Yes. I did. And I didn’t comprehend how that could have happened. My crumbling defenses scrambled to close the gaps against Trygg Carrollus. I didn’t know what to say.
“I’m not so selfish that I imagine I’m the only one who’s lost someone,” I finally spoke.
“Perhaps you haven’t lost as much as you think,” he said. He offered me the package he’d brought with him into the room.
I stared at the clumsy wrapping job and knew he’d done it himself. That warmed me.
When I glanced at him, he looked . . . lost.
A tendril of fear touched me. Hand trembling, I took the gift.
“Thank you,” I said. I tore paper.
It was a picture frame.
I’d opened it so the picture wasn’t facing me. I turned it over. I felt as if I’d been kicked in the gut. The breath left me. My mouth opened, but I couldn’t force air past the painful constriction in my throat. Tears burned my eyes. A sore place in the center of my chest tore open.
A picture from my parents’ wedding. I hadn’t seen the photo since before the flood that had destroyed the house we’d rented in rural Louisiana when I’d been ten years old.
“I’d forgotten.” I whispered because I couldn’t force my voice past the lump of unshed tears choking me.
Warm fingers touched my cheek. “They look so happy.” The wistful note in his voice raked my raw emotions. “Your mother is beautiful. You look very much like her. And your father looks so proud.”
I breathed a ghost of a laugh. “When he saw her walking down the aisle toward him, he was so overwhelmed, he nearly passed out.”
“He has my complete sympathy.”
“My God, Trygg.” I choked. “Thank you for the picture. Where did you—?”
“Newspaper archives from the town where they were married,” he said. “I’d had you under surveillance for several months before we brought you in. I contacted the paper and explained you’d lost both the pictures and your parents. They were happy to pull the negatives.”
I threw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, aware I didn’t care where, when or how. I only cared that a lost part of my family had been restored. My tears spilled over. Embarrassed, I realized he hadn’t returned the embrace. I ducked my head and tried to back away.
He caught me, eased the picture from my hands, and pulled me tight against his chest. He tucked my head beneath his chin and held me until the emotional storm passed. He didn’t try to quiet me with false assurances that everything would be all right. He simply held me and accepted my sadness. That felt oddly like another gift – one I’d never before been offered.
I’d gone from slugging my kidnapper in the stomach to taking comfort in his arms, all within a twenty-
four-hour time frame.
When I finally straightened, he wiped moisture from my cheeks with shaking fingers. I registered the pressure of his erection, hot against me. Intrigued by the notion of stripping Trygg Carrollus out of his austere uniform, I flexed my fingers on his hard thighs, seeking to slide a hand between us to stroke him through the fabric.
“No,” he rasped. He caught my wrist. A sharp sliver of hurt lodged in my chest.
“Don’t,” he ordered, when he looked at me. “If I have you, I won’t be able to do what I know is right.”
“And what is that?”
“To take you home,” he said. “Isn’t that what you want?”
Pain expanded inside my chest. I could barely breathe around it.
Confusion rocked me. “I – yes. No.”
The skin between his brows puckered. “I don’t understand.”
“You’d be disobeying another direct order,” I said.
“Yes.”
“What happens to you then?”
He shook his head. “I don’t care.”
“I do. Come with me.” I said. Where the hell had that come from? “You were right. I care what happens to you. All of you. But you, specifically. When you look at me, I feel so much it’s—”
He drew closer with each breathless confession until I couldn’t eke any more words past my lips.
“I want you,” he said, “but I won’t rob you of your freedom.”
“I don’t want to lose – whatever this is—” The words stumbled out. I hated that I sounded like a love-
struck teenager, and I loathed the waver in my voice.
He nodded.
I recognized the twist of pain in his eyes. Part of my heart tore.
“Why does this have to be an either or proposition?” I demanded.
“You come to Earth. I know you do. You know too much about the US military to not be involved regularly. Why couldn’t I stay here and still go to work every morning? You could stay with me when you’re on assignment infiltrating governments.”
He chuckled. “You don’t forget anything, do you?”
“Not if I can use it to get what I want.”
Hope lit in his eyes until it hurt to meet his gaze. “You’d do that? Live here and work on Earth?”
“You do.”
He picked up my parents’ wedding picture to run his fingers over the glass. “I do. Before she died, Ikkari urged me to be happy.”
“You haven’t been?”
“I hadn’t given it much thought,” he confessed. “It didn’t seem possible. Much less relevant.”
His observation touched off a sense of recognition within me. I’d felt something similar after my family had been killed.
“You’ve driven me mad with wanting from the moment I met you,” he said. “I think that was my grandfather’s plan all along when he sent me your file and ordered me to take up surveillance. He hasn’t given up hope that he’ll hold another Grisham descendant before he dies.”
Longing arced hot and sharp through my body. He’d planted the image of a dark-haired, blue-eyed infant in my brain and in my heart.
“I want what your parents had, and I want you, Finlay Selkirk. If I have to call in all my favors at the Pentagon to keep questions from being asked, I will,” he swore.
“Then help me get my things,” I ordered, grinning. “You can come with me to Jill’s party three days from now. Then we can take turns playing Santa.”
Interest sparked in his eyes as he looked me up and down. “I can hardly wait to unwrap my present.
Are you going to make me wait for Christmas morning?”
“Of course,” I replied, thoroughly enjoying the buzz of arousal bolstering the easy teasing.
“Not if I have my way,” he promised, taking my hand and pressing a kiss to my palm. He chuckled when I gasped and squirmed.
I so hoped he did get his way. Soon.
“Ms Finlay Selkirk,” he said, mischief in his tone. “You’ve aced the interview. I’d like to offer you the job. Effective immediately.”
“Reporting to you?”
“Only to me.”
“When do we talk compensation?” I teased.
His dead sexy smile turned my insides to water. “When we’ve completed transport to your apartment.
We’ll discuss it. In detail.”
Author Biographies
Regan Black
Regan crafts action-packed stories so paranormal fans can enjoy a fantastic escape from the daily grind. A recipient of a 2011 Paranormal Romance Guild Reviewer’s Choice Award, she is the author of the futuristic Shadows of Justice series, the lighthearted, contemporary Matchmaker series, and the Hobbitville young-adult series. www.reganblack.com
Marcella Burnard
An award-winning author writing science fiction romance for Berkley Sensation, her first book, Enemy Within, was a national bestseller on its debut in November 2010. It won the RT Reviewer’s Choice Award that year and was a double RITA finalist. The second book in the series, Enemy Games, was published in May 2011. Enemy Storm, book three, is in the works. A short, erotic novella set in the Enemy universe was released by Berkley as an E-Special in April 2012. www.marcellaburnard.com