20. Gwen
Gwen
Teeth brushed and dressed in my workout clothes, my keycard and new mobile tucked into my legging side pocket, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be to sneak out.
Opening my bedroom door as quietly as possible, I slip into the living room, tiptoeing past Dad asleep on the couch.
It’s only four in the morning, but I need coffee more than I need the extra rest. And since turning on my Nespresso machine would wake Dad, my only option is the café on the first level. They’re not open for another two hours, but I’ve been known to pop in and make myself a latte a time or six.
I miraculously manage not to disturb Dad or spend too much time fixating on my main box sitting lonely on my desk, and ease into the hallway.
The service lift deposits me into the lobby, where it’s calm and dim at this hour.
I suppose I’m safe to roam around even though someone staying here could be in on what happened.
Chills slip across my skin at that thought, but the nerves evaporate as soon as I spot the head of security.
Malachi has become part guardian, part great-uncle since he joined us.
When Elaina was here for Christmas and they met for the first time, she rested her hand on his and just quietly stared at him before whispering, “Your name means messenger or angel of the Lord.” Apparently, she doesn’t need prophetic visions to get a read on people, or to know random things about them.
Guilt about lying to her, and the fact she needs security now, is about to smack me in the face again, but Malachi—who, heck, maybe is an angel—strides over, distracting me.
He pulls me in for a hug, one that could double as a chiropractic adjustment. He may be in his sixties, but the man is as strong as most guys half his age. “How are you holding up?”
I step back and shrug. He doesn’t need a verbal answer.
He can easily read me. He was one of Carter’s commanding officers from his Army days.
Carter talked him into heading our security team after he retired spring of last year, and I’m pretty sure Malachi’s been assessing me with his military-grade truth radar ever since—especially after the helo crash, always ensuring I’m eating healthy and keeping up with physical therapy.
He checks his watch, quickly realizing what I’m up to. “Little early for coffee, isn’t it?”
“There’s never a bad hour for caffeine.”
He grins. “Unless you want sleep.”
“Bah.” I wave my hand. “Who needs that?” Me, actually, my inner voice yells. But that bloody voice kept me from getting more than barely any in the last thirty-ish hours since we left the island, so screw her. “I might as well caffeinate my brain if my body refuses to shut down.”
“Fair enough. Just take it easy for me, will ya?” He pats my shoulder before I take off. “Glad to see Easton came home.”
Pausing mid-step, I glance back, giving him a small smile. He knows how much I missed him. I really hope Easton is back for good, though. I can’t survive losing him again.
When Malachi returns to the desk, I set off on my caffeine mission.
I unlock the café and head inside. It’s mostly dark except for the faint glow of equipment in standby mode. The night crew’s prep left the air smelling of fresh ground beans. The scent alone is enough to jar my brain awake.
I navigate by memory, staying in stealth mode as I power up the espresso machine. A sliced bagel goes into the toaster, and I start gathering what I need for my breakfast.
A few seconds later, an overhead light snaps on.
My shoulders jerk back and my heart leaps into my throat. I whirl around to see . . .
Oh.
Hi.
(Pretty sure that was said in my head.)
“Why are you up this early?” Easton asks as he heads over, dressed in all black from head to toe. Black sweats, tee, ball cap, and Nikes. He rests a hand on the metal counter beside him, keeping his distance.
“I couldn’t sleep. Not well.” No need to tell him why. He knows. “Got a couple hours maybe. Didn’t want to wake anyone to make a cup of joe, so I came here.”
“You could’ve come to my room.” His mouth quirks. “Stolen my joe like normal.”
My brain flashes back to when I took his U-M mug. I’m not ready to give it back yet. “Seeing as though you’re here, too, looks like I’d have wasted my time.”
“There weren’t any decent Nespresso pods in my room.” He covers a yawn with the back of his hand, which of course triggers me to yawn as well.
He smiles, and it’s warm and friendly and just what I need. “Looks like you should still be sleeping.”
“Samesies.” I wink. “But seems like neither of us is pulling that off.”
He chuckles at me calling him out, nodding his head in agreement. “Your dad stood post outside your bedroom, I assume? I’m surprised he let you come down here alone.”
“Well, he more so slept outside my room. On the couch. But yeah, I had to sneak past him, activating super-stealth mode.”
The toaster pops, and I jump a little. I fumble the too-hot bagel and drop it onto the counter with a curse before grabbing the cream cheese to slather it on.
“More cheese than bread.”
“As it should be.” I set aside the knife and offer him half.
“No, thanks, I’m good.” He pats his stomach. “You know me, coffee is my breakfast.”
“Yet you give me crap the second I try to pull that off.”
“Of course,” he grunts with affection. “You need to eat. Protein. Some carbs. It’s good for you.”
“Mm-hmm.” I roll my eyes, earning a quick smile from him as he moves around the machine, making my coffee exactly the way I’d have ordered it.
“My very own barista,” I say around a mouthful of bagel. I glance into the mug he hands me, feigning disappointment. “What, no pretty flower or heart shape?”
He takes it from me and sets it down. “I’m good, but not that good.”
My smile falters as he steps just close enough for me to catch his scent.
Not cologne, but the hotel’s white-tea-and-vanilla-jojoba body wash clinging warm to his skin.
I inhale without meaning to, holding it in my lungs.
Then he surprises me by leaning in, placing his thumb at the corner of my mouth.
“Cream cheese.” He drags his thumb along the underside of my lip, and it takes all my control not to lick him. His gaze is locked on my mouth like he’s working with a scalpel and performing surgery.
“Thanks,” I manage when he finally pulls back and wipes his thumb on a nearby towel. “Did you, um, see Malachi before you came in?”
“Yeah. He didn’t give me the heads-up you were here.”
Something tells me that was on purpose. Malachi, the secret matchmaker. Perfect.
As he starts making his own drink, I hop onto the counter and take a sip of mine. One pump of vanilla and two splashes of milk, just the way I like it.
“How’d the medical exam go last night?” he asks while the coffee brews. “We haven’t been alone since—”
“Since the hallway on the plane.”
After all the hellos and hugs last night, followed by my checkup, I spent the night in my room. I just needed some alone time.
“By the way,” I begin at the memory, “what’d you and Julian talk about? Took you a bit to join us.” I wasn’t planning to ask that anytime soon, but out it came.
He turns, and seeing his back reminds me all over again of what that damn woman did to him. I discard the bagel as my appetite evaporates in real time.
“Nothing. He said nothing to me.”
Well, that answers that. A lot was said.
“Now your turn to answer my question.”
“That sounded awfully bossy.”
He pours his coffee. “As it should be,” he throws my words back at me. “Now tell me.”
“I’m fine. How about you?” I hop off the counter, much more worried about him than I am myself. “Did you see the doctor about your back?”
“Yeah. My pain-in-the-ass sister made me. Gave me some topical antibiotics for the lash marks.” He slowly faces me, bringing the lip of his cup to his mouth, but he doesn’t drink yet.
I reach forward and snatch his hat so I can get a better read on his eyes.
“I’m fine. Don’t start up again with that worrying nonsense.”
“I won’t, as long as you don’t worry about me.” With his hat, I wave him away, and the charms on my bracelet jangle together. “Dad gave it back to me.”
“I can see that.” He sips his coffee, one hand going into his sweats pocket. His dark hair is controlled but not styled. Deliberate disorder that’s far too sexy and in need of my fingers running through it.
The way this man can pull off gorgeous and devastatingly casual at four in the morning should be illegal.
What is wrong with me?
Oh, right. Loads.
I return his hat in place and pick up my mug. “So, no health questions, but how about this one?” I peek at him from over my drink. “Do you have plans to have your stuff stored at your dad’s shipped back here?”
He chokes on his coffee and lowers the cup to the counter, striking the heel of his hand to his chest. “Wrong pipe.”
Wrong question, too, from the sounds of it.
“I’ll get around to it eventually.”
Why’d that feel like another lie?
“Carter told me he opened a clothing store after I moved out. They have an online option?”
“Oh, wow, such a hardship to travel a few flights upstairs to shop.”
“It is, actually.” He half smiles.
“Silly.” I smile back. “I’ve been asking Carter to open that store forever.” I hold out my palms like I’m doing a magic trick. “You just never know when you’ll need an emergency suit or underwear to buy in person.”
“Actually, I am in need of the second thing.”
I drop my eyes straight to his crotch, unable to stop myself. “Wait . . . are you—”
“Commando beneath? Yes.”
My eyes jerk up to see him smirk as he picks up his coffee again.
“There were new and clean panties for me at the safe house.”
His eyes narrow at me, his gaze a little too sharp, like he isn’t thrilled about me talking about my underwear.
“Thought you Brits call them—”
“I’m an Ameri-Brit mutt,” I joke. “According to Elaina, I mix-mash my words. Never noticed I do that until she pointed it out to me last month. Today, it’s panties.
Tomorrow, if you’re lucky, knickers.” I poke his chest, closing one eye.
“Now, really, are you seriously telling me the man who thinks of everything—a.k.a. Carter Dominick—forgot to have boxer-briefs stocked at the safe house?”
He scoffs. “How do you know I wear those?” He raises his eyebrows, and seriously, I have no idea how we’re inside a coffee shop this early, laughing about undergarments, but I’m done questioning how this man always puts me at ease. Instead, I’ll just enjoy and appreciate that he does.
“It’s a guess. A good one, apparently.”
“Well, if you really must know . . .” With his free hand, he points to his shirt. “While I’ll wear my brother-in-law’s clothes, I’m sure as hell not wearing his underwear. Or some random ones I found at a safe house. I’ll order some online, thanks.”
“So, you’d rather be all drafty there?” I point to his crotch, and his stubbled jawline tightens as he stares at my face instead of my finger.
He frowns. “Could we not talk about my dick?”
How this man can casually toss out the D word while keeping a straight face is beyond me, but it’s adorable, actually. “You brought it up, not me. I didn’t need to know you were Han Solo’ing it.”
“Han Solo’ing?” He laughs. “God, I love you.” He freezes, and while the D word doesn’t seem to embarrass him, the L one certainly does. “You know what I mean.” He flips his eyes skyward, acting like a typical guy who has no clue how to deal with his feelings. Not that I’m any better.
“So, how about we do it now?”
There he goes again, choking on his coffee as if I asked him to have sex or something just as absurd.
I mean, that’d be crazy to even think about, let alone actually do.
. . . Right?
“Do what?” he splutters.
I smooth my fingers over the trident charm on my bracelet, waiting for the blush in my face to die down.
“Shop. I meant shop. We can get in before they open and charge it to our rooms. Which, in my humble opinion, is even better than online.” I abandon my bracelet now that my face feels a bit more room-temp-ish and give him a conspiratorial grin.
“It wouldn’t be my first time sneaking into the store before opening hours.
” I jerk my thumb toward the door. “After, you can help me pick out a new travel rig. Carter has a whole room of tech I can choose from.”
“You mean the weapons room?”
“Sure. An M4 for you, a ThinkPad for me . . .” I shrug. “Both are tools. Kind of.”
Excited to have something to do besides pretend to sleep, I clean up after myself and shut down the machines, assuming he’s ready to follow along. But when I spin around, he’s still standing there, drinking his coffee and not moving a muscle. “Not coming?”
“To have you help me pick out underwear?” He shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good.”
“Ohhhh come on.” I tug at his shirt, and he narrows his eyes in the direction of my hand. “This helps me take my mind off things, so please . . .” I release his tee and give him my best prayer hands, just in case my sad, mopey eyes don’t do the trick.
He exhales a deep breath and sets aside his mug. “Fine.” He holds up a finger, shooting me a tough and stern expression, which should be intimidating if it wasn’t so damn cute. “But no tuxedos.”
“Got it.” I smile. “Boxer-briefs only.”
“Gwen.” His warning is ruined by the twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“Relax.” I wrap a hand over his shoulder and tease, “I’ll behave.”
He snorts. “That’ll be the day.”