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He watched them go, not sure what was awkward about the four of them chatting like every other night. “What the hell was that about?”
“No idea,” Lauren said quickly, smoothing her dress over her tiny waist that he couldn’t stop staring at. “Are we dancing, too?”
Steven’s mouth watered, and he tugged on his bow tie, studying that spot where her waist flared out for her hips. He’d never been much of a hips guy, but something told him that his hand would fit perfectly right above there, right above her hot little ass—shit. There he went again. “Son of a bitch.”
“It’s just dancing.” Lauren blinked and pursed her lips. He’d never noticed how delicious they were. All pink, and soft, and lush, and begging to be kissed. “Why are you looking at me like that? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He stood and rolled his shoulders, shaking off his disturbing attraction to his best friend—Lauren, not Holt. He needed to knock this shit off. Cooper scowled at him and crooked his finger. He was the only Shillings guy not out there. Even Jake and Tara were with the team, laughing and looking as happy as pigs in shit. “Ready?”
She took a deep breath, curled her hands into fists, and nodded once. “Yeah. Sure.”
Skimming his gaze down her slender form one last time, he held his arm out for her. She grabbed onto it with both hands, her body stiff against his. When she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, she quickly turned away, blushing again. He couldn’t help but wonder if she felt the same odd attraction as he did tonight—and if the whiskey was messing with her head as much as it was his.
This newfound desire might throw him off, but one thing was unchangeable. No matter how much he wanted her, or how badly he ached to see how those bare hips felt in his hands, or how soft those pink lips of hers really were, he wouldn’t find out. Women like Lauren deserved all the happiness in the world.
Love. A family. A dog. A cat. A house.
A white motherfucking picket fence.
All the things he could never give her—so he wouldn’t even try.
Chapter Two
The live orchestra played—she loved Mozart—and dancing couples swirled around them in fancy dresses and tuxedos, but all Lauren could see and hear was Steven Thomas. As he led her into the midst of the elegantly dancing crowd, his body hard and his arm even stiffer, she sensed an edginess in him that was stronger than ever before, and just as unattainable as he was.
He’d always been a restless man, moving quickly from one thing to another, never satisfied with life. She’d watched him go from woman to woman ever since he came back from his first tour in Iraq. Nothing was ever good enough, and she had yet to see him be happy with what he had. It was that same unquenchable drive that had sent him to the Navy, and right into a spot as a highly sought-after Navy SEAL.
Through it all, Lauren had been there.
Worrying. Waiting. Worrying. Watching. Worrying.
Yeah, worrying was mentioned three times. It should have been mentioned a thousand. Heck, a million. Through it all, no matter how far away he’d been, or what country he was in, she’d waited for him to call, write, or knock on her door.
So. Much. Waiting.
Sure, Lydia had been there, too. But she’d been young. Too young to understand what her brother was going through, and why he needed to disappear somewhere quiet whenever he came home. Lauren got it. She got him.
Always had.
He was slow to trust and even slower to care, but Lauren cared too much, too fast. Steven was heroic and brave and kind, while Lauren tended to hide in her shell when it came time to do something new. They were about as opposite as two people could possibly get…which made them awesome friends.
But tonight, she couldn’t read him.
It was weird. And a little bit scary.
He was struggling to fit into society. To be normal, and a civilian, and all the things he hadn’t been for years. And he’d been drinking too much lately. Lydia asked her to help. But she had no idea how to do that.
It wasn’t as if she could command him to stop. He was a free man, and he had every right to sleep around if he chose to. And he did. Constantly.
Every girl he brought home was worse than the last one, and she hated them all. He was selling himself short, not letting himself get in a real relationship, and it hurt to watch him fall down the same hole, over and over again, and not be able to help him.
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, flushing when she caught him watching her as if…as if…she was the next woman on his list. But that didn’t make any sense. He didn’t want her. Never had. If he’d shown any signs of being attracted to her over the last twenty years, she would’ve noticed, thank you very much.
A girl didn’t miss a man like Steven’s attention.
He was devastatingly hot, in so many ways.
They reached the spot he picked out for them, and he turned to her, opening his arms. She slid into them, like she had a million times before. But tonight, when his hand closed around her waist, right above her hip, her breath caught in her throat. Not from the touch, but the darkness in his hazel eyes. That and his touch felt almost…possessive.
