The Mercenary's Kiss

When her hand lifted to cover her mouth, when she curled in a tight ball, his reluctance to go to her slipped. She began to rock, back and forth. She didn’t make a sound, not with her hand pressed to her face to stifle any she might make, and only then did he realize she didn’t want him to hear.

He started walking toward her. He didn’t want to scare her—she wouldn’t expect him to come up behind her—but he didn’t stop until he stood right behind her, an arm’s length away.

He hunkered down to her level. Now that he was this close, little sounds came from behind her hand, the sobs she tried so hard to hide. His fists clenched to keep from touching her; to do so would startle her even more.

“Elena,” he said gently.

The rocking stopped. She twisted around to face him, bolting to her feet in one fluid motion. Her speed and agility surprised him, left him still squatting and looking up at her.

He rose slowly. Her bosom heaved as she fought for the control that seemed so important to her.

“Elena.” This time when he spoke her name, he laced his tone with a thread of command. She needed to know she didn’t have to go through this alone. That she shouldn’t be afraid of him. That he was with her to help her.

“I woke you. I—I’m sorry,” she said shakily, her fingers swiping at the moisture streaming down her cheeks.

“You didn’t. And even if you did, it’s nothing to be sorry for.” His voice sounded rough. Rougher than he intended, and she flinched. His mouth tightened, and he reached an arm toward her. “Let’s go back to camp.”

“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “I will. Soon. But not yet.”

“You have to get some sleep.”

“I can’t. I tried—”

He had expected her argument. Determined to overrule it, he took her elbow, but she jerked away with a step backward into the river. The water seeping into her shoes would be cold and uncomfortable.

“I keep thinking of Nicky,” she said, her arms folded tight against her. “How can I sleep when I don’t know where he is?”

“We’ll find him,” Jeb said. “I swear it.”

Her chin trembled. “You don’t know we will. Not really. You’re just being nice and telling me that so I don’t worry, but I am worrying and—”

A choking sound smothered whatever else she intended to say, and she angled her head away, her eyes closed tight. She stood in the water, her body stiff and proud but her grief tearing her apart.

It rankled that she fought to keep her pain from him. Why it bothered him he couldn’t fathom, but it did, and he reached for her again.

“Don’t, please,” she said, stepping around him. “I’ll be fine in a minute or two.”

Jeb’s stride was longer than hers. He took her arm and turned her toward him.

“Cry it out,” he growled. “Damn it, you’ll feel better.”

Her mouth opened, as if she intended to argue, but instead, her features crumpled and her shoulders hunched. She sank into his chest with a strangled sob.

His arms took her in. Her body felt heavy and vulnerable against him, as if it was all she could do to hold herself upright, and something surged through him, a protectiveness, a possessiveness, that left him shaken and teetering on new ground.

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