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Cue the leg. When he’d returned to Chicago, he had no choice but to accept help from everyone—family and strangers. It was humiliating and frustrating and damn sad to have to rely on someone after years of relying on himself.
Which reminded him of Crystal. Because how many times had she asked that he trust her? With his hopes and his dreams? With his unresolved feelings of loss about his mother? He didn’t share those things—not ever.
Yet he had with Isa.
He’d sat at dinner in Benicia’s and spilled his guts about his mom. He’d told her about Christopher and Benji when she’d asked.
And now that he’d shared the details of his past, he felt…uncomfortable?
Vulnerable.
Not a good feeling. As a soldier, he was trained to protect his men from vulnerabilities. Hell, to seek out vulnerabilities in the enemy. While he was aware he was no longer at war, it didn’t change the trigger twitching in his chest telling him the more access Isa had to his heart, the more in danger he was.
No.
Fuck a bunch of that.
Isa was here for the same reason he was—they shared work hours, sure, but they also shared amazing, consensual, fantastic sex. Sex that made them both feel great and look better. Sex without future commitments or worrying about a picket fence, two kids, and a golden retriever.
His biggest worry with Isa was that he might fail her in bed—that once she learned there was some maneuvering he’d have to try for leverage reasons, she, too, might decide he wasn’t what she’d signed up for. That niggle of doubt squirmed in his stomach and he felt his face pinch into a scowl.
“Or maybe you shouldn’t fucking question it,” he mumbled as he punched the SEND button on the e-mail he’d finished crafting.
“Hmm?” came a soft hum from the threshold of his office.
“Sable.” He hadn’t heard her walk in here in those tall, black, shiny shoes. A vision of her on top of him in bed, his hands wrapped around the spikes on those heels as he lifted his hips to meet hers throttled him. That vision was a hell of a lot better than the worry it replaced.
“Thought you might need a snack.” She carried an apple.
“Is it lunchtime?”
“It’s two o’clock.”
“Oh.” His stomach gave a loud rumble. Evidently, being reminded of lunch was all it took to make him hungry.
“I debated bringing this.” She put the apple on his desk, a knife alongside it. “I really like this blouse.”
He grinned. He liked this side of her—frank and cute. Before, it was irritating. Now he found it refreshing. And sexy as hell.
“I owe you a shirt and a thong.” He spun and laced his hands together, elbows resting on the arms of his chair.
“I’m not worried since my underwear is safely ensconced in my lingerie drawer.” She leaned over his chair, her spicy scent surrounding him. “I’m not wearing any.”
Oh yeah. It was fucking on.
He stood so quickly, she lost her balance. He wrapped an arm around her to keep her from toppling. “You think we’re doing this in here again, you’re wrong.”
“You didn’t like office-chair sex?” Her hand wandered to the neck of his shirt, where her fingers played along the seam.
“I liked it very much, but I believe you came in here to remind me of lunch.” Her hands flinched as her hold tightened on him, so he laid it on even thicker. “I’m going to lay you down and have a taste of what you’re not covering with underwear.”
Her eyes bloomed, dark sienna flecked with bits of gold.
“Like that, do you?”
“I…” She shrugged, an awkward lift of one delicate shoulder.
“What’s the matter, Sable?” He leaned in so his lips brushed hers. “Pussy got your tongue?”
