His mouth was a shallow breath away. Heat pulsed off of him like a heartbeat.

"N-no towel?"

He shook his head, brushed his nose against hers. "No. What I need is you."

"Oh, G.o.d," she sobbed and flew into his arms.

She didn't care anymore that she should exercise caution. And when his mouth slammed over hers in a kiss of desperation and desire, she knew he felt the same way.

He lifted his head long enough to murmur, "Bedroom," against her lips before taking her under again with a blistering kiss that stole what was left of her breath.

They managed to stumble down the hall, fumbling with b.u.t.tons and zippers before falling onto her bed. Naked. Hungry. Beyond greedy for the feel of skin on skin, his mouth on her breast, his hands in her hair, his body pressing hers into the bed.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against her breast, his breath hot and damp on her nipple. "I'm sorry I let you go. I'm sorry I hurt you."

She choked out a sob, a memory of the pain of losing him, and embraced the reality of now. He was here now. He was hers now. And there wasn't any pain. Only deep, penetrating pleasure.

She arched against him, reveling in his weight and his heat and his pa.s.sion as he parted her thighs and entered her on a long, deep stroke.

She cried out with wonder as he led her to a rich o.r.g.a.s.m that shot through her like a fire that an entire year of rain could never douse.

Trembling, clinging, crying, she rode the stunning wave while he pumped into her one last time, then collapsed as his own release ripped through him.

IT WAS DARK by the time Cav roused himself enough to realize he was alone in the bed. A dim light glowed from the top of a chest of drawers across the room. by the time Cav roused himself enough to realize he was alone in the bed. A dim light glowed from the top of a chest of drawers across the room.

He rolled over to his back, willed the fatigue away, and indulged himself in his surroundings. Soft greens, pale, pale blues. Cloud whites. The woman knew how to create a serene, peaceful haven.

Ultimately, that's what he'd come here searching for. A safe haven in the arms of this woman he loved.

"You're awake."

He glanced toward the doorway and felt both arousal and grat.i.tude when he saw her standing there. Her pretty blond hair was a mess and he felt a swell of pride that he'd been the one to mess it up. To mess her her up. Her lips were swollen. Her eyes were slumberous and dark. up. Her lips were swollen. Her eyes were slumberous and dark.

She was wearing his shirt. One b.u.t.ton b.u.t.toned, falling off her left shoulder. It had never looked better.

He held out a hand. She crossed the room, took it, and sat on the mattress by his hip. He lifted their linked hands and studied the fit of their entwined fingers before shifting his gaze and searching her face.

Her beautiful, open face.

She was uncertain about what would happen next. And she was edgy with it.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said, because she needed to hear it, he needed to say it, and because it was true.

She closed her eyes and lowered her head, but not before he saw a tear trail down her cheek.

"Come 'ere," he whispered and tugged her down beside him.

He wrapped her in his arms and held her while she cried.

"I'm sorry," he murmured against the silk of her hair.

"I don't know why I'm doing this." She sounded embarra.s.sed and angry at herself.

He knew why. And it broke his heart.

"I'm not usually such a weenie."

"Sweetheart." He squeezed her hard. "I know what you're made of. You don't have to apologize for anything. But I do."

She sat up and wiped her eyes. He scooted over so she could sit cross-legged beside him, the tails of his shirt tucked between her legs.

"I didn't think I was ever going to see you again." She looked down at the cuff of his shirt, which hung well past her fingertips.

"That was the original plan." He reached for an extra pillow and propped it behind his head.

"But you changed your mind."

Hands crossed behind his head, he stared at the ceiling. "I'm not sure I'm going to be any good at this," he admitted. "At being the man you need. At being the man I need to be. For you. And for me."

"Cav-"

He cut her off with a shake of his head. "You need to know up front what you're getting into, Carrie."

More than that, he needed to tell her.

"My old man was career military," he said after the long moment it took for him to decide to just tell it like it was. "Loved the army, his booze, and his family, in that order. He was a good man. Just didn't always have his priorities straight, you know? He always figured he'd die in action, but in the end it was the booze that got him."

He glanced at her, then away, and went on before he lost his nerve.

"Look, I don't want this to come out like the ramblings of a poor, neglected army-brat son of an alcoholic. It wasn't that way. I admired him. Even though I knew where I stood on his food chain. And it was okay. It set my career course."

He glanced at her again, half expecting her to ask, but she didn't. Another measure of her intelligence and sensitivity. She knew instinctively that he had to tell this in his own time, his own way.

"I was CIA," he said, knowing those three little letters were right now painting a picture in her mind of shadowy warriors pushing the envelope of diplomacy and international law.

"We're not everything the novelists and journalists would have you believe we are. We don't do all the things you might have been led to believe we've done."

"You save lives," she said simply. "You serve your country."

He swallowed, humbled by her absolute, unquestioning belief in his motives and integrity.

"Yeah," he said. "All that."

He looked at her then. "It... it takes a toll after a while."

"How could it not?"

He firmed his lips, looked away. This was the hard part. "Service to country isn't all I inherited from the old man," he finally admitted.

She was quiet for a while. "You said he was an alcoholic."

"Yeah." He looked back at her. She watched him with quiet eyes, no judgment. "And I don't want to be."

Her gaze held his, steady and unwavering in the face of what he hadn't said. That he had a problem. That he wanted to fix it.

"That's why I resigned," he clarified, and even now he felt the weight of that decision and the shock wave that had rippled through the chain of command. "I've developed an unhealthy relationship with scotch over the years."

"To help you cope."

And to help him forget. "I don't want to use that crutch anymore. I can't can't use that crutch anymore." use that crutch anymore."

"Then you won't," she said simply.

He smiled, feeling cynical and weary. "You don't know me well enough to know that. And I don't deserve that much credit."

"This is what I know." She reached for his hand and folded it between both of hers. "I know that I love you. I know that for you to open up to me this way, you love me, too."

"I do." He reached for her and pulled her down until her mouth was a breath away from his. "I do love you. More than life."

"d.a.m.n," she whispered against his mouth. "I'm going to cry again."

And he was going to spend the rest of his life making sure she didn't ever have a reason to cry again.

"SO WHAT TOOK you so long?" Carrie teased as she wiped her hands on a napkin. you so long?" Carrie teased as she wiped her hands on a napkin.

They were naked in the middle of her bed. Still working on slaking their desire for each other, refortifying their energy with a bucket of take-out chicken.

"To come for you? The guys and I had a little unfinished business to tend to." Cav set the bucket aside.

She settled into his arms like he'd had a place for her there forever. "The guys?"

"Reed, Green, Colter, and Black."

Her eyes went all soft and adoring. "You went back to the mines."

"I told you I wouldn't forget about those people."

He couldn't save the world. He'd thought he could once, but he knew better now. He could could save those starving, abused souls who'd been enslaved at the Myanmar ruby mine, though. save those starving, abused souls who'd been enslaved at the Myanmar ruby mine, though.

And thanks to this woman, he might even be able to save himself.

"Thank you," she whispered, pressing soft kisses along his jaw line.

"The pleasure"-he rolled her beneath him, thanking good fortune that she'd come into his life-"is all mine."

When she fell asleep a little while later, he simply laid there and watched her. She was smiling. At peace.

So was he. He'd made the right decision to come to her.

He still had no idea what his future held. After years of service, that should have been unnerving. But now he had Carrie by his side.

Haven. Yeah. It was right here, he thought, drifting off to sleep. Right by this woman's side.

Unstoppable

LAURA G GRIFFIN.

One.

KANDAHAR, AFGHANISTAN.

0200 hours

Sometimes they went in with a flash and crash, but Lieutenant Gage Brewer always preferred stealth. And tonight, because the team's mission was to outsmart a band of Taliban insurgents, stealth was the operative word.

The night smelled like smoldering garbage and rot as Gage crept through the darkened alley in an industrial neighborhood on the outskirts of the city. They were in a hot zone, a place where anyone they encountered would like nothing better than to use them for target practice.

As the SEAL team's point man, Gage moved silently, every sense attuned to the shadows around him. Particularly alert at this moment was Gage's sixth sense-that vague, indefinable thing his teammates liked to call his frog vision. Gage didn't know what to call it; he only knew it has saved his a.s.s a time or two.

In the distance, the muted drone of an electric generator in this city still p.r.o.ne to blackouts. And, closer still, footsteps. The slow clomp of boots on gravel, moving steadily nearer, then pausing, pivoting, and fading away.

Wait, Gage signaled his team. Lieutenant Junior Grade Derek Vaughn melted into the shadows, followed a heartbeat later by Petty Officers Mike Dietz and Adam Mays. Gage approached the corner of the building, an unimposing brick structure that was supposedly a textile factory. Crouching down, he slipped a tiny mirror from the pocket of his tactical vest and held it at an angle in order to see around the corner.

A solitary shadow ambled north toward the front of the building, an AK-47 slung casually across his body. The shadow told Gage three things: the intel they'd been given was good, this building was was under armed guard, and what was going down tonight at this factory had nothing to do with textiles. under armed guard, and what was going down tonight at this factory had nothing to do with textiles.

Gage eased back into the alley.

"Sixty seconds," Vaughn whispered.

Gage had known Vaughn since BUD/S training. Besides being a demolitions expert, the Texan had the best sense of time and direction of any man in Alpha squad, and tonight he was in charge of keeping everyone on schedule.

Soundlessly, they waited.

Then, like clockwork, a distant rat-tat-tat rat-tat-tat as the rest of Alpha squad exchanged carefully staged, nonlethal gunfire in an alley much like this one. as the rest of Alpha squad exchanged carefully staged, nonlethal gunfire in an alley much like this one.