“Mmm,” she murmured, and because he took her at her word—and also because he knew drunk, he’d lived drunk, and one look told him Penni DePaul was not drunk—there was nothing to stop him from lifting his hand to her soft, warm breast. Nothing to stop him from running his thumb over the crest until her little nipple hardened. He started to whisper her name, but in that instant his earlier prophecy came true. He forgot what to call her. Poised on the tip of his tongue was…Patti…
He jerked back and let his head fall against the door. It landed with a muted thud.
I can’t do this. Regardless of what Ozzie and Steady claimed to the contrary, it was too soon. The memories of his murdered wife were still clearly written across his mind like chalk on a blackboard, and without the hooch to use as an eraser, he couldn’t escape them.
“Dan?” Penni’s voice was husky. “Is there…are you okay?”
Ha! Okay? No. He wasn’t okay. In fact, he’d probably never be okay again…
He glanced down at the lovely little Secret Service agent. Her smile was soft and hesitant, yet warm…like a low winter sun rising over Lake St. Clair on the east side of Detroit. It made his stomach flip. Hell’s bells, she deserved more than this, better than him. He told her as much.
A little crease formed between her sleek, arching eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not worth your time,” he elaborated. “I’m still too fucked up.”
“Fucked up about what?” Her big brown eyes were curious…kind. And it was her eyes that’d been doing a number on him since the moment they met, when it was blammo! Instant connection. He’d never felt anything like it. Not even with Patti. And, yeah, that made it so much worse.
“You don’t know?” How could she not? He thought the word widower was stamped across his forehead right beneath the word alcoholic.
“No.” She shook her head, her eyes softening further, melting into him. Melting him.
She really didn’t know. And it was a relief, in a way. He hated being pitied. On the other hand, it was that much more embarrassing to be standing here, a real-life walking, talking erectile dysfunction commercial.
The thought God, I need a drink was immediately followed up by One day at a time. And that was progress, he supposed.
“It’s just…I’ve been dealing with some personal stuff recently.” And how lame did that sound? Personal stuff? Jesus.
“And you can’t forget about it?” The way she smashed the words together until they sounded like fuhgeddaboudit broadcasted her hometown more loudly than an NYC police siren. “Just for one night?” She nudged her hips against his, and his deflated erection took notice, twitching with renewed interest. Praise be to heaven, perhaps he wasn’t on the shortlist for Viagra after all.
“I wanna forget about it,” he admitted, as much to himself as to her. He wanted to forget about it so he could move on, do his duty by his teammates, do right by his country. Maybe then he could begin to make up for…everything. Get over the “toxic shame,” as his sponsor called it. That feeling that he was a mistake instead of having made a mistake. “But, I—”
“You should know I never do this,” she interrupted him. “You probably don’t believe me. I mean, we’ve only known each other for three days and here I am trying to jump your bones.” She pulled a face. “But the truth is, I’ve felt a…I guess you’d call it a connection…ever since the moment we met.” So it wasn’t just him. That was encouraging. Or terrifying. He couldn’t decide which. “All right already. That sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”
He thought about telling her yeah, that’s stupid. There’s no such thing as love at first sight. But what they had going here? Lust? Well, that was a horse of a different color. And although he couldn’t help but feel disloyal to his wife, to her memory, to the love they’d shared, he also couldn’t shake the words he’d heard at his last AA meeting. It’s okay to look back. Just don’t stare…
By God, he’d been staring for nearly two years now. So, was it finally time to peel his eyes away from the past and take a glance into the future? Were Ozzie and Steady right? Could he, should he, begin to move on? “It doesn’t sound stupid,” he finally admitted. “I felt it, too.”
Her eyes rounded. “Really? I thought it was just me. Because recently I decided I’m too career-oriented, that I’ve been letting the job become my life. And I can’t help but wonder if some of my best years are behind me. I mean, I’m thirty-three.” The way she said it, it might as well have been one-hundred-and-three. And what was with thirty-three and personal epiphanies, anyway? First Steady. Now Penni? “Which makes me afraid that if I don’t start taking advantage of opportunities for real human connection, I’ll have blown any chance I have at a future with someone.