hundred-pound anvil tied to his neck.

Without having made a conscious decision, Beck pushed back from the bar, his destination already a foregone conclusion in his mind. Kenna. Her name was synonymous with comfort, with losing himself, being taken to a place where he didn’t have to think or hurt. He tossed a handful of bills onto the bar and started to leave, but a prickle at the back of his neck gave him pause. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? No. There she stood, about halfway down the bar. Another girl tugged on her arm, urging her in the opposite direction, but Kenna wasn’t budging. She watched him, an odd expression on her face.

Beck didn’t second-guess himself. He went for her.