Chapter 23 #2
“I got an amazing judge. Former military. Told me I had to channel my fire so it didn’t destroy me. He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Join the military and my record would be expunged.”
My arms wrapped around me, I wait for him to continue.
“He got sent to the big house for a minimum of twenty years. Mom and Sis were safe. And I scored the biggest break of my life. I belonged in the military.”
“The judge is right. You were able to channel that fire.”
“You could say that.”
He takes a drink of the coffee that has to be cold by now. If it is, he doesn’t seem to notice.
“Now about you.” He turns to face me, as if he hasn’t just exposed a jagged part of his soul. “How did you get into design?”
I can’t tell him the truth. That I was inspired to draw pictures of the stunning jewelry that my dad was always showing me.
I’d fill up sketchbook after sketchbook, creating elaborate images of the pieces on princesses in ballgowns.
And of course, because I loved the story of Cinderella, sometimes a necklace was magical and transformed her life.
In another, a ruby was a relic from a distant queen, and it was cursed. There was no limit to my imagination.
And at the time, I’d had no idea that everything dear old Dad showed me had been stolen. To me, he was a hero living a grand adventure, spinning tales for my entertainment.
We moved all the time, and it was fun. Until I learned that people like Stryker and the police were on our tails, closing in.
“I need to check on the stew.” I toss off the blanket. “How about a refresh on your coffee?”
He looks at me consideringly. “I can do that myself.”
“Well, I’m getting up anyway.” I pick up his mug. “Just give me a minute.”
“Yeah.”
While I escape, he stokes the fire, immediately filling the place with warmth.
When I’m steady, I settle into my previous spot on the couch.
Even as he accepts his drink, he frowns. “I don’t expect you to wait on me, Allie.”
“That’s not what I was doing.”
“The stew. The cocoa.” He lifts the cup. “This.”
“Stryker. I appreciate everything you’re doing. Saving me.” Even though I insisted I didn’t want you to. “Taking care of the fire. Being sure we have power.” The sex. I can’t ever say that though. “I’m not doing anything close to as much as you are.”
“It’s not a contest. I’m happy to take care of everything.”
“And I can’t let you. I’m not wired that way either.”
He waits. It’s an invitation. A silent entreaty to share something, anything with him.
And after what he’s said, how can I refuse?
But what can I say without planting seeds that he will have no choice but to dig up? “I lost my mom when I was young. She evidently had some sort of preexisting heart condition that we knew nothing about.” That could be the truth.
“That has to be hard.”
“Thank you.” I try for a smile. But I miss her every single day.
And I wonder what might have been if she hadn’t succumbed to the stress.
“Dad was a pharmaceutical salesperson.” I shrug.
“He worked long hours, flew to conferences, repped multiple states. He worked hard.” At least there’s no lie there.
But I want to close this story, quick. “So I grew up fast. I was cooking meals for us by the time I was seven. Learned how to use an app to order groceries. Got myself to school.” I don’t mention the stretches of days he’d leave me by myself.
“That’s tough.”
“Like you, I’m resilient.”
He toasts me with his beverage. “To letting others do things for us.”
“Easier said than done, Stryker.”
“I know, sweetheart. I know.”
And maybe because I feel a small sense of guilt, I tell him about my design work, picky clients, and I describe campaigns I’ve worked on that I’m proud of.
“I’d love to see some of your work.”
Since there’s no way to link Allie Johnson with my real identity, there can’t be any harm in showing him.
The storm continues to rage outside with the snow piling higher.
Stryker heads out to shovel again while I add the final ingredients to the stew.
Once he’d back and dried off, we eat in the living room, near the fire.
“This is better than anything I’ve had in ages.” His voice is as sincere as it is appreciative. “You really are talented.”
The compliment glows in me, warming me more than the food. We clean up together, and our shoulders accidentally brush.
We both stop, and we exchange a glance that feels like a promise.
God.
I need to stop. I can’t afford to let my guard down like this.
The afternoon blurs into comfortable quiet as the wind rages on.
Hours slipping by in easy conversation and stolen touches.
By late afternoon, the cabin’s a cocoon of warmth, and the stories we’ve shared have sealed us from the outside world.
Because neither of us are hungry enough for a meal, we put together a small charcuterie board that we can snack on throughout the evening.
From a kitchen drawer, he grabs a deck of cards. “How about a friendly game of War?”
“War?” I frown. “Friendly? Do you know what that even means, Stryker? I’m betting you’re ultracompetitive.”
He grins. “Me? Besides, it’s a game of chance. Right?”
I’m not sure that he ever leaves anything to chance.
Once more, we settle in the living room.
The fire blazes, and he goes over the rules with me.
And once we start playing, I realize competitive was an understatement. The man is ruthless, needing to win at everything. And he uses distraction to his advantage. “You don’t play fair, Stryker.”
“No, sweetheart.” His grin is feral. “I don’t.”
A shiver that has nothing to do with fear or the outside temperature races through me.
“I play to win.” He sweeps everything on the coffee table to one side. “And tonight, I am going to win your trust.”
“Stryker…” I raise a hand, but because of the purposeful determination in his eyes, my pulse is already accelerating. “I already gave you as much as I can.” And it’s a million times more than I’ve ever offered anyone.
“Sweetheart, that’s a bet I’m willing to take.”
He leans in to capture a lock of my hair and twists his finger into it. He’s so close; he’s stealing the oxygen I need to breathe, to think.
“Give me a chance, Allie. You’ll learn you haven’t yet begun to explore all the places we can go together.” He drops his gaze to my breasts. “Ready to find out if you have more to give?”