“Ours is fine,” Pax answers. “But I’m sorry that you’re stuck. Don’t sit there and stew about it. There’s nothing you can do about it anyway.”
“I’ll try not to,” I promise, as I eye Gabe. He stands in front of me, his muscled torso at eye level. To be honest, it’s hard to think about anything but his exquisite body for the time being. It’s a little distracting. “Is Mila awake?”
“Yeah, but the nurse is giving her a sponge bath. I’ll have her call you when we get home.”
We hang up and I turn to Gabe. “I’ve just got to make a couple more calls and then we can figure out what we’re going to do. I wonder how long the road will be closed?”
Gabe shrugs. “It’s hard to say. Do you have anything to eat?”
“I have a year’s supply of frozen burritos,” I tell him. “And maybe some rice.”
“So we won’t starve,” Gabe points out. “We’ll be fine. I’m going to go call Jacey while you make your calls. I’ll need to get Brand to stay with her while I’m stuck here.”
He ducks out of the room and I call Tony. His part of town wasn’t flooded at all, so he’ll be able to get to the Hill.
“And I saw on the news that it’s only on your side,” Tony tells me. “So the Hill will be fine. I’ll call you if we need anything, not that you’ll be able to do anything about it.”
“Haha,” I grumble. He chuckles, then hangs up.
I throw some clothes on, a T-shirt and shorts, and find Gabriel in the kitchen, looking through the fridge.
“You weren’t kidding,” he says. “You practically do have a year’s supply of frozen burritos.”
“I told you.” I shrug. “I already know the irony of owning a restaurant and not being able to cook. You don’t have to tell me.”
“OK, I won’t,” he chuckles as he turns around. “I’m making some coffee. I figure you might need it. It took you forever to fall asleep last night.”
I sniff at the freshly brewed coffee smell and glance at Gabe in appreciation.
“If I didn’t love you before, I do now,” I tell him jokingly. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that his knuckles just turned white as he gripped his coffee cup harder. But that can’t be right. I was just joking. Surely he knows that. I snatch a coffee cup from the rack and pour myself a cup.
“What should we do?” I ask dubiously. “We’re going to get awfully bored if we’re stuck here long.”
Gabriel lifts an eyebrow. “Seriously? We’re in a nice house on the edge of Lake Michigan. We’ll find something to do.”
I look around doubtfully. “You think this house is nice?” In my head I picture Pax and Mila’s palatial beach-side mansion. This place is a shack compared to theirs.
“Of course,” Gabriel answers. “You don’t?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. It was my parents’. I guess I haven’t given it much thought. When they died, Mila and I inherited it. Mila didn’t want it because she had a little apartment over her shop, so she let me have the house. I keep thinking that I need to renovate or something, to make it mine, but I haven’t gotten around to it.”
“You’ll get there,” Gabriel tells me knowingly. “When you’re ready.”
If that ever happens. It’s been four years.
But I don’t want to think about that.
“I want to go outside and look at the flooding,” I tell him as I push away from the table. “How close is it to the house?”
“Not very, at least not right now. Have you ever seen it get close?” Gabe asks as we walk out the front door. I nod.
“Once. Years ago. I think we still have those sandbags stacked in the basement.”
I suck in my breath as I step out on the front porch and take in the scene in front of me. There’s water everywhere.
Fast-moving water has completely covered my road, the kind you can’t drive through or it will carry your car away. The murky water is also lapping at the front edge of my lawn, watery fingers that are even now trying to grab at more ground, moving quickly toward absorbing everything between the road and my house.
“Holy shit,” I breathe.
“Where did you say those sandbags were?” Gabe looks down at me. “We’re gonna need them. That water has moved at least three feet toward your yard since I looked at it fifteen minutes ago.”
“The basement,” I tell him as I spin on my heel and dart toward the basement door. I jog down the steps and find everything just as my parents left it in my dad’s dark underground workshop. The sandbags line the very back wall, at least twenty rows of them.
“There was a bad flood ten years ago or so,” I tell Gabe as I grab one and haul it back toward the stairs. It’s heavy—probably fifty pounds, but Gabe grabs four of them easily. “Dad kept the sandbags in case we ever needed them again. They were a pain in the butt to fill up the first time. He figured we didn’t need to do it twice.”
“Smart.” Gabe nods. He acts like lugging two hundred pounds up the stairs is no problem at all. As we burst out the front door again, Gabe heads farther out than I would have expected.
Glancing over his shoulder, he tells me, “We’ve got to stack them a ways out. If we don’t and the water seeps through, it can actually cause more damage to your house by trapping the water.”
“That makes sense. How did you know that?” I ask curiously as I follow him, dropping the sandbag into place on the ground, starting a line. He shakes his head.
“I know stuff,” he answers wryly, as he lines his bags up with mine. “I’m smart like that.”
I don’t comment on that. Instead I wonder about what kinds of things he must’ve done when he was a Ranger as we head back into the basement for more bags.
We end up making more trips than I can count. With each trip the stairs seem a little steeper and the yard seems just a little farther from the house.
By the time we carry the last bags out and stack them around the perimeter, the wall of bags is four feet high. The water has crept forward by another two feet, and my arms and legs are shaking like leaves.
Even through I’m covered in a layer of sand and dirt, I drop onto the couch, flopping onto my back.
“Holy crap. I couldn’t carry one more bag if I tried,” I moan. “I don’t know how you carried so many. You carried four times as many as I did, and you’re not bothered at all.”
“That’s because I’m a badass,” Gabriel says lightly, picking up one of my arms and rubbing at it. “You really are shaking.”
“I knoooowww,” I groan. “Carrying one bag is fine. Carrying a hundred starts to get to a person.”
Gabriel shakes his head a little, but doesn’t stop rubbing my arm. The warmth of his hand feels good against my skin. I flip onto my side, looking him in the eye.
“Do you think it’ll keep the water out?” Even as I ask, I’m not sure that I care. If this house is destroyed by water damage, I’ll get a brand-new one with the insurance money. One that doesn’t carry bad memories in it.
Gabriel nods. “It should. Temporarily, I mean. I can’t imagine the water will stay up very long.”
“OK,” I murmur. As long as we don’t have to worry about the house being flooded while we’re in it, I’m good. And with Gabe’s hands on me, I’m really good.
“Thank you for helping me,” I tell him quietly. “You didn’t have to do that.”
He lifts a dark eyebrow. “And how would you have carried all of those bags by yourself? You’ve got spaghetti arms.”
I sputter and he laughs.
“You’re welcome,” he continues, ignoring my indignation. “It wasn’t a problem.”
“My own personal hero,” I declare, smiling into his eyes. His expression turns a little cloudy, but he doesn’t say anything.
He simply says, “It’s what I do.”
Once again I find myself thinking about Gabe in combat gear, dusty and hot, running with a rifle to rescue someone. But that’s where my daydream ends, because I don’t know exactly what he d
id as a Ranger.
So I ask.
Gabe tenses, then relaxes, almost like he’s forcing himself to.
“A little of everything,” he tells me. “We did some search and rescue, some recon, some surveillance. Our team was a specialized unit. But unfortunately, most of what we did was classified. I can’t talk about it. It drives Jacey crazy.”
“I bet,” I smile, thinking of Jacey’s inquisitive nature. “I’m sure it kills her. Speaking of her, is everything all right over there? Is the water near your grandparents’ house? We were so busy with my house that I forgot to ask you about yours.”
He shakes his head. “Nope. No water. They’re fine. Brand’s going to stay with Jacey until I get there just to make sure Jared doesn’t try anything. I think he’s probably done harassing her now, but you never know.”
I remember Jared’s terrified expression at the gas station a few days earlier. “I think he’s probably intimidated now,” I agree. “But like you said, you never know. He’s a dumbass. And if Brand doesn’t mind being there, it’s probably a good idea.”
“Brand doesn’t mind.”
“Well, good.” I get off the couch and stare down at Gabe. “I’m covered in sand. I’m going to take a quick shower. Help yourself to anything you need; just make yourself at home.”
“If you play your cards right, I’ll give you a massage when you get out,” Gabriel offers. “You got a big workout carrying those bags. We should probably rub the lactic acid out of your muscles so you don’t get sore.”
“Wow, that sounds so… clinical,” I laugh. “But hey, it’s a massage, so I’ll take it.”
I walk down the hall and I can feel his stormy gaze watching me as I go. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but it seems as dark as he is.
* * *
Gabriel
What the fuck am I doing?
Obviously I can’t help being here, but why the fuck am I acting like a domesticated pussy-whipped idiot? Jesus. I’m not pussy-whipped.
Madison is pussy. Pure and simple.
She doesn’t mean anything to me.
I don’t care how many times her eyes turn soft when she looks at me, when they’re normally jaded and worldly. I don’t care how many times she calls me her own personal hero. I don’t care that she’s damaged on the inside, in a way that reminds me of Jacey—and of the damage that my father did to her. But Madison’s damage is far, far worse than Jacey’s.
And it’s not my job to fix her.
I can’t even fix myself.
I go through two cups of coffee while I wait for her on the sofa, as her “quick” shower turns into half an hour. But when she comes out dressed only in a T-shirt and panties, I’m wide awake without the aid of caffeine. I can see the outline of her perky nipples through her shirt and all my previous arguments about how little she means to me go out the window.
Especially when she looks at me with those soft eyes. Eyes that aren’t soft for many people. It clenches my stomach into a fucking knot.
You can’t trust me. But obviously I can’t say that.
“Hey,” I say instead. “Feel better?”
She nods. “Yeah. I stood under the hot water for a while. I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”
“It’s OK,” I tell her. “Seeing your nipples was worth the wait.”
She smiles, her cheeks flushing. “Where do you want me?”
“Under me on the bed.”
Madison startles, but then I laugh. “Under my hands. I just meant under my hands.”
She smiles back at me, but tugs me to my feet.
“OK. I’ll lie on my bed. Then we’ll both be comfortable. I have to tell you something, though.” She pauses and blushes, which immediately piques my interest. This ought to be good. “I’m pretty sore. Down there, I mean. So…”
I interrupt. “Don’t worry. I can rub that too.” At her look of utter chagrin, I burst out laughing. “It’ll be fine, Maddy. I won’t try anything. We’ll be fine on the bed. I mean, if you can control yourself.”
She turns around and walks down the hall. “I’m not the one who needs that talk. The little man there needs that talk.”
As soon as I realize that she’s talking about my dick, I bristle.
“Hey, never, in any situation, should you call him ‘little man.’ The word little should never be used in conjunction with my penis.”
She laughs as she walks into her room and sits on her bed.
“Whatever. I don’t think you really need reassured about your big size, army man. It’s the reason I’m in the shape I’m in, and you know it.” She’s smiling, and I can tell she’s sufficiently impressed.
“That’s better,” I grumble as I settle onto her bed. “You can use that word all you want.”
A wicked gleam shines in her eyes and she flips onto all fours, crawling up over me.
“Big army man. I love your big muscles.” She trails her fingers along my biceps, up and over the contours, following the line of my neck. She turns my face toward her and touches her lips to mine. She tastes like honey. “And I love your big… ego.”
I roll my eyes, but hold her tight to me, my tongue tangling with hers again.
“What else do you love of mine?” I ask softly, dipping my head to kiss her neck.
“I love your big sense of humor,” she whispers, her hands trailing over my shoulders. “And your big smile, when you choose to use it.”
“And?” I whisper back.
Her eyes meet mine and hers are so fucking blue. She kisses me again and then sits on me, wedging her hips tight against my crotch. My dick is rigid against her, rock-hard and straining against my underwear.
“I love…” she whispers, her lips touching mine. “Your big cock.”
I almost choke when she says the word. Not only does she say it, she places extreme emphasis on it. It seems so strange coming from her lips. But she’s feisty. I knew that. And Christ, I love that about her.
But she means nothing, right? My own thoughts taunt me and I gulp as her hand drops down to my lap and her fingers rub the length of me.
I groan.
“You’ve got to stop,” I manage to say. “Seriously. Before you kill me. If you don’t want to fuck me, you’ve got to stop.”
She laughs lightly and hops off.
“That was a fun game,” she says, her eyes twinkling. “What do you want to play next?”
I drop a pillow onto my head and take deep breaths.
“You’re a female devil,” I tell her. “Seriously evil.”
She only laughs harder. “You’re the one who made me sore,” she reminds me. “So just remember that.”
A thought occurs to me.
“Turnabout is fair play, you little demon. On your belly. Now.”
Good-naturedly she flops onto her belly and I straddle her slender form. I bend down and whisper into her ear.
“Oh, sweetheart. It’s not going to be that easy. I’m giving you a massage. You’re going to have to take your shirt off.”
Without saying anything or even looking at me, she strips her shirt off and tosses it to the side. She’s not wearing a bra. Suddenly I can’t decide if my punishment for her is going to be harder on her or on me.
She means nothing.
She means nothing.
I remind myself of that as my hands span the width of her back and I rub her muscles soothingly, her skin soft beneath my fingers.
My dick doesn’t get that memo about how little she means to me and how little she affects me. Because each touch makes me a little harder and with each stroke my dick presses more and more into her ass. Fucking traitorous appendage.
I know Madison’s acutely aware of it, but she doesn’t point it out. She simply remains relaxed, facedown on the bed.
I move down to her feet and pick one up, rubbing every inch of it before I continue up her leg, up and over her knee and onward up to her thigh. I knead, pull and rub every inch of her. Up to her neck, down to the small of her
back. Her breaths are coming in small little pants now and I smile. She’s not as unaffected as she would have me believe.
And why does her body have to be so fucking perfect?
I slide my hands around her hips and pull her up just a little, as my fingers slide to the juncture of her thighs.
She inhales sharply and I smile again.
Leaning forward, I whisper into her ear, “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”
And then I bury my fingers slowly inside her, moving in circles as I slide them in and out. I kiss between her shoulder blades as my fingers fuck her. Within minutes her body tightens up and she moans. When she falls limply back against the bed, she turns to me, her cheeks flushed.
“What was that for?” she asks, her eyes slightly glassy. “You know I can’t have sex with you right now.”
She reaches for me, pulling me to her before she buries her face into my chest.
“I know,” I say. “But since I’ve massaged it for you, maybe tonight?”
She giggles and nestles into me even tighter. “Maybe. If you play your cards right. For now, though, God, I’m tired from those stupid sandbags. Let’s take a nap.” She closes her eyes, but after a minute opens them again with a random question.
“Do you miss the Rangers? What rank were you?”
“Every day.” My answer is immediate. “It’s all I ever wanted to be. And I was good at it. I was a first lieutenant when I discharged.”
“Wasn’t there a way that you could’ve stayed in?” she asks, opening her eyes and looking up at me. “Somehow?”
I pause, stricken, but try not to show it. It’s a question that I asked myself a hundred times before I made the decision to resign.
“No,” I finally answer. “There wasn’t a way. If there was, I would’ve done it.”
“Are you happy doing what you’re doing now?” she asks curiously.
I nod. “Yeah. I’m happy doing what we’re doing because we’re going to help other soldiers. Brand and I went through something shitty. And if other soldiers don’t have to go through that because of our armor, it’ll make me real fucking happy.”
If You Leave: The Beautifully Broken Series: Book 2 Page 16
