Chapter 6 #2
Grant’s gaze traveled down her body, slow and deliberate, then back up to her face. “You couldn’t look bad if you tried,” he murmured, pulling off shoes and socks that dripped water onto the floor.
Her heart quickened as he stepped into her space, the heady smell of rain and woods and gunsmoke sending her pulse into overdrive. “You’re not even out of breath. Don’t you ever run out of stamina?”
He leaned in a little closer, his voice gravelly. “Not when it counts.”
Everly’s face grew warm despite the damp chill that permeated her body.
She ached, but not because of the cold. Grant’s hair was disheveled where he’d run his hands through it, and his shirt clung to his chest and biceps.
He looked messy and rumpled and absolutely…
hot. He was hot , damn it. She could admit it now, without guilt.
He reached toward her, and she held her breath.
But instead of touching her, he brushed past, his fingers closing around the doorknob beside her. He pushed open the back door and stood aside. “You look like you need to warm up worse than I do. Go ahead and hop in the shower. I’ll start a fire.”
◆◆◆
Grant lit the kindling and watched as the flames consumed the smaller sticks and twigs, then began to lick at the firewood.
He grabbed the poker and moved the logs a bit, stoking the fire until it was burning strong, then sat back on the rug.
He was playing with fire—it was like he couldn’t stop himself where Everly was concerned.
Yeah, she’d needed help firing the gun. But he’d provided probably more help than was strictly necessary. And enjoyed it way too much.
He sighed and scraped a hand down his face.
This had to stop. No way in hell Holland would have wanted Grant putting the moves on his widow, especially when he’d barely been underground for six months.
And yet…sometimes, the way Everly looked at him, it was almost like she wanted him too. Like just now, on the porch.
Wishful thinking, dumbass. Wishful thinking.
He stalked over to the kitchen, eager for something to take his mind off of Everly-fucking-Holland.
He had no right to her, even if wanting her had become an aching constant in his life.
Soon, they’d figure this DropKom shit out, and they’d go back to their respective lives forever. As it should be.
The computer screen hadn’t changed much, the encryption program still making its way through the tens of thousands of file folders. Whatever Holland had been involved in, it was either genius or incredibly fucking stupid. Maybe both. He pulled out his phone and dialed Evan.
“McDowell. How’s life in the sticks?” Lawson greeted him.
Grant snorted. “Fantastic. Rainy.” He glanced out the window, the deluge from earlier now a soft drizzle. “How’s it going on your end? Anything?”
Evan sighed, and he knew the news wouldn’t be good. “Nothing. Every single one of these files has been a dead end so far. And we’re not even halfway through.”
“What about DropKom?”
“Very little. Enough to confirm that it’s not a legit loan place, which we knew.
I can’t get into any other databases without Lockhart finding out.
Till then my hands are a bit tied. It sucks, but all I can do right now is keep sifting through these files and hope something pops up to point us in the right direction. How’s Mrs. Holland holding up?”
Grant glanced down the hall. “Doing well. No more texts or calls so far.”
“Maybe the failed break-in was enough to scare them off for good.”
“Maybe,” Grant agreed, although he didn’t really believe it.
The conversation moved on to other things for awhile, and Grant was grateful for the distraction. Lawson hadn’t been part of STAG for long, but he was one of them without question. Someone that Grant would trust with his life.
He hung up just as Everly emerged from the bedroom. Her hair was still damp, but twisted into a neat topknot. She’d changed into a baggy sweatshirt bearing the logo of her alma mater and black leggings that hugged the curve of her perfect ass. Thick socks covered her feet—his socks, he realized.
She followed his line of sight and frowned. “I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t pack enough socks, and mine are in the wash.”
“Not at all. I keep extras of everything in that dresser.”
Her frown deepened. “Oh. These came from your duffel bag. I didn’t know the dresser was stocked.”
Grant shrugged. “I don’t mind—”
He faltered as she uncurled her fist and held up Jeremy’s wedding ring. “This was in the same pocket as your socks. Why did you bring this?”
“I grabbed that while we were packing up. I totally forgot to tell you. I thought you’d like to keep it close,” he told her.
“I don’t.” She strode over to him and, to his shock, slapped the ring on the table. “I don’t ever want to see this thing again.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, aware that he’d misstepped without even realizing it. “I just figured it was too important to be left behind.”
“It’s not important,” Everly snapped. “And I don’t need any more mementos of Jeremy. This situation that I’m in is enough of a reminder.” Before he could form a response, she spun on her heel and headed down the short hallway, slamming the bedroom door behind her.
Whoa. Clearly he’d misinterpreted Everly’s reaction to that ring yesterday.
But if she didn’t want to see it, she wouldn’t have to.
Grant tucked the ring into a high cabinet he knew she wouldn’t be able to reach without a stool, then warred with himself as he stood in front of the bedroom door.
Yeah, she deserved space to work through her feelings, but he couldn’t just ignore her for the rest of the day and pretend she wasn’t hurting.
He rapped twice on the door and then pushed it open a few inches. “Ev?”
Clouds lingered outside, leaving the light inside the bedroom gray and dim.
Everly lay on her side, facing away from him, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
His heart twisted in his chest, and he went to her without a second thought, stretching out beside her and stroking her back as he’d done yesterday.
After a few minutes, she drew a shuddering breath and then rolled to face him.
“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” she told him as she tucked her arms under her cheek. “This is my second breakdown in as many days. You must think I’m crazy.” She sniffed and wiped at her eyes.
He wiped a tear from her cheek, savoring the feel of her smooth skin beneath his fingers. “Never. Not in a million years.” The urge to continue touching her was almost overwhelming, but he tucked his own hands beneath him. “You want to talk about it?”
Everly sighed. “I don’t even know where I’d begin. The last couple of months have felt almost normal. Like I’d gotten my life back. And then seeing that damn ring brings everything back. Feels like tearing off a scab.”
“Grief is like that,” Grant told her. “You feel perfectly fine one moment, and then one small reminder can be enough to toss you under the waves again.” He still had those days.
Days where the loss of his sister still felt as fresh as the moment his father had called him through choking sobs to tell him Melissa was dead.
“I don’t know if I’d call it grief, or regret,” Everly replied, stifling a yawn. “It was a fucked up situation. One that I never want to repeat.”
Whether she was referring to the depression she’d suffered after Jeremy’s death, or something else, Grant couldn’t tell. Maybe he didn’t want to know.
Everly yawned again. “I feel like I’m not thinking clearly. I guess I didn’t get as much sleep last night as I thought. Or maybe running from that storm wore me out.” She scooted a bit closer to Grant. “I’m glad you were with me.”
“Never know what kind of weather you’ll get in the mountains this time of year,” he said, not daring to move. “The last couple of days have been eventful, to say the least. You need the rest. Take a nap if you want.”
“I think I will,” she murmured, her eyelids growing heavy. “Will you hold me awhile, Grant?”
Would he ever be able to tell this woman no?
He finally moved closer, almost closing the gap between them, and wrapped his arms around her.
Her breathing evened out, and her brow relaxed.
As he watched her drift off to sleep, so close but so off-limits to him, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d unwittingly handed himself over to the sweetest kind of torture.