by Kris Norris
He closed his eyes. Nothing was going to happen, now. She needed to sleep, not have him waking her up because he couldn’t stay still. Because his brain couldn’t accept the fact she might not see him the way he feared everyone did. That the only thing keeping them apart was his own fear.
The room slowly faded, the warmth of her body pulling him under until she twitched, a muted groan rousing him. He snapped awake, cursing silently when he jostled her, taking her halfway up with him before realizing and gently lowering her back to the mattress. Light streamed in through the windows, the shadows stretching across the floor suggesting it was well past sunrise.
He scrubbed a hand down his face. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept more than a few hours in a row without waking up in a cold sweat, ghosted gunfire echoing inside his head. Yet, here he was, more rested than he’d been in years, and all because of the woman still sleeping beside him. The one with the adorable pout as she turned toward his side of the bed, looking as if she was searching for him.
Rigs reclaimed his spot, gathering her in his arms, again. She huffed then switched positions, placing her head in the crook of his shoulder as her hand palmed his chest—right over one of the large raised welts running down his torso. He fought the urge to grab her wrist—shift it over to his sternum. If he had any hope of bridging the gap he’d caused, he needed to stop sabotaging her every attempt to touch him. Because… Damn.
Feeling her fingers flex against his body made his pulse race as if he’d just run a fifteen-mile course with his unit. Blood pounded in his ears, and the air heated around him, making him pant. All that from nothing more than her hand on his chest. How the hell would he cope with actually kissing her? Tasting her then sliding inside all that warm wet arousal he’d scented in the shower?
And he wanted to. Wanted to roll her over, kiss her awake. Beg her to give him another chance then lose himself in her curves. It the smooth press of her skin against his. He’d bedded his share of women, but he’d never experienced this level of burning need. As if he was suddenly aware of a hole deep inside him only she could fill.
Her hand shifted slightly, and it was as if he’d been prodded by an electrical shock. Tingling awareness shot down his spine, once again, spiking his dick against his boxers. Damn, would there ever be a time when he wasn’t in a constant state of arousal around her? When he could temper the heat searing his skin with every tiny brush of her fingers? When he could think beyond the color of her skin, and how it would look pressed against his?
He’d trained hard to learn how to focus. How to shut out anything not involved with the mission to some hidden part of his brain. Locked away until he had time to re-examine it. But there was something about Addison Bailey that by-passed his regular responses. That cut through to the man beneath the soldier. To Kent.
And damn if he didn’t want to be Kent for her. Rigs was hardened. Battle worn. Any hope of love or happiness long trained out of him. But Kent—the small part of him that she’d awakened—clung to the notion he might have stumbled upon the one person who could offer him a new future. One in which he didn’t have to hide. Where the man he was, now, was enough.
“No.”
Rigs snapped his gaze down to her, frowning at the grimace shaping her lips. Her voice had sounded strained—the same pleading tone she’d had when she’d insisted she’d seen an armed man behind them. The one he hadn’t found. That had nearly killed him to admit to her.
He tightened his hold, running one hand up and down her arm. She quieted for a moment, then gasped and bolted upright—blankets flying. Her arms shooting out to the sides. He rose with her, cupping her elbows as he tried to steady her. She cried out, elbowing him in the ribs before scrambling for the edge of the bed.
He jumped off his side, catching her before she’d tripped trying to shift to her feet. “Easy, Addison. It’s me.”
Her heavy breathing filled the air as she tugged against his hold before stilling. Strands of hair angled across her face, the golden color shining in the sunlight. “Kent?”
“That’s right, sweetheart.” He shifted closer, letting her feel his body heat. “You passed out last night. Do you remember?”
She shook her head, blonde hair bouncing about her shoulders.
He took a moment to tuck the soft tresses behind her ear. “We’re in Russel and Harlequin’s spare room. You’re safe.”
Her head swiveled, her sightless gaze scanning the room before she sighed, no longer fighting against his hold. “It’s morning?”
“Closer to noon, I think. Seems we both needed some sleep.”
Her eyebrow arched as she focused on him. “We…we slept together?”
“We shared the same bed. But I didn’t… I mean, you were unconscious, and I…”
“Understood. And I didn’t mean to imply you were the kind of guy to…” She waved her hand at the bed. “I was just…surprised you’d relaxed your guard enough to actually sleep. You seemed…agitated last night.”
“Armed men are actively trying to kill you. I’m more than agitated. But Ice said he’d stand watch, so…”
She nodded, slowly sinking back onto the bed. Rigs settled in beside her, still holding one elbow. Not because she needed his support, but because he couldn’t get his damn fingers to loosen. Couldn’t make himself let go of her soft smooth skin. Not with the scent of warm woman surrounding him. With her hair perfectly tousled after spending the night in his arms.
Addison glanced on where he held her then raised her gaze to his, her head tilting slightly to one side. “You said I passed out?”
He forced his hand back to his side. Fuck, focusing on anything other than how badly he needed to touch her shouldn’t be this hard. Shouldn’t mess with his head to the point he had to remind himself she’d asked him a question. “When we were talking. You…got upset then passed out. But Ice made sure you were okay. Seems you just needed some rest after everything that had happened.”
She snorted. “You don’t have to try and spare my feelings, Kent. I had a flashback, didn’t I?” She waved her hand at him. “It’s okay. I never said I didn’t have them. It’s just…” She blew out an exasperated breath, looking down at her hands clasped in her lap. “Maybe that is what’s happening. Maybe I really am crazy and none of this is real.”
“Addison.”
She tugged free then stood, taking a couple of steps away. Rigs darted over, shoving a chair out of the way before she bumped into it and gave herself a concussion. Addison stopped, frowning at the scrape of furniture across the floor.
“See!” She wrapped her arms around her waist. “Living in the dark is one thing. Having these flashes—wondering if I’m losing my mind…”
He stepped into her, palming her back and tugging her close when her hands rose to his chest. He fought the instinctual response that had him tensing his muscles. Preparing to retreat. “We’ll figure this out. Promise.”
She tilted her head back, brushing her lips across his chin in the process. He clenched his jaw, forcing his lungs to keep drawing in air as she stared at him—her sightless eyes searching his. Fuck, she was so damn beautiful. So close. All he had to do was dip his head—slide his mouth over hers.
She’d welcome his touch. It was there in the way her breath caught. In how she dampened her lips, leaving them slightly parted. Inviting him to kiss her. One move, and he’d be right where he wanted to be.
Then, she raised her hand—smoothed her fingertips across his scars—and he couldn’t stop the involuntary flinch. The sharp intake of his breath.
Addison froze. Hand barely touching his cheek, her weight shifted onto her toes as her mouth hovered next to his. The muscle in her jaw flexed, then she retreated. Taking a healthy step back. Isolating herself as much as she could.
Shit.
Rigs stared at her, his body primed, the voices in his head hammering at him, when she cleared her throat.
She made a point of looking past him as she wrapped her arms
around herself, again. “I appreciate all you and your friends have done, but I really think I should go.”
He opened his mouth to protest—to fucking explain—when a sigh sounded off to his left. He turned to find Ice leaning against the doorway, his gaze skipping between them.
Russel stared at Rigs for a moment then focused on Addison. “It’s not you, Addy.”
She startled, twisting until she was facing both of them. “Russel?”
“Kent isn’t uninterested. He’s afraid to tell you the truth. That you won’t understand.”
“Understand what?”
Rigs grabbed his clothes and shoes off the floor, yanking them on as he stared at Russel. “For fuck’s sake, Ice, shut up.”
Ice glared at Rigs, pushing off the frame then stepping into the room. “Not this time. You want to hate me for dragging your ass out of that rubble? Fine. You want to alienate yourself—take only the jobs that keep you isolated? I won’t interfere. But I’ll be damned if I stand here and let you ruin the best thing to ever happen to you. Marines included, because I’ve never seen you this invested. This fucking happy, since Addison walked into your life. And yeah, I know it’s only technically been a day. But we both know that doesn’t matter. We’re soldiers. We either jump or we don’t. Simple as that. And you’ve jumped. You just won’t let yourself land because you have this fucked-up notion you don’t deserve to be happy. That you have to pay for not seeing that IED sooner.” He took a step closer. “For living.”
“I swear, buddy, you either shut up or—”
“Or what? You’re already living like you’re dead. Pretending you’re fine when we both know you’re barely holding it together. We’ve been patient. Given you time and space to work through this. Then, finally, someone comes along that makes you step back into the light. Leave those damn demons behind. And you’re going to let her walk away because you’ve already convinced yourself she couldn’t possibly ever love you back.”
He faced Addison. “Rigs was injured when an IED exploded next to him. While he’s made an amazing recovery, he was left with scars across his face and chest. The kind some people have trouble accepting. That’s why he grabbed your wrist. Why he seems indifferent. I promise you, it has nothing to do with how he really feels.”
A dull roar sounded inside Rigs’ head, spinning the room a few times before he managed to shift his feet—brace one leg against the bed. Prevent his ass from hitting the floor. Heat burned along his face and neck, a tight feeling in his chest making it hard to breathe. He stared at his boots, willing them to move. To push past Ice and head for his truck. Get as far away as he could before pulling over and emptying his stomach across the side of the road.
Because despite everything he’d told himself earlier—about coming clean. Giving Addison a chance to see the real him—now that his flaws had been exposed. Had been put in the spotlight. All he could do was focus on pulling air in then pushing it out. He felt her staring at him. The weight of her sightless gaze pushing down on him like that fucking wall had. Trapping him in a way he wasn’t sure he could escape.
A hand landed on his back, shoving him farther down. “Breathe for me, Rigs.”
Anger had him moving. Had him knocking off Russel’s hand then grabbing him by the shirt and dragging him across the room—slamming him against the wall. He leaned in close, looking Ice in the eyes. “You dick.”
Ice didn’t resist. Didn’t raise his hands as he stood there, staring Rigs down. “You want to kick my ass? Go ahead. I won’t even fight back. But don’t ask me to stand here and watch you sabotage anything remotely good in your life. Kill what remains of the brother I saved until there’s nothing left but a hollow shell. Until you find a way to end it for real. Even I’m not that strong.”
Rigs breathed heavily in Ice’s face. “I was going to tell her.”
“When? Because she was about a second away from walking out the door. And we both know she wasn’t coming back. Not, this time.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Actually, it is.”
“Kent.”
Rigs stilled at the soft whisper of Addison’s voice. It was close, and he knew if he turned, she’d be standing right there. Waiting. Blind gaze pinned on him. A tremor shook through him. If he thought he’d felt exposed at the auction, it didn’t compare to the raw feeling coursing through him. To the way his skin felt too tight. His tongue too large to form the right words.
He released Ice’s shirt then took a quick step to the side. “I’m going to do a sweep of Addison’s house. I’ll be back in a few hours.” He angled his head just enough to address Addy without looking at her. Seeing the disgust he’d been fearing since they’d first met mirrored in her eyes. “I’ll grab your cane and a few supplies.”
Russel snagged his arm. “I called Sam and Hank last night. They’re meeting us there in an hour.”
“Fine. Then, I’ll see you both there.”
He left, using all his strength to get his feet to move. To walk down the hall, across the living room and out the door. Harlequin called his name, but Rigs just kept moving. A few more seconds, and he’d be clear.
He hit the garage running, jumping in his truck then peeling out. He couldn’t think about what had happened. What he’d have to face in an hour. All he could do was drive.
Chapter 12
Addison leaned against the wall in her kitchen, listening to the strained silence around her. If it weren’t for the fact she knew there were a group of men gathered at the table, to the eerie sense of multiple bodies in the same space, she would have sworn the room was empty. They didn’t make a sound. Not a scuff, a raspy breath. Nothing but deathly quiet.
Apparently, it wasn’t only Marines who were stealthy. Russel, Sam, and a guy called Hank all shared Kent’s ability to disappear without ever leaving the room. A feat that creeped her out. Knowing there were people who could infiltrate her home, maybe even watch her, all without her sensing it—hearing them—made her acutely aware of her current situation and how vulnerable she truly was. How much she’d relied on Blade to be her first line of defense.
She clenched her jaw to keep her emotions in check. Russel had stopped by the vet’s on the way to her house, and she’d spent fifteen minutes stroking Blade’s coat. Listening to his soft snuffles as his heartbeat thumped against her palm. He’d been sedated, but simply holding him, knowing she hadn’t lost him, had been enough to ease the tight feeling in her throat. Leaving him had been harder than she’d expected, and she’d had to fight to keep the tears at bay.
Tears that still threatened as she stood there, feeling more alone than she had the past eighteen months. Kent hadn’t spoken a word to her since running out of Russel’s loft. Since she’d learned the truth behind his odd behavior.
Scars.
Why hadn’t she figured that out? She’d gotten glimpses of them. Had felt the raised lines on his chest, but… She’d been too preoccupied by the blue of his eyes, the strong line of his jaw. The hard planes flexing beneath her fingers to care about some scars. And after all she’d gone through in the past—with her sister, her own trauma—scars were a sign he’d won. That he’d fought against impossible odds and somehow made it out the other side intact. Alive.
You’re barely holding it together.
That’s what Russel had said. And just thinking that Kent could end up the way Gwen had made her stomach roil. Her chest constrict. Because it wasn’t just Kent who Russel claimed had jumped. Addison had, too.
It was crazy. As unlikely as her flashes. But denying there was something special between her and Kent was like denying her blindness was all in her mind. And she couldn’t help but wonder if he felt a fraction of the need she did. Or if Russel had been wrong, and Kent’s reactions were based on the fact he just didn’t feel anything for her except obligation.
The floor scuffed next to her. On the other side of the doorway. And she knew it was Kent. The hint of gun oil and spicy man. The way the air heated a
round her. The familiar energy that washed over her. All the clues she’d come to associate with him.
She hadn’t been wrong about him being a protector. Even with the awkward distance between them, she’d felt his presence since she’d arrived, despite the fact he hadn’t made a sound. Close enough to jump to her defense or maybe catch her if she tripped. And she wasn’t sure if she was touched or angry.
A footstep in front of her followed by a brush of fingers along her arm. Russel.
She tilted her head toward him. “Yes, Russel?”
He chuckled. “How the hell did you know it was me?”
“Your hand. And the way the air changes when you’re around.”
“You are something else, honey. Okay, we’re ready. Would you like to join us at the table?”
“If it’s all the same, I think I’d rather just stand here.” Where she felt as if she had some semblance of control.
“All right. I’ll make introductions.” Chairs scraped followed by the pad of feet toward her. “This is Sam Montgomery. Folks call him Midnight. He was at the auction with us last night.”
Had it really just been last night?
She extended her hand, shaking the large, warm hand that engulfed hers. “You’re the Army Ranger who was with Bridgette Hayward.”
A snort. “That’s right. Conned the lady into agreeing to marry me.”
“I was collecting evidence for the Stevens’ case when… Anyway, I had the pleasure of working with her on several cases while in narcotics. She’s scary good.”
“I’ll pass the compliment along.”
Russel tapped her arm as Sam’s hand left hers. “And this is Hank Patterson, or Montana to his men. Ex-Navy SEAL, and our boss.”
Addison smiled. “A Navy SEAL? Impressive. And you’re the one who created Brotherhood Protectors.”
