Page 96 of Peace Under Fire

Was she dreaming? Hallucinating? Had the daiquiris from yesterday caused a brain aneurysm? Of course, there was another explanation. He could be lying. But that didn’t make sense, either. Why lie about this? What could he possibly gain from making this up?

Plus, he hadn’t been lying about getting hard. He really had been stiff against her palm. Hot and hard. Bulging even. And he’d been…growing…during those seconds he’d held her hand against his crotch. He’d been getting thicker and longer. She’d felt his reaction to her touch. Nope, he hadn’t been making that up.

But how did she know that his reaction was because of her? Rumor had it, or so she’d read on the internet, men could get an erection over anything, even something as innocuous as a favorite meal. Maybe he’d gotten hard because of the shrimp alfredo. Or the cheesy garlic bread. Lord knew they both smelled good enough to cause uncontrollable orgasmic reactions. And wasn’t there a whole spiel about how the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach? Maybe a man’s heart was a euphemism for his penis.

She went back over what he’d said and nothing about it made sense. He claimed he was cruel to her because he wanted her. But if he desired her, why be so brutal? That seemed counterproductive. And why had he been trying to drive her away? Why was he so against having a relationship with her back then? What made it okay to have one with her now? Up until four days ago, he’d been avoiding her or growling at her or glaring at her.

What had changed? Nothing, as far as she could see.

Yet, he looked sincere. Uneasy and defensive, but honest. And he hadn’t been lying about getting hard. She’d felt that for herself.

“I don’t understand.” She took a small step back and turned to set her plate down on the coffee table. It was easier to focus when he wasn’t so close, and she wasn’t worried about dropping her dinner. “You were trying to drive me away? Why?”

He rocked back on the heels of his boots and scrubbed his palms down his face. “Because I’m not good for you.”

Not good for her? How would he know that? He’d never spent any time with her—at least not back then. How could he possibly know if he was bad for her when he hadn’t spent any time around her? She’d been a stranger to him. Maybe she’d misunderstood. “Come again?”

Dropping his hands, he shook his head and stared at her with the strangest expression—half reluctant, half resigned. Like he didn’t want to talk about this, but knew he had to. That expression did more to convince her of his sincerity than the feel of his erection beneath her palm.

“You don’t know anything about me, Mandy. You don’t know who I am, or what I’ve done. I’ve been a special operator for—well hell, for too long. I’ve done things I wish I could forget. Things that would haunt you if you found out about them. I have too much blood on my hands, I’ve left too much destruction in my wake. I didn’t want any of that to touch you.” He looked defeated. “I thought if I drove you away, you could go on living in your sweet, sunshiny world, and you’d never get a glimpse of my dark, bloody one.”

She reeled back in shock. That’s why he’d been so awful? Because he’d been afraid his life—what he’d done in the field—would stain her?

Was he insane? She’d shared his dreams, for God’s sake. And his nightmares. She knew what haunted him. She knew what he’d done for his team and country. She knew exactly the kind of man he was. Did he not realize any of this?

Granted, he hadn’t realized last year that she’d shared his dreams. But he knew now. Was that why he’d changed his mind about having a relationship with her? Once he'd realized she’d shared his dreams, he should’ve known he didn’t need to hide from her. But that didn’t make sense, either. He’d known about the dreams since she’d called him prior to returning home and he hadn’t shown any interest in hooking up with her until now.

“Okay. If this is true,” and she had no reason to believe it wasn’t, “then what’s changed? Why are you willing to hook up with me now?”

“Because the guys you’ve shown interest in are no better than me.” He rolled his shoulders and circled the living room like a caged panther. “They have spec ops experience too. They have the same demons. If you’re not going to settle for a nice accountant, or banker, or someone who can love you without exposing you to the underbelly of life—well then.” He stopped short and spun to face her. “I might as well be the one to corrupt you.”

“Corrupt me?” She stared back, dumfounded. “Jacob…” she faltered, studying his tight face. His eyes were so dark they looked black, and full of …ghosts? He’d said he had demons. She could almost see them in his eyes. “I’ve shared your dreams for years. I know what you’ve done. I’ve witnessed it in your nightmares—your missions, the casualties, the innocent and not so innocent lives you took. I’ve lived those nightmares with you.”

And cried for him, since she suspected he never cried for himself.

He shook his head, his expression set in stone. “It’s not the same thing.”

“It’s exactly the same thing. I saw it happen through your eyes. I know what you had to do. I know the kind of man you are.”

He stubbornly shook his head again. “Dreams and nightmares are not the same as reality. They aren’t even close. They’re buffered. They’re warped. Hell, they’re just a sliver of what actually took place.” His gaze dropped to her plate, and he frowned. “Reality is that plate in front of you. The way it smells. The way it tastes. The feel of it in your hands. You might get a visual representation of that plate in a magazine, but that picture isn’t even close to the real thing. Trust me, the dreams you’ve shared, are nothing compared to the reality of what I’ve done.”

She thought about that. There was truth to his claim. His dreams were fragmented and full of weird shit and strange tangents, as dreams were wont to do. She usually picked up the general gist of what had happened, but never the full story.

“Okay,” she conceded slowly. “You’re right. I haven’t lived through the reality of your missions. But I’ve seen enough of your dreams and nightmares to know what I’m getting into.”

“Do you?” He didn’t look convinced, but he shrugged. “I have doubts about that. But it doesn’t matter. I’m damned if I’m going to step aside just so you can hook up with the likes of Pipe, or Gray.”

Gray? What did Gray have to do with any of this. She’d barely talked to the man. Nor had she set her pretend sights on him.

“I don’t want Pipe,” she admitted. “The only man I want is you.”

She braced herself, half expecting him to flee at the admission. He seemed to relax instead.

“You’ve got me,” he assured her quietly.

His admission would have been welcome if he’d sounded happy. Only he didn’t. There was resignation and reluctance on his face, but not contentment. No happiness. And what exactly was he offering? To be her lover, obviously. But for how long?

Just while they were here? Once Tex and his men rescued her sisters, and Jacob and his team pinpointed their traitor, would they go their separate ways? It would be nice to have a timeframe.

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