Hell or High Water (Deep Six #1)(77)
“Are you experiencing any joint pain or dizziness? Any shortness of breath?” she called to him, frantic to hear his voice. She’d never forgive herself if—
“Nope,” he told her, whipping off his goggles and shaking the seawater from his shaggy hair. The burnished-gold locks glinted in the light sparkling off the water and she squinted, not able to look directly at him. He was like the sun himself, all bright and beautiful. So damn beautiful. He grabbed the ladder and tossed his fins and goggles onto the deck. “And my dive computer says there were no decompression violations. I should be good to go.”
“It’s too soon to tell,” she insisted. Mason and Bran grabbed his arms and hauled him aboard. Water sheeted off him and his equipment, creating an immense puddle at his feet that gathered in the grooves of the deck before racing back to rejoin the sea. “But nearly half of the cases of DCS present symptoms within the first hour, so if you don’t show any signs of—”
He leaned over and smacked a kiss on her lips, effectively shutting her up. “Relax, darlin’. I’m fine.”
Darlin’. The endearment went all through her, and it sounded delicious in his Deep South accent—dawlin. No one had ever given her a pet name before. Well, there was that French asset she’d slept with a time or two who’d called her “ma belle.” But he’d only done it when he was in the middle of an orgasm, so she figured that didn’t really count.
“Did you get the package?” he asked, shrugging out of his tanks and handing them to Bruce, who was waiting nearby. The crew of the Black Gold had been extremely helpful, thanks in no small part, Olivia presumed, to the former positions she’d learned they held in Britain’s Royal Navy. They had probably taken part in their fair share of operations just like this one where the name of the game was Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. As for Maddy? Well…as far as Olivia could ascertain, the woman was just flat-out imperturbable.
“Yes,” she assured him. “Mason swam out to retrieve it as soon as it surfaced. Captain Tripplehorn agreed to lock it in the Black Gold’s safe until the A-Team arrives.”
Having shed his gear belt and dive computer, Leo reached behind his back and hooked a finger in the loop of the cord attached to the wet suit’s zipper. Pulling it down to his waist, he peeled the neoprene off his arms and chest. Miles upon miles of tough, tan skin glowed with health. And when he lifted one arm to glance at his diver’s watch, the muscles in his arms and shoulders bulged.
“Speakin’ of,” he said. “Shouldn’t they be here by now?”
She shook her head. “I called…uh…my boss.” She was careful not to name names since it was common knowledge that Morales was the director of the CIA. And until he told her otherwise, she was keeping as much information as she could about who they were and who they worked for from Maddy and her crew. “I told him the package was safe. He said to thank you, and—”
“I didn’t do it for him,” Leo rumbled, giving her a “look.” One that was full of heat and promises of dirty deeds done between cool, cotton sheets. Oh God.
“I…I know you didn’t,” she whispered. He’d done it for her. Because he had a thing for her, a carnal, complicated thing—though she suspected the “carnal” part was something they shared while the “complicated” part was hers alone. That two-eternity hour had given her a lot of time to think, to delve into the depths of her feelings for him.
And what had she found down there, do you suppose? Well, none other than…love. An ocean of the stuff, deep and warm and endless. How she could have missed it all these months was beyond her. But it probably had something to do with the fact that she hadn’t felt the emotion for anyone since her mother died, and had never felt romantic love at all, so it’d been hard to recognize. Also, if she was being completely honest, for a year and a half she’d studiously kept herself from looking too hard at her feelings regarding Leo. Scared shitless of what she’d find.
But now that she had looked? Well, there was no un-looking. So, yeah. She loved him. Like a magnet loves metal. Like a flower loves the sun. Like fish love the sea, and any and all other applicable comparisons. Intrinsically. Unquestionably.
Who wouldn’t? There wasn’t a man alive who was as brave or loyal or sexy as Leo. As funny or as kind. In short, the guy was lovable. That’s all there was to it.
Fat lot of good it does me.
Because, just like Bran said, there was no future for them. There might have been a chance once. Before Syria. Before she lied to him about…well…everything. And before her deception forced her to make a decision that ultimately got his friend killed. But not now.
“Anyway,” she went on, disguising the lump in her throat by blowing out an exaggerated breath, “he said the A-Team wasn’t able to fix their propeller, and they’re having to limp our way on one engine. They should be here pretty soon, though.”
“Uncle John would say they’re like a blister,” Leo said, and she cocked her head. “They don’t show up until the work’s all done.”
“Oh yeah. Right.” She glanced out at the softly rolling sea. He’d made a joke, but she couldn’t even fake a laugh. She was going to disappoint him. Maybe even piss him off. But there was no way around it. At least none that she could see.