Forget Me Not (20 page)

"Who was he?" Mallory asked.

Gabe paused. "I never told you about Sergeant O'Mally?"

Mother and daughter shook their heads simultaneously.

"Really? Wow. Well, he was a cop who cruised Acnshnet Street when I was a kid. He had this big, black Harley with a siren on the front."

"And?" Helen prompted, intrigued by his unexpected answer.

"And he was kind of like my dad back then. I was sort of screwed up as a kid," Gabe admitted with a shadow of a smile. "No one gave a damn if I skipped school or broke the law, so I got into trouble fairly often. Whenever I did, there was Officer O'Mally getting off his Harley. He'd dust me off and tell me to straighten up my act. He kept me out of jail for the most part, till I stole a car."

"You stole a car!" Mallory gasped, her mouth falling open.

Gabe glanced at Helen as if worried that he'd said the wrong thing. Clearly he assumed she already knew the story, but she didn't. Gabe had never admitted to any past indiscretions. As far as she'd known, he'd had a normal if somewhat lonely childhood, with no brothers or sisters, just a grandmother who raised him when his parents died. She returned his look without expression.

Shrugging, Gabe forged ahead. "Well, not to make excuses or anything, but my grandmother was too... old to keep an eye on me. I didn't have a mom or dad like you do," he added meaningfully. "Anyway, Sergeant O'Mally paid my bail so I could get out of jail. He testified for me in court and somehow got me acquitted, provided I joined the military.''

Helen was amazed to see a blush creeping over Gabe's cheekbones. It was obvious he wasn't too proud of who he'd been back then, but he'd told the truth, regardless. Obviously, as Dr. Terrien had implied, he'd come to terms with his past during the long months of his captivity. She'd had no idea his childhood was so troubled.

The truth made him strangely more appealing to her.

He was human, after all, not the perfect male machine that executed his moves flawlessly and made others feel inferior.

Mallory's curiosity had been thoroughly roused. "How old were you when your parents died?" she asked Gabe.

"Honey, eat your dinner before it gets cold," Helen interrupted, shielding Gabe from having to answer.

His brow puckered with confusion. "My mom died when I was six. Didn't I tell you this before?"

"No," said Mallory, answering for her mother.

"She died in a car crash."

Helen had heard that much, but it had been both parents the last time.

"What about your dad?" Mallory pressed.

Gabe lined up the leftover crusts on his plate. "I never knew my dad," he said matter-of-factly. Helen's jaw grew slack. "He was a fisherman that pulled into port and got my mother pregnant. My grandmother tracked him down to try and get support from him, but he disappeared again."

He'd lied to her. The old Gabe had lied to her.

Astonished, Helen could only stare at him, her heart trampled. He'd never once told her that he didn't know his dad, that he was the product of a seaport dalliance. Her heart trembled with emotion. She wasn't half as sorry for herself that Gabe had lied to her as she was for the boy he'd been and then the man, who'd felt he had to lie to keep from being stigmatized. Certainly her own father would have thought twice about introducing her to Gabe had he known of Gabe's illegitimacy. Her father was old-fashioned like that. He'd had a hard enough time dealing with Mallory's conception.

At last Gabe had told the truth. But why? Why let her glimpse that part of him now? There was once a time when she' d longed for him to share a piece of himself. Unexpected tears pricked Helen's eyes.

He pushed his beer away abruptly, shaking his head as if to clear it. "Man, I don't have any tolerance for alcohol anymore," he commented, drawing her from her introspection.

"It's your medication," Helen said, suddenly worried. "I told you not to have any beer."

He made a face. "You go for a year without a beer and see how you like it," he answered, smothering a burp.

Mallory was regarding his profile with a solemn look, her burritos forgotten. "We're both bastards," she blurted, out of the blue.

Silence fell over the table. Helen's breath caught.
Oh, my baby!
Mallory seldom mentioned her illegitimacy; it was her own private burden.

"Tha'sright," said Gabe, and Helen was startled to hear his words slur together. She was even more astonished when he threw an arm around Mallory's shoulder and pulled her against his side, squeezing her tight. Mallory buried her nose against Gabe's chest, and a vise closed around Helen's heart.

Why had he waited till now to show Mallory such affection?

He's drunk!
she thought, seizing that excuse. Not technically drunk, but his medication was interacting with his beer. She wondered with sudden consternation if she would have to help Gabe get to the car.

With his arm still around Mallory's shoulder, and his head resting against the back of the booth, he no longer looked like a predatory cat, but a big, sleepy one. His slightly unfocused gaze settled on Helen's cleavage, cunningly revealed by the neckline of her orange sundress.

"Mom looks good tonight," he whispered to Mallory, loud enough for Helen to hear him.

Mallory turned her head to see.

Helen fought to appear unaffected by Gabe's rough-toned praise. He wasn't thinking clearly. "You're definitely inebriated," she said in a cool voice that disguised the liquid warmth spreading through her.

She looked away under the pretext of hailing the waitress. To her dismay, her gaze collided with that of the last man on earth she wanted to see tonight: the executive officer of SEAL Team Twelve, Lieutenant Commander Jason Miller.

Crap, not him!
Tension whipped through her, making her spine stiffen. Not only was Gabe in no condition to reunite with his XO right now, but Helen herself had been avoiding the man like the plague. Over the past twelve months, he'd tried repeatedly to insinuate himself in her life, taking for granted that his George Hamilton looks would make him irresistible.

She hadn't appreciated his sly offers of comfort when first hearing the news of Gabe's disappearance. It had been increasingly difficult to extricate herself from his groping hands while clinging to politeness and protocol.

Oh, dear Lord, he's coming over to our table!
She kicked Gabe under the table. "Sit up!" she hissed.

Bless Gabe for jerking to attention. A second later Miller drifted up alongside them. For a second he took in the cozy scene before his dark gaze came to rest on Gabe. His mouth assumed a smile.

"Renault," he said, "this is incredible. We never thought we'd see you again."

Gabe, stuck in the booth, struggled to stand while saluting. "Commander Miller," he answered, syllables slurring together.

Miller's gaze narrowed a fraction, telling Helen he'd noticed Gabe's inebriation. "At ease, Lieutenant," he said, waving Gabe down. "I was planning to swing by your place tonight and welcome you back properly." His onyx eyes slid to Helen, dipping toward her bosom. "We just got in."

He gave her a look she couldn't interpret. Loathing? Disapproval? His black-as-ink eyes glowed with it.

For his part, Gabe was staring at the man, as if he were struggling to remember something.

An awkward silence fell over the quartet. Miller's gaze rested briefly on the bottle of beer near Gabe's hand. "You don't have much to say, Renault," he commented with false friendliness. "Are you drunk?"

Gabe's steady gaze had never looked more sober. "No, sir. Just stunned to see you after all this time."

The XO nodded, avoiding Gabe's gaze. "Well, I understand you're having some problems remembering." It sounded more like a question than a statement.

Helen took a sharp breath at the tactless reminder.

"It's coming back," Gabe said smoothly.

For some reason Gabe's reply seemed to discomfit his senior officer. He stuck his hands into his pockets. "Glad to hear it," he said, not sounding glad at all. "You all enjoy yourselves. Helen." He scorched her with that same look before wandering back to the woman who waited for him by the bar.

"What a jerk," Mallory commented a little too loudly.

Helen barely caught herself from seconding the opinion.

For his part, Gabe said nothing. The mellow expression he'd worn moments earlier was gone, replaced by a mask that she recognized as belonging to the old Gabe. He withdrew his arm from around Mallory's shoulder. "Let's go," he said.

"I'm waiting for the bill," Helen pointed out, crushed that their lovely evening had come to such an abrupt end.

She gave the waitress her credit card and signed the slip—all without protest from Gabe, who'd always insisted on paying in the past. Odd, now that she thought of it, he hadn't even brought up the issue of money since his return.

"Thanks for dinner," he said, striding before them as they left the restaurant and headed down the busy sidewalk toward their car.

"You're welcome. Are you sure you don't want to walk on the boardwalk?" It was a beautiful night, with the sun just beginning its golden descent toward the shore. Teenagers were everywhere, cruising down Atlantic Avenue, windows open, music pounding. The city exuded scents of the ocean, grilled seafood, and suntan oil. Mallory looked crestfallen that they were heading home so soon.

Gabe stared straight ahead, carving a path for them through the crowd with no lingering trace of inebriation. "I'm sure," he said shortly.

He tried to hide it, but Helen could hear preoccupation in his voice. She and Mallory followed in his wake, tensely aware that he was acting like he used to—coldly withdrawn. The encounter with his XO had gotten to him. Was it just because Miller had needled him for losing his memories, or was there something more?

They rode home in absolute silence, mother and daughter both disheartened by Gabe's detachment. As he stared out the car window, the shadows of trees flickered over his face, creating the same effect as camouflage paint.

As the minutes ticked by, Helen found herself wanting to comfort Gabe, even at the risk of being rejected. Her husband had been through so much lately. It wouldn't cost her much to reach for his hand and squeeze it. She wrestled for the courage to do it.

Finally, turning left onto their street, she laid her hand over his. His fingers folded, clamping over hers like a trap.

She could feel the desperation in his grip. He needed her. More than that, the heat of his palm was dredging up memories of them lying skin to skin, bodies touching from head to toe, merging, straining to get closer.

She pulled into their driveway with no recollection of the road she'd just traversed.

Mallory hopped out of the car. Gabe did not let go. Helen sat there, unable to turn off the ignition with her hand trapped in his. Neither could she settle the thrumming of her blood. He shifted his body and looked at her. The heat in his eyes scorched her bare shoulders. His look promised such intense physical pleasure, she was speechless.

Feeling the inevitability of it, she slid toward him, lifting her lips to his. For a moment, he let her kiss him, not moving a millimeter to encourage or dissuade her. But then something in him snapped, and he was kissing her with barely controlled intensity, ravishing her mouth in a way that made her think some very explicit thoughts.

With a groan, Helen forgot that she hadn't come to a full decision regarding Gabe. All she knew was that she wanted him so badly she couldn't think anymore; she wanted him
tonight.
She completely forgot that Mallory was up on the deck waiting for them. Gabe's tongue was causing so much friction that her body was going up in flames.

He brushed a hand over her breast, abrading the nipple. He kissed the line of her jaw and swirled his tongue behind her ear.

"Oh, God," she panted, with no control over the frantic words tumbling out of her mouth. "I need you. I need you."

He lifted his head abruptly and looked at her, searching her gaze as if looking for something. "That's not enough," he replied, shocking her with his words and even more with his actions as he thrust the car door open and got out. He was marching up the steps to let Mallory in before it even registered in her sluggish brain that he was gone.

Abandoned, Helen could only stare after him, her mouth agape. He didn't look back once but let himself and Mallory into the house, shutting the door behind them.

Helen realized the car was still running. She cut the engine with a quick twist of her wrist and covered her eyes with regret. What had she done? She'd told Gabe they were through, and there she was kissing him feverishly and telling him she needed him.

And what was his response? To demand more of her, of course. It wasn't enough for him that she wanted him. Oh no, he would have nothing short of her complete capitulation.

The bastard.

It was so like him to pull the plug, just when she was feeling her most vulnerable. It came to her that he wasn't using sex to get what he wanted; he was withholding it! Yes, his plan was to drive her crazy with desire and then maybe—just maybe—he'd give her what she wanted, provided she told him she loved him first.

As dreadful as it seemed, that had to be it. Gabe was an incredible tactician, as anyone in SEAL Team Twelve could attest to. He never went without a COA, a course of action. What if Leila was right to warn her? What if everything he'd done up to now, all the apparent changes in him, was an act to call up her feelings for him?

She didn't trust him enough to be sure that it wasn't. In the face of his new sincerity, she'd let her guard down. Big mistake. And here she was, half in love with him again. Hadn't she learned her lesson enough times already? How many times did Gabe have to hurt her before she realized that loving him was harmful to her health? Did she really want to get up tomorrow to find that she was Jaguar's woman again, a possession acknowledged when it suited him; a wife he otherwise ignored?

"Wake up, Helen!" she hissed at herself, thrusting open her door with more force than necessary. And no, it wasn't just sexual frustration that made her slam it shut behind her. It was rage. Rage that she'd actually believed he'd changed.