A wrenching pain in her abdomen had her forearm banding across her midsection to try and ease the hurt filling her body as she absorbed Chris’s emotions.
“Seeing him, is that why you had that dream?” she asked softly, but there was more, wasn’t there? The movie. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” It was his hand now guiding her face back his way when she started to turn. “I just try to avoid any reminders of Iraq or Afghanistan.” He released his hold of her and stood, then went for his gun and slid it beneath the bed. “I need to start putting this in my lock box, especially if Elaina comes around. Just hate the time it adds if I actually did need to go for my gun in a crunch.”
She immediately rose, worried he would shut her out before he really let her in.
“I know, it seems strange that I’m totally fine operating, hunting down bad guys, but a movie or a visit with a friend can screw up my head.” He started for the doorway as if needing to escape, but then spun and faced her, the light from the hall a halo surrounding him. His hands sat at the cut of muscle just above his waistband, right where the V began its descent to . . . God, what was wrong with her? “I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to stay at my house anymore since I’m messed up. Now that you’re, um, actually seeing some of what’s beneath the funny guy.”
Three steps closed the space between them. “I don’t think you’re messed up at all,” she hurried out. “And I do want to see you. All of you.” Even if I’m scared for reasons you don’t know yet.
He dragged a palm down his throat. “I need water.”
She gave him a second, then followed him to the kitchen, blinking against the bright fluorescent lights.
Chris stood at the fridge, his back to her, one arm slung over the door as he chugged a bottle of water. His muscles were flexed, and she forced herself to look away. Under the circumstances, after what had just happened, it was wrong to be ogling him, right?
He shut the door, tossed the bottle into the recycling bin, and brought his back to the counter. If he moved too much, she was fairly certain the slit at the front of his boxers would reveal what was beneath.
“No ink.” Her gaze followed the lines of his body all the way up to his face.
“I hate needles, and although I’m a guy who clearly likes to face my fears—you know, still operating despite being messed up . . . and no worries, I’m levelheaded and fine when downrange, but uh.” He was rambling. Still trying to shake off that dream, she supposed. “But needles, I just don’t like ’em.”
She padded farther into the kitchen, eating up the space between them.
“Everyone I know has a reason why they joined. My brother. A.J. What was your reason? Who was your someone?” she asked, thinking back to their conversation Friday night on her patio in New Orleans. He never did answer her then, and maybe now wasn’t the time to ask, but the question had tumbled free. She was fascinated by the man who was much more than what he let on.
Chris stole a look at Bear’s bed, and Rory followed his focus to see Bear yawning. “The ‘someone’ was my mom. She was my reason.” His voice was tense when he spoke. And Rory had a feeling he wasn’t about to deliver a happy story.
More layers.
Slowly peeling.
Painfully beat by beat.
And she was there for it. For him.
His hands cupped the counter at his sides, fingertips disappearing under the ledge.
She stopped inches away from him, so drawn to him whenever they were close to each other. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I won’t push.”
He brought his eyes to her face, his mouth a white slash across his tan skin. “And if I want to?” Surprise filled his tone. Surprised he wanted to share?
He didn’t set his hands on her hips like she wanted him to. He kept them gripped to the counter, but she saw restraint in his posture. The way he was working hard to prevent himself from either reaching for her or running.
“Tell me.” The words were almost a breathless whisper.
“My mom is the reason why I ran away at sixteen. Well, her and my dad’s drinking.” One hand released his death grip on the counter to squeeze the bridge of his nose. The loss of eye contact was almost too much to handle, and the weight of his words had her knees weak. “I took my dad’s truck and just drove and drove. I got all the way to Virginia Beach. The sun wasn’t even out yet, but I saw these guys on the beach in teams carrying big, fat logs over their heads. I breached the private property and hid, watching the men get chewed out by their instructors from a distance.”
BUD/S?
He lowered his hand and pinned her with a determined look, eyes now the color of the Mediterranean, then brushed his palm along his sternum before placing it on the counter again.
She drew in a quick breath, entranced by his story, as she waited for him to continue.
“An officer caught me, and man did the guy have Popeye arms,” he said with a forced smile. “Clearly ate his spinach.”
“You’re doing it again,” she reminded him. “Using jokes to hide your emotions.”
It was second nature for him, and it broke her heart.
She resisted the urge to reach out and pull this man in for a hug because, in her heart, she knew this very moment was probably the emotional equivalent of a hundred kisses in terms of line-crossing.
And it was then that his gaze fell to her lips as if he wanted to ease his pain by devouring her. “The officer asked how the hell I got onto the property, and I told him I was stealthy. He shocked the hell out of me because I was expecting him to haul me down to the station or something, but instead, he told me to join when I hit eighteen. So that day, I made up my mind to be a SEAL. Then I drove back home, got my ass chewed out for stealing my dad’s truck, and set out to become a Teamguy from that day forward. Joined the Navy the second I graduated high school.”
That’s why you started caring about school at sixteen. “And you never looked back.”
“Well, at least not until now,” he said, his tone a touch jagged, maybe from years of emotional scars. “But you don’t need to hear all this.” His thumb went to her lower lip, tugging it down slightly, and she eased up on her toes on instinct. The need to feel his mouth was destroying her sense of control.
“I do want to hear. Please, tell me.”
His hand moved back to that counter he found so comforting.
“You’ve probably heard this kind of story before. The guy from the other side of the tracks falls for the rich girl from the Cape. Well, that was my parents. My dad took over the plumbing business from my grandfather. My mom met him at a bar, and they fell in love. She said it didn’t matter that Dad didn’t have much, or that her parents refused to take part in our lives after she married him.”
Rory had indeed heard variations of this story before. They rarely ended well. And she hated that Chris’s past held a version of one.
He peered out the window that overlooked where they trained Bear earlier, the sky pitch-black since it was two in the morning. “Turns out, living in a triple-decker—a three-story home in Southie—wasn’t enough for her. I lost count of how many times she left us and went back to her parents’ home in the Cape. I’ll never forget the first time. Two days before my tenth birthday. Maybe she forgot it was coming up. Maybe she didn’t care.”
And there it was.
So very much of what made him Chris Hunter.
She wasn’t Freud, but she had to believe part of why Chris didn’t want many material possessions was on account of his mom. He didn’t want a woman to love him because of what he owned or could buy. His mom needed money more than she needed Chris, and Rory had no idea how to even process that thought.
“It destroyed my dad each time she left. He’d drink too much while waiting for her to come back.” He visibly swallowed. “It was a vicious cycle of her coming in and out of our lives, and because he loved her so much, he let her do it. But she took pieces of his heart every time s
he ran off, to the point he didn’t have anything left to give, not even to me.” He abruptly turned and set his palms to the counter.
His heart had been broken by one of the most important women in a man’s life.
Rory cupped her mouth and swallowed back the tears. She knew Chris wouldn’t want her to cry about what he’d just had the courage to reveal. It hadn’t taken her more than a few days of spending time with him to figure that out, either.
“The last time she left, she never came back. I was sixteen and decided fuck it—I’m leaving, too.” He lifted his hands and slowly faced her, a battle of emotions crossing his face. “I’ve never regretted it because it brought me to my decision to join the Navy.”
Her hand skated up his arm to his strong bicep, the cut of his muscles hard beneath her fingertips.
“My mom has a new family. It’s why she never came back. Why she asked my dad for a divorce,” he quickly added, his attention shifting to her hand on his arm.
“I thought you were an only child.” She narrowed her eyes, trying to get a read on a man who’d spent years trying to hide behind the mask of a warrior—and he was a warrior—but he was so much more than that. He was a saint. A good man with a heart of gold. The real fortune, the greatest catch, would be having someone like him in her life. His mom missed out.
“I am an only child. She might have another son, but I don’t know him. I doubt he knows I even exist.” And yet, his words were laced with regret. “I have all the family I need. The guys I work with now, the family I made while on the Teams in the Navy. I’m solid.” He set a hand over hers and removed her touch.
Would Chris allow himself to fall in love and have a family even if he wanted to? Would he be able to look past his mom’s abandonment of her family, her son?
“I should let you get some sleep.” He gently smoothed the back of his hand over her cheek. “Sorry again about the gun.”
She shook her head. “I told you not to apologize.”
“Are you sure you feel safe sleeping here with me, especially after what I told you?”
“More than safe.” She smiled up at him. “And just so you know, I have a gun in a lock box under my bed, too.”
His eyes widened in surprise. “Okay, don’t go sneaking up on you at night. Got it.” He attempted casual and charming, but she knew he had to be emotionally spent. The effort it took for him to smile said it all.
Chris cleared his throat and jerked his thumb toward the hallway. “We should sleep. Not together, I mean.” He closed his eyes for a quick second. “Early morning and all.”
“Right,” she said and started to turn, but at the feel of his hand on her waist, she halted.
He slowly drew her closer until their bodies collided, her chest flush with his.
Their proximity meant he could feel her nipples hardening to peaks because she’d removed her bra when getting ready for bed all those sleepless hours ago.
And he was still only wearing boxers, which meant if he got hard, she’d feel his arousal as well.
“Rosemary.” Her name floated on a sigh as he cupped the back of her neck with his free hand, and the slight pressure he applied had her chin tilting up in response. It was a possessive hold—intimate and fueled with desire, one from which she never wanted to walk away. One she couldn’t possibly walk away from right now even if her life depended on it.
She stared up at him, breathless, speechless as his eyes claimed hers. A crackle of electricity sparked between them, the pull drawing her closer and up onto her toes.
He slowly lowered his mouth near hers.
So.
So.
Close.
She felt the warmth of his breath on her lips. Felt his indecision despite the way he held her as though she were his, and his forever.
When his lips brushed across hers and his hot mouth feathered over her cheek, she fisted the material of his boxers at his thighs with both hands. A yearning like she’d never known grabbed hold of her when he delivered what she so desperately needed. She had no idea she’d been that desperate until he kissed her, until he made love to her mouth with his lips and his tongue.
Her hands slid up along the sides of his torso, fingers roaming over his flesh as she pressed her body against his, getting as close as possible without actually wrapping her legs around him—though she wanted to.
Chris’s hand remained at the nape of her neck as he continued to kiss her, fusing them in a moment of passion.
Seconds later, he eased away and opened his eyes, yet kept a steady hold of her. They studied each other while their labored breathing returned to normal.
How would she find words to explain the raw emotions pouring through her, emotions still rocking her to her core from the kiss they shared?
Maybe words weren’t necessary.
“Technically speaking, I don’t think you mentioned no kissing in your rules.” He released his hold of her, but she remained glued in place, close as possible to this man.
He was using humor to avoid the heavy, of course. But maybe she would be okay with that this time. Because she needed to try and wrap her head around the entire night—from him opening up to her all the way to that incredible kiss.
“If that’s what it feels like to have your feet planted to the ground, to have roots, well . . .”
Tilting his head, he reached up and gently tucked her hair behind her ears, then cupped her jaw and gave her a smile. A real one this time. “No, that was called flying.”
Chapter Eleven
Rory wasn’t the type to swoon—hadn’t been for as long as she could remember. In grade school, when she and Ella would play MASH to predict their futures, Rory always switched the “Husband” category for “Places to Travel” instead. As an adult, she’d never been swept off her feet, never had a kiss sear her soul and leave her light-headed and weak in the knees, never, well, swooned. Until twelve hours ago. Until Chris flipped her world, leaving her breathless in its wake.
She couldn’t stop thinking about that spine-tingling, body-trembling kiss. Not even Bear—her freaking job!—could fully distract her. Her mind kept veering back to Chris’s confessions, how he’d torn some of his walls down and let her in, how he’d kissed her like he was starved for her, how she wanted him to kiss her more but was also terrified for him to kiss her more. After their lips had parted in the kitchen, Chris walked her to her bedroom as if they’d been on a first date and wanted to make sure she got home safely. When he leaned against the interior doorframe of the guest room, studying her, possibly waiting for her to make the next move, he looked like a nervous teen who’d just asked a girl to prom and was still waiting on an answer. It was adorable.
But then a dozen reasons why she shouldn’t initiate a repeat of the greatest kiss of her life pounded through her head with relentless force. Damn, she hated herself for allowing those reasons to infiltrate her thoughts. But she had to think things through, needed to get a handle on the situation before they could share any more two a.m. kisses. Or any-time-of-the-day kisses, for that matter.
She wished more than anything she could have invited him to take her in his arms again. Pin her to the guest bed. Use his mouth to roam, suck, and kiss every inch of her skin.
But instead, she’d whispered goodnight, and they’d gone to their beds alone. Because he still didn’t know the truth about her and her past. And she didn’t think they could move forward while such a dark cloud was hanging over her head. But after Chris had opened up to her, after the kiss they shared . . . how could she not explore whatever this amazing thing was between them?
She had a past.
He had one, too.
Based on what she already knew, his past was probably as dangerous as hers. Danger that could very well come back to haunt him. Rory was all too familiar with that scenario.
But Chris wasn’t just any man. And if anyone could handle what she had to share, it’d be him. However, the man already carried a heavy burden. Was it fair that she be
the one to add more?
“Good boy. Braaf!” Rory praised Bear in both English and Dutch when he successfully located the cache of weapons they’d hidden on the property. She gave him his treat, then instructed him to search again in Dutch, “Revier.”
Whoever had dubbed Bear untrainable either had the wrong dog in mind or didn’t know what they were talking about. He was amazing, and Chris had been right—Bear was indeed like Cairo, the dog from the bin Laden raid. She’d read up on Cairo and confirmed Chris’s guess. He was more laid-back and compassionate than other MWDs, but he’d been a warrior when necessary. Bear was the same. A chill dog with a huge heart, and he was quickly responding to both her and Chris. It did help that he’d already had a month of training with the Navy before coming to her, but yeah, he was about as perfect as possible in her eyes.
She’d miss Bear when she left.
Bear zeroed in on the next target, hidden explosive materials, within thirty seconds, and he began to whimper, his tail shaking like a rattlesnake, ears pointing to the sky as he sat down, posture erect.
Rory went over to him, gave him a treat, and ran her hands along his flanks. “Braaf!” She peered over at Chris off in the distance, standing on his driveway, waiting for A.J. to pull up with Elaina in tow. Today, he was wearing a faded Red Sox shirt and an equally worn Sox hat. She loved that effortlessly sexy look. It worked for him.
Chris tossed a wave, a smirk on his handsome face when he caught her ogling. She waved back and continued to stare. Unable to pull her focus away.
A.J. had called earlier to seek permission for him and Elaina to visit Bear. Seeing as how Bear was in training, he’d said they didn’t want to disrupt his lessons, which was actually quite thoughtful, but not necessary. It might even be a good training experience.
Besides, Rory was looking forward to seeing Elaina. The girl had made quite the impression on her at the party last Saturday, and Emily and Liam were lucky to have such an amazing daughter. Chris clearly adored her as well.
Chris reached for the sunglasses hooked to his shirt and put them on, his gaze appearing to shift to Bear, but with his eyes now shielded, she couldn’t be certain.
Chasing Fortune (Stealth Ops Book 8) Page 12
