Page 7 of Sweet Refuge

Well, they werereallyover this time. The amazing tear-your-clothes-off sex in his room would not be repeated.

Yet when he got a few days of leave, the only place he could think to truly escape to was here…where their life together began.

He located the van for the Sapphires Hotel and gave his name. Then he climbed into a row in the middle and settled in. Six years before, he and Lena made this exact trip. Hell, they may have even ridden in this same van.

She’d cuddled against his side, and he’d placed his arm around her. Now he was alone, jostled in his seat as the vehicle pulled into traffic.

If any of his team got wind of Slade’s situation, eyebrows would shoot up. A few members of Blackout Charlie were judgmental fuckers at the best of times. Hearing that Slade and Lena, an operator from their counterpart Blackout Alpha, were once hitched?

They’d never stop grilling him about it. That would morph into teasing and over time, Slade knew he’d snap. He had to keep the peace, especially with his brothers. So he kept his mouth shut on the subject of Lena.

Though every time they came within a mile of each other, their chemistry was off the charts. When the teams converged on an op, Lena avoided him every chance she got. And Slade found it hard to concentrate knowing she was in danger.

That was what got him in trouble in the first place—his need toprotecther.

Shaking himself, he stared out the window at the heavy traffic leading from the airport. The place crawled with tourists—a perfect spot to lose himself. Be anonymous.

For a few days he would be just any other tourist and not a SEAL or an ex. He would lie on the beach and soak up the rays, sip tequila and eat as much crap as he wanted.

When he spotted the brilliant gem-blue water of the ocean the resort was named for, nostalgia flooded back. For the first time since he booked the trip, he had regrets.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Would he really find all the rest, relaxation and peace he craved in this city, at the same resort where he and Lena declared they would always love each other and vowed to never be apart?

He scrubbed his knuckles over his jaw. Too late now. He’d just suck it up and get by. If that meant he spent three days drunk, facedown in the sand, so be it.

They arrived at the resort, and he checked into his room, which thankfully was on the opposite side of the building from the honeymoon suites. After a quick prowl around his room, decked out in wood and modern touches, he went in search of that drink.

But when he got to the bar, he couldn’t bring himself to sit there. He shot a glance at the corner booth, drowning in visions of the past.

Lena wore red that night. The short dress barely covered her ass, and every man in the joint was panting with lust for her. But she was Slade’s. She wore his diamond and his beard burn on her inner thighs from the first night of their honeymoon.

Unable to tolerate having a table separating them, he sat on the plush bench next to her. That led to his hand resting on her thigh. Then probing up her sleek, muscled leg to the juncture of her thighs.

And finding her panties damp for him.

He’d slid the cloth aside and plunged a finger inside her, pumping it in and out while she squirmed and bit back screams of passion.

He’d never forget how she silently shook apart for him.

Nope. He wasn’t sticking around and drinking here. The place haunted him enough.

Slade headed out of the resort. The sun was brighter in Mexico. The world a little too…pretty.

What he needed right now was something real. A man who saw the shit he saw and did the shit he did didn’t belong in a place like that anyway. Whatever made him think he did?

He took off walking. The good thing about being in a place where nobody knew him was the fact he didn’t have to watch his six. Nobody would fuck with him based on his appearance alone.

Tourists saw him coming and gave him a wide berth on the sidewalk. When he hit a footpath leading out of the tourist area, locals avoided him.

He kept his sunglasses on against the glare of the sun but also because he didn’t want to make eye contact with anybody.

Only one person could stop him in his tracks…and she didn’t want anything to do with him.

Traffic continued to fly past on his left. He ignored everything but his destination, a small hole-in-the-wall bar that he’d visited one time before with his team. His commanding officer insisted they stop off for a celebratory drink after an op. Only that drink skirted the edge of dangerous territory when Caleb Cross, aka Constantine, or Con for short, asked Slade flat-out what the fuck his problem was.

Slade had come close to spilling his guts to his CO. He might have muttered his bad attitude was over a woman but stopped short of telling him it was Lena from Alpha.

The shit would hit the fan if anybody ever knew their tie. Blackout was deep ops. So deep that they gave up their families, lives and all they knew when they signed on. They were dead men—and one woman—walking.

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