Chapter 6

Dare drew his lips tight.

A light breeze played past them as he and Abby made their way toward Devil’s Taunt. Like an exuberant child, it rustled the low-lying vegetation, tugged at their clothes, then died down without warning, everything around them motionless until it emerged again. Birdcalls floated through the air, the sounds of civilization absent.

But there wasn’t a word of conversation between them.

Even when he’d gotten the cheery text from his sister Tabitha—Hey Hulk. Built a twelve-story on the island yet?—and laughed, Abby kept on resolutely in front of him, not copping to the fact she’d heard, or if she had, that she cared.

Well. At least his little sister loved him. Tabitha, surprisingly an erotica author now, with the pen name Tabitha Grey, checked in on him every couple of days. Threw a tease his way, or some smart-ass comment. But under her headstrong ways was always a flicker of empathy and caring, the fact that she needed to know he was okay. And needed the touchstone of contact with him to be settled, herself.

But Abby Haines, ex-lover? She acted like he didn’t exist.

Okay, so that’s how it was. Life had taught him to suck it up, no matter what he wanted. In fact, that was one of the driving principles of being a solider—embrace the suck. So when things went south, as they regularly did?

He could deal.

Truth be told, it also helped that Nathan had texted him quickly, late last night, and that they’d probably be talking, later in the week. Dare likely wouldn’t bring anything up about the situation up, but just knowing his friend was there for him gave him strength.

And if he wanted to, he knew he could.

His military buddy would get it, that he knew. The guy was incredibly empathetic, for a guy. He was tough, like the rest of Delta North, of course. But during their past military service together, in the moments when the moon came out and painted cold silver light over the desolate landscape and only he and Nathan were on watch, the guy’s empathy—and awareness of how he felt—never failed to shock Dare. He’d look over and see Nathan watching him. Give him a glance, a look. One without subterfuge. Then would come the words. “Man. You okay?”

He never shared shit about Abby—it was too damn painful, back then. But Nathan did share bits of his past with him and Dare knew why. The guy wanted to get Dare’s mind off his own woes.

My hometown hates me, man. My family was the pits. I still wonder where the rest of my family is.

And I could never quite get over the names we were tagged with. Wasn’t pretty.

Then the guy would look over at him, and brighten. Clasp a strong hand on Dare’s forearm, and damn if he didn’t feel the strength transferring into his veins.

“This may suck on one level, buddy, but we’re serving. Really helping people who need it. We’re men, damnit. And we’re making a difference.”

Yeah. Nathan—the tough empath—had gotten him through many a moody moment.

Dare took the quiet time now to survey the countryside ahead of them. Honed to be a protector since his father had died and left him to be the man of the house at age seven, watching out for others was what he did, even before he’d become a member of Delta North. Scanning the environment in front of them like a hawk may not have strictly been necessary, but for him, it was. Everything looked perfect, but you never knew.

Things could change, literally, in the blink of an eye, and life, fortune, all of it, be irrevocably altered. His lips formed silently around the words of the old mantra as it coursed through his brain out of long practice—

—not on my watch.

He’d sworn a long time ago, when life had thrust him and his family members into less-than-ideal circumstances, that no one, not a single person, would ever be hurt again while he was present. The whack of survival courses he’d taken had deepened his knowledge and then the military had done the rest. This gig was no different, though it was thousands of miles away from home and in the middle of the South Pacific. Right now he was charged to protect the shooter McMaster had tasked with taking pictures that were important to him, and his associates.

The fact that he had strong feelings for the shooter and she still visited his dreams regularly—with eroticism, and at times, simply with everyday sweetness—was neither here nor there. The immediate question was…how was he going to deal with her?

He had no clue. None.

He pursed his lips, taking in Abby’s form as she stomped away ahead of him, ensuring she didn’t have to share the same oxygen he did. The rigid lines of her body, the determined assault of her canvas runners against the path let him know as effectively as if she’d yelled it into his face—she wasn’t happy to be here with him.

He stifled a wry laugh. Yeah, he knew how she felt. Abby would just as soon he stood on the edge of a handy cliff above the surf and leaned back. Way back, to save her the effort of jabbing him off it.

But then, she’d always been like that. Whatever Abby did, whatever she felt, she did so with every molecule of her body. Love, anger, scorn…degrees swooshed together when Abby was around. The woman knew one speed—all out.

Tiny stones crunched under his work boots in the relative silence as he followed her. He remembered when they’d first met, years ago, the indignant verbal attack she’d flattened him with when she’d accused him of abusing a rangy mutt, not knowing he’d, just moments before, rescued it from a pack of teenagers tormenting it.

She’d been willing to take him on, all to protect the Heinz 57 bag of fur with the baleful eyes, slumped in his arms. He’d been gob-smacked by fury, her determination to wrest it from his hold as he cradled it in arms. He’d been a virtual stranger to her, on the wrong side of town to boot, yet she’d seen nothing but the animal needing a protector, her own safety a non-consideration.

Little had he known that the fiery-haired goddess would later cleave to his side with the same ferocity. That she’d shower upon him the same dedication, the same wellspring of love that she’d expressed toward the pitiful dog he’d rescued. And not too distant a day either.

Or, he thought with a flash of long suppressed heat, that they’d discover sexuality together. That it would bind them close together on a level he had never known even existed.

Deeper than the heart. Blood. Even deeper than that, if it was possible.

It’d been Abby, him, and Ralph—decrepit and beloved mutt turned absolutely loyal companion—from then on.

A faint smile creased his face, the essence of a thousand memories lifting his heart just a little bit.

Just ahead, Abby swore lustily at a bush that scraped her bare thighs with its poky branches and his smile widened to a full-faced grin.

Yeah. When McMaster’s shooter was the girl who’d stolen his heart, there was no fighting it. Even though she’d eventually left him, as everyone had callously or gloomily predicted she would, the minute he’d seen her again on the shoot the old need had shifted back into place.

Abby had to be protected, no matter what. Like a delicate sculpture of glass, worked in passion of the most breathtaking artistry, there was no middle ground here.

But she didn’t have to know it.

And over the course of the past hour, being in her company, he’d eased somehow. The shackles around his heart had loosened. Though he knew it was stupid to get involved in things that were best left in the past, he’d relaxed, just being in her company.

She was here. He was here.

And she was still the same old Abby.

Despite himself, he’d found himself switching back into the old familiar mode. Watching her, enjoying her unfiltered reactions.

Trudging along behind the woman when she was mad was most noticeably an adventure. Abby swore again as she stumbled over an outcropping of stones. Dare bit the inside of his mouth to stop the chuckle that threatened to escape as he listened to the expletives tumble from of her mouth in small, self-contained explosions. Small, black basalt stones flew from under her runners as she stomped ahead of him. It wouldn’t be surprising if she ground the poor, defenseless bougainvillea vines that crisscrossed the dirt path into green splotch.

But he couldn’t stop a grin from popping out onto his face. She was trying to be not off-the-charts mad at the predicament she found herself in with him, and she was also trying to not let him know the real state of her feelings.

As always, the woman was trying to do two impossible things at once, and failing spectacularly. At both.

But he did hear little bits as they torpedoed back to him on the warm breeze.

“Jerk. He wants me doing all the work for him and his buddies. Then he wants me after work, on the side, to do disgusting, unspeakable things to his…”

“Abby, you might want to pipe down a bit. You’re scaring the wildlife away.”

She spun around and her warm mahogany eyes flashed tiny sparks at him. “Wildlife? What wildlife? They promised me…”

He held his hands out, palms up. “Whoa! Don’t shoot me. I’m just the messenger, remember?”

Her face took on a frantic cast as she gestured feverishly with her hands, her whole body getting into the show. The rich cinnamon hair he’d always loved escaped her ponytail, the curly tendrils spiking in every direction. Her breasts rose as she breathed in erratically, fueling her rant.

“But I’m not prepared to meet wildlife. I was told there wasn’t anything dangerous here, so I’m not ready. I didn’t do any research on that, and now he’s got me trekking halfway across the damn island…”

She looked so absolutely horror-struck at the prospect of getting waylaid by serious wildlife that he couldn’t stop himself. Despite what he’d thought of as his iron-clad resolve to not talk to her, touch her, or in any other way have any type of meaningful interaction with her, half an hour of walking behind her listening, feeling her emotion—she just kept getting through the chinks in his armor—cracked his determination.

Reaching for her wildly waving hands, he caught them in mid-air, stilling them. The color drained from her face.

Pacifying look firmly in place, he chose his words carefully as her eyes widened, his grip still on her fingers. This was Abby, after all. The most passionate, creative woman he’d ever met—who also forced herself into crazy strangleholds in her life until her frustration shot out like a geyser.

And who didn’t usually deal with the stuff that was really bothering her, but took it out on everything else.

“I’m kidding. Kidding. No wildlife. Just tiny little critters. Ones that have a contract with Disney. They do little choreographed dances on cue.”

She stared into his eyes as if he was insane. “What?”

Reality thudded into him. He let her hands go and they dropped like stones. What had possessed him to get involved? Stupid.

“Nothing, Abby. Just trying to get your mind off things.”

Shit. He’d said her name.

Abby.

The name he’d sworn he’d never say again.

Though that bit, the swearing it would never cross his lips again, had just been pure male macho crap to placate himself that he hadn’t been pussy whipped. By her bright eyes. By her laughter. By the look of you’re-the-only-one-I’ll-ever-love crap that’d melted her eyes when she’d looked at him in the past.

Sure, sometimes she’d wanted to pound him, but it was always there underneath.

You’re the only man for me. Ever.

But whether or not he swore, it didn’t change anything. Pain coursed through him, and he tensed hard to flatten it out of existence by sheer will. His body fought it, recoiling against the force, and he shoved it away purposefully.

Though a queer trickle still pulled at the back of his throat. Damn.

He’d said her name, and despite his best efforts, everything had gone squishy inside again. She’d raked the life right out of his body when she’d left him, and truthfully, it had never fully come back.

Everything inside him swirled into a crazy mess.

Why the hell had he let his emotions get involved? Why had he pandered to the past, thinking they could remake what they’d had?

Sure, he’d hoped, for a flash of a moment. But this was hard. Painful. It wouldn’t make him feel better now, or a week from now, when this meeting was just a memory. Right?

Old ways of coping rose. The scowl that slid over his face was welcome. The mask was back, and it was damn well going to stay there. “What’s your problem anyway?”

He saw the flinch slash across her face at the change in his manner and was sorry momentarily, but hell. He had to protect himself, too.

“Uh…McMaster. He’s getting to me.” She swiped a hand across her sweaty forehead and little tracks of dust and grime remained in its wake. “Jerk.”

“Well, the sooner we get this little jaunt over with, the sooner we can both get back to our jobs. This wasn’t on my schedule, either.”

A look of shock suffused her face for a micro-second and he winced before he could help himself. It was gone though, in a flash, and the steeled look that tightened her features was back.

“No problem.” She turned away abruptly and swiveled her body in the opposite direction. Casting her gaze into the distance, she squinted as she looked upward, glared at the ridge of land they had to traverse. “Up there, right?”

“Yep. It’s still over that crest.”

“Fine.” Her eyes flashed with anger, and her mouth set into a tight line. “I get the message. Shut the hell up and get moving, so you can get back to your precious life. To your good buddy, McMaster.” She mimicked the phrase McMaster had used in his introduction of Dare, even getting the lug’s inflections right. “I’m in the way of the living you’ve got to do. As always. Gotcha. No worries. I’m moving.”

He forced his eyes shut for a second, opened them slowly and stared past her shoulder, focusing on a bank of spectacular palms that looked like they were riding the brilliant blue sky, tethered to nothing.

God. Stunning. Probably a sheer drop right on the other side of them. Jeez, he loved the tropics. No need to forget that in the middle of this mess. Life did exist separate from Abby Haines.

But nobody had told his mind and more noticeably, that stupid organ in the lower half of his body. The one that was even now straining for freedom, so it could dive into…Abby. “Something like that.”

Hell.

But she was already plodding on ahead, the camera bag pinging off her delectable ass as she stomped her way toward the knoll. His eyes riveted to the sight, despite his brain warning him away, waiting for the next bump of the bag into the luscious spot.

She’d never win a contest for having no ass, that was for sure. Though Abby had complained about it and regularly swore she’d hone it into her idea of a perfect ass, it never happened. Somehow too many things interfered and her work-out schedule was consistently irregular.

Which only worked to please the entire male population. Despite their obvious differences, that girl had an ass to write home about. Generous curves rounding out from her waist, then scooping in under…

“Shit!” He fell forward hard onto his knee, his foot twisting in the unexpected gouge of dirt he hadn’t been watching for.

Abby spun around, her eyebrows feverishly furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

Uh, I was memorizing the curves of your ass for later. You know. Normal stuff.

He winced. “My knee.”

She was beside him in a flash. Bending to help him, she slid her arms around him, one hand skimming down his back to anchor on his waist. The other hand curved on his hip, the press of her fingers hot.

Hotter than the damn tropical sun beating on them.

He shook her off abruptly.“I’m all right.”

But she didn’t listen, and for that he was torn between shit, hell and thank the saints. Intent on helping him, she placed her hand on the small of his back in support.

Oh boy.

Warmth quickly morphed to heat. A groan seeped from him, even as the irascible logic of his body confounded him.

Yet he’d also looked like an idiot in front of her, tripping over his own feet.

“I said I’m fine.” He removed her hand quickly and straightened, focused on stretching his leg out, flexed it. The leftovers of a training exercise injury caught him up once in a while. “It’s fine now.”

Ah, but Abby did sarcastic well when she was pissed. She stood in front of him, dropped her chin, and gave him a nasty look. “Well then, let’s get a move on, shall we? We wouldn’t want to do anything to ruin what your buddy wants, now would we?” She glared at him, and the heat of her anger spiked his cock higher.

Shit. Where was it planning on launching itself anyway? Into orbit?

He wiggled his leg to arrange his errant dick. And yeah, McMaster was a low life, but he didn’t need her commenting on his life. She’d given that privilege up long ago, when he’d been desperate to reconnect and make sure everything was right between them. She’d frosted him right in front of the receptionist in the fancy New York internship she’d left him for. “Damn right. He pays my bills. Yours too, from the looks of it.”

The expression she raked over him was pure scorn. “You had better playmates three years ago, Dare. What is it between you and him? Why does he act like you’ve got the holy grail or something?” Her eyes narrowed. “Did you steal it for him?”

This was quickly deteriorating. He didn’t dignify her comment with a reaction. Stalking resolutely ahead, he scanned the horizon. The sunlight glistened off the flat surface of the ocean in the distance, but beyond that, the clouds were dark.

Time was whizzing by and they had a job to do. Especially if what he was reading on the horizon was going to manifest.

He heard canvas runners shifting gravel as she scurried up behind him and caught up. “What’s your big hurry anyway?” She hop-skipped a couple of steps, lengthened her stride, and was now matching him, step for step. “I’m the busy one, not you.”

He ignored that. “I don’t know how long it’ll take to get your shots, or how good you are at natural photography without the benefit of a crew to set up the hard stuff. Tricky shots.”

Hearing her suck in a breath, he was gratified. Good. He’d boomeranged back the insult. “I want us to get in and out and back with your shots before the storm comes.”

Abby regarded him with a worried look. “Storm? What storm? I’d heard the weather systems had shifted and were nowhere near this area.”

“Yeah, I heard that, too. Last night. When did you check the reports?”

“When I got up for the shoot. Pre-dawn. Why?”

He scrutinized the area immediately up ahead. It looked like the path ended soon. Great. “That’s lifetimes ago in tropical weather. The pressure system’s moved all right. The wrong way.” He pointed at the gray, shifting clouds, off to the right, just starting to be visible. “Those don’t lie.”

She looked up at him, and shit, the look was adorable. She was captivating—another break she’d gotten, along with the rich. And while she’d fought with her parents in the past, even she would never claim it didn’t have perks to have deep moneybags.

Yeah. Money had never been an issue for Abby Haines.

Definitely a problem he’d never had to deal with, though. It took all of his attention and work to care for the renovation business that fed his mom since the man she’d married abandoned her a year ago. Tabitha had been determined to help their mom too, but then she’d been in that horrific car accident and had embarked on her own journey of sorting her life out.

Yeah. Life had definitely happened.

Abby started outpacing him, motoring ahead.

He forced his eyes away from the mesmerizing sway of her hips and focused in on the path ahead as they mounted the small rise that slowly revealed the immediate vista. His eyes caught on severe indications of trouble ahead.

If he was right—and he’d seen enough of these formations to be right—the landscape ahead had been terribly altered since the most recent topographical maps had been done. As he quickly made the assessment, his stomach fell. The natural environment, the path leading to Devil’s Taunt where her future lay, was in all likelihood, very different from what he’d expected when he’d scoped out the shoot location online a few months back. Possibly destroyed. The news was not good. In fact, it was devastating.

There was no way in hell Abby Haines was going to be able to shoot the pictures that for her, seemed to mean the difference between life and death.