The Captive's Return

"Entre," she answered low.



Twisting the knob, he nudged open the door. Lucia was already tucked in asleep on a cot against the wall, a stark sheet over her.



Sara sat cross-legged on the bed by an open window. He thought about cautioning her to move away, but they were on the inside of a quadrangle layout—safe enough for her to enjoy fresh air from the enclosed courtyard since the air conditioner was on the fritz. He imagined she might feel claustrophobic for a while to come.



He'd spoken with Tomas after the boy's conversation with Sara. Her brother was worried about her and the adjustments ahead. Tomas hadn't doubted for a second what happened to her, a gift of trust Lucas still wished like hell he could have given her from the start.



Sara had been so emphatic when they'd made love about not being pampered. She'd wanted all-out passion, no restraints. He hadn't been difficult to persuade—and damn, he needed to quit thinking about that or he would be hitting the cold shower.



Instead, he leaned in the doorway, amazed at how this woman with her bubbles and strong will had grabbed hold of her fate and broken free for their daughter. Sara had always dazzled him, but in their time apart, she'd matured into one helluva steely woman.



He, however, had lost too much of himself over the past five years to be a better man, when he hadn't been enough for her in the first place. How could he offer her the sensitivity she needed to get through this transition time? Sara herself had said he couldn't be responsible for someone else's heart when he couldn't find his own.



Except he could have sworn he was hearing his in his ears again.



Her head tipped to the side as she watched him watch her. He could feel the heat of her gaze grazing over him, finally pulling from his eyes, down his flight suit to the tips of his boots and up again. "You're you again."



That was good? "I'm sorry about the lack of privacy."



"Me, too. You know I would like to be with you tonight, but, well..." Waving a hand toward their sleeping daughter, Sara shrugged.



"Ditto." Definitely ditto. He may not have much to offer her emotionally, but at least in bed he gave her all she wanted, needed.



Demanded.



He grinned. Then winced, willing down the twitch of arousal.



Lucas pointed to the bowl and straw in her lap. "If that's supper, I think I'll pass."



"Not supper. Although I did eat, I promise. I've been checking my glucose levels faithfully and even received a total okay from the doctor." Smiling, she leaned over the bowl, put the straw between her lips, sucked lightly, straightened....



Blowing a long stream of small, perfect bubbles out the open window.



He shoved away from the door and toed it closed quietly to keep from disturbing Lucia, not thai the little one seemed likely to stir even if a bomb detonated outside. "Where did you find that on a military base?"



"I made it from kitchen dish soap." Straw to her lips again, she launched a barrage of bubbles lofting out the window skyward. "I wanted to make a test batch before trying them with Lucia tomorrow to keep her entertained until it's time to leave."



"Good idea." He scratched the back of his neck, closing the distance between them. "There's a Base Exchange store here, too, where we can pick up clothes for you both."



"The copilot, Darcy, mentioned that. She offered to escort us around." Sara passed a small bag to him.



Huh? He took the bag and peered inside. "Sunflower seeds?"



"I noticed Darcy chews them all the time. When I asked where she got them, she was generous enough to share hers with us. I thought you would like to feed your birds."



The bag gained ten pounds in his hand. In the middle of a crappy day running from maniac gunmen, Sara had thought he would enjoy feeding birds?



She was right. He could use the stress reliever. Did she know that, too?



Embarrassment and more than a little unease sent his voice gruff. "You didn't tell her about my hobby, did you?"



"Of course not. That's our secret." She puffed a big teasing bubble toward his face. "What a wonderful coincidence for Darcy and her husband that they're both working here at the same time and sharing a room, as well."



The "practicality" of the sleeping arrangements had brought matching big, goofy-ass grins from both Max and Darcy Keagan. The squadron would probably be celebrating another baby shower in about nine months. Someone had actually hinted at having a belated shower for Lucia after she'd called him papa.



He would have to make formal announcements soon. Although the way the gossip mill churned in a squadron, he suspected everyone would know before they touched down. "Max Keagan was already here and when the rest shook down for our crews to fly..."



"You put her on the roster so she could see her husband, you softie."



He leaned by the window, staring out into the stark patch of lawn illuminated by security lights, no manicured gardens here. Just utilitarian grass and a few scraggly rose bushes along the wall. "If my flyers are happy at home, they're stronger at work."



"Admit it. You are a softie inside."



"I'll show you soft, lady." He winked, enjoying the lightness she brought to his life even when they couldn't pursue anything beyond flirting.



He pitched a handful of seeds out the window even though the birds wouldn't feed en masse until morning. They'd all be there in the morning when he woke up, though, thanks to Sara. "My squadron's going to think I've lost it."



"Maybe you don't lose it near enough."



"Like never?"



"You said it, not me."



He tossed another handful without commenting. What could he answer after all? She was right again.



"I've always loved bubbles. At first I enjoyed the way they glistened like clear diamonds back when I had all these airy dreams of a glamorous life." She dipped the straw in the soapy solution. "Then I envied them their ability to float away."



She whispered a tiny trail out the window.



Realization spiraled through his brain much like those soapsuds scattering to the sky. "You blew bubbles at Chavez's?"



"All the time." She kept her face toward the window as if only half with him. "I told him they were for the children, but they were really for me. So I could leave."



The image of the whimsical woman with an indomitable spirit subdued—caged—stabbed through him, hard, unrelenting, until it burned behind his eyes with tears he could never let himself shed but felt all the same.



He understood the depth of her helplessness. He knew firsthand how tough it could be for a strong will to be vulnerable. "When I was a teenager, I used to sit on the fire escape outside our apartment. I fed the birds then watched them glide away."



Her head cocked to the side, hair hanging until it just missed dipping into the bowl. "Our glider date."



"What?"



"You said the birds glided away, which made me think of our glider date when you told me that was the first craft you flew. You fly like your birds."



He'd forgotten how insightful she could be. "I guess I do."



"To leave the rest behind like I did at Ramon's."



Maybe more insightful than he liked. He crumpled the empty bag. "You're reading too much into what I said."



"Am I?" She set aside the bowl and joined him by the window. "Who came out there with you?"



"Sara—"



"You sat there alone to be safe in your neighborhood?"



"Ditch the sympathy." He lobbed the wadded bag into the trash. "I would have been antisocial in a big family in middle-class suburbs. That's the way I'm wired."



"Of course," she said to pacify him, no doubt. She leaned her head against the window frame, staring outside and inhaling.



He sniffed and, damn, the rose bushes outside scented the air. He wouldn't have noticed if not for her. The rise and fall of her chest as she savored the smell proved hypnotic. He reached through the window and plucked a bloom, ignoring a thorn prick, a fair price to pay. When Lucas pulled his arm inside, her eyes were still closed. "I wanted you to know that if a hard-ass like me could watch birds fly away, then you probably shouldn't feel silly about blowing bubbles with your kid and making a few wishes of your own."



He stroked the rose down her cheek.



Her lashes fluttered open, her lips parting with surprise, then a sigh as she closed her eyes again. Her head fell back, which he took as an open invitation. He skimmed the flower over her collarbone and wondered why he'd never thought to do this before. The woman adored flowers and he loved...



Whoa.



What?



Yeah.



He loved Sara. He'd been scared as hell of loving her before, more so since losing her. But no one grieved as hard as he had without strong emotion, the strongest. Which brought him full circle.



Here he was, loving her, wanting her, and he still wasn't certain how she felt. Sure she needed him, but there were plenty of people who could take care of her.



Not this way though, damn it. He teased the rose down her arm, an innocent touch in comparison to others they'd shared. He thought of her tears when they'd made love.



He knew now how strong she was. But whether she wanted to admit it or not, all Chavez's crap would have left marks on her.



Lucas guided the rose like a paintbrush over each finger on her left hand, lingering on the spot he intended to put his ring someday. He would never take simple pleasures for granted again. For now, he wanted to pamper her as she deserved. Of course they couldn't have sex while a child slept a few feet away.



He would just have to show Sara they could feel alive in a variety of ways.



Sweeping aside the plastic curtain in the tiny shower stall, Sara reached for a towel in the empty bathroom.



Empty?



She stifled disappointment. After the way Lucas had teased her with the rose, she'd half expected him to join her. But of course Lucia was in the next room, and even with guards posted, Ramon's threat loomed.



Still she wouldn't have minded one stolen kiss to carry her through the rest of the night. Not that she looked particularly alluring with her straggly wet hair and jogging shorts and T-shirt, both in drab gray with USAF stamped on them in dark blue letters. Borrowed from the taller Darcy Renshaw, the clothes hung loosely, but at least they were clean.



She shrugged off silly vanity. She and Lucas were beyond that, right? They were both more practical souls these days. Or rather, he had always been pragmatic and she'd finally caught up. She would enjoy the gift of sleeping in his arms, replaying in her mind the things he'd shared with her, more in a few minutes than during the months they'd dated and made love.



Sara swung open the door to their shared room, blinking to adjust to the dark. Was he already asleep? It was after one in the morning, and he'd already pushed himself beyond normal human endurance. She creaked the bathroom door wider to slant enough light through to make her way across without kicking something over and disturbing Lucia or Lucas. Illumination slanted over the double bed.



A bed scattered with rose petals.



A lean, gorgeous man stretched out in the middle, apparently uncaring that his flight suit and boots would smell like flowers. "I know we can't do anything much with the kiddo nearby. But I figured, hey—" he shrugged "—I still owe you some 'morning after' romance."



"This is lovely. Gracias." She strolled toward the bed and hitched a knee on the edge of the mattress.



"De nada. Now come here." He reached for her, gripping her by the waist and lifting.



What was he...?



He plopped her in the middle of the bed and situated himself behind her, his hands on her shoulders. He fit her between his legs, which brought her bottom resting snug right against...



"Lucas?"



"More of the 'morning after' romance pampering stuff." His fingers massaged the base of her neck, grazing lower until his palms pressed along her aching back. Ahhh, what she would have given for the magic of his touch during her pregnancy.