Page 89 of Trapped with the Covert Ops Soldier

The lieutenant waved at her, then the three men began examining the hole and what was left of the tunnel.

“I’m sorry it took so long for me to come back,” Smitty said before she could say anything. “It took some fancy talking to convince my command to borrow demolitions to see what can be done.”

“That’s great, Smitty, but you should have talked to me first. As far as I knew you’d gone and you weren’t coming back.”

“I told you. After you gave your statement, right before you went to sleep.”

She searched her memories but came up blank. “I don’t remember.”

“You were exhausted. You told me to take care of your dead.” His expression was wide open for a moment, full of pain and sorrow and rage, before he shielded it from the outside world again.

“That sounds like something I would say.”

“That’s why I brought demolitions with me. If anyone can figure out what might be open down there and close it up, it’s these guys.”

“Okay. Yeah, that’s good.” She rubbed her forehead. “You wouldn’t believe how many idiots have tried to get into the shed so they can strike it rich.”

He was staring at her so hard she wanted to check for a hole in her head. “You really thought I wasn’t coming back?”

“Until you showed up to confiscate my dynamite, I hadn’t seen or heard from you in three months.”

“Shit.” He broke eye contact and rubbed the back of his neck. After a couple of seconds, he met her gaze again. “I was deployed. I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone I was out of the country, let alone off base.” He winced. “But I should have sent you a message.”

“I’m not your keeper,” she said, trying to keep her tone even.

He stared at her with narrow eyes for a moment, then glanced at her family milling around the yard, a couple of her brothers close enough to eavesdrop on their conversation. “Let’s finish our talk inside.” He strode toward her front door.

She followed him a couple of paces behind, the way he saidfinish, like it was a weapon he had aimed at her, slowed her steps.

Inside, he shut the door behind her, then grabbed her by the hand and towed her up stairs to her bedroom.

“Smitty?” She turned his name into a half-dozen questions.

“I don’t want someone interrupting us,” he said, his tone hard.

Oh, sure, that didn’t sound ominous at all.

He went through her bedroom door, waited for her to join him, then shut the door with exquisite care. He stood there, his back to her, and braced both palms against the door jamb. The muscles in his hands were bone-white, his shoulders raised as if he were holding himself back from doing violence.

She was missing something. Something big. Something important.

“Smitty?” she asked, gentling her tone. “What—”

He spun around before she could finish, startling her so much that she awkwardly stumbled back a couple of steps and would have fallen if he hadn’t grabbed her by the shoulders.

He brought her close, close enough that his body heat scorched hers and his nose was only a couple of inches from her own. His gaze was incandescent with some strong emotion and his breathing was deep and fast, as if he was preparing to go into combat.

She’d never seen him like this, not even on the battlefield, not even on thevery bad day. Desire hit her like a hammer to the chest, sending shockwaves through her body. Cool concern followed.

Lifting one hand to caress his tense jaw, she asked, “What’s wrong?”

One second, two, before he spoke. “I love you.” It came out in a growl so deep it caused a quake in the pit of her gut.

She dropped her hand, ice invading her lungs, and spreading across her until the cold threatened to freeze her solid. “I’m sorry that’s a problem for you.” She tried to wiggle out of his hold, back away from him, but he just adjusted his grip and held her tighter.

“The problem is,” he said, his voice full of gravel with edges sharp enough to slice skin, muscle, and bone. “You’re in a hole so deep and so full of pain, you don’t even know who you are anymore.”

She opened her mouth to contradict him, but he wasn’t finished.

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