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Well…hell.
For as much of the man as she already saw—thought she saw—she’d committed the same sin as a lot of others, considering only his exotic beauty, boulder vista muscles, and hypnotic baritone, then assumed he simply “picked from the line” at the club, like a superstar selecting groupies to accompany him behind the velvet VIP rope.
She’d been a moron.
She’d looked at the beyond-the-surface guy and painted him with her just-the-surface assumptions.
Her brains. Back pocket. Yeah, the one she’d just sat soundly on.
Not anymore.
She’d look deeper, dammit. See him for more.
The universe was all about insta-rewarding that—and she sure as hell didn’t complain—with a rush of new insight. A hunch she was so sure of, she went ahead and spoke it aloud.
“So what was her name?”
John took his turn to jerk with surprise. His eyes narrowed but his lips smirked as he returned, “So it’s no longer what were their names?”
Tracy arched both brows. “Oh, I’m sure there were plenty of those too—likely anywhere your team stopped for more than a few nights—but I’m not after those gory details.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’re not the goriest.” She held up a finger. “Rephrase. They’re not the detail that matters.” Lowered that finger to the center of his sternum. “The one woman who got closest to this.”
Which was also the closest she’d get to actually labeling that shit, as well. Unfair? Possibly. Probably. Neither of them were fresh-faced and dewy-eyed anymore. They’d both had lives before this moment. The evidence of the one she’d lived and shared with another man filled her days in the miracle of her son. It was petty and silly of her to think he’d gone that long without the same thing, but she did. Her guilt about it grew when thinking of him returning from his dangerous missions, only to have no one home to greet and comfort him.
“There’s never been anyone…steady,” he replied at last, clearly pushing up a few more basement stairs to do so. “Not a girlfriend or wife, if that’s where this is going.”
Tracy hooked her finger into the V of his Henley and pulled lightly. After they finished their soft kiss, she didn’t let go. “It’s not ‘going’ anywhere, Sir.” She slipped in the honorific, sensing he needed it. “I just want to know more about you.”
He pressed his forehead to hers. “I know. And you deserve to be told.”
“You deserve to tell it,” she countered. “Everyone needs safe ground for their secrets, and you sure as hell have been mine for the last few days. So let me reciprocate a little—but only if you choose to. I’m not here to make you reopen old wounds.” A teasing quirk snuck across her lips. “Unless, of course, they’re oozing green pus and need to be cleaned out, in which case—”
“Christ.” He reared back, laughing and grimacing at once. “How’d we go from surface benefits to oozing green pus?”
“Fifteen-year-old son, dude.” She tapped a playful finger to his forehead. “Remember?”
“You mean that grinning hellion who beat me four straight sets at virtual tennis last night?” He caught her hand before she fully lowered it, dragging his firm, full mouth across her knuckles. “Yeah, I remember,” he added, his words and his gaze now infused with sobriety. “And yeah…it’s about time I told you about Abbie.”
And here it was. The brick she’d been relentlessly chipping at in his wall, finally loosened by their rapport—only to feel like it had dropped a hundred feet into the center of her head.
The brick had a name now.
“Abbie.” Somehow, she managed it without gritted teeth—and a small smile. A small one. “It’s a…pretty name.”
“It is.” His voice was a murmur but his gaze was a miss-nothing radar. Tracy identified the mien at once. All the best diplomats she knew had it mastered. “And it’s a special one to me. Probably always will be.”
Okaaaayy.
Tracy schooled her reaction, going for pleasant but neutral, positive she failed on both fronts. Was this “Abbie” still an important part of his life? If so, how long had she enjoyed that status? And why? Not like the man was giving her anything to go on here.
Enjoy Vague Booking much, Sir?
And wasn’t she just trivializing his truth, hoping it diminished her jealousy about it too?
A truth you’ve been pushing for, missie.
