Chapter 5
YARA
“Do you want eggs, pancakes, or both?”
Ace looks up from the array of pans and bowls and ingredients I didn’t even know I had arranged in front of him and flashes me a warm smile. “I might be able to do French toast, if you want. Or breakfast sandwiches.”
If I wasn’t fully awake yet, the sight of Ace standing in my kitchen in just a pair of mesh shorts and a shirt that does nothing to hide his muscles would be enough to do it.
His very impressive muscles, I may add.
After working predominantly with men for over a decade, I should be plenty used to seeing men’s bodies by now. I shouldn’t be so affected by the flex of Ace’s biceps or how his well-muscled forearms look like they’re dusted in gold as the morning sun hits them.
I shouldn’t be noticing the breadth of his shoulders and how perfectly his T-shirt stretches across them.
My eyes shouldn’t be drawn to his well-muscled thighs, kept strong from the hours of conditioning I know he does each day.
I shouldn’t be wondering what he’d look like without the barriers of clothing—whether he has a six-pack or eight, if there are any tattoos hidden beneath them, and if his naked ass looks as good as I’m imagining.
No. I shouldn’t be thinking about any of those things. But here I am. Thinking.
To my horror, I feel my nipples tightening. A needy ache pulses at my core. Heat warms my cheeks.
No, I tell myself. Ace is just a friend. Get your sex-starved mind out of the gutter.
But the very thought of sex makes it even worse.
I’ve only allowed myself brief fantasies of me and Ace together when there’s absolutely no danger of it happening.
When I’m lying in bed, too wound up after a nightmare to go back to sleep, and I’m desperately casting about for something more pleasant to think about.
That’s when I let myself slip back to those nights when Ace and I stayed up late—or early, depending on how you look at it—and flip the script so it ends differently.
Instead of just sitting on the couch, talking, I close the last few inches of distance between us.
I put my hand on his thigh as I lean in to kiss him.
He’s surprised at first, since I’ve never given any indication of wanting more than friendship.
But he quickly reciprocates, kissing me back with a hungry intensity.
One big hand comes to my nape, tilting my head back to kiss me more deeply.
His furnace-like heat sears into me as our bodies come together.
Then he hauls me onto his lap, and I straddle him, feeling his erection jutting hard against me.
And when our passion rises to a fever-pitch, that’s when Ace sweeps me into his arms and carries me to the bedroom. Sweeps, like I’m a character in a romance movie rather than a battle-hardened soldier who’s never been swept off her feet in her life. But in my fantasy, that’s what he does.
“Yara?” Ace’s smile dips. “I didn’t think you’d mind if I started breakfast, since I was already up. But if you’d rather I didn’t mess with your things—”
“No, it’s fine.” Slamming the door shut on my wayward train of thought, I cross my arms across my chest to hide my bra-less nipples—in hindsight, I should have put one on before coming out here, but it completely slipped my mind—and paste on a smile. “I don’t mind at all.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course.” I cross the room, coming to a stop on the opposite side of the kitchen island. “You’re welcome to make anything you want.”
“Did I wake you up?” he asks. Concern creases his forehead. “I was trying to be quiet.”
“I’ve been up,” I reply. “I was just listening to—” My mouth clamps shut. Heat rises in my cheeks again.
“Listening to what?”
I hesitate, caught between the truth and something that sounds much nicer. More reassuring. Something that won’t make Ace think that his worries about me are valid.
“Never mind,” Ace adds quickly. “It’s none of my business.”
Guilt pricks at me.
Rationally, I know I don’t owe Ace an explanation. But it was a lot easier to pretend everything was fine when we were just texting. Now that he’s here, I feel worse about lying.
“I was listening to my meditation app,” I admit. “I try to get twenty minutes in every morning.”
“Does it help?”
“Not much, but if nothing else, it’s relaxing.”
Ace nods. “Some of my friends swear by those apps. Me, when I’m stressed, I like to keep busy.”
“Yeah.” I lean against the counter. “That helps, too. Especially working on my projects. Then my mind and my hands are busy. That’s the best.”
“Exactly.” He grabs an egg from the carton and gives me a questioning look. “Over easy or scrambled?”
Normally, on the weekend, I down at least two cups of coffee before I even think about breakfast. But with Ace here, offering to cook, I don’t have the heart to tell him I’d rather wait. “Scrambled is good.”
Ace expertly cracks the egg against the side of the mixing bowl and empties the contents into it. Then he takes another egg and does the same. Once he’s emptied half the carton, he picks up a fork and starts mixing. “That’s how I feel about restoring cars. Keeping my mind and hands busy, I mean.”
“Are you still working on the Mustang?” I ask. A few months ago, he sent me a photo of the latest car he was restoring, a 1976 Cobra he’d inherited from his dad.
He smiles, his eyes brightening and crinkling up at the corners.
“Yeah. I’m almost done, though. Mainly just working on the interior cosmetics—restoring the seat covers, the dash, that sort of thing.
I’m thinking another month or so, depending on how work goes.
Since I just did a job in Vegas, I’m not scheduled for another one until mid-February.
But with our pro-bono cases, you never know when something will come up. ”
Since I helped the guys last year while they were protecting Bea, I have a pretty good idea of how Blade and Arrow does business.
They take paid jobs—security consults and protection for special events, for example—and use part of the profits to fund their pro-bono cases.
Their pro-bono clients are usually people who find themselves in trouble but either there’s not enough evidence to get the police involved, or they don’t have the money to hire private protection.
I also know that the Shadow team—Ace’s team—is a little different from the two other Blade and Arrow branches.
The Alpha and Bravo teams actively advertise their services, while the Shadow team stays under the radar, only accepting referrals or, like in the case of Eden, Bea, and Noelle, helping people they already know.
Ace grabs the pepper and adds a healthy shake to the eggs. Then he angles his chin at the package of shredded cheese lying on the counter. “Cheese?”
“A little,” I reply. While I watch him stir in the shredded cheddar, I add, “I don’t remember you cooking like this when you stayed here before.”
He turns on the stovetop and sets a pan on top of the burner. “That’s because Bea and Indy took over the kitchen. Indy kept trying to impress Bea with his terrible cooking skills, and poor Bea just wanted to make something edible. I thought it was better to stay out of it.”
I laugh at the memory of Indy attempting to make chocolate chip pancakes. Aside from ruining two of my pans, he set the smoke alarm off and ended up with a pile of pancakes that were so hard they could have been used as deadly weapons.
Ace looks at me with a knowing grin. “The pancakes?”
I nod. “The pancakes. I didn’t know anyone could mess them up that badly.”
“Only Indy,” he agrees with a chuckle. “Fortunately, Bea’s a good cook. So they don’t have to worry about going hungry.”
Pulling a stool out, I slide onto it while watching Ace pour the egg mixture into the heated pan. “Looks like you know what you’re doing, though.”
“I’m no expert. But my dad liked to cook. Grilling, especially. It turned into something we’d do together—grilling steaks, making wings in the deep fryer, cooking burgers—and it just stuck with me.”
His expression shadows, and his gaze goes distant. But a blink later, his smile is back again, albeit tighter than before. “Anyway. I was thinking we could have breakfast, watch an episode of BattleBots while we digest, and then I thought I might go for a run, if you’d like to join me.”
“You want to watch another episode of BattleBots? And go for a run?”
Ace gives the eggs a quick stir. “You still like running, right? I just thought since it’s actually nice out today”—he angles his chin at the window, where the sun is making a rare and welcome appearance—“it might be nice to get outside. But I won’t be insulted if you don’t want to come with me.”
“It’s not that.” Dragging a stool over, I hop up on it. “I guess… I thought you were leaving.”
The second the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. “Crap. That’s not what I meant. I just—”
Ace sets the spatula on a folded paper towel—he cooks and cleans after himself, I can practically hear Annaliese crowing—and looks at me solemnly.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed. First, just showing up last night, and now making plans for the day without even asking…
I’m coming across like a real asshole. As soon as I’m done cooking, I’ll clean up and leave. ”
“You’re not an asshole.” Though he’s trying to hide it, I can’t miss the hurt in his eyes. So I reach across the counter and put my hand over his. “And I don’t want you to leave.”
“You don’t have to say that, Yara. I get it. It’s the weekend. I’m sure you have plans, and here I am, getting in the way.”
“You’re not an asshole,” I repeat. “A little pushy, yes. But not an asshole.”
“You think I’m pushy?”
A laugh bubbles up. “Ace. Are you kidding?”
A sheepish expression crosses his face. “Fine. Maybe I’m a little pushy. But”—he stirs the eggs again—“I’m not going to push myself on you this weekend.” A beat passes before he amends, “Well. Not again, at least.”