From that first night he and Sheila had come together, he’d felt he had finally found a cure to the restlessness that plagued him. He’d finally felt as though he belonged somewhere. Or to someone.
There was more to her than he’d had a chance to get to know, and more that swirled in that heart of hers than she allowed him to glimpse. Those secrets drew him. They made him hungrier by the day to know her better, to touch her more, to hold her tighter.
And he wanted to see it all.
Shockingly.
Casey had never wanted to delve into a woman’s heart and soul at any other time. Not since the day his fiancée had cleaned out his apartment and his bank account when she’d heard he’d been wounded in action.
She hadn’t stuck around to see how badly he had been hurt or cared if he had needed her. She sure as hell hadn’t cared that he might need his furniture, his cash, hell, his bed, when he returned home.
Nope, she’d just cashed in everything she could and found greener pastures. His best friend’s pasture.
That had been over seven years ago, nearly eight.
Sheila was different, though. From the moment he’d stared into those mysterious violet eyes, he’d known she was more different than any woman he’d ever touched. So unique he was determined to keep her as his own.
There was something about her eyes, something about the need he glimpsed in them whenever she gazed back at him that drew him. There was a warmth, a fire he longed for. All he wanted was to hold Sheila through the night.
Every night.
He rubbed at his jaw, a frown working over his brow again as he wondered what had happened and why she had run on him. But even more, what was that edge of hurt he’d glimpsed in her gaze?
How had he managed to hurt her when all he’d wanted to do was make love to her until they both collapsed?
Until she didn’t have the strength, the will, or the desire to leave his arms again.
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THREE
“Sheila, did we get those reports in from team two yet?” Captain Douglas Rutledge stepped from his office, his craggy face creased into a frown as he stared at her with that affronted, irritated look of a man who knows he should have something and knew it wasn’t there.
His hair was mussed, his clothes slept in, and it looked like his socks were mismatched again.
That was her father.
Broody, impatient, and expecting perfection though he knew he wasn’t going to receive it. At least, he said he knew, she thought as she watched him fondly.
“Not yet, Captain,” she assured him using the title as her mother had before her. “I told you I’d let you know the minute they arrive.”
Sheila hadn’t called him Dad since the day her mother told her how he enjoyed the rare times she called him captain instead.
She turned back to the computer and the completion of the final electronic copy from the past week’s reports. He was her parent and she loved him, but he was as demanding as any military man could be.
Besides, things had been slow in the bars and nightclubs where the operatives under her father’s command worked. He wasn’t going to be happy about it either. Captain Rutledge took his job seriously and demanded results.
Reaching up to scratch at his graying head, he glared at her again, drawing her attention.
She glared right back at him. “I can’t snap my fingers and get it, Captain. You’re just going to have to wait for it, no matter how long it takes.”
His brows lifted in surprise as she barely stopped herself from sighing in irritation. Dammit, he knew her too well, and snapping back at him never failed to start an inquisition. And that was something she really didn’t need right now.
He stood staring at her, both hands buried in the pockets of his dark slacks as he continued to regard her silently. Questioningly. And she knew that look. He expected an explanation, now.
Sheila considered simply going back to the reports she was putting together. Sometimes, the best thing to do was to ignore him. She wondered if that would work today as it had in the past.
“Might as well tell me what the problem is,” he grunted. “You’ve been out of sorts for three days and I’m tired of being your little whipping boy.”
Whipping boy? Sometimes her father tended to exaggerate.
“You’re not a whipping boy,” she muttered. “You’re a nosy old man.”
She had been very, very careful not to be out of sorts. She would be damned if she would let Casey hear that she was in any way less than a terrific mood. And her father wasn’t above asking everyone they knew what was wrong with her.
She simply couldn’t afford it.
“Yes you have. I want to know why.” Her father strode across the small office to lean against the side of her desk as he stared down at her inquisitively. He wanted an answer and she knew by the look on his face he was determined to get one.
The glare was gone, and that was an indication that the captain was now her father, and he was concerned. She could deny the captain, but it was harder to deny her father.
Besides, she didn’t want him to be concerned. When he worried, he poked his nose into her life and made her crazy.
“You have reports to go over, Captain,” she reminded him, barely restraining a roll of her eyes. “Not a daughter to raise. You already completed that particular mission admirably.”
“You look just like your mother when you say
