“You fantasize about me?” She rolled to her side as he kissed her neck, his hands tunneling farther under the wrap. “When?”

“In bed, in the shower, hell,” he growled against her skin, “when I’m eating dinner, which can be awkward if there’s a mess hall full of people around.”

“Oh really?” She liked knowing that he was thinking about her. “What did you do?”

“I sure as hell didn’t stand up.” His hand trekked over her stomach, cupping between her legs. “I hung out there moving food around on my tray until it was safe to stand up. The smell of mess hall chow still makes me hard.”

She appreciated that he was trying to be lighthearted, to ease the tension of preparing to say good-bye while making the most of this weekend. And the way his fingers were toying with her now, she almost forgot her doubts. But it was getting tougher and tougher to play along as time ticked away.

Still, she would try, because the last thing she wanted was to say good-bye with tears or anger. She’d seen that kind of parting too many times with her parents. “Women have fantasies too, you know.”

He grinned wolfishly. “Now you’re talking.” He rubbed small circles, her arousal slicking his fingertips. “What kind of fantasies did you have about me?”

“You would be surprised.” Dreams of dinner in a totally nonexotic kitchen that happened to be in a house they owned together. Hopes of children at that table, with precious chocolate stains on their faces… Normal stuff.

Real life.

“Seriously, Stella? You’ve been holding back?” His erection throbbed against her thigh, his jeans not doing much to disguise how much he wanted her. “I think I would know by now if you had… edgier tendencies.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said, but not knowing how to tell him.

“Too bad.”

Whoa. Wait a second. “Really?”

“Nah…” He stopped teasing and cupped her hip, his eyes dark and serious. “I’m not into pain myself and the last thing I ever want is to hurt you. So, what do you want that you’ve been hesitant to ask?”

Stella stared back at him, the face of the only man she’d ever loved… and she couldn’t say it. She could face down armed gunmen, but she couldn’t bring herself to voice how much she wanted happily ever after with Jose. She was afraid he would say no.

Maybe lighthearted was the way to play it this weekend after all. “Do you promise not to laugh?”

“Hand to God…” He clapped a palm over his heart. “I would never laugh at anything to do with you and sex. I take that very seriously.”

“A kilt.”

His jaw went slack. “What?”

“You promised not to laugh.”

“I’m not laughing. I swear. I’m just… stunned.”

“Never mind.” She sniffed.

“No, hey, I’m not backing down.” His arm slid around her back and he pulled her flush against him. “I’m starting to groove on the whole kilt thing if that’s what you want. I just didn’t expect it. You’re so logical.”

“Logical women can’t be fanciful?” And have dreams that didn’t involve guns and international plots, instead settled into desk jobs where they could serve their country and still have a life.

“What else goes with this kilt?”

A home filled with his babies. “You shirtless, of course.”

She swiped the edge of her wrap along his chin. “We could even use a sarong as a tartan.”

His brow furrowed and he watched her while cars honked and beeped on the street below. “You really are dreaming big. How did I miss that about you these past five months?”

Suddenly, they weren’t talking about sex or playing dress-up games. She couldn’t hide her longing for more. “Do you ever wonder what we’re doing here?”

“I’m here to save lives. One at a time. How about you?”

“Pursue bad guys around the world, I guess.” Uncover the truth about her mother’s death. “Except sometimes it’s tough to tell who the bad guys are when some seem to keep switching sides back and forth.”

He traced the furrows in her forehead. “There’s an Arab proverb that goes something like ‘People fear time. Time fears the pyramids.’ Which I interpret as ‘take each day as it comes. There’s a picture bigger than us going on.’”

“You’re not helping me.” Not when she so desperately wanted to talk about the future, their future, not some existential view of the whole freakin’ world.

“Okay, how about this one?” He lifted a lock of her hair, rubbing it between his fingers. “‘God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change. Courage to change the things I can. And the wisdom to know the difference.’”

His alcoholism. There it was. The big pink elephant in the room, the issue that guided every decision he made regardless of how long he’d been sober.

She accepted that but couldn’t understand why he couldn’t allow himself to celebrate his success, to move on and have the happiness he deserved. “Where do we fall in that philosophy?”

“Honestly? If I had my way, I would tuck you someplace safe, because thinking about you out there…” He reached into his jeans pocket and tossed a coin onto the mattress where it bounced once before settling.

His five-year sobriety coin.

He stared at her with tortured eyes. “I want to get you the hell out of this place.”

A cold chill started in her stomach. She hadn’t considered until now that her work, this mission, would be a threat for him, could be a stressor that sent him over the edge.

“I’m good at my job, trained, just like you are.” She scooped up the coin and pressed it in his palm, holding on tight. “I’ll be okay.”

“I get it, Stella, I do. But that doesn’t make this feeling go away.” His eyes closed, the tendons in his neck straining. “How the hell am I going to make it if something happens to you?”

She squeezed his hand. “I could say the same.”

“So this is it,” he said against her loose hair. “We’re laying it out there on the line, that crazy-ass, unconditional love that tears a person up inside.”

She kissed the heavy pulse throbbing in his neck. “Uhm, I was thinking it’s a crazy-ass love that lifts you up, makes you happy. But you don’t look very happy. In fact, you look like you want to run.”

“I should run, Stella.”

Her gut twisted. This wasn’t taking the direction she’d hoped.

“Jose, this could be my last mission, then I could step out of the field and take a desk job cracking codes and writing new software. If you’re not ready to step out of the field yet, I understand. I want you safe too, but I can wait on that part as long as I know you’re coming home to me.” She swallowed hard then blurted, “Let’s get married.”

There. She’d said it.

His cheeks puffed with an exhale, the rest of his body going very still for a heartbeat too long. “Did you just propose to me, woman?”

“Did you just call me ‘woman’?” Her heart was still stinging from his hesitation.

“Fuck. I did.” He scrubbed his face with his hand. “Sorry. I try to be more enlightened than that. Let’s move in together.”

It was her turn to pause, to mull over his words and tamp down her disappointment. She tried to reason through the fact that she was likely moving too fast. She should just be patient, logical.

Except her feelings for Jose had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with impulsive emotions. “So you’re saying a long engagement?”

“I love you, no question; I want us to get this right. I can’t let you down.”

That helped—a little. She almost managed to overlook the panic on his face. “As long as I know we’re headed in the same direction, building a life, a family together, I’m good.”

“Kids?” His strangled tone left zero room for misinterpretation.

She bolted upright. “You don’t want children.”

How the hell could she have missed that? She’d heard him talk about his niece and nephew, heard his love for them and just assumed…

Sitting up on the edge of the bed beside her, he stared at the coin in his palm. “It’s the alcoholism thing.”

Her hand fell to rest on his knee. She had to touch him, to make some connection as she felt him slipping away from her. “Plenty of reformed alcoholics have children.”

“It’s deeper than that for me.” His hand opened and closed around the coin, waves crashing outside their scenic window. “My sister, Bianca, she didn’t just get out of the army. She was forced out.”

“Because of her drinking?” she prodded carefully.

“In a roundabout way, but not what you’re thinking. We all knew about her alcoholism. Hell, once she got old enough to drive, she took the money Dad left for us each day and went out partying with her friends. But she was one of those drunks who just gets sloppy and cracks jokes, so people overlooked it.”

“As opposed to the drinker who turns violent?” What kind had his mother been? He’d never indicated beyond mentioning he’d stayed clear of the house as much as possible.

“I’m not saying either kind of drinking is right.” He glanced over at her. “I’m only saying the ‘jolly’ alcoholic tends to get away with it longer, people stick around. Hitting rock bottom comes later, maybe because folks enable longer. But make no mistake, it still comes.”

“As it did for your sister?” And from the weary lines in his face, she feared what would come next, ached for the pain it caused him.

“Her husband was in the military too. When he was deployed overseas, she was stateside with their kids and vice versa. Combat stress along with the pressures of military family life pushed her the rest of the way over the edge. I’m not making excuses. There is no excuse for what she did.”

Her gut clenched, but she still asked, “What happened?”

“One night, she started the hot water for the kids’ bath and passed out. When Michael jumped into the full tub, it was scalding water.” His breath grew ragged, each word forced as if he had to punch them free. “He had burns on eighty percent of his body. My sister was so out of it, she didn’t even wake up. My niece pulled her brother onto the bathroom floor and called 9-1-1.”

The image he painted, the horror of what had happened to his family, she couldn’t wrap her mind around it. The silence roared with the crashing waves and a pain inside Jose so tangible she could swear she heard the rage inside him.

“Oh my God, Jose. I can’t even imagine…” Some-times there just were no words. “Your nephew…?”

“He survived, barely.” His voice went raw, his fist so tight on the coin a trickle of blood seeped out. “But he still has scars.”

She stroked his hand, carefully prying his fingers open. “It sounds like you all carry scars of some sort from that day.”

“In the darker days, I can’t stop thinking if I’d helped Bianca that wouldn’t have happened.”

“You also know your sister would have hit rock bottom another time, another way.” She thumbed off the blood on his palm and kissed the tiny wound, a symbol of one so much bigger inside him that had never healed. “And what about your mother? Was she alive then too?”

“She’d died a couple of months before, but she would have only been a drinking buddy. Hell, so would I.” He set the coin on the bedside table by the elephant lamp. “Once we knew that Michael was going to live, I went to my commander and told him I needed to go to rehab.”