There was alwaysIt’s not you, it’s me. But that was far too trite. She considered telling him she had an incurable, highly contagious venereal disease. But her pride wouldn’t let her go that far. So, that left her with…what?
The truth, a little voice whispered through her head.
The truth? Well, the truth was that shecouldn’tmake love to him because she wouldn’t be satisfied with a little bit of afternoon delight when what she’d fantasized about for years was a fairy-tale happily ever after. The truth was that theycouldn’thave happily ever after because the minute they started down that path, she’d be forced to come clean about what had really happened in Afghanistan. The truth was that she…lovedhim.
And there it was.
Theultimatetruth.
A long time ago, Chelsea had shoved it down deep, where she had hoped it would either become part of the fabric of her being or else lead to septic shock that would put her out of her misery.
“So what do you say?” Dagan prompted when she had been quiet for too long. “Want to put that condom in my wallet to good use?”
Yes! So much. But I…can’t.
Then the solution to her dilemma suddenly presented itself. She wouldn’t have to reject him if she could gethimto rejecther. Which should be easy enough, given that she knew his weaknesses, his worries, the responsibilities he had shouldered and refused to unburden himself of. It startled her, actually, how well she knew him.
“And if we act on this…thing”—she waved a hand between them, staunchly ignoring the feel of his erection pulsing between her legs—“what then? Like you said, you’re officially a civilian working at a custom chop shop in Chicago. And I’m back to being a counterintelligence officer at Langley.”
Instead of answering, Dagan grabbed her hand and splayed it against his, measuring the difference in size and texture. His palm was large and hard and callused. Hers was small and soft and unblemished. Threading their fingers together, he tugged her forward.
She could have resisted, she supposed. But if this was the last time she was in his arms, what harm could there be in allowing herself to revel for just a little longer?
With her breasts pillowed against his broad chest and the curve of her lower belly cushioning the steely evidence of his desire, his sweet breath fanned her face. She could have gone on just like that for eternity. Feeling him breathe. Feeling his heart beat in time with hers. Feeling his passion for her.
“Dagan.” Her voice was so scratchy it sounded like she’d been swallowing cockleburs. “I need you to answer me and…”
Any remaining words died quick deaths when he carefully removed her glasses. She blinked at him until he came into focus, then frowned when he folded the earpieces and set her glasses aside.
“Chelsea.” Once more, he settled his big hands on her hips and softly kneaded. When he said her name like that, she nearly had a mini-orgasm on the spot. “Don’t draw a line in the sand you can’t cross later.”
Her brow knitted. “I’m sorry. Did you just pull a Gollum on me? Was that some sort of riddle?”
He laughed. The low, rolling sound made her ovaries explode. If she looked around, she was certain she’d see eggs lying everywhere, just waiting to be fertilized. The flash of his straight, white teeth against the backdrop of the Beard was enough to stop her heart, and in her head, she didn’t hear Gollum’s voice, but Yoda’s saying,The Devastating Grin Game is strong with this one. She was obviously getting her odd, pointy-eared gnomes mixed up.
“I’m saying that for right now, let’s forget about the past, stop thinking about the future, and just live in the moment.”
And there it was. Her plan was falling into place perfectly.
So why does it hurt so much?
“Said every boy in the backseat of his car on prom night,” she told him with a wry twist of her lips.
It was utterly fake, her grin. Because what shereallywanted was to curl up in the corner and have a good cry. Just whimper and wail and curse the decision that had brought her here, to this moment, when she was presented with a dream—the dream ofhim—and forced to turn away from it.
“And like the backseat on prom night, let’s make some sweet memories.”
“I’m saying,” she said, “that if you’ll hold your horses and try thinking with your big head instead of Little Z’s head—”
“Just FYI,” he interrupted, “there’s nothing little about Little Z.”
Don’t I know it, she thought. Because some things were obvious, even covered by a layer of thick denim. What shesaidwas, “My point is that what we start here today is doomed to come to a quick and decisive end once we’re back stateside and hundreds of miles away from each other.”
His brow puckered. “Are you saying youdon’twant that, or youdowant that?”
“I’m saying I’m thirty-two years old and way past the point of settling for a two-pump chump.”
“Excuse me?” He could not have looked more offended if he’d tried. “I haveneverbeen a two-pump chump. Feel free to ask any of the women I’ve been with. They’ll tell you I—”
