She’d had her cowgirl boots and hat on again today like yesterday while they’d been working with Bear, who was making excellent progress.
At some point, they’d have to breach the topic of the kiss. He was waiting for her to do it first. Give her some space. Let her process what had happened. Decide if his baggage was too much to handle.
But watching her dancing and singing in his kitchen, jamming to country music with Bear, didn’t make the wait all that easy on him.
“So, you should remember that I grew up in Boston when EDM was popular, so that’s still in my blood. You know, the DJs of the nineties. Paul Oakenfold, Danny Tenaglia, John Digweed, a little Frankie Knuckles, or Carl Cox. Paul van Dyk, Bad Boy Bill, Daft Punk, Armin van—”
“It’s not like you had that list prepared or anything?” Her lip momentarily caught between her teeth, and he blinked a few times at the seductive look she was shooting him, trying to remember what they’d been talking about.
She removed her hand from his heart as he lifted his palms in an exaggerated fashion. “What can I say? My side hustle used to be spinning for college parties while I was still in high school.”
“You, a DJ? Does A.J. know you could steal his thunder? I heard he loves to DJ parties.”
“Nah, I let him have his fun.”
“Of course you do.” She broke the spaghetti strands in half and put them into the pot of boiling water. “You still listen to electronic dance music?”
“Sometimes. But I haven’t actually touched a turntable in years.” He grabbed the dishes from the cabinet and began setting the small four-person table. “Are you only into country music?”
“I like a variety of music, but maybe I’ll have to look up some of those names you mentioned and give them a try.”
“Well, country’s starting to grow on me,” he tossed out over his shoulder.
“Right,” she said, dragging the word out the same way A.J. always did.
He turned around to find her only inches away yet again. This time, those inches felt like seconds to another kiss. Time and distance became all mixed up in his head when he thought of her mouth sealed to his.
She wet her lips, eyes dipping briefly to his mouth, before curving at the edges.
“I love this song,” they both said at the same time when the song had switched over to Jason Derulo, Savage Love.
“Jinx,” he added with a wink, then turned to catch his breath.
He maneuvered around to wash his hands in the sink, a distraction so he wouldn’t grab her. Pin her to his body. Kiss her like she’d never been kissed before for a second time. And he wasn’t overly confident or cocky in thinking that. Their kiss the other night was a kiss like he’d never experienced, and the dreamy look on Rory’s face when they broke apart told him she’d felt the same way.
He pinned his back to the counter and crossed his arms once again while the dinner cooked, trying to untangle his emotions, figure out what he was feeling. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been at it, but when the timer went off, his mouth stretched into a yawn.
“Am I that boring?” She hip-checked him before draining the pasta. “You already took a nap, so you can’t be that tired.”
“I didn’t nap. And you could never bore me.” He probably said those statements in the wrong order.
“You were passed out on the couch with Bear earlier. Ball cap covering your face, and he was snoring on your lap.” Her eyes moved from the pasta to his face—such beautiful eyes.
“Oh, that.” He pressed his lips together, brows drawn in a playful manner. “Nah, I was just doing some thinking. You didn’t wear us out so much during training that I passed out.”
“Ha, sure,” she said while serving the food, and he set two beers on the table.
They sat at the table and fell into easy conversation, getting to know each other a bit more. Rory made him laugh with stories of growing up in Alabama surrounded by the five Hawkins siblings, and he shared some of his BUD/S experiences. But she never delved too deep and only briefly mentioned her years of treasure hunting, which had him a little disappointed. Although, he supposed that just because he’d opened up to her didn’t mean she had to do the same.
“So,” he said between bites of spaghetti, which was really damn good, “what do you like to do for fun when you’re not working with animals, finding treasure, or dancing while cooking?”
“I haven’t had much time to do anything, to be honest.” She pushed the spaghetti around on her plate but didn’t take a bite. “Before I moved back to the U.S., I was always on the go. Focused on work.” Her mouth tightened as if regretting her choice of words.
What kind of work?
Rory looked up from twirling the strands of her spaghetti with her fork and spoon. “Adventure, artifacts, and animals. Four P’s in training and three A’s in my life.”
But who’d want to kill you? That’s what he’d been dying to find out, but if he pressed on that hot-topic issue, would she run? Would she leave him before he got a chance to see what was even happening between them? “Sounds like you’ve had a great life.”
Her focus fell back to her half-eaten food. “It was great, but it’s definitely gotten more interesting in the last week.”
He lifted his head and smiled. “You don’t say?”
“There’s a guy. A funny, kind, incredible guy that has certainly made an impression on me, that’s for sure.”
“There’s a brilliant, compassionate, and amazing woman I know, too. And she’s most definitely rocked my world,” he confessed in response, but when her broad smile dissolved, his stomach clenched.
The air in the room shifted. He could practically feel the weight of it bearing down on him, the precursor to a conversation that could only end badly. His body had gone from relaxed to tense and on edge faster than his thoughts could catch up to the sudden change in atmosphere.
“There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
And boom went the dynamite. Damn. But as long as she didn’t announce their kiss had been a bad idea and could never happen again, he could handle almost anything she threw his way. Well, maybe.
Her eyes focused on her plate as she moved her hand from the bottle she held, reached into her pocket, and produced a small piece of folded yellow paper. She was nervous, and brownies aside, the woman didn’t seem to get all that nervous.
Chris sat taller in his chair across from her, his pulse picking up as he waited for her to speak.
She set the paper on the table beneath her palm, and he took a moment to steel his own nerves.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what you told me Tuesday night.”
He gulped. “Which part?”
She glanced at the living room, which was open to the kitchen, her eyes positioned on the TV screen, and it suddenly dawned on him. PTSD. Did she think he’d hurt someone? Hurt himself?
His stomach clenched once again at the idea, and he did his best to keep his hands alongside his plate on the table, to not push away and stand. To not run away from this conversation.
“There’s a name and a number on this paper, and I know this isn’t my place, and you can tell me to fuck off if you want, but I care about you,” she said, her voice not quite as calm and even as normal, or maybe his heart was beating so loud in his ears he wasn’t hearing right. “Riley Logan specializes in PTSD therapy for veterans, and she’s in the D.C. area.” She kept her hand on top of the paper, but it was now close enough he could shift his fingers slightly and set a palm to both the paper and her hand. “Her husband was in the Marines, and now he works private security. Maybe you’ve heard of him? Ben Logan.”
Chris positioned his eyes on her face, doing his best to make it through the conversation without saying something offensive or rude. But he’d had experience with people trying to push their particular brand of therapy on him, and he didn’t have any need for talking about his problems.
The first woman to press was after his mom
left for a second time when he was in middle school. Then again, the high school counselor when he was sixteen. The last time? Mandated therapy when Marcus died.
But his problems were different.
He was upset that Jamel didn’t always remember him.
That Andy lost his eyesight.
And Xavier wouldn’t walk again with the legs he was born with.
. . . And more and more of his brothers from the Iraq War that still suffered.
He was just fucking fine. He hadn’t lost a limb. Or his vision. Or his mind. But his buddies, well, he couldn’t fix what happened to them. He couldn’t make things right no matter how much he tried, no matter how much money he donated.
So no, a shrink wouldn’t be able to give Jamel back his memories. Or Xavier his legs.
His body tensed, and his hand began to tremble on the table. Fuck, fuck. He swallowed the lump in his throat.
“I thought it might be fate that I stumbled upon her name because she’s from another small town outside Birmingham. I even read a crazy story about a serial killer striking her town, and Riley nearly died. So, she knows what it’s like to have PTSD. And I just thought maybe you could talk to her. Not now. But sometime.”
He was biting down so hard on his back teeth that his jaw began to ache. He didn’t want to explode on her. She obviously cared, the way he knew Jessica and Harper cared about him and would push if they were to discover what was going on inside his head.
Chris slowly brought his hands to his lap. “I know of Riley,” he finally spoke. “And I know Ben.” He waited for his pulse to slow before going on. Rory continued staring at him, but there was trepidation in her eyes, in the way she held her body. “Ben works with Emily’s brother, Jake.”
“Liam’s Emily?” Her brows lifted in surprise, and he nodded. “Small world.”
“But this isn’t fate. This isn’t some ‘it’s meant to be’ scenario indicating I should talk to Riley. I’m sorry.” He stood and grabbed his dish, went to the sink, and set it inside before bringing his hands to the counter while hanging his head. He had to get a handle on his emotions. “I appreciate your concern,” he added at the sound of her standing. “But I’m okay. I promise.” He forced himself to face her. “I’m the last person you need to worry about.” He reached for her plate and busied himself with loading the dishwasher, hoping she’d let this topic go.
Rory came alongside him and began cleaning up without another word and thank God for that.
“Tomorrow is that thing, right?” he asked after they finished the dishes.
“Oh.” Now she was the one who looked uncomfortable, which wasn’t what he’d been going for. “Yeah, the thing for Andrew Cutter. Is tomorrow already Friday?”
A package from A.J.’s sister, Ella, had been delivered earlier. When Rory had lifted the red dress from the box, her face blanched. Was the dress for tomorrow? Chris remembered A.J. saying his sister toyed around with clothing design, and if she’d been the one to make that dress, well, the woman had talent.
“I might go. Or I might not. I have no idea.” She went to the dinner table and dropped back into her chair.
He started to say something, but his phone began vibrating in his pocket.
“Not going to answer?” she asked while noting him simply staring at the phone once it was in his palm.
“Don’t recognize the number.” It was a Massachusetts area code, but any number of his friends from back home would’ve already been programmed into his phone. After a moment, the icon indicating he’d received a voicemail popped up. Chris hesitantly lifted the phone to his ear to listen, leaning his back against the counter, a dish towel still tossed over his shoulder.
“Hello, it’s Carol. I know it’s been a long time, but we need to talk. It’s rather urgent. Your father gave me your number, but he doesn’t know your address. Can you please call me tonight? I know this is out of the blue, but it really is important.” A voice he barely recognized, one he hadn’t heard in over twenty years, rattled off a phone number twice.
Chris lowered the phone in a daze, feeling as though all the blood had drained from his face.
“Hey, you okay?” Rory was on her feet and standing before him, a confused look on her face.
“I have to go.” He shoved his phone in his pocket, threw the dish towel on the counter, then grabbed his keys and took off out the door before she could protest his departure.
The cool night air slapped him in the face but didn’t shake him out of his stupor.
He started up his Jeep, cranked up the rock music on the radio, then gripped the steering wheel but stared out the front window, unable to drive. To move.
Twenty years without a word from his mom. Twenty fucking years.
Why now?
Why’d his dad give her his number?
He needed to get drunk. To get hammered and forget tonight happened. To erase that woman’s voice from his mind.
Call you. You think I’d call you? He tightened his hold of the wheel, preparing to leave when he spied Rory’s shadow in the living room from behind the partially closed blinds, and his chest fell. His breathing slowed. And some of his anger began to loosen from his body.
He closed his eyes and sucked in a sharp breath, then let it go. Four breaths in and four out, he reminded himself. A tactic he was taught in the Navy in the event a sailor began to panic.
He didn’t normally panic. But this was . . .
“I’m not Dad,” he said aloud, his voice low and deep. I don’t need to get wasted because of Mom. He forced his eyes open and shut off the radio. He shook his head and turned off the Jeep.
It took him a few minutes, but he finally made his way back inside. “I’m sorry,” he said the second he saw Rory sitting on the couch with Bear.
She turned to look at him, relief in her eyes he hadn’t left.
After locking up, Chris set his keys aside, then came into the living room and dropped onto the couch with Bear between them. Petting Bear helped calm his nerves, and looking into Rory’s eyes eased his tension, too.
“I’m not okay,” he confessed, his throat tight. “But I can’t talk about it right now.”
She worried her lip between her teeth, then focused on the TV. “How about your favorite movie, then?” She peered back his way.
“I think I’m more up for Bad Boys tonight.”
She nodded and rose. “Then I’ll make the popcorn.” When she started past him, he reached for her wrist, stopping her.
“Thank you,” he whispered, and her smile was enough to help relieve some of the pain that roared back to life with an unexpected voicemail. Pain he thought he’d let go of years ago. One call from his mom had proven he wasn’t as pieced together as he’d thought.
He had Bad Boys II ready to go when she returned, but instead of sitting on the other side of Bear, he shifted the sleeping dog so Rory could be right next to him.
She rested her head on his shoulder and stayed like that until the closing credits rolled.
Watching a movie in silence with her at his side had been comforting. Perfect. And a much better, more responsible choice than getting drunk.
“I haven’t seen that movie in ages,” she said while standing and stretching her back. Her eyes moved to Bear, still snoozing on the couch. “Maybe you should sleep with Bear tonight,” she added, her tone soft.
“Isn’t that breaking the rules?”
Her long lashes lifted, and the most magnificent hazel eyes stole his breath. “We both know you were always going to break the rules.”
Chapter Thirteen
A flash of red caught Chris’s eye as he reached to open the double doors of the laundry closet in the hall, preparing to grab a towel out of the dryer. He was fairly certain the color he’d spotted out of his peripheral vision was wrapped around Rory’s body. The dress Ella sent her?
He silently closed the doors, the towel now forgotten, and moved into the open doorway of Rory’s room.
Bear was lying
on the floor, chin resting atop his front paws, watching Rory as she stood in front of a narrow full-length mirror propped against the wall.
Chris leaned against the doorjamb and savored the view, quietly waiting for her to notice him as she smoothed her hands along the silhouette of her body.
The material was Ferrari red and hugged every inch of her back and hips like a second skin. His gaze followed the length of the dress down to the tight curve of her ass before drifting to her toned calf muscles, accentuated by a pair of strappy gold shoes.
Damn, he was speechless.
When he looked up, he found Rory’s eyes set on him in the reflection of the mirror. “When did you get that mirror?”
“That’s your first comment?” She slowly turned to face him, brows lifted. Her blonde hair flowed down her back in soft waves, and some of the strands were pinned to the sides, revealing the sweep of her high cheekbones and beautiful hazel eyes.
Bear looked up briefly as Chris entered the room but quickly dismissed him and curled into a new position with a satisfied groan.
“I was going to go with hot damn, but I thought I’d ease into that.”
“Well, thank you.” She smiled, her glossy red lips revealing straight white teeth. “And I picked the mirror up at Target while you were on your run with Bear an hour ago.”
Ah, the run. Now he remembered why he was in the hall—to grab a towel from the dryer before hitting the shower.
“And why are you in your boxers?” Her eyes cruised slowly over his six-pack before landing on his black Calvin Klein boxer briefs. “Didn’t take you for a Calvin Klein type.”
“I was in a similar pair the other night,” he reminded her.
“Yeah, I, um, wasn’t focused on your boxers that night.”
“And here you are unable to rip your focus free.” He smirked. The soft blush on her cheeks was everything to him at that moment.
Now that he had a better view, Chris let his eyes journey over every inch of her in that dress.
His gaze dipped down to the deep V of the dress that showcased her cleavage and accentuated her breasts, which he’d venture to guess were a perfect C cup.
Chasing Fortune (Stealth Ops Book 8) Page 14
