Under Fire (Love Over Duty #1)(12)

Six swallowed hard. He studied both the back and front of her card. "Louisa North," he said, "you are quite the woman."

The moment needed humor, she knew, but it had never been her strong suit. "I do better Internet conversation than I do in real life. And however fast you type, I guarantee I'll be faster."

"I'll remember that, Ms. North, as long as you remember … " His words trailed off as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his chest. She tensed at the action, every muscle more rigid than steel rods as she fought the urge to step away, until he placed a kiss on the top of her head. The action caught her so off guard, it was over before she could formulate a response. Soft, light blond chest hair brushed her cheek as her heart raced.

"Remember what?" she whispered against his chest, not trusting the strength of her own voice or her own feet if she attempted to move.

Six stepped back and winked. "That I do real life better than the Internet."





CHAPTER THREE

Six waited for Louisa to get into her car and pull out of the parking lot. She beeped her horn, and he flashed his lights in her direction. All very cute, especially when inside he was dying of mortification. What the hell was going on?

A car crash had freaked him out. How was that even possible after he'd spent months doing almost daily patrols in Kandahar without batting an eye?

The constant throng of chaos had surrounded them as they'd driven through the crowded streets, horns beeping, people shouting. They'd never stopped. It had been too unsafe. Too uncertain. Plus, they hadn't been able to tell friend from foe, so better to keep the show on the road. He'd been back on US soil for a couple of months, so why the hell was this happening now? How was he supposed to do his job at Eagle when he couldn't guarantee that he wouldn't lose his shit?

He drove north up the coast to Encinitas. Focus. That was all it would take to overcome whatever he had. Mind over matter had always worked for him before as a philosophy. There were guys who had it so much worse than he did. Guys who had come home with their legs blown off or had carried their friends off the battlefield. Yeah, he'd seen some shit, but as SEAL careers went, there was no way he could have PTSD. And he most definitely wasn't going to ask Mac whether Eagle's nonexistent healthcare plan covered psychologists. 

It was just a few flashbacks. He'd manage them on his own.

Finally, he relaxed as he saw the sign for Encinitas. That had to be a good thing, being in a place where he felt at peace with the world. The vibrant beachside community of Old Encinitas, his home since birth, was buried deep inside his soul. When he'd lived out east, he'd missed it. As he pulled up in front of his home on top of the steep incline of E Street, he remembered the time when he was twelve and he'd thought he'd broken his wrist skateboarding away from this very yard. There were so many memories attached to this house. His parents had loved flipping and selling homes, so as a family they'd lived on just about every street in Old Encinitas. This house, however, had always been his constant. Every time he stepped through the front door, he was certain he was going to smell his grandmother's apple cobbler or hear his grandfather trying to convince someone to join him in a game of Scrabble again. Just about every Christmas had been spent here, his own home usually in the middle of some huge renovation. When his grandparents had died within five days of each other during his second tour, he'd been devastated. They'd left the property to him, and he'd held on to it.

With his parents' help, he'd rented it to a low-maintenance couple ever since. He'd felt like an asshole serving notice to tenants before he returned, but it was, in his heart, his home. Once Eagle started to make some money he was going to do the place up. For a while, he'd contemplated having a roommate, as the extra monthly income would be helpful, but he'd soon realized that he needed his space more than he needed the money.

Six let himself into the small, bright home. It needed a good coat of paint at a minimum, but he loved the bones of the place. Long linen drapes that he left closed hung from the window in the living room. A large array of plants grew in the bay window, left by the tenants when they'd moved out. They made him think of Louisa. She'd probably know how to look after them beyond just watering them when the soil became more arid than the trails in Afghanistan's Badakhshan Province.

He grabbed his phone from his shorts before he dropped them and his briefs to the floor. He kicked off his shoes and socks and left them in the hallway, closer to the laundry in the garage, and walked to the guest bath to fill the tub. He'd refitted his own bathroom with a large walk-in shower, but some days he just needed a soak. Just as he was about to step into the hot water, his phone rang.