by Whitley Cox
Colton’s smile was wicked. “We’re just practicing right now.”
“Colton saved me.” Mercedes’s eyes welled up with tears, and she turned back to look at her husband. “He took care of me. He makes me feel safe and loved, cared for and cherished. I’ve never met a man like him before, and I don’t want anybody else.”
Colton leaned over and pecked his new wife on the cheek. “And I’ve never met a wild, beautiful, smart, funny woman like Mercedes before. It was just meant to be.”
Barf.
The two of them turned to face each other, staring into each other’s eyes like a couple of lovesick morons.
Aaron’s stomach turned from their sappy and mushy display.
Who the fuck was the man in front of him? He sure as hell didn’t recognize him. Sure, he looked like Colton Hastings, their team medic, special operative, man-whore, but he certainly wasn’t acting like him. Colton Hastings, aka the man-whore from Massachusetts, had sworn up, down and sideways that he’d never let a piece of tail tie him down. That marriage was for suckers and kids just drained your bank account. He’d laughed hysterically when Rob announced he was marrying Skyler, then he’d hit on every woman at their wedding, finally taking the receptionist from the hotel’s front desk back to his room for the night.
The guy was definitely who you wanted on your six when out on a mission, but he wasn’t exactly who you let around your little sister. Colton had only met Dina once, and Dina had had a boyfriend at the time.
Yet now, here Colton was, married and talking about babies.
They were in the fucking Twilight Zone.
“What you gonna do for work?” Aaron asked, feeling the need to finally say something. He’d been quiet since the newlyweds showed up, not sure how to handle their news or their over-the-top public displays of affection.
Colton released Mercedes’s hand and picked his taco back up off his plate. “Not sure yet. Mercedes’s place is big enough for the two of us, so I’m moving in with her. Thought about maybe trying out for the fire department. The academy has a new enrollment soon.” His mouth turned up at one corner, the white scar that ran through his lips on the left making his smile seem just a touch evil. “Or I have a friend here in town who runs a construction company. He mentioned the other night that he’s short-staffed and looking for laborers. I feel like I’d be a real asset on the job site, what with my medical background.”
Ah, fuck.
Aaron lifted an eyebrow, leveling his gaze on his friend. “Yeah? You think so?”
Colton chewed his meal, a dumbass grin on his face. “I do. I mean, you’d be my reference anyway, right? Who knows me better than you?”
Aaron clenched and flexed his jaw muscle in thought. “You know how to run a circular saw?”
Colton nodded. “Helped my daddy build his barn last summer. Thing’s still standing, not getting any complaints from the pigs or chickens, so I couldn’t have done that bad of a job.”
Aaron grunted. “Tomorrow morning then.”
Colton smiled, tipping up his beer. “Thanks, man. You won’t regret it.”
He better fucking hope not.
“So, what’s going on with you two?” Mercedes asked, pointing at Aaron and Isobel with her bejeweled hand. “I’m picking up on some serious sexual tension.” The woman’s bright gray eyes twinkled with her own dopamine and heavily sexed-up glee. “Has Mr. Sheffield finally decided to tap that?”
Aaron looked at Isobel for clarification. Pop culture references had never been his forte.
Isobel rolled her eyes, reading his frustration and conveying a bit of her own with a glare across the room at a pleased-as-punch smiling Mercedes. “She’s referring to the old television show The Nanny. Mr. Sheffield was the boss.”
Aaron groaned.
He wasn’t sure if he felt sorry for Colton for being lassoed by this woman or if his buddy deserved her.
“We’re taking things slow,” Isobel said, glancing at Aaron. “Right?”
Aaron picked up his beer and guzzled half of it before nodding. “Yeah, slow.”
Though the way he’d hammered her body repeatedly into his mattress Sunday night had been anything but slow. He’d shocked the shit out of both of them with his intensity. He’d been fucking insatiable.
Once he, Iz and Soph were alone again Sunday night—Tori, Mark, Liam and the kids having headed home after pizza—and he could finally breathe, they cleaned up, bathed Soph, put her to bed, and then he’d taken Iz in every room of the house. They’d christened every countertop, every chair, every sofa, every flat surface in his rancher. Then when they ran out of flat surfaces, he bent her over the hood of his truck in the garage and fucked her there too.
No wonder they needed more condoms.
“Why go slow?” Mercedes asked. “If it’s right, it’s right.”
He could practically feel the heat radiating off Isobel’s cheeks. He could definitely see them changing color out of the corner of his eye.
But his woman was all class. She shrugged. “Everybody is different. We’re content with the way it is.”
Mercedes rolled her eyes. “You mean he’s content with the way it is. Someone to watch his kid, make his meals, clean his house and warm his bed, with zero commitment or promise of a future.”
Colton’s mouth made an O that said “Oh snap,” and his eyebrows nearly cleared right off his forehead. Mercedes’s eyes narrowed on Isobel, one blonde eyebrow ascending in challenge.
The two women seemed to have a stare-down.
Aaron held his breath. If one of them started to take off her bangles and hoops, they were going to have a catfight. His gaze bounced between the two women. Neither of them wore bangles or hoops. How the fuck would anybody know if they were going to fight?
“That’s enough,” Isobel finally said, her voice low but crystal clear.
Mercedes rolled her eyes, shook her head and picked her taco back up, taking a big bite. “All I’m saying,” she started again, tucking her food into her cheek, “is that I don’t want to see my friend get hurt. You have the biggest heart on the planet, Iz. I’ve seen it shatter once or twice, and it’s the most gut-wrenching thing in the world. I don’t want to see it happen again because you’ve given yourself over completely to somebody who isn’t prepared to do the same.”
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
Rage pumped hot through his veins, and he had to rein in his desire to grab the blonde woman across the table by the hair and heave her out into the backyard.
It was raining. Might cool her off a bit.
He needed to cool off too. Needed to calm the fuck down.
Mercedes wasn’t exactly wrong, but where the hell did she get off spouting this shit?
Had Colton said something to her? That Aaron was a shell of a man, incapable of love, incapable of anything but putting his head down and getting the job done?
The only love he’d been able to give anybody had been Dina, and when she died, so did his heart. He was scraping the bottom of the barrel, so to speak, trying to gather up the remaining fragments he could to give to Sophie, but he knew it would never be enough. It certainly wouldn’t be enough to give to an incredible woman like Isobel.
“Has he told you about Colombia?” Mercedes asked.
Motherfucker.
Isobel turned to face Aaron, shaking her head as hurt and confusion clouded her sky-blue eyes. “No. What happened in Colombia?”
“Babe.” Colton’s hand rested on Mercedes’s arm. “That’s Aaron’s story. I told you my story because we agreed to start our marriage off with no secrets, no demons or monsters in the closet. But Colombia isn’t your story to tell.”
Mercedes pursed her lips together. “She has a right to—”
“It’s his story,” Colton said again, his tone laced with a harsh edge of warning.
Mercedes shut her piehole and cast her eyes down to her lap. “I’m sorry.”
Well, holy fuck. Colton was able to get the little big mout
h to shut her trap.
Someone needed to.
“Sorry, bro,” Colton said, clearing his throat. “Didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine.” Aaron sniffed, stood up and took his empty plate to the dishwasher. “I’m tired. Gonna head to bed.” He turned back to face his friend, making sure to avoid the penetrating stare of curiosity from Isobel and the equally infuriating glare from Mercedes. What the fuck did she have to glare at him for? “See you at the office, nine sharp. Gonna need some steel-toed boots.”
Colton stood up, smacked his heels together, tossed his chin in the air and saluted.
Oh brother.
“Sir, yes, sir,” he hollered.
Aaron rolled his eyes. “If you wake Soph, you’re fucking fired.”
Colton’s mouth snapped shut, and he nodded once before sitting down.
Aaron didn’t look back toward the living room as he made his way to the bedroom, but he could feel her eyes on him. Feel her need to know more, her need for a connection. She wanted to know more about him, wanted more from him.
Meanwhile, he’d sooner forget it all. He’d sooner forget everything.
23
He couldn’t fucking sleep.
Not a goddamn wink.
Aaron lay awake and heard Colton and his loud-mouth wife leave, Isobel seeing them to the door and being the ultimate hostess. He heard her scurrying around the kitchen cleaning, then heading into the bathroom to shower.
His cock was like a steel rod, throbbing as he envisioned her killer body all soaped up, her nipples pebbled, her skin flushed from the warm water.
When the shower turned off, he fought the urge to spring up out of bed, throw open the bathroom door and fuck her hard against the sink. He’d make sure to rub his hands over the fogged-up mirror so they could both watch as he took her, her tits swaying with each pump of his hips, bringing her body to the brink and beyond.
But instead, he lay there, his fist wrapped tight around his shaft, a paltry substitution for the lush thighs and warm, tight pussy that waited just feet away from him.
The bathroom door opened, and he held his breath. Was she coming into his room?
That first night they’d spent together, he hadn’t wanted her in his bed, knew how messy it could all get. But now he didn’t want her anywhere else.
The slight creak of Sophie’s door opening and shutting told him she wasn’t joining him.
He released his dick and stared up at the ceiling.
Fuck, why’d they have to bring up Colombia?
He hadn’t thought about that mission in days. He’d been sleeping well since Isobel joined his bed, curled her warm body next to his and chased away his dreams with her feminine scent and softness.
Fuck Mercedes. Fuck Colton.
He ground the heels of his palms into his eyes in an attempt to banish the memories, but they all came flooding back, whipping into a froth inside him until he could see the flames, ten feet high, and hear the screams—and they were deafening.
Much like Colt was their team medic, Rob their lead point man and rifleman as well as their top diver, Aaron specialized in unconventional warfare. A charmer, as he’d often been called, he was sent in first to win the loyalty and cooperation of the locals. Both he and Rob were fluent in Spanish, so they were the two usually dispatched first, particularly when they were down in Central and South America. But Aaron’s red hair and blue eyes made him an anomaly that people seemed to flock to, whereas Rob, who was half-Mexican with dark hair and dark eyes, blended in and didn’t draw much attention.
Aaron flirted, played dominoes and kissed babies while Rob snuck into the back rooms and pried open file cabinets.
And that’s exactly what he’d done in Colombia.
Aaron’s job had been to plant a mole inside the Muñoz Cartel. Only he got too close to the mole and his family, and they paid the price dearly for his mistake.
They became his weakness.
His heart was open and vulnerable.
And vulnerability can be fatal.
For everyone involved.
The sound of a baby crying in the room next door infiltrated his memories—his recurring nightmare—and had him bolting out of bed and throwing open his door. He was across the hall and in Sophie’s room seconds later, flicking on the overhead light.
Isobel had Sophie in her arms and was bouncing her gently. She squinted at him in confusion, her eyes sleepy, her dark hair a wild mess all around her slender shoulders. “What are you doing in here?” she asked, making shushing noises to Soph.
“I heard her cry.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Yeah, babies cry. Not the first time, won’t be the last.”
Ignoring her sass, he walked over to stand next to them where she sat up in the bed, the bassinet on its stand on the other side. He put the back of his hand on Sophie’s flushed red cheek, then her forehead. “Does she have a fever?”
Isobel pressed her lips to Sophie’s forehead. “Maybe a little. We should give her some Tylenol.”
He shook his head. “No, I need to get her to the hospital.”
I need to save her.
He turned and headed back to his room to throw on clothes.
Her voice followed him, and soon she was standing in the doorway of his bedroom, watching him slide into a pair of jeans and a gray Henley. “What are you talking about? Babies get fevers. Go grab the thermometer from the bathroom and check her out. I bet it’s not as high as you think. We’ll give her some Tylenol, and I’ll stay with her. If it gets worse, I’ll take her in the morning. It is cold and flu season, after all. And she’s a preemie, so she’s immuno-compromised. It’s just a cold. In some cases, you’re worse off taking babies to the hospital because of all the disease-ridden and infectious people there. She’s more likely to catch something at the hospital than anywhere else.”
He fastened his belt buckle, slid into his shoes and stepped toward her. He snatched Sophie from Isobel’s arms with a force he immediately regretted but didn’t have time to apologize for. “If you’re not going to take her health seriously, then maybe this isn’t the job for you.”
Isobel’s jaw dropped open.
“I’m taking her to emergency.” He elbowed her out of the way and headed for the garage. Within moments, he had a screaming Sophie in the back seat of his truck and was racing down the highway toward the hospital, not that he needed to. The roads were practically empty.
By the time he arrived, Sophie had cried herself to sleep, and Aaron was verging on a heart attack.
He’d never heard her scream so much in her life.
Something had to be wrong.
He paid for motherfucking parking, grabbed the bucket car seat from the back and jogged toward the emergency room doors, praying to God that he’d gotten there in time.
“It’s just a cold and a mild fever,” the doctor explained, wrapping his stethoscope back around his neck. “Not much you can do for her besides Tylenol, a nasal aspirator and some infant menthol ointment on her chest for any congestion. Lots of fluids too. Kids get sick, and because she’s formula-fed rather than breastfed, she’s not getting the antibody buildup. Not a biggie though. It just means you need to be a bit more diligent about getting people to wash their hands before they handle her.”
All the oxygen fled his lungs on a big sigh of relief.
She was okay.
The doctor clapped him on the back and chuckled. “First-time dad?”
Aaron grunted. “Something like that.”
“I get it. Even though I’m a doctor, I still lost my shit the first time my oldest got sick.” He tossed his head back and laughed. “Now, with my fourth, if there isn’t blood or a broken limb, they walk it off.”
Aaron’s pulse thundered in his ears.
Walk it off.
He didn’t think he’d ever be able to tell Sophie to walk it off.
Was he turning into what they referred to as a helicopter parent?
“You can get the m
entholated ointment at any drugstore, the same with a nasal aspirator. I know it sounds gross, but the NoseFrida really is the best. Sucks all the gunk out.” He scribbled something down on a piece of paper and handed it to Aaron, his eyes kind and patient as they took in Aaron’s frazzled demeanor, exhausted eyes and bedhead. “All four of my kids scream like they’re being waterboarded when we do the NoseFrida, but it works like a hot damn.” He tapped his pen twice on the edge of Sophie’s car seat, pulled the curtain open, gave Aaron one more smile of reassurance, then left.
Sophie had fallen back to sleep after her exam, a new diaper and a bottle of formula, all kindly provided by one of the nurses. He’d left the house without a goddamn thing. Not even his wallet.
Father of the year right there.
Fuck.
He grabbed Sophie’s car seat, pulled the curtain open and came face-to-face with her.
She’d thrown on a pair of black yoga pants and a gray hoodie, her hair was up in a messy bun, and she was in those ugly-ass Ugg-style boots. Didn’t stop her from looking drop-dead fucking gorgeous though.
Fear flashed in her eyes. Her gaze dropped down to Sophie, fast asleep, then bounced back up to Aaron. “Is she okay?”
He cleared his throat. “Just a cold. Mild fever.”
You were right. I’m an idiot.
She blew out a breath and relaxed her shoulders. Relief filled her eyes. “Oh good. I’m late getting here because I swung into the twenty-four-hour pharmacy to grab some more Tylenol, a nasal aspirator called the NoseFrida, and some baby Vicks.” She held up the bag. “Figured if they had to keep her in overnight or something, you might need this stuff.” She lifted one shoulder, then teetered back and forth on her feet.
“Thanks.”
God, he was an asshole.
Nibbling on her bottom lip, Isobel fixed him with a look that hit him square in the solar plexus. “I’m sorry I dismissed your concerns. I shouldn’t have.”
You should not be the one apologizing.
“I’m glad Sophie is okay. Are you heading home?”
He nodded, unable to look her in the eye, and began to walk toward the automatic doors. She fell in line with him but didn’t say anything.
