Page 73 of Ford

He touched her arm, something friendly, but of course she had to feel it all the way to the core of her body. The softness in his voice didn’t help either.

“You did make a difference. A couple months ago, when I was nearly ambushed, you saved my life.”

Her voice cut low, almost a growl. “You mean when I screamed? In the middle of the Center of Operations? And then when you were safely on the chopper, when I nearly lost it in the bathroom?”

His mouth opened slightly. “You did?”

Oh, she shouldn’t have told him that because he looked just a little vulnerable, like he hadn’t realized—shoot. It didn’t matter what he realized.

They wereteammates, and for the love of Pete, she had to get that through her hard noggin.

His voice lowered then, and oh my, if he didn’t possess all the charming, deep, husky tones of danger. “You still saved my life, Red.”

“Hardly. You had it all under control. I probably distracted you, at best.”

He frowned, but before he could argue, she shook her head. “You would have been much better off without me.” She turned back to the compartment. “I don’t know. Maybe Gunnar would be too.”

Inside, Ford had set up a little lunch, complete with coffee and bread and cheese he’d purchased onboard somewhere. Spread it all out on a tablecloth.

Like they might be on a date or something.

Probably trying to make her forget that if they didn’t get across the border—with Ham’s visa papers, no less—they weren’t getting into Russia.

Really, she wanted to keep all her fingernails.

That was a bit melodramatic, but she didn’t have a clue what she planned to say when some gray-coated Russian official asked her why she had Trevor Benson’s visa papers.

She hadn’t gone to SERE—Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape—training. She hadn’t a clue how to withstand torture.

Ford obviously wasn’t worried, because he charged into the compartment after her, more focused on her meltdown statements of self-pity than their imminent arrest.

“What are you talking about? How on earth would Gunnar be better off without you?”

At least he didn’t ask the obvious—how wouldhehave been better off without her.Hello.

She rounded on him. “I don’t know the first thing about being a caregiver! I spent my entire life—”

“Taking care of your mother!”

She blinked at him. “No, I…I spent my entire life wanting toescapeher. To be nothing like her. To…”

She pressed her hand to her mouth. “To matter to her.” She sank down on the bunk. Looked up at him, not sure where all this emotion might be coming from. “I so desperately wanted my mother to…to like me. To tell me that I was hers and that she wanted me around.”

“That she was proud of you.”

“It would have been enough to be wanted.” Oh, had she really said that? She wrapped her hands around her waist.

“You are wanted, Scarlett.”

She looked away, but he came near her, touched her face, nudged it back to his to meet his eyes. “If you only knew…”

She closed her eyes, unable to take the way he was looking at her, a sort of sad, nearly pity—

He kissed her.

Just wrapped his hand around her neck and pulled her face to his and kissed her.

Oh. And it wasn’t an exploratory, sweet kiss, one that asked a question, but one of surety and focus and…