Stirring Attraction(15)
Dominic took a long sip of the now warm coffee. He’d fought with dozens of men who wore their bravery like body armor. And he’d been one of them until he’d been hit. Then he’d crumbled. If Ryan hadn’t shown up, he’d still be hiding from the world instead of helping a woman who made army rangers look like pansies.
“Planning to follow me everywhere?” she asked, breaking the silence.
“Yeah.”
“OK then. Today’s my day off. I’m going back inside to do a workout video. And then, I have a date later. So try not to peer in the windows.”
I have a date later.
No longer awestruck by her determination to get back to the kids who needed her, he turned those words over. Lily was too damn special to remain single. And she’d given him plenty of chances. But still . . .
“Take the mug,” he said.
“You’re done?” she asked.
“I don’t want to break it.”
“Is your hand hurting?” Her brow furrowed as she accepted the mug.
No, honey. That’s my fucking heart, which came close to stopping once in the middle of a terrorist camp . . . and now here.
He wanted to take her concern and bottle it up. But that desire pretty much summed up why he hadn’t come home to her.
“Something like that.” He needed to get a grip on his emotions. “He’s coming over? Your date?”
She nodded. And yeah, it was a damn good thing he’d handed back the mug. He’d have coffee splattered all over his lap right now and his good hand would be sliced to pieces from the ceramic if he hadn’t returned it to her care.
“What does he look like?”
Her blue eyes narrowed as she gripped both mugs. “Why?”
“I don’t want to hurt him by mistake,” he said. “If he shows up, knocks on your door, hell, I might think he’s here to hurt you.”
“Ted runs the elementary school literacy program,” she said. “He’s tall, slim, and has blond hair. And his smile . . .”
Fuck Ted’s smile.
“Yeah?” he said.
“When he smiles, he looks sweet and kind,” she added.
Thank God in heaven, her tone suggested sweetness should be reserved for the coffee in her cup.
“Does he laugh at your jokes?” he demanded.
“He doesn’t find me funny,” she said. “But—”
“And he sure as shit doesn’t make you feel safe,” he said. “Or he’d be by your side night and day, making sure no one hurts you.”
“He trusts the police and thinks I’m overreacting. What happened was awful, but it’s over. Done. I should move on. And I am . . .”
It’s not that easy. You’ll never be the same. Even if you prove that you’re right and the police are wrong.
But now probably wasn’t the time to tell her that. She’d figure it out on her own.
“Ted is a good man,” she said. “He’s great with kids.”
But is he good with you? Does he know how to make you come, make you scream with pleasure while he buries his face between your legs?
Dominic wasn’t that guy. Not anymore, but he knew what she deserved.
“Maybe you should ask him to wear a sign when he comes to pick you up that reads ‘Ted, the Good Guy,’ ” he said.
She smiled, but her blue eyes shone with challenge. It was as if he’d told her he couldn’t keep seeing her all over again. Until that last time, when he’d been free and clear of his duty to serve, she’d never demanded that he change his mind.
“He’ll probably show up with flowers,” she said, thrusting his mug back into his hand. Then she reached for the door.
“Is that why you and your partner in crime hurled pie and wine at me last night?” he asked mildly. “Because I forgot the flowers?”
“Once upon a time, you showed up with Chinese takeout when you know I hate everything about it,” she said.
You have one helluva memory. But then he recalled the color of her nail polish and the way the light played off her pink toes.
“I’ve never expected flowers from you,” she continued, thrusting the door open. “I never expected you to come back here.”
He held up his damaged right hand. “I’m broken—”
“So you’ve what, been throwing yourself an extended pity party?”
“Yeah. But I didn’t want guests,” he said, his gaze fixed on the ugly scar in the center of his palm. “I needed time to put my life back together before I showed up here. I had to come to terms with the fact that I threw away a helluva lot to end up on the sidelines with a fucking hand that won’t work. A bullet nicked my pulmonary artery and it’s the one that passed through my hand that left me unable to serve, to hold a gun, to shave my face like I could before.”