“Yes. Cheesecake is always necessary.”
“Goddammit, do you want this asshole to kill you? Is that it?”
She stepped back, the bluntness of his words more shocking than the bitter tone.
“Miss, you okay?”
Christie blinked at the store clerk, a skinny blonde with a problem complexion. She wanted to warn him away, but Boone turned on him first.
Not a word was spoken. She couldn’t see Boone, but she didn’t need to. The terrified expression on the clerk’s face said it all. He backed up into a table of minidonuts and muffins, made a choking sound, then hightailed it off to produce.
When Boone turned back, he seemed calm again. Everything except his eyes.
“All right,” she said, “I’ll forget about the cheesecake. But I’m not giving up my Lucky Charms.”
Boone nodded once. Then he turned, and they were out of there ten minutes later.
IT TOOK THEM HALF AN HOUR to put the food away. Christie still couldn’t believe how much he’d bought. She’d insisted that he give her the receipt, which was more than two hundred bucks. Despite the fact that he’d gotten all kinds of crap she’d never eat, like protein powder and bean sprouts and whole wheat bagels, she’d repay every last cent.
Being angry at someone other than the bastard was a novelty. Being away from the house and actually feeling at ease had been a revelation. Contradictory, yes, but it was completely true. She felt better than she had in so, so long, even though she couldn’t shake the creeps that had hit since he’d shown her that first electronic bug.
She’d been naked. She’d gotten herself off. She’d wept, she’d ranted, she’d slept. With him watching her.
“You ready?”
Boone’s voice scared her, and she jumped. “Almost.”
“I’ll be in the kitchen.”
She turned to watch him walk down the hall. He had those long legs and damn, that ass of his. But still. He wasn’t exactly Barbie’s dream date. His arrogance had surprised her. Nate was like that sometimes. So sure of himself and infuriatingly cocky. Maybe it was the military that did it. Or maybe the job just attracted that kind of man.
Her fingers went up to her lips as she remembered, for the billionth time, how he’d kissed her. It was a ploy, she knew that. All for show. But it hadn’t felt fake.
She still wasn’t sure why she’d kissed him back like that. The easy answer was that she needed the contact. It was true, too. It had been ages since she’d touched someone else. Someone who wasn’t Milo. Fear for her friends had kept her away from her usual haunts, and fear for herself had kept her wary of every man in the city. It had never occurred to her, before this horrific time, how often she was touched. A handshake. A pat on the back. A hug, a kiss, friendly or intimate, it all added up, and it was important. The lack of contact made her feel less of a person somehow. As if she weren’t part of life at all.
Of course, living in terror 24/7 would do that, too. Boone could be an arrogant jerk, but under the circumstances, that arrogance was just what the doctor ordered.
She wondered if they would have to keep up the charade. If he’d kiss her again. The idea wasn’t unwelcome. Oh, who was she kidding? She totally wouldn’t kick him out of bed.
“Are you still standing there? You’re not even dressed.”
She jumped. “Relax, soldier. This isn’t the barracks.”
“No, it’s not. It’s war. And if you want to win, you’d better get that pretty ass of yours in gear.”
It was hard to gripe at a guy who’d just complimented her ass. So she went with the huffy walk. That’d show him.
After she got changed into her running shorts and sports bra, she put her T-shirt back on and met him in the kitchen. He’d found her blender and he’d used it to concoct some ghastly looking goo. Which he held out to her, as if she would actually drink it. “What drugs are you taking?”
“Excuse me?”
“You must be high if you think I’m going to drink that.”
He sighed heavily. “You don’t even know what’s in it.”
“It doesn’t look very good.”
“It’s got a lot of the stuff you need. You’re weak, you’re out of shape, and we have no time for screwing around. So drink it.”
She took the tall glass in her hand, and sniffed. It didn’t smell too horrible. And when she sipped it, she was surprised to find that it didn’t taste all that bad, either. More like a fruit smoothie than ground-up spinach.
“Finish the whole thing,” he said. “We need to get going.”
She saluted and downed the brew. It was a lot, and by the time she’d drained the glass, he was standing at the front door, keys in his hand, waiting impatiently. He’d changed from his jeans to a pair of sweatpants and a muscle tee, which made his shoulders and arms look ridiculously buff. Damn.