Lazily waking up was something Cyan hadn’t done in a while. She relished in the feeling, lingered, not wanting to move. Ever. This languorous morning, however, in her half-groggy state, she knew life was different. Things were different.
She woke in a man’s arms. Devin’s arms.
It was something she hoped to experience more than just this once.
Curled into him, her arm loosely draped over his chest, her head nestled in the crook of his shoulder, she slowly became aware of him. Their legs intertwined, she breathed deeply, inhaled his scent—their scents—and wanted to drink it all in. So it would last. He had placed his arm protectively over her, his hand resting against her cheek. Sometime in the night, they’d shimmied beneath one of the horse blankets for warmth.
Cyan exhaled, slow, shallow…as if she’d been holding that breath for a century. She didn’t want to move. Even though daylight was here and she knew they needed to move soon. She snuggled closer into him, slowly coming awake, while his fingers brushed stray strands of hair away.
Glancing up, she looked into Devin’s face, and met those deep brown eyes looking tentatively back at her.
“Mornin’.” His voice was low, a bit hoarse.
Smiling, Cyan stroked the two-day stubble of his beard, then kissed him. “Mornin’ back,” she whispered against his full, soft lips.
Devin growled and turned, wrapping his arms and legs around her possessively, and returned the kiss. Heady. Consuming. Cyan loved the feeling.
He broke away and buried his face into her hair. “Goddamnit, Cyan,” he breathed, “this was such a fucking bad idea….”
Pulling back, she took his face in both her hands, looked into his eyes. Frightened? Devin McCrae was frightened? Of what?
“No.” She shook her head. “No, Devin. Don’t say that. Please. I need something to hold onto here. I need you. Like this. Please don’t ever say this was a bad idea.”
For some insane reason, one she really couldn’t fathom, she felt a sting to her eyelids then. Looking into his face she could sense, feel, his confusion, his pain. She’d had no idea their lovemaking would affect him in this way.
Or her.
She fully expected for them to share this moment, this time, and for them each to move on. But now, somehow, things were different.
Not what she’d planned.
She never wanted to be without Devin.
Ever.
Damn. Was she so naïve to believe that would really happen?
His eyes closed, a flash of pain lanced across his face, and he buried his face in her hair again. He breathed deeply. Cyan could feel his chest expand, feel his exhale, as he pulled her in closer, tighter, possessively.
“It’s okay, Devin,” she whispered. “It’s going to be okay.”
They stayed close, breathing in sync for a few minutes longer, and finally Devin pulled back. “We have to go soon.”
She nodded. “I know.”
His palm fell to her breast and he cupped her, toying with her nipple, rapidly growing hard and pebble-like. She liked his hand on her. Touching. Fondling. Nothing rushed or hurried but just there. Her hand lazily drifted from his cheek to his shoulder, where she fully took in his tattoo. She’d seen parts of it before, dipping out from under his T-shirt sleeve, but now she could see it all.
No colors, just black ink, a muted contrast against his brown skin. It covered his shoulder and she traced it with her forefinger. Intricate. Three loops around, angles and lines connecting, Celtic in nature, but different.
Familiar. But at the same time, not.
“Tell me about your tattoo?”
He raised up on one elbow, his good one, and leaned into her a little more. His muscled bicep and shoulder, chiseled and reflective of the morning light, perfectly framed the tattoo.
“It’s a trinity,” he told her, and she lifted her gaze to meet his. “My heritage.”
She looked again at the design. A piece of art.
He went on, “Each loop represents a circle of life, one of the dominant races that makes up my family lineage. Each angle or line that connects them signifies a family connection, how the races were joined, what makes me who I am.”
Cyan leaned closer. “Fascinating.” She laid her fingertips over one of the loops and smoothed her palm over his shoulder. How she loved to touch him. The tattoo was centered over his shoulder with one loop placed on his bicep, one moving across his shoulder in the back, and the other toward his chest. She traced the entire trinity. “Tell me about this one.” She pointed to the loop on his bicep.
He glanced at it, but it was obvious he could share the story without looking at it. Had probably told it a million times. She could tell he was that proud of who he was.
“My great-grandfather was African American; he married a Latina. See how the angles with this design cross over from this loop of the trinity to this one? That bar signifies my great-grandfather and great-grandmother—on my father’s side. So, you see for me, one loop is African American, one is Hispanic, and this last loop? What do you think it is?”
Cyan looked at the loop, at the symbol in it, and then looked up to study his face. Her gaze played over his features as she tried to determine any distinguish characteristics, something that might give her a clue. “I’m not sure, Devin,” she returned. “Tell me.”
“Pueblo. American Indian.”
“Really?”
He nodded.
“My mother’s side, both great-grandparents were Pueblo. Fully enrolled in the tribe. My grandparents, one Pueblo, one Hispanic. There is some Navajo lineage, too. It melds more and more together from there.”
“And now?” She searched his face.
Devin lay back against the hay again and pulled her into him, wrapping them both together against the morning’s chill. “Now, I’m me. Mulatto. Just who I am. A blend. A mixture of all my ancestors. And I rather like it like that.”
Truth be known, she liked it like that, too. It was one of the things that intrigued her so about him.
“I don’t have a trinity or anything.” She fingered a strand of her hair. “I’m just Caucasian.”
Devin clutched her head into his chest and then kissed the top of her hair. “That is what makes you special,” he murmured. “You are who you are. That is all any of us can be.” She liked the way he was holding her, possessively. She’d never had that, never experienced this kind of closeness before. Feeling so secure in something.
Someone?
She just hoped she didn’t get too damned caught up in all this. Did she really know what she was doing?
“So…pure…” he went on, “why I can’t ever leave you, can’t ever let anyone….”
His voice trailed off and Cyan wasn’t sure whether he was saying those words to her, or to himself. Her heart swelled and all she wanted, needed, was to just be skin-to-skin with him.
****
Get in, and out, McCrae. Move it.
Shit! They are coming at us from all sides!
Sonofabitch! Run, you stupid bastard. Get up and run!
No. Not this time. Finish the mission.
He cocked his weapon. Aimed it. Nestled the butt of the gun into his shoulder. Closed one eye. Tickled the trigger with this forefinger. Put a bead in the center of the doorframe.
Calm. Calm.
Ready….
Steady….
Take a breath….
Hold it…
Wait for it….
He burst through the door. Cleared the room. Devin squeezed the trigger.
Fire erupted. Flesh flew.
Someone screamed.
His victim fell to the floor in a heap.
Don’t stick around. Get the hell out. Get out now!
To the chopper. Now! Get to the fucking chopper!
Whump. Whump…Whump…Whump…whuuuuuump.
Devin woke with a start, bolted straight up, taking Cyan with him.
WhumpWhumpWhumpWhumpWhump….
Dream. Dammit. Some mission, somewhere.
WhumpWhumpWhumpWhumpWhump….
“Sonofabitch! Cyan, get up. Get dressed. Now!”
She was already scrambling. Jerking on shirt, shorts, shoes. He watched. The necklace glinted off her neck. Dammit. They’d fallen asleep. He’d made love to her once more and they’d fallen into tangled heap and slept.
Sonofabitch!
That could never happen again.
“Follow me!” he barked, zipping his fly, wincing at the lingering pain in his ribs. But it was a helluva lot better today, than yesterday.
Forget it. Put it out of your mind, McCrae.
Mind over matter.
Trying to contain his anger, his frustration at his stupidity.
Last time. He’d make damned certain.
Last time he’d let his dick do his thinking.
Fuck.
“Stick to me, Blue!”
He was behind the door; the chopper was hovering. He could see through the cracked door. Dust whirls. Kicking it up. Still hovering. Too close, over the barn.
Couldn’t see. Was it one of theirs? Chaco?
Damn, but they needed a break. Hoped to hell it was Chaco.
Then it lifted.
Straight up.
Gone.
The whump-whump-whump faded then dipped entirely too close, sending up more dust devils, swirling into his face through the crack in the door. The chopper moved rapidly away from the barn. To his left. Toward….
Fuck.
Three Humvee-type military vehicles were barreling toward the barn, headed for them. The chopper was moving in.
Get a good look at the chopper, Devin. Get a good look….
“Give me your hand.” He reached for her. “When I say move, you move. Do you hear me? Do exactly as I say.”
He didn’t look at her. Felt her small, shaking hand in his. Every protective male-ego-induced, testosterone-laden hormone surged at that moment. Protective. But different.
Confused him. Emotionally attached.
Shit. Shove it away. Just get them out.
Out!
A fire-beam shot down from the chopper. Obliterated the lead Humvee. A miniature fireball mushroomed skyward. Left a small crater in the open field. Stopped the others dead for a moment.
The chopper made an abrupt U-turn back toward the barn.
Yes. One of theirs.
Stay calm.
Steady….
Take a deep breath….
Wait for it….
It dipped and hovered by the door. Wait. Let the dust clear.
“McCrae!”
He’d know that voice anywhere. But caution. Still important. Wait. Momentarily, the dust cloud settled and he could see the chopper’s open door.
The wind whipped. Devin could see the grimace on his face, against the stinging dust pellets.
Chaco.
He threw back the barn door.
“Now, Cyan!”
They ran. She kept up with him. Ten yards, maybe, to the chopper.
Gunshots peppered the ground beside them.
Don’t look up. Don’t look anywhere. Keep Cyan’s hand in yours and keep your eyes on Chaco.
“Straight to the chopper, Cyan! Move!”
She stumbled. Her sneaker half on, half off. Shit!
Gunshots.
Five yards.
He pulled her. Practically lifted her.
Adrenaline pumping. Surging.
Eyes on Chaco.
Run. Run!
Two yards.
One.
He pushed Cyan in front of him and Chaco caught her up, pulled her in. A Humvee raced at them from the east. Too close. The chopper lifted.
Devin dove.
Chaco caught his shirt and dragged him in.
The chopper zipped forward and upward. Away.
Shots repeatedly bit at the chopper’s metal. A flash shot down from the chopper’s belly. Then nothing.
Devin curled over onto his side. “Ah, shit.”
He stayed that way for a moment, let the pain pass. Let the white light in his brain’s eye dissipate just a little. He lifted his gaze and saw Cyan huddled a few feet away in the corner of the chopper. Frightened. Looking at him.
Worried.
“I’m good,” he whispered, reaching out his hand. In a flash, she was at his side, laying her palms on his ribs, and he couldn’t wait to hold her.
Safe. They were safe.
He moved to a sitting position and ran his hand over her hair, her face, then pulled her into his arms. She nestled into him and he felt her sob against his chest. Dammit. When would this be over for her? There was nothing else he wanted than for her to be safe, for this to all be over. He stroked her hair. “We’re safe, Cyan. Right now, we’re safe.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the subtle expression of disapproval on Chaco’s face.