by Freya Barker
“I’m good,” I mumble, demonstratively closing my eyes.
I wake up, two hours later, outside my apartment building with Yanis opening the passenger side door.
“I can walk,” I start, but he’s already sliding his hand underneath my legs.
“Arms around my neck,” he instructs. “I’ll come back down to grab your stuff later.”
Detective Evans showed up this morning with my backpack and phone. Crime techs had looked them over, judging from the smudges of fingerprint powder, but since mine were the only ones found they were able to release them.
He didn’t have any news to share, but would contact us if anything popped up or if they had further questions for me.
The man doesn’t even break a sweat as he carries me up three flights of stairs to my floor. My front door is open and to my surprise Lena is waiting in my apartment with Phil, the manager, who looks a little nervous. Both look on with interest as Yanis installs me on the couch, carefully lifting my ankle onto a throw pillow.
“I hope this is okay?” the older man mutters, wringing his hands. “She mentioned you were in an accident.”
“It’s fine,” I quickly put him at ease, despite feeling a little weirded out having people in my normally solitary space.
“Okay, I’ll get going then.”
I wait until he leaves before turning to a grinning Lena.
“What are you doing here?”
“Dropping off some stuff and making sure you’re all right with my own two eyes,” she says, throwing Yanis a look I can’t quite decipher.
“What stuff? Work?”
Yanis snorts.
“No work, not until you’re cleared,” he grumbles.
“He was talking about physical work. I can still work on my laptop.”
“All he said was no work.”
Semantics. Surely there’s nothing wrong with doing some work remotely.
“Yes,” I agree patiently, “but he clearly implied nothing causing physical strain.”
His eyes narrow on me.
“He also said rest. Work does not equal rest.”
I let out an annoyed sigh. It’s not worth arguing about since he’s going to be gone soon enough anyway.
Lena seems to be enjoying our interaction as her eyes dart from me to him.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Yanis asks her.
“Are you kidding? And miss all the fun?” she fires back.
I glare at him, which he doesn’t seem to notice at all, as he locks into a staredown with Lena.
“Oh fine,” she concedes, rolling her eyes at Yanis. “I’ll head back to the office. I put your bag in the spare bedroom, by the way.”
Wait.
“Uh, I’m sorry, whose bag in what spare bedroom?”
Turning to me with an innocent look on her face, she explains, “Yanis’s overnight bag in your spare bedroom. Although if you ask me, it’s a waste of clean sheets.”
My mouth is still hanging open when she walks out of my apartment and pulls the door shut.
“Wait. Why is your bag—”
But when I turn to Yanis, he’s on his way to my kitchen. He opens my cupboard, grabs a glass, and fills it from my faucet. Then he brings it to me.
“Need anything else?” he asks, as if I hadn’t spoken. “I’ll get your stuff from the car and then I’m gonna have a quick shower. Try to get some rest.”
He presses the TV remote in my hand and disappears out the door.
What the hell?
I can’t have him staying here, and he certainly can’t have a shower in my only bathroom. The thought of him…
Nope, that can’t happen.
Surely he’s not thinking of sticking around and playing nurse? That would be beyond awkward.
I’m wound up when he returns and blast him the moment he walks in the door.
“You can’t stay.”
“Okay, then we pack you a bag and you come stay with me,” he says, cool as a cucumber.
My brows snap together and I imagine steam may be coming from my ears.
“That’s an even worse idea,” I sputter.
“You’re being stubborn. You’re in no shape to look after yourself.”
Nothing like telling me I’m stubborn and can’t look after myself to get my blood boiling.
“I’m not stubborn and I’m perfectly fine.”
I push myself up, as I’m lifting my foot off the couch, and accidentally bump it into the edge of the coffee table.
“Fuck!” I yell out at the pain.
Immediately Yanis is there, pushing me back down on the couch, and carefully lifting my foot.
“Smart move,” he mumbles, making me want to slug him hard. “Gonna grab that shower now,” he adds.
Then he leaves me to stew as he disappears toward the bedrooms.
An angry, frustrated tear slips from my eye.
Damn that man.
Chapter Eight
Bree
“Hand me your cup.”
He reaches a hand over my shoulder and I give him my empty coffee mug.
We’ve been doing this dance now for two days. Yanis, as normal, is man of few words, and I’ve become silently compliant. He has the ability to make me feel like a recalcitrant child and behave like one too.
I tried doing things myself to prove I didn’t need him around, but that didn’t go so well. I finally gave in to letting him take care of me. He’s been hands-on, cooking, serving me, and even helping me to the bathroom and into bed.
I’ve done what I can sitting down, but haven’t had a shower, and desperately need one. My hair is getting greasy and washing with a washcloth while sitting on the toilet only goes so far.
“Here you go,” he says, handing the mug back. “Lena is coming by with some stuff for me to sign, but this afternoon I have a meeting with the new Chief Security Officer of Jelnyk Mining, who is flying in.”
He sits back down at my small dining table, which has been reclaimed as a desk for Yanis to work from.
Jelnyk is one of our long-term clients. The company has mines all over Latin America and we provide security frameworks for them. Each mine comes with a different set of challenges: product, environment, political unrest, physical landscape, and requires customized security. Although a lot of it can be planned remotely, we need a man on the ground—sometimes for months—during the design phase, and then to make sure the system works effectively.
“Is there a problem at one of the mines?” I want to know, turning to look at him.
He shakes his head. “No, but they’re expanding operations of one of their smaller sites in Peru.”
“Oh. Will you be sending one of the guys out?”
“Depends, it sounds like I may have to make a trip out there myself at some point. I’ll find out more today.”
I nod and turn back to the book I’ve been trying to read. It’s good but a little steamy. Every time things get physical in the story; I become highly aware of Yanis’s proximity and stop reading.
Right now, I have a hard time concentrating on the story at all. I really want that shower but I hate asking him for help. Maybe I can ask Lena.
“What time is Lena coming?”
He lifts his head.
“She said she had an errand to run on her lunch break and would pop in on her way. I’m guessing around noon. Why? Did you need her for something?”
Damn.
“It’s been three days; I need a shower and was going to—”
He’s already up and moving toward me.
“Shoulda said something,” he grumbles, plucking my mug and Kindle out of my hands before picking me up off the couch.
“Yanis, really. You’ve got stuff to do.”
“It’ll wait.”
He sets me down in the bathroom and I swallow my irritation at being carried like baggage everywhere. Surely that’s a bit extreme, despite what the doctor said. How do other people do this? Or what if roles were reversed?
<
br /> “You know you have to stop lugging me around.”
He braces his hand on the vanity and leans in close.
“Look, I know you hate this, but the less strain you put on your body right now the faster you’ll recover. I want you back to normal and on your feet as much as you do.”
My body tenses up.
Right. In other words, he doesn’t want to waste any more time with me than necessary. I get it.
He growls and with a finger under my chin lifts my face. He’s so close I can see the golden swirls in his blue eyes. They darken when he’s angry or when he used to get turned on.
“Whatever you’ve got running around that mind of yours, stop. You overthink things. Let me look after you.”
It’s almost a plea and confuses me even more.
“Fine,” I mumble ungraciously, eliciting a sigh from him.
“Good. Can you get yourself undressed? I’m just gonna grab a kitchen chair so you can sit down in the shower.”
It shouldn’t bother me; I share a locker room with the guys back at the office. Those brief flashes of nudity don’t bother me. At least they don’t under those circumstances. But I feel vulnerable here, in my own bathroom, with him. More exposed and in much closer proximity.
My body has changed in the past decade or so.
Pushing through my discomfort, I quickly strip off my shirt and out of my lounge pants. I haven’t bothered with underwear since I got home. It’s easier this way.
Yanis returns with one of my plastic utilitarian kitchen chairs and sets it in the tub, turning the faucet on in the shower without even casting me a glance. With the water running he turns to me and sinks down on his knees, startling me when he picks up my bad ankle. With sure movements he takes off the brace.
“Looks a bit better,” he comments matter-of-factly, as if I’m not sitting here buck naked.
His complete focus is on my foot which does look better, less swollen. His eyes never venture up. Maybe he’s as uncomfortable as I am.
“I don’t mean to be a bother. I could’ve asked Willa to help.”
Now he looks up, a rare smile tugging at his lips.
“Willa is at the hospital.”
I shake my head, not understanding.
“Hospital?”
“Her baby is in the NICU.”
“Baby?”
I sound like a parrot but none of what he says makes sense. I’ve seen enough of Willa to know she was not pregnant. Besides, Dimi would’ve howled at the moon. The whole world would’ve known.
“They adopted a newborn. Told me last weekend.”
“I had no idea.”
“News to me too,” he says with a twist of his lips. “One person’s tragedy is another’s dream come true.”
Then he explains how this opportunity for Dimi and Willa came about as he helps me in the tub.
I try not to notice how his touch feels on my bare skin.
Yanis
I have a hard time concentrating on my client.
Good thing I thought, at the last minute, Radar should be sitting in because knowing him, he’ll have detailed notes of everything the man is rattling off.
My mind isn’t on work, it’s on the woman I left installed on her couch with the TV remote, her phone, a bottle of water, and a box of cookies by her side. Neither of us mentioned her red-rimmed eyes when I helped her dry off after her shower.
If not for years of experience curbing my baser instincts when it comes to Bree, I would’ve taken her wet, slick body in my arms. So fucking tempting. She’s changed over the years. Fuller, a bit softer, and undeniably more feminine than the tight, athletic body I remember.
I almost kissed her when I noticed the faint scar bisecting her lower belly. I tried not to stare at the unfamiliar sight, thoughts of what the incision might represent swirling around my head. I can’t remember a time she was off for longer than maybe a week at a time. Except perhaps the time right after I broke things off between us. The kind of surgeries that leave a scar like that would surely require a longer recovery.
She’d been gone for three-and-a-half months before she came back married. A marriage I wish I’d asked her about at the time.
I sure as hell intend to ask her about it now. Before I take this thing with Bree any further. One thing is clear, the chemistry we once had is still there, in fact, the air was thick with it earlier. The way her breath hitched and goosebumps rose on her skin when I touched her confirmed she felt it too. As soon as I can get through this meeting, I plan to pick up some dinner, head back to her apartment, and clear the air.
One way or another.
“You seemed distracted in there. Everything all right?”
Radar holds the door open to the parking lot as we walk out of the airport where we had the meeting with Jelnyk Mining security.
“Fine. Tell me you made notes?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Email them to me. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Without waiting for a response, I head toward the Yukon.
“Boss!”
Radar is still standing where I left him.
“Yeah?”
“Bree up for visitors?”
“No.” The denial is out before I can think. Fucking Radar smirks. “Call and ask her yourself. Tomorrow,” I add before I get behind the wheel.
I stop by the Village Inn to pick up a couple of All-American Cheeseburgers, Bree’s favorite, before heading back to her place.
She looks a little rumpled when I walk in, probably napping. She’s been doing a lot of that the past few days. I thought it was to avoid conversation with me, but maybe her body needs the extra sleep to heal.
“Is that…”
“Village Inn.”
The solemn face I’ve seen the past few days suddenly brightens up with the smile she shoots me.
“Yesss. I’m starving.”
One of the things I’ve always liked about her is her healthy, unapologetic appetite. The moment I hand her the plate I dumped her fries and burger on she dives in.
We’ve been eating quietly for a while when Bree speaks up.
“I had a call earlier. Follow-up appointment at St. Mary’s for four tomorrow afternoon. I can take a cab or something.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Well, I didn’t want to presume,” she adds snippily.
I know she hates not being independent—fuck, I’d hate it too—but part of me hoped it might’ve waned a little. At least with me.
“Haven’t spent the past few nights crashing here because your view rocks, Bree. Presumption is expected.”
She rolls her eyes but her mouth twitches.
“Fine. Thanks, and thanks for the burger. It’s my favorite.”
I stuff the last bite of mine in my mouth and mumble, “I know.”
While she clears the final few fries from her plate, I decide this is as good a time as any.
“We need to talk.”
I read suspicion in her eyes when she turns them on me.
“About?”
“Us.”
She has trouble swallowing that final bite and grabs for her water to wash it down.
“What us? There hasn’t been an ‘us’ for just about all of the years we’ve known each other. Save for maybe a month or two. Any ‘us’ there may have been has long been washed out by over a decade of simply working together.”
Something about the way she formulates her response so readily makes me wonder if she thinks about what we were to each other—however brief—more than she’s willing to admit.
“That’s a load of bull, and you know it. There’s always been more.”
I grab our plates, set them on the far end of the coffee table, and turn my body toward her. I’m purposely confrontational. Bree is wired like I am in a lot of ways. She responds to any perceived threat with a full-frontal attack. The best way to get her talking is to poke at her armor.
Her body language screams disbelief even before she
speaks.
“Did you hit your head or something? I was married for chrissakes.”
She makes a good play for disbelief but I’m not buying it. I never really did, I was just safer with her hidden behind the identity she’d woven, so I could justify what I’d done.
But I’m done giving myself that out, and I’m done accepting hers.
“Were you? I can’t remember ever meeting him, or you talking about him much. He was just a name you may have mentioned.”
“Ted Dillard, and we were married. For seven years, in fact,” she spits back. “If you don’t believe me, check the album on the bottom shelf.”
She points at the low bookcase underneath her TV. I spot the album and get up to grab it. The first page is a wedding picture of Bree wearing a sundress, her hair falling loose over her shoulders, holding a simple bouquet of daisies. With his arm casually around her shoulders stands a tall, blond-haired man with a boyish face, in dress uniform. Both are barefoot standing on the sand as they smile for the camera, a blue ocean in the background.
My gut sours, but then I notice the tension on Bree’s face, the tightness of her smile, and the way her shoulders are pulled up almost to her ears.
So maybe she was married, but she wasn’t happy about it.
“A military man,” I comment, putting the album back in its spot and reclaiming my seat beside her on the couch.
“Armed Forces warrant officer. Helicopter pilot at Fort Carson.”
“Fort Carson?” That’s in Colorado Springs, a good five-hour drive from here, if you’re lucky. “That’s quite the commute,” I point out, keeping a close eye out for her reaction.
“Worked for us.”
If her noncommittal response is intended to satisfy me, she’s sorely mistaken. It just makes the whole thing reek more like a marriage of convenience. What convenience though?
Fuck, my years of guilt-induced hands-off when it came to Bree are coming back to haunt me.
“Not being together?”
The Bree I knew from back then was enthusiastic, attentive, and grabbing every opportunity to get close. I can’t see her as satisfied and happy when her man is a fucking five-hour drive away.
