"You're a woman. I don't expect you to understand."
"I would slug you for that sexist comment, but you're injured, so my Hippocratic oath prohibits me from harming you."
"Okay, so I grew up in an old-fashioned home, maybe a little behind the times. But my dad hammered it into my head from day one. A man takes care of his responsibilities. A real man protects women. His woman in particular. And I can't get past the sense that I failed on that one."
Monica went silent. Dangerous. She always could outthink him. He'd be ambushed and on his butt in a heartbeat.
"Is that really all you believe you have to offer a woman?'' Her hands slowed on his back.
"I'm not following."
"Is that really all you think you give me? Tantric sex and protection, whether it be with a condom or your 24/7 escort through a war zone?''
Trick question alert. He kept his yap shut. No answer had to be better than a major screw-up response.
"I carry my own condoms and gun." Her voice filled the small chamber, soft but firm. "If that's all you think you have to offer me in a relationship, then we really are toast."
Something he'd known from the start, but just kept hoping if he dazzled her enough...
"I love you. No maybes or someday about it." Her sad laugh drifted over to him. "It's strange how you used to say those three words all the time and I never thought you meant them. But now, when you're keeping quiet about your feelings, I sense more emotion coming off you than before. Not—" she pressed her fingers to his lips "—that I'm hinting for you to say anything. Those three little words that carry such a big commitment should only be said without reservation. Otherwise, it's damned cruel when they're taken back."
This line of argument, at least, he knew how to combat. "Don't confuse me with your mother. I would never walk out on a commitment. You know I'm not going to leave you."
Still missing those three words, Korba, logic taunted.
"I'm not just a commitment or someone to protect, Jack."
Damn, this was getting out of control. He was feeling out of control, something he sure as shit didn't need right now in the middle of a combat zone. Jack nudged her back until she had no choice but to sit up as he swung his legs off the bunk, a maneuver that hurt like a son of a bitch. "What the hell are we fighting about?"
"Nothing." She rushed to stop him, her hands falling on his shoulders to keep him from moving. "We're not fighting. You're resting."
"Then we're canning this conversation now or I'll be doing all my best Greek dances from the cockpit out the load ramp."
The fight seeped from her hands. "God bless it, Jack, I'm pissed. Don't make me laugh right now."
Yeah, he was good at that. Lob a joke at life when things got rough and leave the deep stuff to more sensitive dudes. Hell, he'd already dug so deep inside himself for what to give this woman he was damn near bleeding out.
And just that fast, an image of his dream slammed over him. Of Monica bleeding out. Time passing. Him not able to save her.
Now he knew. Her wounds weren't outside, but rather inside. Insecurities inflicted from her childhood. An elusive enemy he couldn't fight with weapons, but would have to look in himself for weapons he didn't possess.
This was his brother's territory, damn it. She needed substance that Jack was afraid hadn't been issued him by the big man upstairs along with a sense of humor and a cache of knock-knock jokes.
A whistle sounded from below. Crusty. Jarring Jack as well as Monica beside him.
"Hey, Korba," Crusty shouted up the stairwell with plenty of notice for anyone needing a chance to straighten clothes. "The licorice is all gone and the sandstorm is easing up. So roll your lazy ass out of the bunk and let's get Tiara to her sister."
A flashlight gained brightness as Crusty climbed the stairs. The beam increasingly illuminated Monica's face as she expected., .what? Jack stared back. He didn't have a clue what to offer her other than finishing this mission. Hell. It seemed they both agreed that's all he could do.
Chapter 20
It was all Yasmine could do not to duck and run.
Perched on the top step of the building that had first been her jail and then her haven with Drew, she watched and waited with the others for the sister reunion. Finally, Monica and Sydney would see each other. Certainly she did not begrudge them one moment of the impending closeness or joy, what they had all been working toward.
She just hated feeling on the periphery of it all. She wanted to be invited into the circle of hugs and to rejoice with them, but knew she would not be welcome. No one had even bothered to tell her Sydney was being held hostage, instead leaving her to discover it in such a painful way.
Early morning sun poured over the crowd of Rangers parting as Monica plowed past, her pilot lover firmly at her back for support. The possessive stance stabbed at Yasmine, reminding her too much of what she could have had with Drew.