She knew she must be gaping like an idiot, but she couldn't seem to wrap her mind around the words coming from his mouth. Something deep inside of her obviously recognized them, however, for a warm glow, a brilliant light, began to unfurl in her breast.
He pushed away from the doorframe. "You were right when you accused me of being afraid." Stopping in front of her, he traced a blossom down her cheekbone and along her jawline. "I don't care to think of myself as a man who's afraid of much, but I was scared to death that if I trusted in your feelings for me, eventually you'd change your mind and… take them back."
Never. Before the denial could travel from her brain to her vocal cords, however, he dropped to his knees in front of her, shocking her into silence.
"You think I can't beg? Think again, sweetheart, because I would do anything, say anything, if that meant you'd give me another chance. So, God, Lily, plea —"
"Don't!" The dawning warmth and light exploded in pyrotechnics of joy so absolute she was amazed she didn't go up in flames. But even as they shot throughout her system to the farthermost tips of her fingers and toes, she realized that the last thing she wanted was to see this proud man humbled. "Zach, don't."
Clearly misunderstanding, his face twisted. "Dammit, Lily, you have to give me a second chance. I love you."
"Then that's all I need." When she couldn't tug him to his feet, she gave a strangled laugh and dropped to her own knees and plastered herself against him, wrapping her arms around his waist to hold him tight. It felt like coming home to be next to all that heat and scent and strength once again, and she stared up into his face. "I never wanted you to beg. All I wanted was for you to love me the way I love you. The way I'll always love you for as long as I've got breath in my lungs. That's not something I will ever take back."
"Ah, God." The thin scar bisecting his upper lip lost its whiteness, and bending, he pressed the most reverent kiss she'd ever received upon her lips. When he lifted his head, his pale gray irises had darkened. "I don't deserve you."
"And don't think I won't remind you of that every chance I get," she said dryly, resting her chin on his chest and gazing up at him. Suddenly her hand flew to her hair. "Ohmigawd! I look awful."
He grinned crookedly. "Honey, you couldn't look awful if you tried."
But she'd seen herself in the mirror earlier. At the time she simply hadn't cared that her eyes were all bloodshot and her skin was ashy. She wasn't wearing her usual makeup to help disguise it, either, since what she'd applied yesterday had worn off ages ago, and she been too heartsick to bother replacing it. "I haven't been to sleep since I left," she admitted, then narrowed her lashes. "Which reminds me. How the heck did you manage to get here so fast? I just barely made the last boat off the island."
"I chartered a plane this morning."
"Well, aren't you Mr. Posh. I spent all night traveling, going from island to island to mainland, where I rented a car for the drive to Seattle. I got to the airport about two-thirty in the morning, and all I can say is thank goodness the air-traffic controllers' strike was settled, because frankly I'd forgotten all about it until I was almost there. But that turned out to be the last bit of luck I had going for me. I waited hours to get a flight home, then had to rent another car when I got to LAX—and the freeways, of course, were in their usual state of gridlock. But, gee." She smacked his chest with the flat of her hand. "How nice that you got to have a good night's sleep before tootling down here in a private plane."
When he bent his head to kiss her this time, there was nothing reverent about it. It was all fierce heat, and she dug her nails into the hard muscles of his chest to anchor herself. She was straining toward him in an attempt to meld their bodies by the time he lifted his head again.
"You think I just took the news of your leaving in stride, jumped in the sack, and slept like a baby?" A rude laugh exploded out of his throat. "Not only did I not sleep worth a damn, sweetheart, my head never even so much as touched a pillow! That frigging little airport in Eastsound was shut down by the time I called last night, and I spent every minute until it opened up again pacing my room, worrying that you'd be gone by the time I got here." His remembered frustration seemed to segue into something much more immediate as his fingers gently traced her puffy eyelids. "Dammit, your eyes aren't swollen just because you've been up all night. You've been crying ." Regret filled his eyes. "I could cut my heart out."
"Oh, yeah. That'd do me a lot of good." "But what if this isn't the last time I make you cry?" Worry etched his eyes. "Jesus, Lily, I know zip about this relationship stuff. I'm sure to fuck it up."
"No doubt you will." She cupped his face in her hands, appreciating the scratchy texture of his beard beneath her palms. "But so will I, Zach. I think that's probably the nature of the beast when you've got two people as different as you and I trying to make a go of it together."
"Great. So you're telling me we're pretty much doomed?"
"Heck, no. I'd bet all my restaurant money, in fact, that we'll get it right more often than we'll mess it up. And that's not even factoring in how stubborn both of us are."
He raised his eyebrows. "And this you see as a plus?"
"Well, if you define stubbornness as pretty much refusing to be swayed from a purpose, don't you think that ought to work in our favor when it comes to our relationship?"
"Yes." His smile dawned white, and his muscles visibly relaxed. "Yes, I do. And I suppose there's even something to be said for the occasional fight." His hands smoothed their way down to her hips. "I bet making up can be a whole lot of fun." He tipped his head. "So what do we do now? Do we get married?"
"Oh. Well. Marriage." Her heart gave a huge lurch and silently screamed Want it! Want it ! "I don't know. There's still so much we haven't talked about. Like what happened last night with Miguel. And what you wanna do with your last two years in the service. Or the fact that if we marry, there goes my sweaty stableboy fantasy."
"Hey, I can be a sweaty stableboy." He spread his thighs to align the fly of his jeans with hers and rocked an impressive erection against the soft notch he'd opened up for himself between her legs. "Would madam care to ride the stallion this morning?"
Oh. Yes. Absolutely. Before she could slide her hands around to his muscular rear to clamp him in place, however, he eased back and scooped her up in his arms. She clutched at his shoulders as he rose to his feet and carried her over to the bed, where he flopped down with her on his lap.
"Before we play horsey, let's get the rest of this out of the way." He gently rearranged a few strands of her hair. "Miguel was collected by the MPs this morning to be transported back to Pendleton. It's out of my hands—men with more stars on their epaulets than I'll ever possess are in charge of deciding his fate now." He related the highlights of his conversation with the young man the previous evening. "As far as I'm concerned he was damn fortunate not to be turned over to the INS."
"I wonder if he's mature enough to appreciate his luck?"
"I doubt it, but that's not our problem. We've got considerations of our own to hash out." Zach tugged on her leg until she swung it around to sit astride him. He gazed at her, perched on his lap looking a bit pale and less pulled-together than he'd ever seen her, yet so pretty in his eyes that it made him ache. Love for her swelled in his chest. "Listen, I thought about this quite a bit on the way down here this morning. And I decided if you'd have me, I'd do what you suggested last night and see about teaching field work."
"Is that what you want to do?"
He hesitated, then nodded. "Um, yeah. Sure."
" Zach ." It was her schoolmarm tone, and he knew better than to ignore it.
But he shrugged. "I don't know what I want, okay? That's been the problem—I'm a thirty-six-year-old who suddenly has to figure what he wants to be when he grows up."