Chapter 16 #3
“Hi,” he said, and quickly stepped out of the way to close the door behind him. Doing so brought him closer to where I stood. We bumped into each other for a split second.
“Sorry,” I said.
He shot me a smile and locked the door. I watched him throw the dead bolt so I knew it was locked, and then I clocked his gun holstered on his hip.
I let out a breath of relief at both things.
We stood together in the small entryway, his size taking up most of it, and I couldn’t help but feel safer with him close by.
“Thanks for coming in.”
He softly smiled down at me and didn’t move. The air between us grew heavy. “Of course.”
Tearing myself from his gaze felt like a physical effort. “Do you want some coffee?” I asked, and turned toward the kitchen.
“Sure.” He followed, his footsteps louder and heavier than mine in my socks with only one good foot. “You seem to be walking better,” he said when we made it to the kitchen. He lifted the bag onto the dining table.
I reached for one of the colorful mugs hanging from the hutch. “Yes, well I had my ankle expertly wrapped earlier, and it helped a lot. What’s in the bag?”
The rustle of a shopping bag filled the air behind me when I turned around to make the coffee.
“Your new shoes.” He pulled one out and modeled it like a Home Shopping Network product. A ribbon of hot pink ran down each side of the sleek black sneaker. It looked fast sitting still.
“Running shoes,” I said with a nod. “Is that so I can faster escape bad guys chasing me down alleys?”
“That, and so you are comfortable on your feet with two small children all day,” he said with a grin.
I rolled my eyes, which I’d done more in the past few days since I’d met him than I probably had in the past ten years combined.
His K-Cup finished brewing, and I handed him the steaming mug. I grabbed one for myself and set it under the machine.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Mak-ing coff-ee …” I said, splitting up all the syllables to make it more obvious.
He reached out and took the mug from me. “You can’t have coffee now. You have to sleep because you have to work tomorrow.”
I scoffed and reached for the mug back. “And you don’t?”
He grabbed the mug again like we were kids fighting over a toy.
“I’m at work right now, and believe it or not, sleep deprivation is part of training at the DSA Academy.
” He said it with the same authority as when he’d earlier told me I couldn’t have a gun.
It stirred that feeling inside me again, and I backed off.
“Fine. But I can’t promise you I’ll fall asleep. Not with ghosts outside and you making no progress on my case.”
He set both mugs down and stepped toward me.
I followed his eyes with mine as he drew closer, having to look up from my sock-footed stature far below his.
He placed the hand that had been holding the coffee on my shoulder, and I felt the warmth through my T-shirt.
“Erin, I’m doing the best I can, I promise.
” His thumb took a brief but thrilling journey over my collarbone and back.
It lodged my breath in my throat. “And you can go to sleep. Don’t worry. I’ll be here all night.”
My voice was raspy and thick when it came out. “Okay.”
“Okay.” He slipped off his windbreaker and hung it on a dining chair. Then he unbuttoned his shirtsleeves and began rolling them up, making himself comfortable.
“Um. Good night then,” I said awkwardly.
He shot me another smile. “Good night.”
I returned to my bedroom and climbed into bed, acutely aware he was moving about my apartment.
I heard the TV turn on and thought of texting him something snippy about slacking off on the job, but I remembered his comment about being mean.
And anyway, I’d rather him be sitting inside my apartment with a gun and all the doors locked watching TV than have him fall asleep outside in his car.
I sighed and rolled over to face the window, hoping there was no one out there watching.
The room was still pitch-black when I felt the mattress dip beside me.
I’d fallen asleep on my side, and his weight pressed the bed down enough I slightly rolled back into him.
His solid body caught me like a warm, hard wall.
The smell of his shower still lingered. He stretched out behind me and leaned over to whisper my name into my ear—my real name.
A little moan escaped my mouth at the sound and a deep breath filled my lungs.
He pushed up against me, and my body responded on reflex.
I rolled my hips into him, arching my back and feeling what I’d been imagining for the past few days press into me.
I heard him suck in a sharp breath. He flipped his hand beneath the sheet and pressed his palm to my bare thigh, dragging it higher and squeezing as he went.
The stirring I’d felt deep inside earlier bloomed out into a dizzying heat.
He whispered my name again, and my breath came faster.
I was suddenly too hot for the covers, so I kicked them down.
He hooked his leg over mine and dragged it back to open my hips.
I was all but gasping, on the verge of a climax sneaking up on me too fast to keep at bay, when his fingers traced the elastic band on my underwear.
He snapped it against my skin, and by the time he slipped his hand beneath, greedily palming me, I woke to a pounding rush of blood receding like the tide and my sweaty fists strangling my pillow.
I sat up in bed, alone, panting, and fought to hold on to the best dream I’d ever had. I blinked in the dark and caught my breath.
“Shit,” I said, afraid of what it meant.
I couldn’t fall for my handler. I couldn’t ever sleep with my handler even if I—apparently, if the dream were any indication—really wanted to. It was all too complicated. It might even have been illegal, I didn’t know.
But I knew I needed a glass of water and a fresh shirt because mine was damp with sweat.
I climbed out of bed and pulled on a stretchy camisole and replaced my sweatpants. It was after three a.m. according to my bedside clock.
I quietly made my way toward the kitchen, my foot sore and stiff from a few hours of sleep.
The living room glowed a milky blue in the light of the TV.
The volume was way down low, and to my pleasant but slightly annoyed surprise, Bray was asleep on the couch.
I wasn’t sure I would have been able to face him after the dream I’d just had if I’d found him awake.
The sight of his bulky body curled onto my couch sent a wave of warmth washing over me like an aftershock. I couldn’t even remember the last sex dream I’d had—or sex, for that matter—and whenever and wherever it had been, I certainly hadn’t had the star of the dream under my roof when I woke.
Bray had removed his collared shirt and shoes. He lay on his side with his arms crossed, in a tank top undershirt that put his biceps on full display. I bit my lip at the sight. His gun sat on the coffee table next to his phone, and I thought of stealing both just to teach him a lesson.
Instead, I rolled my eyes again and reached for the blanket folded up on the armchair.
“So much for that sleep deprivation training, huh?” I muttered as I draped the soft cotton throw over his long body.
I leaned down to secure it behind his back, and the dim light from the TV caught a patch of shiny skin on his left shoulder. Two patches, in fact.
I angled my body to allow for more light and squinted at the strange patterns just below his collarbone like two nickel-sized, misshapen stars I suddenly realized were scars. Big scars that looked a lot like … bullet holes.
I sucked in a tight breath and stood back, alarmed.
Bray had been shot?
I suddenly ached to know the story at the same time a visceral rage at whoever had shot him boiled up inside me. I wanted to tear their head off or maybe shoot them back. I was no doctor, but the location of the wounds had to have been life-threatening; they were inches from his heart.
A pain filled my chest, and I felt an involuntary warmth wash my eyes. I pressed a hand to my mouth. This had to be the injury he didn’t want to talk about—and I couldn’t blame him.
The urge to wrap my arms around him, to protect him from the horror of the past, hit me so hard, I had to move away before I did.
But I couldn’t completely resist touching him.
I reached out and smoothed my thumb over the furrow in his brow. I wondered if he was having a bad dream or could perhaps sense me standing there and was unconsciously scolding me for being out of bed. Either way, his face relaxed into a serene calm at my touch.
I jerked back when a car door closing outside caught my attention. It was after three a.m. If anyone was out and about at this hour, they were up to something they didn’t want anyone else to know about.
Like coming to tie up the loose end from a decade-old crime.
I forced a deep breath to fill my lungs and glanced at Bray’s gun on the coffee table.
He’d kill me if I grabbed it, but I wasn’t about to die while he dozed on my couch.
I left it for the time being and crept to the living room window.
The apartment was silent other than the dull hum of the TV and my thudding heart. I was hardly breathing.
When I peeled back the curtain, I didn’t see an enraged henchman coming to collect.
I saw Jana Russo having climbed out of a luxury EV parked in front of Melanie’s house.
She wore all black like a cat burglar and glanced down the street as Sandra Whitley climbed out of the passenger side, also in all black.
I blinked a few times and flinched when headlights turned the corner and flashed across their bodies. Within a few seconds, Melanie’s SUV was pulling into her driveway.
“Bray!” I called in a whisper like they might hear. “Bray, come here and look at this!”
He stirred with a grumble but didn’t wake.