Page 22 of Reclaiming Izabel

Silence.

And then, “Is that all you’re going to say?” I choked. “You, of all people, knew how much I suffered.”

“I’m sorry, Izzy,” Hank whispered. “But Drake had no choice. Neither did I. If we broke the agreement with the person who recruited him, I’d lose access to him. And if Drake’s identity was compromised, it would—and still may—put you in immediate danger.”

“Was I in danger?”

“You need to hear the story from him.”

Dread curled in my gut. “Commander Harrelson’s family?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

Weariness tugged on my already-frayed nerves. As a SEAL wife, I understood my husband kept secrets from me, even those that could directly affect me. My reaction to Drake’s return suddenly made sense. “I don’t know if I can go through this again.”

“I don’t think Drake’s gonna disappear for another three years.” There was lightness in his tone.

“That’s not what I meant. I don’t think I have it in me to be a SEAL wife anymore.” I wanted to move on with a safe guy. The man who’d returned to me was far from the definition of safe.

At Hank’s muffled curse, I continued, “I think?—”

“Izabel,” Hank cut in. “Your husband is in your house. Talk to him.”

There was a finality in his words. He wasn’t going to give me the answers I needed.

“Okay.”

“Good girl.”

“I’m not promising to be reasonable,” I added tartly.

I could almost see Hank’s shit-eating grin on the other end of the line. “Give him hell.”

A burst of laughter broke through the tightness in my chest. I ended the call and stared at the closed door. Beyond it were the answers I sought.

There were three bedrooms in the house. I wished I picked a house with a first-floor bedroom. I had no choice but to put him in the bedroom closest to the stairs. At least he wouldn’t be in the room next to mine. Tough if he expected us to share a bedroom.

After I’d put new sheets on the guest room bed, I still wasn’t ready to face the man downstairs, but I’d stalled enough.

Drake was just coming in from outside when I made my way back to the first floor. He was carrying a big duffel and his sniper rifle case. This was familiar. Memories of the many times he’d come home from deployment plundered my mind and heart. Usually, he left his rifle in his “cage” on base, so I wondered what location he reported to now.

I was too preoccupied reconciling my memories with my present feelings, so I didn’t notice the predatory and determined look that crossed Drake’s face until it was too late. He dropped his duffel and rifle to the floor, jolting me into focus.

Then he moved toward me.

No. He stalked.

He hauled me against him. I yelped.

Brawny arms wrapped around me, squeezed, until my curves were tightly pressed against the hard wall of muscles.

“I. Can. Not. Stand. It,” he growled in my ear. “Three years I’ve dreamed of holding you in my arms.” I tried to push away, but he wasn’t having it. “Give me this, Iza.” His breath feathered my ear, sending a shiver through my spine. “Let me hold you. Even for a few seconds. Please.”

It was thepleasethat did it. I relaxed slightly, stiffly.

“I love you, baby. I never stopped loving you.”

“We need to talk.”

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