Page 80 of Dangerous Games (Tempting SEALs 2)

His heart was breaking. He could actually feel the splintering effect in his chest, the tightness in his throat, as she turned her head from him.

"Morganna, honey, you know I can't stand to see you cry. It makes me crazy. You have to talk to me here."

When she still didn't speak, he moved slowly, sliding into the water behind her and forcing her back against his broad chest as his heavy thighs bracketed her small body.

She flowed against him, her head turning to press into the thick expanse of his upper arm, the warmth of her tears washing over his flesh, branding him.

"I came back as soon as I could," he whispered, pressing his lips to the top of her head as he fought the need to hold her tighter.

Her hands gripped his lower arm, holding on tight to him as he heard that little broken sound that came from her throat. It wasn't exactly a gasp, a bit more than a hitch. A breathy little catch filled with sorrow and pain. Morganna didn't cry often, but when she did, it was because the hurt went too deep to contain. That was why her tears made him violent. He couldn't handle Morganna hurting that deeply.

"Did you think I was going to be upset that you racked Mace?" he whispered, feeling the heat of the water and the warmth of her body seeping into him. She shook her head.

"I couldn't take you with me." He closed his eyes tight, unable to resist pulling her closer to his chest, his arms holding her tighter. "I couldn't risk you like that, Morganna." "Stop." She shook her head again. "That made me mad...." Her voice hitched. "I don't cry over mad ... Just go to bed. Rest..." The keening little whimper that left her throat had terror racing through his soul. Oh God, if she started sobbing, could he survive it? Morganna had never, ever sobbed.

"I can't leave you like this, Morganna." His hands smoothed up and down her arms, everything inside him reaching out to her, desperate to comfort her. "Tell me how to make better, sweetheart. I will." She shook her head again.

'"Sweetheart, you're b

reaking my heart here," he whispered against her hair. "I can't stand to see you hurt like this; you have to let me help you."

"How?" she cried, her voice rough, hoarse. "You didn't see your eyes, Clint. You didn't see the grief and sorrow, and can't help it." Her hands clenched on his arm. "I can't do anything to take it away like I used to. I can't joke, or poke at you, because I know what he meant to you. I can't help you...." One little sob. It jerked from her chest and sent a dagger stroke of pain to sear his soul.

He had thought he had a handle on it before he faced her. Had thought he was hiding the grief, the rage. He should have known better. He had never hidden anything from Morganna; it was one of the reasons he had fought to stay away from her, to push her as far from his life as possible. Because she could see into his soul.

He fought to swallow back his emotion as he sighed roughly.

"He was a friend," he said softly. "Just as Nathan was."

His jaw clenched at the thought of the hell they would awaken to. "I can't imagine waking up one day and knowing yon were gone, Morganna," he said, feeling a shard of weakness filling his soul. "I don't know if I could survive. And that's all I can think about. Losing you. Never hearing you laugh. never being pissed at you again, or touching you again, it makes my gut knot with terror. And I don't like that fear. I hate it, baby. Fear makes you weak. It makes you slow. I can't afford to be slow right now."

"I need to comfort you." Her breathing hitched again. "And I don't know how. Just like a year ago, after Irish's service, I needed to do something. Anything...."

And he had sent her away. Had she cried then? Had she hidden and let her misery flow in the tears she shed? He had made her cry, more than once. Him, the same son of a bitch who had broken a man's nose for making her cry.

"You're here," he told her then, knowing that was m comfort than he deserved. "Look at you, flowing against me. sweet and soft. I don't have to be alone...."

He clenched his teeth tight, realizing the truth of the statement he was making. He didn't have to feel alone, because she was with him. Because something about Morganna eased him.

"You never had to be alone," she said hoarsely. "I was always here, Clint."

He lifted her then, turning her across his lap, cuddling her close to his chest as he felt his erection slipping between he-thighs, resting against the silken flesh of her sex. He wanted her. Hungered for her. But for the first time in his life, his arousal was taking a backseat to something more important something primal, insistent.

Comforting his woman.

He stared into the stormy depths of her tear-soaked eyes, her dark lashes spiked around the misty depths, her expression paler than normal.

"I knew you were waiting on me," he said as he smoothed his thumb over her cheek, wiping away her tears. "I came back to you, desperate to feel your warmth against me. I'm cold inside, Morganna." He grimaced at the emotion she inspired within him. "Warm me."

Her eyes widened, her breath hitching again as her hand curled around his neck, her fingers pushing beneath his hair as she drew him to her.

"Warm me," he whispered again as her lips touched his. Just for a little while."

Chapter 22

HE COULDN'T NOT TOUCH HER. The loss raging inside him, the danger surrounding her, the emotions ripping through his soul, needs and hungers, desire and feelings he couldn't define, refused to define, tore through Clint in an upheaval that threatened to destroy him.

Morganna's lips were heated satin, hungry beneath his. opening to him as he sent his tongue to taste her. And she tasted like nectar, the wine of the gods, the perfect passion. A balm to the ragged wounds he had felt shredding his very spirit with the loss of his men.

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