Chapter 37
THIRTY-SEVEN
I’m rising from the table to check on Rosalie when Walton grabs my arm.
“There’s a guest room upstairs. You need to use it. I’ll keep watch while you two rest.”
I’m dead-fucking tired on my feet.
He knows I need to be clear and alert if I’m taking on some professional assassin.
“Glad you offered. I wasn’t going to do it in front of her, but I was going to tell you we’re staying. There’s no way in hell I’m taking her anywhere else right now. She needs to sleep.”
“Good man.”
He pushes up from the table, a slight limp in his step as he moves toward a desk. “I’m going to dig around for some more intel for you.”
I move to the entrance of the hallway. “Appreciate that.”
“Like you said, I owe you. Have you talked to Spence?”
“No.” A new weight sinks in my chest.
Just thinking about my swim buddy from the SEAL teams makes it hard to inhale.
“He doesn’t want to talk to anyone.”
Specifically any SEAL from our unit.
“You sure?”
Behind me, the sound of water running in the bathroom sink tells me Rosalie’s washing up.
Instead of barging in on her because I’m freaking out, I keep my feet planted.
“Have you talked to him?” There’s gravel and pain in the sound of my voice.
“Some.”
Fucking Walton. Always holding his cards close to his chest.
“Are you gonna tell me anything?”
“He’s living about a mile from here.”
My head jolts back. For a moment I try to process that intel.
“Here?” I point to the floor. “Spence is living in BFE… in the woods?”
“Yep.”
The door to the bathroom opens, and Rosalie appears at my elbow, her face fresh, her eyes rimmed with red.
“Walton’s putting us up,” I rasp, pulling her to me, looping my arm around her neck.
The bear spray bumps my hip, and Walton notices.
“You guys been running ops in the woods?”
Rosalie looks between us, puzzled, and I say, “No, it’s a story. For after sleep.”
I’ll let her tell him how she sprayed Parson. He’ll appreciate that.
But we are not talking.
We’re… sleeping?
Definitely sleeping. But the idea of getting horizontal with Rosalie in bed does wicked things to my exhausted brain.
I hustle her up the steps, telling my dick to take a vacation.
The guest room is small—just a bed, a nightstand, and a window overlooking the pines. It’s approaching eight a.m. now, gloomy light is unfolding across the land.
Rain is still falling, pattering against the glass, the world outside gray and formless. Everything feels a million miles away.
I know it’s a lie. Somewhere within hours, a killer is hunting.
The guest room door clicks shut behind us, a small reprieve.
Walton’s footsteps fade below us, leaving Rosalie and me in a quiet so thick it presses against my eardrums.
I’m edgy. Vibrating.
There’s a humming energy coming from her too as she stands near the window. Arms wrapped around herself, she’s watching rain streak down the glass.
Like the world is crying.
Something inside me is too. For her lost innocence.
You can’t unsee what she saw today.
A human never walks the earth the same way when you know people want you dead.
She never should have had to know this.
The lamplight catches the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers dig into her back like she’s holding herself together by force.
I want Westerly’s head on a spike.
I want her.
God, I want her so badly my bones ache with it.
But what kind of bastard thinks about sex when she just learned a professional killer is hunting her?
On top of the fact that I still have another man’s blood dried under my fingernails.
“You should rest,” I tell her, my voice scraped raw. “I’ll stay up, keep watch.”
She turns. Her eyes find mine, and something in her expression makes everything inside me throb.
“I’ll rest later.” She crosses to me, each step deliberate. “I want you.”
My hands come up, catching her shoulders before she can press against me. “Wait…”
“I don’t want to.” Her fingers curl into my vest. “We may not have long.”
I almost crumple into a heap of broken metal.
Her lips brush my jaw and my control fractures, jagged edges cutting into me.
“Hold on, I need to clean up first.” I step back, putting necessary distance between us. “I’ve got—my hands are still—”
“Okay.” She doesn’t argue, just watches me with those luminous green eyes that see too damn much.
I escape downstairs, scrub Parson’s blood from my hands with my teeth clenched tight, until the water runs clear.
The soap Walton has smells medicinal, clinical. I work it under my nails, across my knuckles, washing away the evidence but not the memory.
That won’t ever fade.
God. Dammit. I rub both hands over my face.
Who am I? I don’t even feel like the same human. The last days have driven that man away.
All I know is I need to be upstairs five minutes ago.
The shower hisses, runs cold before it heats.
I stand under the spray anyway, letting it beat against my skull, my shoulders, washing the last few hours down the drain.
It’s a lie. Those hours are part of my soul now.
I tell myself it helps, anyway.
When I return to the guest room, towel wrapped around my hips, water still dripping from my hair, Rosalie is sitting on the edge of the bed.
Waiting. For me.
“Better?” she asks brightly.
“Getting there.”
She stands, and I realize she’s stripped down to just the T-shirt that Allison and Camile gave her.
Below that, her legs are bare, pale and perfect in the dim light.
It takes me back to the first moment I saw her legs in that damned air-duct.
Jesus. What a crazy nightmare we’ve survived.
“Come here,” she says softly.
I cross to her because I’m weak. Because even knowing I shouldn’t take from her right now, I can’t stay away.
Her hands find my chest, fingers splaying over my sternum. Slowly, she traces the drops of water as they run downward.
Inside I’m shaking.
“I can feel your heart,” she whispers.
“It’s yours.”
The confession slips out before I can stop it.
“All of it. Everything I am,” I finish, my eyes memorizing the way she tugs her bottom lip inward.
Hunger grows until it’s a living thing crackling along my spine.
She tilts her head back, and I’m lost in the trust shining in her face. “Then give it to me. No walls. No holding back.”
“I don’t have protection.” Again. Fuck. “I wasn’t exactly planning—”
“I know.” Her thumb traces my collarbone. “We already crossed that bridge.”
A growl grates out of my chest. “Rosalie—”
“If we make a baby tonight, that’s amazing.” Her voice doesn’t waver. “It’s what I want.”
The world seems to shift around us. The chugging throb in the center of my chest echoes inside my head.
“You can’t mean that.”
“Why can’t I?” Challenge sparks in her eyes as she studies my face. “We could already be pregnant. There’s no stopping now.”
“Things are different,” I rasp, my hand finding her low back.
She leans into me, her nose brushing my neck.
Every hair on my arms stands up. I’m a loaded gun with a faulty trigger.
Whispering, she speaks close to my ear. “Is that because we’ve only known each other a few days? Or because there’s a killer after me? Maybe you say that because everything about this is insane?”
Just hearing the word killer on her beautiful, sweet tongue makes me flinch.
“All of that,” I rumble, my throat aching.
“Or maybe,” she whispers roughly, rising on her toes until her lips brush mine, “maybe it’s the only sane thing in a world gone mad.”
The game is over.
My lie to myself that I can hold back is torched.
A dam breaks—the raging flood of desire cresting, pushing me toward her.
She gasps when I crush my mouth to hers, tasting her certainty. Feeling the way she welcomes me, her moan vibrating through us both.
At last my hands take what they’ve been dying for.
Dragging her against me, gripping hard, I crush us together until there’s no space between us.
“You’re sure?” I rasp against her lips, fire scoring through me.
Her hands circle my neck, linking us together. “Do I seem uncertain?”
Fuck. No.
“You’re in trouble.”
“As long as you’re delivering the punishment.”
I lift her, and she wraps her legs around me, that T-shirt riding up. The towel falls away as I turn to crush her against the door.
“Can’t be gentle,” I rasp, burying my face in her hair.
“Don’t. I want you like you are. Take me there, Justice. To the edge. The hard edge where this all disappears.”
I groan, shaking, my hands biting into her soft curves, grinding her against me. “I need to be inside you. Now.”
When she reaches between us, her cool fingers gripping me, I suck in a harsh breath.
“Let me help you. I’m wet, ready.”
“Fuck, baby.” I shudder as I push forward, her guiding me. Her back bangs the door, shaking it, as I pass the halfway point.
“Oh god,” she moans against my throat.
Christ, am I hurting her? She’s so small. So fucking tight.
Stopping the forward drive, I pant, “Does it… hurt?”
“Good hurt.” Her fingers dig into my scalp. “Take me. Hard.”
My body overrides my brain. With an animalistic roar, I drive home.
Home.
That’s what she is.