Wild Revenge. Sandra Marton

horses. He’d always get this look on his face and tell me to mind my own business.” He shrugged. “But I don’t think he really let it all go to hell until the last few years, while I was … away.”

      Away. Addison looked at him. Away seemed a strange way to describe being in a war, getting wounded, doing something heroic enough to win an important medal.

      “How long were you away?” she said softly.

      A muscled knotted in his jaw.

      “Too long,” he said, after a minute. “And maybe not long enough.”

      He turned away from her … and her breath caught. A series of vicious scars pocked his right shoulder. Without thinking, she reached out and touched her fingers gently to the raw-looking flesh.

      He jerked back, grabbed his shirt from the floor, shrugged it on and reached for his jeans.

      “Oh, Jake, I’m sorry. Did I hurt—”

      “I’m fine.”

      Addison reached out to him but his posture was unyielding. Instinct warned her not to touch him.

      “I didn’t mean to—”

      “I just don’t want to talk about it.” His words were clipped as he rose to his feet. “I’m going to make coffee.”

      “Jacob. Wait—”

      “I said I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Go on. Get dressed.”

      Moments ago, they’d been part of each other. Now …

      Now, she grabbed the duvet and dragged it to her chin.

      She was entirely naked. Not just her body. Her soul. Her heart. In less than twenty-four hours, she’d become terrifyingly vulnerable, something she had spent most of her life avoiding.

      She must have made a sound. A whimper. Something, because he swung toward her.

      “Goddammit,” he said. “Honey, I’m sorry.”

      She shook her head without looking at him.

      “No. No, that’s okay. I just—I just—”

      Jake cursed, strode back to her and gathered her tightly into his arms.

      “It isn’t you. It’s me, honey. I don’t talk about it. What happened. I don’t talk about it to anybody.”

      She nodded. “I understand.”

      He almost laughed.

      She didn’t. She couldn’t. Hell, he didn’t understand it, and he lived with it.

      “I flew Blackhawks,” he said. “Do you know what they are?”

      “Helicopters?”

      “Yeah. Big, bad birds. They can carry damned near anything to a battlefield. Troops. Equipment. Anything.” His voice roughened. “And they can carry things off a battlefield. They can do medical evacuations, provide cover and get men who’ve been pinned down, men who are dying, out of harm’s way.”

      “Jacob, don’t.” She put her fingers lightly over his mouth. “You don’t have to—”

      “Sometimes things went right. I was lucky. Sometimes, I wasn’t.” His mouth twisted. “After a while, you start keeping score, you know? Two saved. Two lost. Two bastards taken out, permanently. That kind of thing.”

      “It must be awful. To lose men. To have to wonder what will happen next.”

      “Yeah. But, like I say, you keep count. As long as your numbers stay ahead, you stay sane.” He paused. “And then,” he said, in a low voice, “then, one day …” He shuddered. “I can’t talk about it. Just—just leave it alone.”

      “Whatever you want,” she said softly.

      He stared at her while the seconds swept past. Then he groaned and wrapped her in his arms.

      They sat that way for a long time. The fire in the brick hearth burned down to cinders.

      Finally, Jake sighed.

      “That’s more than I’ve ever told anyone,” he said softly.

      He hadn’t told her anything, not really, but she knew what he meant. He’d let her see beyond his wounds, to his pain.

      “So,” he said, and she could see how hard he was searching for something to lighten the moment, “so, one confession deserves another.”

      She smiled. “You think?”

      “I know.” He smiled, too; the smile was almost real but it still had a way to go. “For instance … it’s late, we haven’t eaten all day. So, I’ll let you in on a Wilde secret.”

      She sat back and widened her eyes.

      “You turn into a werewolf at midnight.”

      He laughed.

      “I know how to cook.”

      Addison clapped her hand to her chest.

      “Be still, my heart.”

      “Just tell me what you want for breakfast, or lunch, or whatever in heck this meal is, and I’ll go down to the kitchen and put it together.”

      “Hmm. How about pancakes?”

      “How about Jake Wilde’s famous scrambled eggs and onions? Or Jake Wilde’s dee-licious fried cheese sandwiches? See, the real confession is that I can cook, but only those two things.”

      She laughed.

      “Okay, your turn. You have to confess something to me.”

      You’re wonderful, she thought, but she didn’t have the courage. Besides, she knew it had to be something that would make him laugh.

      “My name isn’t Addison.”

      Jake touched the tip of her nose with his finger.

      “No?”

      She shook her head. “No.”

      “Huh. What is it, then? And how come you changed it?”

      “If I were to tell you what it is, you’d understand why I changed it.”

      “What’s this ‘if’ stuff, McDowell? You’re supposed to be telling me something here, not just telling me your name isn’t Addison.”

      “My lips are sealed.”

      “They are, huh?” His smile turned masculine and sexy; he pushed her back on the bed and kissed her mouth. “Well,” he said softly, “I guess I’ll just have to find a way to unseal them.”

      She let him do just that. Then she smiled and linked her hands behind his neck.

      “Okay. You’ve worked your magic. Bend down so I can whisper my secret.”

      Jake complied. He put his ear against her lips … and, suddenly, what she was about to tell him didn’t seem so funny anymore.

      Nobody knew her real name. Why would she admit it to him?

      “You don’t have to tell me,” he said.

      “No?”

      “No. Because I figured it out. Your real name is Rumpelstiltskin.”

      That did it. She laughed. And said, “My name is Adoré.”

      Jake didn’t laugh.

      “Adoré,” he said softly. “Adoré,” he said again, as he gathered her to him. “It’s a beautiful name, sweetheart. Almost as beautiful as you.”

      She blushed.

      “You think?” she said with girlish delight, and he tumbled her back against the pillows.

      “What