Sexy SEAL Box Set: A SEAL's Seduction\A SEAL's Surrender\A SEAL's Salvation\A SEAL's Kiss (22 page)

She wanted to thank him again. To tell him how much he meant to her, how much she appreciated what he did. And how wrong she’d been to reject him based on his job.

She wanted a chance.

A chance for them.

But now it was too late.

As if mocking the timing of her realization, the Snow Trac grumbled to a loud, whining stop twenty feet away. The lights flashed. Code, she realized as Blake lowered his weapon.

“Your chariot,” he told her, gesturing to the vehicle.

Everything she wanted to say was bottled up inside her like a shook-up soda. All intense and mixed up and ready to burst. She wanted to tell him so many things.

But she’d had her chance.

As she’d done so many times in the last day, she hooked her fingers in his belt and put her feet into the indentions he made in the snow.

They reached the vehicle and he gestured her to come around. Two soldiers stood on either side of the open door, both with rifles at the ready. Covering them, she realized with a nervous shiver.

“Be safe,” Blake said as she moved toward the steps.

“What?” She turned back, shaking her head.

“Aren’t you coming?” He had to be. She had so many things to say to him. So much to try to work out. “You’re not staying here, are you?”

“I’m meeting my team back at the compound for cleanup,” he said, sounding as official as if he’d been delivering a report to a superior. Or talking to a stranger.

Despite their audience, not caring how it was perceived, Alexia reached out one gloved hand. Before she could figure out what to say, how to say it, a familiar voice harrumphed.

“Well done, Landon. Now, move on to phase cleanup.”

Ice formed along Alexia’s spine. She felt like one wrong move and she’d crack into tiny pieces.

Suddenly as cold as she’d been in that tiny cell, she turned to face the man in the doorway of the Snow Trac. Like her and Blake and the rest of the soldiers, he was dressed in white camouflage, a helmet, mask and goggles obscuring his features. No matter, she’d know him anywhere.

“Father,” she greeted quietly. “I didn’t realize you were here.”

“Let’s go.” That’s all he said. No greeting. No explanation. Just an order.

Heart heavy, Alexia looked back at Blake. His lack of reaction told her that he wasn’t surprised to see the admiral. He’d known he’d be there. And he hadn’t warned her.

If he’d held up a sign that said Not Interested, the message couldn’t have been clearer.

Shaking, her knees so wobbly that only pride allowed her to manage the steps into the vehicle, Alexia suddenly wanted to be gone. And she never, ever wanted to see snow again.

“Lieutenant,” she said, looking over her shoulder to give Blake a nod to acknowledge all he’d done. Including breaking her heart. “Thank you.”

* * *

“Y
OU
SURE
YOU
DON
’
T
WANT
some chocolate cake? Or maybe ice cream? I can run out and get fresh strawberries to go with it.”

It took all her strength for Alexia to pull her gaze from the view of her parents’ garden. The entire time she’d been doing her
hostage routine
, as her brother had termed it once he’d stopped crying, she’d fantasized about her own bed. Yet three days after she’d climbed into that Snow Trac and rolled out of hell, she still hadn’t made it there.

At first, it was easier to stay here. Her father’s connections and pull had meant the debriefing team and the navy psychologist made house calls. The admiral’s gruff attitude had meant that Edward, filled with guilt that she’d been kidnapped for research he’d instigated, kept his exhausting visits to a minimum. And her mother’s newly found nurturing streak—and her chef—had meant that Alexia was pampered beyond belief. Margaret had even called in her beauty team and a masseuse that morning to give her daughter some much-needed pampering.

“I’m okay,” she told her worried-looking mother. She’d never realized Margaret had the hovering gene, but for the last couple of days it’d been out in megaforce. “I’m still full from lunch.”

“Lunch was four hours ago. You’re not eating enough.”

“I was only gone five days, Mother. Not nearly enough time to lose weight and need constant feeding,” Alexia said with a teasing look. She patted the belly of her jeans to show it still wasn’t flat.

Her smile faded as her mother’s face crumpled. And not, Alexia knew, because she was horrified at her daughter’s curves.

“Don’t,” she begged, sliding from the bench seat and wrapping her arms around her mother. “Please. You keep crying and I’m going to need a transfusion. You know I’m a sympathy weeper.”

“I was scared,” Margaret admitted. “I’ve never been scared like that before.” Her fingers clutched her daughter for just a second before she sniffed, stepped back and carefully dabbed the dampness from under her eyes.

Alexia dropped back to the window seat and stared in shock.

“You were scared?” But she’d seemed so calm when she’d welcomed Alexia home. Margaret had gotten a little weird, with the hovering and all. But Alexia hadn’t realized that was fear.

“What do you think?” Margaret snapped. “My daughter, kidnapped by a lunatic. Hauled off to some icy hellhole. We didn’t know who, or why. And when we did, it was even worse.”

She paused to take a deep breath, then continued. “I was terrified. Your father was, too, although he tried not to show it. He called in every marker he had, Alexia. He handpicked the SEAL team, he demanded the best to rescue you. Even then, we had no idea...”

Her words trailed off, and she sniffed, but held her hand out to say she was getting control of herself. So Alexia stayed seated. Truthfully, she was too surprised at the idea of her father worrying to have the strength to stand.

“Michael and I waited here, of course. But your father refused to. He insisted on going to Alaska to get you. He even yelled at Daniel Lane.”

“He yelled at the rear admiral?”

Reeling a little and not sure how to deal with it, Alexia absently patted the cushion next to her. To her surprise, her mother took the invitation and sat.

“As I said,” Margaret told her with a quick, uncomfortable pat to the knee, “I’ve never been so scared.”

“You must have been, though. I mean, Father served his entire career in the military. He fought in two wars. How was that not scary?”

Heck, just thinking of Blake doing cleanup at that nasty compound gave her chest palpitations.

“Because that was his job,” Margaret said with a flick of her bejeweled wrist, as if dismissing the question as ridiculous. Alexia waited to feel slighted, stupid, as she would have so often in the past when her curiosity was rebuffed. But her mother didn’t seem to be closing the dialogue. Just responding.

“It’s that easy? Because it’s his job, you weren’t afraid?”

“Darling, he was trained to fight. Trained in strategy. He knew how to use weapons and all of that big scary equipment and had an entire platoon of men just as well trained, just as dedicated, fighting at his side. As I said, it was his job. And he was very, very good at it.”

“But his job put him in constant danger. He had people shooting at him, trying to blow him up. Didn’t that worry you?”

“Did you watch the news yesterday?” Margaret asked.

Shaking her head no, Alexia frowned. What did that have to do with anything?

“I don’t recall what city it was—I just caught the tail end of the newscast. But it was rush-hour traffic and someone became angry. He stopped his car in the middle of gridlocked traffic, pulled out a weapon and started shooting. He killed three people before he was stopped.”

Alexia’s breath caught at the horror. “Those poor people,” she breathed.

“Exactly. They were only trying to get home, living their safe day-to-day lives. And someone tried to kill them.” A combination of anger, disgust and pity creased Margaret’s face. “At least a solider is trained and prepared. Nobody knows when their time is going to come, darling. It could be on a mission, or at the grocery store. So sitting around wringing one’s hands and worrying is a waste of time and energy, don’t you think?”

She nodded, and the little ball of terror that’d knotted in her belly when she realized she was in love with Blake started to unravel. But right next to it was a bigger fear, one that was still tied tight.

Taking a deep breath, she asked, “But what about the rest? The fact that most of his life is dedicated to the service. That he keeps tons of secrets from you. How does that not bother you?”

Her mother looked stunned for a second, as if she’d never considered those questions. Then she shrugged.

“Well, that too is a part of his job, isn’t it? I knew it when I married him, so why would it bother me? As for the secrets...” She glanced at the door, then laughed and lifted both hands as if to say
well?
“Darling, I have plenty of secrets of my own. Secrets that your father will never find out about.”

Alexia’s eyes rounded with shock.

“Noooo?” she breathed.

“Mine might not be along the lines of military intelligence, but they’re juicy enough. Like the true color of my hair, for instance. Or my real weight and collection of Spanx. Your father thinks I eat half a grapefruit every morning, but has no idea I have a bowl of Cocoa Puffs after he leaves for the day.” Margaret tapped one manicured finger on her lips as she considered what else she might be hiding from her husband. “There are the two credit cards he doesn’t know I have. For my girlie purchases, of course. He has no idea that I love trash-talk television in the daytime, or that when he’s out of town I eat chocolate in bed.”

“And you keep all this from him?” Alexia felt stunned, not so much that her mother kept secrets, but that she had such fun ones to hide.

“Of course. It’s all a part of my job of being happy while presenting the ladylike image that’s so important to supporting your father’s career. And don’t you forget, this information is classified, young lady, and disseminated only on a need-to-know basis.”

Alexia laughed until tears trickled down her cheeks. Her mother, watching with a bright smile, reached over to tuck a curl behind her ear, letting her fingers smooth her daughter’s cheek as she did.

Smiling, Alexia was pretty sure this was the closest, the happiest, she’d ever been with her mother.

“Why didn’t you ever share any of this with me before?” she asked.

“You never wanted to hear it before, darling. You were too busy rebelling and finding your own way.” Margaret patted her daughter’s knee, then rose. “And you do have a habit of holding on to anger, Alexia. Long after a battle has ended, you’re still there in the trenches, ready to aim and fire again. Which makes communication rather difficult.”

Well, there you go. Alexia’s shoulders sank under the weight of that truth. Her parents weren’t perfect. Nor was she so overwhelmed by the emotions of her ordeal into thinking they were even great. They were self-absorbed, stubborn, close-minded and ambitious.

But, she realized, so was she.

“Mother, is it okay if I stay here again tonight?”

“I’d love it if you did,” Margaret said. Then her smile dimmed a little. “But we do have company coming for dinner. You’re free to join us, or if you’re still feeling melancholy, you can take your meal in your room.”

“I’ll join you,” Alexia decided, surprising them both. Hey, maybe a meal where she wasn’t
holding on to anger
would be interesting.

“I’ll let the cook know,” Margaret said, her eyes bright again.

She left with a quick wave of her fingers. Alexia heard her in the hallway, then her father’s deeper tones. He was home from the base. Other than his insistence on being there for the debriefing—which she’d thought was to make sure she didn’t embarrass him but now wondered if it was for support—she hadn’t seen him since their return from the North Slope. And even that she didn’t remember much of. After ten silent, miserable minutes in the Snow Trac trying not to cry, she’d fallen asleep only to wake on an aircraft carrier just before it set down in Coronado.

Should she go talk with him?

Try to discover if there might be a bridge between them like the one she’d found with her mother?

Ask if he had news of Blake and whether or not the team was back yet?

Double-check to see if she’d drooled all over the cot in his aircraft carrier?

She should.

If she wanted an open dialogue and communication between them, it was up to her to take the first step.

And maybe her mother had a point. Maybe she did hold on to anger, creating walls where there didn’t need to be any.

Then again, what if all he wanted to do was lecture her? Or chide her on her career choices? Or any number of other negative things.

Things had always been cut-and-dried between them—her father was the jerk, she was the poor, misunderstood and unappreciated daughter. He was rigid, she was strong. He was wrong, she was right. Simple as that.

Now she didn’t know. Wasn’t sure.

“Who’s in the mood for cinnamon buns?”

Saved from talking herself into approaching her father, Alexia gratefully looked up to see her brother standing in the doorway, a white, aromatic bag in hand.

“Michael,” she greeted, rising to give him a tight hug. “Are you here again? I thought you had a show today.”

“Show, shmow. I took a little personal time. It’s not every year that my sister scares the crap out of me, after all.”

“That seems to be today’s theme,” Alexia said, taking the bag even though she wasn’t hungry. At this rate, she’d be ten pounds overweight before she ever made it home.

“Are you okay?” Michael asked, pulling a chair over and straddling it. “What scared you? Flashbacks? Nightmares? Split ends?”

Alexia’s lips quirked. She pulled a piece off the bun, but didn’t eat it. “Mother said she was scared. When I was gone, she said you all were. I mean, I knew
you
would be. But I didn’t even consider that they would.”

“She was pretty freaked,” Michael said. “And yeah, I’d have to say Father was, too. He cussed up a storm, threw a few things and ordered me to stay here and take care of Mom while he dealt with this mess.”