Vivian Arend - High Passion

Anders tossed bags into position and hooked up webbing to hold them in place during the flight. Up front Erin had the blades turning, preparations begun for taking them skyward. “You two never stop bickering. Think the noise alone would be enough to warm you.”

“Hey, I have no objections to offering my body. Willing sacrifice and all.” Xavier grinned at her.

“Oh, good,” Devon cut in, patting his lap. “I’m cold, too, Xav. Come cuddle me.”

Xavier blew a raspberry, and suddenly the team made it all very normal and ordinary. Xavier helped her strap in, rubbing her fingers momentarily in his palms before piling blankets on both her and Devon. For the entire journey home they were teased about going for a swim. Chatting about the rescue—typical return stuff that distracted her.

Except that every time she met Devon’s gaze there was a question there she knew she’d have to answer.

And how to answer? The trip home wasn’t long enough to figure out a solution.

Marcus was waiting at headquarters to debrief them. Usually this part of the process excited Devon—a way to celebrate their victories and learn for the future.

Today he’d had enough. He was cold to the bone, even after a shower at HQ, but worse was the guilt at keeping silent regarding Alisha’s strange behavior. Keeping up the façade of lighthearted bantering they were known for, and accepting taunts in return, was pushing him to his limit.

He wanted answers, dammit, and now.

It seemed like hours later they were finally headed out of the building, with orders shouted after them to get a load of calories and a good sleep.

“Next time I’ll pack flippers for you,” Xavier teased, the door closing on his words.

Yeah, yeah. Devon caught Alisha by the elbow as she attempted to sprint away.

“My place or yours?” God, he’d wanted to ask her that before, for far better reasons than the current ones. What a fucked-up situation.

She paused. “Now?”

“Now.”

Alisha nodded slowly. “I have a lasagna in the freezer. We can eat. Follow the boss’s orders regarding carb loading.”

He wanted to say he wasn’t interested in food, but his stomach gave up that lie too easily. “I can’t beat that.”

She snorted, and he had to join in, their history of never-ending contests raising its head again.

Within minutes they were at her place and up the stairs. She cleared her throat, flushing a little. “Lasagna is in the freezer, if you want to get it in the microwave. I’ll deal with my wet stuff.”

Retreat, obviously, but Devon let her go, struggling not to stare at her ass as she walked away. He’d done it so often over the years it was now instinctual. The time apart wasn’t a bad thing—it gave him a few minutes to cool off further before he gave in and simply shouted at her, which would get them absolutely nowhere fast.

He got the food heating and dug into her fridge for something green to accompany it. Normal, everyday things, made all the weirder by the fact it was her apartment and they were about to have some kind of come to Jesus discussion.

All of it was so fucked up, he didn’t even know where to start.

She was back before he’d managed to calm himself, but also before he’d worked himself into more of a frenzy. The normally confident woman he’d worked with for many years stood in the doorway of the tiny kitchen, twisting her fingers together.

“You want to talk?”

He followed her into the living room and took the easy chair. Not looming over her was the only concession he could make, his annoyance wanting to push her hard.

Alisha continued to pace. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “We’re way past sorry. I’ve now compromised my job by not telling the team that you freaked. What the hell happened back there?”

Her fingers had gone white-knuckled, she was squeezing them so tight. “I don’t know. I’ve never . . .”

Devon bit back the urge to growl. “Dammit, Alisha, we’ve known each other for four years, and I’ve never seen you cringe away from anything. You were scared fucking shitless, weren’t you?”

A crease formed between her brows. “Stop swearing at me. This isn’t easy to figure out.”

Oh hell, no. “It’s not going to be easy to tell Marcus I fucked up and didn’t report you, but if I have to, I bloody well will—”

“Yes, I was afraid,” she shouted, cutting him off. She wrapped her arms around her torso as if putting up a barrier between them. Blocking herself off. “When the water hit, it was as if I weren’t there anymore. I panicked, but it was only for a moment. I got over it, Devon. You can’t tell me being plunged into a subterranean river is a normal, everyday experience. Not even for us with our record of twisted rescues.”

A shiver rolled over her hard enough that he saw it. He was on his feet in a flash, stepping in closer. She lifted her gaze to his, sheer misery in the depths.

He didn’t know if he should hug her or shake some sense into her. “You panicked. While you did snap out of it, we work in search and rescue. Don’t you think this might be a bit of a problem?”

Her pause answered that, a second before she straightened and pulled on bluster like a coat of armour. “We work in the high Rockies. We climb and hike, and in the winter we ski. I’ve never had a lick of trouble in those settings. So, no, I don’t think it will be a problem again.”

“You don’t think—Goddammit, Alisha. That about sums it up. You’re not thinking. At any time we could be called to do a water rescue. What will you do then? Put up your hand and ask to be excused? When people’s lives are on the line? Hell, when your teammates’ lives could be on the line?”

“I can get through it,” she insisted. “I just . . . today was all kinds of wrong. That wasn’t a normal situation, Devon, and don’t tell me it was. We’ve done water rescues before, like that rescue at the falls last year—I didn’t freak out then, did I?”

Frustration and fury mixed like a horrid poison in his veins. The fact that she had managed the rescue she’d mentioned calmed him slightly. “Fine, so you’re not going to kill us all the first chance you get. You’re still a walking time bomb.”

She reached for him, laying a hand on his arm where he’d crossed them over his chest. “Then give me time to prove I can deal with this. You can’t tell anyone on the team.”

Devon tore himself from her, dragging a hand through his hair. “You don’t ask for much, do you?”

“Please, Devon.”

Shit. He confronted her again. “We’re taking over coastal rescues. How the hell will you cope with that?”

Her hands balled into fists. “What part of Let me prove myself do you not understand? You don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

He laughed. “Right. Bullshit on that.” Spots of colour returned to her cheeks. It didn’t make her look happier, though, not with that death glare she directed his way. “Look. Your problem is now my problem. When I skipped out on telling the team how you went unresponsive in the cavern, I made myself have to worry. Which means either I go tell Marcus what happened and hope he doesn’t fire us like he should, or I keep worrying alongside you.”

“Telling Marcus doesn’t do either of us any good at this point.” She spoke softly this time, body still rigid but the fight fading from her eyes. “I don’t want to give up my position with Lifeline, but I’m not stupid, Devon. If it turns out I’ve got a major problem I will be the first to admit it.”

They stared at each other for a moment, Devon mentally sifting through all sorts of catastrophes that could come crashing down on them at any time. Tension was more than a wall between them; it was a living thing. Swirling like a wind in the room, chasing away the physical attraction he’d been fighting until all that remained was them. Two people, one huge disaster to deal with.

The beeper on the microwave went off, and they both jerked in surprise. Devon laughed in spite of the tension. “Ten more minutes.”

She nodded, collapsing onto the couch and burrowing her head in her hands. When she spoke it was toward the floor. “I mucked up hugely.”

“Hey, I’m not even going to argue with you on that one.”

She snorted. “Great. We’re finally in agreement about something. I’m an idiot.”

Devon paced over, looking down as she leaned on the sofa. He took in the utter misery in her expression, the defeat in her body language. This wasn’t the overconfident cocky woman who’d been driving him crazy for years. This was someone on the edge of breaking.

“Dammit, Alisha. I want to stay pissed off, but I can’t.” He joined her on the couch, figuring that looming over her wasn’t helping matters. She had screwed up, but if they were going by protocol, so had he. “We’re now officially in this together.”

“Sorry for dragging you into it. I never intended to make life miserable for anyone.”

“It . . . was an accident.” He caved that far. She was right; the situation had been over the top and incredible. And her willingness to take responsibility meant a lot. It was also typical—she never gave herself a break. That Alisha he was familiar with even if the package was usually tied up tighter in cocky arrogance. “Okay, we’ve established what happened. What are we going to do about it?”

“You’re not telling Marcus?”

He shook his head. “Not this instant. If we can come up with a way to test your boundaries that doesn’t endanger you, me, or the team, we’ll be okay. But if we can’t, then I expect you to tell him yourself.”