Her heart felt bruised. Like someone had kicked it repeatedly.
“You were just a little boy.” Tears made her voice thick. “It wasn’t your fault. You had no idea what you were doing.”
He said nothing, his face tucked into her neck. Then a shudder shook him, like he was breaking apart, so she did the only thing she could. She made her arms iron bands and kept her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Then she held on, held him so tightly. Fiercely. And she cried for the five-year-old who’d only wanted a bike. For the thirteen-year-old whose father had given him a horrific truth to bear all on his own. For the man who’d locked himself down so totally he’d become nothing but brittle ice.
Ice that was breaking now.
So she didn’t say a word. She merely held him as tight as she could, giving him the only reassurance she could: that he wasn’t alone.
Eventually the shudders wracking him stopped and he was still, leaning into her. She didn’t release him, kept holding him tightly as the tears streamed down her cheeks. Then after what felt like a long, long time, he lifted his head and looked down at her.
She’d thought that given how he’d shaken in her arms, he might have wept, but he hadn’t. His eyes were dry, the expression on his face one she couldn’t read clearly. Pain and anger and guilt shifted like the shadows of clouds on a perfect blue sea, but there was also something that looked a lot like wonder there too.
She had no idea what that meant, since there was nothing wonderful about what he’d just told her.
He said nothing, only looked at her. Then he lowered his head and kissed her again, but not with desperation or hunger this time. It was soft and warm and somehow unbearably sweet. It was a thank-you and an apology and an acknowledgment all rolled up into one.
It also told her that he didn’t want to talk anymore about this. That simply telling her had taken all he had. And she understood. There was no need to go over the horror of it endlessly. It was enough that he’d told her, shared it with her, and that alone she was grateful for.
She let him kiss her for a long time, giving him her own silent acknowledgment in return, that she was glad he’d told her, that she was here for him. And when he finally broke the kiss and lifted his head, his thumb brushing away the remains of her tears, she said, “What can I do? Anything you want, anything at all, I’ll give it to you.”
He said nothing, his fingers gentle against her skin, the dark currents of all those emotions drifting in his eyes. Then at last he said, “I’d like to teach you to shoot.”
Swallowing back more tears, she gave him a watery smile. “Okay. Then let’s do this thing.”
Fifteen minutes later, after they’d both showered and changed and Lucas had promised to buy her a new dress, they went down in the elevator to the basement and from there along a long concrete corridor.
He stopped at a door that had a keypad beside it, quickly entering the code. The door unlocked and he pushed it open, ushering her inside.
Grace stepped into a long concrete-block room with targets set up down one end and down the other a long counter with some stools set up behind it. Various cabinets lined the walls and Grace wondered if that was where Lucas kept his guns, but he didn’t go over to them. Instead he made for another door with yet another keypad beside it, keying in the code to unlock this as well.
She followed him curiously.
This room was small, with more metal cabinets, each with yet another serious-looking lock on it.
“You ever fired a gun before?” Lucas approached one of the cabinets and unlocked it, pulling it open. Inside it were an array of pistols that made Grace blink a couple of times.
Wow, if all those other cabinets were full of guns like this one was he had a serious collection.
“No,” she said. “Not even once.”
“Come over here. Let me show you what I’ve got.”
She came up beside him, looking at the guns in the cabinet, listening to him as he began to unreel facts and figures about each model. He picked each one up as he did so, flicking open the chamber, showing her the handgrip, the safety, and all kinds of other things she didn’t really understand. Cartridges and calibers, plus a whole lot of numbers.
There had been tension around his mouth earlier, but now, as he talked weaponry, the tension began to ease. His shoulders got less tight too, and as he unlocked the cabinet that revealed a whole lot of rifles the dark shadows that had been in his eyes earlier faded.
She stared at him as he talked, as he became more animated. And it struck her suddenly, as he handled a rifle with calm, professional ease, showing her the various things it could do, that there was something boyish about him. Something excited and curious and interested. Like a kid showing someone his favorite toy.
It made her heart hurt. It made her feel teary all over again. And not because the boy he’d once been had gone for good, but because that boy was still there. He was bubbling up to the surface right now, giving her a glimpse of what he’d been like all those years ago. Before his father had given him a burden no thirteen-year-old kid should ever have to bear.
She wanted to tell him so. That he wasn’t gone, he wasn’t lost, but then Lucas had spent all his life trying to deny that boy, shutting him into a box and nailing the lid closed so he never got out. It wouldn’t help to point out that Lucas hadn’t nailed it shut as firmly as he could have, and she definitely didn’t want him to go cold on her again. But maybe she could encourage that boy out a little more, let him play.
So she asked Lucas all the questions she could think of about the rifles. Dumb questions. Stupid questions. Ridiculous questions. Questions she couldn’t understand the answers to, but she listened to them all the same, watching the fleeting glitter of excitement in his eyes as he began explaining about laser sights and listening to the raw note in his deep voice fade. As he became animated and interested, demonstrating—because she’d asked—how quickly he could take apart a semi-automatic and put it back together again.
He handed her the rifle to hold to show her how heavy it was, and she yelped in surprise, nearly dropping the thing. His mouth twitched at that and she could have sworn it was a smile. It made her go warm all over.
At least a half hour later, after she’d asked him a completely asinine question about whether he could hit a fly on a wall from a mile away, he glanced at his watch, then at her, giving her a look that told her he knew exactly what she was doing. She smiled sweetly back and was rewarded with another mouth twitch.
Then he put the rifles away and returned back to the cabinet full of pistols, pulling one out. “Here,” he said, holding it out. “Let’s try you with this.”
It was black and bigger than she’d thought, her head full of visions of tiny pearl-handled guns that somehow fitted easily in garters. This was not that type of gun. It was also surprisingly heavy.
“SIG Sauer, 9-millimeter,” Lucas said as she wrapped her fingers around it. “Good gun. Not much recoil.”
Grace hefted it experimentally. “Is that a good thing?”
“It is when you’ve never shot a gun before.” He raised a blond brow in that arrogant way he had. “Two hands, Grace. You’re not a TV cop.”
Oh. Right.
Altering her grip, she followed him out of his armory and back into the main room, letting him position her down the end of the room where the counter was. There was a rail attached to the ceiling with a metal arm hanging down from it, the target attached to the arm. Like she’d seen on cop shows, she guessed that all Lucas would need to do would be to hit a button and the target would travel along the rail so they didn’t have to go down and check it themselves.
He went over to yet another cabinet and opened it, taking out two pairs of earmuffs and some safety glasses before coming back over to where she stood.
Putting the gun carefully down on the counter, Grace took the glasses from him and frowned at them. “I get the need for earmuffs, but these?”
“Gun safety is im
portant.” He gave her cool look. “Or do you not want to do any shooting today?”
She liked that he was teasing her—and he was definitely teasing her. At least she hoped he was. Giving him a grin, she picked up the glasses and put them on. “There. Happy?”
“You’ll do.” He reached for the gun. “Now, listen carefully.” And he began to explain what she needed to do with the gun. First he told her what all the parts of it were and what they did yet again; then he began to show her how it all worked.
He was very calm, very patient, and she had the sudden thought that it wouldn’t matter to him how long she took to learn this; even if it took days, weeks, months, he would continue to be calm and patient.
But then that was part of who he was, wasn’t it? Patience was vital to a sniper, and as he’d already told her, he was a very patient man.
As he instructed her on the proper grip, she wondered if he’d always been like that. Or was his patience cultivated, another way to put what had happened to him years ago behind him?
What does it matter? He is who he is now.
No, it didn’t matter. She was only curious. As always, it was his dichotomy that intrigued her. The patience that overlaid all the fire he was underneath. He was such a fascinating man.
“Okay,” he said, jolting her out of her thoughts. “Are you ready?”
She nodded and he grabbed the earmuffs, putting them on her himself and making sure they were covering her ears. Then he donned a pair before he helped her into the correct shooting stance.
The gun was heavy in her hands as she extended her arms and the target looked a long, long way away. Lucas was standing behind her and close, his body a hot wall at her back, as if he was guarding her. It made her feel protected, safe. It made her feel strong. Which was weird, since she’d never thought of herself as weak. Yet having him right there behind her added something. Like an extra layer of vibrant color on a canvas, making the picture stronger, bringing the whole thing to life.
He extended his own arms on either side of hers, his hands cupping her forearms, bracing them. Steadying her. And he was all around her, the warmth of him up her spine and across her shoulders, his fresh scent making the restlessness inside her settle.
He went still. Waiting for her.
She tried to remember what he’d told her about aiming a pistol, which she’d rather stupidly forgotten because she’d been too busy thinking about him. Blinking, she aligned the front and rear sights. He’d said something about not looking at the target but focusing on the gun instead, so she did. Then she concentrated, steadying herself.
And pressed down on the trigger.
The gun kicked in her hand, the report loud even with her earmuffs on.
Lucas didn’t move, his hands dropping away from her arms now she’d taken the first shot. A bolt of exhilaration went straight through her. She’d never been particularly keen on guns and hadn’t taken much interest when Griffin went to the range to practice his skills. It was simply military nonsense to her.
But she hadn’t liked feeling helpless up there in the apartment. Hadn’t liked feeling as if she was easy prey for anyone. No, one shot didn’t make her an expert, but at least she wasn’t a total newb anymore. If there was a gun lying around she could pick it up and maybe have a chance of protecting herself.
She squeezed off another few shots, trying to aim better, purely getting used to the feel of the gun in her hand and the kickback after each shot. Another couple of rounds and she’d emptied the chamber.
Putting the gun back on the counter, she pulled off her earmuffs and turned around, grinning like a maniac. “How did I do?”
Something that looked a hell of a lot like amusement glittered in his eyes. “We’ll have to see the target first.”
She couldn’t imagine what was so funny about her wanting to know how she did, but she was glad he found it amusing. He could do with more amusement, quite frankly.
Ridiculously pleased with herself, Grace looked down toward the targets. “Push the thingy so I can see if I hit anything.”
Again his mouth twitched, but he reached for the underside of the counter and must have pressed a button, the target retrieval system kicking into life, bringing the paper target slowly forward.
Breathlessly, she scanned the target for any incriminating holes.
Sadly, there were none.
“Oh.” The satisfied feeling ebbed slightly. “I didn’t even hit the thing.”
Warm arms came around her as Lucas pulled her back against him, the length of his hard body pressed to her spine. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, his warm breath against her ear. “There’s plenty of time to practice.”
She sighed and leaned into him, relishing the feel of his arms around her and giving him back the warmth of her own body in return. “I guess no one hits their targets the first time, right?”
“Not quite no one.”
“Oh, don’t tell me. You did?”
“I’m a good shot.”
She twisted around in his arms, looking up into eyes gone a deep, mesmerizing blue. “Show me. I want to see you shoot.”
He looked at her for a long moment and then slowly, like the sun coming up after an endless arctic night, he smiled.
Grace’s breath caught, every single thought emptying out of her head. Because that smile took his already intense beauty and magnified it by a thousand.
You made him smile. You did this.
“Thank you,” he said, very softly.
And she didn’t need to ask what he was thanking her for. She knew.
* * *
Later, as afternoon was slowly turning into evening, Lucas sat at the kitchen table, his laptop open in front of him, the plan he’d been formulating since that morning turning over in his head.
He’d left Grace upstairs in bed, having a nap, and even though his own body was desperately craving sleep, he knew he wasn’t going to be able to until he set a few things in motion.
It’s not that you won’t be able to. You’re afraid to.
But no, he’d already decided he wasn’t going to think about that. About the nightmare or about the secret he’d told Grace. The truth his father had laid on him all those years ago. He hadn’t wanted to tell her. Hadn’t wanted her to have to share the horror of it. Or have her look at him the way she should look at him: like he was a monster.
His father, all cold reserve and detachment, had looked him in the eye as he’d told him, as if he’d wanted Lucas to know just how much of a danger he was to people. The very real and terrible consequences of his actions. And afterwards, he’d had to go and throw up, sickened by what he’d done.
No, he hadn’t wanted to share that with her, but he had. And the wonder of it was that she hadn’t looked at him with horror. She’d wept and held on to him tightly, as if she was afraid of letting him go.
He hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t expected the fierce pressure of her arms or the wetness of her tears. Or the sympathy and pain in her eyes as she’d looked up at him afterwards. He hadn’t expected her to feel bad for him.
Right then, he hadn’t wanted to talk about it. Just saying it out loud had been enough, and he’d been grateful that she’d seemed to pick up on it. Letting him take her downstairs to the shooting range, letting him talk about his guns.
He’d known she was encouraging him to talk, to be distracted, and he appreciated it because dealing with his weaponry was familiar. He appreciated it even more when he’d given her the SIG and taught her how to shoot it properly.
As he stood there with his arms around her, steadying her as she took aim, it struck him suddenly that he was here in the place that he came to whenever he needed to focus himself, doing one of the few things he actually let himself enjoy, with the woman who knew his secret and hadn’t turned him away.
Everything fused into one special moment.
And he realized with a certain amount of shock that he was happy. That even after the nightmare, after he’d told he
r the truth, the pain of it cutting deep into his soul, there could be this moment. Standing in a shooting gallery with Grace in his arms as she sighted a target.
It seemed an odd place to find happiness, but that’s what it felt like. Happiness and peace.
Two things you can’t ever have, nor should you.
No, he knew that. He’d always known that. But surely he was allowed a couple of moments. He wouldn’t have them forever, but he could let himself take them while they were here. Enjoy them in the now.
Two days he’d given himself. Two days to get his alternative plan up and running but, more important, two more days with Grace Riley.
Christ, how could she ever think she was selfish? After everything she’d given him? He was the selfish one keeping her here, and the press of his conscience told him so.
Ignoring it, he checked his e-mail, hoping he’d have a response from his military contacts. Sure enough, there was and it was good news. He would get the support he needed, as long as he had proof. Which was lucky, since there was all the proof he needed in that file his father had e-mailed him.
There was also another e-mail from Van, detailing his engagement to Chloe and how he was going to be taking over as Tate CEO and how Lucas had to get back to him and at least fucking let him know he was damn well alive.
Lucas deleted the e-mail. He didn’t want to talk to either of his brothers right now. He had far more important things to do.
Hitting a button on the keyboard, he flicked the screen back to the photo he’d been looking at earlier. An Upper East Side mansion. The very same one he’d sat outside of a few days ago waiting to rescue Chloe.
Cesare de Santis’s mansion.
Lucas had already put in a bit of research into the place while helping grab Chloe, figuring out what kind of security it had, how many men were guarding it, and what their movements were. Not to mention the best vantage points to take a clear shot from.
The place was well guarded. Your average stalker/burglar would never have made it past the front door. Not even if they were above average, to be fair. But Lucas was nothing like average. He was the best of the best, the elite, and he was pretty fucking sure he could get past the front door without being seen.
The Wicked Billionaire--A Billionaire SEAL Romance Page 23
