The spark of heat from earlier made a comeback. Instead of squashing it, I let
it burn, mentally shrugging my shoulders. At twenty-eight, the flash bang of sexual attraction no longer knocked me for a loop. I could be female enough to
enjoy this moment without indulging. We would return to the horrifically gory reality waiting outside the cabin door soon enough. Besides, I didn’t want to stop
my visual study. Too much waited to take its place.
His black T-shirt failed to hide his defined muscles. It stretched across his broad shoulders to lie against his flat abdomen, before tucking into the
waistband of his jeans. Almost every marine I ever met had some level of muscle definition—swimmer sleek or no-neck thick. Kayden managed to hit the
sweet spot between lean and mean, and weightlifter.
I carried the tactile memory of mapping the sleek muscles under that broad
chest. The tattoo I spotted earlier peeked under one sleeve. Dark tribal lines curled around a solid bicep. That was new. His skin held a burnished hint of sun,
the color broken by scattered scars, the white marks telling their own stories. His
long-fingered hands rested against his stomach, just above where his leather belt
wrapped around a narrow waist. Long legs and scuffed desert combat boots
completed the picture. No way anyone could mistake him for anything other than a straight-up warrior.
He shifted against the cushions and my gaze went to his face. He was watching me, the blue of his eyes had lightened to a storm-tossed gray. “I’d tell
you take a picture, but you probably would.”
I struggled to keep my blush from rising. It was a losing battle. “My
camera’s still packed.”
“I saw some of your pictures in a gallery in San Diego, about a month ago.”
I looked away, knowing which photos he was talking about. The same photos
which led to my invite to chase the four-footed wildlife in Alaska.
“They were…”
When he trailed off, I finished, “Brutal?”
“Real.” His correction brought my gaze back to his. “Some I recognized.
You took while you were on tour?”
I gave a short nod.
“But the others?”
“Came after.” After my discharge, when being home left me feeling
displaced. It hadn’t taken long to pack up my camera and head back where my
nightmares roamed.
I hid the truth of my trip from Kelsey, telling her it was a proposed photo shoot for a national magazine. I spent seven long weeks retracing my steps over
the shifting sands to those places and faces haunting my nightmares and my darkroom. The ravaged villages, shattered families, and hollow-eyed children may have disappeared, but their ghosts still walked the desert landscapes. The soldiers who tried to save them had paid a heavy price, sometimes too heavy.
Someone had to bear witness.
“Why?”
“I had to finish what I started.” My simplistic answer barely scratched the complex surface. Revisiting the past was one of many steps needed to move forward.
“Did you?”
Around the lump in my throat, I pushed out, “Yeah, for now.” There were times when I thought I left the panic, the fear, and the uncertainty of choices I had made behind. Then, when I least expected it, they would sneak up and kick
me in the ass.
“So why photography?”
“Safer to shoot a camera than a gun?” My statement switched to a question.
He slowly shook his head without raising it. “No, I’ve seen your records.
