Chapter Eleven
EMERY
REID MORGAN IS a tough guy to crack. He’s far different than any man I’ve ever met before.
But it’s more than the obvious—his muscular frame, broad shoulders built like he’s fresh out of basic training, his unreadable, piercing emerald-green eyes, military grade crew cut, and a beard that I imagine would pinken my lips if I ever got the chance to feel it against my skin.
No, it’s the way he moves, sharp and calculated.
He doesn’t speak unless he has something to say, and even then, he’s direct and to the point.
There’s no charm to him, no flattery. He’s not trying to impress me.
He’s steady and intense, and yet, I feel incredibly safe with him here in my cottage. Safer than I’ve felt all day.
I crack open my third beer, in an attempt to dull the ache in my chest, and move over to the couch.
Reid takes the one he’s nursing and another and follows me, parking himself in the armchair adjacent to me.
It’s only seven o’clock. I can’t imagine what we’ll talk about until I fall asleep and yet, I don’t want him to go.
He reaches for the television remote on the end table, right next to the note he left his number on earlier today and flicks the TV on.
“I haven’t figured out how to work it yet,” I admit, gesturing to the TV.
“Well, let’s get it going then.” He stands, moving over to the TV mounted on wood paneling above the fireplace.
He sets the remote down and pulls the TV off the mount just slightly, feeling for a cable box behind it.
When he finds it, he pulls it out just enough for me to see.
“Small cable box. You probably won’t get many channels, but it’s something.
” He presses a button and the TV turns on, first flashing a rainbow screen and then connecting to the local ABC station. Jeopardy is on.
Reid pushes the TV back onto the mount and returns to his chair. We sip our drinks silently, turning our focus to Ken Jennings and his three contestants.
Double Jeopardy appears on the screen and Ken introduces the next categories.
U.S. History
Marine Life
Environmental Science
American Literature
Tough Guys in History
Talk Like a Sailor
“The irony,” Reid mutters as Jennings reads the categories. I settle in, game face on, and shoot him a look.
When the first contestant says she’ll take Marine Life for four hundred dollars, I sit up a little straighter. Reid smirks, taking a swig of his beer.
“This process allows certain fish to glow in the dark ocean depths.” Jennings says.
“What is Bioluminescence?” I answer at the same time as the contestant.
“Lucky guess,” Reid chides.
“I’ll take Marine Life for eight hundred, Ken,” the same contestant says.
“The largest living structure on Earth, visible from space, is this reef system.”
“Great Barrier Reef,” Reid and I answer together.
He shoots me a satisfied look and warmth runs through me.
It’s been a while since I’ve felt anything remotely close to whatever this is.
For the briefest of seconds, Jason crosses my mind.
I always used to try to get him to watch Jeopardy with me.
He always waved me off saying it was my thing, not his.
These are different circumstances but still, Reid seems to be enjoying it.
I finish my drink in one long gulp and set the bottle on the coffee table.
Reid opens his next one at the commercial break, and I move back to the food, left untouched.
“Do you want me to try and warm up our food?”
He tips his head back, looking at me from behind, the smallest smile tugging at his lips. “I will eat it cold.”
“Suit yourself,” I say, bringing him his burger and some of the fries.
“You get used to eating at random times when you’re out in the middle of nowhere,” he says. “I’m just happy I get to eat whenever I want to now.”
I try to picture Reid, not in jeans and a worn T-shirt, but his desert camo, gear strapped to his chest, a rifle slung across his back. Moving through chaos with calm precision. Just like he’d done for me this morning.
I warm my burger and snag a bottle of white wine from the fridge before making my way back over to Reid. He watches me carefully as I unscrew the top and take a swig from the bottle, but he doesn’t say anything.
Jeopardy returns with the middle contestant asking for U.S. History for four hundred. Reid looks alert, fixing his eyes on the question.
“This document, adopted in 1787, begins with the words ‘We the People.’” Ken asks.
“The Constitution!” I shout, pointing at the TV.
Reid rolls his eyes. “Come on, that’s basically a freebie.”
“Don’t hate the player, hate the game, Morgan.” I smirk, leaning back on the couch and taking a long pull of the wine.
Reid watches me before picking up the remote, muting the TV, and shifting his body to face mine. “Are you okay, Doc?” The question is soft—all his previous sharpness blurring at the edges.
My eyes water on instinct and I sniffle. “I told you to stop calling me that.”
He gets out of his chair and sits on the other side of me.
The ancient couch creaks with his weight and he’s so close to me goosebumps rise on my bare legs.
The proximity makes my heart hammer in my chest. He takes the bottle of wine from me and sets it on the coffee table before taking my hands in his.
“Emery. Are you okay?” His voice has a slight rasp to it making him sound gentler than he has before.
Then my tears are falling again. If I thought I was all cried out earlier today, I was wrong.
Where Reid looked uncomfortable with my emotions this morning, he now opens his arms for me to fall into.
I give into the big heaving sobs, hiccupping into his soft gray T-shirt.
His strong arms fold around me and he shifts me into his lap, holding me in a way I’ve never been held before.
“I just can’t unsee it, you know?” I say, through my cries. “How am I supposed to forget it happened?”
“You won’t,” Reid says simply. “But you’ll learn to live with it to keep yourself safe. And in six months, you’ll go home and move on with your life.”
I nod, sniffling and relax into him, taking brief comfort in the image of celebrating Christmas with my parents and siblings.
His hand finds the small of my back, and he strokes lightly, until my cries slow and drowsiness takes over.
For having such a hard body, Reid sure is a soft place to land.
And then, I feel it—his desire making itself known.
Heat moves to my lower region before I can wrap my brain around what’s happening between us.
Do I want him? No. No way. It’s the alcohol. It’s the trauma bonding. It’s…hot.
I stay like that, curled into him, his arms pulling tighter around me.
We don’t speak, simply watching one another for some kind of reaction.
Beneath my sweatshirt, my nipples pull tight, and I’m certain wetness is gathering between my thighs.
Still, neither of us moves. I’m afraid if I do, the moment will pass, and we’ll both remember all the reasons we shouldn’t be here.
“Emery,” Reid murmurs, dipping his chin toward me.
“Uh-huh.” My voice hitches, only allowing a breathy sound to escape.
“This is a bad idea,” Reid says carefully. “I’m not—you don’t…” He lets his words fall away.
I sit up, feeling it then, his erection pressed tightly into his jeans. I press a palm to his cheek, feeling the prickle of his dark beard. Our eyes lock momentarily before Reid dips his forehead to mine and lets out a low growl.
“Not like this,” he whispers, but he still doesn’t move.
I lick my lips. “You make me feel safe.”
At this, Reid’s arms circle me tighter, pulling me close. “You are. You are safe with me.” Then he presses a featherlight kiss on my neck, so soft I almost don’t feel it. Tiny explosions of fireworks fill my belly, a feeling that fizzled out with Jason so long ago that I forgot what they felt like.
“I should go to bed,” I finally say, pulling back from his embrace. “I feel like I’ve been awake for a thousand hours.”
“Okay,” Reid says, nodding. “What do you need from me?”
“I’ll just…go get ready for bed and maybe you can come sit in there with me? Just till I fall asleep, I swear. Then you can leave.” I shift, feeling his bulge press into me, suddenly so desperately not wanting him to leave.
“Okay.” His voice is husky, thick, and I’m relieved I’m not the only one that wants whatever this is.
I clamber out of his lap and walk down the short hallway, pausing in front of the dresser. Sexy pajamas would send one message. An old T-shirt would send another.
I hesitate, then choose something in between—boy shorts and an oversized tee.
I tug my hair free from the bun on the top of my head, combing my fingers through it. Once I’m in bed, I call for Reid. In no time, he’s standing in my doorway, forearm resting on the door frame. His eyes find mine. I pat the space next to me, silently beckoning him to come lay down too.
He does. Kicking off his boots at the foot of my bed, he climbs on next to me. I flick off the lamp on my bedside table.
“Thank you for staying,” I whisper.
“You’re welcome,” Reid murmurs.
“You’ll lock up when you leave?” I clarify.
Reid laces his fingers through mine, beneath the blanket. “Mm-hmm,” he hums his agreement.
The last thing I remember before drifting off is Reid towering over me, brushing hair off my face and planting a soft kiss on my forehead.
I fully expect him to be gone when I wake up, but when I come out of my room in the morning, I find the food and bottles from last night cleaned up and Reid curled up on the couch under the hundred-year-old quilt.
He stayed.