Chapter 14
BEA
“Bea, what did I say about helping?”
Indy shakes his head as he takes the egg I’m holding and puts it back in the carton.
Then he picks me up, carries me to the other side of the island, and sets me on one of the stools sitting there.
His eyes crinkle with amusement as he asks, “I leave the kitchen for one second, and what do I come back in to find?”
“Um.” I widen my eyes at him. “Me checking the eggs? To see if they’re still good?”
“Really.” He drags out the word. “So you weren’t about to crack that egg? And start cooking something?”
“I was just going to help a little,” I protest. “Not cook the entire meal.”
Indy kisses my forehead. His beard tickles my skin, but not unpleasantly. Though I’ve never dated a man with facial hair before, never thought I wanted to before Indy, I’ve discovered I like it.
Or maybe I only like Indy’s beard.
It looks good on him, not overly bushy or thin and scraggly. It’s just the right length to add depth to his features, and the dark shade brings out the bright blue of his eyes. And his beard gives him a don’t mess with me vibe. Sexy with a hint of danger to it.
I’m sure Indy would look sexy without his beard, too. I’ve never seen him without one—back when I met him at the hospital, his beard was even longer than it is now—but I think it’s safe to assume.
Although, now that I’m thinking about it, what would Indy look like without a beard? I don’t want him to shave it off just to appease my curiosity, but I wonder. Is there a hint of a dimple hiding under there? A cute freckle I could kiss? Would his jaw look even stronger than it already does?
“Bea.” Indy shoots me a puzzled look. “Do I have something stuck in my beard?” He rubs his chin and cheeks, searching for some hidden piece of fuzz.
“No.” I catch his hand and tug it down. “There’s nothing stuck there. I was just thinking about your beard. Wondering what you look like without it.”
“Do you want me to shave it?” He peers at my face. “Did it irritate your skin? Give you a rash? Shit. I’m sorry.”
“It didn’t.” I angle my face to one side, then the other. “No rash. And I don’t want you to shave it. I like your beard. I was just thinking about how much I—”
Wait.
Maybe this is too much information?
Does Indy really need to know my entire thought process about his beard and how sexy it looks on him?
“You were thinking about what?”
Of course he wouldn’t drop it.
“Oh, nothing,” I reply brightly. “So. Breakfast. What are you making again?”
“Bea.” He pins me with his gaze. “If something’s wrong…”
“Nothing’s wrong. I swear. Your beard is fine. Everything’s fine.”
He cups my cheek, stroking his thumb across it. “Tell me. Please.”
Great. Now he really thinks something’s wrong.
Feeling a little foolish for allowing my wandering thoughts to devolve into some weird miscommunication, I explain quickly, “I was just thinking about how sexy you look with your beard. How I’ve never dated anyone with a beard before, but on you, I like it.
And that made me wonder how you’d look without it, not because I want you to shave it, but just because I can’t imagine you looking even sexier than you already do. ”
Indy blinks at me.
I cast a quick glance around the kitchen, searching for a convenient hole to leap into.
A satisfied smile curves his lips. “You think I’m sexy?”
His voice has a growly note that shoots straight to my core.
“You know you are.”
“Bea.” He looks at me for a few seconds before his smile slides into something more serious. “Maybe before. I was a cocky shit back then, though. But now…”
Oh.
I didn’t even think. Because to me, Indy’s always been the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. But in his eyes…
I lean forward, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my cheek on his chest. “You are very sexy,” I tell him. “So much so, it’s hard not to want to go back upstairs right now and hide your wallet so you have to search for it naked again.”
His chest shakes with laughter. Then he presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Maybe we’ll have to hide some things in the bedroom next time. But you’ll be looking, too. Because I’m not missing out on that.”
My belly flutters in anticipation.
We only had sex the one time last night, not because I didn’t want a second round, but because I fell asleep in Indy’s arms and didn’t wake up until after sunrise this morning.
Which was both a disappointment and a relief—I would definitely have liked to have sex with Indy again, but last night was the first time since the attack that I didn’t have at least one nightmare.
I know it was a little weird for Indy, spending the night with me.
Not that he didn’t want to, but he takes his prosthetic off to sleep, and while he didn’t come right out and say it, I know he was worried about what I’d think.
“I want to stay with you,” he told me as we cuddled post-sex.
“But I have things I have to take care of. And I don’t always sleep that well. Nightmares and all.”
Honestly, I’d be shocked if he didn’t have PTSD after being through such a traumatic experience. And I’m right there with him, with the nightmares. But I knew it wasn’t just that, because I was feeling the same niggles of insecurity.
“I have to take off my implants every night,” I told him, “so I can’t hear anything. That might be weird for you. But,” I added lightly, “You won’t wake me up if you have a nightmare. Although I might wake you up with one of mine…”
As soon as I mentioned my own concerns, Indy did a complete one-eighty. He got this super intense look in his eyes and hugged me even tighter. “I’m staying,” he announced. “If you have a nightmare, I’ll be here to help you through it.”
Which, awwww.
Indy might be tough on the outside, but on the inside? He’s a big softie.
And really, it’s not like I haven’t seen him without his prosthetic on before. So it wasn’t a big deal at all.
“I’ll have to think of some things to hide,” Indy says, still stuck on the whole searching the bedroom while naked idea. Interest brightens his gaze. “Maybe we can make it into a modified Jenga game. With the pieces hidden around the room…”
He kisses me again before going back to the other side of the island. “I’ll have to grab one of the Jenga sets,” he muses. “I’m sure Ace won’t mind if I… repurpose one.”
“Probably not,” I agree while squeezing my thighs together against the ache building between them.
For just a millisecond, I consider attacking Indy right here in the kitchen. Yara’s already at work, Ace is off doing his morning jog slash surveillance, and Tyler is busy on his laptop in the office. So, technically, we’re alone.
For now, at least. But all it would take is Ace running faster than he usually does, or Tyler getting thirsty, and I wouldn’t just be worrying about Indy’s friends hearing us, they’d get a live view, front and center. Which I would very much not enjoy.
“So,” Indy continues as he takes an egg from the carton and whacks it hard against the side of the mixing bowl.
The egg shatters, sending tiny pieces of shell falling into the bowl, along with the broken yolk spreading into the white around it.
But he’s sweetly oblivious to it and just grabs the next egg and keeps on going.
“Do you want to see what I look like without a beard? I have some old photos from before I became a GB.”
I fight back the urge to jump over the island and save the poor, innocent eggs from a grisly slaughter. “Yes. I’d love to see them.”
He cracks another egg—more like demolishes it—and moves on to the third. “The rules about personal grooming weren’t as strict for Special Forces. So I could have a beard. It was easier to blend in that way. But before that, I had to be clean shaven.”
After adding a fourth egg to the rest, Indy goes over to the sink to wash his hands.
Then he rummages in his pocket and pulls out his phone.
He taps away at it for a few seconds before handing it over.
“I was home for Christmas that year,” he explains.
“I think I was twenty-two then. Maybe twenty-three.”
All interest in the eggs disappears as I study the photo on his phone. Indy’s standing in front of a mantel with three stockings hung from it, with a younger Eden on one side of him and an older woman on the other.
He looks young. His face is unlined, and there’s a confident lift to his chin. His hair is much shorter, which makes sense considering he was an enlisted soldier back then. And yes, he does look sexy without a beard, just as I suspected.
But I like this Indy better.
“You look good,” I tell him. “But I think you’re even more handsome now.”
Indy smiles, his face lighting up with it. “I’m glad you think so.”
While he whisks the eggs—or should I say, trying to emulate a small tornado—I ask, “So this is your mom, right?”
“Yeah.” He flicks a quick look at the photo. “That Christmas was good for her. Since Eden and I could both be there.”
Indy doesn’t talk much about his mom, aside from that she lives in Florida, he talks to her once a week, and he tries to visit her at least a few times a year.
And I know his dad passed away when Indy was just a kid.
But it was never a topic that came up during our PT sessions, and there hasn’t been a ton of time to talk about personal things like that with everything else going on.
Indy grabs the nearby bag of shredded mozzarella and dumps about half of it into the mixing bowl. “You know my dad died when I was young, right?”
“Yeah. You mentioned that before.”
“I was in middle school. Eden was still in elementary. His heart had been bad for years. Cardiomyopathy.” He looks across the island at me, his eyes going sad. “He was a great dad. And really smart. That’s where Eden got it from. Me, on the other hand…”
“You’re smart.”