Crossing The Line (KTS Book 2) Page 4

  I took the opportunity to smooth back her hair and fuck if it didn’t feel like silk, even after these days in the hospital. Speaking of which, most people were a little rank after an extended stay, especially those in her position, in and out of consciousness, deodorant and sponge baths far down the list of priorities. But Olive smelled like heaven—roses and vanilla with a dash of spice—and I didn’t miss the connection to the woman herself.

  Sweet and feminine, but with thorns and a little attitude.

  The absolute fucking perfect combination.

  I wasn’t the type of man who wanted all of one side or the other. I appreciated the fact that she could be a total badass, that she could take down an enemy, whether three hundred yards away or three feet away. But I also loved that she’d managed to hold onto more than a sliver of softness.

  She cared about the agents, about the people they saved.

  And not just in a sense that some of the agents did—that caring only due to the fact that saving them meant a successful mission. She cared well beyond that. Arranging for housing, making sure the kids got into good schools (even if she had to fund scholarships for them herself so they could afford tuition). Hell, I’d caught her baking a birthday cake for an eight-year-old who had been rescued from a trafficking ring not long before, simply because the little girl was alone and “deserved to have one happy memory.” She’d not only gotten candles and sprinkles from somewhere, but she coaxed a dozen agents to sing Happy Birthday.

  And she had produced a present—and not just a wrapped one. Because the next day, Olive had managed to track down the little girl’s parents.

  That had been a good day.

  A happy ending, when all too often happy endings for those caught up in those rings didn’t happen.

  But that time we had managed to rescue the little girl before she’d been sold, and we’d found her family. She would probably always carry scars from her experience, but I was critically aware of both how resilient kids were and how easily these situations could go wrong.

  That little girl, she was the one they all remembered when shit got dark.

  Because of Olive.

  Because she cared for those she saved, and those who did the saving.

  But . . . who cared for her?

  No one from what I could see. She was too busy giving herself to others to take care of herself, to make sure she had what she needed. So, since she was doing a shit job of it, I was going to care for her. I was going to make sure she had what she needed.

  “You were the driving force of the idea,” I said, interrupting her as she continued sputtering about it being a “team effort” and “many minds had worked on it.”

  “Linc, I still—”

  “It’s named The Ollie,” I said. “It’s already gone into production. End of story.” I lifted my brows, waited for her to argue further, and based on the mutinous expression dancing across her face, additional arguments would be coming my way. Maybe just not right at that moment.

  “I still think that the team should be included in the name somehow,” she muttered.

  “Great,” I told her.

  She brightened. “So, we’ll work on a new name?”

  I didn’t hesitate. “Nope.”

  She sighed. “God, you’re infuriating.”

  “No,” I said. “What I am is going to tell you a story.”

  “You said that already,” she grumbled. “And alas, no story is forthcoming.”

  “If you’d just stop interrupting me and actually let a man—”

  She huffed.

  I grinned.

  “You just live to annoy the shit out of me, don’t you?” More muttering.

  Leaning forward, I stroked a finger down her cheek. “I do love the way your eyes flash when you’re annoyed,” I admitted. “But no, I do really need to tell you something. Will you let me?”

  A muscle in her jaw twitched. “Will you promise to leave me alone after you do?”

  “Yes.”

  She crossed her arms, winced, then uncrossed them. “Fine. Tell your magical story so you can get out of my hair already.”

  I tilted my head to the side, studied her totally kissable lips, those gorgeous blue eyes. “How did we go from you giving me your undying thanks for saving your life to you kicking my ass out the door?”

  “Easy,” she told me. “Because you’re annoying.”

  My grin slipped free. “And I’ll continue being so as long as it makes your eyes shoot sparks like that,” I said. “They’re so fucking pretty when they do that.”

  She inhaled sharply.

  And cursed, bringing a hand to her side.

  “Sorry,” I murmured.

  “Why do you keep saying these things?” she asked, her brows furrowed again, a tiny V in between them that called to my lips, made it almost impossible to not kiss that little furrow away. “You don’t want me.” She shook her head. “You made that quite clear.”

  “Oh no,” I said. “I’ve wanted you from the moment you strode onto the base, stuck your hand out, and introduced yourself.” I circled her wrist with thumb and forefinger, running the former over the soft skin on the inside. “Do you know that I can remember what you were wearing?”

  Her lips parted. Just slightly, a quiet breath sneaking out from in between them. “What are you saying? I—” She swallowed. “I don’t understand. I mean, I asked you out, and you said—”

  I squeezed lightly when her words faltered. “It has to do with the story I need to tell you.”

  Blue, blue eyes studying mine, and I could have sworn the ice that had been present in those depths since the moment I’d well and truly fucked up, melted slightly, and for a moment, I had hope that I’d be able to smooth things over.

  Then the ice reappeared.

  And I had the thought that my hope was about as good as a spoon when my enemies had AK-47s. I could do some damage, take down a few of them, but in the end, it was more than likely I would succumb to their stronger firepower. More than likely, my story wouldn’t make one bit of difference.

  I needed to tell her, anyway.

  “So, get on with this tale of yours, already,” she snapped, yanking her hand out of my grip, bringing it up to her forehead, and I saw that her fingers were shaking; her skin had gone pale.

  I was hurting her.

  Again.

  When she was recovering from almost dying.

  “It’s okay,” I said, preparing to stand. “I’ll come back and tell you another time.”

  “No.” She snagged my hand. “Wait,” she said, tugging it slightly. Her fingers still trembled, and the force with which she held me in place was one I could have easily broken. But I couldn’t leave. Not when she’d reached for me, not with her hand wrapped around mine. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  I brought my free hand on top of both of ours. “It’s—”

  “Not okay,” she interrupted. Her fingers convulsed in mine. “The truth is that my pride was hurt, and I’m taking it out on you.” Pink flared across her cheeks. “You were right to turn me down. It would have only complicated things.”

  It was my turn to say, “No,” and I nearly gasped when her eyes came to mine again. They were swirling with emotion, pinning me in place, making me forget what it was to breathe, to exist in anything outside those primal, bright blue eyes. “I should have explained myself better then. I was a total jackass and—” I pulled away, thrust a hand through my hair. “And I’m the one who owes you an apology. This could have all been different if only I’d—”

  I broke off, words failing me.

  Until she reached for my hand again. “Stories usually start with Once upon a time,” she said, her tone light and teasing and so much like Olive that my heart actually squeezed.

  Then the sass came back.

  In the form of her free hand making a circular, “Come on” motion, her lips curved into a smirk. “And then what happened?” she asked, the snark fully present.

  Sweet
.

  Spicy.

  My kryptonite.

  Which is probably why I managed to blow it even further.

  “I’m married,” I said.

  Chapter Five

  KTS Satellite Base

  Western Georgia

  18:22hrs

  Olive

  “Um, excuse me?” I asked, completely aware that my mouth was flapping open and closed like a fish, that I must certainly appear to be completely befuddled.

  Because . . . um . . . what the fuck?

  Linc slipped his hand from mine, effortlessly breaking my hold that had been weakened by both the injury and the complete and utter shock that his pronouncement had produced.

  He paced away, stopped with his back to me, and I watched both hands come up to grip his hair. I’d seen him make that gesture enough times to know that when he turned around, the strands would be mussed, twin tracks on either side of his head, one lock drifting forward to curl over his forehead.

  Normally, I’d be fighting the itch to smooth it back.

  Today, I was fighting the urge not to smack him.

  He was married? Why in the fuck hadn’t he just said so? What was so complicated about that?

  Just tell me he had a wife, and then I would have certainly backed off.

  And, also, what the fuck?

  He was in my hospital room, tracing little patterns on my skin, calling me baby, and smoothing back my hair and—

  He. Was. Married.

  What in the fuck-all was wrong with this man?

  “It’s not what you think.”

  I forced my eyes away from his. “I’m married seems pretty crystal clear.”

  “Ollie—”

  “That’s Olive to you,” I muttered. “Or perhaps, Dr. Jacobs would be better.”

  “Ollie,” he said again, and I had to bite back my retort. I couldn’t physically force him from this room, so the easiest thing was to let him say his piece, and then I could go back to pretending the man was dead to me.

  I kept my eyes on the computer, ground out. “Once upon a time . . .”

  A sigh. “Won’t you look at me?”

  “Story,” was my only response.

  Silence.

  Then he shifted, taking the seat next to my bed again, and saying, “Once upon a time, there was a man desperately in love with his wife. This man loved her beyond reason, and even though he was away for long periods and couldn’t tell her anything about his job, he still was desperate to make things work with her.” A short breath. “And for a while, they did make things work, and things were good.”

  My heart had picked up the pace about halfway through that first sentence, and it continued to speed as he spoke, thrumming in my veins and making it difficult to concentrate on what Linc was saying.

  “But then this man came home early from a mission one day to find that his wife didn’t love him the same way. In fact, she was in love with the real estate agent who’d recently sold the couple their very first house.” He cleared his throat. “Things imploded. Stuff went to hell. And . . . when he was at his lowest point, having just signed the papers to turn over that house to his wife and the realtor, a beautiful woman asked him on a date.”

  My head turned; my eyes collided with his.

  “And this man was so fucked up inside that he lashed out at this wonderful, smart woman, who didn’t deserve to be treated that way.”

  Eyes stinging, I reached for him. “Linc.”

  “So, this man—” He shook his head. “No. Not this man. Me. I’m sorry. I was an asshole, and my reaction was totally uncalled for.” A beat. “That’s what I was trying to tell you in the garage,” he whispered. “Before the fucking world exploded. That I’m so, so sorry, and I—”

  “Hey,” I said. “It’s all right.”

  “It’s not—”

  Through some Herculean effort, I managed to place a finger over his lips. “It is all right,” I said, fixing him in place with a stare.

  He peeled my finger back, pressed a kiss to my palm. “Thank you,” he murmured. “And for the record, I am still married, but not for much longer. I’m just waiting on the final paperwork to make the divorce official. I wouldn’t—” He shook his head. “With you—I wouldn’t do—”

  “I know,” I said.

  And it was true.

  Somewhere deep inside of me, I did know that. I had known that, even if it was safer for my heart to pretend I hadn’t. Because even though he’d hurt me, I’d always known he was a good man. He was a good agent, a good doctor, and . . . I liked him.

  His eyes skated away. “I just wanted you to know.” He cleared his throat. “I thought you needed to know.”

  “Thank you,” I murmured.

  Quiet stretched, and it wasn’t comfortable in the least.

  Then he placed his hands on his thighs. “I should go.” A forced smile. “I did promise, after all.” He moved toward the door.

  His name bubbled out of my throat. “Linc.”

  He stopped, rotated back to face me.

  “Or,” I whispered. “You could stay. The Gold are playing tonight, and Brit is in net.”

  His mouth dropped open. “Really?” he asked, and I knew he wasn’t talking about the fact that the Gold were playing their starting goalie.

  I smiled. “On one condition.”

  “Name it.”

  “I’d really love to eat something that isn’t Jell-O.”

  He laughed, came close, and brushed a finger down my cheek. “I think I can arrange that.”

  “Damn.” He winced.

  And it wasn’t from his injuries.

  Rather it was from the hit that Dan’s sister had just taken behind the net.

  Yup, that was correct. My teammate’s sister was the first woman to play hockey in the NHL. She was the starting goalie for the team and had led them to two Cups (with plenty of help from her talented offense and defense) over the course of her career. I’d met her several times while on assignment with Dan in San Francisco or the occasional road trip when our travel schedules had aligned. Hell, I hadn’t even been a hockey fan before I met her. Then she’d given us tickets to a game . . . and the atmosphere of the Gold Mine—their home arena—had just been incredible.

  The roar of the crowd vibrating through my stomach. The speed of the game, the hits, the passes, the goals. I’d been hooked, so now I followed the team as much as I could.

  This was early in the season, so the stakes weren’t high like during a playoff run.

  But it still gave me the chills when I watched them skate.

  Hell, if I didn’t have such a hard-on for the man sitting next to me, I might have tried to convince Brit to set me up with one of her teammates.

  Hockey butts = chef’s kiss.

  But the fact of the matter was that I was hung up on Linc, on the steady, quiet presence he brought to the room, the easy confidence with which he carried himself. He knew he was smart, knew he was attractive, and despite us crossing swords at regular intervals, he wasn’t arrogant.

  Just comfortable in his own skin. A fact that made him very appealing.

  Something that made him all the more likable?

  That confidence wasn’t all-powerful.

  He’d been hurt by his ex, and God, I had plenty of experience having my heart broken. Especially in the medical field, and even more so in this field.

  We were away more often than we were home.

  We were in dangerous situations, sometimes injured, and we never could talk about it to civilians.

  Which was the other reason I’d never asked Dan’s sister to hook a girl up.

  I couldn’t date someone from the real world.

  It was destined to implode.

  As what had unfortunately happened for Linc.

  Who was wincing right along with me at the hit. Well, it was less intentional check and more freaking yard sale in front of Brit’s net. Two skaters had gotten tangled, and they’d slid into the goal, knocking her down,
sending equipment flying, and playing clown car in between the posts.

  How many skaters could fit inside?

  Well, three appeared to be the limit.

  I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw Brit push past the scuffle in front of the goal and skate to the bench. The rest of the guys were pushing and shoving, and I always had a chuckle when she casually left them to it and went to get some water.

  Carry on, boys, she seemed to be saying. I’ll be over here to get on with it when you’re done.

  “Good thing she’s got all that padding on,” he muttered. “That looked hard enough to take down a locomotive.”

  I smiled. “Have you not watched a lot of hockey?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. More of a basketball fan, myself.”

  “Sacrilege! Hockey has it all. How can you possibly—?”

  “Are you going to eat the dinner I so painstakingly retrieved for you?”

  “You mean the one you walked to the phone in the corner of the room and ordered up for us? The same one that was delivered right to my beside?”

  His mouth quirked. “Yup. It was really quite difficult.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “So?”

  My brows lifted.

  “You going to eat?”

  No, I wasn’t. Or at least not any more than I already had. The internal damage from my injury hadn’t affected any of my organs—somehow—but I still wasn’t up to eating a full meal, even with my special bandage.

  I’d managed a bit of pasta, some salad, to drink a glass of hot tea.

  But my body had told me that was enough for now.

  Later, I might try again.

  Or I might even be forced to stick with that freaking lime Jell-O.

  “I’m full,” I said, pushing the tray away when he nudged it a little closer.

  He rolled it back. “You hardly ate enough to feed a bird. Try a little more. That’s the only way you’re going to get strong enough to get your ass out of this bed.”

  “I will,” I said, pressing it away again. “Later.”

  Linc’s eyes flashed, lightning mixing with stormy gray. “No.” He pushed it in. “Now.”

  I fixed him with a look, clenched my teeth together, and inhaled sharply through my nose. “I’m full now. I’ll eat more in a little while.”