Page 70 of Rescuing Rebel
Unable to stop myself, I brush a feather-light kiss to her lips. It’s the softest caress, but electricity jolts through me. She makes a faint sound, swaying into me.
I pull back just enough to meet her dazed gaze. Cupping her cheek, I brush my knuckles along her jaw, tilting her face to mine.
“I’ve missed you so much.”
Emotion wars on her face. Slowly, she turns her cheek into my palm, pressing a fervent kiss there. My knees go weak at the contact. Unable to stop myself, I lean in, our breaths mingling...
Abruptly, she turns away. My kiss lands on her hair instead. Gently but firmly, she pushes me back. The wall slams down between us once more.
“Don’t,” is all she says, eyes squeezed shut against temptation. “I can’t…”
My fingers flex helplessly, aching to pull her back into my arms. To crush her lips with mine until we’re both senseless with need. But I restrain myself through sheer force of will.
“Meet me later. Please,” I beg quietly.
She hesitates, conflict clear on her face. For a long moment, I think she’ll refuse. Then slowly, she gives a single nod before fleeing down the hall.
I watch her go, desire and hope swirling inside me. Our passion still smolders. I will stoke those embers into flames once more. I yearn to kiss away the shadows in her eyes and feel her come undone in my arms.
I sag back against the concrete wall, chest heaving. Being near her again ignites a fire inside me, hot and consuming. One I thought long extinguished. I press my fingertips to my tingling lips, craving her taste, her touch.
This changes everything. Despite her cold facade, an ember of our passion remains. If I stoke that spark carefully, we could rekindle what we once had.
But I must be cautious. Kaufman watches Rebel’s every move. If he discovered the fire smoldering between us, it would ruin everything. We’re playing a dangerous game here at Haven. I’ll have to be patient. Earn her trust one stolen moment at a time. It felt, for a moment, that she was almost ready to confide in me. Fear held her back, and I understand and respect her fear. If our positions were reversed, I’d probably do the same. But there’s still no explanation as to why she’s here.
Knowing our love is not completely lost will have to be enough for now. I cling to that fragile hope as I turn in the opposite direction from Rebel and slowly return to my teammates.
After our brief encounter, I admit to being more confused than anything else. I still need answers she refuses to give.
The woman I loved, the woman I thought I knew, is gone.
With the bitter taste of rejection on my tongue, my world shifts fundamentally.
What hold does Kaufman have over you?
What are you hiding?
Seconds tick by, and the emptiness of the hallway expands around me. Losing Rebel like this, for a second time, is an agony I can’t articulate. Finally, a growl of frustration escapes my lips, and I turn away, my mind in turmoil.
There’s no way I can let this go, but I’m not going to solve anything standing here. I won’t give up. It’s not in my nature. The Rebel I know is still in there, buried deep by the imposter she’s become. I complete my segment of Haven, cataloging this and that, then return to our base of operations, the comms suite, where Kaufman gave us room to work.
I find Hank, Walt, and the others gathered, their voices low and deep in discussion, planning our next move, but my entrance halts their conversation. My expression must expose my inner turmoil because Hank grasps my shoulder and gives me a reassuring shake.
“Everything good, boss?”
I rake an agitated hand through my hair, my heart still hammering from my confrontation with Rebel. “I ran into Rebel. She shut me down when I confronted her.”
“Does that surprise you? She joined these bastards.” Blake’s lips curl in disgust, one fist smacking his palm. “I can’t believe she’s working with him.”
“If she were working for him, she would’ve turned us in. That she hasn’t says something else is going on. She was terrified when I confronted her.”
“Then why is she here?” Walt leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest.
“I don’t know. Kaufman couldn’t help but preen at that dinner we were forced to choke down. He loves that she’s working for him and wants me to know it, but I don’t believe it. If she is, it can’t be willingly. There’s more going on, and I want to know what that is.” I pound my fist against the rough concrete wall in frustration, the impact jarring but centering.
“But if she’s not talking, she’s not talking.” Stitch, who rarely engages in conversation, speaks up. “Whatever her reasons, they’re her own. If she wanted our help, she would have it. She knows this. Since she keeps pushing you off, whatever reason she’s here, it’s sensitive enough that she’s keeping it from us and from Kaufman. Her secrets are her own. Pushing her to reveal them is only going to make things worse.”
“How?” I stare at Stitch, not liking her assessment.