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“Thank you.” She twisted the bottle in her hand. “What made you finally decide to come home?”
Brad’s heart slammed against his chest. He could only admit part of the truth. “I felt impressed that it was the right time. I needed to right some wrongs,” he said. The wrongs against Levi and against her. Protecting her was a good step in that direction—if he could keep his distance and not fall for her again. “And I was tired of fighting.”
The battles had never stopped. He’d realized he would most likely die, and that his death would accomplish little besides give his friends motivation to fight more. He had protected many and taught the skills he’d learned to men, women, teenagers, and sometimes even children to protect their families and homes. That gave him some comfort.
“So you came home and immediately joined the army to fight again?” She smirked. “That makes no sense.”
“It’s the only thing I’m good at,” he admitted, spreading his hands.
“Please stop doing that.”
“What?”
“Stop showcasing all that … muscle.”
He smiled, surprised and pleased, and clasped his hands behind his back. “Oh. Forgive me.”
“That isn’t any better, you know. Arm muscles all bulging,” she muttered. She shook her head and then said quickly, “First of all, you’re wrong. You’re good at a lot of things.”
Brad raised his eyebrows. He supposed in school he’d been good at sports and voted as class president, but upon graduation he’d accepted the most lucrative job he could, hoping to save enough money for advanced training or the university so he could make something of himself and take good care of his widowed mum. He’d done neither, losing his remaining family member to brain cancer, no hope of a miracle once she was diagnosed, then running to Africa when he was only nineteen.
“Second of all, what wrongs do you need to right?” She tilted her chin up, her look slightly belligerent, as if asking him to make things right with her.
He couldn’t. Not really.
“Too many, sadly.” He smiled, hoping to make it a tease.
“When I saw you at the ball last night, I wasn’t certain if I should punch you or hug you.” She gripped her bottle of water tighter.
She wasn’t going to bring up the moment their eyes had connected? He should’ve immediately asked Faith to excuse him and chased after Arianna. He never would’ve had the confrontation with Levi, and maybe Arianna wouldn’t have been attacked.
But he couldn’t change any of that.
He stepped closer, crossing the distance between them. Her teal-blue eyes were wary, but she didn’t back away. When he reached her, he took her water and set it on the nearby counter. Then he leaned in close, prayed his quick wash off and cologne spray had covered the sweat smell, and asked, “Why did you choose to hug me instead of punch me?”
“I was in shock and horrified at almost being killed.”
“Ah. That makes sense.” He tilted his chin to her. “Would you like to hit me now? Nobody would blame you.”
Arianna’s eyes trailed over his shoulders, arms, abdomen, chest, and back to his face. “I think too many people have hit you, Brave Brad.”
Brad smiled. He hadn’t heard that nickname in a long time. The men he’d served with in Africa and the women and children they’d protected would’ve called him brave, but he didn’t feel brave around Arianna. He wanted to run and hide rather than admit to her the reasons he’d left her behind with no way to contact him. She’d hate him when she knew the truth, and he’d hate himself if he hurt her again.
“That only leaves one option, Angel Ari.”
Her lips curved up at him using her old nickname. It still fit. “A hug?”
He wanted to hug her, hold her, but he had to stay in control. As long as he didn’t let himself kiss her, he should be all right. He’d try to put her in the box of a close family friend, a childhood playmate. “Unless I smell too awful.”
“You smell like you always do.”
He arched an eyebrow. “How’s that now?”
“Bergamot, cedar, and a touch of musk and sandalwood.”
“Only you could pin scents so specifically.” She smelled like a light floral perfume—tantalizing.
“I’m talented.”
