Chapter Eleven Gideon
Chapter Eleven
Gideon
I had to get the fuck out of that house.
In the span of forty-eight hours, Lena has managed to get under my skin and make me question everything I thought I knew about her. I worked next to her for years, and I would have said, with absolute certainty, that there wasn’t much I didn’t know.
If I’d bet my life on it, I’d be fucking dead right now.
Granted, people change. They grow, especially over the course of years, and it’s been a while since I last saw her.
But fundamentally, at the base of who they are, most people don’t change that much.
So what I’m learning is that my little rebel may be sassy and headstrong, but she was also manipulated more than I realized at the time. She’s good at putting on a brave face, but horrible at standing up for herself and telling goddamn Chelsea to fuck off.
Her artwork just about opened up my chest and squeezed the bloody organ pumping there from my body. It’s breathtaking. She captured my mountains perfectly.
The dark charcoal on her cheek was sexy as fuck.
And don’t even get me started on her tight little body. When she fell, and her ass was in the air, it was all I could do to keep my dick in my pants and not fuck her right there on the floor.
She’s not mine.
Lena is the job, and I need to remember that. I need to keep my fucking hands to myself. Stop touching her.
I’ve never been afraid of touch. That’s not something that my shit childhood took away from me. I hug my family all the time, and affection comes easy to me. I think I have Debbie to thank for that. She loved to be hugged and did it so often, it was just second nature.
Lena isn’t so lucky.
But it’s not my job to hug the woman. Or to strip her bare and fuck her into the mattress. Or to sit next to her and listen to her talk about how she was manipulated into having her motherfucking nipples pierced.
And it’s absolutely not my job to want to comfort her, hold her, laugh with her, absorb her the way I want to.
I could want everything with her, and that’s foolish.
So I’m going to work myself into oblivion and get her out of my system, starting with free weights. I haven’t had a good, hard workout in days, and I’m feeling it.
I have music playing, but I can still hear the thunder raging outside. Rain and hail pelt down on the metal roof, echoing inside the gym, and I love the noise.
I finish a set of squats and then pace, listening to the building take a pounding, letting it empty my mind.
After two hours, when it sounds like the storm has calmed, and my muscles are weak and pushed to the limit, I take a shower in the gym bathroom and change my clothes, and then set off for the house.
It’s wet out here, but not currently raining.
The mountains are covered in fresh snow.
And now that I’ve worked out some aggression, I feel better. Lena’s fine. I like having her around. But she’s just the job, and she’ll be gone soon enough. Then, I can get back to work.
I already postponed my next round of trainees by two months, just to be on the safe side, but I can do a lot remotely.
In fact, I need to get home and spend an hour in my office before dinner.
The house is still and silent when I walk inside, and for some reason, that puts my back up.
I move to the pantry and press a hidden button on the inside panel, and when it opens, I pull out the Glock I have stashed there, make sure there’s a round in the chamber, and silently stalk through the house.
It’s too still.
Something’s going on.
Once the lower floor is cleared, I move to the stairs. There’s nothing out of place. No sign of struggle or forced entry.
It’s only my gut telling me that something’s off.
I take the stairs two at a time, my weapon at my side, and look in each bedroom that’s not currently being used.
Nothing.
Lena’s door is slightly ajar, and I push it open, but I don’t find her inside. She’s also not on the other side of the bed, closest to the wall. But the bathroom door is pushed most of the way closed, and the light is on.
There she is.
Silently, I back out of her room and check the laundry and my office and bedroom, and find it all clear, so I tuck the gun in the waist of my pants, at my back.
Everything’s fine.
I don’t know what set me on edge.
But when I walk past her bedroom again, a noise catches my attention. A moan.
Walk away. Get your ass out of here.
My feet move, all right, but not away from the room. My traitorous body takes me right inside it, closer to the bathroom, where the shower is running now, and I can hear throaty moans coming from inside.
Jesus fuck, this is none of your business.
But I can’t leave.
Like a goddamn creeper, I peek through the slight opening in the doorway, and there she is, in the shower.
The glass door is fogged up, so I can’t see her in detail, and I wish I could see the metal in her nipples, but I can clearly tell that she has one foot up on the bench at the end of the walk-in shower, and she’s pointing that showerhead right at her pussy. Her hips move, chasing an orgasm.
Motherfucking hell, I want to be in that shower more than I want to breathe.
So I do the only thing I can do. I lock the door from the inside and slam it shut, keeping myself out.
Keeping her safe from me.
And then I storm down the hall and lock myself in my office while I jack off, leaning against my desk, imagining that I have her bent over, fucking her from behind.
Fuck.
I should have taken her up on having her reassigned.
But the thought of her leaving is unacceptable. It makes me feral.
I need to stay out of her way. Keep her safe. Do the job. Send her home.
Easy.
“I can’t.”
She’s panting, bent over, shaking her head.
Covered in a sheen of sweat from head to toe, Lena rests her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath.
This girl never fails to amaze me. In the past week, we’ve been at the range twice, and both times, her shooting has impressed me.
She’s not afraid of the handguns, and she hits the target every time.
We’re in the ring this morning, and I’ve put her through the paces, but she’s having a hard time getting out of a chokehold.
Ironic, since . . . same.
Of course, my chokehold is metaphorical.
Hers is literal.
“You’re too strong, Gideon.”
I shake my head, pacing the ring.
Since I heard her getting off in my shower a week ago, I’ve kept my distance. We work out every day, we eat meals together, but aside from that, she does her thing, and I do mine.
Her face was flaming red when I walked out of my office that day, and I simply told her to lock her door from now on.
She said nothing.
If we’re going to get through this without me being inside her, this is how it has to be. Having my arms around her while we’re sparring is torture enough.
“You can. Don’t say that shit again.”
“Stop being so moody.” She reaches for her water and takes a long sip, her throat muscles working with every swallow.
I have to look away.
“I’m not here to be your bestie. I’m here to train you.”
“Actually, I’m quite sure my mother never asked you to train me. But okay, big guy.”
Big guy.
That’s the first time she’s called me that in a week, and it pisses me off that it soothes my prickly skin.
Get a fucking grip, James.
“Again.” I crook my finger at her, motioning for her to come closer. “Let’s go.”
“Fine.”
I have her walk past me as if she’s striding down the sidewalk, and I attack her, wrap my arm around her neck, holding tight.
She stomps on my foot but only catches my toes, not hurting me at all. Then she tries to dig her elbow into my stomach, but I arch back.
“Damn it,” she grunts, and finally, she digs her fingernails into my forearm, and when I jerk, my hold loosening, she bites my arm.
“Fuck.”
I drop her, and she swings around triumphantly. “I got out!”
“You fucking bit me.”
“You told me to get out of your hold. If you were a kidnapper, well, I’d probably be too scared anyway, but in this scenario, I would have gotten loose.”
I stare at my arm, blood trickling where the little wildcat broke skin.
“Oh shit. I didn’t mean to bite that hard.”
“No, it’s good. Get out any way you can. Rip the skin from their fucking bones if you have to.”
“Ew.” She wrinkles her nose, and it’s the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
“Do I need a rabies shot?”
Lena smirks and reaches for her water again, her energy renewed with her victory.
“We’re doing the obstacle course tomorrow, now that your feet are healed up.”
“Ugh, that sucks.”
Lifting a brow, I walk out of the ring and drink my own water, watching her carefully. Lena doesn’t tell me when she’s hurting. I have to watch for it—otherwise she’ll push too hard.
“Why does that suck?”
“I’m not good at stuff like that.” She shakes her head and starts to stretch, bending over, and I turn my back on her.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t have the best coordination. Or balance. I’m not clumsy, but I’m no ballerina.”
“Fall risk.”
She barks out a laugh, and it makes my own lips tip up in a grin.
“My hands aren’t the strongest.”
“I hear a lot of excuses, Rebel.” I shake my head and cross my arms. “I don’t give a fuck about any of them. We’re doing it.”
“Your army Ranger is showing. You might want to tuck that in.”
Damn it, I like her.
“We’re running back to the house.”
“Goody. Are you going to sing march songs too?”
“Your mouth is going to get you into trouble one of these days.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.” She’s unconcerned as she shrugs a shoulder and wiggles into my old hoodie before we lock the gym and set off on our jog.
It’s fucking freezing outside. We’re squarely into the middle of October, and cold-weather season is upon us. Clouds hang in a moody overcast ceiling, and there’s a chilly wind hitting us in the face as we jog home.
Once inside, Lena tugs the hoodie off as she heads right for the stairs.
It’s now our routine that she goes up and showers after the workout, and I go to my office to get work done for a few hours.