Taming the Wildcat (Sargosian Chronicles) (14 page)

“I don’t believe what I’m seeing.” He nodded toward the now behaving, silent warriors sitting in a semi-circle behind them. “They’re actually quiet.”

Turning to glance at Jei, Mikko and Kes briefly, she shrugged and smiled. “Of course they are. Haven’t you heard yet? The Wildcats actually have a
new
Commander,” she mock whispered, giving him a wink.

“Uhh, no, I hadn’t heard that,” he replied with a skeptical look.

Nodding, she plucked at her pretty beaded tank top as if it were a uniform in need of straightening.

“Yup. That would be me. Except I command the ‘Cats differently. My base of operations is located in the kitchen. If they want me to keep cooking and baking for them, they’ll do what I ask. It’s a very effective and logical way to run the unit.”

Saarday shook his head, looking baffled and impressed at the same time. He leaned forward, motioning with his finger in a “come closer” gesture. When she did, his voice was a low rumble in her ear.

“That’s fine by me if they listen to you that way, but so help me…if you ever jump in the middle of a bunch of warriors like that again, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” she challenged him, locking her gaze with his deep, green-gold-eyed one. She didn’t back down from confrontations. She had a feeling this one stemmed from the shock of seeing her disappear into the tangle of swinging arms, not from anger.

Saarday narrowed his eyes, but she couldn’t give in now. She wanted to still be able to hold her own with him, with all of them. It was just hard being the fragile little human woman sometimes.

“I’ll tie you to the chair--that’s what. Don’t do that again, okay? You could get hurt and then I’d have to explain how it happened, to my son.”

Reaching over, she squeezed his hand. She couldn’t be angry at him for being concerned for her, it showed he cared about her. At his mentioning of his son, she twisted around to look for him. Roz had been gone for longer than it took to just get another drink, or to go to the restroom.

It might have been a little over a month since they had found each other again, but a tiny part of her still worried it was too good to be true. That the tall, handsome Sargosian warrior was actually hers. She loved him so much she thought her heart would burst most days. Nights? Summer didn’t have time to entertain any worries then. Hell, most days as well.

If she weren’t on a patrol flight, she was with Roz. If he and the Wildcats weren’t out on a job, he spent his time with her. They were inseparable. They had been caught several times already and dragged before his father for not keeping their sex life limited to their quarters. Sure, Saarday had yelled at them the first ten or so times, but he gave up after that. Told them to try to at least find somewhere private to go at each other. His lectures fell on mostly deaf ears as she and Roz would still be giggling, kissing and holding hands right there in his office. Summer was convinced Saarday chased them out each time half worried they would end up on his desk, or just drop to the deck plating where they stood.

Hearing ‘Day bark, “Get a room you two—
Not this one!
” had sent her and Roz into a fit of laughter the last time, with him pulling her out of the office as Saarday threatened to throw things.

Frowning, Summer looked back at Saarday. “Have you seen Roz?”

Even Jei, Mikko and Kes dragged their chairs to sit next to her again.

“Have
any
of you seen Roz?” she asked, trying not to sound like the pathetic, clingy newlywed wife she felt like at that moment.

The music from the live band died down and she breathed a sigh of relief. While she loved music, the band was just a little bit too loud, which turned the music from musical into mere noise.

When it started up again, the soft chords of an acoustic guitar filled the room. A soft smile of pleasure curved her lips. At last, some decent music she could sit back and enjoy without feeling as if her brains were going to dribble out of her ears.

“Oh. My. Lady.”

Saarday’s whispered comment made her turn around and look at him, glass half raised to her lips. She’d never heard him use that tone before, and the look on his face matched it to a tee. Stunned, slack jawed, he stared at the stage.

A prickle of awareness rolled down her spine the instant before a rich, mellow voice started to sing. The sound filled the air, the words soft at first but full of feeling as the singer drew the crowd in, a hush settling over the crowded bar. She knew before she turned around who she would see on stage.

Roz had his guitar in his lap, his long fingers strumming steady and sure on the strings as he sang. His voice was unlike anything she’d heard before, deep and warm, achingly beautiful for all the roughness. An evocative sound that sent chills up her spine.

If the sound of his voice sent chills up her spine, the words he sang wrapped themselves around her heart. The lights had been lowered and he sat highlighted by a soft white light with a red overhead spot shining down on him. The muscles in his arm rippled under the red and black tattoos on his skin, making them look as if they were dancing on his forearm. Head bent as he played, his blond hair shining as brightly as spun gold under the light. Summer could barely breathe as he sang in front of everyone, but for her alone. Her skin prickled with goose bumps as the chills spread from her spine to the rest of her body.

He sang of forever and giving it up just to touch her. He compared her to heaven and how he’d never be closer to it than when he was with her. That he knew she understood him when no one else did. He didn’t want anyone else to know him the way she did. He sang of tasting moments, breathing her in…of how he hid from the world, but not from her. Tears that he had never let fall. Truth. Bleeding to know he was still alive. Of things that had broken in his life, and that he was lost before he met her, that none of it mattered as long as she knew who he was. It seemed as if he sang about almost every moment they had shared together since they’d met.

Roz had poured everything into his song.

All the times she had told him she loved him, or told him exactly how she felt, he hadn’t been able to tell her how
he
felt. He always showed her. At first, she had thought he just didn’t feel the same way she did, but deep down, she’d known he did.

She didn’t have any doubts about his feelings once she knew what to look for. Expressing himself with words just wasn’t Roz’s thing. He didn’t talk about his feelings, or his past. Deep down, she knew he had lost so much in his life—that he had to fight for everything he
did
have. He’d never have to fight for her love.

She wasn’t aware of getting up from her chair or moving toward the stage—toward him. Roz. She moved as if in a trance, her gaze locked on the gorgeous warrior with the heart of a poet, as he sat on stage, strumming his guitar and singing his heart out to her. The pace of the music sped up, building into a crescendo of powerful notes and sound as Roz’s voice got stronger and stronger with the chorus he sang.

Tears spilled over her long lashes as she was pulled by the irresistible gravitational force that was her husband. The moon couldn’t pull the tide with more force than the one that drew her to Roz. He breathed, she exhaled. They had become so inseparable, that she didn’t think of them as two beings anymore. They were one. Every time she thought she couldn’t possibly love him more than she already did, he did something that made her love him even more. Their love was boundless, without limits. Infinite.

Summer reached the edge of the stage just as the song came to the end of the instrumental interlude, the music soft and heavy with as much feeling as the words he had sung. Just a light melodic plucking from his amazingly talented fingers on the strings as he coaxed the softest notes out of the acoustical instrument. She was in awe of how beautifully he played.

He had looked down for most of the song, his eyes closed, or on the strings of the guitar, but his gaze was locked on hers now. His darkened eyes held hers in an unbreakable hold. She saw everything at that moment. She saw he’d love her forever and beyond.

His fingers paused over the strings. He took a deep breath as the music came to a brief and intense stop before plunging head first back into the chorus with such emotion and power it took everything Summer had in her not to break down crying in front of him. So she stood there, hands pressed together, fingertips barely touching her full lips, looking up at him with all the love and pride she felt for him, pouring out of her.

The song ended, and the last chords faded away. Slowly, he rose and handed the guitar to someone in the band. As he stepped down from the stage, his gaze didn’t leave her. It didn’t matter that the bar was crowded. It didn’t matter that the audience was on their feet in a storm of applause, and that several women in the crowd had tears in their eyes. All that mattered was the two of them, and the feelings he’d revealed. Not privately, but publically. In front of everyone. She’d thought he was shy, that he couldn’t say the words out loud. He hadn’t, he’d sang them to everyone.

He reached her, stopping just short of touching her. The heat of his body, a body she knew every inch of, every hard plain and line of muscle, beat at hers. He lifted his hand and touched her cheek.

“Summer. I love you.”

An hour later, they were back in their quarters and Roz had his head buried in the trunk hidden behind the couch in the main room. It was a battered old thing, and contained all his worldly goods…his life, in effect. It had his first tac-rig, the shoulder strap broken and frayed. An old KT pistol was stuffed down one side, missing its power pack and hand grip. Some old clothes he couldn’t bear to part with…a small book that had belonged to his mother: “Songs for the Lady.”

He reached in farther, flipping the clothes aside until his fingers closed on a carefully wrapped bundle. Knowing what it was by touch alone, he pulled it free and closed the trunk. The small parcel in his hands, he walked to the bedroom.

A smile crept over his face. Summer sat on the side of the bed, already in one of those sexy little slips he liked. He’d begged and pleaded until she’d bought more, especially in different shades of amethyst.

He loved to see her in purple. It reminded him of the first time he’d seen her. An angel with a wicked sense of rhythm on the dance floor. Swallowing, he looked at the parcel in his hands. What was inside was hers. By rights, he should have given it to her when he’d claimed her as his wife, but he hadn’t…he’d wanted to wait for the right time.

Wanted to wait until he could say the words to go with what was in his hands.

She looked up as he approached, a beguiling smile spread across her beautiful face when she saw him. His heart did a little flip inside his chest. He knelt in front of her, moving close enough to smell the sweet floral perfume that clung to her skin. Even her perfume brought back memories of those first few days together. As always, his nose had pressed to some soft spot on her, breathing her in. Memorizing her by her scent, just as his hands and gaze had memorized her body.

Looking at the wrapped parcel again, he held it out to her, like the offering it was. He gently stroked the wrapping that covered it. He felt as if he was offering her his heart all over again.

Clearing his throat, he spoke, and his voice was rough and low. He felt as if someone else was talking, while he watched himself from the outside.

“Summer. I’ve wanted to give you this for weeks,” he said as she reached out to take it. His heart hammered in his throat as she unwrapped it, a look of puzzlement on her face. Lady, he hoped she liked it.

“Among my people there is a tradition.” His lips quirked. “Yeah, I know. We got a lot of them. But this one is important. When a boy becomes a man there’s a ritual. The first battle, the first tattoo…”

He paused and ducked his head. He could do this, he wanted to do this. She unwrapped the final fold and a bundle of silk fell into her hands. Still looking puzzled, she opened it to reveal a heavily embroidered shawl.

“We also record our lives. Threads onto silk. Embroidery…I know for your species it’s not a ‘manly’ thing to do but for us…” he shrugged, adding, “every event in my life is recorded. Up to the point I met you. You’re here.”

He traced where he’d stitched her name, in secret, in the dead of the night. It had taken him weeks to complete without her knowing. He had switched to using purple silk thread once he’d started adding her to the shawl. Adding her to his life. It would forever be her color to him.

“Now I give my life to you, into your safekeeping, for you to wear so others know the regard I hold you in. How much I—I… How much I love you.”

He waited, watching as her long, slender fingers ran over the complicated stitches where her name was. Waited for her to say something—anything to let him know what she thought. When she raised her gaze to finally meet his, there was a sheen of tears in her eyes.

He was still getting used to the idea of humans crying when they were happy. It seemed awful silly to him to have such an opposite reaction. Summer had told him it happened because of an overwhelming amount of emotions—that it sometimes couldn’t be contained. Then she had gone on to mutter something about, “He shouldn’t try to figure out everything about women all at once.” Lady, wasn’t that the truth.

She carefully spread the shawl out on the bed, so all of the embroidery could be seen at once. It didn’t seem to matter to her that she couldn’t read what was on the silk. He waited patiently as she looked at every single stitch he had painstakingly made. She finally turned back to him with a look of wonder.

“Your entire life?” Her eyes shone, so full of love. He’d be looking into those eyes for the rest of his life, and he loved that she never hid how she felt from him.

“I’m so—” She seemed to struggle to find the words she wanted to say. She’d admitted she worried about saying the wrong things to him sometimes, but she still always said exactly what she thought. He couldn’t believe the way she thought of him. The things she said about him would probably mortify most warriors, make them feel less strong. Perhaps they worried their woman would think them soft to be described in those terms, but when she called him, “Angel” or beautiful, he knew it came from her heart. From the incredible love she had for him.