“You don’t have to be a grump. I’d almost believe that’s your normal demeanor if I hadn’t seen the softer side of you myself.” I stop walking, set everything down, and begin to prepare the fishing rods, ignoring her snide remark. “Don’t change, though; I like this rough and rugged act you’ve got going. I find it very attractive.” She smirks when I lift my head to glare at her. I know she's only trying to joke around; what she fails to see is, I’m fighting back all my temptations when it comes to her.
I move toward her, letting the rod drop to the dock. She doesn’t even flinch when it falls to her feet beside her.
“Grace. I’m holding back from fucking you senseless. From showing you just how rough and rugged I like to be.”
“Well, quit. I never asked you to go easy on me. In fact, I haven’t asked for anything from you except honesty. I don’t want a man who can’t be himself, and you, Trevor, are definitely not acting like yourself.”
“And you know this about me, how? Let me tell you something. You couldn’t handle the real me. Hell, I can’t handle myself at times.” I rear my head back; frustration is boiling in my veins.
“I’m not doing this. I told myself I was done. I’m not pushing you anymore. That kiss back there was you, the real you. What I can’t handle is seeing you hurting as you are.” She's honest with me, and I can’t seem to get a breath in to respond to her about a damn thing. She’s only seeing the side of me she wants to see. She has no idea what the hell I really do for a living; she doesn’t know the half of it about my brother, and she sure as shit doesn’t know how I feel about her. She has no idea who I am, and I can’t seem to let her see even a part of me clearly without wanting to hide behind the truth. How in the fuck can she be so right?
“I was there when my brother died. I watched him burn to death in a fire alongside a road. He would’ve never been where the bomb went off if he hadn’t been waiting for me. I was lagging. He pushed me to catch up to the Humvee, and when I finally caught my second wind, he wanted to race. I tripped. I fucking fell, and he stepped on that damn thing and blew up right in front of me. His body was on fire; he was screaming bloody fucking murder, and I tried, god, I tried to put the fire out. My brother died right in front of me. Is that what you want to hear? Is that the man you seem to know? The one standing in front of you? Because I have to tell you, you are way the fuck off base of the kind of man I am.” I turn away from her to hide the tears forming in my eyes. Hide your weakness. That’s what we’ve been told to do our entire lives.
“Oh, my god, Trevor. You think his death was your fault. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t,” she repeats as she speaks to me from behind. I can’t look at her. It won’t matter how many times she tells me. In my head and heart, it will always be my fault.
“It is. I fell behind, and because of that, he stalled.” I cast my line into the lake as I struggle through this conversation. “You can’t blame yourself, Trevor.”
“You’re a pot calling the kettle black. Aren’t you the one feeling guilty about your father’s death?” She stops when I toss that back at her. It’s the truth; I’ve watched her practically drown as she tried to take the blame for what happened to her father. Shit. I shouldn’t have said that. Trenton has been dead for years. I’ve learned to come to terms with him being gone; it’s how he died that continues to eat away at me. Her, though, it’s too soon for her.
“I’m sorry. I should never have said that.” I exhale and allow myself a moment to think. His screams flow through my mind no matter how hard I try to put it all to the back and move on.
“It’s fine,” she says, eyes still cast down.
It’s not fine. I’m an asshole.
She sighs; her next words cut me deep.
“Looks like we both need to evaluate things a little, huh?” She looks down as I hand her the other fishing rod. Our fingers graze lightly.
“You're right.” I’m done with this conversation; she needs to be, too. Time to move on and forget about it.
“Yeah, I know.” She toys with the reel a few seconds before she looks at me with her rod in one hand and the plastic bait in the other. I take them from her, needing this opportunity to turn the conversation light again. We didn’t come here to dig up my nightmares and try to comprehend everything I’ve done. We’d need years for that.
“It looks like it’ll do us both some good to have someone to talk to about the ones we’ve lost. A no-judgment zone,” she whispers. I like that idea. She’s already become that for me in a way. I’ve talked to her more than I have anyone else about this. I guess you could say I’ve been completely silent when it comes to Trenton and his death. It’s too hard to talk about it, and even though I made it through it with her, it was hands down the most unpleasant thing I’ve talked about in my life. It’s easier to avoid and deter any emotional shit. At least, that’s how I’ve always done it.
“I could use a no-judgment zone,” I admit, knowing she’ll be the perfect person to give it to me. Even though she’s been sheltered her entire life, she’s very open to accepting people for what they are. I could see that with the way she helped the patients who stayed at the clinic when we were there. In fact, everything she’s done so far has proven that.
“Well, you have it with me.” There she goes proving my point. She sits down on a rock, so I do the same next to her. I pull out the two beers I grabbed and hand her one. “You trying to get me drunk, Steele?” I love how she flips back and forth from calling me Trevor to calling me Steele.
“Nah, if I wanted to do that, I would have done it when we crashed.” Her brows shoot up, and a smile slowly lifts the corners of her mouth. I throw mine back and allow the cold liquid to coat my throat as I guzzle over half of it. She takes a small sip and holds the can up to read it.
“I’m pretty sure this is piss I just drank.” I bust out laughing at her, causing her to do the same. “How do you drink that stuff?”
“I guess it’s an acquired taste and I’m just used to it by now.” She sips again. And the face she makes has me laughing so damn hard that I can hardly get my words out. She’s trying to get it down and look at ease doing it. Only she fails and keeps me laughing.
“You don’t have to drink it.”
“No, no. You want a fishing buddy who drinks beer. That’s what you’re getting.” I smile as I watch her attempt to fit into my comfort zone. It proves how much she wants to spend time with me. I’ll need to let her pick the activity for a few of the days while we’re here. It’ll do me good just to go with the flow myself.
“That expression, it looks good on you.” She surprises me with her words.
“What expression?”
“You know, the one where you can’t possibly smile any larger than you are right now.” She makes me think about how long it’s been since I could enjoy myself and have fun. To sit on a rock and throw back a beer with a fishing rod in my hand. I won’t even mention how long it’s been since I’ve allowed a woman to be the one sitting next to me. I’ve never spent enough time with one to strike up a normal conversation. I use them; they use me. End of story.
“You don’t look so bad yourself.” Her face lights up at my compliment. Damn, she is beautiful.
“Thank you.”
Just then her rod bends and she looks shocked by the tug on the other end of her line. “Now you’re about to be the first one to catch a fish.” I coach her through bringing the fish to shore by standing behind her. Wanting to be close to her. Her scent engulfs and heightens my awareness about the fact that, even though she’s out here with me, a place that’s usually for Jackson and me to drown our sorrows, I love her being here and love watching her experience it all for the first time. If I wasn’t falling for her before, this fishing trip would’ve been my undoing.
Things are easy with her; even when I’m dealing with the most difficult parts of my life; with her, it seems easier than going through it on my own. She watches the fish flop around on the line as she holds it up. I t
ake a picture of her and happen to catch that perfect smile of hers in the process.
She proceeds to reel in fish after fish, while I bring in about half of what she does. It doesn’t bother me in the slightest because I’m having more fun watching her. “Now I’ll have to teach you how to clean them.” She’s gone from not wanting to touch the worm to doing it all herself and even taking the fish off the hook when it comes in. I’m just sitting back and enjoying the view and the day that has made me forget all the hell that wouldn’t seem to leave me alone on the days before.
After a few hours and plenty of fish later, we return to the house. Her hair is perfectly messed up, and she even made it through the one beer I handed her. The last thing I wanted was for her to get drunk, so I didn’t get any more from the cooler after that first one.
“We’ll clean these; then we can catch a shower. Tonight, I’ll teach you how to cook these bad boys, and we can sit by the fire and eat.” She seems to be wrapped up in the process of how these fish make it to the dinner table, so I show her how to filet a few of them. She takes over about half way through and prepares the rest on her own. She’s good with the knife; her hand is steady, and her cuts are precise, which is perfect to get the most meat out of each fish.
“This is a bizarre day.” She starts to talk over the last fish. “I’ve had so much fun, but I’ve been catching and killing things all day.” I chuckle at her recap of the day.
“Sounds perfect to me.” I handle the waste, while she takes the filets into the house. “I’ll meet you in a little bit after I shower. Everything you need should be in that bathroom attached to your room. Let me know if anything is missing.”
I watch her walk away from me, only once looking over her shoulder to see me looking at her. She’s making it impossible for me to stay away from her. Not that I can think of a single reason to at this moment. Grace is right about today. It has been a weird day. One that started out rocky as hell and ended up nearly perfect.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
GRACE
“Oh, my god. I’m still stuffed. I can’t remember the last time I ate fresh fish, let alone that much,” I admit while stepping around Trevor to place the last dish in the dishwasher.
“I have to say, for a tiny little thing you sure can throw down some food.” I tilt the corner of my lips up, enjoying the light teasing and bantering we’ve had going on all night.
It’s a far cry from the way things started out, that’s for sure.
When he first told me about his brother, I wanted to wrap one hand around him for comfort while taking the other and beat against his chest until his blood boiled with the knowledge that what happened wasn’t his fault.
How could I do either one of those things when he continues to shut me out? He threw that in my face and closed himself down over it. Never spoke of it again. Instead, he tried to make things easier on the two of us by laughing and joking around.
I loved every minute of it, but the fact remains he can pretend all he wants. He’s bleeding on the inside, so much so that until he comes to grips with the fact that none of us can determine someone else’s fate, he’s going to always blame himself.
And there lies the problem, the truth of it all. He won’t allow himself to be close to anyone. I can’t fault him for that, no matter how much it hurts me to admit it.
Which leaves me at a passé so to speak. Either I can toe the line, remain his friend and come up with some friendly things for us to do over the next few days like he suggested, or I can continue to fight for what I know we both want.
This attraction we have toward one another started out psychical, just like most relationships do. Then you become friends, lovers, and at times, enemies.
Trevor will always be my friend. He’s given me strength and confidence as a woman who has dreamed for so long about finding a man I could fall for and for him to do the same. I’ve found him, I know I have. It’s him, but I’m sticking to my guns from earlier today. I’m not pushing him to want me like I want him. Not anymore. So, I concluded tonight while we sat by the fire. If he can’t admit that he cares about me before the end of this week, then I’m moving on. I deserve it. I’ve earned it and I’ve waited long enough for a man who wants me the same way I want him. I want a forever with someone. That slow burning desire that drives you insanely mad, has you going out of your mind when you are apart and explodes when you're together. I want a friend, a lover, and a man who sets me on fire.
I see all those things happening in the future with Trevor. I’m not in love with him by any means, but I know I could be.
He claims to not be a gentleman, that he would hurt me in ways I can’t comprehend. He couldn’t be farther from the truth. I’ve fantasized in bed at night wondering what it would feel like to be loved and worshipped like only a strong man like him can do.
“You okay? You're awfully quiet suddenly.” He speaks kindly, brings me out of my construed daydream.
“I’m fine. I’m just real tired. I’m going to go to bed. Thanks for a fun day.” I lean up and kiss him on his cheek, my lips desperate to have him devour me. “I’ll think of something fun for us to do tomorrow. Maybe shopping,” I joke, toss him a friendly wink, and leave him in the kitchen. With every step that takes me further away from him, the more I wish he would stop me from going, but he doesn’t.
I close the door to my room, toe off my shoes, and whip my shirt over my head the minute I step inside.
I am tired, too tired to even slip out of my black lace bra and panties I changed into after I showered. I place my shirt on the chair, tug my leggings off, and climb into bed. No more thinking, no more wondering, just a good night’s sleep. I close my eyes with thoughts that everything will be better in the morning, because in all honesty, I can’t imagine a day starting out worse than today did.
~~~~~~~~~~
A heart-wrenching scream rips through the house and has me jolting up and jumping out of bed so fast my heart starts to pound out of my chest. At first, my foggy mind thinks it came from me until I hear it again. The sounds of someone screaming “God, no! Please, no!” so loud that I’m running for the door, opening it with shaky hands, and darting across the hall.
“Trevor.” I lightly tap on his door. He doesn’t answer, but another piercing scream ripples from the other side. I fumble through the dark until I find the knob, pushing it open, and the sight before me nearly brings me to my knees.
The moonlight is outlining his thrashing body. He’s on his stomach, fists slamming into the bed
“Trevor,” I call out louder this time, and when he still doesn’t answer me, I move so fast out of fear he’s going to hurt himself that I’m not even thinking straight until I place my knees on his bed, lightly shake him, and he grabs me by my throat and has me pinned underneath him before I take my next breath.
“Trevor, stop, it’s me!” I scream through the tight grip he has around me.
“Grace. Jesus, fuck. What the hell are you doing in here?” He releases me, sits up on his knees, and stares me down. He’s angry and disorientated.
“I heard screaming, so I came to check on you.” I cough around the heavy grip that I can still feel on my throat even though he no longer holds it..
“Damn it. Did I hurt you?” He leans over and flips on the light. I blink several times to adjust my eyes and gasp when I see his hair drenched in sweat. His eyes are feral as they scan up and down my body. It’s then I realize I’m wearing next to nothing and am trapped underneath him.
“Fuck,” he says. My chest heaves up and down. My body tingles. I have to get out of here.
“I’m sorry. You were having a nightmare. I just wanted to help. I’ll leave.” I stutter my words as I try to push him off me. He takes my hands in a tight grip, lifts them over my head, then his mouth along with his body come crashing down on me. His kiss is rough, demanding, as his tongue punishes my mouth. Every part of me screams to tell him to stop. That he’s going to regret doing this when he fully wakes. His
hands roam up my sides, brush over my breasts, then suddenly he stops, lifts his head, and looks down at me.
“Trevor,” I whisper.
“Tell me I didn’t hurt you?” he asks, his voice so low it’s barely audible.
“I’m not hurt. Are you okay?” I ask, my hand coming up to cup his face.
“Yeah. I have nightmares all the time.” I’m not sure what to say. I’ve seen and heard some of the wounded men have nightmares before. We usually gave them a sedative to calm them down and sat by their sides until they fell back asleep. At times, we would listen while they told such horrifying stories that would make even the strongest of men collapse to their knees. It always gutted me to realize many of them subject themselves to the torture, not ever knowing how bad nightmares can truly be. The initial trauma is nothing compared to a lifetime of torment their minds put them through.
He breathes against my face, slowly grinding his hips against mine, his eyes still dancing around my body in a frenzy. “Grace. You shouldn’t have come in here.” He slides his fingers under my bra strap, tracing a short path, allowing the material to be a friction on his fingertips.
I can see him working through the inner torment of his mind telling him he needs to be gentle with me, while his body wants something different.
The more he moves against me, the more he bulges between us. Out of pure curiosity, I slip my hand between us and close my hand around him. It’s hard to imagine something this large sliding inside me, so I force myself not to think about it. The truth of it is, I really like Trevor and he makes me want to experience this with him. He’s intense and broken, which is something I can relate to.
“Trevor, don’t push me away.” I pull his face closer to mine with my free hand and speak directly to him while allowing my other hand to grip and explore his length. His perfect muscular body is tense but relaxes as I move my hand from his face and glide it over his back.
“This is a bad idea.” His face remains distant as he pushes up on his hands, towering over me, still grinding his hips into mine. “Ah fuck, Grace. I can’t fight this anymore. Everything about you feels right, but my mind…it’s fighting me every step of the way.” He closes his eyes, rolls his head around while an exhale proves how much he’s enjoying my touch.
Steele (The Elite Forces Book 4) Page 10
