He bumped arms with her when he returned, the hint of a crooked smile on his lips.

She gestured to her shirt. "Better?"

He grinned, and it was that old Marco smile she loved. "For my sanity? Yes."

She held out a hand to him. "Come on, funny man, let's eat."

Marco spent the dinner service riding an emotional roller coaster. Acting on whatever his feelings were for Alyssa had taken him into the heavens. She was passionate and honest, giving and playful. Totally open to life and experience, willing to try anything, do anything. Her very presence was both exhilarating and comforting. And if making out in the water had been that explosive, he could only imagine what it would be like to take her to his bed.

But then his conscience told him it should never have happened. Jesus, he'd behaved like a horny teenager without a care in the world, and he'd had to hightail it over to Betty to clean up the mess afterward. It could never happen again. And that was a double kick in the gut because of the way Alyssa had been looking at him since the moment they'd gotten out of the water. And everybody they worked with saw it.

By the end of the night, Marco had just about talked himself down from his high, and his heart felt darker than normal for having had the fleeting experience of happiness in her arms. He followed her home like he always did but kept on driving when she pulled in front of the house. God, he didn't even know what she might be expecting at this point, but he was sure it wasn't his usual disappearing act. He imagined her disappointment and anger and mirrored those emotions back at himself. He'd definitely made things worse.

Marco merged onto the interstate with no particular destination in mind. He just needed the distraction of speed and the roar of the wind through the car. He analyzed the situation from every conceivable angle but the amazing chemistry and connection between them did nothing to fix all the reasons being with her was so wrong. Foremost among them was that the weight of his guilt, his grief, his self-loathing-his living hell-would ruin her. And he could never inflict such emotional violence on someone as innocent and trusting as Alyssa Scott.

And then it struck him. What if she never had to know?

The thought was such a revelation that Marco had to pull off at the next exit. On the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, he paced back and forth in the glow of the Mustang's headlights. Maybe he could give her the Marco she wanted, the Marco he used to be.

She didn't have to know the details of what happened in Afghanistan, nor how it had shredded him inside. He didn't have to share the disappointment and fear and loss that flowed through his veins. He could be the Marco he'd been at the lake today, laid-back and social and affectionate. He wouldn't have to act to convince her of those things, either. Alyssa made him want to be better, want to be everything, for her. Remembering the return of decent sleep and the decline in frequency of his nightmares, Marco was willing to believe that, before too long, the other parts of him might begin to heal as well. And then maybe he wouldn't have to act at all.

The problem of Brady's approval flitted through his mind, but Marco was suddenly so high on hope and relief that he easily pushed the concern away.

Back in the car again, Marco barreled out onto the highway and gunned it for home. Now that he'd found a way to let himself have the comfort and pleasure of Alyssa's love, he couldn't stand being separated from her. It took forever to retrace the twenty miles he'd aimlessly driven, but before long he was parking the car, running up the front steps, and coming home to his Alyssa.

The house was quiet. His stomach dropped in disappointment. It was pushing two o'clock in the morning, but that didn't diminish his yearning to hold and touch her. He stepped into her room-perhaps soon to be their room-and seriously considered waking her. When had he last felt this rush of anticipation and contentment?

Alyssa lay sleeping on her stomach, her face toward him. He stroked silky strands of hair off her face, but she didn't stir. And then he remembered the dark circles, and her bloodshot eyes.

Guilt pooled in his gut. She'd finally managed the good, restful sleep she'd needed this past week. No way he could wake her, no matter how eager he was to claim her as his own.

Morning was only a few hours away. He'd just have to wait.

Resolved, he made quick work of changing and preparing his bed, but he found himself too keyed up to contemplate laying down and being still. He returned to the kitchen for a bottle of water and the blinking red light on the answering machine caught his attention. He adjusted the volume and hit play.

Brady. Calling via the world's worst telephone connection. The majority of the short message was too soft or too crackly to understand, and Marco couldn't help but roll his eyes. Nuh uh. Not a chance, world. If he could find a way to work around the gigantic mess inside his head, he could find a way to win over Brady. Hell, if he played this right, he'd be able to prove to Brady that he deserved her. That he was worthy.

Marco's stomach gave a nervous twinge at the thought of going around his best friend, but he just took a long swig of water and decided not to think too closely about its meaning.

He eventually gave in to the lure of sleep and collapsed on the futon. He turned this way and that, fought with the covers, and couldn't seem to find a position where his arm didn't ache. Goddammit.

Once he managed to drift off, he found himself right back in his own special corner of hell. The compound was typical. Mud walls surrounded an outer court. The house inside was square, also built of mud. In the very center would be an interior court where the women worked. The traditional nature of the housing made it more predictable.

Something about the yard bothered him, but it was just nerves. His intelligence was good. Checked and double-checked. Months of work had gone into this moment, but it would be worth it when Wentworth was back with them where he belonged. Undercover missions were so damn iffy, and Wentworth had stayed at it a day too long. Their team was about to fix that.

Unease sank through his gut. He couldn't place his finger on the source of his discomfort. Probably just the adrenaline rush. Or the anticipation of doing the job. Or the sweltering sun.

The twelve-man team moved in, Brady just behind Marco. Over the ridge. Behind scrub. Into a ditch. They met no resistance.

His heart sprinted in his chest.

No. Nonono. Marco thrashed, cursing himself.

"Shh. It's okay. I'm here."

Marco frowned, then gasped. Alyssa. Alyssa was...here? His gaze tore across the scrub to the compound. Oh, no. Oh, God, no. She couldn't be in there.

"Alyssa," he called. If he didn't stay quiet, they'd hear him, but he couldn't restrain himself. If anything happened to her...

"I'm right here, Marco. You're all right." Her cool, soft hand stroked over his brow and into his hair.

Marco turned toward the touch, completely confused about how he could be feeling her, but needing her like a starving man needs a buffet.

The compound disappeared, and there was only that soothing touch. And then that, too, disappeared.

Marco didn't want to wake up. When it had finally come, the sleep had been so damn good, he wanted as much of it as his body would give him. He turned onto his side, encountering a delicious warmth that called to him until he craved more. His fingers found skin and in his mind's eye, he smiled. Oh, yeah. He liked this kind of dream a helluva lot more.

Something tickled his nose. And again. He wanted to brush it away but couldn't move his hand. What the hell?

His eyes creaked open and for a long moment, Marco was unable to figure out where he was or...who he was with. A pile of long chocolate hair brushed his stomach and covered one hand. His other was...

"Alyssa?" He shook her. "Aly?" He raised his voice. "Aly!"

Alyssa flew into a sitting position and struggled to focus her gaze in the early morning light. Her hair fell over her face and she pushed it back. Oh, crap. How the heck was she going to explain this?

An array of emotions whipped across Marco's face too quickly for her to decipher. "What do you think you're doing?" The words came out in a clipped staccato.

She opened and closed her mouth, unable to find an explanation he'd believe, one that wouldn't reveal what she knew. "I, uh..." Her eyes skittered around him, avoiding the blazing blue of his gaze. "I'll just-" She withdrew her hand from his.

Marco grabbed it, his fingers holding her wrist. "No. Not before you tell me why you were...what? Sleeping half on the floor...with me?" He tripped over the final two words.

"I...I...don't know. It's no big deal." She attempted a smile that felt completely unconvincing.

His eyes narrowed. "What's not a big deal?" He studied her like he might find the answer on her face.