Authors: Lindsay McKenna
Hearing him enter the living room, Sabra slowly turned toward him. How handsome he looked in a dark blue, long-sleeved chamois shirt and well-worn jeans. She saw the worry in his gaze and the tightness at the corners of his mouth. He'd been so nervous since she'd come to his apartment. Why?
"Do you have a few minutes?" she asked, gesturing toward the overstuffed sofa next to her.
"Sure…." Craig wiped his damp hands on his jeans and tried not to stare at Sabra. She looked beautiful and exquisitely fragile in a pale pink angora sweater with a cowl collar. The dark pink skirt she wore brushed the tops of her feet, which were covered incongruously with fluffy white slippers. The pink emphasized how wan she still looked, though she was bouncing back surprisingly strongly from her brush with death.
He eased himself down next to her. Craig had only allowed himself brief touches—an arm around her shoulder from time to time, a grazing touch of his hand on hers—in the three days she'd been at his house. What he really wanted was to take her to his bed and hold her forever after making hot, melting love with her as they had in
Hawaii
. Had that all been a pipe dream? Something that had arisen out of the strain of the mission? His throat constricted at the thought. Easing his hand along the back of the couch behind her, he turned and devoted his full attention to her.
"I'm afraid," Sabra said with a slight laugh, "that I'm scared to death, Craig." She rubbed her hands slowly together in her lap. Stealing a glance at his dark, frowning features, she saw his eyes lighten with surprise. "Well…maybe I'm being dramatic. I don't know…"
"We're both experts on fear," Craig agreed slowly, allowing his hand to slide forward and caress her back. Her hair was shining and lustrous, curling around her shoulders and framing her face. "If you want the truth," he said, clearing his throat, "I've been wanting to sit down and talk to you like this, too."
Sabra saw amusement in his eyes. "You have?"
"Yeah." He touched her hair briefly and forced himself to meet her unsure gaze. "I've got all these crazy thoughts and feelings running around in me. I'm not sure if I should talk to you about them or not. Sometimes I think it's me. Sometimes—hell, I don't know. Being around you, I feel like I'm walking on air, sweetheart. But then I get scared. So scared, my stomach knots up. Stupid, huh?"
She shook her head slowly. "Your stomach—my heart."
"Oh?"
"Every time you look at me, Craig, my heart pounds. I…" Sabra raised her hands in exasperation. "It's never done that to me before. Ever."
"You don't give me knots in the stomach," he offered lamely. "It's fear doing it." He took a deep breath and held her clear, intelligent eyes. "Fear of losing something I don't have a right to have, I guess."
Sabra sat very still, gauging the pain in his voice along with the hope burning in the depths of his eyes. "What are you afraid of losing?"
He looked around the apartment. He was such a coward. Finally, he looked at her. "You," he said, his voice rough with emotion. There. It was out. Fear moved raggedly through him as he saw the look on Sabra's face. Her lips parted, and he groaned inwardly. How badly Craig wanted to kiss her. "I had this crazy notion," he muttered nervously, "about us. I never believed anyone could fall in love with someone with just one look. It's crazy. Dumb." He pulled away and rested his elbows on his thighs, clasping his hands between them. "I guess life is pretty crazy. I ought to know." He laughed sharply, talking more to himself than her. "I saw you, and I felt my world crumble around my feet, Sabra. I was angry at being pulled for the mission, angry that you were going to be the leader and just angry at the world in general, I guess. But it wasn't you I was angry at. It was me." He hung his head and released a sigh.
Raising his head, Craig looked over at her. "I kept fighting how I felt toward you. I didn't think I deserved someone as fine and good as you. I thought once I told you how much of a coward I'd been, how many lives I'd lost, you'd drop me." His mouth flattened. "You didn't, though."
"Why would I?" she asked softly.
"Because," he said harshly, "I'm not whole, Sabra. Part of me is run by that damn PTSD. I'm still afraid of flying. Every time I think that I climbed back in a helo, I break out in a sweat and get the same fear in my gut all over again." Craig shook his head. "Nothing's changed, not really." He rubbed his hand together, feeling the dampness between them. "I have these moments of hope. Can you believe it? Hope. Me, of all people, feeling that emotion after everything that's happened. You gave it back to me, you know."
Leaning forward, Sabra reached out and settled her fingers against his arm. She felt the tension in his muscles and saw it clearly in his stormy, ravaged-looking eyes. "Craig, I love you." Her voice trembled dangerously as she said the words. Fear shot through her. What would he say? Would he tell her she was crazy? Swallowing hard, Sabra tightened her fingers on his arm. "I woke up in that hospital realizing I'd loved you from the first moment I laid eyes on you." She managed a soft, embarrassed laugh. "Just like my parents, I suppose. Just one look." Taking a deep breath, she watched as he slowly straightened and turned toward her. His face mirrored shock. His lips had parted, as if to deny her halting words. Would he laugh at her? Think she was a world-class fool?.
"You—love me?"
She nodded and smiled a little. "How could I not?"
Craig sat very still, absorbing her words, her tear-filled eyes. Was he hearing things? He searched her face intently. "I'm no prize," he rasped. "I'm a loser—"
"No!" Sabra gripped his hand. "You've never been a loser, Craig. Yes, you've been hurt badly—more than most—but you're not a loser. If you think that, how do you explain climbing back in the same aircraft that nearly killed you before? Surely you knew the risks you took when we climbed on board with you. If you were such a loser, how did you manage to get that helicopter down in one piece, and us with it?" Her voice broke with feeling. "Do you think I love you because I only see your heart, your courage? I see what the war's done to you, Craig. I accept that, too. I accept all of you, scars and all." Her voice faltered. "I—I just hope you can accept me, the way I am. Josh once called me a piece of work, and I don't know to this day whether he meant it as a compliment or an insult. He—he was just that way. You never knew where you stood with him."
Whispering her name, Craig gently slid his arm around Sabra's shoulders and brought her to him. Releasing a ragged sigh as she surrendered to him, settled her head against him, he pressed a kiss into her hair. How brave she was to admit her love. He soared on an inner euphoria at knowing she loved him despite all his problems.
"I love you," he told her gruffly. "I've loved you from the beginning. I was just too thickheaded to realize it at first. I may be slow," he said, his mouth curving ruefully, "but what I feel for you is real. It's not a game, Sabra. I want you to know that." He saw the tears gleaming in her eyes as she lifted her face just enough to meet his gaze. "I'm no prize. But you are." He squeezed her shoulders, wondering how to make her realize just how precious she was to him. "Josh couldn't have found a pearl in front of his nose, in my opinion. He was afraid of you, maybe because of your career in the Mossad. I don't know. It doesn't matter anymore."
"No," she whispered tremulously, "it doesn't." Reaching up, she slid her fingers along his cheek. "I'm so glad to know you love me, too."
He caught her hand and pressed a long, slow kiss to her palm. "Didn't you hear me tell you in the hospital? You woke up, looked at Laura and Jason and then over at me. They left shortly afterward, sweetheart, and as you were closing your eyes, I leaned over and told you I loved you." He shrugged. "I wasn't sure if you heard me."
"No…I didn't hear you say it." She smiled bravely and blinked back her tears. "It all happened so fast, Craig. I wasn't expecting to fall in love. I returned to Perseus so shaken up over Terry's heart attack. I was a mess emotionally."
"We both were," he said, feeling the fear in his gut dissolving for good.
"We have the time," Sabra whispered. "I never thought we would. We could have died in that mission. It was one of the worst I've ever experienced."
He rubbed her shoulder gently, soothing her. "It was rough," he agreed, resting his brow against her hair. Sighing, he felt Sabra's arm stretch across his chest. "This is all I want," he said huskily against her ear. "I want you. I want to build on what we have, Sabra. We got lucky. We survived. I thought we were going to die, too. I don't know how many times I almost turned to you during that mission and told you I loved you. But I was afraid if I did, you'd laugh or turn me down."
"I'm afraid—" she laughed softly "—we're very much alike. Do you know how many times I wanted to admit my love to you? I was afraid, too."
"Fear has a hell of a hold on us, doesn't it?"
Sabra closed her eyes. "We had the courage to walk with our fear, Craig. We didn't let it stop us from telling each other in the end. That," she said, rubbing her palm against his well-sprung chest, "is what counts."
Joy flowed through Craig. "I never thought," he rasped hoarsely, "that I'd ever find someone who'd love me. I really didn't. After that crash, I just gave up living. I had no hope left. I had nightmares for my companions—until you walked into my life." He kissed her brow. "I want to spend the rest of my life telling you how many ways you've helped me, how much hope I have because of you."
Sabra snuggled closer, a contentment like none she'd ever experienced stealing through her. Craig's arms were strong and supportive around her. As much as she wanted to love him, it was impossible right now because of her neck injury. In another week, she promised him silently, she would love him until he realized how very special a man he was—despite the horror of his past.
"I've watched my parents in their marriage," she told him in a hushed voice, absorbing the strength of his chest beneath her hand. "I'm sure we'll fight—"
"Constructive discussions," he amended. "My parents have a long marriage like yours do, and the one thing I never forgot was that they never fought personally—they stuck to the topic that needed discussing."
She smiled up at him. "Don't you think we have a chance, considering all we've weathered so far? We didn't exactly meet under good circumstances."
Tunneling his fingers through her hair, feeling the silky thickness of it, Craig said, "We have the time, Sabra. And we won't waste a moment of it."
She closed her eyes, feeling his fingers gently massaging her scalp. Her skin prickled pleasantly. Did Craig realize how unique he was among men? He was a toucher, a holder, and that's what she needed most—someone who valued such things as she did.
"I worry about my nightmares," Craig admitted after a few moments of silence. He eased his hand from her hair and touched her flushed cheek. "I haven't slept with a woman since the crash for fear of hurting her."
"You've slept with me four nights in a row under some pretty dangerous circumstances," she told him, holding his uncertain gaze, "and never once did you have a nightmare."
"I think that was a fluke," he admitted, frowning. "The last thing I want is to hurt you, Sabra. The last thing…" He couldn't stand the idea of lashing out and striking her lovely face, possibly breaking her nose or jaw. The thought sent a wave of nausea through him.
Closing her eyes, she sighed and rested against his strong body. "Let's take our lives one day at a time, darling…."
He nodded and said nothing. Just holding Sabra made some of his fear go away. Right now, he knew that Perseus was working hard to locate Morgan. He might be dead. The thought made him wince internally. What he should be doing was helping Jake, Wolf and Killian. They needed all the help they could muster to keep the company going while widening the search for Morgan.
Having Sabra in his arms, he thought about Laura and the awful pain she was carrying twenty-four hours a day. She had no one to hold her. Especially at night, in bed, when the darkness brought out the fears. In another week, he would go back and help Perseus in any way he could. Would Sabra go back to her apartment then? Or would she stay with him? A part of him wanted to hurry the process and keep her with him. That was the part that feared losing her, he admitted to himself. Loving a woman meant allowing her her freedom, too.