Chapter Seven
Three days. It had been three days since Decker kissed her in the lodge library, and she hadn’t managed to run into him once.
And not for lack of trying.
She’d lingered in the dining hall during the times she usually saw him. She invented reasons to check the stables when she knew he’d be caring for the horses. And she’d walked into the lodge library a number of times hoping to bump into him.
Nothing.
It was like the man had vanished into thin air, which was particularly frustrating considering they lived on the same ranch.
She was on the verge of barging into Carson’s office and demanding to know if Decker had been sent away for training, even as she knew how silly that sounded. Her brothers would train a new member of Black Heart Security themselves.
The rational part of her brain—the part that sounded suspiciously like Carson—kept reminding her that Decker was probably busy preparing for his new role.
Orientation and training, but she didn’t really know what Carson put new recruits through, since Decker was the first one outside their family.
The irrational part of her brain, the part that kept replaying the way he’d cupped her face and flipped her world over when he kissed her, was starting to wonder if he was avoiding her.
Maybe he’d realized that getting involved with the boss’s sister wasn’t the smartest career move. Maybe—
Her phone buzzed with a delivery notification, cutting off her spiral of increasingly dramatic scenarios. The tactical gear she’d ordered had arrived, and the driver was at the main gate waiting for a signature.
Willow barely scanned the notification before grabbing her truck keys. She had to intercept those packages before one of her brothers got there first because this was her chance—her excuse to seek out Decker without looking like she was seeking out Decker.
She would simply be delivering equipment to a new team member. Perfectly professional. Completely innocent. She really didn’t want to mess things up for him.
But her resolve to stay away wavered as her pulse quickened at the thought of seeing him.
As she jumped into her truck, she automatically glanced around for him—he always seemed to turn up whenever she went into Willowbrook. But the parking area and yard spanning between the house and the lodge were strangely empty.
She quickly bumped down the driveway and collected the packages. When she returned, she parked and rushed straight to the office.
Her long strides ate up the hall, boots thumping with every step. She peeked into Carson’s office, and he looked up from sharpening a tactical knife.
“Decker’s gear arrived. I’ll give it to him.”
His mouth twitched at one corner. “Okay. Tell him we’re all going to the bar tonight to celebrate our new team member.”
She set a hand on her hip. “That’s the first I’ve heard of this plan.”
“You would have if you’d attended the meeting this morning.”
“I was working with Serenity.”
It wasn’t a complete lie—she had exercised Juliette’s gentle mare—but in hopes that Decker would show up and fold his arms on the top rail of the fence, tracking her every move.
“I’ll let Decker know when I give him the gear.” She already had a foot over the threshold when Carson’s voice rang out.
“Willow?”
She stopped in her tracks and twisted.
“You’re invited to the celebration.”
A sliver of warmth threaded through her. “Are the other girls going?”
“No. We can’t have distractions.”
That was code for her sisters-in-law were safer at home.
She narrowed her eyes. “I’m surprised you’ll let me come.”
He grunted. “You’re part of the team. Besides, no one is getting through all of us.”
With her mind whirling, she returned to her truck and gathered the boxes into her arms. With them stacked high, she rested her chin on top to steady them and used her backside to push through the front door of the lodge.
A couple vets rounded the corner on the way to the rec room and stopped when they saw her. “Can I help you with those boxes, Miss Willow?” one asked.
“No, but thank you, Tray.” She threw him a smile and continued toward part of the lodge that was off-limits to her…until today.
The private rooms spanned the entire wing, two stories high. When her brother Oaks worked with the architect, he made sure they could accommodate forty residents. Currently, they were at max capacity, something that weighed on Willow. The thought of turning away anyone in need made her heart ache.
Since it fell on her to assign the rooms to residents, she already knew which room was Decker’s. End of the hall on the right. View of the south field—her favorite.
Juggling the boxes, she managed to knock on the door.
Only seconds passed before he swung it open.
She stopped breathing.
Oh god. Decker was fresh out of the shower. Wet hair. Shirtless. Jeans low on his hips.
His muscled chest dewy with moisture.
Her mouth dried out, and she forgot the English language as they stared at each other.
“Willow.”
“I brought…”
A present. Me.
“Your gear,” she said instead.
Warm brown eyes panned her face. Lingered on her lips.
Her insides clutched at his scorching appraisal. She only had to reach out to stroke that steel-hard chest, to brush her fingertips through the short sprigs of hair there.
“Let me take these.” He slipped his capable hands under the bottom box and then the weight left her arms. He didn’t move, and neither did she.
“Come in.” His low rumble felt like a physical caress, sliding down her spine and pooling low in her belly.
She followed him into his room, hyperaware of how his jeans hung perfectly on his lean hips. “I’ve been looking for you.”
When he set the boxes on his bed and turned back to face her, the air between them crackled with unspoken tension. His eyes had gone dark as they swept over her face and stayed on her mouth.
She dragged her tongue over her bottom lip and he made a noise deep in his throat.
Unable to keep any distance between them, she stepped close. “Who changed the bandage on your wound?”
“Dr. Stanford.”
She circled Decker, fingers reaching of their own accord, but she stopped short of touching his flesh. “Everything okay? No infection?”
He turned his head, and she didn’t know whether to stare at his profile or the bulk of his shoulder muscle. “Everything’s fine. He said you did great work.”
She smiled to herself and stepped away from him. He faced her, hands curled into loose fists at his sides.
Unable to stare at the god of a man for too long, she looked around his room, taking in details she’d been too focused to notice before.
The space was military neat, but what caught her attention were the towering stacks of books everywhere.
On the dresser, the nightstand, even piled on the floor beside his bed.
She wagged her head. “Wow. Felicity wasn’t lying about the books.” She moved closer to examine the titles. “This is quite the to-be-read pile.”
“No.” His voice was matter-of-fact. “It’s my DR pile.”
She arched an eyebrow, turning to face him. “DR?”
“Done-read. I’ve read all of them.”
Stunned, she just stared at the books—hardbacks and paperbacks too. Many new, some well-worn, suggesting he picked them up at the free library in the Willowbrook park or in a junk shop.
She looked around the room again, counting the stacks with new eyes. There had to be at least two hundred books scattered around his quarters. “All of these?”
“Yes.”
“Impressive.” The word came out breathless. She moved to the stack nearest his bed, reading the spines—military history, philosophy, classic literature, thrillers and even some contemporary fiction.
She trailed a finger over a spine. “I always went for guys that were really good looking, not smart.” The admission slipped out before she could stop it, and heat immediately flooded her cheeks.
She whipped around. “Oh God! That came out wrong. You’re very good-looking, Decker.
Extremely good-looking. But my other boyfriends were just really good-looking. Nothing upstairs.”
The silence stretched between them, and she wanted to crawl under his bed and hide.
“You think I’m good looking?” His voice carried a note of amusement that made her look up.
“Are you serious? Have you seen yourself?” She gestured at him helplessly. “You’re like…ridiculously attractive. But that’s not the point. The point is that you’re also intelligent and thoughtful and—”
He was moving toward her before she could finish the sentence, closing the distance between them with that predatory grace that made her stomach flip. When he reached her, he didn’t stop until she was backed against his dresser, his hands braced on either side of her.
“You’ve been looking for me.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.” The word came out as barely a whisper.
“Why?”
“Because…I can’t stop thinking about that kiss.” The whispered confession tumbled out, honest and raw. “Because I keep replaying it in my head and wondering if it meant what I thought it meant, or if you were just caught up in the moment and now you regret it.”
He searched her gaze, and she could see the war going on behind his eyes—desire battling with something that looked like restraint.
“I don’t regret it.” His breath washed over her face, fresh with mint toothpaste. “But I should.”
“Why?”
Instead of answering, he cupped her face in his hands, the same way he had in the library. “Because you’re dangerous, Willow. You make me want things I have no business wanting.”
“Like what?”
“Like this.”
He kissed her then, and it was even better than she remembered. His lips were firm and warm against hers, moving with a confidence that made her knees threaten to buckle. When she opened for him, he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against hers in a rhythm that made fire pool low in her belly.
She reached for him and pulled him closer, needing to feel the solid weight of him against her. He pressed his body flush against hers until she was trapped between the hard wood of the dresser and the harder planes of his chest.