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The argument in the back of his throat died at the look she gave him. With a sigh that came all the way up from his toes, he clicked out of two of the programs and left the one with the news to run. There hadn’t been any updates about the crash, and from all accounts so far, it sounded like pilot error. “Yes, ma’am.” He stood as she shut off the alarm. “What would you like to do?”
“I am stiff and need to clear my head. I thought maybe we could visit the gym so I could do a little stretching and maybe walk the track once. Are you up for that?”
Stretching would work. Walking? Neither of them would get far. “Absolutely, but don’t think you’re going to overdo it on my watch. At the first sign of dizziness—”
She interrupted him. “I know, I know. You’re a broken record, you know that?” Placing an arm around his waist, she walked him toward the door that led to her side of the underground level. “I promise after that I will go to bed. Or I’ll sleep on the couch, I mean.”
“The hell you will. You’re taking the bed.”
Together they pushed on the glass door, nearly headbutting each other before she let go and laughed. “And where will you sleep?”
“On the floor.” At least to start. Once she was out, he would return to work and catch up on the missions that had been running without him. He’d be sure to check on her frequently, but he wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway with her in the room. “Done it plenty of times.”
He expected an argument but none came. She leaned into him, keeping her arm around his waist and they found an easy rhythm, using each other for balance. “You’re really something, you know that?”
It wasn’t the first time someone had said those exact words to him, but coming from her, it sounded…nice. Complimentary, even. “Why is that?”
She allowed him to open the door into the rec area and he ushered her through. “This place would fall apart without you.”
The sincerity in her voice gave him pause. He stared at her back as she took a couple hesitant steps without him, looked around at the space she usually occupied, and smiled.
She’d fiddled with her hair while sitting at the desk, and the ends of it hung in soft curls barely past her shoulder blades. She was still wearing her lovely outfit, and it fit her like it was made for her curves. Curves he very much hoped to see without any clothes someday.
Just like that he was spinning out a fantasy about her and him in his room tonight. Another rabbit hole, but this one more dangerous. That smile, her soft laughter, those sexy full lips of hers. He imagined unbuttoning her blouse, slipping that skirt off her hips. Running his hands down her long, long legs, and—
“Rory?”
Snapping out of the daydream, he found her staring at him with a confused look on her face. “Where did you just go? Paradise?”
“Yeah.” It was the closest he would ever come to it, anyway. “Something like that.”
NINE
Amelia had glimpsed that same expression on Rory’s face in the past. She wished she had x-ray vision to see whatever caused it. His face transformed into one that was so handsome it stole her breath. One minute he was grumpy and gruff and the next, he looked like he’d seen an angel.
Trouble was, he was looking ather.
No angel here.
She lifted a brow.
He hemmed and hawed before he motioned at their surroundings. Like any gymnasium, it smelled of equipment and sweat, laundered towels and metal. “Never thought I’d say this, but it’s good to be here.”
With you. The words were left unspoken, but she saw it in his eyes when they shyly met hers.
Rory Tephra. Shy. Maybe she did have brain damage.
That was a one-eighty turnaround from the man she knew. Even with the great strides they’d made to get him walking, he still seemed to avoid this facility and her. Well, maybe not her specifically, but definitely their physical therapy sessions.
She knew how much he hated feeling helpless, or appearing that way, and she’d tried to reassure him that she did not see him in that light. She saw a fallen soldier who’d been through hell and worked his way back to sanity. Saw a man who, in her book, was a hero, like all of those who worked at SFI. “It is, isn’t it?”
They stood there smiling at each other for a long moment that became awkward. He cleared his throat and she glanced away. She nudged him and they used each other for leverage as they walked toward her office, passing the basketball court where he liked to play on his good days, and the weight machines currently in use by two former SEALs—Asher Pierce and Tate Landrum.
She and Rory acknowledged the men who were grunting and sweating, and both stopped their reps to inquire after her health. “A stress fracture and a mild concussion,” she said, waving it off like it was no big deal.
Tate wiped sweat from his brow with a towel. “Shouldn’t you be on crutches? My mom had a fracture once. The doctor told her if she didn’t stay off her foot, the break could get worse.”
“I have crutches. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”
