Page 52 of Steel Vengeance

“It’s okay.” She tried to hide her disappointment. “I understand.”

The worst part was, she did. She really did. It was a miracle he’d even let his guard down this much after everything he’d been through.

Stitch stood up, avoiding her gaze. “Your arm’s looking fine. I’ll leave you to rest.”

And then he left the room.

CHAPTER 19

Stitch turned off Bara Road and hit a dirt track running alongside a dry riverbed, opening up the throttle. The rented motorcycle kicked up dust and shot forward, bouncing over the uneven ground.

How had he almost kissed Sloane? What the hell was he thinking?

He wasn’t, and that was the problem.

For once, he hadn’t been thinking at all—he’d been feeling. The way she could read him, like she was inside his head, threw him off. She knew things about him no one else did.

Big mistake.

The wind slapped against his face, making his eyes water. He welcomed the sting and pushed the bike even harder.

Talking about his time as a SEAL operator, opening up about what had happened afterwards, made him vulnerable. He hated feeling vulnerable.

Then, out of nowhere, that overpowering urge to kiss her had hit him.

Where the hell had that come from?

He hadn’t been attracted to anyone since Soraya. But now, this American woman with deep chocolate-brown eyes and cherry-red lips had gotten under his skin.

Damn her for walking into the bedroom stark naked, fresh from her bath. Damn her for wearing that slinky gold thing she called a nightgown. Damn her curves, her softness, her inescapable sensuality.

He could still feel her hand on his arm, the warmth of it playing with his emotions. It wouldn’t let him forget how, in that one moment, he’d wanted her. And how hard it had been to pull away.

Soraya.

He couldn’t do it to her. It was too soon. Her memory was still too vivid.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the wind snatching the words away before he could even finish.

The motorcycle was going as fast as it could now. The riverbed blurred beside him. If he wiped out, he’d be in serious trouble. He wasn’t even wearing a helmet—nobody did around here. Common sense interjected and he slowed down, feeling drained. He was running out of road, anyway. The ground was turning gravelly, dipping dangerously towards the riverbed. Finally, he came to a stop.

Cutting the engine, he climbed off the bike, gulping down the hot, dry air. Everything was eerily quiet. No one was around. He spotted a grassy patch further up the bank. Leaving the bike where it was, he walked over and sat down, staring at the hills across the valley, the purple mountains stretching into the distance. Somewhere among those hills, he used to live. Back when he was happy.

But not anymore.

The grassy bank reminded him of a day about three months before the attack. Soraya had taken him down to the river for a picnic. Afterwards, she’d told him she was pregnant. He remembered the joy in her eyes, the way he’d hugged her, and how they’d talked about becoming parents. That dream had died in the fire, too.

Tears stung his eyes, and he fell back on the grass.

Soraya’s voice echoed in his mind. “Are you happy here, my love?”

“What do you mean?” he’d asked. “Of course I’m happy.”

“Because this isn’t your world. This isn’t your culture. I couldn’t live with myself if I thought you were unhappy.”

He’d taken her hand. “It is my world now,” he’d said with a smile. “It is my culture. I’m happy here.” And he’d kissed her, right there on the grassy bank.

His fists clenched the dry, brittle grass. The lack of rain had left it shriveled and gray. Everything died in this place.