Drake looked down at the patch job. "Thank you for taking care of my scratch."
"No problem, truly. It was the least I could do after you saved my life. I would offer to kiss it better, but, you know, germ transmission and all that."
If anything the heat in his eyes intensified. He shifted his hips as if to draw her attention to them but she kept her eyes up, locked onto his.
"Well, maybe you could just give me a peck on the cheek. You know, just to help keep my spirits up."
Izzy smiled at his inventiveness. "Perhaps I could."
Leaning forward, resting one hand on his strong shoulder, she brushed her lips against his lean cheek, feeling the slightest bristle of hair. It had probably been this morning since he'd shaved, but he still smelled damn good. She paused in her retreat just to inhale the spicy scent of him.
Abruptly, he turned the tables on her. Burrowing a hand in her hair, he tugged her close, inhaling against her neck. A shudder wracked her body and her nipples peaked beneath the bodice of the dress as arousal swept through her. A small moan escaped her. Before she could think better of it she twisted her mouth toward his. For a long second, they breathed each other in, then Drake brushed her lips with his own. Izzy didn't know what to expect, but it certainly wasn't the incredible need that rocked her.
Drake consumed her like she was a decadent wine, moving slowly and lingering on the curve of her lower lip. He tasted of beer and sex and Izzy had a feeling that if she gave the slightest agreement they would be going at it like bunnies. As his hands moved to cup her face, she pulled back to get some breathing room.
"I don't know if this is a good idea," she sighed. "You taste damn good, but you're not a good bet."
Drake went still enough that she could feel the thud of his heart, then suddenly he released her and leaned back. "You are completely right, Izzy. My apologies."
Izzy rocked back on her heels, stunned that he'd just let her go. Then she felt like an ass. After everything he'd done for her, being wounded and securing her safety, she'd just told him he wasn't good enough for her. That wasn't the kind of person she was and she felt a little disgusted with herself.
"Drake," she paused, unsure what to say.
"It's okay. I understand."
Pushing to his feet he crossed the break room to a standing clothes rack. Several white shirts hung there with tags hanging from the hangers, obviously freshly laundered. Swiping the hangers along the rod he pulled one, ripped the hanging tag off and shrugged it on. It fit him like a glove. Buttoning it quickly, he looked for the bow tie that had been around his neck. He retrieved it from the back of one of the chairs then picked up the vest.
The cut was not very visible in the fabric; it had just been nicked. And as he turned it around she realized it had missed most of the blood, as well. He shrugged it on and buttoned it. When he was finished he looked like nothing had happened.
Drake snatched up the bloody shirt, rolled it into a bundle and stuffed it into the trashcan, then headed toward the door.
Izzy bolted forward. "Wait. Don't just leave. Please."
His brilliant silver eyes had gone ice cold again. "I'm glad you're okay, but you're right. We wouldn't be good for each other."
With a final, lingering glance at her mouth he let himself through the door and disappeared down the hallway.
Izzy returned to the table to gather up her mess, then abruptly dropped into a chair. Her body was slick with arousal and the reason for that need had just walked away from her. Though he presented a hard demeanor, she had an instinctive feeling her words had hurt him somehow, and she felt terrible about that. Maybe if she explained why she was hesitant, he would understand her need to protect herself.
But was there even any sense in fighting it? He was a SEAL. Current situation excluded they weren't generally settling down types. They lived on adrenalin and camaraderie with their teammates. Drake was exactly the kind of guy she knew she should stay away from.
Hadn't she been left enough in her life?
It probably wasn't fair to compare him to her dad, but they lived kind of the same lives. Her father had been a smoke jumper, living for the excitement of the next fire. Izzy's mom had loved him unconditionally, right up until the day he got injured, bad, then she'd put her foot down. Izzy could remember the sound of their fighting in the next room. Her mother had pleaded with him to take a job closer to home, so that they could see each other every night. But her father had argued, claiming that a nine to five would kill him and that if she loved him, she wouldn't ask it of him.
That had been the last time she'd heard her father's voice. He was called out the next day for a jump and just never returned, deciding that his freedom was more important than their love. Izzy had been ten.
Swiping the trash into a pile, she crossed the room to throw it away on top of Drake's shirt. The thought of his lips on hers replayed in her mind over again, sending a tremor through her body. Those ten seconds of bliss were going to replay in her mind for the rest of her life, along with a buttload of regret unless she reached for something more.
With that thought in mind she left the break room.
2
Drake needed a beer. Or something stronger. As he walked away from Izzy and back toward the noisy reception, he tried to decide how he could get liquor without engaging with anyone else. Maybe he could find a bottle of whiskey and hide in a corner somewhere, away from the boisterous crowd.
Even better... he found the waiter that had walked in on them earlier.
The young man immediately turned bright red, then tried to play it off. Drake waved away his fumbling words and stuffed a hundred dollar bill in the kid's hand. "Don't say anything about what you saw, or think you saw in that room. Got me?"
