She smiled despite herself. "You had to save my ass ... again. As far as partners go, I hate to tell you, but you got the raw end of that deal."
"No. Not even close." Brock's eyes held her with a deep intensity that seemed to reach right into the core of her being. He stroked her cheek, brushed the pad of his thumb over her lips. "And for the record, you were the one who saved my hide. If that Minion didn't take one or both of us out, the sunlight would have finished me off for sure. You saved both of us today, Jenna. Goddamn, you were amazing."
When she parted her lips to deny it, he moved in and kissed her. Jenna melted into him, lost herself in the warm caress of his mouth on hers. The attraction she felt for him hadn't faded a bit since they'd been together in his bed, but now there was something even more powerful behind the swell of heat that flared within her. She cared for him--truly cared--and the realization of what she was feeling took her completely by surprise.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. She wasn't supposed to feel such a strong bond to him, especially not when he had made it clear he didn't want to complicate things with emotion or expectations of a relationship. But when he broke their kiss and looked into her gaze, she could see that he was feeling something more than he'd been prepared for, too. There was something more than desire flickering in the amber light of his absorbing brown eyes.
"When I saw those Minions drive off with you today, Jenna ..." The words drifted into silence. He exhaled a soft curse and pulled her close, holding her against him for a long moment. He nuzzled his face into the curve of her neck and shoulder. "When I saw them with you, I thought I'd failed you. I don't know what I would have done if anything had happened to you."
"I'm here," she said, lightly stroking his strong back and caressing his inclined head. "You didn't fail me at all. I'm right here, Brock, because of you."
He kissed her again, deeper this time, an unrushed joining of their mouths. His hands were tender on her, weaving into her hair and moving softly over her shoulders and spine. She felt so sheltered in his arms, so small and feminine against the immensity of his warrior's chest and thickly muscled arms.
And she liked the feeling. She liked the way he made her feel safe and womanly, things she'd never really known before, not even with her husband.
Mitch. Oh, God ...
The thought of him made her heart squeeze as though it were caught in a vise. Not because of grief or longing for him, but because Brock was kissing her and holding her--making her feel worthy of his affection--when she hadn't yet told him everything.
He might feel differently if he knew it was her own selfish actions that had caused the accident that killed her husband and child.
"What is it?" Brock asked, no doubt sensing the change that was coming over her now. "What's wrong?"
She withdrew from his embrace, looking away from him, knowing it was too late to pretend everything was all right. Brock was still stroking her tenderly, waiting for her to tell him what was troubling her. "You were right about me," she murmured. "You said I have a problem with needing to be in control, and you were right."
He made a dismissive sound in the back of his throat and lifted her face to meet his. "None of that matters."
"It does," she insisted. "It mattered today, and it mattered four years ago in Alaska, too."
"You're talking about when you lost Mitch and Libby," he said, more statement than question. "You think you are somehow to blame for that?"
"I know I am." A sob crept up the back of her throat, but she choked it back. "It wouldn't have happened if I hadn't insisted we drive home that day."
"Jenna, you can't possibly think--"
"Let me say it," she interrupted. "Please ... I want you to know the truth. And I need to speak the words, Brock. I can't hold them in anymore."
He said nothing more, sober as he took her hands between his and let her tell him how her stubbornness--her goddamned need to be in charge of every situation--had cost Mitch and Libby their lives.
"We were in Galena, a city several hours away from where we lived in Harmony. The state troopers had put on a fancy gala there, one of those annual attaboy events where they hand out medals of commendation and take your picture with the governor. I was being recognized for excellence in the department--the first time I'd been singled out for any kind of award. I was convinced it would be good for my career to be seen by so many important people, so I insisted to Mitch that we attend with Libby." She pulled in a fortifying breath and slowly pushed it out. "It was November, and the roads were nearly impassable. We made it to Galena without too many problems, but on the drive home ..."
"It's okay," Brock said, reaching up to sweep aside a loose tendril of her hair. "You all right?"
She gave him a wobbly nod, even though inside she was hardly all right. Her chest was raw with anguish and guilt, her eyes burning with welling tears. "Mitch and I argued the whole time. He thought the roads were too bad for travel. They were, but another storm was on the way, which would only make things worse. I didn't want to wait out the weather because I needed to report in for my shift the next day. So we headed home. Mitch was driving the Blazer. Libby was in her car seat in back. A couple of hours onto the highway, a tractor trailer carrying a full load of timber crossed into our lane. There was no time to react. No time to say I was sorry, or to tell either of them how much I loved them."
"Come here," Brock said, and gathered her close. He held her for a long time, his strength so comforting and warm.
"Mitch accused me of caring about my career more than I did him or Libby," she whispered, her voice broken, the words hard to get out. "He used to say I was too controlling, too stubborn for my own good. But he always gave in, even then."
Brock kissed the top of her head. "You didn't know what would happen, Jenna. You couldn't have known, so don't blame yourself. It was out of your control."
"I just feel so guilty that I survived. Why couldn't it have been me who died, not them?" Tears strangled her now, hot and bitter in her throat. "I never even got a chance to say good-bye. I was medevaced to the hospital in Fairbanks and put in a coma to help my body recover. When I woke up a month later, I learned they were both gone."
"Jesus," Brock whispered, still holding her in the caring shelter of his embrace. "I'm sorry, Jenna. God, how you must have been hurting."
She swallowed, trying not to lose herself in the agony of those awful days. It helped that Brock was there to hold her now. He was a rock of strength, keeping her grounded and steady.
"When I got out of the hospital, I was so lost. I didn't want to live. I didn't want to accept the fact that I would never see my family again. Alex and my brother, Zach, had taken care of the funerals, since no one knew when I might come out of the coma. By the time I was released from the hospital, Mitch and Libby were already cremated. I've never had the courage to go to the cemetery where they are interred."