Masters at Arms - By Kallypso Masters Page 0,72

bare arm.

Of all the things she thought she’d hear him say after the scene in the bar room, that was the last she expected. Karla blinked away more tears, her bravado evaporating quickly. She’d expected him to continue to be all businesslike and distant, not so…caring.

Her tearfulness reminded her of the time she’d wrecked the family car when she was eighteen. She’d been fine until her dad had asked if she were okay.

“Are you okay?” Adam asked, concern in his voice.

The same question. Now all the emotions she’d tried to bury the last two months resurfaced. She began shaking, unable to form a coherent response. She steadied herself with a hand against the back of the chair. Tears blurred her vision. Then she felt Adam’s strong arms surrounding her, holding her up.

Safe. Adam.

She took in a ragged gasp of air, then a wrenching sob poured from deep inside her chest.

“Shhhh. It’s going to be okay.” He turned her around and pressed her against his rock-hard chest and his hands stroked her hair. She felt his heart beating against her cheek as she wrapped her arms around his back, holding on as if he were a lifeline. She wept grief-stricken tears mixed with tears of joy to be holding Adam once again.

She’d tried for two months to remain strong for her parents’ sakes at the funeral and to make sure everything was beautiful for Ian’s funeral. Then she’d tried to continue to tamp down her emotions and grief so she could return to New York and function again.

Fail.

“What’s happened, Karla?

She shook her head, not wanting to put into words what she still didn’t want to acknowledge. The tears she couldn’t dam up any longer spilled onto his chest. Oh, no! She pulled away and saw the blackened spots on his white shirt.

She reached out to touch the stains as more tears spilled. “I’m sorry, Adam.”

He cupped her cheek in his hands and tilted her head back until she saw his face swimming before her eyes. “It’s just a f…god-damned shirt. Karla. Tell me what’s wrong. Come. Sit with me.”

He led her over to a black leather loveseat she hadn’t noticed before. He sat down and, rather than have her sit beside him, pulled her onto his lap. She’d fantasized about being held by him like this, but he was her new boss, wasn’t he? Totally inappropriate.

Adam. Her friend. He knew everything about her. Over the years, in her letters, she’d shared more with him than she had with Ian, her parents, or her girlfriends.

He’d saved her once. She so needed saving again. But she was too broken this time for anyone to save her.

* * *

Adam hadn’t felt this helpless since he’d watched Joni dying, except maybe for Fallujah and its aftermath. Something tragic had happened to Karla. He needed to know what, so he could make it better. Nothing rotted his gut more than feeling so fucking helpless.

“Are your parents all right?”

She nodded, but kept her gaze on her lap. Thank God. Jenny and Carl had taken him in that Thanksgiving morning and treated him like, well, a brother. He’d feared perhaps something had happened to one of them.

Then, was it Ian? No, her brother’s deployment had ended a while back. Adam knew he’d made it home safely from Iraq. But they were redeploying units so fast these days. Had he gotten hurt?

“Ian?”

She squeezed her eyes shut and wrapped her arms over her stomach, holding herself as she tried to curl over into a ball as if to contain the pain. She nodded her head, and a mournful sob escaped her lips.

Oh, God no. Not her brother.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his chest. He held her as she sobbed. She adored her older brother more than anyone in the world. He’d seen that in her letters as she’d bragged about his commendations and activities.

“Tell me what happened.”

He didn’t want to hear the words, but knew she needed to speak them, just as talking about his nightmares had helped Damián. Again, she shook her head. The scent of her citrus-y shampoo drifted to his nose. Adam brought his hand up and held her head closer to his chest. He stroked her face. Her hair. Her face. Her skin. So soft. She felt so right in his arms—and that was so fucking wrong.

God, she was so young.

So hurting. He’d never been able to resist reaching out to help a lost soul.

“Karla, tell me what’s happened to Ian.”

He