“I have to finish it, Janet. It’s not up for any kind of debate. I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you with that, but I have to be honest about it. I don’t want to lose you over it, Christ, I don’t.” She saw the anguish rise in his gaze. “Even if you think it’s too soon, I mean it. I’m in love with you, head over heels, whatever you want to call it. Wherever you are during the day, I feel this connection between us, a pull, like a…”
“Tether?” she suggested. His eyes crinkled at the corners.
“If you like.” He took a breath. “But you’re right. It’s not fair. If you need to end it between us, so you don’t get in any deeper, you say the word. I’ll turn around and take you home right now. It’ll rip my fucking heart out of my chest, but I’ll leave you alone until it’s done. If you still want me when it’s over…”
If he was around when it was over. She caught his wrist, held it tight in her grip. “What I’m worrying about is something different, Max. I need you to hear me.”
He twisted his wrist gently, catching her fingers in his. “I hear everything you say, Mistress. You know that. I just don’t always obey.”
She grimaced at his wry expression, suppressing the desire to box his ears. “Getting away from Jorge was extremely personal to me. However, while I was planning for it, even doing it…it was like I was an entirely different person, because the environment, the focus, it was all about that goal. Your life is more than that now. K&A, Dale, Amanda…me.”
“I know that.”
She shook her head. “But do you think about how it makes you different? I expect when you did missions, there was a certain detachment. Even when you went after the first two men, you were still close enough to that part of your life that you probably shifted into the protocol you’d been trained to follow. It kept you detached, focused. In control. But think about all the time that’s passed since then. Despite your appalling lack of home décor, you’re living in a different world now. This is your life, not a mission environment.”
His gaze became thoughtful. “You think I’m too close to this. I’ve made it too personal, and I could make mistakes.”
“Yes,” she said bluntly. “I understand you feel you have to go after him. But promise me you’ll think about that.”
He nodded. “I will. I promise.”
He would, and it wouldn’t change a damn thing about his course of action, only how he approached it. But maybe that would help keep him alive. She had to hold on to that. Seeing a person who’d been violently murdered was something that never left the mind, and it was far too easy to put Max’s vacant staring eyes, his bloody face, on Jorge’s body. She closed her eyes, folded her hands in her lap, even as she continued to lean against Max to keep herself balanced on the rail.
“Promise me you’ll also think about what I suggested, about Amanda. If you feel you must do this and something does happen, it’s not a bad idea to make sure there are others in Amanda’s life to take up the slack. She made a connection with me. I’d be happy to be one of those…” Her voice cracked, thinking of seeing those gray eyes in Amanda’s face, but never again in Max’s. She stiffened as he lifted a hand to touch her. “Don’t,” she said sharply.
He put the hand down, his face now expressionless. She’d hurt him, but he was hurting her. It was only fair.
“But I think it needs to be a handful of people. It might be better overall for her. Also, even if nothing happens to you…sharing the load helps share the pain.”
They studied each other silently. “Do you want me to take you home?” he asked at last.
“No.” She looked down at where her hip pressed against his side. Despite not wanting him to touch her face, her body had betrayed her true desires, maintaining that contact. Sighing, she slid her fingertips down a fold of his shirt, feeling the heat and solidity of the man beneath. “There’s nothing more pointless than running away from someone because you think they’re going to break your heart.”
He closed his fingers over hers, his thumb passing over her wrist. It was a tentative touch for both of them, full of things unsaid. “I’m going to try like hell not to do that, Janet. I promise.”
She nodded, tracing his knuckles. A few more moments passed between them, then he reached out with the other hand, tapping the opening of her purse where the bag of Cheetos was visible. “Care to share some of those?”
Janet gave him a look of pained amusement. “Do you never stop thinking with your stomach?”
“I’m a growing boy, and they’re right there and everything.”
The air had shifted between them, the anger gone. What would be, would be. She rolled her eyes, pulled the bag out and withdrew one of the crunchy pieces, lifting it to his mouth. As he took it, he put his lips on her fingers, drawing them in. His hand closed around her wrist so that even when he let them go, he held on to her.
“You turned my fingers orange,” she accused, giving him a frown. He licked the powder off, then wiped her fingers on his T-shirt. She snorted at that, tried to pull away, but he held her, his other arm sliding around her waist to ensure she didn’t pull back too vigorously and topple off the fence. It was literally impossible to stay furious with the man.
“I’ve seen some of the Mistresses in the club do that,” he said, nodding to the bag. “Feed a collared slave at their feet. You’ve done it a couple times.”
“Yes. It’s very moving, to have a man take food from your hand. Wine from your mouth.” Retrieving the bottle of water, she took a drink of it, then curved her other hand around the back of his neck, bringing him to her lips. Mouth-to-mouth intimacy wasn’t something she encouraged with her club hookups, but she did well enough now to transfer the water to his mouth without spillage and still get a nice taste of Max and the lingering flavor of the Cheetos.
He curled his fingers into her hips, pulling her closer to him, and then he abandoned the reserve of the past few moments. He took her off the fence, hiking her up his body so her legs wrapped over his hips and he had her propped against the post to brace them both. The functional exchange of food and drink became a deep, needy kiss, a reminder they hadn’t had carnal knowledge of one another since they left New Orleans, an interminable amount of time. He made the kiss demanding and more than a little possessive, as if he was verifying his claim on her despite the near miss. In return she was a little angry, biting at his mouth, digging her nails into the bare skin beneath his collar.
He didn’t retreat from it an inch, taking everything she inflicted and giving her back his desire, pushing himself firmly against her core. When he finally pulled back, his gray eyes were molten.
“We need to get to that campsite,” he said.
They hadn’t made any decisions or resolved anything, at least not in words, but the kiss was the answer. Frustrated, stubborn, passionate and yearning all at once. Breaking it off with him wasn’t going to be an option for her. Not anymore. It might nearly kill her, losing him, but it was as Gayle said. There was a point past which it was no longer on the table. Somehow, they’d already passed that point.
* * * * *
When they reached the park, Max shouldered a backpack, which contained their tent as well as a few other items they’d need for their overnight, and hoisted a cooler on his shoulder. Then he took her hand with his free one. In that manner, she experienced her first hiking-to-a-campsite experience. She looked over her shoulder toward the more populated area, which also included a bathhouse, but he just gave her that charming smile and told her being at a more remote location would outweigh the perk of a communal shower.
She wasn’t so sure about that, but the walk was beautiful, taking them across several bridges and open natural areas. It wasn’t overly strenuous, and yet he refused to let her carry anything except the small tote containing her toiletries and a change of clothes. “Just enjoy the scenery, Mistress,” he said, giving her a wink. Since there were times when the trail narrowed to the point that he preceded her, she couldn’t argue with the advice. Watching him bear the cooler on his broad shoulder, the shift of thigh and ass muscles under his jeans as he navigated the terrain, wasn’t a hardship at all, though it made her even more eager for them to get to their campsite.
The spot he’d picked out was in a birch forest. The trees were spaced widely enough to allow them a tent, and there was an appealing hushed tranquility. She was still thinking about that bathhouse, but seeing the location, she was more willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.
She learned how to put up a tent with his help, observed with fascination while he made them a campfire. He was as comfortable living out in nature as she was in her colorful bedroom with its many comforts. He’d provided a rollout foam mattress for the tent, complete with a couple pillows. When he camped alone, she suspected he was fine sleeping on the hard ground. Then she remembered his aversion to the cold and rethought that, noting he’d brought three tightly rolled blankets.
She didn’t think staying warm was going to be a problem, however. Not with the intense gazes they kept exchanging and that aura of heat she felt between their bodies, even on the trail. More than once she savored the memory of him wandering around shirtless doing Gayle’s yard work. That kiss on the fence was still branded on her brain.
A freshwater stream gurgled less than fifty feet from their site, and while he went to fill a jug with water, she knelt on the foam pad in the tent, ran her fingers over it. She remembered that first night Max had slept at her place. In the morning, he’d gotten up to go do a run. She chose to sleep in, trying not to hate him for his self-discipline, but when he left the bed, she automatically shifted into his spot, absorbing the heat he’d left, his scent. He’d paused over tying his shoe, head lifting to watch her.
Thinking of what Gayle said about sleeping in her husband’s spot, she wondered if that was a common thing for SEAL wives. For military spouses, period. Had Max known about it, explaining his oddly pleased and touched expression?