Taking Fire

“So it’s gonna be all right?” he said, uncertainty thinning his voice.

Max dragged herself out of the desert, out of the jungle, and back to the brightly lit room. The dark receded with a howl and a promise to return.

“Yeah. It’s gonna be okay. First, we’ll put your hand in a basin with some Betadine and get this cleaned up. The nurses will give you something for pain before we get started. Then we’ll wash it out and clean it up a little bit and send you out on antibiotics.”

“So—how long will it be before it’s better?”

“Are you left-or right-handed?”

“Left,” he said, indicating the injured hand.

She wondered what he was thinking about holding again—a gun, a violin, a child? She didn’t know him, not like she’d known Grif and Rachel. The pain of remembering made an end run and she shoved it back again. They didn’t need her now. Grif was probably in a stateside hospital with Laurie holding his hand. And Rachel—Rachel was living her life far away from danger. Max regarded the anxious boy, her responsibility now. “The wound will be healed in a couple of weeks. You’ll be stiff and sore, but the more you use it once the soft tissue is healed, the better.”

“Yeah, okay.” He relaxed against the pillows and closed his eyes. “You do it, man. I’m good.”

“Yeah. You are.” Max went out to find a nurse to medicate him so she could irrigate and debride the wound and get it closed.

What was left of the night was uneventful, and at seven she met her replacement, a big man with the personality of a teddy bear, in the coffee room.

“So I saw the article in the newspaper the other day,” Ben Markowitz said after Max finished filling him in on the patients who were waiting for X-rays to be read, lab tests to come back, or for the OR to open up for their urgent but noncritical surgeries.

“Uh-huh,” she said, hoping that would be the end of it.

“Seriously, that was an incredible story. I…I don’t want to say the wrong thing, but I don’t know—I feel like I should say thank you.”

Max put the charts down and looked into his well-meaning face. His blue eyes were soft and compassionate, his broad, soft features gentle. A wave of anger passed through, surprising her with its heat. No one would have known what she’d done if Tom Benedict hadn’t written about the rescue, and he wouldn’t have known about that if Rachel hadn’t needed to bail her out. She spoke with measured calm. “It’s not necessary. I didn’t do anything that thousands of others haven’t done.”

“I’m sure that’s true, but your story makes it real, Max. To me, to a lot of people. And that’s important.” He leaned forward earnestly. “It’s important to put a human face on the cost of it all. That’s what makes it real.”

“Real,” Max murmured. She’d looked at the story, saw the pictures that Benedict’s photographer had taken at the end of the interview of her and Rachel posed together. She’d read the account of what had happened in the jungle, but the telling of it—no matter how accurate Benedict had been—sanitized the events. Even the descriptions of the dead were impotent compared to the truth of it. Rachel, she discovered in the article, was Rachel Winslow Harriman, daughter of the Secretary of State. That put the pieces together, finally, of why the Black Hawks had been deployed to extract the aid workers, particularly Rachel. Her father’s surprise visit to the Middle East was probably related to the timing. And now Rachel was traveling with her father while he toured the war zone, assessing the need for retracting troops or redistributing them or simply boosting morale.

Max hadn’t known any of that when she and Rachel had spent those hours together preparing for another attack. She hadn’t known when Rachel had come to her CLU and taken solace in her arms and pleasure in her body. The article didn’t make it real for her because none of that had anything to do with what mattered to her.

“Like I said,” Max said, “things like that happen all the time out there. There are thousands of heroes. I don’t deserve anything special.”

He nodded solemnly. “Okay. Well, I’m glad you’re back.”

She took a breath and said what he needed to hear. “Thanks. So am I.”

Maybe one day it would be true.

Max wished Ben a quiet shift, collected her gear, and walked out into the morning. She blinked in the sunlight, surprised as she always was to realize another day had begun while she had spent the night locked away in a world that might have been a galaxy away from the life that passed outside the hospital. She was forty blocks from home, but she liked the walk and headed in that direction.

“Max?”

Max stopped, not certain she’d actually heard her name. She turned and watched as Rachel handed money to a cabbie, picked up a suitcase, and walked toward her.

“Rachel?” Max waited, breathing slowly and carefully, afraid to disturb the air and dispel the apparition.

“Yes.” Rachel set down the suitcase a few feet from Max and pushed hair out of her eyes. Her hand shook. She was pale, circles under her eyes, weariness in the lines around her mouth. She looked thinner, haunted, like a ghost figure from one of Max’s dreams.

“Are you okay?” Max grimaced. “Dumb question. Sorry. I just didn’t expect to see you.” Ever.

“Yes,” Rachel said. “Sorry about that. I’ve just spent eighteen hours on a couple of airplanes. Sorry to barge in on you like this. But—I had to see you.”

“I thought you were still in Mogadishu.”

People walked by, streaming around them as if they were an island in the midst of a fast-running river. Max feared Rachel might be caught up by the current and swept away at any second. She wanted to hold on to her—to keep her close.

“I was until last night. I couldn’t get away before then. My father—”

“Yes, I saw in the paper about his surprise visit to the forward bases. You traveled with him, it said.”

Rachel’s gaze roamed Max’s face. “Part of the trip. He wanted me along. PR. I don’t suppose I need to explain.” She winced, shook her head. “Well, not that at least. A lot of other things.”

Max slid her hands into the pockets of her black cargo pants. “Rachel, you don’t need to explain anything to me.”

Rachel’s eyes looked older than Max remembered. Wounded in a way they hadn’t even in the midst of all the terror. She wanted to brush her thumbs over the bruises below Rachel’s eyes and whisper them away. She wanted to heal her the way she sometimes healed others, only this need to erase the pain touched her so much more deeply than ever before.

“Please, Max.” Rachel took a step closer and clasped Max’s arm, her fingers warm and soft. “I know it’s not something you even want to hear, but if you would just let me explain—”

“You’re not going to do any explaining until you’ve eaten and slept.” Max couldn’t bear the sadness in Rachel’s eyes. She cupped Rachel’s jaw. “How about I make you breakfast.”

Rachel smiled and made a small sound that was half laughter and half sob. “Are you still taking care of me, Commander de Milles?”

Max picked up Rachel’s suitcase. “As much as you’ll allow, maybe.”

“I could have gone home,” Rachel said, not moving. “My apartment is uptown, but I came here because it’s the only place I knew you might be. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“No, neither have I. Let’s get a cab.”

“All right,” Rachel said.

Max stepped to the curb, waved down a cab, and as it pulled over, returned to Rachel. She hefted the suitcase and slid her arm around Rachel’s waist. Holding her was the first thing that felt totally right since she’d left Djibouti. “My place okay with you?”

“Perfect.”

Chapter Twenty-eight

The cab bumped along in the stop-and-go morning traffic. Rachel caught herself about to lean against Max’s shoulder, knowing she shouldn’t, couldn’t…but she was so very tired and Max was there. After so long, after what felt like forever, Max was there. She hadn’t really expected her to be. She’d thought when she arrived at the hospital, Max would be gone. That when she asked for her, the people inside would say they’d never even heard of her. As if Max was all an illusion, born out of terror and hope and desire. If Max hadn’t been there, she would have dragged her suitcase back out to the street and gone home. She would have pulled down the shades, crawled into bed, and prayed that when she woke, her world would have righted itself. That when she woke she would be in control again, that her heart would have stopped aching. That she would know how to find Max.

She could smell her. Different than before. The earthy, sun-drenched scent was gone. In its place was a hint of spice—shampoo, maybe, or hand soap—and the underlying bite of something medicinal and stark. Her hair was a little longer. She needed a cut, but the shagginess suited her all the same. A little defiant and wild, like Max. Her maroon scrub shirt hung outside her black pants. Her black boots laced up, like combat boots, and she still wore no jewelry. The chain around her neck was gone, but the dog tags might as well still have been there. Max was still on duty, maybe still at war.

“You’re just coming from work,” Rachel said, her brain functioning again. “You must need to sleep. This is a bad idea.”

Max shifted on the seat until her knee touched Rachel’s and their eyes met. Max’s eyes hadn’t changed. Still that electric blue deeper than any Rachel had ever known. She’d expected anger or distance or cold dismissal, but Max’s eyes were tender, the way they had been the first time the two of them had touched on the edge of the jungle. Absurdly, Rachel wished they were still there, standing under the hot sun with Max’s hand on her waist, steadying her, Max’s eyes gentle and warm. When had she become so desperately needy? She tried to escape the pull of Max’s gaze, but she couldn’t. Not when she’d come so far to be near her.

“Tell the cabbie to take me home when we get to your place. You can call me or—”

“No,” Max said. Just that. No. “I have to run out to get some food. I don’t think there’s anything except maybe some leftover Chinese.”

“That sounds wonderful to me.” Rachel didn’t want Max to go anywhere, afraid if she left, disappeared from sight, she’d be gone again. Maybe forever. “I don’t need you to do anything special. I’m just…glad to see you.”

Max took Rachel’s hand. Her fingers were as warm as Rachel remembered. She squeezed gently and let go. Rachel wanted to cry out when the contact slipped away.

“It’s good to see you too. But the Chinese is way too leftover to be safe.” Max smiled a crooked smile and moved her knee.

Silence filled the cab until it pulled up before an apartment building in a long row of them on a narrow street dotted with the occasional maple and lined with cars parked bumper to bumper. Three steps led up to each wooden double front door.

Max handed over money, climbed out, and while Rachel followed, grabbed her luggage from the trunk. Max’s building was brown stone, with tall narrow windows on every floor and nothing else to distinguish it.

“It’s the third floor,” Max said, leading the way inside.

Rachel entered a tiny foyer and climbed a twisting set of stairs, through hallways smelling of disinfectant past closed doors that echoed with emptiness. Max fumbled a key from the backpack she’d slung over one shoulder, opened the door that said 3B, and held it wide. Rachel stepped in past her and stopped in the center of a single large room with a kitchen tucked into one corner, a sofa under the tall front window, a plain oak coffee table in front of that, several bookcases filled with books on the wall by the door, and a medium-sized television on a stand that needed dusting. No dishes in the sink, no magazines and newspapers lying around. Neat and Spartan, like Max’s CLU had been. There was even a pile of clothes next to the sofa, which she guessed was Max’s bed. Functional and nothing else. The door closed behind her, the suitcase thumped to the floor, and they were alone again. She was almost afraid to turn around, she wanted Max so desperately. The hot glide of her flesh, the cool oasis of her mouth, the steady strength of her arms. Everything she needed. She wrapped her arms around her waist and kept facing the window.

The silence was still and heavy.

Max wasn’t yet completely sure Rachel was real, standing there in the middle of her barren life, not sure she wouldn’t wake from a dream to find Rachel gone and herself caught in another form of nightmare where the loss would be more than she could bear. Rachel was battered and bruised now, and Max was the only one who really knew why—they shared the same haunted memories. In time, Rachel would heal and Max might be a reminder of what she’d rather forget. Rachel was not only too strong to need anyone to slay her demons, she also had another life far different than anything she shared with Max.

And none of it mattered—not the risk, not the pain, not the empty place her life would become if she let Rachel in and Rachel walked out again. Nothing mattered except Rachel, and she was here. Nothing else had mattered since the moment she’d run toward the rising Black Hawk, taking fire from every direction, jumped into its belly, and turned to see Rachel waiting for her. Rachel was here now, and she looked on the verge of collapse.

“I’ll get you a towel and you can grab a shower,” Max said. “I’ll pick up some food and be back before you’re done.”

“Yes, all right,” Rachel said softly.

Max rummaged in the single closet and found clean towels. “It’s in here.”

Rachel followed into the small bathroom.

“Take as long as you need,” Max said. The space between the sink and the wall was just large enough to turn around in, and with two of them, the fit was tight. Rachel was an inch away, so still and vulnerable Max’s heart bled. She cupped her face, ran her thumb over the arch of Rachel’s cheek. Rachel drew a breath that quavered.

“Then you sleep,” Max whispered.

Rachel’s fingers closed around Max’s wrist, sending a surge of fire through her.

“I need to tell you things.”

“Maybe,” Max murmured, “but that can wait.”

“I’m afraid,” Rachel said so softly Max wasn’t sure she heard her. “Afraid if you walk out, I won’t see you again.”

Max cradled her head in both hands and kissed her gently, not with the passion that roared inside her, but with all the tenderness and reassurance she could put into it. “I won’t. I told you that before.”

Rachel’s hands fisted in Max’s shirt and she rested her forehead against Max’s. She laughed unsteadily. “I seem to keep losing you.”

“No, you don’t.” Max closed her eyes, drew in the light scent that clung to her hair, the same vanilla that had lingered on her pillow. Her heart raced so fast she was dizzy. “You never have.”

“If you say you’ll be back, I believe you.” Rachel raised her eyes. “I always have.”

Max forced herself to break away. She wanted to be inside her, lost in the scent and taste of her. But that wasn’t what Rachel needed. Maybe not even what she needed. She took another step away while every inch of her protested. “I’ll be here.”

“Thank you.” Rachel smiled wanly and reached for the buttons on her shirt.

Max fled.

She grabbed her keys, checked her wallet to be sure she had money, and raced down the stairs to the street. In the twenty-four-hour market on the corner, she hastily gathered juice and bread and eggs and whatever else she thought Rachel might want to eat, waited impatiently while two people in front of her checked out, and sprinted back. When she let herself into the apartment, the water was still running in the bathroom. The tightness in her chest eased. She didn’t want Rachel to think she wouldn’t be there for her.

She poured some juice and popped bread in the toaster. When she turned around with the juice in her hand, Rachel stood in the bathroom door, the plain white bath towel Max had given her wrapped around her chest beneath her arms. It fell to midthigh, a V opening along the outer aspect of her left hip. Her thigh was smooth and long and sleek. Her hair was wet and hung in tangles to her shoulders. She was barefoot. She was beautiful.

“I made toast,” Max said inanely.

Rachel smiled. “I can smell it. I didn’t think I was hungry, but it smells wonderful.”

“Eggs?”

Rachel shook her head. “Maybe later. I think right now just the toast.”

Max nodded, realized she was still holding the glass of orange juice. She set it down on the coffee table, aware of Rachel moving closer. She carried the heat of the shower with her, the scent of soap and shampoo. Max’s hands trembled.

“Max.”

Max straightened and Rachel was there, inches away. She groaned, the wanting a beast that tore through her, shredding sanity and reason. “I’m having trouble thinking of anything except touching you.”

“I’m glad.”

Max shook her head. “Sorry.”

Rachel slid her arms around Max’s neck and the heat of her skin wafted over Max. “Don’t be.”

Max tugged the towel free and pulled Rachel the rest of the way to her. Rachel was naked and warm and fit perfectly in her arms. Max held her tightly and kissed her with everything she’d held back earlier, ripping aside every barrier she’d ever made to take her in, needing her taste more than water in the desert. Rachel whimpered and fisted her hands in Max’s hair, wrapping one leg around Max’s to join them more closely. Max kissed her for a long time, their bodies locked, stroking the length of Rachel’s smooth back, over the curve of her ass, up her sides until her thumbs brushed the full swell of Rachel’s breasts. Rachel whimpered again, her hips circling beneath Max’s hands.

“The couch,” Max gasped. “I have to open it.”

“Hurry.”

Max shoved the coffee table aside and flipped open the bed. She hadn’t slept in it much and the sheets were neat and regulation tight. She ripped down the top one, yanked her scrub shirt off over her head, and shoved free of her pants and boots. She grabbed Rachel’s hand and pulled her down onto the bed. Sunlight streamed through the window over their heads, painting Rachel’s skin golden. Max leaned over her and kissed her again, running her hands over her breasts and belly and the arch of her hip. Rachel’s legs parted and her hips rose. Max eased back to look into Rachel’s eyes as she caressed her. Rachel’s lips parted on a sigh and her eyes went liquid.

“I dreamed this,” Rachel whispered.

“So did I.” Gently, Max filled her. She shuddered, feeling as if she was holding back a tidal wave. She wanted to drive inside her, to take her and take her over and drown in her pleasure. She pressed her forehead to Rachel’s shoulder and fought to catch her breath, to find her control.

Rachel’s fingers came around her wrist, pushed her deeper. “Don’t go slow. Not this time.”

Max kissed her and followed the call of Rachel’s rising and falling hips. Gliding deep and long and smooth, circling her clit with every stroke. Rachel’s nails dug into her shoulders, urging, demanding. Max let go of her last restraint and sped up. Rachel came with a sharp cry, her mouth pressed to Max’s neck. Max kept going, heeding the pulse of desire tight around her.

“Yes, yes,” Rachel cried, lifting to take her deeper. She came again, and again when Max slid down and put her mouth where her thumb had been, teasing and stroking until Rachel gripped her head and came in her mouth.

Max would have stayed as she was forever, but Rachel pushed at her shoulder, the other hand tangled in her hair. “Enough. God. I’m done. I’m finished.”

Max rested her cheek on the inside of Rachel’s leg, smiling as she caught her breath. “Temporarily.”

Rachel’s fingers tugged feebly at her hair. “Like temporarily for a week. I can’t believe what you do to me.”

Max kissed the soft skin on the inside of Rachel’s thigh and sat up next to her. She caressed her breast, cupped her warm fullness. “I’m not done.”

Rachel stroked her face, her eyes hazy and satisfied. “Good.”

Max stretched out beside her and drew Rachel’s head to her shoulder. Rachel kissed her breast, fingers playing over her chest and down her belly. Max jerked and Rachel laughed, a predatory sound that sent Max’s heart thundering in her chest.

“No, not done at all,” Rachel said.

Rachel’s fingers slipped between Max’s thighs and her vision blurred. All the need she’d set aside, intent on pleasing Rachel, came roaring back. She rocketed toward the peak. “Fuck, wait.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Rachel murmured.

Fingers closed around Max’s clit and her muscles turned to jelly. Her breath heaved from her chest and her legs went tight as iron bands. Rachel’s mouth was at her breast, her throat, and all the while she was stroking and stroking, and Max could only groan.

Rachel’s lips skimmed over her ear. “I love your body. I love touching you.”

Max struggled to focus on her face. She was helpless and Rachel was there.

“You’re beautiful.” Rachel circled and stroked and squeezed.

Max exploded with an astonished cry, gripping the sheets and shaking with the blast. Rachel slid on top of her, still stroking, and rocked against her thigh, coming again as the last tremors coursed through Max’s body.

Rachel collapsed on top of her, still inside her. Max held her close and pulled the sheet over them. She closed her eyes, her mind completely blank, and knew she would not dream.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Rachel woke naked with Max’s arm circling her waist, a hand cupping her breast, and warm breath wafting softly against the back of her neck. The sheets were tangled around her feet and a faint breeze blew through the open window. Max must’ve gotten up to open it sometime after Rachel had fallen asleep. She couldn’t tell how long she’d been asleep, but it felt like a long time. Outside the street noises were a jumble of car engines, horns, and muted voices. By the feel of the air, it was late afternoon—the air carried the moist, warm thickness of summer in the city, so different from the punishing dryness of the desert. Her sleep had been deep and dreamless, or if she’d dreamed, she couldn’t remember.

She lay still, absorbing the happiness stirred by Max’s nearness. She’d always wanted to live her life on her own terms and prided herself on charting her own course, certain of what she wanted—and didn’t want. She’d made her own way without games, without pretense or politics, and had created a life with purpose, with a goal that had meaning beyond her own gain or ego. Most of those she helped never even knew her name. Her work satisfied her, and she’d relegated relationships to a distant part of her psyche and her soul. She socialized with women, she had sex with women, she moved within the world they had in common—the society they’d been born to—and she kept what mattered most private. She hadn’t needed or wanted more.

Lying in the afternoon sun, her body still flushed from passion and pleasure, she revisited the images of the past hours. Desire like a hunger she’d never imagined, excitement so sharp she feared she might die from it, satisfaction so sweet she could never have enough. She covered Max’s hand where it covered her breast, and Max’s fingers slid through hers. She’d been content before, but she wanted more now. Much, much more.

Rachel lifted Max’s hand and kissed her palm.

Max’s lips moved over her neck.

“Hi,” Rachel whispered.

“Hey.”

Max’s voice was throaty, heavy with sleep and languorous with satisfaction. Rachel recognized the sound of a woman well-pleasured but had never been so pleased to hear it. Max was always so well defended, so strong and self-sufficient, she seemed always in control. To feel Max open to her hands and her mouth and give herself so completely was a gift Rachel feared she didn’t deserve and wanted over and over. She wanted her now with an ache in her bones. Her loins were heavy and full and pounding. Her nipples tightened and she pressed Max’s fingers to her breast again.

“Do you need to go to work or—”

“No,” Max said.

“I don’t think I’m nearly finished yet.”

Max made a low growling sound in her throat and pressed her hips against Rachel’s ass. Rachel pushed back, ready for Max’s fingers. For her mouth.

“I could go on like this forever,” Rachel murmured.

“Done.”

Rachel’s heart soared but she knew it wouldn’t be that easy. The past stood between them as much as it united them. She turned onto her back to say what she needed to say to Max’s face before her body ran away with her brain. Max gave a protesting grumble but shifted onto her elbow, leaned over Rachel, and kissed her.

“You look beautiful,” Max said.

Rachel laughed in protest, feeling shy when she never had been before. “I couldn’t possibly be. I think I fell asleep without even combing my hair.”

“You did. I like the tangled look.” Max grinned, a satisfied glint in her eyes. “And I promised to feed you, and I still haven’t done that.”

Rachel gripped Max’s hand before she could move away. “Don’t go.”

Max’s eyes darkened and she kissed her again. “I’m not going anywhere.”

But she might, Rachel knew. In a few minutes, a few hours, tomorrow.

“There were things I needed to say back in Djibouti. I should have said them earlier.” Rachel faltered. What if Max didn’t want the woman she really was—here in this world?

“Rachel,” Max said, “whatever you need to say, say it. There’s nothing you can tell me that will erase what we’ve shared.”

“I know.” Rachel took a breath. “I’m more afraid about the future.”

“Tell me about Christie.”

“I would have sooner, if I’d thought there was anything to tell. Tommy blindsided me, but it was hardly his fault,” Rachel said, equal parts relief and anxiety rushing through her. “Christie is Tommy’s sister. I was seeing her for about six months before I left for Africa.”

Max’s expression never changed, her gaze never wavered. She waited and watched. She was good at that. Good at confronting whatever needed taking care of head-on. Her hand on Rachel’s belly was warm and possessive, and Rachel loved the way it felt.

“No promises were made,” Rachel said, “and before I left for Somalia, we both agreed there were no restrictions on either of us.”

“Benedict didn’t get the memo.”

Rachel sighed. “Yes, well, our families have known each other for a long time. Tommy and I were in school together. Christie is a few years younger. Our fathers are colleagues, our mothers are friends. Everyone thinks it’s a wonderful match.”

“Is it?”

Rachel laughed. “No. For a million reasons, the most important one being I don’t love her. She doesn’t love me either, but I don’t think that matters quite as much to her.”

“I can’t see you agreeing to something just to please your family.” Max’s brows drew down. “And I can’t see you settling for anything.”

Rachel caressed Max’s forearm, tracing the taut muscles down to Max’s hand on her belly. No, she wouldn’t settle. Not when she knew what she wanted. What she’d always wanted but been afraid to admit. “Christie might think we’ll just pick up where we left off when I get home. We won’t.”

Max’s eyes darkened, and she slowly leaned down and nipped Rachel’s lower lip. “Good. Anything else?”

“Where to start?” Rachel closed her eyes, wishing she could just begin her life with the day she met Max, but she couldn’t. “I’m only telling you because sometimes it’s hard to keep one’s private life private.”

“For the daughter of the Secretary of State?”

Rachel’s face grew hot. “That and the fact that my family is…well-known in some circles.”

Max’s eyebrow rose. “Meaning it’s news if you get a parking ticket?”

“Something like that.”

“Is that why you don’t use your full name?”

Rachel had known when she’d asked Tommy to file his article Max would see it sooner or later. She’d planned to explain everything after the interview, but Max was gone. She hadn’t wanted her to find out the things she’d kept from her that way, even though when they’d been together none of it seemed important. Not what her father did, not who her family was, not Christie and their relationship—none of it had mattered out there where life was minute to minute. Out there, she was Rachel Winslow, Red Cross worker, just as right here in this small, quiet apartment, she was only Rachel, stripped of everything except what truly mattered—what was in her heart.

“I love my family,” Rachel said, “but they can be—stifling. I’ve always struggled not to get pulled under, not to get caught up in the plans other people made for me. For that and other reasons…security”—she grimaced—“it’s been easier to use my middle name.”

“I like it,” Max said. “Winslow.”

Rachel laughed. “Me too.”

Max didn’t care about Rachel’s high-profile family or her past girlfriends, but she was happy to listen if Rachel needed to tell her, especially when the shadows began to leave Rachel’s eyes. Rachel’s laughter was like a light turning on in the dark, illuminating passages long forgotten, igniting hope as fears retreated. A day ago Max had never expected to see her again, and now she held her. A fierce urge to protect her, to possess her, to keep her, made her shudder with its force. She caressed Rachel’s face. “Your trust means everything. I hope you always feel safe telling me what matters to you. But none of this changes anything.” Max pulled her close. “None of this changes what happened out there between us.”

“What about here, Max? It will change things here.”

Max shrugged. “I don’t see how.”

“It’s my fault Carmody went after you.”

“How so?” Max narrowed her gaze. “Are you a secret CIA agent?”

“Would that be a deal breaker?”

“I’d rather you be FBI.”

Rachel laughed again and pressed a kiss to Max’s throat. “Sorry. I don’t have any other secret lives.”

“So how is it you’re responsible for Carmody?”

“That would be because I’m my father’s daughter. My being at the aid camp brought your whole operation to the attention of a lot of important people.”

“Important, or powerful?”

“Yes. Well. People who could send Carmody to Wichita apparently, or so my father explained it.”

“Your being at the aid camp was why we were there at all,” Max said.

“I hope that’s not true,” Rachel said, her voice uncertain. “I hope you would have been sent to help no matter who was out there.”

“Do you know what happened?”

“Some.” Rachel snorted softly. “I browbeat my father into telling me what he could. Or what he wanted. I told him I wouldn’t go with him on his tour if he didn’t explain what was going on.”

“Is Carmody his man?”

“He says no. The two he sent to accompany me—Kennedy and Smith—were, though. Part of his advance team from State. That’s how they got to me so fast.”

“Did you know your father was coming?”

“No. His visit really was supposed to be a surprise trip.” Rachel sat up against the pillows. Max shifted and slid an arm around her shoulders.

“Advance intelligence got wind of a pending raid on the camp, and he was advised. He called me—he wanted to be sure I didn’t resist leaving.”

Max rubbed her arm. “He seems to know you.”

“Ha-ha.” Rachel nuzzled Max’s neck. “I probably would have argued against leaving, especially if you just showed up the way you did and couldn’t take everyone.”

“Why were you—or the camp—a target to begin with? I don’t get it. You’re a humanitarian group.”

“Enter Carmody.” Rachel made a disgusted sound. “He was running an operative in our camp, one of our Somali guards who had infiltrated the rebel organization. As part of the guard’s cover, he was arranging for weapons to be smuggled in along with the supplies we were receiving.”

“The transport trucks,” Max said.

“Yes.”

Rage simmered in Max’s belly. “Carmody was helping to arm the rebels so his operative could gather intelligence?”

“Yes. I guess he figured the trade-off was worth it.”

Max thought of Grif nearly dying from a bullet Carmody might have put into the hands of the enemy. If she’d known, she would have gone through with her fantasy of choking Carmody to death. “Prick.”

“Comes with the territory.”

“Yeah,” Max said. “So when the operation went south, Carmody had to answer to someone, and he was looking to shift the blame.”

“Getting anything out of my father was not easy, but apparently Carmody’s operative was compromised somehow and Carmody either didn’t know or didn’t act fast enough to pull him out. He lost his man, his link to the rebels, and I was almost killed or captured. His ass was on the line.”

“I wish I could have seen his face when Benedict’s story hit the wire.”

Rachel grinned. “Me too.”

“What made you call Benedict?”

“I had to do something,” Rachel said. “I had to get Carmody away from you, and I couldn’t shoot him.”

Max kissed her. “Thank you for that. For not shooting him, and for getting him off my back.”

“I knew Tommy was embedded, and I thought if the public knew what you and the others did out there, Carmody couldn’t railroad you into anything.”

“You got me fast-tracked home because Carmody didn’t want Tommy or someone else digging around.”

“I hadn’t planned on them shipping you out so soon.” Rachel took Max’s hand. “I didn’t want…”

“What?”

“I didn’t want to lose you.”

Max’s throat closed. She hadn’t been afraid of dying in the jungle. She hadn’t thought she’d had all that much to lose. Now she did. “You couldn’t have.”

Rachel braced her hands on Max’s shoulders. Her face was very near, so near Max got lost in the green of her eyes. “I don’t want this afternoon to be the end.”

“Neither do I.”

“I wouldn’t mind if we never left this room, if we never saw anyone else again.” Rachel sighed. “But I don’t think either one of us can walk away from our lives.”

“No, and I don’t think you want to.” Max let herself imagine a life with Rachel in it. The possibility was almost as terrifying as the idea of endless days without her. “You know where I live. There’s no one in my life. There won’t be.”

Rachel studied her, a small frown line appearing between her brows. “Is that what you think? That I want to stop in from time to time, between trips?”

“I don’t think anything. I think I want to see you again.”

“Our relationship won’t be completely private,” Rachel warned.

“Because the Benedicts of the world are always looking for a story?”

“Worse, I’m afraid. Tommy is a serious journalist who was willing to put his life in danger to tell the truth. I respect him for that.”

“Yes, so do I.”

“There are reporters, a lot of them, who would rather sell copy that’s a little more popular, and celebrity sells.”

“Listen,” Max said, “there’s nothing reporters can do or say that would mean anything to me after the places I’ve been and the things I’ve seen. The things I’ve done.”

“You’re sure?”

“Totally.”

Rachel smiled. “Then how do you feel about a trip to DC? My father mentioned he wants to meet you, and I’d like the rest of my family to meet you too.”

Max stared. “Is that because of Somalia? Or something else?”

Rachel’s smile faded. “Everyone loves good press—including the State Department. I can’t promise there won’t be a reporter or two around.”

Max swung out of bed and crossed to the kitchen to give herself time to regroup. Everything was coming at her so fast. Rachel couldn’t know what she was getting into. “I’m not relationship material, Rachel—not the meet-the-family kind.”

“Oh?” Rachel said from close behind her. “What kind of relationship material are you, then? Just good for sex now and then?”

“I’m not…I’m not what you’re looking for.”

“You were perfectly willing to keep seeing me a few minutes ago.”

“I thought—”

“You thought we’d just bump into each other now and then and fuck?” Rachel’s voice was calm. “I understand.”

Max spun around. Rachel was searching on the floor for her clothes. “Where are you going?”

“You must have things to do.”

“Damn it.” Max had fucked up.

Chapter Thirty

Rachel picked up her suitcase from where Max had left it just inside the door and let herself out, being careful not to slam the door. She wasn’t angry, at least not at Max. None of this was Max’s fault. She’d shown up with no warning, had made assumptions, or maybe just wishes, that Max felt what she felt. Max had every right to want nothing more than an as-long-as-we’re-having-fun relationship. She’d had more than a few of those herself.

But not this time. She knew how she felt about Max, and for the first time in her life, she knew what she wanted with a woman, what she wanted for herself beyond her job and obligations. She couldn’t have the kind of affair with Max she’d had with every other woman she’d been with. She couldn’t pretend that being with Max didn’t touch her on every level, that she didn’t want Max in every part of her life. In every part of her. If Max didn’t feel the same, at least she was honest enough to say so.

The pain would come later, she knew, but for now, she needed distance. She couldn’t be in the same room with Max and not want her. And if she stayed too long, she might let herself believe she could do with less. She pulled her suitcase to the curb and stepped out into the street, searching for a cab.

A window creaked up behind her.

“Rachel, we should talk,” Max called down.

Rachel turned and shielded her eyes as she looked up. Max leaned out the window, her hands curled around the stone sill. She’d pulled on a T-shirt and it stretched across her chest the way Rachel remembered her camo shirt doing when Max had taken off her jacket in the jungle to dig in the dry, hard earth. She couldn’t look at her without remembering so many moments, every one of them leading her here. “It’s all right, Max.”

“No, it isn’t.” Even from three stories up, Max’s eyes burned fiercely. “I don’t want this.”

“What do you want, Max?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never let myself think about it.” Max leaned out farther, looking as if she might jump down. “I never imagined you.”

“You need to think about it now,” Rachel said. “I’m not going to settle. I can’t, not where you’re concerned.”

Max’s smile was crooked. “You shouldn’t settle for anything with anyone.”

“So. I’ll be waiting.” Rachel had to turn away. Max was so beautiful it hurt to look at her.

A cab slid to the curb and Rachel picked up her suitcase. She slid into the back and gave him the address. He pulled away, and she closed her eyes. Walking away from what she wanted with every breath was worse than a nightmare. She’d feared losing Max so many times as they’d fought enemies who attacked with guns and power, but she’d never imagined letting her go.

Chapter Thirty-one

With the same care that she usually reserved for inspecting her equipment before a mission, Max fastened the last stud on her pleated white shirt and checked to see that her black tie was straight. Details mattered, and tonight more than ever.

She’d thought at first there’d been a mistake. The invitation—really, more like an order couched in fancy language embossed on pretty stationery—had arrived just hours before the phone call from the CO of her naval reserve unit. She was to appear at a State Department function to meet with members of the press, DOS officials, and other dignitaries to honor her service in the remarkable rescue of Rachel Winslow Harriman and other members of the Red Cross team.

“Did you get the message?” Captain Yoon said when he called.

“Am I to take this as official?” Max wasn’t ready to see Rachel yet. She knew what Rachel wanted—what Rachel deserved, and couldn’t imagine herself being enough. She’d never been enough for anyone she’d wanted to care about her. She’d only been enough in the ER or in the field of fire, and even then she’d failed so many. Rachel’s world was so much larger than hers. And Rachel was so much braver.

“You’re to take it as a request from command.” Yoon’s tone told her the Navy couldn’t order her to attend unless she was an official representative of the corps. Then whatever she said would be the Navy’s responsibility. But they were making it clear she was to go unofficially—and if she found herself in a tight place, the Navy could and probably would cut her loose. Just like they’d done with Carmody.

“I got it,” Max said.

“So what the hell’s going on?” Yoon’s curiosity rang down the line.

She couldn’t very well tell him what she didn’t know herself. The invitation might be exactly what it appeared to be—the press wanting more of a story and the State Department wanting to capitalize on a situation that made them look good for a change. Maybe Carmody and his ilk had nothing to do with it. Maybe no one was watching her. Or Rachel. Questions she couldn’t answer and even if she could, it wouldn’t matter. She owed it to Rachel to appear.

“I’ll be there. What about Grif and the others?”

“Griffin just arrived at Bethesda for rehab. The others are all still deployed. You’re the poster girl for this op.”

“Great.”

Yoon laughed. “Good luck. And remember, the Navy never questions our mission, and we never make mistakes.”

“Ooh-rah,” she murmured and disconnected.

Now, three days later, she stood in front of the mirror in a hotel in Foggy Bottom a few blocks from the Harry S. Truman Building where the function was to kick off with a reception at 1900 hours. She wasn’t nervous about talking to the press or rubbing shoulders with statesmen and other political types. They meant nothing to her. But Rachel would be there. And when she thought of her, her hands shook.

She’d passed the Red Cross building in the cab on the way to the hotel and wondered if Rachel had settled back into her life by now. Returned to work, reconnected with friends and family and…other relationships. Max had resumed her life as much as she ever could, working twenty-four on and thirty-six off. But she hadn’t quite been able to return to the insular world she’d inhabited before Rachel. Work still consumed her in the moment, but as soon as a crisis was past, other thoughts crept in. Memories, fragments of conversations, glimpses of Rachel. The ache in her chest never went away. She’d been on the verge of tracking down Rachel’s phone number a dozen times, but nothing she wanted to say to her could have been said over the phone even if she had known what to say. And now she’d be seeing her for the first time since she’d watched her drive away in a cab almost two weeks before.

She snapped the cuffs of the dress blue jacket, took the elevator down to the street, and walked to the Harry S. Truman Building. She told the guard at the door why she was there; he ID’d her and directed her through security to the elevators. She stepped off onto a massive, brightly lit two-story lobby with stone colonnades, marble floors, and rows of crystal chandeliers. A wall of sound slapped at her, reverberating like the hum of a dozen birds with rotors churning getting ready to lift off. The noise—distinguishable as voices now—grew louder the farther she walked until she found herself in the midst of a crowd of men and women in black tie, evening dresses, and uniforms from every branch of the armed forces. A bar was set up along one side with rows of white-linen-covered tables and a dozen bartenders in white jackets, white shirts, and black bow ties pouring drinks. She made her way over and asked for a soda water. Wineglass in hand, she turned and surveyed the room, ice cubes clinking as she sipped. She didn’t know anyone and hadn’t expected to. She hadn’t taken a second sip before a brunette who didn’t look more than twenty, in a deep burgundy dress and low functional heels, pushed through the crowd and gave her a bright smile. “Commander de Milles?”

“That’s right,” Max said.

“I’m Shelley Carpenter, one of Secretary Harriman’s interns. If you’d come with me, please.”

“Sure.”

She followed the young woman through the crowd to an archway where a small group of men and women stood conversing, drinks in hand. The intern rushed over—double time seeming to be her normal speed—and spoke to a tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired man who turned in Max’s direction and gave her a steady look of appraisal. She looked back. Rachel had his strong features, but her eyes were warm where his were cool, even at a distance.

Max stepped forward and squared her shoulders.

Rachel’s father held out his hand. “Commander, Christopher Harriman.”

“Sir,” she said as she returned his firm grip, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“I want to thank you for taking care of my daughter out there. And the others, of course.”

“No thanks are needed, sir.”

“I won’t argue the point, but the thanks stand.” He smiled wryly, and his gaze swept the gathering. “Now for the other matters. The Post wants to do a series of articles on the impact of the ongoing unrest in Somalia and elsewhere on civilians caught up in all of this, and this story is right up their alley.”

“I’m sure Ms. Winslow and her team can shed much more light on that than I.”

“The press are always looking for a story to grab the public’s attention, and this one has all the right angles—humanitarian workers at risk, the daughter of a cabinet member under attack, a daring rescue by America’s finest. We need the public to know the military’s mission is to secure civilian liberties and aid in rebuilding these nations.”

“I was just one—”

“Tom Benedict made you the face of the Navy in all of this. I’m afraid you’ll have to play the part.”

“I understand.” Max did. This was payback time for getting Carmody off her back. “Of course I’ll be happy to do whatever is necessary.”

“I’m sure you will. I’ve read the statements you gave Tom Benedict. Well done, considering.”

“Sir?”

He regarded her a moment longer in silence.

Max waited. She had no agenda, and if he did, he’d have to spell it out. She had plenty of practice waiting.

“I’m afraid events unfolded rather too rapidly for us to contain, and you suffered some of the fallout. Despite some regrettable avenues of investigation, you demonstrated remarkable restraint with the press.”

“I was just doing my job, sir.”

“Yes. Well, we all have a job to do.” Harriman set his rocks glass on the silver tray of a passing waiter. “My daughter speaks very highly of you.”

Max held his gaze. “Your daughter is quite exceptional.”

“Yes. And very single-minded.”

“That’s part of what makes her exceptional.” Max smiled.

“We’re in agreement on that.” He gestured to Shelley Carpenter, who rushed to his side. He murmured something, and she hurried away again. “You won’t be bothered with inappropriate questions in the future. And I’m sure you’ll handle the press with your usual skill.”

“I’ll do my best, Mr. Secretary.”

“Ms. Carpenter will provide you with the details. Good night, Commander.”

Harriman turned back to his companions just as Shelley appeared with another drink and handed it to him. That duty done, she turned to Max with her eager smile.

“If you’ll allow me, I’ll escort you around, Commander.”

“That would be fine. Thank you, Ms. Carpenter.”

She blushed and Max wondered how often anyone thanked her.

She followed Shelley dutifully in a circuit through the crowd, nodding at introductions, offering the standard line every time someone told her how remarkable the rescue in Somalia had been. They’d almost reached the bar again when Rachel materialized out of the crowd. One instant she wasn’t there, the next she was. Max stopped walking. She needed all her energy just to keep her legs under her.

Rachel wore an emerald-green dress that hugged her torso and flared at the hips in soft flowing folds. Her hair fell about her shoulders, glowing red-gold in the light from the chandeliers that seemed focused on only her. She was thinner than when Max had last seen her, and her smile appeared strained. A blonde stood by her side, laughing as she sipped from a champagne flute. Her ivory gown accentuated a willowy figure, and her sculpted nails, painted a darker shade of red than her lipstick, gleamed where one hand rested on Rachel’s forearm.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Max said to Shelley without looking away from Rachel.

“What? Do you need somethi—”

“No, I’m fine. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Max didn’t wait for a response, cutting through the crowd as individual faces blurred and faded. Rachel was all she could see. Well before she reached her, Rachel saw her coming and her mouth curved into a soft smile that was hard to interpret. Welcome? Polite greeting? When Max was a few feet away, the blonde seemed to notice Rachel wasn’t paying her any attention and looked around. Her playful expression hardened when she saw Max drawing near.

Max’s heart hammered as she took Rachel’s hand, leaned close, and kissed her on the cheek. “Hello, Ms. Winslow.”

“Commander.” Rachel’s hand was warm in hers, her fingers fitting perfectly into hers. “You look”—her gaze drifted down and then back to Max’s face—“good.”

“And you look beautiful as always.”

The blonde made a soft coughing sound and inched closer to Rachel. “Do introduce us, Rachel darling.”

Rachel continued to look at Max. “Commander Max de Milles. Christie Benedict.”

Max nodded to the blonde. “Ms. Benedict.”

“Oh. You’re the soldier Tommy wrote about.”

“Sailor.”

Christie frowned, her perfectly arched blond brows flattening in consternation. “I’m sorry. I thought that you were the one who rescued our Rachel in the jungle.”

“I was one of the team. Most of us were Navy and Marines.” Max spoke into Rachel’s eyes. “Rachel, however, pretty much rescued herself. I’ve never met anyone less in need of saving. In fact, I’m pretty sure she saved me.”

Christie’s full red lips made an O shape. “How interesting.” She tugged Rachel’s hand from Max’s. “Really, darling, you’ve been keeping secrets.”

“No, Christie, I haven’t. You just haven’t been listening.” Rachel spared Christie a fleeting glance. Max was so close, so very close and all she wanted to do was keep touching her. No, not just touch her, keep her, and the way Max was devouring her with her eyes said she wanted something similar. But then they’d always had heat. Always had passion. What she needed, what she wanted, was more now.

“I know how stressful—how awful it was for you over…there,” Christie went on as if Rachel hadn’t spoken, her tone solicitous. “I’m sure when you’ve had time to recover, you’ll feel differently about a lot of things. Including us.”

“I appreciate your support, but I don’t need to recover or forget.” Rachel carefully let go of Max’s hand. “And I won’t change my mind.”

Max caught Christie’s expression before she covered it with a fake smile. For a second, her face had twisted into a grimace of annoyance, insult, and suspicion. More than a few people nearby were watching them. Rachel hadn’t exaggerated when she’d said she was often the object of unwanted attention. She’d almost rather be back in the jungle—at least then she could be alone with Rachel. Her breath caught. That’s what she wanted. To be with Rachel. Nothing else mattered. “I take it there will be another meeting with the press?”

“Yes, tomorrow.” Rachel’s voice had grown husky, her eyes more intense. “I’ll see you then.”

Shelley Carpenter magically appeared at Max’s side. The woman had some kind of radar. “Commander, the Secretary of the Navy is here. If you’ll come with me.”

“Yes.” Max couldn’t find any other words, at least none she could say here. She bowed slightly, unable to look away from Rachel. “Good night, Rachel. Ms. Benedict.”

Chapter Thirty-two

Rachel slid her arm through Christie’s and guided her into the cab line. When their turn came, she opened the rear door of the yellow cab and helped Christie in. “I’ll call Sara to let her know you’re on the way. She’ll answer if I call the house, won’t she?”

“I’m really fine,” Christie said, enunciating each word very carefully. “You can take me to the hotel. Come up with me.”

“No, I can’t. I’m sending you to your parents. Then I’ll know you’re home safely.”

“You can still come with me. Sara is very discreet—she always covered for Tommy and me when we got home late.”

“I remember.” Rachel smiled and shook her head. “But I meant it earlier—I care for you, but that part is over.”

“All right, for now.” Christie leaned back and closed her eyes. “But I’m not giving up.”

“I’ll call you soon.” Rachel closed the door, gave the cabbie the Benedicts’ address, and paid him the fare along with a generous tip. Back on the sidewalk, she moved away from the surging crowds and dialed Christie’s parents’ home. Their longtime housekeeper answered, sounding perfectly awake and composed at almost two a.m.

“Sara, it’s Rachel Winslow,” she said. “Christie’s on her way home in a cab. Watch out for her, will you, and make sure she gets up to bed all right?…Considering the traffic, half an hour or so. Thanks, Sara.”

She ended the call and was about to dial for the car service to pick her up when she sensed eyes on her. Pausing, she studied the shadows beyond the brightly lit entrance of the building. She’d gotten very good at looking into shadows and discerning what was hidden there. Tonight, she had no trouble at all, and her pulse quickened. Max. An instant later, Max stepped to her side. She had traded her dress uniform for a dark shirt worn outside dark jeans. She looked every inch as good as she had earlier. Rachel tried hard not to think about just how damn sexy she was.

“Hi,” Max said. “All done for the evening?”

“Yes, finally. I noticed you disappeared quite a long time ago.”

“Guilty,” Max said, laughing softly. “I escaped as soon as I could politely manage it.”

“I bet you gave Shelley fits.”

Max slid her hands into the pockets of her jeans and lifted one shoulder, a gesture so Max that Rachel nearly groaned. She had about sixty seconds of control left before she would have to touch her.

“She’s very passionate about her job, you know,” Rachel said, thinking passion was a tame term for what she felt for Max. Hunger, need, want. For starters.

“I assured her I would keep to the schedule and appear promptly at the appointed hour tomorrow to meet with the press.” Max stepped close. “But tonight is off the clock.”

“Is it?” Rachel searched behind the intensity in Max’s gaze, afraid to hope too much. When she’d left Max’s apartment all she’d known was that she couldn’t stay, not feeling the way she did and Max being somewhere else altogether. She was afraid she might give in all over again tonight, but then, would that be so bad? Maybe Max couldn’t give her everything she wanted, maybe she wanted too much, maybe she could be happy with just… No. She couldn’t. “So what are you still doing here?”

“Taking the night watch.”

“Really? And who are you watching out for?”

“You.”

Rachel’s insides were already smoldering. Now heat like a living thing poured through her, desire so potent she ached. “Max. I—”

“I told you we should talk.” Max took her hand. “I got that wrong, and you were right to go. I should talk.”

“You want to talk.” Rachel repeated the words like a ventriloquist’s dummy and with about as much comprehension. Her brain had checked out and her libido was driving the train. “God, Max. It’s the middle of the night.”

“Will you come back to my hotel with me?”

“Now?”

“Yes.” Max tugged her hand. Started to walk. “I’ll buy you a drink. Give me half an hour.”

Rachel would’ve said yes to anything at this point, and given her a hell of a lot more than half an hour. The walk would give her a chance to collect herself, and she’d be safe in the hotel lounge. She wouldn’t be able to give in to the clawing need that scored her heart. “All right.”

Max’s smile blazed as she offered her arm. Rachel linked her arm through Max’s and Max pulled her to her side. Their bodies fell into step, the connection instantaneous. The discordance that had plagued Rachel for days—an uneasy niggling in the back of her mind that was something was very wrong—fell away like a discarded cloak. Being with Max, touching Max, was right. With Max, she was herself, all of herself, in a way she’d never been with anyone else. She sighed.

“What?”

“I wasn’t sure I’d hear from you again.”

“I’m an idiot,” Max said. “I missed you. More than that—I couldn’t stop thinking about you. No matter what I was doing, you were always on my mind.” Max stopped—took both Rachel’s hands. A streetlight lit her face, stark and strong and beautiful. “I shouldn’t have waited until now to tell you that. To tell you a lot of things. When you walked away I felt like part of me was gone.”

Rachel gasped and pressed her fingers to Max’s mouth. Her head was whirling, hope and desire and wanting making her weak. “Don’t. Not out here. Not until we’re alone.”

“I can’t let you go again,” Max said vehemently. She stopped in front of the hotel. “Would you…will you come up to my room? Just to talk?”

“To talk,” Rachel said, echoing again. She nodded, a heavy thrumming in her belly warning her she was in trouble.

Max hurried them through a lobby Rachel scarcely noticed, up an elevator, and into a room with a king-sized bed and the usual hotel furnishings, including a small sofa and coffee table in one corner. She took off her coat and sat while Max rummaged in the wet bar. Max’s shirt stretched across her back and she remembered clinging to Max’s back while she’d come. She bit her lip and tried to focus.

Max handed her a plastic cup of white wine and sat down so close their knees touched. “The vintage is good. Sorry about the glass.”

“It’s fine.”

Max sipped an inch of dark whiskey without ice and set her cup aside.

“I wanted to call,” Max said in her right-to-the-point way. “But mostly I was running scared.”

Rachel smiled wryly and set her drink down too. “Yes, I’m sorry, I did dump a lot on you, didn’t I.”

“No, it wasn’t you. It was me. Is me.” Max clasped Rachel’s hand in both of hers. “You’re an amazing woman—determined, dedicated, willing to do whatever you need to do. You’re brave, Rachel, the way it counts. You deserve someone a lot stronger than me, someone who isn’t carrying around a lot of broken places.”

“I’ve never met anyone as strong or as brave or as giving.” Rachel couldn’t not touch her, not when she suffered so much. She stroked Max’s face. “I saw what it was like out there, just a little bit of what you’ve seen, but enough to understand there’s no reason, no logic, to who lives and who dies. Only skill and determination and maybe luck. And you, Max. You made a difference.”

“I’m not strong,” Max said. “What you saw back at the camp was me trying to make up for never being quite brave or strong enough. Every one I didn’t save and every one I knew I’d fail the next day or the next haunted me. Still haunts me.” She nodded to the drinks on the table. “I spent a lot of time trying to drink away the nightmares. I’m not drinking much these days, but I’ll probably always have the nightmares. And the dark places inside me.”

“You think I don’t understand?” Rachel’s heart won the war with caution. She wrapped her arms around Max’s shoulders and pulled her close. She would have pulled her inside if she could have, wanting to comfort her so badly, to erase the pain that always rode so close to the surface of Max’s eyes. “I have dreams, nightmares, even when I’m awake. I know how easy it is to shut those places away. To close them down. And I know you haven’t.”

“When I’m with you is the only time I feel alive.”

“I know. I feel the same.”

Max hadn’t known she’d wanted comfort, was certain she hadn’t earned it, but Rachel’s heart beat full and strong beneath hers, her body and her words stroking her, soothing the broken, bleeding places. She clasped Rachel’s hand tightly and kissed her. “I love you. I’m not worthy, but I swear I love you with all my heart and all my soul and always will.”

Rachel cupped the back of her neck, deepened the kiss until Max’s head went light and all the blood in her body pooled in the pit of her stomach. Rachel’s lips slid over hers like silk between her fingers. “I’m in love with you, Max. You’re the only one I want. You’re all I want.”

Max groaned. “I’m starving for you.”

“Show me.”

Chapter Thirty-three

“I wanted to undress you the second I saw you tonight,” Max said, drawing Rachel to her feet.

Rachel looped her arms around Max’s neck and pressed close. “I’ve wanted your hands on me since that first afternoon in the jungle.”

Max tangled her fingers in Rachel’s hair and kissed her, one hand stroking down the silken curves of her outer breast and over her abdomen and hip. She slid her hand beneath the hem of the emerald dress and found silk stockings topped with lace. Silken flesh above.

“You feel like no one I’ve ever touched,” Max breathed.

“I never expected to feel this way about anyone,” Rachel said, opening the buttons on Max’s shirt. She kissed her throat, the hollow between her collarbones, the shallow valley between her breasts. “I’ve never wanted to give myself so much, take so much.” She cupped Max’s breasts beneath the tight tank she’d worn beneath the cotton shirt. “I’ve never wanted anyone to touch me the way you touch me. Everywhere, inside me, I feel you everywhere.”

Max played her fingers lightly up Rachel’s thigh from silk to lace to the soft skin above the stockings and higher, to the satin that covered Rachel between her thighs. Rachel surged into her hand as she pressed gently.

Rachel whispered against Max’s throat, “God, Max, you keep teasing me like that, you’ll make me come.”

“That’s all right. I want to touch you forever.”

“You can, I’m yours.”

“Mine,” Max whispered, drawing her finger along the satin-covered cleft in long, firm strokes.

Rachel gripped Max’s shoulders as her thighs grew weak. She circled her hips, her body guiding Max’s touch. Her breath caught as the pleasure brimmed and threatened to spill. “Close, so close.”

Max kissed her and stroked faster, forgetting to breathe, forgetting everything except Rachel’s soft whimpers and the demanding thrust of her hips. To pleasure her was an honor she didn’t deserve and one she craved every waking moment. “I love you.”

Rachel jerked in her arms and cried out against her throat. Max held her closer as her orgasm overtook her.

“I love you,” Max said again, and nothing had ever been so true.

“I love the way you make me feel. I love the way you know me.” Rachel clung to Max until some of her strength returned. “Will you take me to bed so I can touch what’s mine?”

“Yours,” Max murmured. “Yes, I am.”

Max turned Rachel in her arms and lowered the short zipper in the back of her dress. She smoothed the straps down over Rachel’s shoulders and the dress pooled at Rachel’s feet, the silky green on the pale beige carpet an oasis in the desert. Holding Rachel against her, she kissed Rachel’s shoulder and stroked her breasts and down her bare belly. Rachel’s head fell back against Max’s shoulder.

“This isn’t bed,” Rachel said with a sigh.

“I’m getting there,” Max said. “But undressing you might be one of the world’s greatest wonders.”

Rachel laughed shakily. “Max. You make me feel so special.”

Max kissed her shoulder again and slid her fingers beneath the satin panties. Rachel was wet and swollen, ready for her again. Rachel gripped her forearm, fingers tightening as Max circled the base of her clitoris.

“Max,” Rachel breathed, a warning and a plea.

“I know.” Max’s legs were as wooden as if she’d just marched thirty miles. She could barely breathe, she was so focused on the rising tension in Rachel’s body.

“I’m going to come again.” Rachel buried her face against Max’s neck. “God, Max. Right now.”

“I love you,” Max whispered again and again as Rachel tensed and shuddered. The words, the reality, freed her from a lifetime of isolation. Rachel was the sunrise, the promise of a new day. Rachel was life.

“I want you on top of me,” Rachel gasped. “I want you inside me.”

Max swung Rachel into her arms, carried her the short distance to the bed, and laid her down. She stripped and settled atop Rachel, supporting herself on one arm and straddling Rachel’s thigh. She slid her hand between Rachel’s legs and cupped her. “Here?”

“Yes. Now.” Rachel wrapped both arms around Max’s back, stroking the planes she loved to look at, and lifted her hips to take Max in deeper until the ache that hadn’t left since she’d walked out of Max’s apartment faded away. Max looked down at her, her expression fierce, intense, possessive. Rachel pulled her near to kiss her and kept kissing her as Max carried her, stroke by stroke, to the crest of another orgasm. When she was close, so close she was only seconds away, she pushed Max over and straddled her.

“Watch me,” Rachel whispered, her knees on either side of Max’s hips. She reached behind her to cup Max as Max filled her.

“So beautiful,” Max groaned, her dark gaze fixed on Rachel’s face.

Rachel squeezed, and the tendons in Max’s neck stood out. Gliding up and back, she rode Max’s fingers to the peak.

“I’m coming,” Rachel whispered, falling at last into the clear dark depths of Max’s eyes. Max groaned and bucked beneath her, carried over the edge with her. Boneless with release, Rachel slumped forward, catching herself on Max’s shoulders, her hair falling down to curtain Max’s face. “Never. Never like this.”

“I know.” Max cradled her breasts, softly thumbing her nipples. The sensation was erotic and soothing, like Max, always exciting and safe.

“I love you.” Rachel gathered her strength and slid down the bed between Max’s thighs. She stroked the iron-hard length of her legs and kissed her still-hard clitoris.

“Jesus,” Max groaned.

Smiling to herself, Rachel took her time, sucking gently for a few seconds until Max’s body tensed and she knew she was close, then easing away. She indulged herself, taking what was hers, one slow stroke at a time.

“Rachel, please.” Max cupped the back of Rachel’s head and drew her face closer. “I need you.”

Rachel’s breath stilled and every sense filled with Max. Only Max. She drew her in and pushed her over, holding her while she came in her mouth.

*

Max ran strands of Rachel’s hair through her fingers as she watched the ceiling grow light with the coming dawn. Rachel lay with her head on Max’s shoulder, her arm draped around her middle, one thigh over hers. She fit perfectly, as if she’d always been there. If she thought too much about how good Rachel felt in her arms, she’d begin to worry about jinxing what had to be a mistake. She ran a hand down her chest, an automatic gesture looking for her dog tags, her talisman, a reminder of who she was and that she was still alive. The tags were gone. Maybe her luck was too.

“I hear you thinking,” Rachel murmured, kissing Max’s breast.

“Not so much,” Max said. Rachel didn’t need to know about her fears. “Just enjoying you.”

“Well, you can enjoy all you want.” Rachel snuggled a little closer and kissed Max’s throat. “Especially when it makes me feel so good. But you’re not allowed to worry. Not when everything is fine.”

Max laughed and some of the darkness receded. Rachel always managed to do that. “How did you know?”

“I can feel you worrying. You’re not concerned about later today, are you?” Rachel said.

Max frowned while her brain tried to engage again with the rest of the world. She didn’t want to let the outside in. All she wanted was Rachel. This room, this bed, this moment with no past to haunt her, no failures and fears to torment her. “The press conference? No, but I’d be just as happy to skip it. I guess there’s no way we can just stay here?”

“I think Shelley Carpenter would find us,” Rachel said.

“I don’t want to put her in a bind. And I think you’re right. She’s determined.”

Rachel caressed Max’s chest. “I’d be happy staying here except for her too. But, Max—this moment, it doesn’t have to end. I don’t care what it takes.”

Max lifted Rachel’s hand and kissed her fingers. Took a breath. “I don’t fit in your world.”

“Thank God.” Rachel raised up. Kissed Max slowly and thoroughly. “I never wanted that world or someone who fit in it.”

“Your parents won’t approve.”

“Max, you might not have noticed, but you are a decorated war hero. Not that it matters to me what my parents think, but they’ll have no objections.”

“I’m not particularly sociable.”

“You seemed to be doing quite well last night. I think Shelley Carpenter is half in love with you.”

“That’s just because I thanked her.”

“You noticed her, Max. You saw her. Like you see me. It’s one of the reasons I fell in love with you. That’s so much more important than empty words.”

“My nightmares probably won’t go away.”

“Mine might not either. But I’ll sleep better in your arms. You have a way of chasing off the monsters.”

“You’re pretty good at that yourself.” Max pulled Rachel on top of her and kissed her. “I love you. I need you.”

Rachel caressed Max’s jaw. “You won’t have to go back there, will you? I’m not sure I’m brave enough to stand you being in combat again.”

“Probably not. The troops are being retracted. But medics with field experience are the first called up if troops are sent to battle. So I still might be, one day.”

“Okay,” Rachel said, her expression firming. “If it happens, we’ll deal. I know who you are, Max. And I’m so proud of you. We’ll deal.”

“My schedule is hard on…family.” Max savored the word, almost afraid to use it.

Rachel’s smile was radiant. “My schedule is too. I’ll have to be away—out of the country sometimes, for a while.”

Max cupped her chin, kissed her. “I’m proud of you too. All I care about is that you’re mine and I’m yours.”

“Max, I love you. I’m yours.”

“And I’m yours,” Max murmured.

Rachel kissed her. “Then there’s nothing else we can’t handle.”

About the Author

Radclyffe has written over forty-five romance and romantic intrigue novels, dozens of short stories, and, writing as L.L. Raand, has authored a paranormal romance series, The Midnight Hunters.

She is an eight-time Lambda Literary Award finalist in romance, mystery, and erotica—winning in both romance (Distant Shores, Silent Thunder) and erotica (Erotic Interludes 2: Stolen Moments edited with Stacia Seaman and In Deep Waters 2: Cruising the Strip written with Karin Kallmaker). A member of the Saints and Sinners Literary Hall of Fame, she is also an RWA/FF&P Prism Award winner for Secrets in the Stone, an RWA FTHRW Lories and RWA HODRW winner for Firestorm, an RWA Bean Pot winner for Crossroads, and an RWA Laurel Wreath winner for Blood Hunt. In 2014 she was awarded the Dr. James Duggins Outstanding Mid-Career Novelist Award by the Lambda Literary Foundation.

She is also the president of Bold Strokes Books, one of the world’s largest independent LGBTQ publishing companies.

Find her at facebook.com/Radclyffe.BSB, follow her on Twitter @RadclyffeBSB, and visit her website at Radfic.com.

Books Available From Bold Strokes Books

Kiss The Girl by Melissa Brayden. Sleeping with the enemy has never been so complicated. Brooklyn Campbell and Jessica Lennox face off in love and advertising in fast-paced New York City. (978-1-62639-071-3)

Taking Fire: A First Responders Novel by Radclyffe. Hunted by extremists and under siege by nature’s most virulent weapons, Navy medic Max de Milles and Red Cross worker Rachel Winslow join forces to survive and discover something far more lasting. (978-1-62639-072-0)

First Tango in Paris by Shelley Thrasher. When French law student Eva Laroche meets American call girl Brigitte Green in 1970s Paris, they have no idea how their pasts and futures will intersect. (978-1-62639-073-7)

The War Within by Yolanda Wallace. Army nurse Meredith Moser went to Vietnam in 1967 looking to help those in need; she didn’t expect to meet the love of her life along the way. (978-1-62639-074-4)

Desire at Dawn by Fiona Zedde. For Kylie, love had always come armed with sharp teeth and claws. But with the human, Olivia, she bares her vampire heart for the very first time, sharing passion, lust, and a tenderness she’d never dared dreamed of before. (978-1-62639-064-5)

Visions by Larkin Rose. Sometimes the mysteries of love reveal themselves when you least expect it. Other times they hide behind a black satin mask. Can Paige unveil her masked stranger this time? (978-1-62639-065-2)

All In by Nell Stark. Internet poker champion Annie Navarro loses everything when the Feds shut down online gambling, and she turns to experienced casino host Vesper Blake for advice—but can Nova convince Vesper to take a gamble on romance? (978-1-62639-066-9)

Vermillion Justice by Sheri Lewis Wohl. What’s a vampire to do when Dracula is no longer just a character in a novel? (978-1-62639-067-6)

Switchblade by Carsen Taite. Lines were meant to be crossed. Third in the Luca Bennett Bounty Hunter Series. (978-1-62639-058-4)

Nightingale by Andrea Bramhall. Culture, faith, and duty conspire to tear two young lovers apart, yet fate seems to have different plans for them both. (978-1-62639-059-1)

No Boundaries by Donna K. Ford. A chance meeting and a nightmare from the past threaten more than Andi Massey’s solitude as she and Gwen Palmer struggle to understand the complexity of love without boundaries. (978-1-62639-060-7)

Timeless by Rachel Spangler. When Stevie Geller returns to her hometown, will she do things differently the second time around or will she be in such a hurry to leave her past that she misses out on a better future? (978-1-62639-050-8)

Second to None by L.T. Marie. Can a physical therapist and a custom motorcycle designer conquer their pasts and build a future with one another? (978-1-62639-051-5)

Seneca Falls by Jesse Thoma. Together, two women discover love truly can conquer all evil. (978-1-62639-052-2)

A Kingdom Lost by Barbara Ann Wright. Without knowing each other’s fates, Princess Katya and her consort Starbride seek to reclaim their kingdom from the magic-wielding madman who seized the throne and is murdering their people. (978-1-62639-053-9)

Season of the Wolf by Robin Summers. Two women running from their pasts are thrust together by an unimaginable evil. Can they overcome the horrors that haunt them in time to save each other? (978-1-62639-043-0)

The Heat of Angels by Lisa Girolami. Fires burn in more than one place in Los Angeles. (978-1-62639-042-3)

Desperate Measures by P. J. Trebelhorn. Homicide detective Kay Griffith and contractor Brenda Jansen meet amidst turmoil neither of them is aware of until murder suspect Tommy Rayne makes his move to exact revenge on Kay. (978-1-62639-044-7)

The Magic Hunt by L.L. Raand. With her Pack being hunted by human extremists and beset by enemies masquerading as friends, can Sylvan protect them and her mate, or will she succumb to the feral rage that threatens to turn her rogue, destroying them all? A Midnight Hunters novel. (978-1-62639-045-4)

Wingspan by Karis Walsh. Wildlife biologist Bailey Chase is content to live at the wild bird sanctuary she has created on Washington’s Olympic Peninsula until she is lured beyond the safety of isolation by architect Kendall Pearson. (978-1-60282-983-1)

Night Bound by Winter Pennington. Kass struggles to keep her head, her heart, and her relationships in order. She’s still having a difficult time accepting being an Alpha female—but her wolf is certain of what she wants and she’s intent on securing her power. (978-1-60282-984-8)

Windigo Thrall by Cate Culpepper. Six women trapped in a mountain cabin by a blizzard, stalked by an ancient cannibal demon bent on stealing their sanity—and their lives. (978-1-60282-950-3)

The Blush Factor by Gun Brooke. Ice-cold business tycoon Eleanor Ashcroft only cares about the three Ps—Power, Profit, and Prosperity—until young Addison Garr makes her doubt both that and the state of her frostbitten heart. (978-1-60282-985-5)

Slash and Burn by Valerie Bronwen. The murder of a roundly despised author at an LGBT writers’ conference in New Orleans turns Winter Lovelace’s relaxing weekend hobnobbing with her peers into a nightmare of suspense—especially when her ex turns up. (978-1-60282-986-2)

The Quickening: A Sisters of Spirits novel by Yvonne Heidt. Ghosts, visions, and demons are all in a day’s work for Tiffany. But when Kat asks for help on a serial killer case, life takes on another dimension altogether. (978-1-60282-975-6)