Forget Me Not (26 page)

The howling of the dogs was like fingernails over a chalkboard. It filled Gabe's head with paralyzing visions of what the future would be like for him if he were caught again.

Suddenly the streambed deepened, immersing him to his waist in frigid water.
Thank you, God!
With a deep breath, he looped under the surface, swimming as fast and furiously as he could, the current like wings, speeding him on his way.

Suddenly, two hands closed over his shoulders, yanking him up and out of the water.

No!
he raged, throwing off his assailant. With a loud thump—
Thump?
—the attacker flew off him, making contact with an object that threatened to topple over.

Disoriented, Gabe twisted into an upright position and found himself on the floor of Commander Troy's guest bedroom. Helen lay in a heap not far away. In the faint glow of the bathroom nightlight, he could see her rubbing the top of her head, a painful grimace contorting her beautiful face.

God damn him, he'd done it again!

Ow, ow, ow!
Helen rubbed the top of her head with her palm and kept an eye trained warily on Gabe. He sprang toward her and she flinched, but then the lamp over her head snapped on, and she saw that he was staring down at her with horror in his eyes.

"Talk to me," he demanded, his voice gruff with confusion. He peeled her fingers from her head and peered down at the throbbing spot.

"Did I break the skin?" She didn't want to drip blood on her mother's carpet

"No," he said, running a finger lightly over the welt. "Just a red mark. Son of a bitch!" he exploded, lurching to his feet. He wheeled away from her and paced to the door, before turning abruptly back.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, anxious to dispel his temper. "I shouldn't have awakened you so abruptly."

"Don't apologize," he retorted, dragging his fingers through his hair. "Fuck!"

"I thought you were dreaming. You were breathing really hard," she rushed to explain. "Then all of a sudden you stopped. I couldn't hear anything, and I was afraid you were going to die—"

His gaze went through her, as if he were seeing something else. "I was holding my breath," he said.

"Holding your breath? What do you mean—you were dreaming?"

He tucked his hands under his armpits, his T-shirt straining over his chest muscles. He thought for a moment "I was escaping," he admitted, his voice pitched low, his gaze turned inward. "I had to swim down a stream. They had dogs after me." He paused for a split second. "I need to use the phone," he said, turning unexpectedly toward the door.

"Wait!" she called, scrambling to her feet. "At this time of night?" She pushed her way past him and blocked the exit. "You can't go out there, Gabe. You'll wake up Mallory." Besides, he wasn't in the right frame of mind to talk to anyone right now. "Talk to me first," she invited, propelling him toward the bed. "Tell me what you remember."

To her relief, he allowed her to move him. He sat on the edge of the mattress, as tense as a trapdoor.

The shock in his eyes seemed to be clearing. "Before I left me compound I found some files on my captor's computers," he explained, "and I e-mailed them to the FBI. I need to know if someone found them."

"What kinds of files?"

"Intelligence stuff. You're better off not knowing. I need to call," he said again.

"Can't it wait till morning? Who'll be in the office at this time of night?"

A glance at me clock confirmed what she was saying. He heaved a sigh, releasing his intentions for the moment. He looked back at her, his thoughts clearly shifting, given the look in his eyes. "Helen," he whispered, capturing her race between his hands. "I made it back."

"Yes," she marveled, amazed to see a sheen of tears in his eyes.

"You kept me alive the whole time I was there," he added unexpectedly. "It was you who gave me the strength to stand up to them."

She stared at him, absorbing the implication of his words.

"You remember everything now?" she asked, finding his memories safer to discuss than his feelings for her.

He hesitated, closing his eyes. A look of concentration came across his face. "No," he determined flatly. "Damn it!" He banged his fist against his forehead. "I still can't remember the mission!"

Tension rushed back into him, and Helen stroked his chest, finding it a relief and a pleasure to touch him. "Hush," she soothed, "it'll come back just like the rest. Focus on the positive."

He nodded, letting his shoulders relax. His arms stole around her, pulling her closer. She was highly conscious of the fact that he wore nothing more than a pair of boxers and a T-shirt, She'd forgotten just how warm he always was. "You really remember us together?' she asked, not quite able to believe it

"Yes," he said, his tone reflective. He held her gently, his hands straying as if comparing how she felt now to what he recalled of her.

"So you remember when my father introduced us? You remember meeting Mallory for the first time?"

"You were the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen," he admitted, his tone reflective. "Mallory was cute but she scared the hell out of me."

"Really?" She'd had no idea. The old Gabe had seemed so fearless.

"I knew I'd make a lousy father," he added.

Helen trembled. This moment had come so unexpectedly. Now that he remembered their history together, past and present were merging right in front of her. Surely the weight of the past would drown their newfound happiness. "You're a good father now," she pointed out, hearing regret in her voice.

"I'm trying," he said earnestly. "I know I have a lot to make up for, a whole hell of a lot."

She gazed up at him, unable to stanch the hope gathering inside her. His memories were back, but he still sounded like the new Gabe.

"I went through hell this last year," he reflected, his voice roughening as tears once again glimmered in his eyes. "I thought I'd never get out of there alive. But something kept me going." He took her hand, laying it over the center of his chest and held it there. "Something right here," he said, "had you inside it." His gaze searched her face as he hunted for the right words. "I was such an idiot, Helen," he said, a crease appearing between his eyebrows, "I thought that loving you would make me weak, make me less of a SEAL." He broke off with a laugh of incredulity. "But instead, it made me strong. You—loving you—gave me the determination to come back."

She wasn't aware of when her own tears started falling. All she knew was that her cheeks were wet and her heart had expanded to ten times its normal size, making it hard to breathe. Not in her wildest dreams had she ever imagined Gabe confessing such words to her—
loving you.
They defied her expectations. They left her stunned. They changed everything.

She could only stare at him, reconciling what she'd heard to what she knew of him. As the seconds stretched to minutes, Gabe looked away, his hands falling to his sides. "I understand if you still don't want me," he said on a heartbreaking note. "I know what I look like. I know what my captors did to me."

With a cry of denial, she grabbed him firmly, keeping him from stepping back. "Stop it," she scolded. "Don't ever think that, Gabe," she told him. "You know I want you. I told you that just the other night"

"Forever?" he asked, pressing her for commitment.

She wanted to say yes. On the surface, it appeared that Gabe's captivity hadn't changed him at all. If anything, it had given him time to accept the death-defying power of love. But she'd learned her lesson once before about putting her faith in happily-ever-after. She would wait to see if this new Gabe had sticking power before she gave her heart to him again. "Maybe," she replied. It was the best she could do.

He considered her answer for a solemn moment. "Maybe is enough," he decided. He pulled her closer, breathing her scent as if it were life-sustaining oxygen.

Helen thrilled as proof of his desire prodded her hip.

"Let me love you, Helen," he rasped in her ear. "I dreamed about it all the time—how I'd love you again, when I got you in my arms."

She trembled with desire so overwhelming she could barely get an answer out. "Yes," she breathed, standing on tiptoe to offer him her lips.

His kisses were deep and unbearably sweet. He took his time, reacquainting himself with every corner of her mouth, drawing on her lips and tongue as if savoring their taste and texture.

Slowly, agonizingly, he parted the buttons of her pajama top. He swept a hand up her back, around the indent of her waist and up to capture a breast. Tenderly, he stroked his thumb over her nipple and her knees wobbled.

With a hum of satisfaction, he swung her onto the bed and laid her on her back. For a moment he regarded her in the lamplight, studying her face, her moist lips, her breasts peeking through the parted halves of her pajama top. "You know what my biggest fear was?" he asked.

"What?"

"Not seeing you again."

His words put pressure on her chest. She felt terribly guilty for not feeling the same way.

Shadows filled his eyes. "You didn't miss me," he realized.

She wanted to deny it; to say that she'd wept oceans of tears for him, only she hadn't. "I grieved for you when you were still with us," she replied, choosing her words carefully. "You were there, physically, but never emotionally."

He gave her a sad, sad smile. "That won't happen again," he swore.

It won't?
She longed to believe him. The promise that he would connect with her on a deeper level was almost too good to be true.

"Will you do something for me?" he asked her, stroking the side of her face.

"What's that?"

"When we make love," he said, "I want you to keep your eyes open."

She smiled at him quizzically. "Why?"

"So you can see how much I love you."

There it was again: the L-word. A word he'd said so seldom in the past, she'd doubted it was even in his vocabulary. Yet this was the second time he'd said it in just minutes. "Okay," she said with trepidation. He was asking her to take risks, risks she'd taken before and regretted.

He peeled back the lapels of her pajama top, exposing both breasts. Bending his head, he worshiped her till she was breathless. The palm of his hand, rough from working on the deck, skimmed her torso, moving lower.

He slipped his fingers under the elastic band of her pajama pants. At the same time, he looked deep into her eyes.

His fingers crept beneath the lace barrier of her panties. Heat flooded Helen's cheeks. Her eyes fluttered shut.

"Look at me," he insisted gently.

She obeyed, at the same time feeling his fingers comb through her pubic hair. Twin torches of desire burned in his eyes, turning her shyness to shamelessness. With sudden carnal craving, she parted her legs for him, giving him access to a part of her that melted like wax beneath a steady flame.

He touched her deliberately, tenderly, reverently. As in the past, he knew exactly how to arouse her. She couldn't hold back the moan of surrender that escaped her. She fought to keep her eyes open as stark, unprecedented pleasure stormed her senses. Gabe watched every nuance of her expression, gauging his next move by the look in her eyes.

"Please," she heard herself beg as she clutched his shoulders with need. She didn't want to be alone in this. She wanted him with her.

It was obvious he'd been waiting for that one word. In a fluid movement, he stripped her clothes from her, pausing to take in her glorious nakedness. Reaching for his own shirt, he hesitated. "Do you want me to leave it on?" he asked.

His question summoned immediate contrition. "No," she firmly replied. She helped him out of the shirt, her fingers going straight to his scars. They were part of him now. If she was going to assume the risk of loving him again, that meant accepting all of him.

Still, she had to swallow a gasp of dismay. His once-smooth torso was ridged with lines and bumps. There was even an indentation under his arm where a piece of flesh had been torn from him. She measured the hollow with silent horror, aware all the while that Gabe was watching her.

Her fingers found a scar that went from his collarbone to a dusky male nipple. "What was this?" she asked, tracing it lightly, her heart in her throat. Anger burned in her for the men who'd treated him so ruthlessly.

He shook his head minimally. "Later. Not now."

She understood. Now was not the time. Her emotions were already jumbled. With the need to assure him of his appeal, she placed her lips against the scar and traced it with her tongue. His intake of breath made her realize this was exactly what he needed.

She was going to kiss every mark on his body before the night was through.

Pushing him back against the pillows, she came up over him, and bent her head again to reverence the wounds on his chest. "Roll over," she said when she was done.

Acquiescent, he complied. There were far more marks on his back. It took ten minutes to find and kiss them all, her hair drifting over him like a silken shawl. He held perfectly still, enduring her caresses in silence. At last, when she was done, she saw that he'd covered his face with one hand to hide the torment she'd unwittingly called up.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, struck with remorse.

He pulled his hand away and looked at her, a small smile curving his lips. "I'm not."

With those surprising words, he rolled over, swept her into his arms, and rolled over again, pressing her into the mattress. He kissed her with his whole heart in the kiss. As heat leapt between them, all thoughts of the past evaporated.

He shucked his boxers with an expedient tug. And then they were lying skin to skin. She found him warm and achingly familiar. He kissed her neck, her shoulders, her breasts and lower, with those same scandalous, openmouthed kisses she'd mourned. He paused at last between her thighs, wreaking succulent havoc, just as he had in the past.

Oh, heavens.
She buried her fingers into the silky short strands of his hair and clung to him. Again, he brought her to the edge of desire. She refused to go over the top without him. She wanted to look into his eyes when that happened, to see what Gabe had been hiding from her all this time.