Silence and safety, and she sank into it, still hearing the geese.
In her dream, she sat on a bench and wore a blanket, her feet cold in the grass. She shivered against the wind.
“I’ll find you.”
She drew a breath at the voice, deep and husky, and like dreams go, she found herself suddenly in the dirt-packed compound of the FOB in Kunar, the sky overhead a deep indigo, a million lights dusting the night. And beside her, solid and emanating an earthy masculinity, Orion Starr.
More memory than dream now as they lay on their backs on a table, their shoulders against each other, the strength of him radiating through her even as he folded his hands on his taut stomach.
She’d made a comment about the dark Afghani sky, the way the stars fell so close to the earth.
“If you want to see stars that feel so close you can pull them from the sky, you need to come to Alaska. Better yet, if you’re real brave, climb Denali. It’s . . . well, there’s nothing like sitting on the highest peak in North America, in arm’s reach of the universe. Although you have to climb it in summer, when the sun never sets, so it’s hard to see the stars. But they’re still there.”
“Denali?”
“Mount McKinley. My father was a park guide his entire life on the mountain, and I worked rescue on the mountain for two summers before I joined the Air Force. We lived on a homestead on the southern edge of the park.”
“I’ll have to visit sometime. I’d like to meet your father.”
He’d drawn in a breath then, stiffening beside her.
She’d gone too far. Taken their friendship past right now, this place, this snapshot of time.
What was she thinking? That the man she’d been watching since he arrived on base, the quiet one who seemed to be always thinking, would want more than just a friend? This relationship had all the staying power of a shooting star, blazing hard, but dying out fast the moment she was transferred.
She got herself in trouble when she let her heart do the thinking. “Sorry, I—”
“No. I’m sorry. It’s just . . . my dad died a couple years ago.”
Oh. Great, Jacie. “I’m so sorry. Was it an accident?”
“Sorta. Yes. A climbing accident on Denali. He unroped when one of his clients fell, and when he went down to help him, he just . . . slid off the mountain.”
She couldn’t breathe. Silence fell between them.
“Ry . . .”
He rolled over to his side then, looking down at her. His green eyes could stop her world, reach down inside her and make her heart beat.
She was falling for this man, hard.
And it wasn’t just because he listened to her. Talked to her about her love of history, as if it mattered to him.
Wasn’t because he could name every star in the sky, as if he might be Galileo. “My parents named me after the constellation because it was the brightest one in the sky. But I like to think it was because Orion was a hunter.”
And it wasn’t because he had this uncanny way of making her feel like she was the only one in his universe. Or the crazy stories he told her of Alaska, stirring up a world she wanted to see. Or even that he had this amazing ability to compartmentalize his world, to tuck all the danger and fear into a neat pocket and remain calm.
It was the fact that when he looked at her like he was now, everything she’d been running from dropped away, and for a moment, she could catch her breath.
Orion Starr was safe.
No. He was the brightest star in her world. The one she wanted to run to. She’d heard stories about the spec ops guys—thought these men were arrogant and unapproachable. Hard-edged, honed by the demands of their job.
Then Orion had invited her into his world, let her see beyond the body armor, and she felt like she’d discovered a hidden treasure.
Wow, she could love him. If only they’d met at a different place, a different time.
He traced her face with his gaze. She wanted to kiss him. Lose herself in his touch. Nearly looped her arms around his neck and pulled him to herself.
Except, what then? If she got too close?
He might discover the truth about her true reason for being here. And frankly, she had rules.
His breath hovered over her face, the scent of the night, the campfire, the hard-work smell on his body twining through her to awaken every cell in her body.
She bit her lip and turned away.
He must have taken the hint because he rolled onto his back. “We should probably turn in. The SEALs have an op tomorrow and we are spinning up to support them.”
She knew that, of course. But she said nothing as she got up. He walked her back to her Quonset in silence, and she had the craziest feeling that he was trying to unlock something from inside and not quite winning.
Yes, well, maybe he shouldn’t.
Maybe some things should stay locked up.
His hand had knocked against hers, hot, his skin rough and calloused. Work worn.
He twined a pinky through hers, testing.
Oh. She shouldn’t, but she let it linger, a moment of connection that suggested hope. Tomorrows. Even in the dream it seared through her, touched her heart, turned it to fire.
A sudden squeeze in her chest made her gasp, probably the dream combining with her semiconscious mind, and for a moment she tightened her hold on him.
Don’t go.
He didn’t notice her panic, of course, because now the memory made him weave his fingers through hers. “If there’s trouble—”
“Yeah.” She cut him off, nodding. “I know.”
He drew in a breath.
Even in her dream, the pressure to speak the truth built inside her. “I know what you do, PJ.”
And what do you do, Jacie?
He hadn’t asked her, but she felt the question, and swallowed through the thickening of her throat.
He tugged on her then, stopped her and she turned. He met her eyes. “I’ll find you when I get back.”
He wore the finest hint of a beard, his eyes so green she couldn’t breathe, lost in them. “What if I’m gone?” She’d been kidding, but he didn’t smile.
“Then I’ll still find you.”
“What, should I send up smoke signals?” She gave a pitiful laugh.
Her heart caught when he reached up and touched her face. “Whatever it takes, I’ll find you, Jacie.”
“I’ll find you.”
She gasped, still caught in the dream, in his eyes, in the husky smell of him.
Kiss me.
Oh—
And the geese were honking. Louder and louder and suddenly she was back at the sound, surrounded by the birds, black and white and louder and louder and—
“Sasha, breathe. Long, deep breaths—”
She woke to Aria’s voice. Blinked to sort through her surroundings.
Bright orange walls, shivering under the wind still pummeling their shelter. She lay, clothed in her thermal underwear, her booties, and a hat, and was still nearly sweating in her sleeping bag. Her last clear memory was drinking chicken broth that Sasha had heated.
Now, Aria was out of her bag, crawling over her, the wind whipping inside as Aria unzipped the door.
Jenny rolled over onto her back.
Sasha was climbing out of the door, dressed in her thermals, her jacket, and a hat. She collapsed just beyond the vestibule, still packed with their tents, staked down by their harnesses into the snow.