My face caught fire in a nanosecond. Thankfully, he hopped out to come around and get me before I could spontaneously combust in his leather seat. “I’m guessing you spoke with your brother yesterday?” he confirmed.
“I did.”
“So—we good?”
“We’re alright,” I allowed.
“Oh, I think we can manage an upgrade from that.” He gave me another smoldering look, and weird sensations migrated south of my belly. I felt distinctly tongue-tied as he helped me down and kept ahold of my hand. Pete, however, seemed unaffected by anything, whistling as we made our way to the same shady spot I was beginning to think of as “ours.” In no hurry to force a conversation, he allowed me time to find my voice.
“You know, I’m startin’ to feel like I’m not really contributin’ much here,” I finally said, swiping the blanket from him and spreading it out on the ground.
He stopped whistling and shook his head, eyes roving over my face appreciatively. “I beg to differ.”
Man-oh-man is he turnin’ it on today! My insipid blush was back, and I lowered my eyes, suddenly anxious to help unpack the food. Pete reached out and captured my busy hands in his. “I don’t like it when you do that,” he said, releasing them to rub his thumb across my jawline.
“D-do what?” My skin started tingling. I hoped water was in that thermos today, because it felt like I was catching fire.
He slipped off my glasses, then just stared at me until I got lost in his eyes. I fumbled around gracelessly for my confiscated disguise, feeling as exposed as if I were lying in this park buck-naked. But Pete wasn’t having it—he tossed them out of reach before returning his hands to my face.
I swallowed. “W-what are you doin?”
His look was as hypnotizing as his touch. I was a deer in headlights. Unable to move. Completely at his mercy. He trailed his thumbs along the circles beneath my eyes. “You’re working too hard, Kate . . . not getting enough rest.”
“More like workin’ my brain too hard,” I said, closing my eyes and swaying under his spell. It just felt so dang good—being in this quiet, shady spot on a warm afternoon, feeling the breeze stir the air, the intoxicating feel of his hands stroking my face. Heaven. I felt a magnetic pull toward him from parts of my body that weren’t even touching him . . . but wanted to with a force that was almost uncontrollable.
“That too,” he said. “Mental stress is the worst kind. You’re putting yourself through things that haven’t even happened yet.”
“Am okay.” I fought a yawn. “Just need sleep.”
“Here . . .” He repositioned us to a more comfortable position: his back resting against the tree, my back resting against his chest, his arms wrapped around me. I could have stayed like that forever; my problems seemed to vanish right along with my senses. “Better?”
Vague nodding and a deep breath in were my only replies. We rested like this a couple of minutes, listening to the chirping birds and the leaves rustling together in the trees. The feel of his heart beating rhythmically into my back, and his hands leisurely caressing my arms were soul soothing.
“You down for the count?” he asked, catching a tickling strand of hair blowing across my face and smoothing it back into place.
“Almost.” I smiled a bit, eyes still closed. “I think I could quite possibly fall asleep right here.”
“Why don’t you?”
I huffed out a tired little laugh and sat up. “Uh . . . because we have class in half an hour.”
“So?”
“So we have to get back.”
“Why?”
I twisted around to read his expression. “Cause that’s what we’re supposed to do.”
“Says who?” he challenged.
“The people in charge.”
“Do you always do what the people in charge tell you to do?”
“Yes,” I automatically answered but realized it wasn’t true anymore. I’d been doing the exact opposite of what the people in charge were telling me: hiding paperwork, interfering with the mentoring, going to lunch with the mentor I was instructed to stay away from, throwing out the window almost every promise I’d made to Mama . . . except for the most important one: protecting my brothers.
“Well, most of the time anyway,” I amended.
“Why?” He seemed genuinely interested in my answer.
“Cause I guess that’s what I was taught to do—obey your mother and father, respect your elders and all that. Why? Don’t you?”
“What if you knew your parents were wrong or your elders are not exactly . . . respectable, would you then still obey them?” It seemed like a loaded question.
I shrugged my shoulders. “I dunno.”
“That’s a cop-out, Kate, and you know it.” His tone was really tense now, like his body, and his eyes had hardened, towards whom or what I wasn’t sure.
A vision of Ranger popped in my head. I remembered the obvious animosity between the two cadets. At the time, I chalked it up to male competition—both guys trying to be the lion. Now that I thought about it, maybe Ranger was his superior? And Pete didn’t much feel like his inferior or like getting bossed by him. After all, didn’t Ranger say he couldn’t make the “mission” too easy for him?
A ripple of understanding energized me because I felt like I’d instinctually hit on why I didn’t feel as threatened by Pete, even though he was an ambassador for the enemy, as I did Ranger and his academy in general. Pete was here under duress and direct orders. I was sure of it. And I got the feeling now that he didn’t much like the orders he was taking from them, but was forced to obey. Like I was forced to obey my father’s crazy rules . . . We were both at the mercy of those in charge, and the ones in charge weren’t ones we respected. It was a maddening position to be in, which would explain the anger I felt emanating from him now.
“Fine,” I re-answered. “Then in that case, you should not obey orders you know in your heart is wrong.”
“What if doing so negatively affects, not only yourself, but everyone around you?”
“Then do what I always do,” I said. “Go with your gut.”
Pete stared into my eyes, searching, before looking off into the distance. I suddenly knew just how he felt about keeping my eyes from him.
There were some squabbling birds in the trees above us, debating about whether or not we had any food to offer, and a couple of weary moms had brought their kids to the playground. Their animated voices rang out sharp and free, harmonious with the breezy afternoon. We were quiet now, separated by our individual worries and internal struggles.
His gaze returned, open with a dash of mirth. “Just go with your gut, huh?”
I felt like the Cadet Davenport mask was going to slip back into place any moment so decided to throw caution to the wind before both our guards were back up. Leaning up, I cradled his head in my hands. “Pete,” I said in the voice I reserved for my loved-ones, “I’m gonna tell you somethin’ my mother used to tell me when I wasn’t sure what to do . . .”
He slow-blinked his eyes, which were curious and speculating.
I continued with an intensity that allowed no false pretenses between us. “Never let your sense of duty get in the way of doin’ what you know is right”—I placed a palm over his heart—“in here.”