Pamela Clare - Striking Distance

LAURA WOKE TO find Javier looking down at her, a soft smile on his face, his head propped up on his elbow. She smiled. “Javi.”

“Hey.” He brushed a strand of hair off her cheek. “How do you feel?”

“Wonderful.” She stretched, her body feeling warm, languid, relaxed.

It was then she remembered she was naked. She took hold of the sheet and discovered he’d drawn a blanket over her, too. It was so like him to do something thoughtful like that. “How long have I been asleep?”

“A little over an hour.”

Clutching the sheet to her breasts, she sat up, alarmed to think she’d lost track of time. She glanced at the clock and saw that it was just after three in the afternoon. How could the day have gotten away from her like that?

“Hey, it’s Saturday. You’re going to spend the rest of the day chilling, me entendiste?” He brushed a knuckle over her cheek. “No more work. No more worry.”

If any other man had said that, Laura probably would have found it patronizing. But there was something about Javier—his absolute confidence, his ability to understand her needs, his genuine concern for her. He wasn’t trying to control her. He truly cared.

The man had shielded her from bullets with his own body, after all.

“So we’re just going to spend the whole weekend being together?”

“Sounds good to me.” He grinned, got to his feet, her gaze drawn to his broad shoulders, his bare back, the shifting muscles of his incredible butt as he walked into the kitchen. He returned with a glass filled with cold filtered water from her refrigerator dispenser. “Massage can release toxins into your bloodstream. You need to stay well hydrated.”

“Thanks.” Laura took the glass and drank, only to realize she was intensely thirsty. She drank the entire glass and was about to stand up to get more when she remembered she was naked apart from the sheet. She hesitated, sure he would refill her glass if she asked. And in that moment, she made a choice.

Javier had seen every inch of her body—more than once. There was no reason to hide herself from him.

Heart pounding, she let go of the sheet, stood, and walked naked to the kitchen. She felt the heat of Javier’s gaze on her skin as he followed her. She refilled her glass, drank, then turned to face him, some part of her wishing he would just reach out and touch her.

He didn’t. “Uh . . . You asked for air and fresh sunshine . . . I, uh . . . managed to get some for you. You might want to . . . put something on.”

She watched the direction of his gaze—decidedly south of her chin—and couldn’t help but smile. She’d forgotten the thrill, the sense of power, that came with knowing she could arouse a man. “Air and fresh sunshine?”

Ten minutes later, Laura stood with him in the elevator, dressed for the outdoors in jeans, a T-shirt, and a thick hoodie.

“Where are we going?” She watched as he used a special key to bypass the controls and take them to the roof. “Does Zach know about this?”

Javier raised a dark eyebrow. “Would I do anything to put you in danger?”

“No.” Yet she knew that, beneath his fleece jacket, he was armed.

He leaned against the wall of the elevator car and crossed his arms over his chest. “If it makes you feel better, I already cleared it with McBride.”

“I trust you, but thanks.” It touched her that he had taken time from his day to plan this for her.

The elevator opened onto a landing that led to a flight of stairs ending at a heavy steel door. Using another key, Javier unlocked the door—and they were outside.

A cool breeze caught her hair, sunshine warm on her face as she glanced around at her strange surroundings. Laura had never been on the roof of the building. It spread out around her the length of a city block, air-conditioning units and ventilation ducts jutting out of a surface that resembled pitch.

“Here you go, bella—fresh air and sunshine.”

She took a few steps, tilted her face toward the sun, filled her lungs. It felt good to be outside, to see the sky, to hear the thrumming of the city around her. She glanced over at Javier, who stood nearby watching her, his gaze warm. “Thank you.”

He took her hand, kissed it, slid his fingers between hers. “De nada.”

THEY WALKED SLOW laps around the roof, Javier savoring the feel of Laura’s hand in his as Laura talked about her memories of growing up in Sweden. She didn’t seem to notice the DUSM teams in place on the nearby rooftops. Then again, they were trying to be inconspicuous.

“Every summer, we spent five weeks in our summerhouse on Sandhamn, a little island in the Stockholm archipelago. The house is just off the beach, so I spent a lot of time playing near the water. My grandmother and I would go into the forest to pick berries, which she would make into jam or serve fresh for dessert. Some nights there would be bonfires on the beach. My grandmother would sneak out a bottle of akvavit and get tipsy. I think my mother had to carry me inside more than once after I’d fallen asleep beside her.”

Javier could imagine that—little white-blond Laura curled up like a kitten at her mother’s feet. “Your grandmother drank akvavit?”

Laura smiled and nodded. “She still does.”

“You don’t mention your father much.”

“He died when I was six. A traffic accident. My mother never remarried.”

Way to go, chacho.

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugged it off. “It was many years ago. Enough about me. Tell me more about your summers in Humacao.”

“You picked berries with your grandmother. My grandmother had a big vegetable garden. She put us all to work in it. Whenever I complained that I didn’t want to pull weeds or dig, she would tell me I didn’t have to help with the entire garden, just the parts I hoped to see on my dinner plate.”

Laura laughed, the sound sweet to Javier’s ears. “She sounds very clever, your Mamá Andreína.”

“She is. Most of the time we just ran wild with our cousins—playing baseball, lying down in the grass to watch the clouds, listening to drums play bomba. I think those summers saved me—that and joining the Teams.”

“What do you mean?”

Javier had never shared this story with anyone but Nate. But Laura had his heart, so there was no point in keeping anything else from her.

“In high school, I got mixed up with a bad crowd—one of the local Bronx gangs. My little brother Yadiel—he thought I was the shit, man. He followed me around like a puppy. One night, I got into it with a rival gang, started shooting off at the mouth. It got ugly—fists, knives. Then when we were walking home, a car drove by, and I heard a gunshot. They were firing at me but hit Yadiel.”

Javier could still remember the shocked look on his brother’s face, the helplessness and terror he’d felt as his brother’s blood spread in a pool of crimson on the sidewalk. “I tried to help him, tried to stop the bleeding, but . . . He was dead before the ambulance arrived. He hung around with me because he thought I was cool, but it got him killed. He was fourteen.”

Laura looked up at him. “Oh, Javi!”

He avoided eye contact, gazing out over the rooftops of LoDo. “I’ll never forget the sound of my mother’s scream when she heard he was dead. My father yelled at me, told me it had been my job to keep him safe, that Yadiel had only gotten killed because he’d been hanging with me. I was sent off to Humacao the next day, spent the rest of that year living with Mamá Andreína. She put me back in line, put me to work. She told me I needed to become the hero Yadiel believed I was.”

Laura’s voice was quiet, sympathetic. “That’s a lot of pressure to put on a troubled teenager’s shoulders.”

“Sometimes it’s the weight of responsibility that makes a person stronger. I left the gang, graduated, went to college, became a trainer.”

“That’s the real reason you became a SEAL, isn’t it?”

“I suppose it is. I’ve carried a photo of Yadiel with me on every mission.”

She gave his hand a squeeze. “Your grandmother must be very proud of the man you’ve become.”

“Yeah. She keeps a candle lit for me, prays novenas to Santa Clara for me whenever I’m deployed.”

“And your parents? What happened wasn’t really your fault. The blame lies with the person who pulled the trigger. They must know that.”

“They’ve forgiven me.” But Javier would never be able to make up for his brother’s death in their eyes.

For a time they walked in silence, the sun now low on the horizon, spilling golden rays over the mountains, making all the colors richer—the pale blond of her hair, the rosy flush of her cheeks, even the ice blue of her eyes. They went to stand on the western side of the roof, Laura in front of Javier, his arm around her waist, the street below them busy with people headed out on the town.

Javier glanced at his watch. “Time to get inside, bella.”

Tonight, he had special plans.

LAURA STARTED THE fire again. “I want to take a shower before I start supper. Think you can wait, or are you starving?”

“Don’t worry about me. Take your time.” His gaze narrowed. “And, hey, put on something really pretty afterward.”

“Something pretty?”

“Yeah. Just put on . . . you know . . . an evening gown or something formal—whatever you would wear to a fancy restaurant.”

“Are we going out on a date?”

His lips curved in a slow smile, making her pulse skip. “Go take your shower.”