Chapter 2 #2
“I suppose you’d be a horrible Tier One operator if you didn’t know I was here.” She attempted a smile, but the second he carried his gaze up to stare into her eyes, it dissolved.
Holy shit.
The anger she expected to see in his eyes wasn’t there.
Instead, it was desire. One hundred percent full-blown panty-soaking desire.
She could feel the heat radiating from his sweaty body as if they were inside a sauna naked. And why would we be in a sauna and naked?
He slowly tore his dark eyes away from hers, balled the tape from his hands, and tossed it ten feet away into a trash can.
“He shoots. He scores,” she said around a chuckle. What is wrong with me? Act normal. Just be you.
A slight curl of his lips had her pulse picking up speed, which was unnecessary considering how fast it was already going standing in front of a shirtless Greek god. No, wait, a Spanish and Brazilian god.
He turned and went for a hand towel on a stool by the heavy bag and began patting his chest, his back still to her before draping it around the nape of his strong neck.
Heaven help me. The waistband of his sweats had slipped a little, showing he still had a tan line, even in January. And why did she want so desperately to see more of what was beneath?
It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen some of the guys in their boxers before. The single ones, at least. When you practically lived with ten big Navy SEALs, they became like brothers. All except Roman, of course.
Not that she walked around in her red, white, and blue bra and panty set the way A.J. strutted around in his American flag boxers and cowboy boots, but . . .
Roman never once let her get a glimpse of him sans clothes to find out if he was a boxers or briefs man. If he’d grown up in Europe or Brazil, she might guess briefs.
Her thoughts dropped when he faced her with the towel in his hand, his arm hanging relaxed by his side.
Well, now how was she supposed to avoid sliding her gaze over the slight dusting of hair on his chest and down the wall of his powerful abdominal muscles?
He let go of the towel to tighten the knot of his pants as if suddenly realizing they’d slipped a little in all of his time pounding the shit out of the heavy bag.
He was six feet of perfection.
I need to get laid.
But she knew deep down there wasn’t a chance in hell she’d let any man other than Roman touch her.
The list of rules that resided in her head didn’t matter. Nor did the lines she’d vowed never to cross. Her body, brain, and heart only wanted the man standing before her, eyeing her with concern as if he knew where her head was at.
Roman didn’t need a mood ring when he had mood eyes. They turned different shades of brown based on his level of broodiness.
“Roman, can we talk?” she whispered.
His response was to keep his mouth shut and skate his focus over her body.
She pinned her arms across her chest. She had a button-down jean shirt open to reveal a black top that read: Girls Like Guys With Big Trucks in hot pink letters.
He seemed to pause on the words as if thinking about his own truck before his eyes went down to her dark skinny jeans tucked beneath her snow boots.
“Why are you here?” A question with a question. Just perfect.
Roman, she yelled his name in her head out of frustration. Part of that frustration stemmed from the fact she knew her panties were slicked with desire right now.
“We get an op?” He cocked his head and crossed his arms, mimicking her guarded stance. “I thought we wouldn’t be spinning up until Bennett took over.”
She shook her head no. “Can we have dinner tonight? Or a drink later?” Alcohol would make it easier to talk about what they almost did last month.
“I’m busy. Sorry.”
He might as well have had on his aviator shades since he was working hard to keep his mocha brown eyes away from her.
“You’re smart, Roman. Not a liar,” she blurted the painful truth. “We need to talk.”
“It’s just not a good idea,” he confessed and finally looked at her.
“Why not?” She closed the space between them so he had to look down at her to make eye contact.
Harper peered at that incredible, chiseled jawline currently covered in scruff. His thick dark hair was slightly wavy and longer on the top, and currently covered by a backward blue ball cap.
She constantly wanted to run her fingers through his locks. Smell what kind of shampoo he used. Inhale this man.
Stop, damn it.
“I want us to go back to the way things were before.” At least, that’s what needed to happen. But in reality, she wished she could plead for him to strip her and take her on the floor. Right there.
He eased back a step and slipped his hands into his pockets. “Maybe a drink later. Finn is back in town. I can see if he wants to come.”
Ah, Finn as a barrier. It was probably a smart idea until they were both fully back to their senses and acting in pre-kiss fashion again.
“Okay.” She forced a smile, deciding she ought to retreat and let him shower.
Alone.
Without me watching.
But she couldn’t stop the onslaught of thoughts about Roman’s naked body from vaulting to the front of her mind. Briefs, she decided. Water droplets rolling over his skin. Both strong hands on the tiled wall. Head bowed forward. That thick—
“Harper?”
She blinked and pulled her head out of her fantasy, her cheeks warming from embarrassment.
He wet his lips, probably without realizing it and removed his hands from his pockets.
“Yeah?” she asked, her voice light.
A line cut across his forehead. “Nothing.” And with that, he turned and headed for the locker room.
Music on the rooftop was what she needed.
It was snowing and cold, but music was how she cleared her head.
A few minutes later, she had her wireless earbuds in, her wool jacket wrapped snugly around her body, and she lifted her chin to the sky as snowflakes fell from the heavens.
Her adoptive parents were amazing, but . . . God, some days she really missed her father. And today was one of those days.
“I can’t remember Mom,” she recalled admitting to her dad when she was seven. They’d been in Jakarta on one of her father’s trips for work as a travel photojournalist, and her eyes had been glued to a woman walking in front of them, holding the hand of a small girl.
Cancer had stolen her mother from them before Harper’s second birthday.
And while her father homeschooled her so she could join him on his adventures around the world, she often wondered about her mom. “What did she smell like?”
“She always smelled like almond rum cake,” he’d said with a light laugh, his eyes creasing at the memory. “She baked it every time I came home from a trip since it was my favorite.”
A snowflake hit her cold cheek, blending with a tear that escaped her eye. She’d lost both her birth parents. Could she handle losing anyone else?
What if she fell in love with Roman, and he was taken from her, too? Or what if he lost sight of an operation because of his concern for her, and someone else paid the price because of it? How in the hell do Jessica and Asher operate together?
Harper turned up the music and closed her eyes, deciding that she’d go home later and learn to make almond rum cake. And then she’d eat it by herself. Because that was easier. And a hell of a lot safer for her heart.