Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The quilt was too damn hot, but Rowan refused to kick it off.
If he kicked it off, or even if he moved, he’d have to admit he was awake, that he’d been awake for hours.
The glow of his watch showed it was just after one AM.
He should’ve been asleep or at least resting up for the op, but his brain was a traitor, and kept replaying the sounds Enya made when he kissed her, and the taste of her mouth.
His body was wired from it, his skin too tight, his pulse thrumming like a live wire.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, the stubble rough against his palm.
Go to sleep, damn it.
In a couple of hours, he would lead his team down the war-trail that was the Afghanistan border with Pakistan.
Tonight was possibly the only sleep, aside from a catnap on a CIA helo once they’d rescued Mikey Wilson from a cartel hellhole, that he was likely to get for at least forty-eight hours.
Sleep, resting his eyes, recharging the batteries, shut-eye, or whatever the hell you wanted to call it, should be his number one priority, yet here he was counting imaginary spots on his freaking ceiling.
“Fuck this shit.”
He tossed back the covers and got out of bed.
If he couldn’t sleep, then there were so many better things he could be doing, stuff that would help their mission.
Mercier’s call had been too smooth, too rehearsed, or some shit, and it set his teeth on edge.
The fucker was hiding something, and maybe he could figure out what it was before they were knee-deep in a firefight with no exit strategy.
He pulled on a pair of jeans and left the bedroom, but just as he was about to turn the corner and head toward the war-room, the soft glow of light from the kitchen stopped him in his tracks.
The scent of something warm and sweet lingered in the air, and the ding of the microwave enticed him to look and see if he was Gael or Enya, who also couldn’t sleep.
He paused in the doorway and leaned against the frame, watching Enya.
“Nuh-uh, Poppy, you can’t be up here.” Enya squirted some whipped cream from the can into a saucer, picked up the cat, and put her and the cream on the floor. “If Rowe sees you up here, you’ll be a barn cat by dawn for sure.”
Meow.
Rowan cleared his throat and bit back a snicker when both Enya and the cat whirled around to look at him. “She should be in the barn.”
“Lies.” Enya quickly washed her hands and pulled a mug down from the cupboard.
“You wouldn’t like to be turfed out of your home and shipped off to the barn, would you?
” She kept her back to him as he went to sit at the table.
“Scratch that. Knowing you, living in the barn wouldn’t bother you in the slightest.”
“You got that right, Darlin’. Whatcha doing?”
“Making a mug cake?”
“A what now?” he went to look over her shoulder. The mug was half-full of thick, chocolatey batter. She added another spoonful of sugar, then milk, and stirred it with the fork.
“Microwave mug cake.” She put the mug into the machine. “It just needs ninety seconds. And like magic, you have a mug of chocolatey goodness to fix what ails you.”
"Magic, huh?"
"Yep." She popped the mug into the microwave, set the timer, then turned to face him, leaning back against the counter. "You couldn’t sleep either?"
Rowan exhaled through his nose. "Too much on my mind."
The microwave hummed between them. Enya studied him, her gaze flicking over his face like she was reading something there.
Then the timer beeped. She pulled out the mug, the cake risen and steaming, and grabbed a can of whipped cream from the fridge.
A swirl on top, two strawberries plucked from a container, plopped beside it.
She slid it across the counter toward him. “There. A good-ole healthy chocolate fix. Have at it.”
Rowan raised an eyebrow. It was dubious that there was a damn thing healthy about what was in that mug.
“I hate to break it to you, but adding strawberries doesn’t count as healthy when you add them to the top of a mug full of chocolate and sugar.
” He fished two teaspoons out of the drawer and handed her one.
“It totally counts as healthy.” She grabbed her mug and took the spoon he offered her. “Strawberries are fruit, fruit is healthy, ergo, it’s a healthy chocolate cake.”
With his love of peach cobbler, he knew he didn’t have a leg to stand on in the healthy or not debate, so he dug into the mug with the spoon and popped it into his mouth. The cake was rich and warm, and the strawberries and cream cut the sweetness just enough. “Not bad.”
“Not bad, my butt.” She sighed happily as she munched on her treat. “Chocolate fixes everything bacon can’t.”
“Wait.” He paused with the spoon halfway to his mouth, “You made bacon, too?”
She nodded. “Well, not really bacon on its own, but I did make breakfast muffins with pancake batter, bacon, cheese, and maple syrup, so you guys have a snack to take with you when you leave later.”
He glanced around the kitchen, but didn’t see anything. His spoon clinked against the mug as he set it down. “You’re hiding bacon muffins from me?”
“They’re in the pantry, cooling off. I figured you wouldn’t want to have the one that Poppy licked.”
Yeah, no, I wouldn’t.
An emotion he didn’t recognize targeted his chest and scored a direct hit on his heart.
She’d been listening when he and the guys talked about the op earlier around the dinner table.
Enya had not just heard the words, but also understood what it meant to do the jobs they did.
That she cared enough about the early departure time, the long hours without food, and the way a man’s body could turn on him if he didn’t keep fuel in the tank mattered more than he would ever be able to find the words to say.
Most people outside the life didn’t get that.
They thought it was all guns and glory, not the grind of survival in the middle of nowhere with nothing but your brothers, your wits, and whatever MRE you’d stuffed in the pockets of your ruck before you spun up and the world went to hell.
He swallowed; his throat suddenly tight. “You didn’t have to do that.” His gaze lasered in on her mouth as Enya licked a smear of chocolate from her spoon, and he bit back a groan.
“I know. But I wanted to.” She peered into the cup, then added another swirl of whipped cream. “I know you guys have to leave soon, and I just… I wanted to do something for you, for all of you.”
Rowan exhaled and rubbed the spot on his chest where a weird ta-thump pounded under his skin.
He shouldn’t let her go down this road. Being the significant other of a Mercenary was a heck of a long, lonely road to travel, and it came with none of the back-ups and supports that were available to a military spouse.
There were no death benefits, and exactly zero pensions in contracting.
He knew better than to put even one toe over the line of starting anything with her.
Yet, every fiber of his being demanded he ignore what he should do—walk away—and do what he wanted to do.
Reach for her.
“Mmh.”
Hearing that sound coming from Enya dragged a ragged exhale from his chest.
Ping. Ping.
In his head, he could almost hear the links of the mental chains keeping him in place, as they shattered.
Ping!
And there went the last shred of control he possessed.
Shit!
His hand shot out, fingers curling around the nape of Enya’s neck with a possessiveness that should’ve terrified him—and given her startled ‘eep,’ it surprised the heck out of her.
“Come ’ere.” Need and desire stoked the fire burning through his veins, the fire that had been smoldering since the moment he’d first seen her—bruised, bloodied, but alive—in that godforsaken jungle.
His fingers tangled in the strands of her hair while every rational thought in his head screamed at him to stop, to slow down, to remember the weight of his responsibilities, the dangers of his life, the way love was a luxury men like him couldn’t afford… but he didn’t want to stop.
Her lips parted on a shaky breath, her tongue darting out to catch the last trace of chocolate from her lower lip.
I want to lick that chocolate off her.
His mouth crashed onto hers with little finesse.
Raw, desperate hunger raged through him as his lips claimed hers, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip before his tongue swept in to taste her.
She didn’t pull away. Thank God, she didn’t pull away.
He loved that she melted against him with a sound that was half gasp, half whimper, her hands flying to his shoulders, tugging him closer.
Her nails dug in through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, the sharp points of pain only fueling the inferno raging beneath his skin.
The cake sat abandoned as her fingers slid upward, threading into his hair with an urgency that bordered on desperation, like she was trying to fuse them together.
Rowan groaned, the raw and guttural sound torn from deep in his chest, as his free hand gripped her hip with bruising force.
He backed her against the counter, and she arched into him, her body molding to his as her thighs parted just enough to let him step between them, the heat of her pressing against the aching ridge of his erection.