Tempt the Night

by Dixie Lee Brown

  Walker scooted his chair back, screeching across the tiles, and stood. “Some reason you think she wouldn’t be okay, Jim?”

  Mac glanced between the two of them as they faced off.

  “You’ve had a burr up your ass ever since you saw her. If there’s a reason for that, I want to hear it. If not, it stops here.” Brady’s tension was obvious by the strength of his grip on her shoulder.

  It was just like him to stand up to his friend in defense of her. Problem was, now Walker was going to spill his guts and tell Brady she’d eavesdropped on his most private conversation. Surely that wouldn’t be good.

  “Everything’s fine, Brady. Walker’s just having a bad day.” Mac bent her neck sideways to look up at his face, but he didn’t take his gaze off his friend.

  Walker took a step closer. “Well, we have a consensus. Seems everybody thinks I was being an ass, but she was the only one who had the balls to call me on it. We had a beer and talked it out. We’re good now, right, Mac?”

  She nodded. “Just a misunderstanding.” Walker hadn’t given her away. Maybe she’d still get to pick her own time and place for confession.

  “Right.” Brady’s voice was flat and emotionless, which made it difficult to tell if he was agreeing or being scornful. Mac chose to believe it was the former.

  Walker stepped to a large pantry and placed his empty beer bottle on a shelf inside, then strode to within three feet of Brady. “We were talkin’, Jim. Mostly about you. If the lady wants to go into detail, that’s up to her. Otherwise, let it go.”

  The two men stared at each other for a few seconds, as neither apparently wanted to back down first. Tightness gripped Mac’s stomach, and the skin on the back of her neck tingled. She’d witnessed guys doing their chest-thumping routines before, but never between two such strong and dangerous men.

  She was about to stand and insert herself between them when Brady’s gaze slid to hers. He might have recognized the anxiety in her face or felt her shiver of apprehension. Whatever the cause, he blinked and his lips curved, although barely, but that was good enough. She smiled back in relief, expelling the breath she’d been holding.

  Walker wisely picked that moment to make his exit. “Darcy’s waitin’ for me. We can pick this up tomorrow . . . if you think it’s necessary. ’Night, Mac.”

  “Goodnight, Walker.” After he left, Mac got to her feet and turned toward Brady. “Are you going to make a habit of coming to my rescue?” That’s all he’d been doing since she ran into him, and short of that, she didn’t want to contemplate what her circumstances would be. With that in mind, it was impossible to be angry with him.

  “Probably.” Brady ran his hand through his hair and groaned. “I made a mess of that, didn’t I?”

  “You’ll fix it. You can apologize tomorrow. Or go have a beer. Whatever guys do at times like this. Walker is your friend. He won’t hold it against you.” She wanted to put her arms around him and comfort him, but the words she knew she had to speak made her stay where she was.

  His crooked grin appeared briefly. “And what about you? Are you going to tell me what you and my friend were talking about?”

  Mac crossed her arms and dropped her gaze, casting about for the right way to explain. Her nervous laugh sounded strained. “I’m sorry. There’s no easy way to say this.”

  “It’s just you and me, Mac.” He smiled and tucked her hair behind her ears.

  A deep breath did little to calm her, but she forced herself to start talking. “At the hospital . . . I accidentally overheard you talking to Walker. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but, when I realized what you were talking about, I couldn’t make myself leave. Walker came out of the room and caught me listening. That’s why he was suspicious of me at first. He was concerned that my reaction to the things I’d heard would somehow hurt you.” Mac raised her eyes from the floor, and her gaze swept his face. “He was worried about you. He’s a good friend, Brady. Please don’t hold the things he said against him.”

  Brady cocked his head, and confusion lent him a blank expression. “What did you hear?” The sharp edge of caution in his voice made her flinch.

  “You don’t remember?”

  He wagged his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. “The hospital stay was kind of a blur. Too much damn medication.” Brady studied her guardedly. “Tell me what you heard.”

  “Um . . . you were taken prisoner in Somalia. They killed your friend, tortured and experimented on you. You escaped, but you had trouble adjusting to civilian life.” She held his gaze, but his expression had gone cold, and she wasn’t sure he was even seeing her anymore.

  He jerked away from her and paced from one side of the room to the other, his one good hand balled into a fist. Stopping in front of her on his next pass, he seized her shoulders in a strong grip. “I remember telling Walker . . . but you left out the best part—the part where I almost killed a woman in a fit of rage because I mistook her for the enemy. Her only sin was to sleep with me. That should scare the shit out of you, Mac.” He gave her a shake.

  “I’m not afraid of you, Brady.”

  He pushed her back a step. “Well, you should be. Hell, I’m afraid for you. I’m afraid to go home to my family because I can’t control the rage that comes from inside my own damn head. That’s why I don’t let people get close. Do you get it now?” Haunted eyes told of his deep-seated despair before he turned away from her.

  Mac watched him silently for a moment. He’d shared a part of him that he was clearly very ashamed of, first to Walker and then to her. Anger stirred in Mac—not at Brady, but at the war, the government, the veterans’ hospital, and public opinion—everything that had conspired to damage the beautiful minds of servicemen and women and then make it seem like they’d done something wrong.

  Mac choked back a sob as she put one foot in front of the other. She wouldn’t let him see her cry. Show no weakness—that’s what her mother had said practically every day of her life, and now Mac understood why. Brady needed her understanding, her steadfastness, but mostly he needed her strength. He just didn’t know it yet.

  She stopped behind him and reached out to touch his arm. Apparently surprised by her closeness, he swung around and took a step back, his eyes searching her face. Mac stepped into him until their bodies touched and slid her arms around his neck. “I do get it, Brady, but I won’t let it dictate my life.”

  She rose on her toes, sliding against him until their lips met, gently at first. Finally, with a groan, Brady wrapped his muscular arms around her like he couldn’t get close enough, and their kisses turned urgent, demanding, until he pulled back and looked in her eyes. “Last warning, McCallister. This is a bad idea. You sure you know what you’re doing?”

  Mac bit his lower lip and then ran her tongue around the rim of his mouth, holding his gaze. “I know I’d sleep better if you were holding me. Your room or mine?”

  An is-she-serious expression flitted across his face, erasing the dark shadows in his eyes. “Um . . . well, you’re on the third floor. You might be the only occupant right now. It would be quiet and private—unless you don’t want complete privacy . . . in which case . . . um . . . I could hold you in my room . . . ”

  “You wouldn’t happen to know where my room is, would you?” She watched him through lowered lashes, biting her bottom lip.

  A wisp of a smile transformed his features, and he kissed her hard on the lips. “As a matter of fact, I do.” His one good hand gripped her waist as he nuzzled her neck, feathering soft kisses along her jaw to the corner of her mouth. The masculine scent of him clung to his skin, and she breathed him in. Then he took her hand and led the way up two flights of stairs to the first room on the right.

  “Your room, milady.” He released her hand.

  Mac turned her back to the door and faced Brady. His concern for her was mirrored in the gentle brush of his fingers on her cheek. Although she fully understood the implications of his training and experience as a Navy SEAL, it was diff
icult to imagine him hurting an innocent woman. Lying in her bed, his large hands wrapped around her throat, choking her. An involuntary shudder convulsed her, and immediately wariness settled over his strong face.

  Reaching for his hand, she turned the doorknob behind her and swung the door open. “Do you still want to come in?” She backed away, holding his gaze, and he followed until they were both inside her room.

  Closing the door dropped them instantly into darkness. That and the unfamiliarity of her surroundings had her searching the wall for the light switch in a state quickly approaching panic. Light suddenly flooded the room, and she swung around to see Brady with one finger still on the switch beside her head. She could tell by the concern on his face that her alarm had been etched in her expression. With an embarrassed sigh, she leaned against the wall and drew in a slow breath.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she said a little too sharply, regretting it immediately. She smiled, hoping it would act like the undo button on her computer. “I just need a minute.” Without waiting for a reply, she strode across the room to an open door that she hoped was the bathroom.

  Locating the light switch before she closed the door, she stood for a moment in front of the mirror. The woman who looked back at her was pale and dirty, with black circles under her eyes and hair so matted she’d probably never get a comb through it again. What could Brady possibly see in her?

  Her self-confidence had taken a beating, and that was the polite way to put it. Her best friend was dead. She’d been accused of his murder. Her parents and Paddy’s would have heard the lies by now, and they’d be shocked and disbelieving right up until they started to wonder if it was really true.

  She didn’t have a clue what to do next or how to help herself. Without Brady’s intervention, she’d likely be dead already. Her situation had gone downhill drastically, but the person she used to be should still be in there somewhere. She’d have to find her now if she was going to help Brady overcome the trauma he’d suffered.

  Mac bathed her face with cold water, and as she stepped toward the towel rack, she saw a small black duffel bag sitting on the floor. Strange. Her bag waited on the bed. She’d noticed it on her way to the bathroom. So whose was this one?

  Quickly, she dried her face and hands, then knelt and unzipped the bag. Men’s clothes. Jeans, a gray T-shirt, underwear, and a small shaving kit. Dirty clothes. Did Brady bring her to the wrong room? Her bag was in the bedroom. This had to be his. The scoundrel. He’d showered and changed in her room? He must have come here before he found her talking to Walker in the kitchen. Had he been so sure of her that he thought he’d settle in without her approval? Wrong move. A grin lightened her mood as she closed and zipped the bag.

  She opened the door and stepped out. Brady still stood in nearly the same spot she’d left him, his hands shoved in his front pockets, a question in his transparent green eyes.

  Mac held his gaze for several seconds. “Are you sure this is my room?”

  “It’s not what—”

  “Why are your clothes in my bathroom?” She crossed her arms. “It seems a little like you were planning to stay here all along. Was my agreement just a formality?”

  He started toward her but stopped when she raised her hand. “Of course not, Mac. When I couldn’t find you or Walker earlier, I came up here to wait for you. But I couldn’t stand my own stench, so I grabbed a change of clothes, planning to shower while I waited. I was worried about you, and when you still hadn’t shown up by the time I was finished, I went looking for you and forgot to take my bag. It had nothing to do with whether or not I stay with you tonight, but for the record, you saying yes was no formality—it meant everything.”

  Shoot! Earnest and sincere eyes, a killer body evidenced by the way his clean white T-shirt stretched across his pecs and biceps, and he apparently, unerringly, knew the right thing to say to bust right through her defenses. How was she supposed to resist his little-boy charm? Or his fully matured sex appeal? She was so screwed.

  She glanced at the queen-sized bed with its country-style quilt and white lace pillow shams. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable? I’m going to hit the shower too. Oh . . . except I don’t have any clean clothes.”

  Brady strode toward the walk-in closet next to the bathroom. “I’d be surprised if Irene didn’t put a few things in here for you to use until we can get you some of your own.” He pushed the door wide so she could see inside. He moved to the dresser and pulled open the top drawer. “More in here.” He winked at her. “Want me to help you pick something to sleep in?”

  Mac was overcome with emotions. The kindness of Irene and the rest of these people she’d only met today totally blew her away. Tears tickled the back of her eyelids, and she had to walk away so he wouldn’t see her cry—again.

  The next instant, he was there behind her with his strong arms around her, drawing her backward into his chest. “I was only kidding, Mac.” He rested his chin on her head.

  She snorted a laugh. “I know. It’s just . . . everything. You and everyone here . . . you’re turning your lives upside down for me. What if I go to prison? How will I ever repay all of you?”

  Brady pressed a kiss to her ear. “You’re not going to prison, so get that thought out of your head. Secondly, no one here is looking for repayment, especially Irene. This is what she does—thinks of ways she can make life easier for all of us. And she wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Regardless of what he said, she’d figure out a way to let Irene know her thoughtfulness had been deeply appreciated. And Brady? How would she thank him? Well, she had a couple of ideas about that, but she wasn’t at all sure if she had the nerve to see them through.

  “You better help me pick something to wear. Otherwise, as tired as I am, I’ll be sleeping in a towel.” She ducked out from under his arms and returned to the dresser.

  “Aw hell! Is it too late to vote on the towel thing?” He followed her, brushing against her arm.

  She whacked him in the stomach just hard enough to learn how firm and toned his abdominal muscles were. He bent slightly and grabbed his stomach as through it were actually possible for her to hurt him. Yeah, he was cute.

  With Brady’s wholehearted approval, she settled on black bikini panties and silk pajamas with shorts and a sleeveless top. Mac hurried into the bathroom with her new treasures and turned the water to as hot as she could stand. Taking a long, leisurely shower wasn’t an option tonight. She was too tired. Besides, Brady was in the other room, and she would sleep like a baby in his arms. If by some quirk of fate, anything more than that happened, she’d take full responsibility. Desire flared to life as she thought of what it would be like.

  Towel-dried and dressed in her new duds, she did a cursory job with the blow dryer—obviously provided by Irene also—but only good enough to keep her pillow from being soaked. Satisfied, she opened the door to a dimly lit room. Brady had switched off the overhead light and turned on the bedside lamp. He lay under the sheet, facing away from her side of the bed. His arms and a significant portion of his back and chest were uncovered. Was he sleeping?

  She padded to the empty side of the bed and sat, bouncing a little to get his attention. Nothing. “Goodnight, Brady.” Still nothing. Mac swung her legs onto the bed, lifting the blankets to slide under, taking note that he was sleeping in his jeans. Sheesh! He really had been prepared to just hold her, but apparently now she wasn’t even getting the benefit of his arms around her. Who knew she’d be so disappointed? A wry grin tugged at her lips.

  Oh well. If he’d managed to fall asleep without the warmth of her proximity, then she’d have to do the honors tonight. Just having him close would provide the good night’s sleep she craved. She rolled toward him until she met the heat of his back, slid her arm across his rib cage, and settled her hand on his abs.

  Good Lord! The man was pure muscle. A heartbeat of apprehension stole over her as the image returned of the woman in bed, Brady�
�s hands around her throat. He was so strong, there’d be no way she could survive an attack.

  Get hold of yourself, girl. He was no longer that angry, scarred, and war-weary man who’d lost control in a moment of confusion. Mac forced the gruesome picture from her mind. Brady was kind and considerate, and he wouldn’t hurt her. He’d proved that on their first meeting, when she’d held a gun against his back; he’d had every right to retaliate with violence, but didn’t.

  Maybe he was beginning to trust himself more as well. Why else would he be sleeping peacefully in her bed? Now that she knew about the PTSD that caused him to keep everyone at arm’s length, would he relax his rules? He’d made no mention of it, so maybe his condition wasn’t the only reason he didn’t allow attachments. Besides, she was in no position to form lasting relationships either.

  It was too bad, really. She’d finally found an attractive, sexy man who didn’t mind cuddling—and she couldn’t keep him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  BRADY’S EYES POPPED open, and he came fully awake, staring at a spot on the wall across the room while the events of the last two days fast-forwarded in his brain. Dawn’s reddish light stole through the windows and revealed where Mac’s delicate hand rested on his sternum, but that wasn’t what woke him.

  The warmth of her body pressed against his back, her breasts moving ever so slightly as she quietly inhaled and exhaled, her right leg twined between his. She smelled faintly of Ivory soap and coconut oil. Combined with her naturally sweet smell, it wasn’t an unpleasant aroma, but he missed her scent of apple pie.

  Enticing? Yes. Tempting? Damn straight . . . but that wasn’t what had woken him either.

  The killer hard-on straining to burst through the zipper of his jeans was the culprit. He carefully eased one leg slightly forward in a useless attempt to lessen his discomfort. Lying as quietly as possible so as not to wake her, he held his breath and concentrated on less pleasant images. Walker kicking his ass. A skunk he’d encountered by accident while camping as a kid. Hernandez walking into this house and threatening Mac.