No Quarter Given (SSE 667) (23 page)

The urge to sweep Dana into his arms and teach her the good things that could be shared between a man and woman sent a keening ache through Griff. Reaching into another pocket of his flight suit, he pulled out a crisp white sheet of paper that had been neatly folded.

"I think now's the time to give you this."

Dana took the paper, slowly unfolding it. "What is this?"

"That poem I wanted to share with you," Griff admitted in a low voice. "It was a favorite of my mother's. I remember learning to read it to her as a kid. She reflected the courage in it, and that night you got swept out to sea, all I could think about was "Invictus." You embody the poem in every way, just as she did. My mother had a hard life with no hope of recovery. You came out of a rough childhood and could have turned out a hell of a lot different than you did, Dana. Instead, you took a negative and turned it into a positive. I admire that in a person. Go on, read it out loud. I always like hearing it."

Tears watered in Dana's eyes as she sat there with the paper stretched between her hands. The fact that Griff would share such a touching, deeply personal part of his life with her had moved her as nothing else could. How he had loved his mother! She must have been a very strong woman to have earned Griff's complete admiration.

"'Invictus,' by William Ernest Henley," she began in a hushed tone.

"Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance,
I have not winced nor cried aloud;
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the Shade;
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate;
I am the captain of my soul.

Tears blurred Dana's vision as she stared at the carefully hand-printed words on the paper. "Y-you wanted to share this with me that day you came for a visit?"

"Yeah, but it didn't seem like the right time."

Closing her eyes, Dana took in a ragged breath. "The poem... It's beautiful."

"It mirrors you." Swallowing hard, Griff felt tears leak into his eyes. He didn't care if Dana saw them or not. "Your mother told me about Frank, and how he used to beat you up." Anger made his voice shake. "You've been under fire since the day you were born, Dana, and it's a wonder you've survived as well as you have. You had to weather Annapolis, and then, when you got to Whiting Field, I did nothing but confirm what you knew about men all over again: We're brutal bastards at best, trying to strip your soul from you."

It seemed natural to reach out and place her hand on Griff's arm. Such suffering and guilt showed in his eyes and the set of his mouth that Dana couldn't bear his pain. If she'd had any remaining doubts about Griff's sincere desire to treat her fairly, they dissolved. "There's a difference," she whispered unsteadily. "Once you realized what you'd done to me, Griff, you stopped doing it. My father knew what he was doing and didn't want to help himself."

Covering her small hand with his own, Griff gently stroked her skin. "Look, I know I have no right to ask this, but I'm going to anyway. Dana, there's something good between us. Something so damned right that I felt it from the moment we met at the airport." He saw her eyes go dark with fear and his mouth went dry. Heedless of his own dread that she would turn and run from his admission, he dived on. "You've been injured by men all your life. I think it's about time you started trying to get over that fear. Not all men are like your father. I know I'm not a prime candidate because of my behavior for the past month, but I think we can be good for each other."

Panic seized Dana. Griff's hand on hers felt so right and good. Slowly, she retrieved her hand from his. Unable to look at him, she whispered, "Griff...I'm scared.... Scared to death."

"So am I."

Dana's eyes widened and her head snapped up.

Griff gave her a careless smile that he hoped would relax her. "I know I'm an arrogant son of a bitch, and I've got one hell of a nasty reputation as a demanding instructor here at Whiting. I've got more than my share of bad points, but I want you to try to see that I have a decent side, also."

Uneasy, Dana asked, "Then what do you want from me?"

"Nothing you don't want to give freely and from your heart."

She melted at the timbre of his deep, low voice, but insisted, "Men take, women give."

"Not in a positive relationship. It's never one-sided."

"Then why did your marriage fail?" Though Dana knew she had no business asking, she couldn't help herself. She watched as Griff got up for a second cup of coffee.

"I came from a family where I saw the positives of giving
and
taking, Dana. When I met Carol while I was in training here at Whiting five years ago, she appeared to be a strong, capable woman."

"Like your mother?"

Griff nodded. "My mother was a heroic person. I'm not going to sit here and deny I prefer a woman made from the same mold."

"And Carol was strong?"

"Not really." And Griff explained.

When next he looked at his watch, an hour had gone by. It was past dinnertime, and even though he was physically hungry, he was more starved in an emotional sense for Dana's continued company. "What do you say to going and grabbing a bite to eat over at the Coffee Pot Restaurant off the station? It's 1900."

"Well...I'11 have to change back into civilian clothes before I leave here." No one was allowed to leave Whiting in a flight suit. They had to wear either a dress uniform or civilian clothes. No one wore their uniform off base unless absolutely necessary.

Griff looked at his watch. "How about meeting me at my Corvette in fifteen minutes? I'll take you to dinner."

"Yes...I'd like that." Dana felt her heart skipping in her chest. As she rose and went to the women's locker room to shower and change, she experienced a wild, out-of-control giddiness. Griff was taking her out to dinner. They both wanted—needed—this time with each other. Dana didn't know how to respond to him because there were no strings attached. And yet, the hunger that burned like molten silver in the depths of his eyes sent her aching with expectancy.

Mulling it over, Dana changed into her pale pink cotton slacks, sandals and a simple white blouse. Maggie had given her a flowery scarf, and she tied it around her neck, deciding it made her look wonderfully feminine, mirroring how she felt at the moment. As Dana made her way out of the locker room and through the door to the ready room, she ruthlessly considered her attraction to Griff.

She'd been intrigued with him since the day they'd met at the airport. How many times had she wondered what it would be like to be kissed by that flexible, mobile mouth of his, which promised strength and yet, somehow, tenderness? Dana had never wondered about such things before, and she walked to the parking lot deep in thought. Up ahead, she saw Griff waiting patiently beside his sports car. Her pulse quickened as she approached him. His dark brown hair, recently washed, was shining and smoothed against his head from the shower. The five o'clock shadow of his beard gave his rugged face a dangerous look that sent a delicious tremor through her.

Nonplussed by her reactions to Griff, Dana managed a shy smile as he opened the car door for her. His returning smile was one of reassurance, not wolfishness. And the hunger she'd seen in his eyes before was banked. There was genuine happiness reflected in them now, and a ribbon of joy flooded her heart.

"I changed my mind," Griff told her, shutting the door, his hands resting on the frame of the open window.

"Oh?"

"You look so pretty, I think a better restaurant is in order. The White Horse Inn suits you tonight. How about it? I've got a sport coat, so they'll let me in."

Dana unconsciously touched her lower lip. "The White Horse Inn has great food." Griff looked more than acceptable in the lavender long-sleeved shirt and charcoal-gray slacks. He looked wonderful in her eyes. "Why not? It's been a day for new things."

Griff got in and buckled his seat belt. "New starts," he corrected. "We're finally getting off on the right foot—together."

Unsure what he meant by that statement, Dana leaned back against the leather seat as he drove off the station. Nervous and excited, she couldn't seem to think; only to feel. What she felt frightened her more than anything had in a long time. Suddenly Dana paralleled herself with a plane spinning out of control. She glanced over at Griff's profile. The cocky grin pulling at his mouth partly dissolved her fear of him as a man. There was so much to explore about Griff that was good. And now he was giving her an opportunity to do just that.

Chapter Twelve

The candle-lit atmosphere of the posh restaurant was romantic, fitting Griff's mood. Dana sat across from him in the dark maroon leather booth, her features soft and glowing beneath the light. She ate daintily, her every movement graceful and flowing. He wondered hotly what it would be like to love her—then tried to forget that train of thought. As long as Griff stayed on aeronautical topics, Dana was an eager and enthusiastic conversationalist. The minute he strayed to more personal or private subjects, she became quiet, almost withdrawn. So, Griff began to talk about himself in order to draw Dana out.

"When I was ten years old, my sole book-reading centered around World War II airplanes. What did you read at that age?"

Pleasantly full, Dana laid her fork aside and blotted her mouth with the pink linen napkin. "At ten I had a newspaper route and wasn't really reading military topics at all. Matter of fact, I didn't have time for pleasure reading."

"A newspaper route. That's pretty impressive for a young girl."

"Is that chauvinism talking?"

He grinned. "Partly. Still that's a lot of responsibility at such a young age, don't you think?"

With a shrug, Dana waited until the waitress took away the plates. The coffee was poured and then they were alone. "Mom thought it was a good idea for me to take up a paper route."

"Why?"

"It got me out of the house when my father was home. He worked the swing shift at a foundry in Youngstown, Ohio. When I got home from school at three, I tried to be quiet, but somehow I always ended up waking him." Dana's mouth compressed and she finally said, "I'll spare you the morbid details. Mom wanted me away from the house until he left at six. The newspaper route was a good answer."

"Under the circumstances," Griff agreed hollowly. "Glad my father didn't look at me the same way." Right now Dana appeared fragile, her skin translucent and taut beneath the low lighting. Talking about her past was a painful ordeal, he realized. The driving need to hold Dana, to show her that a man could provide something other than fear or pain, was foremost in his mind.

"What's your dad like?" Dana ventured.

With a sigh, Griff replied, "A hell of a lot different from yours. Dad was a blue-collar worker, and he loved my mother deeply. He worked in a copper mine in Jerome, Arizona, while I was growing up. We didn't have much money because of my mother's endless medical bills. Dad worked long, hard hours to make ends meet. I remember every night, for at least an hour, he'd come to Mom's room and we'd all sit and talk or read." Griff smiled fondly. "That's where I picked up my love of reading. Dad read to my mom. When I was older, I read to her, too."

"It sounds so different from my childhood, but you didn't have it easy, either."

Griff wanted to reach out and grip her hand to take away the ravages of pain still shadowing her eyes. "At least my dad never beat me"

Dana lowered her lashes. "That's over now."

"No," Griff countered in a whisper. "You still carry the memory."

"Battle scars," Dana said, trying to make a joke of it, wanting to lighten their somber mood.

"We all carry them, don't we?" Griff muttered. He saw she was uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation.

Dana rallied. "Did your parents support you going to the academy?"

"Yes. Actually, I had it planned years in advance."

"You were one of those kids who knew what you wanted."

"Didn't you?"

Dana sat her cup on its saucer. She folded her hands and rested her chin against them. "No. Not until I got into high school."

"And who aimed you toward a military career?"

"My school counselor. I had excellent grades despite my family life, and the kind of assertiveness he said they were looking for."

"So, you see the Navy as a career, not necessarily because you're military at heart?"

She liked Griff's ability to see between the layers of her. So many people—men in particular—didn't. "Yes, it's a career. I believe in having a military system that is able to defend our country. I don't believe in starting wars, just trying to prevent them."

"My philosophy's the same." He saw her eyes widen in surprise, and then she smiled.

"I'm not a hard-liner."

"Could've fooled me," Dana teased with a laugh. She sobered. "You're easy to talk with, Griff. I've never talked to anyone about my homelife like this."

Fighting the desire to reach out and cup Dana's small hand, he said, "A certain young lady has taught me an awful lot about myself in the past month and a half."

"And so you're here with me because you're grateful?"

Griff's mouth stretched slightly. "I like the way you confront people."

"I believe in honesty, Griff. Are you here tonight for that reason?"

"What if I said no?"

"Then I'd ask why." Dana felt her pulse leap as his eyes smoldered with some undefined emotion in their charcoal depths.

"That's not playing the game, you know."

"What game?"

"One of the many that men and women usually play with one another."

Scowling, Dana sipped her coffee, barely tasting the delicate Colombian flavor. "It only took me one time to see how those games work, Griff. I swore I'd never knowingly play them again."