Her hands covered his. “I’m beginning to see that.”
A sting developed behind her eyes. Triumph saw nothing but good in her. It was a strange feeling, one she didn’t believe she’d ever experience.
To him, she was a single entity with her own thoughts and feelings, wants and needs. No one had ever seen her this way. Certainly not her parents, who believed her entire existence was to live for her brother, as they did. Certainly not her employer, who, once she’d outlived her usefulness, cast her aside like trash. And certainly not Guillermo, who destroyed anyone he touched simply for the joy of it.
Perhaps what shocked her the most was that her past was just that. Most people spent their whole lives looking back, wondering “What if…?” Lamenting choices made that didn’t work out as planned. Overanalyzing every moment to see where things went wrong.
How ironic was it that the analyst—the man who got paid to do that very job—was the man who ignored the past because it couldn’t be changed. His philosophy being you could only go forward.
Well. He didn’t completely ignore the past. He had his own baggage to deal with regarding his friend Tilly, but he wasn’t struggling with his choices or living in the moment of her death. He was simply grieving and hadn’t found an exit to the infinity loop yet.
Their lips met again, and her fingers curled into his palms, as if she were holding his hand as they walked. Each touch of his mouth against hers was an exploration. Unhurried. Tender. It was part of that gentler Triumph, the one everybody saw but didn’t realize was just the surface of who he was.
Their previous encounters had been fraught with threats and terrible timing. For the first time, they were able to actually enjoy each other. Now, each touch nibbled at her flesh, sampling, tasting, savoring. She had no doubt this experience would be repeated on other parts of her body, when they were less stretched thin by exhaustion and less concerned with what the next disaster would bring their way.
IF YOU RUN, I WILL FOLLOW
Triumph
Much as hehated to admit it, exhaustion began to suck him under. She couldn’t be in a much better state. He needed to feed her, get her into bed, curl around her, and let nothingness take them for a while. Tomorrow, or rather today, would be another soul-sucking day, and they both needed to be well-rested for the inquisition Chief Hammerling was bound to put her through, despite Cruz’s promises that this was an off-the-books, relaxed discussion.
Mentally, he grunted. As if. When was the FBI ever off the books or relaxed?
He didn’t want to, but he ended the kiss. Gently, he brought her hands down to let her arms hang loose at her sides. Resisting enfolding her in his arms again was painful.
“Food. Bed. If you want to sleep alone, you can have the guest room, and I’ll sleep in Trip’s room. No pressure, but I would much rather sleep with you.” He went for lighthearted. “I’m kind of used to it now.”
“Food,” she confirmed. “Bed. With you,” she agreed. “I’m kind of used to you too.”
He nodded. “Meet you out in the kitchen. Food’s here.”
It took effort to leave her there, but he did. As he was midway through unpacking the food delivery, she emerged from the hallway, her damp hair in a loose French braid, a few wisps escaping as they dried. She wore a pair of loose cotton pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt Francesca had picked out for her, and while no one would ever describe the outfit as sexy, she looked comfortable. That was sexy in its own way.
He could get used to this.
Wow. He really could. Nothing in his past suggested he was made for domesticity, other than that he came from a family that had lived in a house. He wasn’t particularly close to his sisters—he saw them on the holidays, enjoyed being with their kids and their spouses—but he’d never once pictured them visiting him in that capacity.
Not. Once.
The thought of sharing a space with Glennon daily, never departing for his own separate space, should have freaked him the fuck out. The thought of sleeping in the same bed with someone for the next thirty-plus years. Sharing storage spaces. Their clothing next to each other’s in the closets. Folding laundry that was mixed together.
He wanted it.
He was tumbling into a weird domestic fantasy of the laundry nonsense when a sound caught his attention. The moan that came out of her as the flavors exploded across her tongue was absolutely obscene and put all his heroic notions of cuddling all night long to the test. Was it wrong to get hard from watching her devour something? If it was, oh well. His body was all in.
After she’d eaten every crumb of the burger and wiped up every ounce of ketchup with her fries, she sat on the kitchenbarstool, innocently sucking the grease and salt from the fingertips of her right hand. When she got to her thumb, her eyes happened to catch him staring.
Chuckling, she reached for a napkin to wipe her hands. “Apparently, I’ve lost track of all polite behavior.”
“Kitchen makes a good burger,” he said with a shrug. “But lord, I hope you enjoy everything you put in your mouth like that.”
Her eyes went wide.
Oh shit. Wrong thing to say. “Glennon—” he began.
She held up a hand. “It’s okay. I’m fine.” She dropped her eyes. In a slow, deliberate motion, she lowered the napkin, carefully folding it along the creases, then placed it to the side of her plate. With one hand, she obsessively smoothed out all the wrinkles, as if trying to return it to its original state. She looked at him through her eyelashes. “I probably will.”
Part of him wanted to protest. Part of him wanted to haul her off the stool and put her between his legs right now. But that would be a dick move, on multiple levels. While he knew he was nothing like Guillermo, and he knew she did, too, the one thing he was going to let her lead on was the first time they did anything more together. She was far too important to fuck this up.
