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On a grumble, Billy settled into the recliner in the corner of his bedroom with his laptop and the file on his current stalled case and made himself work. He managed to focus for about two hours when his eyes started to cross from scrolling through databases and spreadsheets in search of alleged hidden assets in a civil investigation he was doing—and not finding any evidence of them.
Why had he taken this case? When background checks and surveillance cases were so much more straightforward? And while hardly ever straight forward, at least missing persons cases were rewarding. This shit was just a pain in his ass.
On a sigh, Billy closed his laptop and rose—and caught a flash of color from the corner of his eye.
He looked out the window next to his chair to find Shayna lying in the hammock on his patio. Wearing a navy blue bikini, though partially covered by a towel, as if she’d gotten chilly and pulled it over herself like a blanket. She was asleep.
And fucking A, she was pretty.
He stood there a long moment, staring down at her, thinking how cool she was and how much he’d enjoyed this day—despite the bullshit fragility of his skin and the fact that they’d kinda argued. She was as stubborn as he was…and he liked that about her.
So many times today, she’d reminded him of her brother in ways both good and bad. Like Ryan, she was stubborn and strong-willed and straight forward and caring to a fault.
All of that was also bad, though, because he knew that the last thing Ryan would want for his sister was a broken-down, washed-out Ranger who was, at best, coasting listlessly through life while rocking some major survivors’ guilt and more than a little self-loathing for his part in failing his brothers.
He allowed himself one more glance at all her pretty curves. And then he reminded himself for the dozenth time: She’s Ryan’s sister. She’s Ryan’s sister. She’s Ryan’s sister.
Ryan’s sister, who was easy to talk to and made him laugh and got him to open up in ways he rarely ever did…
Still, Ryan’s. Fucking. Sister.
With that reality check in mind, for the next hour, Billy ignored the fact that Shay was lying in a bikini outside his window. Or tried to.
Fact was that ignoring just the idea of her presence was utterly fucking impossible.
Maybe it was the lure of the bikini. Probably it was just the bikini.
Jesus, he was acting like a teenage boy and not a man who had a whole list of numbers he could call of women who’d previously scratched his itch—and were willing to do it again.
As soon as his body had been able, he’d found sex to be one of the things that most helped him forget all that he’d lost. That most worked out the restless angst and agitation often roiling through his blood. He always made it clear that he wasn’t in it for a relationship, and with most of his partners, that’d been more than fine. They weren’t looking for that either—at least not with him. So, yeah, Billy had options that didn’t involve perving on his best friend’s sister who he was supposed to be looking out for as she got settled in DC.
So much for working…
He closed his laptop and tossed it on his bed. Got up. Stretched, but not so far that he pulled at the tape of his dressing. The dressing Shayna had put on for him.
At first, he hadn’t been able to feel her touch, but then she’d smoothed her fingers under his arm and around to his pec.
And he’d fucking felt it.
Just like he’d felt how she’d looked at him when she’d come home from shopping. He’d had to resist the urge to cover up his ruined skin, but when her eyes had conveyed such interest, such hunger, h
e’d fought that urge right back into its box.
Shayna Curtis hadn’t looked at him like he was a ruined man. And she hadn’t touched him like it either.
Which was why he couldn’t resist looking out the window again. She still lay sleeping, her hands curled around the towel on her chest. A few pieces of paper had blown off of the hammock to the brick paving of the patio. Shayna’s red curls got caught in the breeze and blew around her forehead.
In the distance, thunder sounded out in a long, low rumble.
Billy frowned, then went downstairs. At the back door, he debated right up until he saw the first droplets of rain hit the glass in front of him.
And then he had the strangest fucking thought: he had to protect what was his.
As in, take care of Ryan’s sister, like he’d said he would. That was what he’d meant. That was all he meant.
Fatter drops hit the window pane, not giving him the time to gut check any of the shit that’d just run through his mind.
Outside, he went right to her. A hand on her arm, he gave a light shake. “Shay, wake up.”
