by Molly McLain
“Okay.” She smiled softly and began taking the food from the plastic bags. “If you don’t mind me poking around for pans, I’ll start cooking.”
He nodded, his dark green eyes distant and his brow pinched. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever.” He turned on his heel without saying anything more and, a few seconds later, what she assumed was his bedroom door closed with a loud thud. Not quite a slam, but with enough force that she second-guessed whether or not she should stay. Then again, he hadn’t asked her to go either.
She worked quickly and found the pans she needed to sauté the greens, sear the steaks, and roast the potatoes. While the potatoes did their thing, she mixed the brownie batter and got it ready to bake while they tackled the main meal. By the time Brody returned, dressed in a pair of baggy jogging pants and a threadbare Royals t-shirt, she had the meat just about finished. He still looked tense, but somewhat less so.
“Damn, you don’t mess around when it comes to cooking, do you?” he asked, arching an eyebrow as he lifted the cover on the greens and wrinkled his nose. “I haven’t eaten those since I was small enough for my mother to force them into my mouth.”
“Ha. I can’t imagine that.” Jenny smiled, grateful that some of the tension seemed to have faded.
“You don’t know my mother then. She’s little but fierce.”
“Oh, I believe it. I have one of those, too. I just can’t imagine you ever being small enough for anyone to man-handle.” She tossed a flirty smile over her shoulder, tongs in hand for the meat.
“What are you saying, I’m a brute?” He jerked in his chin in, but it was hard to take his offense seriously when he also puffed his chest and flexed his biceps. Biceps that stretched the worn sleeves of the older shirt, they were so massive.
Holy hot flash.
“More or less,” she teased and he grunted, proving her point. “Do you mind grabbing the plates?”
Bruised ego forgotten, he got busy, rummaging around the kitchen and gathering everything they needed. “Since I’m such an animal, you won’t be surprised when I suggest we eat in front of the TV, right?” He lingered nearby again, this time at her back with his chin on her shoulder and his hands gentle at her hips.
She smiled, both at his sarcasm, as well as how good it felt—how right—to be doing something as simple as cooking a meal for him. Butterflies stirred in belly and she bit her lip. She’d never cooked for Reed. Or the last handful of guys that had come in and out of her life either. She knew better than to question if her lack of considerate gestures was perhaps part of the reason none had stuck around. She’d been plenty considerate—heck, she’d been more than accommodating—the men were just selfish.
Until Brody.
“In front of the TV is fine. So you don’t cook, then?” Derail those warm and fuzzies or you’ll get hurt again!
“Confession?” He brushed her hair to the side, baring her neck so he could nuzzle his lips behind her ear. “Besides grilling shit, I’m clueless. My mom’s the type that got pissed whenever someone wandered into her space.”
Shivering at the contrast of his hot mouth and the cool air, she gripped the counter with her free hand and gave into the moan of desire that rose from her chest. “If your father did this to her, I can see why.”
He chuckled lowly, his hands sliding across her abdomen, holding her tight. All the while, his mouth and tongue continued their taunting assault on her neck. The rough scrape of his stubble should’ve hurt, but instead, every scratch felt like a hundred little zaps of aroused current, hot-wiring the nerves that ran between where he touched her and her needy, neglected sex.
“I think the steak is done,” she murmured, relieved and regretful at the same time. “Hand me a plate?”
He did, but his knowing eyes sparkled down at her the whole time. That was okay, because she saw right through him, too. He thought turning her on would make her less likely to push for more about what happened at the grocery store. And maybe he was right.
She popped the pan of brownie batter into the oven and they carried their plates and drinks to the living room. Brody took one end of the couch and, hoping for space to get herself together, she took the other.
“You do realize that keeping your distance right now is pointless, don’t you?” He set his beer on the coffee table beside her glass of wine.
“I’m trying not to think about that.” That being the fact it was now after nine o’clock and the chances of her going home tonight were slim to none. She would spend the night and they both knew it. Whether she slept on the couch or shared his bed, however, still lingered, undecided, in the back of her mind.
“Did I mention the whirlpool tub in the master bath?” He stuffed a big bite of meat into his mouth and waggled his eyebrows.
Suddenly, her body ached in places she didn’t know existed...and others she’d tried to ignore. Damn him!
“I suppose you could give me a tour after we eat.” She readied a forkful of greens and sighed when the buttery goodness hit her tongue.
His focus dropped to her mouth as she chewed, so she took another bite and let her eyes flutter shut, like she was devouring a delicacy. Mostly she just wanted him to eat his, too, but part of her also like driving him insane. Maybe this game of distraction could go both ways.
“You trying make a liar out of me, sugar?”
“What do you mean?” Batting her eyes at him, she moved onto her potatoes.
“Or maybe you’re just trying to test my nobility.” Another bite of steak. “I know you’re not trying to seduce me into eating this pile of green stuff.”
“The green stuff is good for you.”
“So are you.”
Ha! Barely containing her defensive laugh, she smiled and reached for her wine. “Who’s trying to seduce who now?”
“Hey, I don’t go around saying shit like that to just anyone, so don’t try and sweep it under the rug because it makes you uncomfortable.”
“I’m not. I wasn’t—”
“Yes, sugar, that’s exactly what you’re doing.” He got up and plopped down on the cushion beside her, giving her literally no room to try and avoid the conversation. “Not enough guys have told you how friggin’ special you are and you don’t know how to deal with someone finally recognizing it.”
Crap. He was totally right and that made it a little hard to breathe, let alone think straight. What did a girl who couldn’t remember the last time a guy had made her feel like she had value beyond the bedroom do with a statement like that? What did it even mean?
“I’m not going to pretend I’ve always been the kind of guy who knows what needs to be said, because I’m not. Hell, I’m not any different than the assholes who’ve used and abused you before. I’ve done a lot of stupid shit and fucked with the heads of a lot of perfectly nice girls. But you’re different for me, and that makes me want to be different for you, too.”
“Brody...” God, she wanted that, but wasn’t it too soon? In fact, she’d spent more time thinking about him than actually being with him. She couldn’t get him out of her head and she wanted that to mean something, but it was entirely possible she’d built up a connection with him all because of that first amazing night and the fact that he’d come back. Then again...so had Reed.
“There are some things I need to tell you,” he continued on, the heaviness from before dinner falling over him once again. “Before we go any further with this.”
Ugh. Was this the part where reality came crashing in on her?
“Jenny, stop.” He reached his plate forward onto the coffee table, took hers, and did the same. “I see the wheels turning in that pretty head of yours and, if this is going to work, I need you to hear what I’m saying.”
She nodded and prayed he couldn’t feel her fingers tremble when he took her hands in his.
“This isn’t easy for me either. I’m scared as fuck that, any second now, you’re gonna see me for what I really am and high tail it out of here without looking back.”
&nbs
p; “I’m not,” she whispered.
“And I hope that’s true, because having you in my life is the best damn thing that’s happened to me.” He lifted the back of her hand to his mouth and brushed his lips across her skin. Goose bumps raced up her arm. “But there are things I need to say that might make you look at me differently. Things I don’t normally talk about.”
“I don’t expect you to be perfect,” she said gently. “I appreciate that you don’t expect me to be either.”
He nodded as the timer for the oven went off. “Let’s grab dessert, clean up, and take this conversation to the whirlpool.”
“Ah, but I didn’t bring a suit.”
“Like that matters? Hell, the more naked you are, the longer it’ll take you to get away. Trust me, I’ve already got this planned out.” He winked and pulled her to feet.
She smiled and let him lead her to the kitchen. Not a single bit of her protested.
Chapter Twelve
“Jesus, you could have an orgy in that thing.”
Brody laughed from the doorway of the master bath. Ahead of him, Jenny stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the deep tub. “Pretty sure whoever built this house had something similar in mind.” Right now, his own thoughts weren’t so far removed either, between him and Jenny, at least. But tonight he’d be happy to get her a little wet...in every sense of the word.
“So how are we gonna do this?” She tossed a saucy grin over her shoulder.
“Do what?” He arched an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning into the door. Okay, so maybe he was hoping for completely naked, but if that happened, it’d have to be her call entirely.
“You’ve got some things you want to say, right?” She turned and faced him, her dark eyes heavier, more intense than they had been only moments earlier when they’d shared a quick brownie sundae and he’d given her the tour he’d promised. When he’d gone out to her car and brought in her overnight bag, an unspoken agreement that she’d stay forged between them.
“I do.” He dipped his chin, watching her intently. Her call, man. Bide your time.
“But you’re obviously dragging your feet.” Head cocked to the side, she bit her lip. Made him want to give her something else to nibble on. “Maybe I could offer some incentive.”
Yep, he liked incentives. “Keep talking.”
“You tell me your secrets and I’ll get into that tub with you.”
“Deal.”
She laughed, putting one methodical foot in front of the other until she reached him. “Don’t be so quick to agree, handsome. I wasn’t done laying out the game.”
Didn’t matter. The prospect of seeing more of her gorgeous skin was the only persuasion he needed. “Go on.”
“You have to get naked first.”
He had his fly down faster than it took her eyes to zero in on his belt. “And?” he asked, stripping his t-shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor.
“Are you playing me, Superman? I’m starting to think you don’t really have anything to say at all.”
“I’m a guy, sugar. You’ve just baited me with the ultimate reward. I may not be the sharpest crayon in the box, but I’m with it enough to know a good deal when I hear one.” His jeans hit the tile next and her eyes widened as he kicked them free. Probably had something to do with his hard cock threatening to bust out of his boxer briefs. He grinned. “Ah, that’s right—I’ve got something you wanna see, too.”
“You sure know how to turn my games around on me, don’t you?” She shifted back a half step, her eyes still trained below his waist. A shiver rocked her body from head to toe and she muttered a not so secretive, “Good Lord.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, beautiful—this has always been my game.” With that, he stepped around her and cranked on the hot water.
“Mmm, if that’s what you want to think.” He felt her at his back, her soft lips pressing kisses across his shoulder blades. “I don’t think I told you before, but I like your tattoos. They’re hot. You’ve probably heard that before.”
He had. He’d even had a few women who insisted they lick every single one. Still, Jenny’s adoration stroked his ego. Being physically appealing to her was more important than it had ever been before. Especially given the evidence of war that had riddled his body.
“What happened to your thigh?” she asked quietly, her fingers gently brushing over the bumpy, once raw skin of his upper right leg. It wasn’t a big area. Seven inches wide by nine long and, really, it had been nothing more than a flesh wound. But it was still ugly. And yet it was nothing like Ernie and Troy had suffered.
“IED,” he muttered, that same instantaneous guilt brewing fast in his gut.
“I saw the bottom of the scar in Vegas, but didn’t want to ask. It looks like it hurt.” She continued to touch him and he ground his jaw. He didn’t deserve this attention. This pity. He was still alive while Ernie lay in a cold, dark fucking grave, a hole the size of Nebraska in his chest.
“I’m breathing. That’s all that matters, isn’t it?” he snapped, fully aware that this was his issue—not hers.
She shook her head slowly. “No, Brody, it’s not.”
“Yeah, it is. My buddies died and all I got was fucking road rash.”
“This looks likes more than road rash. It looks like—”
“It was burn, okay? Nothing a couple grafts couldn’t fix.” He cranked the water harder and raked a hand back through his hair, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut. Wishing he’d pushed her away instead of pulling her in. But he’d been helpless to it, stuck in a continuous game of wanting something he knew better to think he deserved.
She couldn’t fucking heal him.
“Hey...” Lifting her hand to his cheek, she toed up and brushed a sweet kiss across his lips. “Let’s just get in, okay?”
He nodded. Even if his head stood firm in the belief that nothing could change this personalized version of guilt-ridden hell, his heart still held out hope that this woman would be his salvation.
He climbed into the tub with his boxer briefs on, kept his back to her just long enough to hear the rustle of denim hit the floor, followed by the soft whisk of her shirt through the air. He turned, lowering himself into the water, as she stepped away from her jeans, wearing nothing but black satin panties and a lacy pink bra.
“Holy shit,” he murmured, unable to look away, even when she wrapped an arm around her waist and glanced down at the floor, a blush even darker than her bra creeping into her cheeks. “Why you hiding from me, baby?”
“I’m not perfect either.” She wouldn’t look at him, just curled her toes into the tile and kept that protective shield slung across her belly. A belly that wasn’t cut like she worked out every day at the gym or even once a week, for that matter. Instead, she looked soft and curvy. Feminine. And every fucking bit as beautiful as he imagined she’d be.
“Come here,” he rasped, but she hesitated, opening her mouth like she might refuse him. “Dammit, woman, don’t make me come get you.”
“Just...hear me out, okay? I need to say this.” She pushed a hand back through her hair and fisted it, all the while sucking in and then blowing out a shaky breath. “We both have our issues and this is one of mine,” she admittedly quietly. “I don’t usually worry about whether or not I’ll live up to anyone’s expectations, because I know it’s almost never about me personally. It’s just my willing body that most guys care about.”
“Jesus, babe...”
She held up a hand. “I like you, Brody, and when you do things like text me late at night, hold my hand in the freaking grocery store, and eat the stupid vegetables I cook for you, it’s hard for me not to like you even more. Even when you tell me there are things about you I don’t know.” She tipped her head to the side and the emotion that lined her eyelids made him want to go out and beat the hell out of every bastard that had ever hurt her.
“You’re angry and feeling guilty and I’m scared to freaking death that
I’m not going to be enough for you either,” she whispered, a small, vulnerable smile trembled on her lips.
He was on his feet and out of the tub in an instant. His hands found her hair and his mouth came down on hers without hesitation. He wished he could kiss all the pain and uncertainty out of her, or even load it onto his own shoulders, so she could see how friggin’ real this was to him, too.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured between sweet caresses of her tongue against his. “But I’ve gotta be straight with you about something.”
Her eyes fluttered open and she pressed her fingertips to her lips, looking up at him with so much fear in her eyes that it hurt—actually fucking hurt—to pull in his next breath.
She wasn’t the only one who was scared. Fuck, he was terrified. If he told her the truth and she ran, not only did he lose her, but he’d lose the only, barely-grasped thread of hope he found for his recovery, too. Somehow, her non-judging goodness had become tangled up with all the chaos in his head and, despite his efforts, he couldn’t separate them. She was his recovery.
“Just tell me.” She shifted back a mere fraction of an inch, but he felt her retreat like she’d put the whole damn room between them.
“Stay with me, sugar. Please.” He reached and pulled her back to him, chest to chest, belly to belly, hip to hip. Yeah, he was begging. Didn’t give a damn. His humility went out the window when the Corps sent him to therapy. “I can’t do this if you’re not with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
He wanted to believe that. Hoped like hell it was true. Unfortunately, there was only one way to find out.
“Jenn...” He closed his eyes and gathered every ounce of strength and courage he could find buried beneath his rubbled insides. “I can’t deploy because the organization I’ve committed my life to rejected me.”
In the space where he hovered, somewhere between reality and the haven of numbness he’d spent so much time in this past year, he heard her whisper his name. Felt her fingers brush against his stomach and her lips press against his chest.
