“So what now?” She knew it was a push. But desperate times called for having girl balls. “Do you have the answer for this one? What do we do? Do we define what we have left over? What am I going to be now? Your roommate? Your responsibility? Your precious ‘mission package’? Do I get to be ‘turned over’ once we’re back so I’m not your damn concern anymore?”

He jerked back. His whole body coiled. There was no way she couldn’t feel it. His thick thighs shook the bed as he prepared his body to act on the bail-out his mind had clearly commanded. Sage went taut, too—and prepared for the Arctic cold that would take over as soon as he bolted.

But he didn’t leave.

As he’d promised, he stayed.

He lifted his hand to engulf hers, surrounding her fingers plus the ring inside a grip that bordered on crushing. The sight of him consumed her senses with equal effect. She was swept away anew by his rugged beauty, suffocated in the fire of his powerful, unmerciful focus.

“You’re mine.”

The words rumbled from the depths of his chest. She was left with no doubt about their intent. They were vows, not just syllables.

“You’re mine, Sage. Call in any deity or god or spirit you want. I’ll swear by their names and all their fucking saints and angels, too. As far as I’m concerned, it took them all working together to bring you back to me anyway.”

She parted her lips, wanting to say something, but choked back. She longed to kiss and wring his neck at once. He didn’t make things easier by sliding to the floor next to her, continuing to grip her hand. “You’re not a gift I’m going to waste. I swear by this ring and everything it still means to me, you will be safe. I’ll protect you from any animal, asshole, criminal, or deviant who thinks they can lay so much as a fingernail of harm against you. And yeah”—he finally let her go and crossed back to the window—“that includes protecting you from me too.”

Sage didn’t shift. At last, she let out a hard sigh. The hard hunch of his shoulders told her he was ready to keep sparring with her, but what good was it going to do? The maddening bear had made up his mind and taken his position. If the poles of the whole damn earth flipped and told him that position wasn’t right anymore, he’d fight to the death for it. Fate had stripped him of getting to do it for over a year, and now the man wasn’t just making up for lost time but doubling his efforts. To him, the stance made sense—because to him, her number-one enemy was only a breath away. His own.

Fine. If that was the way he wanted to look at things, that was what she’d work with.

All she had to do now was give him bigger enemies to fight.

You want to keep me safe, Sergeant Hawkins? That’s peachy by me, baby. Let’s rumble.

Chapter Seven

The embassy made the decision to send Sage and Rayna home on a commercial flight instead of a military transport. The news came down early the next morning, and Garrett was packed and ready to head to Suvarnabhumi Airport by three that afternoon.

On one hand, he was glad they’d be enjoying the marathon-length journey in civilian comfort. On the much larger other hand, he already sensed Sage wasn’t going to let him relax during the next twenty-four hours. She boarded the van with a serene smile and a graceful glide that didn’t match the fuming woman who’d turned her back on him in bed last night, unwilling to hear his explanation about what had happened—or, more accurately, what hadn’t happened—at the Half-Moon. Thinking back on all that now only reconfirmed his suspicion. Sometime between giving him that cold shoulder and this afternoon’s warm smile, she’d hatched a plan of some kind—and something told him he wasn’t going to be happy he couldn’t pound a few irritated fists into the fuselage of a 747.

The departure from protocol was explained as necessary due to the media frenzy that had developed stateside for the girls’ story. Every major news station wanted their shot of the “‘miracle girls’ return to the living,” and the army, knowing a prize PR op when they had one, had jumped on supplying it. The circus began even at Suvarnabhumi, with CNN, Fox News, BBC, and a few of the other major networks on hand, cameras and microphones recording every step they took to the plane. Garrett, Zeke, and six other guys from the squad were there, dutifully surrounding Sage and Rayna in a sea of US Army dress blue, as they’d been instructed.

Orders or not, Garrett didn’t leave Sage’s side, not even when she stopped to buy flowers from local children or when she veered off their path to take up CNN’s offer for a wave to her mom on their live feed. When she paused again and said she needed to use the bathroom, he didn’t break stride, forcing her along by the crook of her elbow.

“We’re twenty yards from the plane,” he gritted into her ear. “You’ll get your chance there.”

With a deft wrench and eyes flashing like a pissed cat’s, she broke free. Her saucy head tilt did nothing for his tension. He knew that look. It always made him yearn to slam her into a wall and fuck the breath out of her.

“I have to pee now, Sergeant Hawkins. If you’re worried about ‘protecting’ me in the ladies’ toilet, you’re welcome to join me.”

For a second, he thought of calling her bluff—but then he glanced at the news crews. The last thing he needed was some cameraman revved on a dozen energy drinks catching a secret shot of him in a pissing match with their darling of the moment.

He bit out the F-word beneath his breath, let her go, and leaned against the wall. She smiled and sashayed into the bathroom.

She had him by the balls. They both knew it.

Three hours later, the scheming little minx didn’t seem inclined to loosen that grip anytime soon. Shockingly, Garrett hadn’t punched any holes into the 747 yet—though that outcome was still subject to change.

The temptation pressed harder as her husky laugh broke the air again, a response to another joke cracked by Ethan Archer. He’d always liked Ethan—one of their hardest-working squad members despite being male-model pretty—until about an hour ago. The young corporal was pulling out all the stops on his I’m-so-modest-and-you’re-so-cute act, and Sage was doing very little to slow him down. It had worsened over the last ten minutes, when a pocket of turbulence caused some of Sage’s bottled water to dump on Archer’s thigh. The sight of her wiping off the spill in a fretful frenzy had Garrett clutching for his seat belt release.

That was it. Her stranglehold on his family jewels stopped now. She’d spend the rest of the flight next to him, where he could keep an eye on her conniving little backside until Mount Rainier circled into view.

As he rose, Archer did too. When the corporal turned, looking for the nearest head, at least three women lifted their heads in open appreciation. Garrett chuffed. Come to papa, Dolce and Gabbana.

Archer easily observed that the nearest toilet was two rows behind Garrett’s location. The corporal scowled. He knew a showdown with Garrett was inevitable in this direction, but if he beelined for the head at the front of the plane, it was a blatant pussy move.

Archer turned toward the rear toilet. Garrett made his way to the little service galley past its door.

“Hawk.” Archer gave him a tight smile. The guy was pretty but not stupid. He had to know what was coming.

“Hey, Runway.” Garrett deliberately used the guy’s call sign, bestowed by the squad due to Ethan’s centerfold-ready looks. Though Ethan earned it in a more legitimate sense by taking down a drug lord’s helo with a ground rocket six months ago, it was clear at which context Garrett aimed with the label right now. Archer’s wince confirmed he knew it too.

“Is something up?” the corporal asked.

Garrett leaned against the bathroom door, deliberately ignoring the question. “You and Captain Weston seem to be having fun.”

To his credit, Archer planted his stance and squared his shoulders. “Seems like she’s needing a little fun.”

“Yeah, well…playtime’s over.”

“She told me you two are taking a break. She also told me it was your choice.”

Garrett grunted. Two days ago, he’d been gasping against a hundred daggers of grief in his chest. Archer’s words dumped acid onto the leftover scabs. The shit overflowed and stung his retort. “Yeah, that’s probably what she said. That doesn’t mean she’s ready for a goddamn romp on the mattress, man.”

Archer ticked a brow. “Who says I want to ‘romp’?”

Acid, say hello to Mr. Matchstick. “I know what you want to do, asshole.” Garrett grabbed the corporal by the V of his shirt. “I know you’re deeper into that kinky shit than Zeke, and you’re already thinking of strapping her down in some deviant dungeon and—”

“The proper term is BDSM, Sergeant.” For some reason, the guy’s composed comeback was more censuring than a cussing rant. “And, when power is properly exchanged by a willing submissive and a loving Dominant, the results can transform people. It even heals them from things, such as being on the run and fearing for their life for a year.”

“Thanks for the gung-ho on that, Corporal.” He didn’t relent on his hold. “Now keep it the hell away from Sage.”