The Missionary (15 page)

“Stone?” She rolled away slightly, clutching the towel in place. She searched his eyes. “In the lobby…was that just…I mean—did you—?”

“I don’t know, Wren. Honestly I don’t. I don’t know what it means.”

“Did you…feel anything?” Her voice was small and hesitant.

“Of course I did,” he said. “How could I kiss you and not feel anything?”

She shrugged, and the towel slipped slightly, drawing Stone’s attention to her cleavage. He forced his gaze to her eyes when she spoke. “I don’t know. It’s so hard to tell with you. You don’t ever seem to show emotions. You don’t show pain, or fear, or happiness, or anything. You’re just this wall of…stone.”

Stone laughed. “How do you think I got the nickname ‘Stone’ in the first place?”

Wren’s face scrunched. “Nickname? Stone’s not your real name?”

He shook his head. “Nope. I got it after my first combat mission.”

“Why?”

“Well, like you said, I don’t really…show much. I never have. And then during combat I was just stone-cold calm the whole time, and my L-T made some kind of casual remark, like, ‘you’re made of stone or something, Pressfield,’ and the nickname Stone just stuck.”

“So they gave the nickname to you for being unemotional?”

Stone wobbled his head side to side in a ‘not really but sort of’ gesture. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”

“What do you mean?”

Stone sighed. “It’s another one of those things I don’t like to talk about.”

“I watched you kill men today, Stone. I think I can handle some old story.”

“It’s not just because I’m stone-cold emotionally; it’s because I seemed like a stone-cold killer. That first combat mission, it went off the rails. Went bad. Old intel, the bad guys had more backup than we’d anticipated. One of them got the drop on L-T, and I was out of ammo. Rookie mistake, you know? Shooting too much, waiting till empty to reload. Supposed to reload when you’ve got a few rounds left, and you never just throw the clip away like in the movies. You save it. Reuse it. Anyway, a tango got the drop on L-T, and I was out of ammo. For some stupid reason, I went for my KA-BAR instead of my sidearm—”

“Kay-bar? What’s that?”

“Combat knife. I should have shot the fucker, but I stabbed him instead. Of course, unless you know exactly what you’re doing and where to stab and all that, you never get a guy on the first try with a knife. It’s surprisingly hard to kill a man with a knife. That’s why you always hear about someone being stabbed like twenty or thirty times. The human body can withstand a shitload of damage as long as it doesn’t stop the heart immediately, or the brain. So I got the guy, but he had a gun and I had my knife, and L-T was down, wounded, so I just laid into him again. Not thinking, just doing.” Stone flexed his hand, remembering the feel of the knife in his hand and the warmth of blood on his hands for the first time. “Shooting someone from far away, that’s one thing. Even from thirty feet away with a pistol. It still takes it out of you, hits you hard the first few times you do it. But to kill someone up close and personal like that? With your hands? You watch the light go out of his eyes. You watch him turn into a dead husk right in front of you. Watch him bleed out, knowing you did that to him. And because I don’t show much emotion, and never have, it seemed to everyone else that I just did it easy as you please, no guilt, no remorse.”

“Did you? Feel that stuff?” Wren asked, sounding shaken.

“Shit yeah. Of course. I wanted to puke afterward. I couldn’t sleep for weeks, seeing his face every time I closed my eyes. That mission, those first kills? I’ll never forget them. Not for as long as I live. I don’t really remember most of the others, but you never forget the first man you kill.”

Wren didn’t answer for a long time. When she did, it was in a tiny whisper. “Have you killed a lot of people?”

Stone just nodded. “Too many.”

“And today. You killed people today. For me.”

He pulled her against him. “Yeah. And there will probably be more before we’re safe.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t plan on talking about this.”

“It’s inevitable. You’ve seen some awful shit. Experienced hell.” He touched her cheek with the knuckle of his forefinger. “At least you’re with me, now. Safe. And you weren’t raped.”

“I saw it, though. I saw…girls. A lot of them. Being…used. And that was almost me. If you hadn’t—”

“But I did. I’ve got you.”

Wren burrowed against him, relaxing into him, slipping a hand across his chest and holding him. “Thank you, Stone. Thank you, so much.”

Stone felt his heart constrict and expand. She sounded so vulnerable. Felt so right, in his arms like this. “Of course, babe.”

“What’s your real name?”

Stone sighed. “I was born George Alexander Pressfield the third. My grandfather was the captain of an aircraft carrier in World War II, and my father commanded a PT boat during Vietnam. My great-grandfather was in the Navy too. So that makes me a fourth-generation Navy brat.”

“George? Really?” Wren sounded amused.

He pulled back and glared down at her. “Is that funny to you? Is it funny that I’m George the third?”

She nodded, laughing now. “Yes! It is funny, actually. George. Little Georgie.”

Stone growled. “That’s why I go by Stone. I was never so glad for a nickname in all my life.”

“Maybe I’ll call you George from now on,” Wren suggested.

“You better not.”

“Sensitive much?”

“I hate that name. I’ve always hated that name. Even in elementary school, I would introduce myself as Alex. I actually went by Alex until I got the nickname Stone.” He laughed. “I refused to answer to anyone unless they called me Alex. I got detention almost every day for the first half of third grade because my teacher refused to call me anything but George. Eventually we compromised on ‘Mr. Pressfield.’”

 
Wren shifted against him, and now the humor was gone from her eyes. In its place something else, something hot and desperate and alluring. “So you won’t answer if I call you Georgie? Even if we’re alone?”

Stone shook his head. “Nope.”

She moved even closer, and now she was pressed against him, almost lying on top of him. Her legs were warm against his. “I like Georgie. It’s cute.”

“I’m a Navy SEAL. I don’t do cute.”
 

“Am I cute?”

Stone sighed. “Wren, are you sure this is—”

“You kissed me in the lobby,” Wren cut in. “You can’t pretend it didn’t mean something to you. It did for me. And I saw your eyes. I’m learning to read you, you know.”

“Wren—”

“You said you don’t do cute. Well, what about me?”

“You’re not cute,” Stone growled. “You’re beautiful. So much more than beautiful. You’re strong. You’re tough. You’re sweet. And you’re sexy.”

Wren’s face split into a smile, but it quickly faded into seriousness. “Will you kiss me again? Please?”

Stone closed his eyes briefly. “I’m not sure this is the best time or place.”

“I’m not asking for anything else. Just a kiss.”

“There’s no such thing as ‘just a kiss.’”

“Sure there is.”

“Not with me, there’s not.” He had to look away from her, away from her desire-hot eyes. “You’ve been through hell. We’re both hurt and filthy. And now all of a sudden we’re gonna kiss?”

“This isn’t sudden, Stone. I’ve wanted you to kiss me…for so long. For like—since the first time I met you. Every time we played guitar, I would have to make myself focus on the music instead of kissing you.”

Stone exhaled noisily. “But you’ve seen what I do. What I am. And you’re so sweet, so kind. So innocent.”

She pushed away from him angrily. “I’m
not
innocent. I’m not a virgin. And with everything I’ve been through over the last few days, I’m even less innocent. I know what I want. I want you. I’ve always wanted you. And you know it, too. We talked about this before we left for Manila.”

Stone scrubbed his face. “Dammit. I don’t even know…I don’t know what to say.”

“Tell me how you feel. Tell me what you’re thinking. Do you feel the same way? Do you really just see me as just a friend? Or just a student? If so, I’ll drop this. But I don’t think you do. I think there’s more.” Her hand, till now resting on his chest, slid upward, touched his jaw.

Stone swallowed hard. “Yeah, there’s more.”

“So what do you want to do about that?”

Her hand on his jaw was soft and delicate and warm. It made it hard for him to think. “I’m not sure it’s right to do anything about it. I—I’m not…I’m not good. For…you.”

Wren didn’t answer right away. She just stared at him, into him. “I think your problem is you don’t think you’re good, full stop.”

“I’m not.”

“What if I don’t agree, and don’t care if you are or aren’t?”

“You should.”

She groaned in frustration, rolling away from him. “God, you’re so stubborn.”

“Wren, it’s not a matter of desire. That’s exactly the problem. I
do
desire. I just—I’m not sure it’s okay to let it happen.”

“Shouldn’t I have some say in that?” She wasn’t turning back to him.
 

“Maybe. But…right now?”

“All I wanted was another kiss. Just…to see how it felt again. To…distract myself.”

“Distract yourself from what?”

She finally rolled back to face him, and her eyes were wet. “All this. Everything. Being here, in Manila. I…can’t let myself cry about it, or I won’t stop. And…the withdrawal is driving me crazy. I hurt. I’m tired. I’m scared. And I can’t even begin to think about the things I’ve seen. Those girls getting raped. Almost being sold for sex myself. Men being killed in front of me. You getting shot. I just…I want to pretend, even for thirty
fucking
seconds, that it’s just you and me in a hotel room, alone. Nothing else to deal with. Is that so wrong?” She wiped her eyes with both hands. “I just…I want to feel something else.”

Stone let go, then. He couldn’t help but draw her to him, wrap her in his arms. This time, she turned her face up, eyes closed, and he let it happen. He let his lips touch hers, gently, gently. Hesitantly.

He’d wanted it too, after all. Ever since the first time he’d walked in to his high school buddy Nick’s church and saw her for the first time. Now here she was, basically begging him, and making a pretty damn good case for why it was okay to do this. To kiss her like this.

It was magical. The macho guy in Stone hated how girly that sounded in his head. But it was the truth. All the girls he’d kissed, on base and off, on deployment and on leave, none of them compared to the way this kiss felt.
 

Her lips touched his, and at first they merely touched. Soft, wet, and warm. And then her mouth moved, and she was kissing him, moving her lips against his, seeking, searching, opening, and he wanted more. He let his tongue slip out and she tasted it with her own. Her palm touched his face, lay flat against his cheek and she was writhing against him, lost in the kiss.

He was lost, too. He couldn’t have stopped the kiss if he’d wanted to, and he didn’t want to. He wanted to let it go on forever, just kiss her like this. It was just a kiss, but it was more. It was him giving in, letting the things he’d felt for so long, wanted for long, rise to the surface.

Stone’s hand curled around her back, pulled her tighter against him, and then slipped back down to the small of her spine, rested and hesitated there, and then she pulled his lower lip into her mouth and sucked on it, and Stone’s hand moved down a few more inches to cup her backside over the towel.
 

Wren moaned into his mouth, let his lip go and kissed the corner of his mouth. Her hand clutched the column of his neck, and she kissed him, deeper than ever, with complete abandon. Stone felt the male need in him take over, and he moved his hand beneath the towel, touching bare skin, holding the supple globe of her ass in his hand and kissing her, trying to hang on to the last vestige of control. Gunshot or not, he couldn’t keep kissing her like this for much longer, or it would go where he couldn’t hold back.

He was already nearing that place. He moved his grip to the other side of her ass, marveling at how firm yet soft she was. She kissed him voraciously, as if she couldn’t get enough of him. It was primal, the way she kissed him, at odds with the sweet and innocent persona she gave off the rest of the time.
 

Stone’s other hand brushed her hair out of her face and held the back of her head, and now he opened himself up even more to the kiss, to the feelings she engendered in him.

Finally, Wren broke away, and she was panting. “Stone…”

“Yeah?”

“I know we’re both tired and hurt, but…stop holding back. Stop holding out on me.”

“If I don’t…this will—”

“You think I don’t understand exactly where it will go?” She supported her weight on one elbow, then hissed at the pull on her ribs, and moved to lay on him once more, but angled so she could meet his eyes. “What if that’s where I want it to go?” She still had the towel clamped closed around her chest, but she let go when she moved to lay against him, and Stone felt the fabric loosen.
 

If she moved away from him, the towel would fall open.
 

Stone knew his body had responded to the heat in her kiss, and she had her leg draped across his hips, so he knew she could feel the evidence of it. “Wren…” He wasn’t sure what he was going to say, or what
to
say. His reasoning, his logic, his resistance was riddled and tattered and fading.
 

“Stone.” She took his hand in hers and threaded their fingers together. “Stop trying to protect me from you.”

“I’m just trying—”

“I know. But…I’m a grown woman, okay? Sure, I’m young, but I’m adult, and I can choose for myself what I want. And
this
is what I want. Whatever we have, whatever we can have, wherever it goes. I want that. All of it. All of you. Whatever you’ll give me.”

“But what if—“

“And don’t say it’s just because you saved me, or because we’re going through this whole running from killers thing. It started before this, and will continue after it.”

“You’re assuming there is an after.”