Stirring Attraction(25)

He’d take a swift kick to the gut over that look in her blue eyes. If she couldn’t believe he’d be there after she surfaced from nightmare hell . . . shit, he had stayed away too long. He’d pushed too hard against a future with her. And yeah, he’d made the wrong choices. He should have tried harder to stay in Oregon. He should have said to hell with his military career.

But “should haves” wouldn’t rescue the girl rooted to her childhood bedroom. The fear held her captive. He was here now and he needed to save her.

“Yeah, honey, I’ll be there. I’d climb through the window, but I’m not sure I’ll fit.” He hadn’t played football in years, but he still had the build of a linebacker.

She nodded and backed away from the window. When she reached the door to her room, she broke into a run.

He climbed out of the destroyed bushes, ran across her front yard, and reached the front entrance as she flipped the deadbolt. He heard the familiar click and then the door opened.

I’m not waiting for an invitation.

Two steps and he stood inside gathering her into his arms. “I’ve got you, Lily.”

He kicked the door closed behind him. And he kept his good hand pressed against her lower back. The muscles in his arm contacted, unwilling to give an inch. His free hand ran down her long hair, smoothing it away from her cheek as she turned her head and rested the other side against his chest. Her hands moved around his waist. And her palms remained flat as she ran them up his back. She reached his shoulder blades and paused, her nails digging into him.

“Nightmare?” he murmured.

She nodded. And hell, the movement sent shockwaves through his body. He wanted to feel her against his bare skin, her lips on his chest. Her mouth pressed to his . . .

But he couldn’t. Not now.

“It’s the same one every night,” she whispered.

“Ah hell.”

He scooped her up, slipping his right arm under her legs, and carried her to the couch. He sat and cradled her on his lap, her bare legs draped over his thighs. She drew them up as if trying to curl into a tight ball on top of him. The long-­sleeve shirt she’d worn to tend bar earlier rode up, revealing a hint of black lace panties. He lifted his gaze to her face. She could be bare-­ass naked and he wouldn’t touch her.

She doesn’t need deep kisses and roaming hands tonight.

Her head leaned back against his arm and her face turned up to his. “I need you to catch him,” she murmured. “As long as I know he’s out there, I can’t sleep. I close my eyes and he’s right there with me, cutting me and telling me it’s all my fault.”

“It’s not,” he said firmly. “Honey, you’re the victim. You did nothing wrong.”

He raised his right hand, the one he’d been floating in what felt like midair since they’d settled onto the couch. He knew better than to rest it on her legs. She was all bare skin and curves. But he hadn’t known where to place it.

Until now. He cupped her cheek and ran his thumb up to the edge of her lips.

She captured his hand and drew it away.

“Lily, I wasn’t trying to—­”

“You’re a victim too,” she cut in. “Of war. You’re scarred too.”

“Yeah.”

She interlaced her fingers with his. “How do you sleep at night? How do you escape the nightmares?”

“I don’t sleep much anymore,” he admitted. “But I don’t have nightmares.”

He couldn’t get comfortable. With his injuries, with the new life those bullets had set in motion . . .

“I just can’t,” he added.

She nodded, still holding tight to his hand. “What if we took turns? I’ll watch over you. And you can watch over me.”

Dammit, he didn’t need a babysitter while he slept. He wasn’t worried about the bogeyman lurking behind closed doors. And if someone busted in? He could take them out with his bare hands. He didn’t need a gun or a change in status to “currently enlisted.” He had years of training to put to the test if necessary.

But Lily didn’t take without offering something in return. Plus, she’d spent so long caring for others—­her mother, her father, her students—­the offer was probably second nature.

“Sounds like a plan,” he said.

“Good.” She shifted off his lap and onto the couch beside him. Her long legs reached for the opposite arm as she pulled the throw blanket draped over the back of the sofa down onto her. The grey covering stole away his view, but then she rested her head against his thigh and he was grateful for the blanket.

He would have survived the next few hours staring at her lace panties and all of the tempting skin her underwear and T-­shirt failed to cover. But there was a part of him that wanted to keep her awake, that wanted to take their little game of “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours” from the other night to the next, very naked level. That part of him was pretty damn close to her face right now, and hard to miss.