The Edge Of Courage

Mandy got up and started pacing, rubbing her arms from the chilly night air. The skimpy tank top did little to provide warmth. Or cover of any sort. Every now and then, she’d pace in front of the wide bay window, silhouetting herself against the porch light.

Rocco uncrossed his legs, tried to ease the pressure on his groin. “Want me to tuck you back in bed?” Please, please, go back to bed and quit torturing me.

She stopped and faced him. “Only if you’ll come with me.”

“I won’t.”

“Then, no.” She made a few more passes around the room.

“Mandy,” he sighed, “come sit beside me.”

For the space of a breath, she did not move, and then she was a flash of motion. She grabbed the quilt from the back of the sofa and folded herself up next to him in the wide chair, almost lying on top of him. The armchair was large, but it wasn’t meant for two people. He set his gun down, then helped settle the quilt over her shoulders and wrapped his arm around her.

“Why did you move the chair over here?” she asked. He looked down at her but didn’t give her an answer. He was able to see very little of her expression, but he felt the slight stiffening in her posture. “This is how you slept, even down at the bunkhouse, isn’t it?” Again, he didn’t answer. “Why?”

He kissed her forehead. He doubted she could see much of his face in the dark, but he didn’t want to reveal more than was safe. “Because nightmares make bad bedmates.”

She sighed and lowered her head to his shoulder. He could feel more questions brewing in her mind.

“Tell me about your wife, Rocco. What was her name?”

He sighed. This was bound to come up some time. Best answer her questions once and be done. “Her name was Kadisha Halim. She was the daughter of the village leader, a warlord we needed our eyes and ears on. His poppy business sent hundreds of recruits to Pakistan for training and founded terrorist cells across the world, even here. His village was a key stop on the many trails between Pakistan and Afghanistan, high in the Hindu Kush, so remote the coalition forces patrolled it only rarely and could never hold it. Marrying Kadisha was like getting the golden key. I had free and complete access to the village and its leaders, fighters, and their plans.

“Your brother and Blade were my handlers. For a few years, I was able to stream valuable information to our guys.” Tell her about Zavi. Tell her now, a part of him urged. But he couldn’t. He would have to tell her his command was convinced his son was dead, and those were words he could not speak.

“What happened?”

“The explosion.” He shrugged. “Ended everything.”

She moved slightly so that she could look up at him. “Have you remembered more of what happened that day?”

“No. I wish I did.”

She settled against him once more, fitting into his side like his other half, a perfect match. Unable to stop himself, he touched the tips of his fingers to the soft skin of her chest, stroking along the rim of her flimsy tank top, up to her collarbone, and then to her neck. Reversing direction, he stroked downward, letting the backs of his fingers have the pleasure of touching her.

“When the others come, you will properly cover yourself.”

Mandy smiled, unconsciously dropping the quilt away as she stretched like a cat. “When the others come, I will parade about in my bra and panties.”

Rocco growled as his gaze took in her arching curves. “I don’t want them looking at your skin.” It’s mine alone to view and savor.

“We aren’t in Afghanistan, Rocco. You don’t get to tell me what to wear, or do, or think. A woman likes men to admire her. I like it. It makes me feel pretty.”

Anger slashed through him at the thought of men touching her with their eyes. He cupped the back of her head, tangling his fingers in her hair as he leaned over her, drawing her back against the arm of the chair. “I will not have men ogle you.”

“Why does it matter to you?”

Because you’re mine. He pressed his face into her neck, letting his mouth discover what his fingers already knew-her skin was god-awful soft. He palmed a breast, knew his erection was like a metal pipe pressing against her hip. She wore no bra. Gripping her hair in his fist so that she would not move, he lifted her shirt, exposing a soft mound and its pebbled nipple.

Moonlight slashed across her face and chest. He held her gaze as he bent to taste her breast. His nostrils were flared, and he felt the tension in his face, in his whole body. He did not take her nipple. He nuzzled at the wide underside of her breast. She moaned. His cock hardened even more, throbbed painfully.

He cupped her soft flesh, pointing her hardened nipple toward his face. He stroked it over his open lips in a slow, terrible circle.

“This is why, Mandy. A man cannot look at your body without envisioning his hands, his mouth on you.” His cock in you. “It is disrespectful. Of you. Of himself.”

She arched against him as if hungry for more touching. “I cannot control what foolish thoughts men think.”

“We have important work to do. Do you want us distracted beyond all reason, too far gone to help you?”

Mandy wrapped her arms around his neck. “There is only one man I want distracted beyond reason. Only one, Rocco. I will beg if I have to. I am not proud.”

Rocco shifted upward slightly as he smoothed his hand over her cheek. “Forget me, Mandy. We cannot be. Not now.” Perhaps not ever.

“Take me back to bed. Please.”

He lifted her, and carried her to her room. When he set her on the bed, she took hold of his hand before he could pull away.

“Stay with me. I won’t touch you. You need to rest before Kit and his men come. You can avoid sleeping as easily here next to me as you can in that chair in the living room.”

Rocco stroked a finger down her temple. He shook his head. “Good night, Mandy.”

Back in the living room, he sat in the armchair. Alone. The fabric was still heated where her body had been. His skin burned from her touch. Her taste. It would be like this the whole night, he knew-the specter of her nearness as terrible as actually holding her.

Hell. If he were going to burn, it might as well be for the flesh-and-blood woman as for her memory. He took up his cell phone and shotgun, then joined her in the bedroom. “Move over,” he grunted, irritated as much with his weakness as his need.

He settled his shotgun on the floor and set his phone on her nightstand, then lied down on top of the covers. She curled into him, propping a knee on his thigh, her breasts against his ribs, her head on his shoulder.

“Is this you not touching me?” he asked.

“Hm-mm.” She wiggled a bit closer. “It’s already too late, you know. We already are something.”

He reached a hand under her shirt, moving upward to capture her breast. “I know.” And it hurt. Wanting her. Touching her. Leaving her.

Chapter 13

Late the next afternoon, Rocco put away the post-hole jack and the metal stakes he’d pulled from the old fence line. He’d continued with his normal work that day, after they had rearranged things in the basement to make the rooms ready for Kit and his team. George had been released from the hospital but wouldn’t be allowed to return to work for another few days. The construction crew continued as usual. Mandy had worked with Kitano. Despite the shadow that hung over the riding center, she had a schedule to keep and there was still much work to be done.

A black SUV turned up the drive.

Rocco shoved his leather work gloves in a back pocket and picked up his shotgun, watching from inside the toolshed. He expected it was Kit, but wanted to be certain. He couldn’t see inside the vehicle with its dark tinted