Chapter 12 #2
And he certainly hadn’t checked out her breasts or used his sexy voice on her right now.
He was tired. Stressed. Maybe even scared.
What he wasn’t was a man finally stepping out of the friend zone.
. . . Right?
“We, uh, we’ll find whoever is after your family.” She needed to switch back to the reason they were both in Charlotte.
Facing him, she sat on the floor and matched his position by extending her legs. She supported herself by propping one palm on the floor off to her side.
He popped open his beer can. “I should probably let my people know I’m not coming back.”
“So, you’re spending the night?” Her heart shouldn’t have beaten so quickly.
“I thought you wanted me to stay.” He frowned.
“I do.”
“The couch,” he said, tipping his chin toward the small seating area by the window, “is fine.”
“You’re sleeping with me. Period.” She purposefully huffed, and he actually smiled.
“Oh, am I?” He let his brows rise and fall twice. And her Knox was back. “You don’t let other guy friends sleep next to you, do you?” He took a drink. “Because I’ll be needing their names and numbers.”
He knew the answer, but if he wanted to play this game—“What, you can’t get tactical and find their numbers on your own?”
“Oh, I can, but for expediency’s sake, I’d appreciate the—”
“You know I don’t sleep with anyone but you.” She lifted her palm from the carpet and smacked his leg.
His smile stretched, damn him.
“You know what I mean.” She dropped down, so her back was flush with the carpet. She kept a hold on her beer off to her side.
“You going to reschedule that blind date?”
Why in the hell are you asking me that now of all times? “Why are we talking about this?” she asked, echoing her thoughts.
“Because you won’t talk about the case.”
She let go of the beer but remained flat on the floor. “Well, I don’t have time to get to know some stranger. Play the twenty questions game. Most men only want to screw, anyway.”
He muttered something then asked, “Are all guys assholes?”
“No, not all of them.” She closed her eyes at the feel of his hand on her leg. He began massaging her calf muscle, and she resisted a moan. “How’d you know I was sore?”
“Because you’ve been in heels all day running around with the FBI chasing leads. I’m betting you didn’t stretch this morning.”
“It wasn’t high on my to-do list.”
“You gotta take care of your health,” he said as he worked at the muscle.
He knew exactly how she liked to be touched.
This man really did know everything about her, didn’t he?
Everything except for the fact that she wished he’d be the one to get into her pants.
But it was a dream she needed to let sail away and live in the land of it-will-never-happen.
He reached for her other leg next, but this time, he shifted her pant leg up and moved his hand over her skin.
“Yes,” she said in a soft cry. “Right there.”
“How are your quads?”
“They’re tense, too,” she admitted, but if he touched her legs that high up, he’d discover the truth. He’d know she’d been lying to him for years. Well, omitting how she felt about him. But that was the same as a lie, right?
He removed his hand from beneath her pant leg, and he must’ve repositioned himself because both hands worked above her left knee atop her pants.
She shifted up on her elbows to view him. “I’m supposed to be comforting you.”
“This is comforting me. Seeing you at ease makes me feel better. Makes me forget all the dark shit.” He was on his knees, resting back on his heels, as his hands moved over the top of her leg. “You have so many knots.”
“Uh-huh.” She shifted to her back again, unable to look him in the eyes as he massaged her, worried her cheeks were candy apple red. “This is better than sex.” She swallowed a moan, worried it’d come out like she was indeed having sex.
“Sounds like you’re doing it wrong then.” He mumbled something indiscernible under his breath. “And, Addy?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t actually talk about your sex life with me.” That gritty voice wrapped in sex had returned.
“You’ll need more names and numbers?”
“I’ll be needing my gun,” he replied in an even tone.
“How long are you going to be protective of me?” she asked when he moved to her other leg. “What happens when I finally meet the one? Do you need to approve of him first?”
He grew quiet, and then he let go of her. The next thing she knew, he was on his feet and cupping the back of his head with both hands. “I don’t think anyone will ever be good enough for you.”
“You know, you don’t need to step in for my dad anymore.” She stood, willing away the flutter of nerves in her stomach. “He got his two-year chip last month.”
His arms fell to his sides as he observed her. Zero response. No eye contact either.
“What is it?” She moved to him.
His brows drew together, but he’d yet to show her his eyes. “I’m off with everything that’s happened. Been a long two days.”
Of course. And maybe his father winning the primary a few weeks ago was another explanation for his odd behavior that month. Why hadn’t she realized that sooner? “That’s understandable.” She reached for his arm and slid her hand up to his bicep and squeezed. “What can I do for you? How can I help?”
He lifted his free arm and pinched the bridge of his nose, shutting his eyes. “Maybe I should sleep. I think you’re right.” He shook his head, and his dark lashes lifted. “I can’t think clearly.”
“Okay.” She forced a smile. “I’m gonna get out of these clothes then.” Force away my insane thoughts. Get a clear head.
She snatched her pajamas from her suitcase and went into the connecting bathroom.
After removing her pants and blouse, she turned toward the mirror over the sink. Her eyes wandered over her reflection and to the tattoo on the inside of her wrist, a reminder of what Isaiah Bennett had asked of her.
Could she really stand in front of a room full of people and talk about her mother?
“Addy? The hotel have a spare toothbrush?”
“Yeah. Come in, it’s unlocked.” She grabbed the camisole off the counter as he opened the door, and she remained facing the vanity, eyes on the mirror.
“You should’ve warned me you weren’t dressed.”
“It’s not a big deal.” But maybe it was given his peculiar behavior lately because there was no way she could explain away the heat in his eyes as his gaze fell to her back and continued downward.
She could come back from this, though. Find their version of normal again. Even if she didn’t want that, they needed it right now with everything going on with Knox’s family.
“A bra and panties is basically a bikini.” She’d tried to keep her voice from breaking. To prevent the dip, but she’d been too late. It’d happened too fast. Her desire for him was too great.
“For some reason, I never pictured you wearing pink panties now that you’re Secret Service.” His voice was three octaves south of normal.
“Since when do you ever picture me at all?” she asked, unable to move. To act. To get freaking dressed to save her life.
All she could do was observe the caress of his eyes on her body as if it were his hands instead.
He never looked at her like this, even when she paraded around in swimwear or that one drunken Ace-of-Base-singing-night.
Well, she didn’t think he had, at least. But was it possible all this time she’d been as clueless as him?
He stepped closer, his body nearly touching hers, and she stilled, not sure what he was about to do.
“I’m your best friend.” He held the sides of her arms and brought his mouth to her ear. “But I’m still a man. And it’s been a long damn time for me.” He looked up and found her eyes in the mirror. “So, I’m going to go back into the bedroom and do my best to forget what you look like right now.”
Oh my God. Her lips parted, but then he turned and left as promised. After he pulled the door closed, she dropped her palms on the vanity and hung her head.
What just happened?
He’d barely said a thing, but her panties were soaked. Had he stayed in the bathroom any longer, he would’ve witnessed the pool of her desire at the crotch of her pink underwear.
She wanted to take time to wrap her head around what happened, but she was terrified he wouldn’t be in the room when she returned.
She hurriedly pushed her thoughts away and put on her PJs and went back into the bedroom.
He was on the bed. Shoes back on.
A what-did-I-do? look in his eyes.
Regret.
Shit.
“You’re not staying, are you?” she asked, hoping to hide the disappointment in her voice.
She’d scared him off. A man who could drop into war-torn countries without a second thought was afraid of her pink underwear.
“Like I said, I’m not really in the right state of mind.” He slowly rose, a slouch in his posture she wasn’t used to seeing unless he was so drunk he’d allowed his body to actually relax.
“Adriana.” The rough texture of his tone had the same effect as if he’d reached out and placed his palm between her thighs and found her panties drenched with desire for him.
She took two small steps his way. “Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if we’d met at a different time,” she admitted.
“But I know I wouldn’t have survived that night if I hadn’t met you.
There are not a lot of teenagers who would take on someone’s problems the way you did.
You’d known me for maybe two hours, but you stayed by my side. ”
“And I’ll stay by your side until the day I die,” he said, his voice level.
“And I’m also not fifteen anymore,” she whispered when cutting off the space between them.
He reached for her arm and surprised her by kissing the inside of her wrist where the tattoo of her mother’s badge number lay like a memorial script for all of time. “I know. Trust me,” he said in a husky voice, “I know you’re not a kid anymore.”
And maybe he did know, but he held back. He looked at her with guilt in his eyes. He still looked at her like she might break and it’d be his fault.
He let go of her arm only to brush the back of his hand over her cheek, catching a stray tear.
“It was my mom’s idea to go to that party.
New school. No friends. She even dropped me off down the corner, so no one saw me getting out of a squad car.
” She smiled at the memory even though her insides hurt thinking about it.
“Not many moms, who are also cops, would encourage their daughter to go to a party.”
“I never met her, but if she was anything like you, I would’ve loved her.” He lowered his hand from her face, his brows scrunched together as if fighting the urge to unleash a storm of words.
“Sometimes, I think my mom knew something was going to happen to her.” She sniffled. “It’s crazy, but I think she knew I’d meet you, and you’d be the hero I needed to get through what happened.”
“I’m not—”
“You are.”
“And maybe you have to stop looking at me like that.” He paused. “You pulled yourself together, put on a brave face, and grew into the woman you are today. I had nothing to do with that. You found the way back, and you would’ve done it with or without me.”
She drew in a shaky breath. “Your dad is honoring my mother Saturday night in Atlanta.” She allowed her words to sink in for a moment. “He wants me to take the night off work and talk about her.”
“What?” He stepped back and looked heavenward.
“I think your dad wants you there Saturday, and he may or may not be using me to try and make that happen.” She stiffened when his eyes flew to her face. “I’m going for my mom. Not for him.”
“I should’ve known he hadn’t changed. Always a politician.” He pressed both hands to the top of his head. “I’m sorry.” Shame floated through his words. “I’ll handle this.”
“No.”
He slowly lowered his arms to his sides.
“Don’t say anything to him.” She set her palm atop his forearm. “I don’t want to cause friction between you two.”
“He’s the problem. Not you.”
“And he was shot at yesterday. Let’s—”
“No one uses you. Not now. Not ever.” He moved out of her grasp and started for the door.
“Wait, please.” She wanted to do this. Her mom deserved it. “I plan on going, but I think it’s best if you don’t.”
He let go of the door handle and faced her.
“That way, he doesn’t win, but at least my mom is still honored.”
He remained quiet for a moment, indecision crossing his face before his shoulders slouched. “So, I can’t hit him?”
She almost laughed. “No, you can’t.”
He cursed under his breath.
“Redirect your frustration toward the case. And pick me up close to eight tomorrow. I’ll take you to Chelsea’s apartment if you still want to question her.”
“What?”
“I’m not allowed to tell you anything, which means you’ll have to talk to her yourself.”
His chest fell as if a weight had been lifted. “Thank you.”
“And, Charlie?” Charlie, not Knox, because at the moment, she was fifteen again, and he had yet to become the SEAL. “Maybe don’t stop protecting me.”
His mouth tightened briefly as he stared at her. “I never planned on it.”