Navy Seal Dad

She turned away, not wanting him to see the pain in her eyes. Steeling herself against the feelings he stirred in her, she said, “You’ll have to forgive me, if I find your claim about missing me somewhat convenient.”

“Convenient?” he repeated, genuine puzzlement in his voice. “Just what is it you’re accusing me of?”

Having regained some measure of control over her emotions, Rachel turned around to face him again. “I’m not accusing you of anything,” she told him evenly. “I’m simply saying that after all this time without a word from you, you find yourself back in New Orleans and decide to look me up and tell me how much you’ve missed me.”

“It’s true.”

“Is it? Or maybe you thought it was a good line and you’d use it to talk your way back into my bed. After all, I was pretty accommodating the last time you were in town,” she said, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. “So I guess I can understand why you might think I’d be interested in picking up things where we left off. And maybe I would be if—”

“Don’t,” he said the word softly, but there was no mistaking the steel behind the warning. She caught the icy glint of anger in those blue eyes. “I never used you, Rachel. Don’t cheapen yourself or me by pretending that I did.”

The truth of his statement shamed her. “You’re right, of course. You never used me, Mac. You didn’t have to. I allowed myself to be used.”

“Rachel.”

He reached for her, but Rachel stepped away. She turned her back to him, not wanting him to witness her shame. “You’ll have to forgive me. Having your lover tell you to forget him…to go find yourself a nice guy with a safe, nine-to-five job to fall in love with has a way of making a woman feel particularly stupid.” Hiking up her chin, she turned around to face him again. “But I’m a lot smarter than I used to be, Mac. Which brings us back to my question. Why are you here?”

“Because I didn’t follow my own advice.”

Rachel frowned. “What do you mean?”

He pinned her with hard blue eyes. “I mean I didn’t forget you. I haven’t been able to forget you—no matter how hard I’ve tried.”

Rachel blinked, caught off guard as much by his reply as by the dark heat behind it. Emotions surged through her like a storm. Pleasure. Hope. Fear. But it was the fear and the memory of all those long and lonely months when she’d prayed for Mac to contact her, to tell her he wanted to give their love a chance that kept her anchored now. She was no longer a naive woman who could be easily swept off her feet by the handsome Navy SEAL. She was a single mother with responsibilities. And she couldn’t afford to play emotional games with the likes of Mac McKenna.

“It’s true. There hasn’t been a single day in the past two years that I haven’t thought about you.”

Shaken, Rachel clutched the clipboard to her like a shield. “Why are you doing this?” she demanded, wanting to believe him, afraid to believe him. “What do you want?”

“You,” he said evenly. “I want you, Rachel.”

The breath stalled in her lungs. Rachel squeezed her eyes shut, striving to keep her emotions in check.

As the code came across the loudspeaker for her to report to the E.R., Rachel snapped her eyes open. “I have to go,” she told him, and started for the door suddenly glad for an excuse to escape. She needed time to think, time to figure out what she was going to do. The last thing she wanted was to read more into Mac’s words than he meant.

“What time do you get off?” he asked, following on her heels as she exited the employees’ lounge.

“Not until four o’clock.” She started toward the elevators with Mac matching her steps.

“I’ll pick you up.”

“No!” Rachel swallowed and, lowering her voice, said, “I…I have plans.”

He didn’t like it. She could see it in the set of his jaw, the way his eyes narrowed. “All right. When?”

“Tonight,” she said, praying Chloe would be able to watch P.J. for a few extra hours that evening. Mac followed her into the elevator and the doors slid shut, locking them in the confined space alone.

“What time?” he asked, looming over her so tall, so strong, so fierce. She’d almost forgotten how devastating Mac McKenna could be. No, that wasn’t true. She hadn’t forgotten. She’d simply tried her best to forget.

“Rach, what time?”

“Seven o’clock. Irene’s in the French Quarter?” she suggested and immediately kicked herself mentally for choosing the restaurant they had frequented as a couple.

“Irene’s is fine. I’ll pick you up at say six-thirty?”

The doors of the elevator slid open. “I’ll meet you there,” Rachel told him, and hurried out before he could object.

She wasn’t going to show, Mac conceded at half past eight that evening. He tossed back the last of his wine and motioned for the waiter.

“Another glass of merlot while you wait for your lady, Commander?”

“No thanks, Sergio,” Mac replied, still amazed that the man who’d been a fixture at the Italian eatery two years ago, when he and Rachel had frequented the place, actually remembered him.

“Then perhaps you will allow Sergio to bring you a small appetizer, just a little something to tide you over until the lady arrives.”

“Thanks. I appreciate the offer, but I’ll just take the check.”

“But your plans for dinner…” he objected.

“Are off. It doesn’t look like the lady’s going to make it.”

“Ah, a pity,” the older man said with a frown that formed a crease between his brows that extended to his receding hairline. He placed the black leather folio with the bill on top of the table. “I am sorry.”

“Yeah, me, too.” After a quick glance at the check, Mac dropped a twenty inside—enough to cover the cost of the two glasses of wine he’d nursed while waiting for Rachel and a generous tip for the disappointed Sergio.

“Thank you, Commander,” Sergio murmured as he picked up the folio. “You and your lady will come to Irene’s again soon and ask for Sergio, yes?”

“Sure,” Mac replied.

But don’t count on it, Mac added silently because he didn’t hold out a lot of hope that he would be dining with Rachel at Irene’s or anywhere else in the near future. Picking up his hat, Mac headed for the exit. Even if he hadn’t completely blown things by showing up out of the blue at the hospital today, the chances of Rachel wanting to share so much as a cup of coffee with him were slim at best. While she hadn’t thrown him out, she hadn’t exactly welcomed him with open arms, either. Her crack about his reasons for coming to see her had gnawed at him all day. Was that how she remembered him? As some sort of stud who had used and discarded her? The idea that she might believe such a thing filled him with self-disgust. If she did believe him so callous, she’d probably only agreed to meet him in the first place in order to get rid of him.

Not that he blamed her, Mac conceded as he stepped outside into the chilled night air. If whatever she’d once felt for him had been replaced with resentment, he supposed he deserved it. And probably a lot more. To say he’d handled things badly two years ago when he’d left was an understatement. He’d flat-out bungled it, he admitted. The truth was he hadn’t wanted to leave her, and that fact alone had left him scared spitless.

Lost in thought, he scarcely registered that the weather, unpredictable as always, had gone from a balmy breeze to a brisk November wind. Unfazed by the sharp bite of cold air that met him when he turned the corner, Mac walked down the dimly lit street. As a SEAL, he’d been trained to master his body’s reaction to swift temperature changes, be it Arctic winds or desert heat. What he hadn’t been trained for was this sense of…uselessness.

Picking up his pace, Mac continued determinedly, striding headfirst into the cold gusts that swept through the narrow French Quarter streets. He walked faster, needing to burn up some of the restlessness churning inside him—a restlessness that had begun long before the minefield explosion that had damaged his hearing and had only worsened since he’d been placed on medical leave. But as he walked the historic streets of the city, Mac’s thoughts kept turning to the last time he’d walked these same streets. It had been hot then. Hot and humid as only New Orleans in September could be. And he’d been with Rachel.

He cringed at the memory of her face when he’d told her he was leaving and that she should forget him. As long as he lived, he’d never be able to erase the image of her brave but tremulous smile, of seeing the light go out of her eyes. He’d handled the situation with all the finesse of a bull in a china shop. The fact that he’d been in over his head and had been shaken by how important she had become to him, to where those feelings for her would lead him, didn’t excuse his actions.

Nor did it excuse the fact that he’d hurt her. Deeply, he suspected—despite the fact that there had been no tears, no accusations, no pleas for him to change his mind. But he’d known he had hurt her just the same. He’d seen the hurt in those sad gray eyes when he’d told her a clean break was best. He’d heard the hurt in her voice when she’d told him that she understood. And he’d tasted the hurt when she’d kissed him goodbye and wished him well.

And now here he was more than two years later showing up to ask her…

To ask her what, McKenna? To give you a second chance?

Hell, he didn’t know what he wanted to ask her or even how much he wanted to tell her. Maybe it was just as well that she had stood him up tonight. He would have probably made a fool of himself if she had come. His thoughts turned inward, Mac barely noticed the sidewalk musicians as he crossed the street and continued down to the next block. As a SEAL he hadn’t been able to offer Rachel any future. No way would he have asked her to commit herself to him knowing that the very nature of his job meant he might not make it back from one mission to the next. He’d learned firsthand the damage that kind of selfishness could cause. But now…

Now what, McKenna? What kind of future could he offer her now? Why should Rachel settle for a man who was damaged goods. Not even the SEALs wanted him anymore.