Hero Book 3 - The Battle: Military Romance (7 page)

I couldn't do that though.

Asleep, he looked younger, more like how I knew he must've looked when he was Ian's age. And he still would've been enlisted if fate had been kinder. Just like Ian.

Haze was from a military family, from a small town. His background was built out of close ties, traditions, hard work, and doing the right thing. I could only imagine what his family thought of the selfish, spoiled woman who toyed with him and used him.

He deserved better than me. It was heartbreakingly easy to picture the perfect woman for him: tall, athletic, educated and ambitious. He deserved someone open and unselfish who gave him everything without hesitation. He'd marry someone generous and caring. Someone who would be embraced by his family. Who would build a family with him.

The thought of Haze having a family with someone made my stomach churn and my heart ache. I could almost see his kids in my head. Little girls with his blonde hair and compassion. Boys with his features, his determination and strength.

None of them looked like me, and I knew why. There was no reason for Haze to waste his time on me.

It took an eternity of repeating that to pry myself away from the bathroom door and sneak downstairs. At the front door of the guest house, I paused. There was nothing stopping me from making coffee and taking a mug of it upstairs to give Haze in bed. Nothing, except the fact that the best thing for him was for me to leave.

I opened the door and was surprised to feel a chill in the air. I wrapped the robe tighter around me and tried to forget the warmth and safety of Haze's arms. For one time in my life, I needed to do what was right rather than what I wanted.

I
made it into the mansion unseen until I reached my bedroom door.

“Leighton? You're awake?”

My grandfather's voice startled me, and I spun around in time to see him sit up. He'd slept on the same sofa Haze had used a couple times when he'd been keeping an eye on my room.

I pretended I was just closing the door instead of opening it, even though I was pretty sure it wouldn’t fool him. “I just got up.”

He crossed the space between us in a few quick strides, and swept me into a fierce hug, loosening it when I gasped in pain. I was frozen for a moment, trying to remember the last time my stern grandfather had hugged me. His suit was rumpled, his short silver hair matted on one side, and when he pulled back to look at me, I saw tears in his eyes.

What the hell?

“I thought I'd lost you. I can't lose you.” His voice was different. Not softer, exactly, but...more.

Like he was finally letting me hear how much I meant to him.

“I'm here. I'm okay, just a few bruises.” I found myself trying to reassure him for the first time in my life, downplaying the extent of my injuries.

“You scared me to death,” Grandfather said, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze and touching a bruise on my face with his other hand. “Please don't ever do that to me again. I can't lose you.”

I gave him a tight smile. “Well, you have Haze to thank for that.”

Grandfather smiled and finally let go of me. “I owe him so much. Where is he?”

“In the guest house.” I opened my bedroom door before Grandfather could notice I was wearing a guest house robe. “If you're already up, I should change. Dr. Bellamy called the police yesterday and told them I'd be resting last night, but I'll need to make a statement sooner rather than later.”

“If you're sure you're up to it.”

“I am,” I said more firmly than I felt.

He nodded. “All right then. You get dressed, and I'll make coffee. After you eat a decent breakfast, we'll call the police and ask them to come out.”

I shut the bedroom door and leaned on it for a moment. I sunk to the floor and tried to push away the flashes of concrete basement, black blindfolds, and a man in a ski mask. I knew Haze could help me through Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, but I wasn't going to reach out to him. Instead, I waited, curled into a ball on my bedroom floor until the flashes passed and my vision cleared. Then I stood up with a clear purpose in mind.

I knew my grandfather would be back to knock on the door soon, but it was impossible to find an outfit that covered the majority of my bruises. At least the ones not on my face. No amount of make-up was going to cover those up, so I wasn't even going to bother to try. I'd focus on the other ones instead. Most of my dresses were short-skirts that revealed the purple splotches across my legs where I'd fallen and been kicked. Most were also sleeveless, which didn't help since my arms were covered with shades of dark green and black. By the time I pulled on a fourth dress, my hands were shaking.

If I gave up and pulled on yoga pants and long-sleeved sweatshirt, I might as well have announced to the world that I wasn't myself. I clenched my jaw. I couldn't let the things my captors did change my whole sense of self. I took a couple slow, steady breaths, and then looked again.

I chose a white tailored shirt dress with long sleeves. The ugly bruises showed, but the crisp cotton made me feel clean and defiant. A soft silk scarf, a worn brown leather belt, and brown boots completed the outfit. I ran a brush through my hair, careful not to yank on my stitches. I kept to my decision not to use make-up though. Finally satisfied, I headed downstairs.

Despite how confident I knew I looked, my stomach was in knots and my nerves were stretched taut. I desperately wanted Haze with me, but more than that, I wanted to be a woman he would want to be with. Who he deserved to be with.

Chapter 7

Haze

I
jerked awake, unsure at first what had caused the abrupt awakening. Then it hit me.

Leighton was gone.

I jumped out of bed. My first instinct was to tear through the guest house, and then charge over to her grandfather's mansion. The panic kicked my heart into high speed, and I had to force myself to take long, slow breaths before I did something stupid.

Devlin's mansion was secure, I reminded myself. And since there was no way anyone here would've let her off the grounds alone, she was safe. If she'd chosen to leave me sleeping, then there was no reason for me to run after her. She had more to deal with than my feelings.

It hurt, I suddenly realized, waking up without her in my arms. At some point, I knew I’d have to deal with what all of this meant, but it couldn't be now, not with so much else going on. I pushed it all aside, and instead focused on assessing any damage I'd sustained from the fight.

Other than the faint stiffness that came from muscles being used after having been dormant for too long, the only evidence of what I'd done was a tender jaw. I'd gotten away essentially unscathed.

I automatically fell into my usual morning calisthenics, letting my mind follow the familiar routine, losing myself in the rhythm. Exercise wasn't only a great way for me to work the stiffness from my muscles. It also helped clear my head.

For a little while anyway.

When I stepped into the shower, however, she crept back into my mind. It was easy to see the creamy length of her legs, the soft curve of her hips. The red curls I'd buried my fingers in. Those blue, blue eyes. I could picture every inch of her and my gut clenched with the intensity of my desire. Part of me wondered if it would ever fade, the wanting her. Another part of me wondered if I wanted it to.

I stepped out of the shower, and automatically wiped the steam off the mirror. My lip was slightly swollen, and a greenish shadow skimmed my chin where the thick-fisted man had clipped me. The sight of it made me sick, but not for my own injury. That same man had put his hands on Leighton.

I'd no right to expect she would wake up beside me and ease my guilt for not protecting her. She'd sought comfort in my arms, and even though I'd known the reflexes of a body after trauma, I'd given in to her, taken advantage of her, because I'd wanted her more than I could admit. Her absence this morning was simply confirmation of what I'd already known.

It had been a mistake.

I walked to my closet. The black pants and charcoal shirts had hung there, untouched, for weeks, but I pulled them out now and got dressed. I'd let things get too personal, and my mistakes had caused enough problems already. Now was the time to be professional and see to it that Leighton was protected. No matter what happened between us, she needed to be protected.

My place was at the end of the garden, on the other side of the pool, but the walk didn't take long enough. Before I was ready, I looked up and caught sight of Leighton standing at the French doors of her grandfather's office, looking out over the estate. The bright Southern California sun lit up her curls, and even through the glass, I could see every detail of her beauty. I could still feel what it was like to have my lips pressed to the pulse in her neck as she'd opened to me.

My heart skipped a beat as I stopped in the middle of the garden path to admire her. Then her eyes found me, but she didn't wave or smile, reminding me that we were separated by far more than glass. It didn't matter how much I wanted her, or how much deeper I was falling for her with each passing moment. The way we stood now made it clear. I couldn't have her. Even as I thought it, she turned from the doors and disappeared into her grandfather's office.

I lingered for a minute more, half-hoping she'd come back and call out to me, a symbolic gesture that the distance between us wasn't as great as it seemed.

But she didn't and I continued on. Instead of heading straight for Devlin's office, however, I went to the kitchen to find coffee. At the very least, I'd need caffeine to deal with what the day held.

The cook, Shandra, was already in the kitchen, arranging doughnuts on a tray. My stomach growled and I reached for a bear claw. Shandra slapped my hand away and glared at me.

Maybe Shandra should've been assigned as Leighton's temporary bodyguard. The cook and I weren't exactly friends, but I knew she would've protected Leighton better than she was protecting those doughnuts. And I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t have fucked Paris.

“Those are for the police.”

I considered commenting on her stereotyping, but the expression on her face made me reconsider it. Fortunately, I didn't have to face-off against her for long, because Devlin entered the kitchen.

To my surprise – and Shandra's, judging by the expression on her face – Devlin grabbed my hand in what started out as a handshake, but ended as a hug. I froze, unsure what I was supposed to do. I wasn't a huggy person to begin with, and certainly not with my employer.

“Thank you, Haze,” he said, his voice quiet, but fierce.

When he pulled back, I was shocked to see tears in his eyes. I knew he'd been distraught over Leighton's disappearance, but I'd never expected such a show of emotion from such a normally stoic man.

I shook my head, uncomfortable with his blatant emotion, especially when it was so undeserved. “If I'd been here in the first place, she wouldn't have needed me to rescue her.”

“Give yourself some credit, and a break, my boy.” Devlin snatched a donut off the tray despite Shandra's scowl. “The police are on their way, and you can be damned sure they're going to take this seriously.”

He'd changed. Gone was the suit and tie he wore even at home. He was still respectable in slacks and a dress shirt, but the sleeves were even rolled up. His phone wasn't in his hand or clipped to his belt.

“Thank you,” he said to Shandra as she handed him a mug of coffee. “And if you'll grab the doughnuts, Haze.”

I nodded and picked up the plate in one hand, the other carrying my own coffee. I followed Devlin to his office, noticing a change in his stride. In the short time I'd known him, he'd marched everywhere, direct and fast. Now, he chatted over his shoulder to me as we walked at a normal, almost leisurely pace. It could have been the full mug he carried, but I didn't think so. What happened over the past couple days had changed something in him.

As we entered the office, I found myself immediately scanning the room for Leighton. She was sitting on the love-seat against the far wall, and glanced up as we came in. Her eyes slid across me to focus on her grandfather, her expression a blank mask.

“I spoke to the chief himself on the phone, and he assured me that his top detectives will be taking lead on the case.” Devlin looked at me and then back to Leighton.

“You're not going to tell Ian, are you?” she asked, her eyes staying on her grandfather.

He shook his head. “Your brother doesn't need news like that right now.” He paused a moment, and then added, “Though I suppose we'd both be happy to give him any excuse to come home.”

“I want him home for his own safety, not mine. I'm fine.” She turned her head toward the French doors, as if something outside had caught her attention.

The office fell quiet as we all sipped our coffee and waited for the police to arrive. It was unnerving, the silence. Devlin's office was usually loud with business conversations, ringing phones, and computer alerts. Today his laptop was closed, his phone nowhere to be seen as he hovered quietly around his granddaughter. She was also quieter than usual, though I hadn't expected her to behave in her normal manner, no matter what she said.

Even as I drank my coffee, I stood near enough to the door that I would've been able to intercept any danger coming her way. I didn't know if I was supposed to be on guard duty or off while we were talking to the police, but it didn't matter. From now on, whenever I was near Leighton, I was on duty.