Her Special Forces
by Sophia Roslyn
Copyright © 2014 by Sophia Roslyn. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Prologue
Kennebunkport, Maine
Present
The intruder found the only squeaky floor board in her bedroom. Gemma’s eyes popped open. On the bedside table, the digital clock face showed 2:32 a.m.
The person didn’t avoid the board, which ruled out any of the household staff. A stranger. The prowler passed in front of a window, momentarily silhouetted by the diffused light from the outdoor security lamps. Tall. Bulky. A man. Gemma froze.
Fear and bravery fought for top spot. A burglar? But what about the high-tech security system? She could scream, hope he panicked, and took off, or play possum until he left. Fear quickly persuaded her that the possum trick was the best option.
She lost track of the figure as silence again claimed the dark room. Maybe he found what he wanted. Maybe he left.
Except that he hadn’t. Without warning, he came up too quietly from the wrong side of her bed, ripped the protective cocoon of blankets off her. He grabbed a handful of her hair, slapped a damp rag across her nose and mouth.
No time to scream.
Chapter One
Winterpine, New Hampshire
Present
Hallucinations were a hell of a way to start the day.
She knew she must be having a hallucination, since Nathan Weatherly couldn’t be in Winterpine. She knew he couldn’t possibly have strolled past the Farmer’s Dell organic produce market, looking supremely cocky and oh-so-handsome. She’d left him at Delaram Forward Operations Base in Afghanistan. A Navy SEAL had no reason to hang around her touristy little village, right? Right.Well, except for ex-team member Jonah, but he didn’t count because he did live in town and she knew he was real.
Ponytail swinging in time with her steady seven-mile-an-hour pace, U.S.M.C. Captain Kacey O’Donnell, recently retired, acknowledged her delusion and locked it down, continuing her morning run to the Sweets Treats bakery. Her mission: acquire two extra-large coffees, freshly brewed—black, beige packets of raw sugar on the side—plus two toasted, buttered, cranberry-walnut corn muffins, made from scratch every day. Daily routines had become essential to her, since she’d bailed on her career as a Marine attack helo pilot. No more Viper. Sad, but she still missed her bird.
Leaving the bakery with her goods securely stashed in a zippered Lunchasaurus bag, she zigged and zagged across the intersection, past a bilious yellow SUV stopped at the red light, its windows plastered with school and soccer decals and kids’ grubby fingerprints. Holding the bag upright so the coffee wouldn’t slosh, she sprinted by an elderly woman walking an equally elderly Chihuahua with a rhinestone collar that matched its leash. The Lilliputian canine barely wasted a couple of short yaps on her before it returned to the important business of ground sniffing.
Not believing in the power of prayer, Kacey at least hoped the hallucination would stay confined. Confidence was high that the man she thought she saw was not Nathan Weatherly. No sense getting all worked up without a good reason. After all, what were the chances—and why would Nathan be strolling through her hometown? She considered that. Probably because she’d left him high and dry—no pun intended—in the freakin’ desert, and he hadn’t deserved it. He’d always had her back, and what had she done? Slithered away like a lizard in the hot sand, without explanation.
Worried that her brain had played yet another trick on her, her breathing kicked up a notch. So what if last night’s trick turned out badly? She’d survived the nightmares until dawn’s early light to fight another day. She’d wrestled the fear back to the netherworld from which it sprang. She’d be fine. Jonah Taylor, Doctor of Family Medicine, former SEAL, Nathan’s best friend, obviously continued to be wrong. She didn’t need meds. She didn’t need therapy. At least not yet. Good exercise endorphins should kick in at any moment, and she hadn’t even had her morning caffeine fix. Yeah, she’d be just fine.
Still balancing the zippered coffee bag by its strap, she hopped up the wide concrete stairs to the Winterpine Police Department offices, backed against one of the heavy glass doors, pushed it inward with her butt. Mid-shove, she announced her arrival. “Sheriff, the coffee’s still hot, and you know damn well that I don’t serve.”
As she turned, a solid body blocked her forward motion, forced an oof out of her. “Hey, buddy, you’d better watch where you’re going, or someone’s gonna—”
Sea green eyes met honeyed hazel. Familiar fresh-as-summer-rain aftershave assailed her nostrils. She reared back so suddenly she lost her balance. Worse, she nearly lost her grip on the coffee carrier. Omigod, she really was losin’ it. Maybe Jonah was right after all, and she was overdue for meds. Loads of meds. Eyes squeezed tightly shut, she counted to three. The image didn’t disappear when she opened them. She counted this as her second daytime hallucination, both in the same morning, both during awake time. Not a good thing.
A hand shot out from the unyielding wall of great smelling man and grabbed her by the upper arm. Okay, definitely too solid to be a hallucination.
The voice, male and smooth as honey. “I guess you haven’t learned to slow down yet, O’Donnell. Still pinballin’ all over the place without watching where you’re going. Some things never change.”
Surroundings disappeared behind a crawling fog. Try as she might, Kacey couldn’t breathe. Crucial air remained trapped in her lungs, which refused to inhale or exhale. It was him. Navy SEAL Captain Nathan Weatherly wasn’t someone a woman could forget. Not ever.
It was the SEAL who’d nicked her flight helmet one night and painted “Hellhound” across the front in bright yellow marker. The SEAL who referred to her AH-1W Super Viper attack helicopter as his personal watchdog service, who painted Cerberus, Guardian of Hades, on the nose of her helo with white shoe polish.
It hadn’t been true, of course. She hadn’t been his personal driver. She and her copilot-gunner flew ground cover for the infantry troops in the hot zones. That had been early on, when she still loved her job. Early on, when she still got off on the nearly orgasmic thrill of launching and landing the helo as if it were a mighty bird of prey, the mythical Firebird, a powerful mechanical extension of her mortal body, deadly weapons at the ready.
If she’d been a dragon, the rush of air that finally roared out of her lungs would have incinerated everyone in the station. “Weatherly? What the fuck?”
The sheriff, Big Bob MacCaffreecame up behind Nathan, his large, stocky frame taking up half the cubic feet of space in front of the counter that separated police dispatch from civilians. “Nice mouth on you, Kace. I know your momma taught you better manners than that. You know Captain Weatherly, right?”
She totally ignored the question.
Big Bob reached for the teal and periwinkle dinosaur lunch bag, unzipped it, removed his breakfast from the interior cardboard drink tray. “Aww, for me? It would be so nice to drink my coffee hot, instead of letting it get cold while you stand there, gawking like a tourist.”
He sipped from the opening in the plastic lid, smacked his lips. “Mmm. You’re lucky—it’s just right. Kacey, don’t you be chasin’ away my new deputy sheriff, hear me?”
Weatherly’s surprise appeared genuine. He cleared his throat. “Sheriff, you decided already?”
“What’s to decide, son? On one hand, due to weird circumstances beyond my control, I have four full-time deputies, ten part-time deputies, and only two training officers to ride herd on the whole lot of ’em. Most of those boys are fresh from the Academy. Half of them don’t look old enough to shave. They are, but they don’t look it. Good men, technically proficient, but not seasoned. On the other hand, you’re mature, experienced, overqualified, and agreed to be sadly underpaid, which is perfect. Definitely someone I can groom to take over, so I can finally retire. The brook trout will hear the news and tremble with fear.”
Nathan, living in town? Kacey’s nipples tightened the same instant her gut clenched. This didn’t bode well for her. But being in town meant he wasn’t dead, which was good. The conflicts just added to her current level of insanity—wanting his hot body panting over hers in a soft bed, yet wanting him to go away. Far away.
Invisible bands across her chest ratcheted down tightly as she fought to regroup. Arms folded across her exercise-dampened bosom, she threw her best smirk at Big Bob. “And here I thought you planned to expire in harness, like an old plow horse.”
“You watch that smart mouth, girly. I swear, I don’t know where your bad manners are comin’ from.” He took another swig of coffee, heaved a contented sigh.
She wrinkled her nose. “I hung out with you when I was too young to know better, that’s what happened. Picked up nasty habits. Keep buggin’ me, and you’ll lose your daily coffee and bakery delivery.”
“Won’t happen. You love me too much.” The man with the football blocker body and the once-black hair that was now short and grizzled turned toward his private office, coffee and muffin nearly lost in his giant paws. “Plus, you wouldn’t be cruel enough to force me to drink the motor oil they brew in the break room.”
A lanky deputy squeezed his way through the trio of bodies, grabbed the remote for the television mounted on the waiting room wall. “Chief, check this out.” He cranked up the volume.
“…the FBI has no leads at the moment. Again, Gemma Mansfield, eleven-year-old daughter of Senator John Mansfield, is missing from her bed at the family’s summer home in Kennebunkport, Maine. The senator was not in residence at the time. He and his entourage are returning to the compound after cutting short what has been rumored to be a special meeting with the governor in the capital city of Augusta. Viewers will recall that Senator Mansfield recently lost his wife, popular socialite and philanthropist Maria Tostini Mansfield, in a tragic single-car motor vehicle accident. So far, no ransom demand has been received. The FBI and local law enforcement personnel are tight-lipped as…”
Big Bob shook his head. “That’s not going to end well, I can feel it in these old bones. Kacey, they need you on that hunt. You always had a special gift for outthinking the bad guys. Should have come to work for me, instead of the Marines. Not that I begrudge the USMC their crackerjack pilot, of course. Better yet, the FBI, that’s where you would have been the most use. Even the CIA. I have contacts—you could still give ’em a call, y’know.”
Her throat, as well as her chest, tightened at his suggestions. Breathe, dammit, breathe. A squawk was all she could manage. “No more. Retired, remember?” Sheriff, I love ya like a father, but stay out of my life. You all need to stay out of my freakin’ life.
He made a rude noise. “The hell you say. Someone like you never gives up, never retires. It’s in your blood. Your daddy and all your greats and great-greats would never give up.”
Maybe once upon a time, but she didn’t have enough left to give. Her throat still restricted, she couldn’t manage a reply, not even a smartass comeback. She could only shake her head, while she did her best to ignore up-and-coming new sheriff’s deputy Nathan Weatherly. While she did her best to ignore her body’s insistence that hot, wet, naked flesh-upon-flesh was the only acceptable form of hello, Nathan.
Township employees were clocking in for the day shift. Some hurried to their desks to view the breaking news on their smartphones and iPods and iPhones, others gathered around the flat-screen televisions that hung on walls throughout the offices.
Then there were the women who all too obviously checked out the new man on campus. In such a small town, reports of the arrival of fresh meat, single and gorgeous, would spread like wildfire. But women had no idea what they’d be letting themselves in for. Once in his arms, any woman would be ruined for run-of-the-mill, common garden variety men. One taste of his lips…
Damn. She finally managed to sneak an honest look while his attention remained riveted to the television screen, her first since she’d left him behind in Delaram.
Yep, there he stood, large as life, looking romance-book-cover luscious in a tailored navy blue sport jacket, light blue V-necked pullover, black Dockers, black dress boots, which she knew would be Salvatore Ferragamo’s. His only adornments were a brushed aluminum diver’s watch and his Navy SEAL trident ring. He’d let his military-cropped hair grow out. Now thick and lush, the richly golden waves were tucked behind his ears and fell to his collar. Put back in uniform—except for the new length of his hair—he could be the next cardboard cutout poster boy for recruitment offices. Join the Navy, See the World.
Nathan turned, boldly matching what she thought had been her covert scrutiny. His expression wasn’t arrogant, exactly, more like assured. Always so secure, his confidence barely missed swinging over to full-blown swagger.
His gaze smoldered as if they’d been writhing in each other’s arms barely moments before, instead of so many months ago. As if she’d continued to be numero uno on his hit parade. His thickly-lashed eyes still reminded her of fresh, deep gold honey produced by bees that pollinated only the plumpest, sweetest blueberries. Hot blood pooled in her lower extremities, and it wasn’t from running.
Scenes flared up, invaded her brain. Images of how he’d looked just as scorching, as sexy, and as fantastic in smeared camo face paint and sweat-soaked combat fatigues. Of course, he’d looked even better freshly showered and wearing nothing to cover his tanned, somewhat scarred but still beautiful hide. With her nostrils drawing in his scent, her nipples reminded her clit, which reminded her pussy, causing her girly bits to race from tingly to painfully tight in a flash.
“So, darlin’, did you miss me?”
Ahh, yes, and there emerged the finishing touch. His voice, deep and sensual, smooth as melted Richart chocolate, the vocal equivalent of bedroom eyes. A woman could overdose just by listening to him speak. A masculine, land-bound siren.
Facing him was mandatory; the sigh, involuntary. “Fuck. Nathan, go away.”
She recognized the effort he put into his boyish, innocent look, complete with his hands tucked into his front pockets, a favorite pose of his when he wished to be especially charming. Successful more often than not, but she wasn’t buying the charade, not for a moment. She was more than familiar with the hardness, the tough steel core that lurked behind the boyish demeanor. She knew the SEAL beneath the act.
“Kilo Delta, you could say hello—might be a good beginning.”
Knocked off her emotional pins, she froze for a microsecond, then found her voice. “Kilo Delta died in Afghanistan. Let her rest in peace.”
He nearly hid the creases of pain in his face, which instantly aged him beyond his fortyish years. Nearly, but not quite. “All right, Kay-cee. Hello. How are you?”
“I’m fine. Great. Wonderful. Couldn’t be better. Now, go away.”
His half-smile forced his cheek to dimple, which she did her utmost to ignore.
“Kace, that’s no way to be. If I’m going to live here and work here, don’t you think we should at least take a stab at coexisting in peace and harmony? The war is behind us.”
Fuck you, thewar will never be behind us, pal. Suddenly, she felt it coming on. Her heart’s extra beats, her lungs pumping fast and shallow. The all too familiar curtain of darkness pulling in the wings of her peripheral vision. The sound of the ocean roaring in her ears. The omigod-I’m-gonna-drop-like-a-stone warning that quickly approached. Her body trembled.
He reached for her. Ah hell,does he know what’s happening? No, he can’t know. How could he?The wood and laminate counter was the closest stationary object, so she grabbed for it before he could touch her, managed to steady herself.
Voice strained, she forced out, “Nathan, please leave. Go back to wherever you came from. Don’t make me beg.”
Before he could respond, she twisted away, slammed through the doors, reached the sidewalk, bent over, resting her palms on her thighs. He’s not dead, not dead, not dead. She gulped in fresh air to help clear her head. Home. She needed to get home. Home was the only place she could feel safe. Maybe.
…
As she headed for the house, Kacey’s symptoms began to ease up once she settled mechanically into a comfortable pace. It was just stress, that’s all, with the funeral and everything. Anyone would be under the weather. She’d nap for an hour or so, then she’d be fine.
She placed the picnic bag containing her cold coffee and stale muffin on the granite countertop next to the closest of the two oversized kitchen sinks. Finding what she needed in the medicine chest set into the wall of the nearest bathroom, she popped two over-the-counter pain killers, then splashed cold water on her face until her cheeks were numb. She toweled off, unbound her hair, ran a brush through it. It felt good to leave it loose.
She found her way to a front sitting room, then dropped with a distinct lack of grace, more like a limp scarecrow, onto a Chippendale sofa. A large, embroidered throw pillow cushioned her head, and her arm shielded her eyes from the dazzling sun that poured through the opened drapes. The bright, cheerful room in blues and creams had always been her favorite.
Nathan Weatherly. Of all people. Why here? Why now?
Settling in at the ol’ homestead had been tougher than she’d imagined, but she’d been doing her best. After the plane wreck claimed her parents, the previous warmth of the once-welcoming mansion, always a refuge, had been torn and twisted into something strange, nearly reduced to the stark coldness of a mausoleum. No matter how quiet she tried to be—and she’d been trained to be very stealthy, indeed—the small noises made by one person still echoed throughout the high-ceilinged rooms, defining its atmosphere of loneliness. Not haunted, just empty.
She’d been increasingly drawn to the large but cozy caretaker’s cottage set behind the extensive stables and carriage house-turned-garage, which would be more her style. The cottage had been empty for a year, after the head groundskeeper married his sweetheart and they decided to live in town, but the dwelling had always been well kept. In the estate’s heyday, the four-bedroom dwelling had housed various staff charged with overseeing the nearly palatial grounds. She knew the grooms had bunked over the stable, and the chauffeur in an apartment over the carriage house.
One of Kacey’s ideas centered on the possibility of hiring a hotel manager, then transforming the huge, nearly three-hundred-year old, one-hundred-room manse—eighty something of those rooms being bedrooms—into a stately bed and breakfast, or a posh hotel.
Her mother, her grandmother, her great grandmother, and many greats behind them, had always loved to entertain, but Kacey had definitely not inherited the guest-loving gene—she valued her alone time, her privacy. She didn’t need the income to survive, but putting Timberwyck to use would prevent the mansion from falling into disrepair and decay. Her Granda—on her father’s side—had steadfastly maintained that houses, no matter how large or small, needed to be lived in, or their spirits died, then the buildings crumbled. Plus, it would offer added employment to the town, which already depended upon the lumber mill, as well as the surrounding tourist trade, to survive. Summer vacations to enjoy the lakes, streams, and ATV trails. Fall for leaf peepers and Oktoberfest micro-brewery events. Skiing, snowboarding, and snowmobiling during the winter. Staffing Timberwyck would help support the local economy.
Kacey’s body finally relaxed in the suffused sunlight, allowing her fractured mind to drift as she succumbed to a comfortable doze.
And now there’s Nathan.
Oh yeah, Nathan. Nathan, whose attraction she felt from the very instant he’d disembarked the transport with his squad. She and Nathan had danced around each other at first, concentrated on doing their specialized jobs. Fought their mutual allure. There’d been no place in her plans for round heels, for dalliances that could interfere with her responsibilities. Lives were on the line, every moment of every day—with constant reminders of how short those lives might be…
…
Delaram Forward Operations Base, Afghanistan
Six Months Ago
The Forward Operating Base had been short-staffed until replacements could arrive. After Kacey had flown too many back-to-back missions to count, after Nathan returned from an op that could never be discussed, the pair could only manage twenty-four hours of R&R from their respective companies.
How does one cram a lifetime into twenty-four freakin’ hours?
Kacey’s body, restless, twitched as the memories flowed sluggishly to the surface before bursting like huge bubbles of heavy, molten lava. She and Nathan had hopped a Black Hawk transport, landed, grabbed an old, nondescript Hummer, then followed a hand-drawn map to the little bed and breakfast—more of a bed and supper, actually—recommended on the sly by another Viper pilot, Fast Eddie. A secret place, he’d promised, well off the Kandahar-Herat highway. Away from buried IEDs and high-powered rifles. A place loyal to American troops. Marines had rescued the owner’s only son from insurgents, then returned the adolescent boy to his family, barely bruised.
The evening had been perfect. Fresh, hot chai tea, a main meal of qabili palao, the rice dish cooked to perfection with tender lamb, fried raisins, slivered carrots, and pistachio nuts. As tradition dictated, they’d used their right hands to scoop food to mouths using rounds of fresh baked lavash bread. Supper had been beautifully prepared, obviously with pride, and delicious.
Separated from the main house by groves of pistachio trees and an irrigation ditch, the small guest quarters had its four mud brick interior walls and its floors covered with richly colored tapestries, the window openings devoid of glass. To accommodate their Western friends, the man of the house had constructed a wide wooden bed frame off the floor, on which mattress bedding could be unrolled and spread.
Nathan hadn’t wasted valuable time lighting the oil lamps; they didn’t need illumination to shed their clothing. The endless days of double entendres, of hiding in dark corners for quick, stolen caresses and heated kisses, had long since primed them for action. They were too conscious of time.
Twenty-four hours, and the clock was ticking.
Alone at last, Nathan’s ardent, demanding kisses had drawn the very breath from her body, replaced it with such raw heat that she felt sure she’d burst into flames at his touch.
He knelt on the topmost layer of mattress pads, sat back on his heels as he pulled her onto his lap, wrapped her legs around his hips. His hands investigated every inch of her body, leaving her to writhe under his touch, as forceful as he was gentle. He reached between her thighs, targeted her sex, fondled her, outside and in.
“Come here, wench.”
Any further words were lost as they crushed their mouths together, bounding from heated kisses to tongues frantically lashing one another, sucking down each other’s moans before they could be released into the desert air.
She’d turned her head slightly to catch her breath, wrapped her hands behind his neck, wiggled closer, pressed tighter. “Oh? And who is giving orders to whom, Captain, sir, may I ask?”
He pulled her in, his heavy arousal trapped between them, begging for relief. “No orders, Captain, ma’am, only suggestions.” His fingers slid into her again, tested her readiness. His tongue flicked over her nipples, the cool Afghani night air caressed the wet points, bolstered their firmness, as tempting as ripe olives off the tree.
Hands lewdly fondled, then lifted, her ass. He’d settled the gateway of her womanhood over his cockhead, slowly lowering her onto his shaft.
“Omigod, Nathan, oh baby, yesss—” Her words had ended in a passionate hiss. Every millimeter he pushed into her increased her pleasure ten-fold. It had been so very long since…well, since anything. Playing in a man’s field left a woman ripe to be targeted by notch hunters. She knew the game, and refused to roll that way. Her career and her integrity meant everything to her, so she’d fought to remain a valued, ass-bustin’ crew member. One of the guys. And being one of the guys meant no sport sex, no casual one-night stands. She was worth more than that, more than a quick roll in the hay.
But now, with Nathan’s thickness stretching its way to her epicenter, she wondered what the fuck had taken her so long, why she’d held him off. A hard-bodied, incredibly handsome man, his skin tanned hazelnut brown from the desert sun, with honey-colored eyes and close-cropped hair to match, he’d certainly captivated her from the first. He could also be obnoxiously arrogant, bold, and self-assured. Driven, protective. Alpha.
No doubt he knew how much he affected her libido whenever he touched her, even with the most casual brush, and she’d cursed him for it. But it had been his smile that had done her in—the indolent decadence that promised to deliver every wish, every deeply private, secret desire. His lazy, heavy-lidded, leonine gaze promised it all.
She’d continued to twist against him, hands grasping his broad shoulders, pulling her body up only to lower herself again. She slid down his length until he was so deeply seated she thought she could die from the sheer gratification of being filled so completely. There’d been no doubt the wait had been worth the frustration.
Nathan had shifted from his position before circulation could be compromised, pulled her over until she stretched out under him. Settled snuggly between her thighs, his tough, SEAL-trained body covering hers. She wrapped her legs around his tight ass, pulled his head down, then smothered his mouth with wild kisses.
Throwing her off kilter, he shifted ever so slightly, did a weird thing when he slid his open hand between them, his palm against her flat belly. When he did, her pulse quivered and her breath labored, her womb shuddered. His action left her no choice. She needed him inside her, quickly, needed him to pound hard, plunge deep. Needed him to quench the inferno that had been building since he’d set foot on the sands of Delaram—when they first laid eyes on each other, when their gazes locked in like heat-seeking missiles.
Using his hand to guide his member, he teased her with his erection, adding the slipperiness of his pre-ejaculate to her own dew. Then, supported on thick, strong arms, he arched his big body and drove into her. He hadn’t been gentle.
Glad for the soothing darkness, Kacey had embraced every tactile sensation. No one used perfume or cologne in the field, but in the small hut she nearly overdosed on the scent of fir needles after spring rains. Her hands caressed every bit of his naked skin she could reach, relishing taut skin over muscles, and the nest of silky chest hair.
Nathan had played her body like a virtuoso, anticipating every need, responding as if they’d been together forever. If his mouth didn’t attend, his fingers did. Her need drove his actions. She came for the first time on his cock—he matched her stroke for stroke, buried his seed in her depths.
Modern contraception proved to be a wonderful thing for a woman in the field. No periods, no ovulation. They were both medically certified A-okay. No other partners. No condoms meant no hesitation, meant naked flesh against naked flesh, as often as they could manage. She knew he could feel every pulse, every throb of her body—just as she felt the pounding heat of his masculinity as he provided her with wave upon wave of exquisite pleasure.
She remembered how he’d attempted to lift himself from her, but she’d pulled him close again. Every tug of flesh against flesh, every frisson of friction, every movement of his softening cock continued to stimulate, enticed her into a string of mini-orgasms, drew out her craving. As her pussy couldn’t get enough of his shaft, her mouth did not tire of his kisses.
When he finally pulled out, he slid farther down the mattress pads. Before she realized his intention, his tongue plundered her swollen nether lips, swived her engorged clit with his broad tongue. He plunged stiff fingers deeply inside the still pulsing channel, forced her to grab her own forearm in her teeth to prevent her cries from waking the innkeeper and his family—or worse, attracting an unfriendly who might be searching for such a golden opportunity to rid the world of two more infidels.
Finally, when he’d been convinced she had nothing left, they collapsed, replete. Skin against skin, his strong body had formed a chrysalis around her like the wings of a dark angel, as he protected her, loved her. What? Protected, yes. Loved? No. That must be wrong. No mention of love in that hellhole. No mention of love to jinx whatever it was that they had. For as long as it lasted, for as long as they both survived.
He’d pulled a lightly woven blanket over them, kissed the top of her head. She’d felt his body relax as he finally drifted off to sleep.
Could love even be possible for people like them? Warriors all, knowing full well that the next moment could be their last?
No. Love isn’t a good idea for us.
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