Rory reached for the remote and paused the scene in the middle of a gunfight. She placed the bowl of half-eaten popcorn on the table next to her phone. The only décor in the room was the surround sound speakers positioned in the corners—not even a lamp or a lonely candlestick on the coffee table. He’d taken minimalistic to an all-new level.
“He looks like Liam, though,” Ella casually commented after removing the pin from between her teeth. “Right?”
The movie 12 Strong was based on a true story, and the leading star was Chris Hemsworth. “Yeah, he does remind me of Liam. Liam’s daughter refers to her dad as Thor, though, which is cute.”
“Yeah, that makes sense. God of Thunder,” Ella said, imitating Liam’s Australian accent. “But anyway, tonight is night four of being with Chris in Virginia. How’s it going so far?”
Where do I begin? Training both Bear and Chris for hours upon hours each day, while doing her best not to get weak-kneed from his disarming smiles, was tough enough. But the evenings they spent together sharing conversation over dinner, watching TV while Bear snoozed on his dog bed next to the couch . . . there were too many words and yet not enough to answer Ella’s question.
And why did he have to keep finding reasons to take off his shirt while they trained? It was October, damn it. Those shirt-taking-off moments were too much for her heart to handle. And, well, other parts of her.
The man was trying to torture her.
Soon enough, she’d be the one sneaking into his bedroom at night after hours instead of Bear.
As much as she’d wanted to get to know the Chris behind the Chris—and she still did—she quickly realized the man would see that as an open door to ask her questions, too. To probe and inquire about her backstory. Unless the danger from her past actually found her, she couldn’t talk about the last five years of her life. So, she’d do her best to let him open up when or if he was ready.
But he was right. She needed to stick to the rules. Her rules—training only, no falling for each other. Because the more he did let her in, the more she was going to care. To possibly fall. And wouldn’t falling be risky?
“Rory?” Ella waved a hand in front of her phone screen.
“Oh, sorry.”
“That good?” Ella smiled. “Or that bad?”
“We’ve fallen into a decent routine. Working in the morning, having lunch, then running some drills in the afternoon. Then dinner.” She swallowed, thinking back to the previous night. “He went out with Finn last night. A bar. They invited me, but I opted to stay with Bear and turn in early.”
“Why do I hear a hint of jealousy in your tone? Worried he’d meet someone at the bar?” Ella probed.
“Of course not.” At her adamantly spoken denial, Bear lifted his head and nudged her with his snout. This dog. She swore if he could talk, he’d have called her a liar. “I’m not,” she mouthed to him, then stroked his head and scratched behind his ear, and he relaxed his head on her lap.
“Where is Chris now?”
“I don’t know. He said he had somewhere to be, and he didn’t seem interested in telling me.” Secret work stuff. “Do you have any idea what your brother actually does? Are you really buying the whole private security thing?”
Ella sat on the chair in her living room and shook her head. “I honestly don’t want to know. It’ll get my insides all twisted up if I think about it. I can’t handle the worrying. Marcus worked with A.J. and the guys, and he . . .”
Didn’t come home. Which meant it could happen to A.J. To Chris. And when Rory had overheard Chris’s conversation with Roman and Finn in the garage on Sunday, when they’d been discussing a human trafficker in El Salvador, her heart had taken a rapid dive. Deep, deep down. No twin tanks to breathe beneath the surface. Almost feeling as though she’d suffered the bends—decompression sickness.
What were the odds Roman and Finn had been referring to Santiago? That Chris’s company had been chosen to grab him two months after she’d been on the man’s property in the summer?
Why would a team of private security guys end up taking down an international criminal like Santiago? Unless . . .
Did Chris lie to her? Was he really doing the CIA’s bidding?
“I lost you again.” Ella’s words pulled Rory out of her head. “Deep in thought?”
“Yeah, sorry.” She pinned her back to the leather couch. It was a bit lumpy and not all that comfortable. Part of her wanted to phone A.J.’s mom to rescue this house—one FaceTime with Deb, and she’d get herself on the next plane. Give it a little love and turn it into the warm and cozy home she knew it had the potential to be.
“So, what attracts you the most to Chris? Physically speaking. I know he’s an animal-lover and funny, but if you were the type of woman to have a wish list of physical attributes in a guy, and no worries, I know you’re not—but what would they be?”
“Why are you asking this?” Rory looked behind her to ensure Chris hadn’t come home. She didn’t need another repeat of him overhearing how hot she thought he was.
Ideas of their bodies pressed together, sans clothes, crossed her mind not only during those shirt-coming-off moments but far too often since she’d been in Virginia. And the mere thought of that man’s piercing blue eyes on her body was enough to get her hot and bothered, even now.
“I need to live vicariously through you. So, come on. Spill.” Ella propped her chin in her palm, holding the phone out far enough so Rory could see her.
Rory peeked at Bear, who was back asleep and softly snoring. “I’m a woman. He’s a man. A hot, gorgeous man. That’s it. And normally, I’d see no problem with two consenting adults enjoying each other’s bodies.”
“But this time isn’t normal?”
Rory sucked in her bottom lip, not sure what to admit. Or what she was even feeling. “When his hand brushes against mine. Or our bodies accidentally touch. When he tosses unexpected Nietzsche quotes my way.” She closed her eyes and thought back to earlier that day. They’d gone for Bear’s leash at the same time, and his hand wound up covering hers. They’d turned to look at each other, and she’d been frozen in the moment. Such a small moment that shouldn’t have had her stomach banding tight, but it did. “I’m just horny,” she lied through her teeth, knowing full well her best friend would know that, but she wasn’t prepared to verbalize her thoughts just yet. “And like you said, I don’t want to hurt the guy by having casual sex when that’s all I can offer.”
“Remind me why that’s all you have to offer?” Ella’s hand left her chin, and she stood. She was giving Rory her signature sixth-grade-teacher stare, the one used to get her students to confess to their sins. Clearly, it worked because Rory felt like a twelve-year-old again wanting to spill the truth.
But her truth was dangerous, and she’d never let anything happen to her best friend, which meant her secrets were hers to keep.
“Ella,” she started, but then flinched at the sound of the back door shutting. “He’s home,” she whispered. “Talk to you tomorrow.”
Rory twisted around to see Chris entering the living room after tossing his keys on the counter that served as a partial divider between the two rooms. The man looked downright delectable in dark denim and a button-down, white collared shirt. Sleeves to the elbows to show his corded forearms. A thick black watch on his left wrist.
Her eyes went to the pink, ribbed tank top she was wearing. A few pieces of popcorn clung to it, but she’d remembered to leave on her bra. Bonus points for her.
She quickly cleaned herself up and carefully shifted Bear’s head off her lap so she could stand.
Chris’s gaze slowly moved from her bare feet up and over her pink and black plaid cotton pajama pants before working his eyes to her face. “Those are new.”
She had only three pairs of casual cotton pajamas, and she’d need to rotate between them. She couldn’t exactly strut around in sexy numbers, not that she owned many.
He smiled, then his focus whipped to the TV scre
en, and his body tensed.
Shit. She hurried for the remote as if he’d caught her watching porn instead of a war movie, and fumbled with it, accidentally hitting play. A loud explosion erupted from the TV, which had Bear hopping off the couch in alarm. “Sorry,” she rushed out, finally turning off the TV.
After she calmed Bear down and urged him back on the couch, she looked up to see Chris still frozen in place, jaw clenched beneath his trimmed beard.
“Chris.” Rory moved to stand before him and gingerly set a hand on his forearm. She was witnessing one of his layers. Trauma. “Are you okay?”
Chris’s gaze was still transfixed, dazed, and his eyes had morphed from their clear blue to a darker version muddied with green.
When she repeated his name, it was like snapping him out of a trance. He blinked and peered at her with a focus so intense it took her breath away. The lines at the corners of his eyes and the sides of his mouth, lines she attributed to laughter, suddenly looked deeper, as if etched by pain instead.
“Sorry.” Chris swallowed hard and shook his body a little like trying to break free from a spell.
He brushed past her, sat next to Bear and pulled him close, then rasped, “You like war movies?”
“Not normally.” She crossed her arms, carefully observing him as he reached for a handful of popcorn. He was attempting to come across as cool and casual, but based on the rigid lines of his body, he was far from it.
“Where were you?” she asked, her tone soft. “With your buddies? Doing the thing?” She hoped to lighten the mood. But also, she was curious about Santiago. Had he been detained again? Was he still on the streets?
“Nah, no things,” he said with a wink. That was forced, too. He was struggling to use his typical go-to of humor. Not a good sign. “I was visiting a friend.”
“A friend?” She’d never been jealous when she and Andrew were together, and he always had women throwing themselves at him, so surely that twinge in her stomach was related to concern for Chris and nothing else.
“Yeah, a friend.” His mouth tightened. “I think I’m gonna get some sleep. You wore me out today,” he commented, attempting to be playful but failing once again. He said goodnight to Bear, then started for the hall. “You can finish the movie.” He turned back to catch her gaze. “It’s okay.” He knocked at the wood pillar near him and nodded. “Well, goodnight.”
“Chris?” She wasn’t prepared for him to leave. Not yet. “Um, what’s your favorite movie? Maybe we can watch it together tomorrow night.” She didn’t want to go to bed without first seeing his handsome smile.
He propped a palm to that column, the blue of his eyes now the color of the sky at the start of an Alabama summer storm when they landed on her. “Pursuit of Happyness.”
“If you’re a Will Smith fan, I would have assumed Bad Boys.”
And there it was. That smile of his that always made her stomach flip. Now that she’d seen the fake one, they were easy to tell apart. The real one came from deep within and had his lips crooking up just a touch on the right side.
“Well, Bad Boys is ranked right up there with Independence Day, but I like true stories, and the fact the guy in that movie refused to quit resonates with me. He did whatever necessary to succeed.”
She thought back to his comments about the Navy yesterday. The SEAL motto he still lived by. Nietzsche quotes. A man of layers.
“That scene with the father and son sleeping in the bathroom at the subway station, though,” he said, setting his hand to his heart, “gets me every time.” He opened his palm to the room. “And since I don’t need much . . .” He let his words float into the air unfinished, then cleared his throat. “Got my dog, my Jeep, and this place.”
“Sounds like a country song,” she said while easing closer to him. Was she the one deflecting with humor now, damn it?
The gap disappeared between them, and when he brought a hand to her shoulder, his touch had her nearly surrendering to the desire she felt when around him.
“You don’t like the idea of superfluous possessions while others are out there without even the bare minimum,” she whispered upon realization. And oh, God, it would happen. If he showed her the real Chris like she wanted, she’d fall so hard for this man.
“There’s nothing wrong with enjoying what you earn,” he began, and she slipped her hand to his chest, the beat of his heart spiking at her touch. “But I already have almost everything I want in life, and I don’t need material things to make me happy.”
“Almost everything?”
He gazed down at her with hooded eyes—a twist of uncomfortable pain present in his expression. “I should go to bed,” he said abruptly. “Sweet dreams, Rory.” He surprised her by setting a kiss to her forehead before releasing her and walking away.
“Goodnight,” she called out, then waited for his door to shut before she managed to get her feet to move again.
Rory cleaned up her mess, grabbed her phone, and took Bear to his new bed, and then she started for her guest room. As she passed by Chris’s room, the faint sound of the shower running stopped her in her tracks.
Hand braced against the wall, a wave of lust coursed through her as she imagined his naked body beneath the spray of the showerhead, his hands soaping up the planes of his chest and working down to—
That’s just wrong. Stop, she scolded.
She hated Chris was alone while something was clearly bothering him.
Was she allowed to help? Did it make her a hypocrite to try and unravel him when she had her walls up? Heavily fortified?
But what if his truths had her own breaking free and tearing her walls to the ground?
And . . . she tensed—what if one of them got hurt because of it?
There was no way she’d survive weeks with this man, let alone months, without their new friendship evolving into something more.
Her roots were far from planted, but maybe Chris was right. Maybe she’d always be the kind of woman to fly.
She just didn’t want her life choices to get anyone else killed.
Been there. Done that.
And she couldn’t risk it happening again.
Chapter Ten
Rory’s heart was about to jump out of her chest as she hurried toward Chris’s bedroom later that night. Unable to sleep after his unsettling reaction to the war movie, she’d been tossing and turning when a loud thud startled her into action. Had Bear snuck into Chris’s room again and fallen off the bed?
The door was completely shut, which she knew he would never do in case Bear wanted to break the rules and sneak in.
What sounded like an anguished moan came from the other side of the door. “Chris?” She knocked and shook the handle. Locked.
Shit. She ran to the bathroom in the hall and retrieved a bobby pin from her cosmetics bag. It took less than two seconds to pick and breach the lock, after which she dropped the pin and turned the handle, anxious to ensure he was okay.
As the door eased open, light from the hall spilled into the room. The last thing she expected was to see Chris on the floor next to his bed, sitting upright, gun aimed directly at her. His eyes were expressionless. Vacant.
Her hands shot to the air in alarm. “It’s me. Rory.”
Taking slow, cautious steps, she moved closer, but Chris didn’t budge. He was panting hard—arms rigidly extended, gun still aimed at her. Most likely disoriented.
She made her move anyway, slipping close and crouching alongside him.
“I’m going to take your gun from you,” she said in a gentle tone. When her fingers wrapped over his wrist, he finally loosened his hold of the gun.
His eyes fell closed.
His breathing became shallow.
A moment later, he unleashed a barely audible “fuck.”
Once she disarmed him, she brought a hand beneath his arm and guided him to sit on the bed. “I got you.” She repeated the words he’d spoken last Friday when he’d carried her to her room after a humiliating
bout of throwing up brownies.
Elbows on his thighs, Chris lowered his head to his palms. “I’m so damn sorry. I thought I locked the door just in case.” The words were muffled as she sat next to him.
“You were worried you might fall and grab your gun, so you locked the door?” she asked in surprise. “And you did lock the door,” she noted when he sat upright and stole a look her way. “I picked it. Sorry, I was worried.”
Still nothing from him other than embarrassment, which was obvious even in the dim light as he sat there clad only in black boxer briefs, every muscle in his body tight as a bowstring.
“Does this happen often?” Her brother experienced the same kind of falling-out-of-bed-and-grabbing-his-gun moments after Iraq, too. Jesse just refused to use the letters PTSD, though, when referring to himself.
“Not often,” he said, eyes back on the floor beneath their feet. “I thought I was in Iraq. I’m so sorry. The dream was more like a memory. A fucking shitty memory.”
More layers. More painful layers.
“You don’t need to apologize.” She brought her free hand to his cheek, urging him to look her way. “Never apologize.”
His brows gathered inward as he studied her, and he nodded after a brief moment. “I visited my friend Jamel tonight. He’s in an assisted living facility.” He paused as if taking a second to decide if he ought to continue. “He lives about forty-five minutes from here, so I try and see him when I can, but it’s hard. He doesn’t always remember me. Got a TBI in Iraq.” His voice was scratchy. Raw with emotion. “There was a blast about twelve years ago. Took down a lot of good men. No one died, but the other scars . . . some wish they had died, and well, I try to do what I can to remind them that they’re still Teamguys, and we don’t quit when it gets hard.” He tensed and swallowed. “And I’ll remind them of that every damn day if I have to. Whatever it takes.”
Tears filled her eyes as he spoke.
Such powerful and strong words.
Chasing Fortune (Stealth Ops Book 8) Page 11
