“Yes! See! Mine is definitely bigger!” I raise my arms in triumph as her laughter booms around me.
“I guess I’m a lucky woman then since yours is the biggest,” she says sarcastically. Glancing over, I spot a small bubble still on the top of her hair.
“Lucky you,” I murmur as I reach out to cup the side of her face, my thumb brushing over her bottom lip. But deep down I know I’m the lucky one. Hands down. I lean forward to show her just that – that her being here with me is so much more than a mere consequence of workplace attraction that will fade when the assignment ends – and brush my lips against hers.
Our kiss deepens, then lingers as we pour all of the emotions we feel into it. I lean back some, prop myself up on an elbow, and brush the hair away from her cheek as I stare into her eyes. There are so many things I want to say, so many things I want to confess and need her to know, but the words die on my tongue because all I can think of is, how in the hell did I find this incredible woman in this hellish place?
“Tanner?” she murmurs with lips swollen from my kisses and with a desirous expression in her eyes.
“Hmm?” Her body is so warm and inviting that I’m more focused on the feel of her against me than on what she’s going to say next.
“I’ve fallen in love with you. How are you going to handle that one?”
All I can do is stare at her as my heart tumbles in my chest and every nerve ending in my body reacts viscerally to her words. I don’t know what the fuck this feeling is, but I know the sound of those words being said to me scares me and exhilarates me like never before. I just sit there, my face inches from hers as a slow, smug smile tugs up the corners of my mouth. The words to echo her admission stall on my lips.
“Hmm, I think we need to blow more bubbles,” I say with a resolute nod of my head, and I flash her a smile.
“Bubbles?” she says, obviously taken aback by my response.
“Yep, bubbles. Because that means nothing has changed from a few minutes ago except now I finally know this is real between us. That what I see in your eyes and how you look at me is real. That what I feel is real.” I drop my head down for a minute, totally blown away by the moment, by the surge of inexplicable emotions within me. “Beaux… I… I…”
My voice fades off because for the slightest of seconds Stella’s comment flickers through my mind. About how when the love I feel is real, I won’t be so quick to say the words back to someone. It turns out that she was absolutely fucking right. When you really mean it, you don’t want the other person to think you said it out of obligation.
As I continue attempting to speak, to untangle myself from the asshole I feel like while I’m stuttering and falling flat, I need to make sure she doesn’t take my reaction the wrong way. It’s not that I don’t feel the same, because I do. It’s just that I don’t even know what to say or how to react, and it’s pretty damn hard to figure out when your heart is racing out of control and your mind is thinking of possibilities.
But she doesn’t let me talk. She just presses a finger against my lips and shakes her head. “I don’t want you to respond. I just want you to kiss me,” she whispers.
So I do the only thing I can. I kiss her. But not just any kiss. I take everything I feel inside and try to express it with the tenderness and reverence of my touch. And just as her fingers thread through my hair and my hand finds its way beneath her tank top, my phone disrupts the rooftop’s silence.
We both groan, but at the same time the distinct ring tells me it’s Sarge, and a quick glance at the face of my phone tells me my assumption is correct.
“What is it with him and his awful timing?” I mutter as I lift my phone to my ear, recognizing that it’s the second time he’s interrupted us. “Sarge,” I say in the way of hello to also let Beaux know I didn’t break the moment up between us over something unimportant.
“Be at the usual meeting place tomorrow. We move out at sixteen hundred hours.” His voice is clipped, all business.
“What’s going on? Yes, of course. We’ll be there,” I respond, my words trying to catch up when I’d felt like I’d lost this story and now here’s a chance to report it. “Was my source —”
“Wrong. Very wrong. No questions, Thomas. You and BJ are on the mission, but you will be removed from the action. We’re coming in for cleanup after air support moves out.”
“Can —”
“I said no questions,” he snaps, not letting me get a word out. “It’s this or nothing. I’m sure Pauly would kill for the ride if you have a problem with the terms.”
I’d say he’s under a bit of stress right now since I’ve never heard him like this.
“Ten-four. We’ll be there at sixteen hundred hours.”
As the line disconnects, I look up to meet Beaux’s widened eyes before dropping the phone on the mattress beside me. “We’re in, baby!” I exclaim, completely confused over the information that Omid gave me but reeling because that buzz is back with such a vengeance that when she raises her arms in the air and lets out a whoop, I tackle her playfully until she’s on her back and my body is flanking hers.
“I thought we were going to blow more bubbles?” She giggles, and it’s the best sound.
“Bubbles can wait. I’ve got more pressing things to do,” I tell her as I push my hips forward before smothering her laughter with my own mouth, to try and take advantage of the moment and the high of being with her tonight and what promises to be a kick-ass exclusive tomorrow. She responds without hesitation, hands hooking under my arms and over my shoulders, and actions speaking without words.
I lose myself to the moment under the cover of this desert night with the star-riddled sky above and a woman who loves me beneath me.
Chapter 19
I replay Sarge’s phone call from last night in my mind and try to piece everything together. The crux of what I can’t figure out is why Omid would tell me the meet had happened when it hadn’t. Was he found out? Was he trying to protect me? Or more likely himself from a threat?
I remind myself I shouldn’t care because we’re getting to ride along and get the story and that’s what we are here to do. But it still bugs me to the point that I’m wasting time surfing the Internet.
But when I raise my eyes above the screen of my laptop, I stop worrying simply because it’s much more interesting to watch Beaux while she works. She’s methodical and precise and double-checks everything as she moves through her camera bag to make sure each compartment is properly filled, adding extra batteries, memory cards, lenses, and filters.
She’s in perfect silhouette against the sun’s rays behind her that are somewhat muted from the sheer panels on the window. And she’s not doing anything fascinating, yet I can’t keep my eyes off her.
Perhaps it’s the words she expressed last night that I can’t get out of my head nor stop thinking about. The ones that made me realize how very meaningless everyone else before her has been. I mean, yeah, I loved Stella, but not this way. Not the kind where I start to look at the future stretched out beyond the next assignment, the next country, or after the hard beat’s over.