She gave a wide-eyed look at the now-flaming building, bodies scurrying like rats to and from the inferno. Then she crouched down low, sliding through the wires he’d cut.

“Hold my belt and keep up,” he told her as soon as they were clear. “Most of the enemy will be focused on the invasion. But if they’re smart, they’ll have people securing the perimeter.”

“They didn’t impress me as being too smart,” she said, showing a little of that sass he remembered so fondly. “But they did have the devil’s own luck on their side. So run as fast as you want. I’ll keep up.”

The rapid-fire pinging of automatic weapons got louder. The team had engaged, he noted. And since they had no idea he or Alexia were here, they’d be taken as the enemy if spotted.

“Let’s go.”

Taking her at her word, he set off at a low, crouching sprint. Moving through the snow, both the thick ground cover and the flurries buffeting them backward, was hardly fast. But—he checked his GPS to make sure they were on track—they were making progress.

“Hold,” he ordered. He stopped, still hunkered down, and scanned the area for signs of body heat. Nothing.

“Okay, let’s go.”

“Go? Where? How?”

“Vehicle,” he said, gesturing to what looked like one of the many snowdrifts in the blurry white landscape. When she shook her head in confusion, he pushed through the snow—hip deep here—and unerringly found the loose end of the white tarp. With a tug, he uncovered the snowmobile he’d stashed.

“This is a vehicle?” She gaped. “Are you sure?”

He grinned, swinging one leg over the seat. “Climb on.”

Giving him, then the snowmobile, a doubtful look, she shook her head before climbing on behind him. There wasn’t much sexy about the half foot of fabric between their bodies, but Blake’s blood still hummed when her thighs clamped tight against his hips. Her arms wrapped around his waist, holding tight to his jacket. As soon as she felt settled, he pressed the ignition and, with one last glance at the flaming sky to the west of the trees, took off.

They flew across the snow, flurries pounding against them as if protesting their escape. He watched his GPS, double-checking the few landmarks along the way to make sure they were on track.

Twenty minutes later, after taking a couple side trips and doubling back to make sure they weren’t followed, they reached the side of a mountain. He cut the snowmobile’s engine and, muscles trembling from the exertion of holding the vehicle steady in the intense winds, looked around. The helicopter would pick them up on top. At the base, camouflaged by icy brush and snow, was a domed tent. He didn’t see any new tracks in or out, but wasn’t taking any chances.

“I’m going to make sure it’s secure. You move forward and take the controls.”

He dismounted, waiting for her to grip the handlebars. As soon as she did, he pulled out his infrared binoculars again and checked the perimeter. Five minutes later, but never losing her from sight, he returned to the snowmobile. Alexia hadn’t moved. He could tell because she had at least three inches of snow on her now.

“All clear,” he told her.

Her eyes were huge behind the plastic lenses, swimming with exhaustion, fear and relief. She didn’t move, though.

“Ready to get out of the snow?”

Her nod was more along the lines of a shiver.

Knowing he needed to get her to warmth quickly, Blake opted for the fastest route. He reached out and lifted her into his arms. She didn’t make a sound. She did, however, wrap her hands around him and hold tight.

He liked how it felt, even through the miles of insulated fabric between them.

When he reached the tent, he shifted her, but didn’t let go. He tugged open the Velcro closure, then unzipped the canvas. It wasn’t until they were inside, lamp on and flap secured again, that he put her gently on her feet.

He waited until she’d stopped swaying, then unhooked the scarf from his hood and grinned.

“Welcome to your temporary home sweet home.”

ALEXIA’S HEAD WAS SPINNING. She wasn’t so sure her body wasn’t, too.

The last five days had been surreal. Like something out of a horrible nightmare that not even her own subconscious would torture her with. And now it was over?

Or, she blinked and looked around the tent, almost over?

The tent was awfully well equipped for a temporary stop. Two cots, a cookstove, an array of equipment that looked as if it could control rocket ships. A small arsenal in one corner and a table and chairs in the other. And Blake in the center. Boxes were piled at the back wall and, she squinted, there was a stack of books on one of the cots.

As always, her gaze landed on Blake.

Nerves that’d gone numb on the bone-bruising flight over the snow started coming to life again with big, snapping bites.

He wasn’t paying any attention, though. He’d pushed back his hood and now set his goggles aside so he could pull on a radio headset.

She watched carefully, noting what buttons he pushed, which switches he flipped.

“Base, this is Boy Scout. Hostage secured. Will await your go. Boy Scout out.”

“That’s it?” she asked, frowning as he turned everything off with a push of his finger. She wanted to grab the radio and yell into it. To insist someone hurry the hell up and come to get them. She wanted to go home, dammit.

“That’s it,” he said.

No, she wanted to moan. She wanted a shower and warm clothes. A bowlful of hot fudge. Her own bed, popcorn, to hug her brother.

“Where are we?” she whispered, more than ready to hear him say the icy bowels of hell.

“Alaska. North Slope,” he told her as he moved around the perimeter of the tent, turning on small heaters so the space was soon a warm cocoon. Then he flipped on a series of tiny monitors. At first they all looked white, as though they weren’t tuned in. Alexia stepped closer, her eyes narrowed as she realized the white was snow. Then she saw the angled rock he’d parked the snowmobile behind.

Security cameras.

Did he really think someone might follow them? That, and a million more questions chased through her mind. But the first ones to tumble out were, “How long are we waiting here? Is someone picking us up? Who sent you to get me?”

“We’re here until we’re told otherwise,” was the only answer he gave.

“Is that going to be hours? A day? Two? What’s that mean?” Alexia realized her voice had hit a pitch high enough to trigger an avalanche, but she couldn’t help herself. Feeling trapped, barely able to breathe, she yanked the kerchief from her face and ripped at the strings tying her hood closed. Her fingers, clumsy and fat in the thick gloves, couldn’t undo it.

Her breath was coming in gasps now. Black spots sped across her vision, racing one another from side to side. Before she could give in to the scream building in her throat, Blake was there.

His knuckles were warm as they brushed her frozen face, fingers making swift work of the ties, before he gently pushed the hood back and pulled the goggles off.

“Breathe,” he instructed quietly. “Pull the air into your belly. Attagirl. Hold it, then let it out.”

Her eyes locked on his, she followed his breath, listened to his instructions, and slowly, painfully reeled in the fragile threads of her control.

“Sorry,” she murmured as she started to feel like herself again. The heat warming her cheeks should have been welcome in this bitter cold, but shame was never comfortable.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he told her as he continued to gently release her from the coat’s bindings, then slipped the gloves off her hands. If he tried to take her boots and socks, she just might have to smack him. It’d be a long time before she wanted to be barefoot again, she realized. “You’re exhausted, stressed and probably starving. The natural expectation after being rescued is to go home.”

“Can you tell me why I can’t?” she asked in a low whisper, not taking her eyes off his. She waited for him to prevaricate or outright refuse. That’s what her father would do. All information—right down to which state they’d be attending school in the following month—had always been imparted on a need-to-know basis.

“This is a two-stage mission,” he explained. “Rescuing you is stage one. Neutralizing the enemy is stage two. If we’re pulled out, it could compromise the team’s efforts. Added to that, it’s nighttime. It’s safer to wait until light to head out again.”

Alexia’s jaw dropped.

“What?” he asked, pausing in the act of taking off his own jacket and hanging it with hers on a hook.

“You, well... You answered my question.” She realized how stupid it sounded when she said the words. But she’d never gotten answers as a kid. Had been told time and again that good little soldiers followed orders without question—that questioning was a sign of disrespect, of showing doubt toward one’s superior.

“You didn’t ask for classified information,” Blake said, dismissing what she thought of as a miracle with a laugh. “I’ll answer whatever I can. You have the right to know what’s going on.”

It was as if he’d twisted a spigot. Before she realized it was happening, Alexia’s cheeks were wet with tears. Her breath came in hiccupping gasps as she fell apart.

He looked at her as if she’d just turned into an alien giraffe with four heads and an Uzi pointed at his man parts. Horrified, shocked and desperate to make it stop.

“I’m sorry,” she wailed, trying to control her sobs.

“What...” He shook his head, clearly realizing that this wasn’t the time for a reasonable discussion. Then he crossed the tent and pulled her into his arms.

She didn’t care that she’d spent months being angry with him, or that she’d imagined countless scenarios in which he saw her again and, miserable and unable to get his party on sexually without her, he’d begged her to let him into her life again.

In her imagination, she’d always turned him away.

In real life, she grabbed on as if he was the only oxygen in the room. As soon as she did, her tears slowed. Her heart stopped aching. She felt like a scared little girl and he was her security blanket. Now she wanted to wrap him all around her.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” she said, her words as shaky as her breath. “I’m safe, right? I’m away from that lunatic and his insane demands. He can’t hurt me. His henchman can’t touch me, right?”

Blake’s arms stiffened around her, his fingers digging into her spine as he pulled her closer, tighter. As if he could wrap himself around her as a shield, keeping her safe. Protected.

“You’re safe with me,” he vowed.

She never wanted to be anywhere else.

Realizing she’d plummeted into dangerous thinking, Alexia drew in a little more of his calm, got her thoughts and her breathing under control, then slowly pulled back.

“Thank you,” she said, wrinkling her nose in embarrassment. “I’m sorry to cry all over you. I guess SEALs really are trained to handle any emergency.”

His eyes narrowed, as if he knew she’d tossed his job out to put a wedge between them. He didn’t call her on it, though. Maybe he liked the wedge? Alexia frowned, then rubbed her damp cheeks dry.

“I don’t suppose you have a hairbrush, or something I can use to wash my face,” she asked. “Or, you know, a hairdresser and manicurist stashed in one of those packs.”

“There,” he said, pointing to the bunk on the left. On it were two packs, one smaller, one larger. “Clothes, toiletries, whatnot. Over there is a makeshift bathroom. No bathing facilities, but you can change.”

Alexia followed his gestures, then looked back at him and wet her lips. Get naked, with just a flimsy piece of fabric separating them? Her body trembled at the idea, wanting desperately to beg him to get naked with her. But that wasn’t going to happen, she warned her body. He was off-limits. Totally wrong for her, and she wasn’t stupid enough to make the same mistake twice.

“Thank you,” she murmured, lifting the pack and digging in to find not only a hairbrush and toothbrush, but ponytail holders, thick wool leggings, thermal underwear and a sweater. She wanted to ask who his personal shopper was, but figured the less said to bring attention to the fact that she was about to get naked, the better.

“I’ll get dinner ready while you change,” he told her.

Alexia narrowed her eyes. He didn’t sound as if he cared that she was going to strip down. Not excited, not intrigued. Nothing.

Fine. It wasn’t as though she wanted him to want to see her naked. She’d ended that part between them and for a damn good reason.

When Alexia realized that it was taking all her control not to add so there and stick out her tongue, she sighed. Clearly, the ordeal was messing with her way too much.

It might have been residual irritation, or probably nerves that she’d give in to her body’s urgings and call out for him, but Alexia changed in record time. She didn’t want to touch the nasty, five-days-worn clothes once she’d stripped them off, but it wasn’t as if the tent came with maid service. So she bundled them up and, noticing a couple of small plastic bags tied to a rope, stuffed them into one. There. Trash.

She used the canteen water to brush her teeth and wash her face, then spent a luxuriously long time running the brush through her tangled mass of hair.

Once it was pulled into a tidy French braid and she felt clean and warm and real again, she pulled back the curtain and rejoined Blake.

Why, oh why did she have to have values? He looked so deliciously sexy standing there in winter camo fatigues tucked into his boots and a long-sleeved white T-shirt. She tried reminding herself that the silver chain she could see along the back of his neck belonged to his dog tags. Making him a soldier boy. Off-limits, Alexia, she wanted to yell. But her body didn’t care. All it could see was how great he looked.

“Hungry?” he said, giving her a friendly-yet-distant look over his shoulder.

Clearly, he had no problem forgetting about the two days of constant, mind-blowing sex they’d shared. She sniffed. Either that or they hadn’t blown his mind enough for him to see her as anything but a mission objective.

And that kiss. She forced herself not to sigh and melt at the memory, since she now knew it was probably just his way of reassuring her. Keeping her from getting hysterical. Or, who knew, maybe luck, as she’d first said.

Before she could pout too much, her stomach—the only part of her body not craving Blake’s touch—growled.

“Hungry it is,” he said, grinning and setting two plates, steam rising temptingly, on the table.

Alexia placed the pack on her designated cot and joined him.

“Field rations?” she guessed with a grimace. “My father used to insist we have them for dinner once a month. It was supposed to make us appreciate what soldiers had to deal with while protecting our way of life.”

“Did it?”

“No,” she remembered, wrinkling her nose. “But it did solidify my determination not to serve in the military.”

Blake’s grin warmed her more than all the space heaters combined. That feeling—and starvation—got her through the first few bites. Then the flavor hit her taste buds.

She poked into the open food box he’d set between them until she found salt. It took two packets before she could get through the other half of her meal. She glanced at Blake, who was spooning up his as if it was covered in chocolate.

“You don’t actually like this—” she was hesitant to call it food “—stuff, do you?”

He shrugged, still scooping up the tan goo. “It’s not that bad. Growing up, I was mostly hungry, so I tend to focus more on filling my belly than the taste threshold.”

She wanted to ask why he’d been hungry. What his upbringing had been like. Was that a part of why he’d joined the military? For three square meals—or the equivalent? She wrinkled her nose at the mushy stuff on her plate. Did he have siblings? A family? Were they still hungry or had they found their way?

A million questions raced through her mind, but she couldn’t ask any of them. She felt it was private, that she had no right to poke or prod. She’d been fine with the right to lick her way down his body and to do a naked dance on his face, but ask personal questions? Totally taboo.

Which was ridiculous. So was the fact that while she’d claimed to want communication with him in the past, she’d never wondered any of those things. She’d only focused on the parts of his life that she thought impacted her. And then, when she’d found out just how strong that impact was, she’d slammed the door shut.

She poked her spoon into the stew again, trying to control the urge to cry. Again. God, she was a mess.

“If you eat all your dinner, I have chocolate for dessert,” Blake said in a singsong voice.

Her eyes flew to his face.

“Chocolate?”

“Yep. Chocolate bars, chocolate powder, chocolate syrup.”

“Noooo,” she breathed in a reverent moan.

“Yep.”

She looked around the tent, wondering where he’d hidden it. She hadn’t seen any in the box of gross dinner choices. Then, because chocolate made everything more appetizing, she dived into the stew, eating it fast enough that she didn’t have to taste it.

“There,” she said three minutes later, holding out her cleaned plate. “Chocolate time.”

“You’re done already?” Surprise clear in his blue eyes, Blake laughed. But he took her plate, put it in a bag, then pulled a small knapsack from beneath one of the bunks.

“It’s all yours.”

Her fingers trembled, not a new thing for her this week. But this time it was excitement shivering through them as she undid the buckles.

“Yum,” she moaned again when she saw the stash inside. At least two-dozen chocolate bars, three cans of familiar brown syrup and a large pouch with two sections, one with brown powder and the other with white. Chocolate milk to go, just add water?

Her fingers had already wrapped around a candy bar when she realized this was a lot of soothing sweetness. Enough to last awhile. A long while.

She bit her lip.

“Should I be rationing it?” she asked Blake quietly.

He paused in the act of emptying another pouch onto his plate and met her eyes. His gaze shifted to the radio, then scanned the monitors before meeting hers again.

“Just enough so that you don’t make yourself sick,” he said.

Alexia still hesitated.

“We’re waiting until we get word that the compound is secured and the team has neutralized everyone inside,” he told her, his voice so quiet and matter-of-fact that it took her a second to realize he was filling her in on the mission objective. “As soon as they give the all-clear, someone will contact us with pickup coordinates. How long that takes simply depends on the level of resistance the team meets back there.”

“The guy was crazy,” she said, carefully pulling a single candy bar from the knapsack, then deliberately closing the flap. “He talked about starting a war, about the loyalty of his troops. There were too many there for me to count.”

“Numbers don’t matter. Strategy is what counts. And SEALs rock the strategy.”

“I’ve heard that rumor,” she said with a smile. “Is this your usual job? Hostage hand-holding?”

His lips twitched. He crossed the tent and stopped in front of her.

“What are you doing?”

Alexia held her breath as excitement swirled in her belly. Personal prejudices being what they were, she’d never been turned on by a guy in uniform, or in camo or even wearing dog tags and low-riding jeans. Soldiers were totally not her thing.

Except Blake.

She was horribly afraid that if she wasn’t careful, he’d become her everything.

He reached out and took her hand in his. His fingers entwined with hers, then he gave them a gentle shake.

“Holding hands.”

* * *

BLAKE LOVED THE WAY she laughed. The sound of it, rich and husky. The way it made her dark eyes dance with delight. The look of her face, all lit up and happy.

He loved the feel of her fingers, slender and warm in his. Relief so intense it made him want to drop to his knees poured through him. She was here. He’d got her out alive, safe and sound.

He couldn’t claim he’d never been worried on a mission. Since Phil’s death, worry was a second skin, always looming, never comfortable. But scared? He’d never understood real fear until he’d opened that file and realized Alexia was his target. He’d used the fear, iced it down and applied it to fuel his moves, to make sure he was hypervigilant. To get Alexia to safety.

They weren’t quite there yet. But at the sight of her smile, watching her come back to life as the terror started to fade, he was filled with so many emotions he’d never felt before. It made him wish for things he’d never thought of. Made him care, way too much. Cade had accused him of mooning over Alexia. Blake realized now he’d just been waiting.

And if he’d had the words, if he had a clue what to say, he’d have made some big emotional declaration.

His gut clenched, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.

He owed his life to those warning signals, so he automatically stopped, mentally gauging the danger.

Alexia, he realized.

She wasn’t a threat to his physical safety.

She was a threat to his way of life.

If he let these emotions grow, he’d give in to anything she asked. Like leaving the military. Giving up his career. Growing out his hair. Hell, he was pretty sure he’d even get one of those dogs women carried in their purses if she asked.

Slowly, trying not to make a show of it and get her upset again, he released her hand.

He’d rather have the fear back.

Or at least that nice safe distance time and her anger had provided. Because now that she was here, right here in front of him again? With all these crazy thoughts and emotions going on? She was a bigger danger than the wannabe terrorist and his cadre of idiots back there.

“I guess hand-holding really is a part of your job description,” she said, her laugh a little stiff. He wondered if she’d been hit with emotional overload, too. He doubted it. She’d already faced the threat of her life’s destruction. Flicking him off again probably didn’t even register.

Good. He just had to keep it that way. Make sure his position as a SEAL, his connection with her father, stayed clear in her mind.

That’d keep her hands off him.

And hopefully he had enough training and self-discipline to keep his own off her.

Before he could dismiss the hand-holding as a nothing gesture, or figure out a way to bring her dad into the conversation, the radio light flashed, a low buzz indicating a message was coming in.

Saved by an unexpected communiqué. Not wanting to alarm Alexia, he kept his smile in place.

“Well, hand-holding and answering the phone. Or radio, in this case,” he said, walking over to see what was there.

His expression didn’t change as he read the intel.

The compound belonged to one Hector Lukoski. The son of a known terrorist with Syrian ties, Lukoski was trying to make a name for himself apart from his father. Well trained in defensive measures, he had an underground hideout. The team had confirmed that there was only one way in or out, and had it covered. But short of blowing his lair up around him, they were forced to lay siege and wait. No action would be taken until new orders were issued, at least twelve hours from now.

He tapped a few keys to signal that the message was received.

Alexia wasn’t going to like the news.

Nor, he remembered, was he supposed to tell her.

The message was in code, so she wouldn’t have to know. Wouldn’t have to worry. His brain raced, pulling together a plan. He’d make her some hot chocolate, dim the lights and talk her into going to sleep.

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