Free The Gauntlet by Lindsay McKenna

the left. Cam Sinclair stood a few feet away, hands resting on his hips, his eyes narrowed on her.
    “Wh-what do you want?” she croaked.
    Cam came forward, fighting himself. Molly’s face was flushed with spent tears, her green eyes huge and luminous with those yet to be shed. Her blond hair was in disarray, her garrison cap clenched in her hand. A huge part of him wanted simply to crouch down, put his arms around her and rock her. With Molly, his protective mechanism was working overtime.
    Halting a foot away, Cam hunkered down in front of her, placing himself at her level. “I want to talk to you.”
    Sniffing, Molly avoided his stare.
    “Look at me when I’m talking to you,” he ordered tightly. Cursing himself for his harsh tone, Cam added, “Lesson number one—you stare your enemy in his face. Don’t ever lose eye contact. It’s called a bluff. Whoever blinks first, loses.”
    Molly forced herself to hold his gaze. “Are you my enemy?”
    “No.”
    “Really? Then why are you here? To rub salt in my wounds like you did the last time?”
    Cam scowled. “When was that?” When had he hurt her?
    With a muffled sound, Molly said, “You sided with Lieutenant Norton just now in the debrief room without ever seeing the video.”
    Recalling the conversation, Cam shook his head. “Hey, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings in there. I was giving you an opportunity to defend yourself by suggesting that Norton watch the video of your flight.”
    Her eyes rounded. “It sure didn’t sound like it.”
    “Did it ever occur to you that it was your job to fight hard enough and long enough to force Norton to look at your video, not mine?”
    “I will not raise my voice and act like a three-year-old child to get my way, Captain Sinclair.”
    The anger in her eyes was real, but it didn’t transfer to her voice. What had stoved Molly up so badly that her anger was short-circuited against herself? “So you played martyr instead, and took the fall whether it belonged to you or not.”
    Molly’s mouth dropped open. “How dare you!” She leaped to her feet. She wasn’t fast enough. Cam unwound like a tightly coiled spring, straightening and reaching out, his fingers wrapping around her arm.
    “Running—again?” he taunted close to her ear.
    “Let me go!”
    “Or what?” Her flesh was firm and supple, and Cam longed to open his arms and give her the safety she needed. But to do so would weaken her, not help her.
    Glaring up at him, Molly whispered, “Or nothing. Please let me go.”
    “Will you stay and talk, not run?”
    His fingers felt like a hot brand against her arm. Impatiently she said, “Yes, I’ll stay!”
    “Good.”
    The gentleness of just that one word shook Molly. His face was still hard, but his voice had turned warm and coaxing. She stared up at him, not knowing what to make of him.
    “Now, come on. Let’s sit down and talk.”
    “About what?” Molly demanded petulantly, sitting cross-legged on the sand. Cam positioned himself a foot away, opposite her.
    “You.”
    “Look, if you’re going to sit there and rip me up—”
    “Ensign Rutledge—” Oh, to hell with it. “Molly, give me a chance. You’re behaving like I’ve got a report card or something to deliver. I don’t,” he said softly.
    When he whispered her name, Molly sat very still. She tried to wrestle with her fear that he was going to expertly dissect her performance today. Her entire life since leaving home had been exactly that: a report card. She was held accountable for every minute of her life. She feared that he’d point to her mistakes just as her father and Scott did.
    “Look, I can’t take a dressing-down right now. I’ve had about all I can take.”
    “I understand.” Cam didn’t, but he was going to try. Opening his hands in a gesture of peace, he urged, “Tell me about your father. I know your mother died when you were ten. What’s he like?”
    Completely taken off guard by his questions, Molly