Page 32 of Beautiful Vengeance

“What made you want to join the SAS?” she asked, curious.

“The challenge of it. The brotherhood. Being in the thick of the action.”

She understood what that was like. Shitty as the Valkyrie Program had been in some aspects, she had loved the feeling of being a part of something so elite. “Did you love it?”

His expression turned fond, a faraway look in his eyes. “Aye. Most of the time.”

“What part of selection did you find the hardest?”

“Jungle training. Six weeks working in upwards of ninety-degree heat and the same in humidity, being bitten by every insect that came across me in the Brunei jungle. You’re constantly wet, itching and bleeding. Then there are the infections and fever.”

“Sounds lovely,” she said dryly.

He lifted a shoulder. “In those conditions, a man finds out in short order whether he has what it takes or not. But I was either going to pass the training or leave in a body bag.”

That made her smile. In the sorts of training they’d endured, mental toughness was key. More important than skill or physical condition, and often was the deciding factor between success and failure. “And that’s exactly why you made it.”

He smiled back, his eyes shining with admiration. “Aye. And you.”

Sometimes she forgot how much he knew about the Program, from Megan. The temptation to lean across the seat and kiss him was overwhelming. She didn’t want him to be in danger again, especially not because of her.

Last night had made her want him even more. He’d kissed her with so much tenderness and care, all the restrained heat she could sense in him tightly leashed, maybe because he’d been worried about scaring her if he let it out. He’d even stopped things when she’d been trying to push him for more. Refusing to rush her or let her rush him.

That had never happened to her before. Every other man she’d been with had wanted to get her into bed as fast as possible. None of them had ever elicited any emotion or sensations in her.

Only Marcus. He made her feel beautiful instead of damaged or broken. Strong instead of weak. Safe. Cherished, even. Around him all she felt was a sense of anticipation and yearning…and arousal for the first time in a man’s presence.

She glanced at his hands, wrapped around the steering wheel as he drove them through slower moving traffic. Strong, clean, long-fingered. A shiver of excitement passed through her as she imagined them moving over her bare skin.

“There’s a pub about thirty miles from here that does good pies,” he said, tearing her from her wayward thoughts. “That okay?”

“Sounds great.” She enjoyed the comfortable quiet between them for the remainder of the drive. The inn was an old, two-story beam and plaster building from the 1700s just off the motorway.

Marcus got them a cozy table for two by the fire. The ceiling was held up by dark, hand-hewn timbers and the interior walls were bare stone. Bathed in warm firelight, they each ate a chicken and mushroom pie and washed it down with a glass of dark beer. He even talked her into sticky toffee pudding for dessert.

“I can’t believe you’ve never had it,” he said as he finished off his beer.

“I never ate dessert until I met you,” she answered, scooping up another mouthful. It was warm and sweet and gooey, and the cold vanilla ice cream made it extra heavenly. “Had to maintain a certain weight and size all the time.” She flashed him a smug smile. “But not anymore.”

He chuckled, a low rumble that warmed her as much as the fire at her back. “I’ll be sure to feed you pudding every night, then.”

She adored his voice, accent, and the quintessentially British terms he used. “Please do.” He was such a beautiful man, inside and out. She’d never known it was possible to want someone like this.

Was this how it was for everyone else, people who chose partners of their own free will? Her body felt alive, almost effervescent with tingles as her mind conjured up all kinds of erotic images of them naked together.

He refused to let her pay for her part of the meal. He settled a guiding hand on the small of her back as they left, and that simple touch had her insides humming. Because unlike other men, his touch wasn’t proprietary or controlling. Rather it was supportive, protective and comforting.

It also taught her something new about herself. That she was capable of getting turned on by a nonsexual touch from the right man.

At their vehicle he once again opened her door for her. She was about to reach for him but he shut the door and rounded the hood to get behind the wheel.

Her insides heated at being alone with him in the enclosed, suddenly intimate space, a delicious throb pulsing between her thighs. His woodsy, masculine scent filled her nose, and all she could think about was kissing that sexy mouth.

As if reading her mind, he turned his head to look at her in the dimness of the streetlight on the corner. She could read the desire in his eyes, was ready to scramble over the console and into his lap to kiss the hell out of him when he finally set one big hand on the side of her face and leaned forward to settle his mouth over hers.

Her lower belly flipped, tiny tingles racing across her lips and spreading down her neck and limbs. She reached up to grab his shoulder, squeezing slightly, testing the strength there as his muscles flexed beneath her fingers.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered to her, bringing his other hand up to cradle the back of her head.

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