Wild Card (41 page)

Blake. I've had enough."

"Well, maybe I haven't," he muttered.

He hadn't had enough of her sweet touch and he sure as hell hadn't had enough of her laughter,

her kisses, or her presence next to him.

"Well, maybe that's too damned bad. Because I don't like your rules and I don't like the game

you're playing with me." She turned in the middle of the parking lot then, turned to face him,

and Noah came to a hard stop.

If he hadn't seen the determination in her eyes the other night, he saw it now. Naked pain,

anger, and self-confidence.

He asked himself again, Where was the woman he had married? This wasn't the helpless little

blonde, but damned if she didn't turn him on more than she ever had.

"I'm trying damned hard not to play games with you." He propped his fists on his hips and

glared back at her. "Dammit, Sabella, I'm trying to be honest here. I don't want to hurt you."

She stood beneath the parking lot lights, her hair falling around her face and shoulders in thick

waves, her slender hips cocked, one hand propped on one hip, the other hand hanging loose and

ready at her side.

"I don't want your honesty." She sneered at him. "Shove it. It sucks."

She turned and started walking.

"Where the hell are you going?" He strode after her, caught her arm, and pulled her to a stop.

"Back to that damned bar where those cowboys can sniff around you like wolves after fresh

meat? The hell you are."

"Oh my, Mr. No-commitment. Are we jealous?" The sarcasm in her voice was doing things to

him. He could feel it. Like that fucking fever rising inside him, filled with lust, dominance, and

a dark, hungry need. "You're right. You're not my husband. My husband had better sense than

to tell me when I could or couldn't do something."

She had never confronted him like this during their marriage. Sarcastic and defiant. She had

always spoiled him, and he saw that now. And the love that rose inside him threatened to

strangle him. As did the pride. And fuck it, the fear.

He wasn't the man she had loved six years ago. The man who crooned Irish lullabyes to her, or

the man who would whisper "forever" in Gaelic because it made her shiver with pleasure.

He was scarred, changed. Inside, the man he was had been scarred forever, and admitting it to

her would kill him. She would want answers. This Sabella would demand answers. And when

she learned that for four years he had refused to let anyone come for her, she would hate him.

Hate him because she would realize that he'd thought her weak. Weak and unable to handle the

monster he was. And that would destroy
her
pride.

He'd weaved a web so damned tangled that now he had no idea how to get out of it.

"What do you want from me, Noah?" she cried, causing him to jerk his gaze back to her, to see

the tears on her cheeks.

"Don't you dare cry!" he snarled. "Don't you use tears on me, Sabella."

He couldn't handle her tears. Silent tears. She had never sobbed, but he heard a sob in her voice

now.

She shook her head, pushed her fingers through her hair, and turned and walked away.

It took him long seconds to realize exactly what she was doing. She was walking. Walking past

the motorcycle, walking away from him.

"Sabella, no." He covered the distance, gripping her arm and pulling her to a stop as he placed himself in front of her. "We can talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about," she snapped. "You can't just blow into whatever town, find yourself something to fuck for a few weeks, and then blow right out." She jerked her arm out of

his grip. "God, Noah. You're breaking my heart and you don't even care."

"How can I break something that belongs to another man?" he yelled in jealous frustration.

"That damned house with pictures of him spread through every damned room. The bedroom

you shared with him, you still have his clothes in the closet. And look at this." He jerked her

hand up, the gold wedding band gleaming beneath the lights, ripping through his heart because

she wore it on her right hand, not her left. "Look at that ring, Sabella. You still wear his ring."

His ring, the ring she had slid on to his finger, burned a hole against his thigh. It was tucked in

his pocket, always with him, always a part of him.

She was crying now. Her breath was hitching on her sobs and her gray eyes were washed with

diamond-bright pain. It sliced through his soul.

Her lips parted. Her hand lifted as though to say something. At that moment, the clash of sirens

sounded for the briefest second.

Sabella swung around as the sheriff's cruiser pulled up, stopped, and Rick Grayson eased out of

the cruiser. He took one look at Sabella then sliced a hard glare at Noah.

"Get in the car, Belle." Rick nodded to the passenger side.

"Sabella. Don't." Noah stood still, every instinct inside him demanding that he not let her go

with the sheriff. The sheriff was no longer a suspect, but Sabella was still Noah's wife.

He stared back at her intently, willing her to remember the danger. "Please, Sabella."

She looked from Rick to Noah. He could see the indecision in her face, her eyes.

Rick stood silently, watching them, his face creased into a scowl as he kept one hand carefully

on the butt of his weapon.

"Let me take you home," Noah said then. "I'll just take you home. I swear it."

A sob caught at her throat. "You're killing me."

"I know, baby." And he did know. He was ripping them both apart and she had no idea how it

was killing him too.

She ducked her head, shook it, then walked past him toward the motorcycle. Noah looked back

at the sheriff intently, seeing the worry and the concern on his face as Grayson watched

Sabella, then turned his gaze back to Noah. He was silent for a long moment. Finally, his hand

lifted from the butt of his gun and he laid his forearms over the open frame of the door.

There was something knowing in the other man's gaze. Something suspicious that had Noah

tensing.

"You know," Grayson finally said. "I've seen some real losers pass through this town in my day."

"Really?" Noah drawled. Like he gave a damn.

"Really." Rick nodded. "But I have to say I think you're the biggest loser I've met to date. And for some reason, I just didn't expect that of you."

"I needed your opinion," Noah grunted as he glanced back at where Sabella was wiping her

cheeks and staring into the park.

"You need a bullet in the ass," Rick growled, shaking his head. "Stay out of trouble, Mr. Blake.

Otherwise, we're going to talk."

Noah arched his brows before deliberately turning his back on the sheriff and moving to where

Sabella waited on the Harley.

He wrapped his jacket around her, pulling it over her arms before tipping her head up to him

and staring into her tear-drenched eyes. His hands framed her face, his thumbs smoothed over

her trembling lips.

"One more night, Sabella," he whispered, so hard, so desperate for her, he wondered if he could survive it. "Give us one more night."

Sabella stared back at him. Anger and hurt and fear all clashing inside her, raging inside her.

And mixed with it was the need. The fiery hunger she wondered how she had lived without for

six years.

"You bastard!" she sobbed.

"The worst bastard," he whispered, and kissed her lips, the tears from her eyes.

She sniffed, her hands lifting to grip his wrists as her lips softened, felt his kiss, and needed

more. She needed so much more.

"Take me home, Noah," she whispered. "Please, just take me home."

She wasn't going to cry any more.

Holding on to Noah as they rode to the house, her head buried against his back, his heartbeat

against her cheek, she tried to sort out the future. The near future. The far future.

She tried to sort out her emotions. They weren't that damned far from the house.

She lifted her head as they pulled up to the house and waited until he helped her off the Harley

then swung free himself.

"Where's your key?"

Her husband.

He'd always made certain he checked her small apartment after bringing her home while they

were dating. After they married, he always went into a room or the house first. He'd always

been protective.

She handed him the key and watched as he opened the door, going inside cautiously before

turning back to her. She walked into the house and waited in the large entryway and living

room while he went through the place.

She pulled his jacket tighter around her, breathed in his scent, and promised herself again, no

more tears.

Was she going to throw him out, hang on to her anger, or give him one more night? And every

other night she could steal before he left? Because the next time he left—she stared around the

house. The next time he left, she knew exactly what she was going to do.

It was the only way to survive the loss.

She was standing in the living room, staring at the mantel, at the pictures. Their wedding

picture. Their faces close, his wild blue eyes dominating the picture. His dark skin against her

paler cheek, his expression quiet, confident.

She walked over to that picture, her fingers playing with the wedding band that she slid back

onto her left hand. She wasn't a widow. She was a wife. She would always be his wife, no

matter what name he used. And wasn't that pathetic? No wonder he hadn't wanted to come

home. He'd had a wife who presented no challenge, no defiance. A wife who only knew how to

love him.

Noah stepped into the bedroom, checked the closets that still held his clothes, the large

bathroom he and Sabella had planned together.

When he went back to the bedroom he stood in front of the small table by her bed and stared

down at the picture of them together.

Sienna Grayson had taken that picture just after they married. He was touching her cheek, the

broad gold band of his wedding ring bright and new on his finger.

Reaching into his jeans, he pulled the ring free, rolled it between his fingers then stared down

at it. It wasn't new anymore, but it was still bright, and warm.

He gripped it and pushed it on his finger, his fist clenching as a furious, agonized grimace

twisted his lips and he fought the raging need to tell her. To own her. To be the man he knew

she missed. The man she loved. Because the man who had come from the ravages of hell

wasn't the same man. And the life he would lead now, after signing on with the Elite Ops,

wasn't a life she would want to be a part of. A life he couldn't resign from. Nathan Malone

could have left the SEALs. If Noah Blake tried to leave the Elite Ops, then he would simply

disappear and never return.

It was a life of always lying. Always hiding. Hell, he'd thought he could do it. He'd thought it

would be best this way. But with his wedding band branding the flesh of his finger, he

wondered how things could have been different. Tried to imagine something different, and he

couldn't. Because he was still the man he had been turned into. And though Sabella was

different from the woman he remembered, she would never accept anything but the man she

had loved.

She was stubborn. Determined. She thought she knew what he was, who he was, and she was

wrong.

He slid the ring from his finger, stared down at it, then shoved it back into his jeans. It was his

talisman. His lifeline. His lifetime reminder of what could have been.

Sabella turned away from the mantel as Noah came down the stairs, his gaze finding her

instantly before his eyes slipped to the pictures behind her.

She watched him pause, saw the somber sadness that flickered in his eyes for just a second.

"You made a beautiful bride," he said softly, standing before her, his legs braced solidly

beneath him, those black riding chaps emphasizing the heavy bulge in his jeans.

God, he was so thick and hard. And she ached. Ached as though it had been years since he had

touched her rather than mere days.

"He would have made any woman look beautiful in a picture with him,'" she stated ruefully.

"Cameras loved him."

"And he loved you." It wasn't a question.

"He did love me." She knew he did. "I wonder sometimes if he would love me now."

He tilted his head, looked at the pictures for a long moment, his expression almost softening as

he nodded slowly. "He would have." He met her gaze once more. "The man in that picture

knew how to love. And he knew how to live. You can see it in his face."

But he didn't any longer. He didn't love, and he didn't live for that love. She could accept that.

She had no choice but to accept that.

She moved to him. letting all the hunger, all the need, that had tormented her for two days rise

inside her. He had stripped her bare at the park, jerked all the illusions from her eyes, and

showed her what she was dealing with. No more dreams, no more pretty, flowery memories.

His eyes narrowed on her as she let his jacket slide from her arms to the floor, her gaze gliding

over his jeans.

"One more night?" she asked then.

"As many nights as you're willing to give me," he stated.

"Until you have to leave?"

His tongue touched his lower lip and she felt everything inside her tighten.

"Until I have to leave," he agreed.

She let a small laugh slip free. Bitter. Taunting.

"Who says I'm even going to care when you leave?" She edged up to him, looked up at him