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Okay, so they had chemistry—but after the fireworks were just smoke trails again, she was just another assignment to the man. Sure, a temporary gig that had ballooned into way more, but in the end, she was just another body for him to guard. Another target to deliver. Get your head together and focus on the fundamentals, girl. Like he is.
“Okay.” She spoke it as confirmation to the pep talk but also as a kick-start to the conversation. “So this Zeke guy…”
“Can be implicitly trusted,” Franz filled in. “And his wife, Rayna, too.”
“Rayna.” She nodded as more memories pierced her haze. “Yes. Right. The gorgeous brunette who gave me the sleepwear.”
“Affirmative.”
She frowned. Why was his stare beating feet for the floor again? “It was a lovely gesture.”
“It was.”
“I’ll have to thank her.” She peered at him harder. “Though I’ll probably be doing it alone, won’t I?”
He tossed back a swift glance—before noticeably shifting his weight for the first time. “Oh, I’m thankful to those two for a great many things,” he rumbled. “But those pajamas sure as hell aren’t one of them.”
“Huh?” She bent over forward in the name of giving herself a thorough once-over. When the exam yielded nothing too horridly out of place, she rose back up—only to freeze when her gaze reached the level of his crotch.
She sure as hell wasn’t confused anymore—or doubtful about his physical attraction matching hers. The ridge between the man’s thighs answered both quandaries with clarity she hadn’t imagined.
He was beautiful. Long but thick, filling the black nylon until it gleamed from the strain, nearly making her wonder what he’d look like if freed from the fabric. And dammit, the bastard didn’t even try to hide the evidence—clarified by his next response.
“Now that we’re clear about my…issues…with the pajamas…”
“Right.” Tracy straightened, taking her own turn at the skittering gaze game. She took the chance to move everything else away too, retracing the path she’d just taken—
Back toward the…bed.
Detour. Now.
A large window took up the center position on the other side of the U-shaped landing. Vertical blinds led her to believe it was a full slider, perhaps to a balcony or backyard. Fresh air sounded damn good right now.
As she walked over, Franzen supplied, “We’re safe here—for now. Zeke’s been one of my go-to guys for years. He’s had my back in some hairy three-ring circuses, even when the pucker factor was off the charts. Plenty of times, we thought we’d be shipped home in matching boxes.”
Well, that got her to stop. With arms tucked tight to her sides again, she squeezed her eyes against the vision he induced. Instantly castigated herself as a child for it. It was normal for guys in his line of work to turn death into circus metaphors—it was necessary for getting the job done—but with all the tears in her armor already, it was all too easy to let him reach in and jab at the wounds beneath. The spots which never truly healed…nor would again.
“Fuck.” His terse mutter, slicing through the air as her shoulders slumped, betrayed his come-to-Jesus moment about the point too. “Way to go with my moron social skills. May as well have tossed a dagger into your back while I was at it, yeah?”
She pushed up a hand. “It’s all right, soldier. Don’t break out the cello and pathos.”
To her astonishment, he complied. As he followed her route, his steps were defined and sure. For long seconds, she didn’t know what to do. Between days of politicians with endless agendas and nights of a fifteen-year-old with layers of angst, she wasn’t used to having a sentence simply mean what she said. He came from a world of the polar opposite, with concepts squeezed into acronyms and hand signals communicating whole novels.
She liked it. And now, she took advantage of it to get this subject changed for good.
“What time is it?”
There. Perfect. No way to maneuver that one back around to her pajamas, his crotch bulge, or matching coffins with his SOF bestie.
“Somewhere near midnight. Don’t open those.”
His warning was two seconds too late. Tracy already parted the vertical blinds, peeking outside. Sure enough, it seemed like midnight—though they were definitely on a higher floor of the building, so it was hard to tell. She let the slats fall again smacking against each other, giving her intermittent glances at the cute balcony with a view to the bay. The area had a little arrangement of plush patio furniture, walls of hanging plants, and even a fully stocked wine cooler. It was all so inviting. So normal. A normal she longed for, now more than ever. When was the last time she’d just sat and relaxed with a glass of wine? Enjoyed a social event without worrying about entertaining a snooty dignitary to her left and a windy politician to her right?
You mean the politicianyou are now?
And technically, the snooty dignitary too?
No.
