Radclyffe - Word of Honor

Finally she had fallen asleep and dreamed of shells bursting in a moonless sky, raining fire down on an earth that shuddered under the onslaught of exploding mortar rounds until the sound of Emory’s movement outside her closed door had pulled her from the midst of battle. Dana swung her legs over the side of the bed and scrubbed her hands over her face. She’d gone to sleep as usual in a T-shirt and boxers, both of which were damp now. She cocked an ear but heard nothing, the apartment as quiet as if she were alone. Maybe she was. Maybe Emory had gone upstairs to see her friends. Maybe she’d decided not to stay after all and was on her way uptown to her hotel.

Dana bounded from bed and was ridiculously relieved when she opened her door to see light coming from the other end of the apartment. She walked down the hall and discovered Emory sitting at the kitchen table staring at Dana’s computer.

“You’re up early,” Dana said.

Emory regarded Dana as she stood at the end of the hallway. Her dark hair was disheveled and her face pale beneath her tan. Her nondescript gray T-shirt clung to her torso, damp in places with sweat. Her arms and legs, her whole body, was lean and tight. She wasn’t beautiful, not in an ordinary way, but she was nevertheless breathtaking.

“I woke you. I’m sorry,” Emory said.

“No.” Dana’s voice was brittle with fatigue. “I got thirsty.” She made her way to the refrigerator and pulled out a can of soda. She held it up. “Want one?”

“No, thanks.”

Dana leaned against the counter and sipped the soda. Barefoot, Emory wore a white ribbed tank top and loose navy sweatpants. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and it was obvious. Although petite, her breasts were full with a hint of dark nipples beneath the white cotton. In the desert, Dana had gotten used to seeing women and men in various states of undress, and although she might notice a woman’s attractive body, it hadn’t made her throb the way looking at Emory did. She had to concentrate not to reach down and pull her boxers away from her suddenly very sensitive flesh. Aware that Emory was watching her, she asked, “Are you okay?”

Emory drew one foot up onto the chair and wrapped her arms around her knee. “Restless. I didn’t think I was going to fall asleep, I was so keyed up, and when I did…” She shrugged.

“Bad dreams?”

“Anxious ones.” Emory contemplated what terrors had visited Dana in the night, because she gave every sign of having awakened from a nightmare. “How about you?”

Dana was so used to avoiding any kind of personal conversation, she almost gave one of her noncommittal answers. Then she thought about the fact that she was alone with a woman at four thirty in the morning, and she didn’t want to pretend it didn’t matter. “I’m still getting the last skirmish out of my system. It’ll be another few weeks before I adjust to sleeping in a bed and not listening for incoming fire.”

Emory frowned. “Are all your assignment so dangerous?”

“No, usually they’re really cushy ones like this.” Dana smiled and Emory laughed.

“Oh yes, tonight was nothing but fun and games.” Emory glanced toward the digital clock on the stove. “I wonder if Cam is back yet.”

Dana noticed the familiarity with which Emory referred to the deputy director. Whatever had happened to bond that group together, it had been significant. “When did you meet all of them?”

“Last month in…” Emory shook her head. “I don’t even know how to have a conversation with you because I’m afraid anything I say will end up in print.”

Dana pulled out a chair and sat down facing Emory. She nodded toward her computer. “Were you looking for something? My notes on Blair Powell, maybe?”

“What? No! I saw it and wanted to check my e-mail for messages from the lab, but then I realized I couldn’t just use your computer.” Emory couldn’t believe Dana was insinuating she might be going through her personal documents. “Why would you even think I was reading your notes?”

“I don’t.”

Emory narrowed her eyes, astonished that Dana could anger her so easily. She was used to dealing with confrontational, argumentative, even obnoxiously rude people without losing her temper. Dana made a mildly insulting insinuation and she completely lost her composure. “Then why did you ask? You don’t know me well enough to make that kind of accusation.”

Dana rested her elbows on her knees and supported her chin on her interlaced fingers, grinning slightly. She tilted her head from side to side. “Well, you don’t know me, either, but you suspect the worst.”

“With good reason,” Emory snapped. “I watched you questioning everyone you could tonight, including me. That’s what you do. It’s all a means to an end for you, isn’t it?”

“I was working part of the time tonight, you’re right,” Dana said, struggling not to let her temper take over. “Does it make any difference to you that the White House specifically requested that I do this job? And the deputy director—Blair Powell’s lover— insisted that I do it? Do you think I like following the first daughter around, imposing on her privacy?” Angry at the situation and angrier still that Emory blamed her for it, Dana shot to her feet. “I’d rather be back in Afghanistan being bombed.”

Emory jumped up as Dana stalked away and grabbed her wrist. “Don’t say that.”

Dana spun around. “Why?”

They were so close, Emory could see the tiny flecks of silver in Dana’s eyes. Heat poured off Dana in waves, and Emory didn’t know if it was from anger or the simple force of her personality. Whatever the cause, it ignited her inside and she felt her nipples tighten in response. Completely unbidden, she brushed Dana’s cheek with her fingertips. “I don’t know. It scares me to think of you in danger.”

Dana sucked in a breath and closed her eyes. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“What?” Emory asked, her voice so low and husky she didn’t recognize it. She didn’t recognize her body either. Her limbs felt liquid, and her breasts ached. She looked down and realized she still held Dana’s arm. She wanted to guide Dana’s hand to her breast, knowing somehow those strong, tanned fingers would turn the ache to pleasure.

“Don’t touch me like that.” Dana opened her eyes to find Emory staring at her, her lips parted in faint surprise, the expression in her eyes absolutely unmistakable. “Unless you want me to touch you back.”

“I don’t know what I want,” Emory said. “I don’t know why I feel this way.”

“What way?” Dana whispered.

“Like I want your hands on me. Like I’ve always wanted that.”

Dana groaned and took a step back. “The last twelve hours have been crazy. You’ll feel different when the sun comes up.”

Emory laughed a little unsteadily. “I said I wasn’t worried about you seducing me. I didn’t think I’d be the one doing the seducing.”

“You haven’t seduced me yet.” Dana gently disengaged her arm from Emory’s grasp. Emory’s fingers were soft, so soft, and she knew she’d be dreaming about those fingers gliding over her body for a very long time. “But I’m weakening really fast.”

“I’m sorry.” Emory flushed with embarrassment. “I don’t want you to think I’m one of those women who wants to bed her lesbian friends just to see what she’s missing.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m not that easy to offend.” Dana grinned.

“Besides, I’ve had some pretty good times with married women who wanted a little no-strings fun for an afternoon.”

“I’m not one of those women,” Emory said sharply. She instantly pictured Dana with some sexy, curvaceous model type tumbling around on a motel room bed in the middle of the afternoon and felt a surge of jealousy that was completely foreign to her. When she and her husband had stopped having sex, she thought he might have gone outside the relationship to satisfy his needs, and the possibility never bothered her. She wasn’t even involved with Dana, and she hated the thought of her pleasing another woman. Or being pleased by one. “God, I think I’m losing my mind.”