Page 10 of Going Rogue (Tactical Operations & Protection (TOP))

Crane

“You’re a virgin.” The shock had knocked him back a step, but something else flooded his system. A fierce streak of possessiveness followed by a wave of excitement sent his blood sprinting through his veins. Rogue would be his—only ever his .

But as soon as the desire made itself known, a latent realization stopped him in his tracks.

She’s saving herself for marriage.

He hadn’t thought she was religious, but surely that had to be the reason. Because there was no chance this gorgeous woman hadn’t had opportunities.

While he waited, all the questions he’d had over why she kept pulling away found answers. It settled something in his being, knowing the why behind her actions. The hurt he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge drained away like sand through an hourglass.

Because she had his heart.

The moment she walked into his life, the whole of it belonged to her. For the last two years, it beat faster whenever she came near, craving her recognition, approval, and love.

Now, more than ever, he wanted to show her what they could be together. So much so that he had to fight the urge to touch her again.

“Rogue?” he probed when she hadn’t said anything.

Her face still shined as red as he’d ever seen it, making the few freckles along the bridge of her nose pop. “Yes.”

He hadn’t meant to embarrass her and stumbled over an apology. “It’s okay. A lot of people wait for marriage.” Not any I know, but . . . probably, a lot . “I’m not going to judge you.”

A strangled noise emitted from her throat before she said, “I’m not saving myself for marriage, idiot.”

Though it hadn’t been used in jest, he let the ‘idiot’ go. If she wanted to push him away, she had another think coming. “Then why . . .” The words were out before he could stop them. If the goal had been to make her less embarrassed, he failed—miserably.

No way would she answer. Willing to change the subject, he opened his mouth.

Anguish flashed in her eyes, and he stepped toward her without hesitation, ready to comfort her.

She turned away, leaving him staring at her tense profile.

Her hands fisted at her sides while her chest heaved with jerky breaths.

Whatever she was going through, he wanted to help her with it. When he would’ve reached for her, her quiet words stopped him. “I’m afraid.”

His mind instantly jumped to the worst conclusion, and he growled before he could stop himself, “Who the fuck hurt you, squirrel?” A crimson haze veiled his vision, firing his blood with rage. Whoever the fucker was, he would pay .

I’ll plant my fist into his nose until no woman ever wants to look at him again.

She faced him with a defeated sigh. “No one.” Her lips twisted into a wan smile. “That’s the point.”

Confusion cooled his wrath as he tried to decipher what she meant. It must’ve shown on his face because she took pity on him and explained, “I’m so afraid of getting hurt I’ve never let anyone close enough to try.”

A thread of loneliness weaved itself into her words. Hearing it, Crane said fuckit and wrapped his arms around her. He cradled her head to his shoulder and wondered what happened to make her so timid in this when she was a force to be reckoned with in everything else.

Her body relaxed, melting into his, and he tried not to think about how soft she felt pressed against his chest. How right. Everything with Rogue felt right . . . like they belonged together. If only she could see it.

When she sighed, his stomach muscles contracted with the desire to make her sigh in pleasure. He desperately wanted to give her that—watch her come apart in his arms .

“My father . . .”

The catch in her voice stalled his libido as his mind jumped to the worst-case scenario again . If she lifted her head, she’d see the murder promised on his face because he wanted to kill the man. If her father had abused her, he didn’t deserve to live.

Dinner roiled like acid in his gut at the thought of anyone hurting this precious woman.

I have to know.

The question burned a trail up his throat, but he swallowed it down. He wouldn’t force her to answer . . . not yet. She’d started to tell him; he’d give her the chance to finish. Breathing in to calm himself, he ran a hand through her hair, silently urging her to continue.

“My parents divorced when I was eleven. One day, he left and . . .” Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. “That was it. He abandoned both of us.”

Crane’s chest ached for the girl she’d been.

He didn’t understand how a father could leave his child.

His dad would never have done that. He knew he was lucky when it came to family.

His parents were still together, still in love, and apart from being overly nosy, he loved how much they cared about their children’s lives.

He came from a family of lawyers, and even though he was the black sheep, they respected his choices and loved him no matter what.

Wanting the same thing for Rogue, he squeezed her tight.

“I saw what it did to my mother. We loved him, and he left us without a second thought.” She pushed against his chest, and he loosened his hold as her head tilted to meet his gaze.

Her rum-colored eyes were dry, but sadness lurked among their facets like occlusions in a gem.

“His leaving destroyed her, and I never wanted to go through that. Ever.”

Crane had experienced many things in his thirty years; real heartache wasn’t one of them.

He’d loved his high school girlfriend, but after joining the military, they’d grown up and apart.

The ending of their relationship had been amicable enough.

They might not have parted as friends, but they’d both understood that what they’d had only existed in the past. He’d dated other women since, but none of them had made him wonder what their future would be like together.

The way he thought of Rogue now.

Whether she’d be willing to entertain the possibility when she’d remained so closed off until this moment was a different matter. The fear she’d admitted to stirred a need in him to help her overcome it, to be the one who could.

He hadn’t missed her use of the past tense and hoped they stood a chance, even if it had been an unconscious choice. Because he wanted the opportunity to convince her otherwise. He would show her they could be worth the risk.

Holding her gaze, he leaned down and kissed her forehead, breathing in the spice of her sweat, which always made him think of cinnamon.

When he released her, he grazed her lip with his thumb. The cut in her bottom one no longer bled, but dried blood crusted around the swelling. “Let’s clean this up.”

◆◆ ◆

Rogue

Rogue was perfectly capable of cleaning her own wounds, but she’d willingly submitted to Crane’s ministrations.

The man continued to surprise her. She figured she’d shocked him with her admission, but he hadn’t made her feel foolish over it.

If anything, the comfort and understanding he’d offered made her less self-conscious about her virginal state.

Her eyelids felt heavy as he tended to her cut, and not because she grew tired. His hand on her face, while he carefully swiped cool water over her lip and chin, shouldn’t have been erotic, but every nerve ending in her body seemed to buzz with life as if it were .

Sitting on the bed with Crane crouched in front of her, she fought against the pull low in her belly while his rough, callused fingers stroked her skin so tenderly.

It surprised her to see the liquid in the basin turn red since it felt like he barely touched her.

Because he could be so gentle in this, she wondered how he would be in the sheets.

It became difficult not to think about it when his mouth was close enough to hers that their breaths almost mingled.

What would sex with him be like?

Before she had a chance to ponder it, the Bedouin leader barged into their tent with a frantic shout and wildly waving arms. He spoke in such a rushed manner she had trouble understanding him.

Crane had surged to his feet, nearly spilling the basin of water.

She pushed it out of the way as she stood and tried to understand what was being said.

They fired words back and forth so quickly her head spun until one, in particular, landed on her ears and launched a shower of fear that drenched her body—militants.

“They’re here?” She wasn’t sure she’d asked the question aloud, but Crane reached for her hand.

“Almost. He’s going to hide us.” He thumbed a finger at the leader, but her legs had turned to jelly. She was getting really fucking tired of hiding.

“Come with me. Quickly.” The Bedouin leader lifted the tent flap and shooed them through it.

Crane’s hand still held hers, and she gripped it tightly, hoping it’d solidify the muscles that had gone slack with dread.

Would this nightmare ever end?

When they’d exited the tent, they followed the Bedouin man across the open desert, heading away from the camp. They were completely exposed, and she began to wonder if he was leading them to their death.

Maybe he’d agreed to turn them over in exchange for amnesty against his tribe. If she was him and he did plan to turn them over to the militants, she’d do it away from the camp, too. Far enough from the families there, he wanted to protect.

“Where’s he taking us?” she whispered to Crane as they trekked through the silent night.

“Trust me, squirrel.” Crane squeezed her hand with the statement.

But that wasn’t the issue. She trusted Crane. This Bedouin, however . . . the jury was still out.

After they’d walked about a hundred paces, the leader suddenly stopped. He knelt and tugged at the dirt. Astonishment dropped her mouth open when it slid away. He’d grabbed a cloth she hadn’t even noticed it was so well camouflaged. Its color blended perfectly with the ground around it.

Crane flashed his light at the spot the leader had uncovered, and she gulped. It was a spider hole, and she knew what the man wanted them to do.