Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Right. Besides, the last time I’d heard from her, she was working at some firm in New York, but that was three years ago.
The rain had soaked through my coat—
I clamped down on my reckless thoughts as the plane parked in front of us, guided by the ground crew. Heat radiated off the tarmac in shimmering waves, distorting my vision as the rear door lowered and the pilots powered down the engines.
Uniformed airmen descended from the C-130 first, leading a group of civilians I assumed were the congressional aides and, in one case, helping one of the suits off the ramp.
My brows lifted. The guy can’t get off the ramp by himself and thought it would be a good idea to come tour Afghanistan?
“Are you serious?” Kellman—or Sergeant White for this mission—scoffed. “Please tell me that’s not my guy.”
“Here we go,” Torres muttered at my side.
I blew out a long breath as I counted to ten, hoping patience would miraculously appear by the time I reached zero. It didn’t. This was a waste of our time.
The airmen were all smiles as they walked toward us, obscuring their followers from view. Of course they were happy. They were here to drop off the suits. I highly doubted they’d still be all grins if they were the ones who had to escort clueless, self-important civilians to a bunch of FOBs like they were tourist destinations and not active combat zones.
Major Webb moved forward, and the airmen guided the politicians to the front of their little herd. There were six in all—
My heart. Fucking. Stopped.
I slow-blinked once, then twice as the heat shimmer dissipated with a gust of wind. There was no mistaking that honey-gold hair or that million-dollar smile. I would have bet my life there were deep-brown eyes framed by thick lashes behind those oversize sunglasses. My hands flexed, like they could still feel the curves of her body all these years later.
It was her.
“You okay?” Torres asked under his breath. “You look like you’re about to puke up your breakfast.”
No, I wasn’t okay. I was about as far away from okay as New York was from Afghanistan. I couldn’t even form words. Ten years had passed since we’d met on a very different tarmac, and the sight of her still left me speechless.
She offered her right hand to Webb to shake and shifted the strap of a familiar army-green cargo backpack higher on her shoulder with her left. She still had that thing? Sunlight caught those fingers and reflected back brighter than a signal mirror.
What. The. Hell. My heart stuttered back to life, pounding in denial so hard the thing hurt.
The only woman I’d ever loved was here—in a damned war zone—and she was wearing another man’s ring. She was going to be another man’s wife. I didn’t even know the bastard and I already hated him, already knew he wasn’t good enough for her. Not that I was either. That had always been the problem between us.
She turned toward me, her smile faltering as her mouth slackened. Her fingers trembled as she shoved her sunglasses up to the top of her head, revealing a set of wide brown eyes that looked as stunned as I felt.
A vise tightened around my chest.
In my peripherals, Webb worked his way down the line, introducing the politicians to their security details, and coming our way like a nuclear countdown as we stared at each other. A dozen feet, maybe less, separated us, and the distance was somehow simultaneously too far and way too close.
She walked forward and flinched, then captured her hair in a fist as the wind gusted, blasting every surface with sand and dirt, including the white blouse she’d rolled up her forearms. What the hell was she doing here? She didn’t belong here. She belonged in a cushy corner office where nothing could touch her . . . especially me.
“Ms. Astor, meet—” Webb started.
“Nathaniel Phelan,” she finished, scanning my face like she might never see it again, like she was cataloging every change, every scar I’d acquired in the last three years.
“Izzy.” It was all I could manage with that billion-carat rock flashing at me from her hand like a warning beacon. Who the hell had she said yes to?
“You two know each other?” Webb’s eyebrows rose as he glanced between us.
“Yes,” I said.
“Not anymore,” she answered simultaneously.
Shit.
“Okay?” Webb shuffled his gaze again, noting the awkward moment for what it was. “Is this going to be a problem?”
Yes. A giant problem. A million unspoken words blasted the air between us, as thick and relentless as the sand coming across the flight line.
“Look, I can reassign—” Webb started.
“No,” I snapped. There was zero chance in hell I was risking her safety with anyone else. She was stuck with me, whether or not she liked it.