She’d guessed right about Brand. Five years ago his friend had given him two options: to state his intentions—and it had better be marriage—or leave her alone. So really, Brand had given him one option.
At twenty-four and a newly minted SEAL tapped for a secret elite team, John sure as hell hadn’t been ready for marriage. He didn’t know if he evenwantedto get married. Ever. He didn’t like to let things get to the girlfriend stage. He liked to keep things light. The rest of his life was intense enough; he didn’t need that in his personal life, too.
Not to mention that a serious girlfriend or wife would mean leaving Nine and going back to one of the conventional teams—or worse, HQ or staff.
No connections. That was the rule for Nine. No one to worry. No one to notice if they were gone for too long. Or gone forever. Brittany was all the proof they needed about why connections were a bad idea, with all the hue and cry she’d raised over an estranged brother.
No, none of that was for him. Things were fine as they were. Helikedthings as they were. He was happy—or he would be soon, when things got back to normal. If that was possible. He needed to get back to frogman work.
He couldn’t tell her about his promise to Brand. It might give her the wrong idea.
But what had she meant by it didn’t matter? And why was she acting so—he didn’t know the right word; blasé maybe?—about the whole thing. Acting like it was no big deal when he was all discombobulated and off-kilter.
They’d had sex, for Christ’s sake. Really incredible, mind-blowing sex. They should talk about it for a minute. Make sure there were no, uh, misunderstandings.
“Look, Brit, I know you’re upset.” She picked up the Georgetown messenger bag that she apparently still used as a purse and turned to look at him. Actually, she didn’t look upset at all. She looked perfectly calm and collected. Which couldn’t be right. “But we need to talk about this. I don’t want there to be any, uh, confusion. This can’t happen again.”
That last part might have come out a little more vehemently than he intended.
She raised her brows in tandem. “I agree. Once was definitely enough.”
He frowned. What was that supposed to mean?
She started walking to the door, and he found himself watching her go. She was just going to leave? Just like that?
What the fuck? “Wait!”
She turned to look at him. He was furious, and he didn’t know why. He also didn’t know why he’d stopped her.
The story. That was it. He had to stop her from writing any more stories about the “Lost Platoon.”
“Remember what I told you. You can’t tell anyone about what happened or write about any of this. I mean it, Brit. This is serious.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll forget about this soon enough. But don’t worry. I don’t write bad porn.”
His eyes narrowed. She’d purposely misunderstood him. He hadn’t been talking aboutthat.
And what the hell did she mean by “bad porn”? It might have been short, but it sure as hell hadn’t been bad. It had been bloody, freaking incredible, and she knew it.
Didn’t she?
Maybe she hadn’t had a lot of experience to compare it to. That must be it.
But he’d had lots, and he was tempted to show her just how wrong she was. Very tempted.
Maybe she realized she was treading on dangerous ground because she dropped the clueless act and sighed. “I heard what you said.” She paused and met his gaze. “I won’t tell anyone that you are alive.”
“And the rest of it?”
“The rest of what? You haven’t told me anything. No proof, no story. My publisher has made that very clear.”
John nodded. For once it seemed they were on the same page. Well, at least he and her boss were on the same page. But if it kept her from putting out more of those stories, that was fine by him.
She opened the door, and he felt the strangest urge to stop her again. To not let her walk away. But he was in hiding, supposedly dead, and he had to keep it that way.
She turned. He assumed it was to tell him good-bye. But he should have known better. She had to get in one last parting shot.
“Brandon was your best friend. How can you let them do this? How can you let them sweep this under the rug and allow his death—his sacrifice—to go unacknowledged?”
