Free Operation Sheba by Misty Evans Page A

body for comfort, for the consoling protection only he could provide. But it had been too long since she’d found comfort in his arms. So much had happened in the last year, the last twelve hours even, that she felt out of sync, her mind and heart struggling to catch up. After squeezing his hands lightly, she pulled hers out of them, stood and walked away from him, trying to sort out the tangled logic. Love for him making the impossible choices he had made competed with the anger she felt over his arrogant manner of manipulation. Exasperated, her voice came out stronger now. “I understand what you did and why you did it, but I still don’t like it. In fact, I hate it.”
    Conrad huffed out a sigh, but nodded once in acknowledgment.
    Moving to the doorway, she leaned on the frame, ran a hand over her face. “Germany. Now I finally understand why you were always running off to that hellhole. God, I hated that country. Do you know how many nights I laid awake in our bed in Paris wondering what you were doing? I imagined you sleeping with a beautiful young fräulein or, worse, lying dead in an alley somewhere.”
    Conrad still said nothing, but his eyes were sad, watchful.
    “Then came the bomb,” Julia went on. “Synchronized watches and an explosion that happened two minutes sooner than planned.” She shook her head. “Me, sitting helplessly inside the car, my body in shock, my mind totally unsure of what had happened. I prayed that night, Conrad. I prayed you’d come running around the corner any second and I could breathe again.” She took a deep breath and blinked back tears. “But I knew, deep in my gut, you were never coming back. And it was my fault. I built that bomb and it went off early.” She steeled her attention on him. “I thought I killed you.”
    Julia could see him visibly struggling with shame and guilt. His gaze went down to the floor, came back up to hers. Was it a silent plea for forgiveness she saw in them or only weariness? Before he could speak, she cut him off. “Only, my bomb didn’t kill you, just my life with you.” She wiped an errant tear off her cheek. “I want to be angry with you and this wicked deception you pulled on me, but all I can feel is sadness and regret lodged right here.” She tapped her chest with a fist. “You sacrificed your career and your life to save me, so it’s hard to feel self-righteous after that, but your betrayal has still broken my heart all over again.”
    Conrad moved for her then and she held out a hand to keep him back, but it didn’t work. As soon as he grabbed her, the fight in her dissolved. She stiffened only slightly as his arms went around her and his grip tightened. He kissed her forehead and stroked her hair. Tears fell from her eyes and soaked into his shirt.
    “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
    If she tilted her head up, she could kiss him. For a moment, Julia actually considered it. The kiss they’d shared that morning in Michael’s bed had been surreal, weird, almost frightening. The kiss earlier in the evening in her bedroom had been shy and left her with a miserable ache of need. Miserable but desirable at the same time…she wanted to feel his lips again, wanted to suck the heat from his body and the tongue out of his mouth…and…
    In the background, Smitty cleared his throat. Loudly. Julia moved back and drew in a ragged breath. Conrad looked down at her, his eyes grave and watchful again. And maybe a little heated, but now was so not the time to be thinking about kissing Conrad.
    Smitty shuffled papers on the coffee table and tried to look like he hadn’t been watching them. Julia stepped away from Conrad and set her focus on Smitty instead. It was easier to control her emotions if she wasn’t looking at Con. It was easier to think. And she definitely needed to think.
    “So, Michael was right when he told me Con’s death was not my fault.” She was pleased at the matter-of-factness in her voice as she spoke to Smitty.