Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Redemption for Misty (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Pierce Securities Book 5) by Anne Conley (1)

Redemption for Misty

Acknowledgements:

I would like to thank Susan Stoker for her friendship and support, and for asking me to be a part of this world with her.  Without Susan, this story most assuredly would not have come about, and it helped me immensely with a block I had been suffering.  So, here’s to thinking about things from a different angle!  Also, my editor, Tiffany gets a humongous thanks, as she’s become more of a friend to me than business associate.  Suzanne, who is always my cheerleader, gets a giant shout out, and she makes my beautiful graphics as well.  I owe a huge portion of my success to the ridiculous woman who hates when I make a big deal out of her.  My beta readers are amazing and especially Amber Polk, who helped out with the dining table epilogue.  Last, but most certainly not least, my husband, who is quite possibly the loudest one-man cheer squad on the planet. 

 

Table of Contents:

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

 

Chapter one

“Hey, Nova, I’ve got a favor.” Andrew “Crash” Walker sat next to Chris, drinking a beer in their favorite dive. Chris used to cringe at the nickname Nova—short for Casanova—given to him because of his ability to drop panties whenever he smiled, but he’d finally gotten used to it. Thankfully, the guys had shortened it, so he could pretend it was Super Nova or some shit like that.

“Anything. You name it.” Chris would die for his buddy—almost had on several occasions. And Crash knew it. They’d saved each other’s lives so many times in Iraq, and later in Syria, they’d lost count. Two tours in the Army had a knack for putting buddies in situations of playing the hero for one another.

“You still wanting a place to stay?” Crash asked, idly leaning back on two chair legs. Chris had seen him do this in nearly every chair he’d ever sat in, and the man had yet to fall.

“Yup.” Chris swigged from his longneck, waiting to hear what his friend needed. He’d do almost anything to get out of his mom’s house. He loved his mama to death but was tired of her coddling. Nine years in the Army, six of those as a Ranger, and she still wanted to make sure he was at home in his bed by midnight.

“I got called up to take a traveling job. Apparently, the boss thinks ‘cause I’m not married, he can yank me around willy-nilly and shit. I need someone to stay with Misty for six weeks while I go to Alabama.”

Misty Walker. Fuck yeah. Chris would do anything for his brother, and that included Misty. Hands down the most badass chick on the planet, she was his hero just for surviving what she’d been through—a brutal attack—but her recovery involved starting a coffee shop to help survivors of similar attacks. She had grit. And Chris was all over that shit. Not that Crash knew about it, though. He’d kick Chris’s ass all over the place. But Misty was a hero to him. Never mind he’d never met her before, only stared at her picture by Crash’s bed like a lovesick idiot. The family photo was taken at the beach, on some vacation, and her dark, wind-blown curls and sun-kissed skin called to him in a way he never could quite explain. But fuck, she was hot.

Apparently, Crash took his silence as reticence because he continued, “It’s not that she needs anything. I just don’t like leaving her alone for so long. The attack happened in her home, before she moved in with me. And sometimes she still has nightmares and stuff. I want her protected, to feel safe, and you’ll do it without giving her a hard time.” The unspoken words were there. Chris would do it without fucking her.

Even with the reputation attached to his moniker, Nova knew the bro code. He wouldn’t make any moves on his best friend’s sister. But living under the same roof with her certainly wouldn’t be a hardship.

“When you leaving?” Chris told his junk to settle down as he finished up his beer in one long swallow.

“I’ve got a flight out at nine tomorrow night. You can come over for dinner before that, and I’ll introduce you. That will give me time to break it to her.” The grin on his buddy’s face told Chris he was probably going to enjoy telling her she had a new babysitter.

“She not gonna like it?”

Waving his beer around absently, Crash muttered, “She’s a chick with views of independence.” Chris remembered Crash talking about the independence issue with Misty even before the attack. She was always causing her parents grief by doing stuff without their approval. Like getting tattoos.

Chris’s finger twitched at the outer seam of his jeans, his nail scratching the denim. Tattoos. Chicks with tattoos were fucking hot. But he quickly put a lid on that thought. He repressed the urge to remind his buddy Misty was twenty-four-years old and perfectly capable of making decisions on her own.

“You sound like a Neanderthal.” He beat on his chest and made some grunting noises, just to piss off Crash and make the point that independent chicks weren’t all bad. They were certainly better than chicks who couldn’t make a decision on their own, ever.

“Dude. It’s true, though. All that ‘I can do everything on my own’ shit is what got her in trouble in the first place. Moving out of the house and into some dump in a rotten part of town, that fucking job, all of it. She was so high on her freedom and shit, she forgot to be careful.” Crash’s frustration was obvious. The big brother part of Crash wouldn’t let his sister down. He took another swig of his beer. “But I hear her nightmares, and I’m the one who reminds her the asshole’s dead. I know it’s a front. She gets scared. And I don’t want her alone.”

Crash had lost his mind when his sister had gone missing while he was stuck in Syria. The entire company had heard about it, but it was the platoon who had really come together to support him in his rage against the faceless entity who wouldn’t let him go home to find her.

Chris took a slow sip of his beer and said, “I’ll take care of her.”

“Just make sure she stays safe, okay?”

“Got it, bro.” Chris would keep her safe. And keep his hands to himself. Crash wanted him for the job so she wouldn’t be spending the entire time fending off their buddies’ advances. Vegas and Ace just didn’t know when to stop when it came to women, and Crash obviously didn’t want Misty to be seen on their radar. Chris cringed. Yeah. He could do this. Never mind he’d wanted her with every fiber of his being for far too long. He would do this for Crash.

***

Crash’s house was a tidy bungalow in a middle-class neighborhood in Austin. It was an older neighborhood that had seen a recent resurgence and was becoming trendy again. The house itself was painted a fresh, understated blue color and had neatly trimmed hedges which had probably been there since it was built in 1970.

But as he walked up to the door, Chris heard the crashing of pots and pans inside. Apparently, the kitchen was close to the front door, and Chris grinned as he realized Misty was not at all happy with his being there. Excitement filled him at the prospect of seeing Misty feisty.

He rang the bell and heard Misty yell something to Crash right before he opened the door with a sheepish grin.

“Come on in, man. I just told her. She’s… adjusting.”

“I am not adjusting!” Chris heard the crash of a pan on a tabletop, rattling plates and silverware, before he came around the corner to see the kitchen and dining area. And a wildcat.

Dark hair hung in crazy ringlets around her red face and tempestuous brown eyes. Chris had only seen photos of Misty Walker, but in the flesh, she took his breath away.

“Nova is just going to stay with you while I’m away. I don’t want to leave you here alone, Misty. He’s not going to do anything. You probably won’t even know he’s here. He can be a quiet dude, right, Nova?” Crash looked at him hopefully, and Chris nodded.

“Yeah, sure. You won’t even know I’m here.” Chris looked around the house, trying to avoid the wild eyes that had landed on him. There was a door out to the garage on the other side of the kitchen, and he’d bet there was a back door to the yard in the living room on the other side of the house. A hallway led off to the side, where he presumed the bedrooms were.

“I don’t need a babysitter, Andrew. This is stupid.” She sat in a huff at a chair at the head of the table.

“Come on… for me? Do this for me? It’s either that or you’ll move back in with Mom and Dad.”

Reaching across the table and gripping a pan of what Chris hoped was meatloaf, she rolled her eyes. “I am twenty-four years old. I’m not moving in with Mom and Dad so my big brother feels more secure in his manhood about going out of town. I moved in with you for help with finances, not a fucking babysitter.” She scooped out a glob of meat with a spoon and it went splat on her plate.

“I’ll be more of a roommate, if that helps. I’ve been staying with my folks, too, so you’re actually doing me a favor,” Chris offered as he sat next to her. Her eyes snapped to him, and he couldn’t stop himself from staring. She was gorgeous, and the more he looked into her deep brown eyes, the more lost he became. He forced his eyes to other parts of her face—the elegant arch of her eyebrows, the pout of her lips, the smooth line of her nose, her slender neck where her pulse pounded erratically. Ripping his gaze from her, he focused on the food again. “This really smells good. Thanks for the invite, man.” He was trying to placate everybody. It was bad for digestion if you ate while angry. Although Chris could eat under any circumstances, and it really did smell good.

The response he got was a huff from Misty that blew her bangs out of her face, and a relieved sigh from Crash as he lowered himself on the other side of the table from Misty. They started passing bowls around the table, and Chris realized he’d never eaten with anybody like this except his parents. He didn’t know people his age ate like this at a table. Like a family.

It was nice.

They ate in mostly silence, the scrapes of utensils against plates sounding off the siblings’ anger. Chris was amused by it all. He didn’t think he’d have much to do here. He’d probably go to the coffee shop a couple times to scope it out but knew she wouldn’t like it. He’d do what he could to make Misty happy, but he was here for his buddy. And he’d do what he needed to do.

After dinner was over, Misty stood to clear the table, and Crash grabbed his duffle bag by the door. “Well, I’m off to catch my flight. Don’t be mad, okay?” He leaned over to give Misty a hug, and she stiffly returned it, but it looked like she would rather strangle him.

“You are such an asshole. I just want that on the record.”

After Crash left, Chris went to help Misty. “Here. Let me do the dishes. You cooked. It’s only fair, roomie.” He grinned his panty-melting grin at her, flashing the dimple that usually got him his way with women.

“Fine. Dish soap’s down there,” she sighed. “I am not calling you Nova, nor am I referring to Andrew as Crash for the next six weeks. What’s your name?”

“Chris Malone.” He held out his hand, and she took it, shaking it firmly. He couldn’t ignore the warmth of her palm, nor the heat radiating to his elbow.

“Well, make yourself at home. Andrew’s room is the second door on the left. I’m going to bed.”

She turned on her heel, black hair flying over her shoulder—hair Chris wanted to twirl around his fist and use it to yank her back to him.

“Goodnight,” he offered. No answer.

 

Chapter two

Misty had snuck out of the house at 5:00 this morning, her usual time, but she didn’t usually have to sneak. The idea that she had to be quiet for her new ‘houseguest’ pissed her off, even though she knew she was being unreasonable. It wasn’t Chris’s fault her brother was an asshole.

After getting the muffins in the oven and the coffee started, Misty was surprised to find Chris sitting outside waiting for her to open at 6:30. Taking a deep breath, fortifying herself for a confrontation about sneaking out, she let him in. To his credit, he didn’t say anything, just followed her to the counter and watched while she put on her apron and washed her hands before going back to the register.

“You want something?”

His eyebrows lifted in surprise over the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. “Yeah, I’m not going to take up table space without ordering something. I’ll take a large house brew, if that’s okay. I’ll get something to eat in a little bit.” He looked at her under long eyelashes and a shock of dark hair falling over his forehead. If he was in her brother’s platoon, they must have gotten out at the same time. And Chris had apparently never cut his hair again. It had grown out over his ears and below the collar of his neck. She tried to be unaffected by the sudden desire to run her fingers through it.

Misty realized she was staring when he followed up with, “Nice place. It looks like I could work here instead of the house. This looks better than surrounding myself with your brother’s stuff.”

She laughed at the idea he didn’t want to work with his brother’s pin-up pictures and video games, faux leather furniture, and chrome-trimmed glass shelving and tables. She had moved into the quintessential bachelor pad. “Thanks. Knock yourself out.” She shook herself back to reality and turned to get his coffee. He did seem nice. Maybe she should reserve her pissed offness for Andrew and spare Chris her drama. When she turned with his coffee, she managed a deep breath. “Look. I’m sorry about last night. It’s not your fault my brother is an underhanded, overbearing jerk.” She held out her hand to shake. “Truce?”

He grinned at her, and Misty’s panties disintegrated. That’s how he got his nickname. Had to be. That fucking dimple. Those chiseled cheek bones. He could give Johnny Depp a run for his money—21 Jump Street Depp, not Charlie and the Chocolate Factory Johnny. “Truce.” He returned the handshake, and it lingered longer than it needed to.

“So… what do you do?” She nodded at the laptop bag slung over his shoulder, feeling awkward. They were the only two people in the coffee shop, and he didn’t look like he was going to leave without a reason.

“Graphic design and digital storefronts. I make websites, help organizations get a visible web presence, logos… stuff like that.” Chris shrugged as he spoke, adjusting his laptop strap. He seemed to downplay his talents, relaxing against the counter.

Great. So he could feasibly be here all day every day Andrew was gone. Well, that wouldn’t be all bad, she thought as she perused his long, lanky frame. Chris looked powerful. Like cheetah power. Yeah, he moved with a grace born of athleticism and elegance, walking softly. She was sure it was misleading. Misty would bet the guy packed a big stick. The thought came from nowhere and she fought back a giggle.

“I really don’t need a babysitter,” she warned him, trying to gain some seriousness and get her mind off her errant thoughts.

“I know.” His words were flippant, but the way his eyes skated over the surface of everything around him spoke differently. “But I mean it. This place is comfortable. I like it.”

She watched as his graceful movements carried him to the corner of the shop, where he could see her and the door and look out the window if he wanted. Misty’s eyes rolled at him, but the bell clanged over the door, signaling another customer coming in. She focused on work, finding something else to occupy her.

Ghost strode in the door like he owned the place. He was a regular, having come in every morning for the last two weeks, and Misty liked him. She was reassured by his presence, like he was a stand-offish, over-protective uncle or something. She smiled and grabbed a cup off the shelf behind her.

“Your usual?” He nodded, straight-faced, and seated himself at the end of the bar, twisting the chair so he could see the entire shop.

She plunked the cup in front of him—filled with black house brew—and then leaned on her elbow over the countertop. “You’re just in town for business, right?”

He smiled at her around his sip. “I’m still not going to tell you, stinker.”

“A girl’s got to try,” she said flirtatiously. Ghost had been fun to try to get a rise out of. She guessed he was military, out of the base north of Austin, here on official military business. Older than Misty, he was still a hottie in a totally Gerard Butler sort of way. But he was sooo secretive. And his mannerisms mirrored Chris’s as they eyeballed each other, sizing up potential threats. She watched as Chris’s eyes narrowed, his lips pursed in warning, and he finally nodded slightly to Ghost, as if he passed muster.

The bell over the door clanged again, and Misty smiled to herself as she helped the small line of customers. Chris kept up his seat in the corner, leaving only to get in line to get a refill. He waited patiently behind another regular.

Saul was a Frosty Mocha Latte, but he rarely spoke. She only knew his name because she had to call it when his drink order was ready. He always put two sugars in and would ask for whipped cream on Fridays. He was a youngish man, fastidious in his appearance, probably a lackey over at the capitol. But he never really spoke. When he looked at Misty, his cheeks got ruddy and his ears turned red.

This all happened again, today, and Misty noticed Chris watching the poor man closely as his mouth whitened in a thin line across the bottom of his face. As he set his empty cup down and asked for a refill, his eyes followed Saul as he settled himself on a stool at the counter, not too far away.

She had just finished refilling Chris’s coffee and was about to say something to him about giving the customers dirty looks when Mia and Jordan came into the shop with Evan and Ryan in tow.

“Your usuals?” Misty asked perkily after hugging her friend. Mia stepped behind the counter and put on her apron, then washed her hands to work, humming softly to herself.

Mia was Misty’s best friend. They had both survived at the hands of the same man, and then opened this shop together. Evan was Jordan’s brother and had been a silent partner in their coffee shop scheme. Misty suspected the dude had more money than God.

“Please,” Evan said with a wink.

Jordan and Ryan had been the ones who’d come to their rescue, running into Michael’s house where Misty had been left for dead in the garage under a pile of dirty clothes. They’d rushed in with grenades and smoke bombs and scared the hell out of everyone, but they’d done the job the cops hadn’t. She owed them both her life.

So she gave them free coffee and muffins forever.

The men of Pierce Securities were her heroes. All of them. And she was jealous as hell of Mia, who’d found her soul mate in Jordan.

Without Mia, Misty would have died in that pile of laundry on the floor. If Mia hadn’t been taken by that sicko, Jordan wouldn’t have been so hell-bent on finding them.

After they’d made the coffees and worked their way through the morning rush, Mia raised her eyebrows at Chris, still in the corner of the coffee shop.

“Who’s the hunk in the corner? You know him?”

Misty rolled her eyes for about the hundredth time that morning. “Yeah. That’s Chris. My new handler. He’s taking his job very seriously.” He must have heard her because when she turned, he was standing just across the counter, those blue eyes piercing her insides, catching something on fire in her belly.

He reached across the counter. “Chris Malone. It’s so nice to meet you, Mia. I’ve heard a lot about you from Andrew.”

Misty’s brother was another regular there; he would come in the mornings before he went to work at the survey office.

Mia thrust her hand out to grip his. “Thanks. Wish I could say the same, but I know nothing about you. How do you know Andrew?” Her intent was obvious—she was going to dig for info. Misty just walked away. Everybody tried so damn hard to shield her from harm, but she couldn’t say a word. If she hadn’t gotten into the situations she’d found herself in almost a year ago, people wouldn’t feel the need to be so protective.

As she listened to Chris explain the tours with her brother, and then their laughter about something she didn’t hear, Misty just rearranged muffins in the display case, then went into the back to wash up before the afternoon rush started.

She was trying really hard not to be mad at Chris. This wasn’t his doing. He was just doing what friends did. Stupid, alpha male friends.

Ugh.

The reality was, if Andrew would’ve included Misty in the plans for Chris to stay with her, she might not have been so mad about it. She didn’t particularly enjoy being alone anymore and welcomed company whenever she could get it. Therapy had helped her accept the presence of others, and she now liked having a crowd around her. All Andrew had to have done was ask her and she would have chosen the dark-haired, blue-eyed Adonis who was presently standing in her coffee shop flirting harmlessly with Mia.

But he hadn’t.  He’d taken the choice away from her and it pissed her off.

When she returned to the front of the shop, Chris was back in his corner, buried in his laptop, and Mia was tending another line of customers. Misty threw herself into making coffees, determined to forget about his piercing gaze.

 

Chapter three

A couple of days later, Chris was in the backyard, sweating his balls off mowing, while Misty was inside unloading groceries from a trip to the store she’d insisted on attending alone. Ever accommodating, Chris had come back to her house and started doing some yard work. That was part of the deal. He’d promised Crash he’d keep the yard maintained, and he was following the bastard’s written instructions, to the letter.

Even if he would much rather follow Misty to the grocery store like a puppy dog.

Chris was pushing the mower in precise, military lines across the grass, cutting off the top quarter inch—just like Crash had specified—in sweltering Texas heat. He’d already stripped off his shirt, and years of mowing had ingrained the need for jeans to protect his legs from flying debris, although he doubted Crash’s yard had anything as offensive as rocks in it.

When Misty stuck her head out the back door and yelled, he cut off the mower so he could hear her. But she’d stopped when she saw him and was just staring. Licking her lips.

Chris kept catching her watching him like that, and if it had been any other woman, he’d be all over it. Hell, he wasn’t about to lie and say he wouldn’t like to be all over this one. But she was Crash’s sister.

Instead, he played on it, because he was just a man. And men were needy creatures. Chris would be the first to admit he enjoyed a woman’s interest. Even if he couldn’t act on this particular woman’s attention.

“Did you need something?” He walked toward her, pulling the t-shirt out of his back pocket and swiping it across his chest, drawing her attention there. He wiped off the sweat, purposely keeping the movements slow, while her eyes tracked his hands like a cat drawn to a laser pointer. Misty gaped, and Chris couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face.

“Uh, yeah… Do you want to fire up the grill and cook these? I can do them on the stove, but they’re so much better on the grill. If you’re busy, I can do it, but Andrew usually doesn’t let me near his baby.”

She licked her lips again, still staring at his chest while she talked, and Chris almost said something but decided not to embarrass her.

“Sure, I’m almost done with the yard.” He set the bowl of shrimp next to the grill and got it started, then went back to mowing. Misty snapped her mouth shut and grinned at him.

“Thanks!” Now it was his turn to be uncomfortable. Her smile sucked the air right out of his lungs and sent his blood flow south. Every. Damn. Time.

Chris had plenty of time to think about Misty, and it seemed that was all he thought about lately. He’d always found her attractive, not that he would have ever admitted it to Crash. Especially not after Crash had clocked Ace for making a lewd comment about her. Chris had just held his tongue. But he’d commiserated with Crash when Misty had been kidnapped, and the entire company had wanted blood from her attacker. Chris had thrown the party when they’d found out she was safe and the guy had been killed.

When Chris had learned about their coffee shop—and how she used the proceeds to help other victims—another layer had been added to the package, and he’d admired her even more. She was smart and beautiful. Now that he lived with her, Chris could admit he was half in love with her.

He watched her carefully while she worked. Sure, he made logos, worked and shit while he was there, but her smile… Jesus… It did things to him. Nice things. He was on a constant lookout for another glimpse of it. She was friendly and warm to everybody she came in contact with. She cleaned up spills with a smile and gave out free treats to kids.

But she was still his buddy’s sister. They’d been through hell together, and he wouldn’t betray his friend by doing the things with Misty he dreamed of. Chris let out a tortured sigh as he laid the shrimp on the grill. Yeah, he would just have to keep his feelings to himself. No way would he jeopardize his friendship to try something with Misty. Knowing his luck, it wouldn’t work out, and he’d alienate his friend and end up without Misty anyway.

But when he went inside with the shrimp, he smelled something that had made his cock semi-hard since he was fifteen years old.

Baking apples.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the cinnamon spicy goodness, and walked into the kitchen. “Something smells great.”

Misty turned with that smile on her face, holding out a piece of flakey awesomeness for him to taste. “Thanks. Taste this and tell me what you think. I’m trying out a new apple strudel recipe for the shop.”

He held her wrist while opening his mouth, taking the bite she offered, careful to not get her fingers. Holy Christ, did he want to. He wanted to suck all the appley deliciousness off her and watch her lips part on a gasp, see the pulse in her neck start to pound, and then he’d do so much more. But he refrained.

Instead, the flavors detonated on his tongue in a myriad of happiness. “Oh my God. That is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” Chris groaned, not only because it was, but because she’d reacted anyway. She blushed, a dark red he didn’t think would be possible with her skin tone, but she’d done it. And of course, his mind was making it dirty.

They stared at each other, her eyes quickly filling with heat as she shifted where she stood but didn’t back away. He knew she wanted him, maybe as much as he wanted her. But he knew himself. Chris knew his feelings for her went far beyond a quick roll in the hay. As his hopes rose with Misty, he wondered if she felt the same way, or if this was just physical for her. Could she even do something purely physical after the attack she’d survived? He wouldn’t touch her again unless he knew for sure.

Chris knew he couldn’t just fuck her and walk away. And he wouldn’t. Shit. He wouldn’t be able to. God, this was stupid. He didn’t know any of the little things about her. He had no clue what her favorite color was, her favorite movie, or if she even liked flowers. He needed to stop. Now.

He was the one who backed up a step. “I’m going to go shower real quick, and then I’ll help out if you need me to.” A cold shower.

He needed to get out of the kitchen before he took her over the counter, claimed her, and made her his.

 

Chapter four

Misty had planned a simple pasta dinner for tonight, since she was trying out a new recipe, but hadn’t counted on Chris being so damn hot and sweaty. Everything the man did was insanely hot. Sure, mowing the lawn in August with no shirt was normal, but looking like that? She’d nearly come unglued when she’d walked outside to ask him about grilling and saw that.

And then she swore he’d gotten an erection from her apple strudel, judging by the bulge in his jeans. Not that she’d looked.

Oh, who was she kidding? She loved looking at the man. He was hawtness personified. Like, if hawt were in the dictionary, there would be a picture of Chris, mowing the yard and licking apple strudel from his lips.

Thank God he’d left to go shower before she’d done something embarrassing, like launch herself at him and lick his torso.

Misty shook her head as the shower in his room started up. She wouldn’t picture him naked and soapy, running his hands all over his muscles. She wouldn’t.

Instead, she would think about all the reasons it was a bad idea. His nickname was Nova, for crying out loud. Like, Nova, as in Casanova. He probably had a girl for every day of the month, without repeats. Yeah. Thinking of that was like getting doused with a bucket of ice water. She wasn’t really the jealous type, but she didn’t like to imagine Chris with other women.

The thought soured her stomach, so she was completely lucid when he came back into the kitchen, fully dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, barefoot, with wet hair. She was totally in her right mind when she got a whiff of his shower gel, and a water droplet fell on her arm as he leaned over and tasted her sauce, his tongue licking his lips, leaving a wet trail behind. Yep.

“What can I do to help?” he murmured in her ear, sending a shiver of awareness down her spine.

“Uh, you can drain the pasta. Pour it in here. Mix it all up.” Yep. Totally coherent. She mentally high-fived herself for stupidity personified, and then started carrying the salad to the table.

From where he stood at the sink, Chris said, “I think it’s cool you eat at the table every night. I like that, it’s nice.”

“Thanks. If it were up to Andrew, he’d eat in front of the TV all the time. I don’t cook a good meal every night to have it consumed without thought while watching the news. It sort of forces him to appreciate me.” She laughed as she said it, remembering all the fights she and Andrew had had about her rule. It was the one thing she insisted on, and he’d begrudgingly agreed to do it. Now, she swore he looked forward to it. Andrew was never late to dinner.

Chris walked to the table, carrying the giant pan with the pasta and shrimp with the sauce in it. She’d made too much, but the man ate like a bear, so she didn’t think there would be many leftovers. Misty had also noticed he woke up in the middle of the night and ate whatever was left from dinner.

“How’s the shop going? I mean, I see you’re busy all day, but are there enough profits for donations?” Chris asked as he scooped himself a giant portion of the shrimp pasta and then salad onto his plate.

“It’s going well. I’ve only been open six months, and I don’t think everybody understands my purpose yet. I’m still working on that. I have a Chamber mixer in a couple of weeks that I’m going to, and I’m hoping to spread the word there.” In fact, she was really nervous about the mixer. Misty really enjoyed her job, always had loved being a barista, but found talking about her own business difficult. It seemed like she was tooting her own horn, and she didn’t want to come across as cocky.

Chris was eating, making appreciative noises through mouthfuls of food, his lips glistening with sauce, and Misty clenched her thighs together to relieve the sudden pressure there. This was an innocent conversation, so why did she constantly think about sex with this guy?

“Um, do you want to go with me? Maybe you could get some business, too, for your digital presence stuff.” She sounded like a moron and was about to take it back, but he looked up at her, his blue eyes melting her insides.

She ignored it, as well as the pulsing between her legs, as he spoke, “By the way, I looked at your website, and it looks awesome, but whoever put it together didn’t do much with the SEO and hooking it up to other places. I can work on that if you want. I also have a printer I do business with who could do a mock-up of some signage for you. Like, if you wanted to do a monthly earnings/donation thing to advertise your goals for the shop and show how much you’ve got going toward it. A little transparency in that regard might be good for business, letting the customers see exactly where your money goes and how well you’re doing. It would help get them more invested.”

Misty was a little overwhelmed by the shift in conversation. She’d gone from pseudo-asking him out to discussing SEO. Her head spun while she tried to keep up. “I think some kids in Evan and Paige’s internship program at the high school made the website, so that probably explains why it’s like that. I hadn’t thought about the other. I’ll have to run it by Mia to make sure it’s okay, but I think it sounds like a great idea. Maybe we could meet with Mia and Evan sometime this week to discuss it.”

“Sure. I’ve got a client meeting on Friday, but I’ve actually scheduled it at the shop, so I’ll be around.” He scooped a forkful of pasta into his mouth and chewed. “I’d love to go to the mixer with you.” His eyebrows waggled suggestively. “Would it be like a date?”

Misty had to remind herself again of the Nova moniker as she decided he was trying to trip her up. “Not really. I mean, we could ride together, but kissing afterward is probably out of the question.” She tried to laugh as she spoke, attempting some levity, but they both fell silent as the word “kiss” floated between them, drifting around the awkward silence like silky tresses, caressing their skin. Chris’s eyes fell on her lips and stayed there, as if he were imagining it. His fingers gripped his fork until his knuckles whitened, and Misty’s thighs were getting a marvelous isometric workout, pressing together so tightly a penny couldn’t fit between them.

He finally dropped his eyes to his plate before muttering something under his breath and shoveling more food into his mouth. That was her cue to do the same.

Finally, after minutes of awkward silence, Chris turned the conversation back to business. Misty desperately tried to keep up. “You have a great location, right across from the capitol building. That’s an impressive feat.”

“That’s all Evan and Jordan. They wanted someplace safe and profitable. Jordan and Mia scoped it out, and Evan put up the money.”

His blue eyes narrowed on her as she finished her pasta. He leaned back in his chair, the picture of casual indifference, and Misty knew him well enough to know his next observation would be more important to him than he cared to admit. So she listened carefully.

“You spend a lot of time around those men. Jordan and Evan. Is something going on?”

She smiled, containing her laughter, barely. “No. They’re both taken. Jordan was one of the guys who saved me and Mia. Now they’re engaged to each other. And Evan is his brother, totally belongs to Paige.”

Chris seemed to genuinely relax then, his muscles going lax so he actually was reclining. “Well, remind me to thank him next time I see him.” His eyes glazed over a bit as he went someplace else inside his head, and his jaw clenched, making the temples above his chiseled jaw bones tick. “Is there anyone else? Any boyfriends?”

She shook her head, pushing her plate back. “No. I had one, but he couldn’t handle the incident, so he broke up with me. It was too much pressure for him to be with a girl who was recovering from something like that.” Truth was, he’d been pissed she wasn’t interested in sex after being kidnapped. Misty didn’t have a memory of being raped, like Mia did, but she didn’t have many memories of the actual time spent tied to Michael’s bed, aside from Michael getting very angry with her for being so vocally against the arrangement. But honestly, she couldn’t not tell him what a sicko he was being for tying her to his bed in an attempt to tame her. Mostly, her memories came from trying to survive for days with multiple injuries on the floor of his garage. Trent had tried to be nice about it, but neither one of them was invested enough in the relationship to begin with for it to survive something like that. They’d broken up amicably. No hard feelings.

But Chris seemed pissed on her behalf. His temple was ticking madly, and she could see his jaw flex where his teeth ground together, his eyes arctic as a glacier.

“Really. It’s no big deal. We weren’t that into each other.” Misty was trying to reassure him, even though she didn’t understand why he was so upset.

“What about the guy at the coffee shop?” There were tons of “guys” at the coffee shop. At her blank look, he continued, feet firmly planted on the floor, suddenly engaged and alert. Her answer was important to him, but she didn’t know who he was talking about. “The latte guy, the shy one who never looks you in the eye but hangs around watching you for thirty minutes every morning.”

“Saul?” This time, she couldn’t contain her laughter, and Chris’s posture relaxed a little. “No. Not interested in Saul, nothing going on with Ghost, either. None of my regulars at the shop are a thing with me. There isn’t anybody in my life right now. Just friends.” Her laughter faded to a smile, and she wondered why he was so interested, but when he smiled back at her, the dimple in his cheek made her breath hitch.

In an effort to dispel the sudden awkwardness, Misty stood and gathered her plate. “I’m going to clear off the table and leave you the dishes. Is that okay?”

“Absolutely. That was an awesome dinner.” Chris wiped his mouth with his napkin and stood with her. “Is there any strudel left for me?”

And with that, all the awkwardness was back. Misty remembered his eyes when he’d taken the strudel from her fingers, and she was tempted to tell him he could have it if he smeared it all over her body and then licked it off. Suppressing her shiver, she turned her back on him and the image he invoked.

“Sure, help yourself. I’m going to go watch TV in my room.”

She needed to get the hell out of here.

 

Chapter five

Chris was settled at the shop, working diligently on a logo for the new client he’d met the day before. It was Saturday, and they were pretty slow compared to the weekdays near the capitol building. But there was still a steady stream of tourists visiting the State Capitol building and picnicking on the lawn, stopping in for coffee before they hit the road.

Misty had just refilled his cup, one of her hands full with two fresh cappuccinos and the coffee pot in the other. When the noise started, everyone in the coffee shop jumped, but Misty’s reaction was more severe, and Chris completely lost it.

Pop. Pop.

Everything slowed down for Chris. Misty’s body jerked, and she hissed loudly, as if in pain. All he could do was react. Still in slow motion, he leaped from his seat, diving toward his girl. He tackled her to the ground as she yelled in obvious pain.

Then he was covered in hot, wet blood. He’d forgotten how hot blood was. But Misty’s blood was boiling. And she was groaning.

“Where are you hurt?” She’d been shot. Right here in front of him. Crash was going to kick his ass. And he might as well just go home to his mom. There was no way he could forgive himself. He should have made her stay in the kitchen, where there weren’t any windows. Or home. Yeah. She’d be safe at home. His hands skated across her body, looking for wounds, but all he could feel was hot wetness. It felt like weird blood. It wasn’t sticky at all.

“Why don’t you take her into the kitchen?” Ghost asked, a thin smile on his lips. “Those Volkswagen backfires can be brutal.”

Chris climbed off Misty, who rolled over to expose a wet, brown torso. Coffee. He’d burned her with coffee. What he’d done hit him like a punch in the gut.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Without another word, Chris scooped her up and held her in his arms while she tried to hold her shirt away from her skin. She hadn’t been shot. Chris had burned the ever-loving shit out of her with hot coffee.

She weighed nothing as he toted her into the kitchen, cursing apologies the entire way. “Jesus, Misty. I’m so fucking sorry. So fucking sorry.”

“What did you think it was, Chris? Somebody blowing up the capitol?” God love her. She was joking with him while in obvious pain.

Ghost had followed them, and he tensed at the doorway but said nothing. He was definitely an odd bird. Military, for sure—probably some special forces. Due to his secretive nature, Chris would guess the ever-elusive Delta Force, but since the Army didn’t really say much about them, he’d probably never know. But he was definitely someone on assignment. Chris was familiar with the posture, the alert intelligence, the no-nonsense attitude.

“It sounded like a lot of stuff I heard in another life.” Chris shrugged. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk about it, but Misty had tears in her eyes, and they were there because of him.

Ghost piped up. “Actually, it did sound a lot like an IED, Misty. Anybody who’s seen action would find the corollary. I think he might have been reacting to your reaction to the sound,” he mused.

“First-aid kit?”

She sniffed, pointing to a door on the side of the kitchen. “Yeah. I’ve got one in the storage closet.”

Chris retrieved it from the immaculate closet—shelves upon shelves of neatly stacked and labeled boxes. He found a small bottle of salve with Aloe Vera in it and took it back to where Misty was sitting, Ghost watching closely.

“Here. Take your shirt off. Let me see what I’ve done.”

Ghost turned his back while Misty inhaled deeply, removing her shirt with a swift exhalation of air. Chris knew the bright red skin was tender and probably hurt like a bitch. He warmed some of the salve between his fingers and began applying it as gently as she could, ignoring the bared curves on display.

“What made you jump like that, Misty?” Ghost asked. “It’s really none of my business, but I’ve seen jumpy people in my line of work, and you’re up there with the best of them.”

Chris clenched his teeth together but still couldn’t stop himself from jumping to her defense. He was proud of her, the reaction notwithstanding. It would take a feat of herculean strength to not react to a car backfiring after what she’d been through.

“She was attacked in her home and kidnapped. Held for several days. Raped. The rescue attempt involved flash bang grenades and a lot of fucking noise,” Chris gritted out through clenched teeth. He’d heard the entire story from Crash, who’d replayed what he’d learned to the platoon, who’d all gotten drunk in celebration that night. “I’d say she’s entitled to a little jumpiness.”

Ghost’s mouth turned down into a frown. “Sorry. I didn’t realize it was you personally who needed redemption.” He was referring to the name of the coffee shop, but Chris was done.

“Dude. You can go and let me take care of my girl here.” Without another word, Ghost nodded and disappeared into the main part of the shop, leaving them alone in the kitchen.

Chris got back to work smoothing salve over Misty’s flat belly. Her creamy olive skin was dark red where the coffee had burned it, and Chris worried it would scar. He tried to be gentle, ghosting his hands over her skin, but she hissed anyway at the contact. He tried to pretend they were doing something else, but the ugly red welts growing on her skin made that difficult. So he distracted himself with looking at the enormous butterfly marking her belly, going around her side. The ribs must have been painful. He’d heard that was a bad place to get tattoos.

“This is beautiful,” he said to break what was quickly becoming an awkward silence.

“Thanks. I got it after high school… to remind me to spread my wings.” Her words were hisses, reminding him yet again he was an asshole for burning her. “They’re addictive, though. I’ve got another one on my back, one around my bicep, and I have plans for more.” She smiled wryly at him. “Do you have any?”

“No. My parents wouldn’t allow it, then the Army was real picky. I want one, though.” He wasn’t going to tell her what he wanted. She’d think he was a creep, so he bit his tongue and stayed silent, hoping she wouldn’t ask. He wanted an eagle across his chest, and could probably play it off with the patriotism thing and being in the Army and stuff. But the truth was, the symbol of power reminded him of the woman who had all the power for him. Such a fucking sap.

The silence grew thick between them; the only sounds were Misty’s grunts of pain and Chris’s tender blowing on the heated burns. Finally, she drew in a deep breath.

“I wasn’t raped. I can’t believe Drew told you all that.” Her voice was soft and cradled itself in Chris’s brain like a baby bunny seeking shelter from a storm. Something inside him unfurled at the words.

“He was upset. He needed to talk it out. I was there for him.” Upset was putting it mildly. His buddy had been in tears after finishing off his bottle of Mezcal. He’d lost all inhibitions, and instead of sticking to his macho façade, he and Chris had gone outside, where Crash unloaded all of the what-ifs and worries on him. He was so glad Misty was okay but still dying inside that he hadn’t been there to protect his little sister.

“Thank you for being there. That couldn’t have been easy for him to go through so far away from home.”

Chris huffed, his movements stilling. “You’re the survivor here, Misty. We rooted for you, cheered for you, and idolized you.” We loved you. He was glad she hadn’t been raped and wondered if her brother knew, or if it was something they didn’t talk about after she was safe.

Misty faced him and put her hands on his face, freezing his thoughts. With her cool skin touching his, all thoughts of her brother fled his mind. All he noticed were her chilly palms on his cheeks. Turning his face to hers, Misty looked deep into his eyes, her chicory-colored eyes penetrating him.

“It’s okay, Chris. All that is in my past. I won’t say I’m over it because I still have my moments…” She took a deep breath and expelled it, wafting a sugary breath across his face. “But I want to live my life without thinking about that time. Thank you so much for helping Andrew get through being away for that horrific experience. And thank you for being here now, with me.” It was on the tip of his tongue to say there was no place else he’d rather be, but she kept talking. “Now, keep smearing that cream on me. This hurts like a bitch.” She released him from the spell he was under.

With that reminder, the guilt flowed through him again, ending up in a pool in his gut. He hated himself.

Misty saw, and her eyes filled with concern. “Stop it. I reacted, you reacted. It could have been anyone.”

Clearing his throat and continuing his ministrations, trying once again to ignore the smooth skin under his fingertips and focus on the burns, Chris simply mumbled, “I’m so damn sorry.”

“Just keep smearing that stuff on and we’ll call it even.” She spoke with a smile, but as his fingers worked, she still hissed as the frigid lotion spread across her heated flesh.

After a few minutes of his gentle rubbing, Misty took a deep breath to speak. “What did you mean? Earlier, when you called me your girl?” She spoke quietly, but not timidly. It was like they shared a secret with his answer.

He shrugged, not willing to let her know the depths of his feelings. He couldn’t act on them. What would be the point? “Just that… you’re my responsibility. I’m supposed to be taking care of you. If Crash wanted Ghost to take care of you, he’d have asked, right?”

Disappointed leaked into her face with the downturn of her mouth and the twitch of her eyes. But she simply said, “Right.”

Misty didn’t say anything until they were done. She found another shirt to wear in the supply closet—a work polo with the coffee shop’s logo on it—and slipped it on. Chris felt like he’d messed up big time by not telling her the truth, and he longed for a set of balls that would enable him to just be honest with everybody.

 

Chapter six

Misty didn’t know what to do with the words Chris had spoken. She’d known her brother had a hard time with what had happened to her, but to hear about it from someone who’d been with him when it all went down was like having an out of body experience. It was like Chris was talking about someone else and not her.

To know her brother’s entire platoon was pulling for her, admiring her for escaping the episode, was overwhelming to say the least. She didn’t know how to respond to the new information.

And the way he had looked at her was insane. Chris had looked at her as if he was the one who had gone nuts during her kidnapping. Like he wanted to be the one to save her. Like he regretted not being there for her.

And then when she’d given him the perfect opportunity to say something to open their relationship up to something more, he’d pulled back, essentially making her feel like she was nothing more than a favor between buddies.

So Misty retreated. That night, at dinner, she’d told him to fend for himself, complaining of a headache. She’d said she was taking a cool bath and going to bed, ignoring the pain in his eyes. She knew he felt guilty for spilling the coffee on her, and she’d admit it hurt like hell, but there wasn’t anything to be done for it.

She didn’t know what to do other than make his job easier on him, so she went to bed.

The next day, Sunday, she and Mia were only open a half a day, so she got there at her usual time—the butt crack of dawn—and started the muffins. Chris rode with her, as they’d become accustomed to doing, but this time they were silent. She supposed he was taking his cues from her, not willing to talk about the elephant in the room, but she didn’t know what else to do except not talk at all.

“You’re feeling better this morning?” His voice was a raspy squawk, and she felt bad he was feeling so guilty about burning her, but again, the elephant was keeping them from being open about things.

“Much. I think that cream really helped. I put some more on last night.” Inane chatter. That’s what they were reduced to. It was painful.

Sundays weren’t busy. The work crowd was gone and tourists were heading home. So when Mia got there, it was slow. Good old Mia, she brought Jordan along, who sat in the booth with Chris. She also brought her sister, who lived with them, but as she was a pouty teen, she skulked across the shop to slouch in the corner and pulled out her phone. Chris and Jordan hadn’t had many opportunities to chat, and Misty watched their body language with more than a little amusement.

They were approximately the same size, but Jordan’s chest puffed out as he sat and introduced himself. Both men’s hands white-knuckled through the handshake, and Misty admired the cordy forearms Chris’s t-shirt showed off as he pumped his hand. Chris sat up a bit straighter, almost military-like, and Jordan imitated the pose. Then Chris’ chest puffed out while his face took on an indignant look.

Mia whispered in her ear, apparently watching the show as well. “Jordan just put down the Army. See that?” Then she giggled as Misty turned to her friend, needing an ear to bend about her current predicament.

“Oh God… Things are soooo aw-kward right now,” she whined, not caring that she sounded like a teenager.

“So dish. Have y’all done anything?” Mia’s eyebrows waggled suggestively as she grabbed a coffee cup and poured herself a hazelnut brew.

“No. Sometimes he seems like he wants to.” Misty warmed from the inside out, just thinking about the looks Chris had given her. “And then other times, he pulls away, like he’s talked himself out of it. I don’t get it. His fucking nickname’s Casanova, for Christ’s sake. A man with that name can’t be all that picky, can he? Am I just that unappealing?” She tossed down a towel she had been using to wipe the counters.

“No. You’re not at all, so just shut up.” Mia mused a while. “He’s a friend of Andrew’s? You think he’s scared? I bet Andrew threatened him.”

That was a thought. But Chris didn’t seem like the type to be scared of anybody. If he and Andrew were like brothers, though, maybe he felt like her brother, too? That might be a little creepy, but sometimes the way he acted around her was anything other than brotherly. Like that time with the strudel…

So Andrew probably did threaten him. She wouldn’t put it past her brother to pull something like that. He was such a troglodyte.

“I guess. That’s probably it.”

“So you’re going to have to make a move on him if you want in those pants.” Her best friend nudged her shoulder. “You up for it?”

Misty looked over at Chris, who had relaxed into some semblance of friendliness with Jordan and was actually smiling at whatever he’d said. “I’m totally up for it. It’s been too long since I’ve seen any action,” she muttered to herself. Watching Chris smile, she got a little lost in his dimples. Those were nice.

His eyes flicked over to her, and his smile widened a bit. Holy. Shit.

Yeah. It had been too long. It was time for her to up her game. Maybe she should start wearing cuter clothes, or some makeup or something.

She shook herself. No. Misty needed to just talk to him, tell him how she felt.

Now she just had to figure out exactly what she was feeling.

Mia interrupted her thoughts with a nudge to her ribs. “We’re not busy. Let’s go hear his plan for the signage and that SOE stuff you were talking about.”

“SEO,” Misty corrected.

“Whatever. Maybe we can get y’all talking about S-E-X and you can fucking relax for once.”

“Good Lord, Mia.”

The most innocent of looks crossed Mia’s face. “What? We need signs. You need sex. Let’s do this.”

 

Chapter seven

On Wednesday, Chris left the coffee shop early to get ready for poker night. It was at Crash’s house for the first time ever, since Chris was keeping himself close to Misty. Of course, as soon as all the guys got to her house, he second-guessed himself. Crash didn’t have the guys here for a reason—a reason that was all too clear as soon as Ace walked in the door, eagerly looking around for Misty.

“I’m finally allowed into the Princess’s domain. Where is she? I could use some eye candy tonight.” Ace was a pig, gave men everywhere a bad name, and Chris felt a protectiveness well up inside him. He wished he’d had the foresight to tell Misty to hang out with some girlfriends tonight. Although he wouldn’t be able to watch her if she was out with friends, and no telling what sort of trouble she could get herself into.

“She’s not home from work yet,” Chris answered tersely.

“You are a lucky fucking dog. That’s all I gotta say.”

Hopefully, it would be all he would say, but Chris doubted it.

When Gollum and Vegas got there, and they all had drinks in hand, Vegas lit up a cigar, prompting Chris to open up the window.

“Dude. Not my house.” Ace snorted something about it really being Crash’s house, but Chris ignored him.

Vegas, earning his name for being from Nevada, sneered at him. “Oh, I’m sorry. Will the little woman get pissed at the smell?”

“No, I’m just thinking there may be a reason Crash never let you guys play here, and that may be it.”

The noise of the front door opening, followed by, “Chris, what the hell is that stench?” made them all turn to watch Misty walk in.

Ace grinned wickedly. “Riii-iight. I’ll bet that’s it.”

Chris wanted to throw a blanket over Misty and bundle her into another room to keep the three pairs of eyes off her but knew that would only open him up for a round of teasing. So he held his breath, gritted his teeth together, and hoped for the best.

She stood there, with her hands on her hips, eyes on Vegas and the offending cigar. Dressed in her typical knee-length skirt and top, Chris knew she was tired from working all day, but she was tense with the aggravation. Her eyes floated to the open window, and then landed on Chris.

“Did you tell him he could smoke in my house?”

Vegas rolled the cigar between his teeth, scooching it over to the corner of his mouth before speaking around it. “It’s Crash’s house, so I don’t see how Nova has any say in what I do in it.”

Stomping over to Vegas, she took the offending cigar from between his lips, smashing it to smithereens in the ashtray in front of him before taking the entire ashtray and throwing it out the window. “Well, he’s not here, and I’m saying you do not have proper authorization to put this shit in my lungs.” Her tone of voice would have brought a drill sergeant to his knees. Spinning on her heels, she continued her stomping into the hallway and down to her room.

The men sat speechless and all jumped when her door slammed shut. Chris chuckled under his breath. And then Ace echoed his thoughts.

“Damn. She’s hot when she’s mad.” He turned to Chris. “You tapped that yet, man?”

Ace’s words, even though they very effectively mirrored Chris’s own ideas on the situation, still made him see red. His entire body was hot with rage, but he just clamped his teeth together. He wanted to tell Ace to shut the fuck up but knew that would add fuel to his incessant rambling about Misty. And he just wanted the dude to keep his trap shut.

“Raise,” he managed, tossing a chip blindly onto the pile in the center of the table. Maybe if he could get their head back on the game, they would change the subject. Of course, in that moment, when they all went back to studying their cards, the shower started running and Chris groaned under his breath.

Vegas started making suction noises with his lips and tongue, and Ace laughed at him. Gollum, to his credit, only smiled weakly at Chris. Gollum had earned his nickname for his attachment to the wife he had when he’d enlisted, threatening to cut anyone who talked about her, and then he made the mistake of calling her “Precious.” Chris suddenly understood exactly where he was coming from.

“You guys aren’t following the bro code very well,” Chris managed to grit out. “Do you not remember what the fuck happened to her? And you guys are acting like she’s a prized heifer at an auction.”

“Just because we talk doesn’t mean we’ll act. We know the code, Nova,” Vegas spat out, emphasizing his name. “Do you?”

Did he? He’d been fantasizing about Misty since… forever. Since he’d first seen her picture. But that didn’t mean he would act on those fantasies, did it? The boner in his pants nearly every time she was around told him he totally would if she made a move. But the framed pictures of Misty and Crash together with their parents told him he wouldn’t.

“Games before dames, asshole.” He tried, once again, to get their mind back on poker and off the naked woman in the bathroom down the hall.

“Fold,” Gollum said before slapping down his cards and getting up from the table. “I’m going outside for some air. That cigar smoke smells like shit.” He looked over at Chris meaningfully before leaving out the back door.

“Yeah, me, too.” He tossed his cards on the table and followed Gollum out, allowing Vegas and Ace to talk shit without him.

The night air was warm and muggy, and walking outside was like getting slapped with a wet towel. Gollum sat on a chair outside, swigging from his bottle in silence. Chris sat next to him, and he looked over with fake surprise on his features.

“Hey, Nova.”

“I still hate that name,” Chris responded wryly.

“Yeah, and I hate mine, but it’s mine. And I’m sort of proud of it. It certainly made Theresa happy when I explained it to her.”

Chris didn’t say anything because Misty’s distaste with him was too busy flashing in his brain. Why did every thought center around her? He couldn’t do anything without fucking wondering what she would think about it, and that was so out of character with him, he didn’t know what to make of it.

“You know, I notice things,” his buddy said quietly.

“Oh yeah? Like what?” Chris wasn’t sure he wanted to know but was making conversation.

“Like the fact that you had the picture of her hanging by Crash’s bed memorized because you stared at it every night we were in Iraq. That you quit talking about sex after she’d been attacked. And that you were about to spit nails in there just now.” Gollum ticked the shit off on his fingers as he spoke, and with each finger, Chris got a little antsier.

He shifted in his seat, re-crossing his arms. “So?”

“You like her, dude,” he stated the obvious. “Who’s the last chick you banged?”

That was an easy one. “I don’t know. Some random chick when we got home.” He remembered it only because he’d hated it. He’d come home from the deployment horny but couldn’t get into any of the girls at the bar he went to. He’d finally just picked one and took her to back to her place for something completely meaningless. The entire thing was so typical of him, but he hated it. And hadn’t done it since.

“Necessity?”

“What’s your fucking point?” Chris tried not to be mad at his friend—they’d been through too much together—but he was stepping on Chris’s dick right now. Way too close to the mark.

“You’re in love with Misty, and staying here with her without telling her is killing you.” The simplicity with which he spoke the words only served to make Chris angrier. Of course, he was angry with himself, not Gollum. Gollum was right. But there was an image to uphold. If word got back to Crash that Chris was having carnal thoughts about his sister, slamming his dick in a door wouldn’t be enough.

“Are you for real right now? Did you leave your dick at home with Theresa? Does she carry your balls around in her purse?”

Gollum just laughed at him. “You’re not talking about her like the other guys. If you didn’t like her, you’d be talking about banging her four ways to Sunday like those guys in there are doing.”

Chris looked back in the window to see Ace and Vegas making crude gestures and laughing their damn asses off. Vegas had lit up another cigar, probably in an attempt to get Misty to come back out and yell at him again.

“Just think about it. I gotta go. I promised Theresa I wouldn’t be late tonight.”

“Yeah. Cool.” Chris didn’t know what else to say.

Chris had no idea how long he sat outside thinking. He was vaguely aware of the guys laughing, and then later the putting up the chips and leaving. Still, he sat.

Thinking.

Mostly, he thought about Crash. Dude would be more than pissed if he came home to find out he’d been unable to keep his hands off his kid sister. They’d gone through BCT together, and Chris didn’t think he’d have made it without Crash’s encouragement. Chris hadn’t wanted to be there. His dad was career Army and believed every young man needed to serve his country in at least one tour before going on to manhood, or some shit. Chris was born with a dick, so he enlisted at his dad’s insistence. Crash was the one who wanted to be all he could be. Crash was the one who convinced him to apply to Ranger school, and lord, it had made his dad proud.

In Iraq, they’d been beside one another for some pretty hairy shit—roadside bombs, kids with guns, women being treated like abominations. They’d come out of it brothers. And Crash was trusting him to take care of his sister without fucking her.

He couldn’t let his brother down.

Going inside to clean up, Chris’s thoughts continued to wander. He opened more windows to let out asswipe’s cigar smoke and continued along his same train of thought.

Gollum was right. He did like Misty. A lot. He loved her brother, but his feelings for her were different, and he couldn’t explain it. But he would do anything for her he would do for her brother. Dodge bullets? Check. Dart into traffic? Check. Sacrifice himself for her safety? Absofuckinglutely.

She’d been weird with him since he’d burned her. Chris supposed she was still mad about it, even though she’d said it was okay. Typical female—saying one thing and meaning another. But that thought felt shallow. Deep down, Chris didn’t think that was it. So that meant there was something else bothering her, and since she’d been so standoffish with him, it had to be something Chris had done. Right?

But what had he done?

He slammed the dishwasher shut, trying to avoid his own thoughts. What the hell? He’d never been in love before and didn’t know that’s what was happening here, and if so, what the next step was supposed to be. Their situation was unique, and he was prone to overanalyze on a good day. He didn’t know what to do with his feelings right now.

He was overwhelmed to say the least, and the woman he hadn’t seen since her shower was feet away, sleeping soundly.

Which was what he should be doing, too.

 

Chapter eight

Misty knew this dream, and as soon as the dirty clothes filled her vision, she screamed at herself to wake up, but she couldn’t move. Couldn’t talk. Couldn’t make a sound.

The dirty bandana filled her mouth, and had for days, the duct tape keeping it from slipping. Her mouth was beyond dry, and her gag reflex had given up a long time ago. Her jaw was probably dislocated, too. Her arms and legs were bound, so as much as she struggled, she was pinned. Panic rose from her insides, radiating outward in a debilitating wave.

She couldn’t move if she wanted to because everything hurt. Every part of her body seemed bruised or broken, her insides and her outsides. She was beyond hungry and thirsty. The worst part of this was she had no idea what had happened to her. She knew she was dreaming, but that didn’t make it any better. When she was awake, she knew what had happened. In her dream, she didn’t. She couldn’t remember anything.

She fucking hated this dream.

Misty couldn’t tell where she was, nor could she remember what had happened. All she could do was look around her limited view. She was on the floor, a cold one, concrete by the look from her peripheral vision. Smells assaulted her, too. Not pleasant ones. Sweat, grime, stale, musty odors, like the bottom of a gym bag. She’d tried to roll over yesterday, onto her back, so she could at least see the ceiling, but sharp stabs of pain had flown up her arms and legs, ending in her torso to radiate outward, pulsating like electromagnetic waves.

So she laid still and tried to figure out what the fuck had happened to her.

It looked like the floor of a garage. There was unused gym equipment in the corner and a bicycle hanging from a rack next to a canoe with paddles dangling off the sides.

Then she heard the other woman screaming. She wasn’t alone in this hell. As soon as Mia’s muffled cries filtered into her consciousness, Misty knew she would die. Knew it with a certainty that stunned her. In her dream, she didn’t know that was Mia, but she knew. The other woman was suffering horrendously, and she would, too. She would never see her parents again, her brother would never tease her, she’d never get the opportunity to break up with her boyfriend and meet a new one.

Misty had been left out here to die a slow, agonizing death, complete with broken bones, lacerations, and God knows what else.

She screamed. Not outwardly, no. That would be too simple. Besides, she was gagged. No. She screamed inside her soul, which was far worse.

Her screams filled her head until they took over her vision, in a way that was only possible in dreams. Red filtered the dirty clothes she was piled in, then black.

The screams got louder.

“Shhh… Misty… It’s okay… It’s a dream…” That voice. She knew that voice, but it wasn’t her brother. It was someone else.

“Wake up, honey, it’s okay…” Steely arms wrapped around her, and as Misty fought for consciousness, she fought the arms, too. But they were too strong. “He’s dead. You’re safe with me.”

Suddenly, her eyes flew open to the darkness of her room and Chris’s piercing blue gaze.

“Chris?”

“Yeah, honey, it’s me.” He tucked her head into the crook of his chin, shushing her and rubbing her back. She tried to relax into his embrace but failed.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for. We’ve all had them,” he murmured into her hair, still stroking her back. She curled her body into his embrace, his warmth, his safety—remembering the day she was rescued.

“I was too loud.”

Chris spoke in a low murmur, almost a whisper, “What?”

“That’s why he didn’t…” She couldn’t say the word this time. It was too dark in the room. The nightmare too close. “…do anything with me. I was too loud. He gagged me, but I kept yelling. Then he decided he couldn’t break me, so he dumped me in the garage floor, with all the garbage and dirty clothes and stuff. I was too loud. He beat me.” Chris’s grip on her tightened, but he didn’t say anything, instead leaving her to her own thoughts.

Jordan had found her, and then Ryan had stayed with her until the ambulance got there, but neither of them were focused solely on her like Chris was right this moment. She was eternally grateful for them because without them being there she would have certainly died.

When her heartbeat calmed, she tried to extricate herself from his grasp, but he didn’t release her. She gave in and wrapped her arms around his slender torso.

“Chris?”

“Yeah?” His voice was gravelly, probably husky with sleep. She’d woken him up.

“I’m sorry for waking you up. You can go back to bed now.”

He pulled his head back so she could see his face. “What does Crash do when you have these nightmares?”

Of course, he was here for her brother. Not her. She tried to shrug, but he was still holding on pretty tightly. “Nothing much. He sits on my bed and pats me awake, makes sure I know where I am, hugs me, and goes back to bed.” She tried again to get out of his grasp. “Really, it’s not that big of a deal. It’s just a bad dream.”

“Misty, you were screaming like a damn banshee. You scared the hell out of me. Just let me hold you a minute.” His voice was fierce, and she again felt bad for scaring him.

“I’m sorry.” She was nearly asleep or else she surely wouldn’t be apologizing so much. She hated people who apologized for stuff they had no control over.

“Just… shut up and let me hold you.” He clamped his chin over the top of her head, and she satisfied herself with smelling his neck.

God, he smelled good; nothing like the heap of dirty clothes she’d been found in. His scent dissipated the remnants of the dream.

So she’d just go back to sleep. Misty was really comfortable right then, curled up in Chris with her arms around him while he lazily stroked her back. Idly, her arms traced the contours of his back while she inhaled his clean scent. He’d showered before bed, and the smell of his body wash drifted over her while she calmed down.

When he spoke again, his tone was still soothing, and she almost missed what he said, thinking it would be more platitudes.

“What have I done wrong, Misty? You’ve shut me out.” She pulled her head back to see his eyes squeezed shut, as if he was actually scared of something.

“I thought we might be getting too close. You seemed to want me to pull back. I don’t know.” This was a weird conversation to have right now. She’d just come out of a freaky fucking dream and he wanted to talk about her feelings?

He opened his eyes, the confusion in them vivid. His grip on her tightened, and she curled around his body, not ashamed of her reaction to his strength. She needed it right now. “I don’t know what I want, Misty. Sometimes I have to remind myself you’re my best friend’s sister, but hearing you scream like that just took ten years off my life.” Pain radiated from his voice and he rested his head on top of hers again. “So, fuck Andrew and his patting. I’m going to hold you tonight.” His voice cracked with emotion, and Misty felt awful for scaring him.

“Okay,” Misty whispered, not about to put a stop to this. She liked it too much.

 

 

Chapter nine

Tonight was the Chamber mixer, and Chris hadn’t said much to Misty since the night she’d had that nightmare. And that was almost a week ago. It frustrated Misty because he was nice and didn’t seem mad at all. He just wasn’t talking to her. Not really.

There was a lot of small talk at dinner and clean-up, but that was it. And she missed him. She missed laughing with him, flirting with him, being mad at him, all of it. But now, it was like they were just roommates when she’d thought they were friends.

Oh well.

Like always, Misty worked her butt off to get the coffee shop open while Chris sat in his corner by the window where he could see everybody. She had just taken the last pan of muffins out of the oven when Ghost walked in.

“Hey, Misty. How’s things?”

It was a rare greeting from the taciturn man, but she smiled brightly in response. “Great, Ghost. How are you?”

He walked up to the counter and slid his card across the space to her. It was blank, only a phone number on it. She flipped it over to look at the back—nothing. “I wanted to ask you a favor. I’ve been in here on a job, but I’ve gotten called away on something else.” His lowered voice told her to not ask questions, even though she suddenly had a million. “I want you to promise to call me if you have anything weird happen here, okay? Something not normal, no matter what it seems to be. A lot of chatter has come from your Wi-Fi hotspot.”

“O-kay.” She drew out the word, hoping he would answer her unspoken questions. But he didn’t. She’d known he wouldn’t. Instead, he gestured toward Chris.

“Your boyfriend’s in the service, isn’t he?”

Misty was quick to correct him. “He’s just a friend, and yes. He’s former Army.”

Ghost nodded before going over, sliding in next to Chris, and speaking to him in hushed murmurs. Misty would have gone over to eavesdrop, but she figured they were smarter than that, and she had customers to take care of. Mia wasn’t here yet, so it was all on her.

With a sigh, she got to work.

It was about an hour later when Saul showed up, and since it was Friday, he ordered his latte with whipped cream before sitting at the counter to stare at her out of the corner of his eye while he relished it slowly. It didn’t take Chris ten minutes before he was at the poor boy’s elbow. Ghost and his warnings must have spooked Chris, as he was tense and agitated. Misty drifted over.

“You don’t see what this place is all about? The signs around?” Chris pointed to the new sign above his head that explained the shop’s profits went to victims of stalking and violent crimes against women. Misty’s eyes rose to the sign as she listened with growing horror at what Chris was saying. “She was attacked by a man who stalked her at the coffee shop where she worked, and if you don’t quit your mooning around, I’m going to make sure you don’t have a ball sack anymore. Shit or get off the pot, man. If you’re going to ask her out, just fucking do it. Quit sitting here and staring at her like a fucking psychopath.”

She dropped her eyes to where Saul sat, mouth agape, as he stared at Chris. His eyes cut to Misty, who was angrier than she’d ever been, and then to the floor. The blush was creeping up his neck, mottling his skin.

“Right,” Saul muttered before gathering his things for a hasty retreat. Customers stared. Misty had never been this embarrassed in her life.

“Get in the back store room, right fucking now,” she seethed in a stage whisper. Then she turned to the next in line at the counter and helped customers until Mia walked in the door, Jordan and Evan in tow. “Thank God. I’ve got to go deal with something. You can handle this a minute, right?” She’d had little time to gather her thoughts; she only knew she was about to serve Chris his ass on a platter.

Striding back into the store room off the kitchen, Misty flung open the door to find a slightly sheepish Chris standing there. Good. He’d apparently had time to think about his actions.

“Do you have any idea what you just did?” Her finger rapped against his chest, poking the rock solid piece of flesh. “Do you?”

“I’m sorry. I was just pissed at him doing that.” His voice was subdued, apologetic. “That’s all.”

“That’s my story, Chris. Mine. You don’t get to run around telling everyone what happened to me.” His face paled, but she continued, “Saul was a great customer, the best. The kind who comes in every day on his morning break and sits for a half hour. Then comes back. Now, thanks to you, he’s not coming back. I just lost a customer.” She turned her back on his pathetic expression. The regret in his eyes made her feel bad, but she wanted to finish. Running her fingers through her hair, she pressed on, “What if he goes back and tells his friends there’s some guy here pissing all over any other guy who comes in? Huh? Are you going to do that, Chris? Are you going to yell at Ghost next? Or Jordan? Are you going to chase off all my regulars just because you don’t have the guts to ask me out?”

Wait. What? Did she just say that?

“I mean…”

“You’re right,” he interrupted her, stepping closer. His eyes captured hers, sweeping across her face and landing on her lips. Chris opened his mouth to speak but didn’t, instead swiping his tongue across his lips. “Fuck,” he said right before he grabbed her hair and pulled her close. When his mouth was a hair’s breadth away from hers, he muttered, “Stop me.”

Misty shook her head. “Nu-uh.” She’d been trying to come up with a way to make this happen since he’d moved in. She’d be crazy to stop it now. And then his lips were on hers in a kiss that needed, demanded, and then took. At first, she was struck numb with the feel of his mouth on hers—hot, raging hard. Then she gripped his biceps, and his lips softened. His hands in her hair tilted her head to the side and deepened the kiss, his tongue conquering the insides of her mouth.

His hands slid down her sides and gripped her waist tightly, pulling her against the bulge in his jeans. He broke the kiss. “Do you feel this, Misty? This is yours. All fucking yours. Every time I see you all I want to do is bury this inside you.” His breath was ragged as if he’d just run a marathon. “You have all the power over me.” He tugged her against his erection, long and hard. “Over this.” He ground it into her, and she let out a whimper. She was hot, and wet, a pulsating need vibrating from deep inside her. She couldn’t speak. Even if she did speak, she probably wouldn’t recognize her voice. And then there was the whole word thing. Misty had no idea what to say. “The first chance I get, I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll forget your own name, Misty. That’s what I want to do to you. Need to do to you.” He dropped his head to her neck, plying her with more kisses as his hands bunched up her skirt.

The feel of his lips on her skin sent waves of sensation rocketing through her. It was electric. She moaned, gripping him tighter. Her skin was on fire; she craved release, and his hands on her were exquisite torture. A low moan escaped her throat, but she clutched him tighter, willing him to turn his words into actions. She hadn’t been with a man since her ex, and Chris was already doing way more for her than he had, and all he was doing was kissing her. Although his talented hands were making short work of her skirt.

“Misty, did you— Oh, shit. Sorry,” Mia had walked into the store room but backed out with a giggle when she witnessed what was going on. “My bad,” she called out as she closed the door.

Chris’s breathing was ragged, his face buried in Misty’s neck. Each inhale dragged cool air against her heated flesh, and each hot exhale sent a wave of shivers down her spine. She felt his teeth as he smiled into her skin.

“Later, Misty. We’re going to finish this later.” It was a promise, spoken like a threat, and Misty couldn’t wait.

“Are you still going to the Chamber thing with me?” He nodded, his face still buried in her shoulder. “Are you going to scare off any more of my customers?”

Still speaking into her neck, his words came out a groan, “Yeah, about that…” His arms went down around her thighs, and he hitched her whole body up onto a shelf. “I make no guarantees.” He ground himself against her panties, his erection still in full force. “Part of me wants to fuck you right here, so you smell like me all damn day and anybody sniffing around will know you’re taken.”

His dirty words made her weak. Nobody had ever spoken to her like that, and Misty found she liked it. A lot. She slouched against him, her lips seeking his. He laid a chaste kiss on her lips before straightening her skirt and backing away. “But you’ve got a shop to run, and I am an adult, not a randy goat, so I’ll let you get back to business.”

Disappointment radiated from her and she didn’t even try to hide it. “So you’re going to get me all worked up and leave me like this?” she asked, her own voice no more than a whisper. His eyes gleamed wickedly at her in the dark, his hair tousled, and his own clothes disheveled.

“Gives you something to look forward to, doesn’t it?” Motioning to the bulge in his pants, he continued, “Go on. I need to get this under control before I go back out there.”

With a huff, she jumped down from the shelf. “Fine.” Misty couldn’t resist pressing herself against him for one last kiss, though, before she went back outside to be around people, pretending she wasn’t as turned on as she’d ever been.

Thankfully, customer turnover at a coffee shop was quick, so there weren’t a lot of customers still there from when she’d disappeared. Except Mia gave her a knowing smile but didn’t say anything. Yet.

 

Chapter ten

Chris watched Misty work the rest of the day, her periodic looks directed at him, tempting him mercilessly. He could only assume she was reliving the stolen moments in the store room, as was he. Each time the memory passed over him, he couldn’t wait for more of her. Chris could kiss Misty until he took his dying breath, but the anticipation of more overwhelmed him.

Ghost had been adamant about his warning about Misty’s shop, and Chris wanted to take him seriously. He kept his eyes sharp on the surroundings, but he couldn’t get his mind completely off Misty and that kiss.

Tonight, she would belong to him.

They were riding together now, as it seemed stupid for him to follow her around. Her scent in his car was cool. He saw all the familiarity of his ancient Mustang but with the added benefit of her smell and the occasional ponytail holder she left behind. It just reminded him of her and the fact that tonight was the night. He’d lived with her for nearly a month, impossibly earning her trust, this woman who was stronger than anybody he’d ever known. She actually wanted to be with him.

He would make it worth everything to her. She wouldn’t regret it.

They’d been mostly silent on the way home, and when they pulled into her driveway, Chris shut off the engine, turning to her before she could get out of the car.

“Are you nervous about tonight?”

“A little. There are going to be a lot of big-wigs there to network with, and I’m a little scared I’ll come off as just a barista, not a business owner.” Misty looked at her lap, picking at a hangnail.

Chris grabbed her fingers, squeezing them in his hand, more than a little disappointed she wasn’t thinking about being with him. “You’ll do great. How could anybody think otherwise? Besides, it’ll be a stuffy thing and most people will be nervous.” He brought her fingers to his lips, kissing them then returning them to his lap, where he stroked her palm. Her hands were a little rough from working and washing dishes all day, but they were softer than his, and he relished the feel of them. They were a strong woman’s hands—rough and smooth at the same time. “But I was asking about after the mixer. Are you nervous about being with me? You’re not talking about it much.”

She blushed, a rarity for her. Sure, she flushed red when she was mad. And he’d discovered she did it when she was horny, but this side of her was one Chris hadn’t seen much of.

“Um… Sure I’m nervous. It’s been a while for me, and… I don’t know what to expect. I wasn’t sure you weren’t talking out of the heat of the moment or something. I mean, we don’t have to do anything if you don’t want.”

Chris laughed. He couldn’t help it. She was cute when she was nervous. “That’s my line.” He tucked a stray piece of hair that had come loose from her bun behind her ear. “But yes, to answer your question, I meant every word I said earlier. And I’m looking forward to it.” Chris’s fingers led the way down her neck, touching the smooth column of skin before wrapping themselves around it and pulling her head toward him. He couldn’t kiss her lips, though, or he wouldn’t stop, so he settled for a chaste kiss on her forehead. “Now, let’s go get ready and get this over with.” As she opened her car door, he muttered to himself, “Because I can’t fucking wait.”

***

Misty had been a wreck since the kiss. She was nervous about the Chamber mixer, for the reasons she’d told Chris, but honestly, she hadn’t given it two thoughts since the kiss in the store room. Now, she had sex to worry about, too.

She showered quickly and blew out her hair, trying to tame her unruly locks. She already had an outfit picked out, since she knew she wouldn’t have a lot of time to fret over it after work today, but now with the whole Chris thing, she was second-guessing herself.

She wanted to look nice for him. It had been before Trent since she’d wanted this with a guy. Misty couldn’t lie to herself about that. Her relationship with Trent had been so stale from the start. Misty rarely cared what Trent thought about her appearance. Now there was someone she wanted to please, and a squeal nearly erupted from her throat as she tossed the drab little black dress to the floor and dug around in the closet finding a blue chiffon, tea-length, halter-topped dress that would match Chris’s eyes. Slipping on a pair of black patent-leather heels, she declared herself ready. Misty switched everything over to a small silver clutch, added a stack of business cards, and walked out to the living room.

Chris sat on the couch, waiting for her, and when he stood, her breath caught in her throat. She’d never seen him in dress slacks. Or a jacket. A tie hung loose around his neck. Chagrined, he walked toward her.

“Can you tie this? I feel stupid, like I should just give up my man card or something.” His eyes grazed her from top to bottom. “Especially going out with someone like you.”

She giggled and slipped it from his neck, wrapping it around her own. “Sure, but I can only tie them if I’m wearing them. Hang on a sec.” Making short work of his tie, Misty slipped it off and Chris ducked his head so she could put it over his head. He stared at her while she pulled it taut and straightened it. “How did you make it out of the Army without knowing how to tie a tie?” She smiled at him, trying to diffuse the tension in the room.

“Your brother helped me out. But swear to God, if he comes up again in conversation tonight, I’m just going to shoot myself in the foot.” He looked at her for a laugh, and she complied, even though it sounded weak. “You’re fucking beautiful. I really like this dress.” His hands rested on her hips, his thumbs rubbing over the fabric slowly. Goose bumps rose on her flesh and a shock of heat made her pussy weep. This man would be the death of her.

She gave the tie one final adjustment before patting it into place. “You clean up pretty good yourself.”

Tugging her closer, Chris kissed her and she lost herself. The anticipation she’d felt all day let loose as soon as his lips touched hers. What he’d no doubt intended to be something innocent, she turned into something hungry. And he reciprocated with a low noise in the back of his throat. His hands started tugging as his mouth moved—his tongue sucking and swirling. Misty felt his massive hands creep around her backside, hitching her skirt up. As they explored, she slid her hands under his jacket, feeling the muscles on his back, and then going lower. His ass was hard as a rock, as she’d suspected, and as she squeezed—exploring it—she barely noticed he’d gone under her dress. But when his finger slid around the elastic of her panties, she shivered with anticipation.

With a mix of a triumphant roar and needy growl, he lifted her up and set her body on the credenza behind her. He kissed her neck while his fingers pulled her panties aside and plunged into her wet heat.

“Oh God, Chris!” That was all she could muster as his fingers went to work, his lips branding her. Her mind was a turbulent mess—nothing but rough seas—as his touch brought her higher and higher. His hand gripped the top her dress, moving it aside for his mouth to suckle on her breast.

Chris rolled her nipple around on his tongue as his fingers continued thrusting in and out of her. Misty was helpless to do anything. She wanted to touch him, but he was wearing too many clothes, so she just grabbed handfuls of his hair and pulled.

He was a man on a singular mission. Chris’s movements were frantic as his mouth and fingers brought her the pleasure she craved.

When his thumb circled her clit, Misty shattered. She’d ridden the waves of the tempestuous sea, and as the waves broke, she trembled her release with quaking shudders.

Chris raised his head, his cheeks marked with deep red slashes of color and a goofy grin on his lips as he brought his hand to his mouth and cleaned her essence off his fingers before straightening her dress.

She attempted to smooth down his hair with a sheepish sound.

He stood erect and smoothed his jacket before holding out his elbow to her. “Just a little something to take the edge off. You ready?”

She could hardly speak, but she tried anyway. “But… Wh-what about you?” The bulge straining the front of his pants looked painful.

He shrugged. “It’ll go away. I’m not nervous about the mixer. You were the one who needed that.” His smirk showed off the dimples, and holy hell, it took her breath away. Not that she’d recovered.

On shaky legs, Misty managed to follow Chris out of the house. She wasn’t about to tell him it wasn’t the mixer she was nervous about.

 

Chapter eleven

“Jesus Christ, there’re like, five hundred people here,” Misty muttered under her breath when they walked into the ballroom of the Civic Center. Her hand tightened in Chris’s and she welcomed his grip as he squeezed back.

“You got this, girl.” He winked down his shoulder at her, and then said, “You want to go get a glass of boxed wine?” He jerked his chin over to the bar, a good-natured smirk firmly planted on his face.

She sighed. “Sure.” In spite of Chris’s efforts, her nerves were once again rattled just seeing all the people there she was supposed to speak with. Squaring her shoulders, Misty raised her chin in a false gesture of confidence and took his elbow as he led the way through the crowd to the bar.

Craning her neck, desperately seeking a familiar face, Misty watched the crowds mingle. This was supposed to be a mixer? There were so many people here, it was overwhelming. Surely these weren’t all small business owners in Austin? If so, she had a lot of competition. Sure, they probably didn’t all own coffee shops, but still…

She and Chris got glasses of wine and walked over to support a wall and get their bearings. All the people were just too much to deal with right away. A couple next to her were talking about some emergency senate session the governor was calling, and Misty absently wondered if that would bring her business. She hoped so but couldn’t be certain.

“Did you bring lots of business cards?” Chris asked in her ear.

She nodded. “Yes, I did. But I don’t know who to give them to. I can’t just walk up to a random stranger and start talking.” Opening her clutch, she pulled out the stack of cards. “I told myself I wouldn’t leave until I’d passed them all out.” She frowned at the offending cards, tempted to toss them in the air and make it rain before making a break for it.

Grabbing the stack of cards in one hand, and Misty’s elbow with the other, Chris said, “Well, then, let’s get to gabbing.”

Chris broke the ice for her. “We’ll make it a game. You can’t give your card to people wearing the same color dress or tie unless they ask for it. We’ll start with red. Find someone in red.”

“Okay.” She looked around the room, finding several red dresses. One was on a woman who looked just as misplaced as Misty felt, so she pointed her out. “Her.” Together, they made their way to the woman, who looked relieved to find someone to talk to.

They made their way around the room, talking to various people about her coffee shop, as well as their businesses. She found out way more about the local politics than she wanted to. As a shop owner right next to the capitol building, Misty made it a point not to get involved in politics. She just found things easier that way. But with the upcoming emergency senate session, everyone was discussing it, especially the planned protests involving the refugee crisis and increased security measures that were in place.

“I heard Delta Forces were here. I didn’t even know they did things on our own soil,” one woman remarked.

Her husband replied, “Nobody really knows what the Delta Forces do. They’re probably monitoring this event. I bet they’ve got mics hidden under the tablecloths.”

Misty couldn’t tell if the man was serious or not but didn’t question him further. Instead, she politely excused herself and turned, running into a man who looked vaguely familiar.

“Ms. Walker? I’ve been looking for you. I was wondering if you’d make it tonight.” He held out his hand, a broad smile on his face. “Bert Starr, the Chamber Board for Relations.”

“That’s right! I remember. I’m sorry. There are so many people here, names are starting to muddle together,” Misty explained her total blank-out of the man’s name.

“I wanted to ask you if you or your business partner would be interested in our charity auction next spring? We auction off eligible bachelors and bachelorettes for local charities.”

“Um…” Her mind raced through possible excuses. She didn’t want to do that at all. She wasn’t even sure she would go. “I can tell you for sure my partner wouldn’t be interested, as she’s not eligible,” she rushed to explain, still trying to think of an excuse for herself.

“Misty won’t be eligible, either. I’m sorry.” Chris’s grip on her elbow tightened as he steered her away from the man whose mouth suddenly gaped open. “What a stupid question to ask you. Does he not know anything about you? And you’re here with me. What a fucking baboon.” Chris was seething. His teeth ground together, and as Misty smiled up at him, she saw the tick in his temple.

“You’re cute when you’re angry.” The thin line of his lips curved up slightly but not much.

“So are you. How many cards do you have left?”

“I gave my last one to that couple who thought the Delta Forces had mics hidden under the tables.”

“Right. Then let’s get the hell out of here.” His voice was impatient, yet held an edge of anticipation, quaking her to the core.

Her nerves jumped into overdrive. Misty had managed to quell them while she’d been so distracted with the people here, but the vague butterflies morphed into bats in her tummy. She now felt like she was housing the Congress Avenue Bridge in her belly, where all the tourists came at sunset to watch the bats take flight for the evening. Yup. All two million bats were now residing in her stomach.

She felt like she might throw up.

“We need to go eat,” Chris mumbled as he led the way to his car. “I’m starved.”

Misty assented, even though she didn’t think she could eat a bite. Not sure exactly why she was so nervous, she followed his lead. She didn’t mind waiting a little while longer.

***

Chris took her to a pizza by the slice place. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was on the way home, and it was fast. And the pizza wasn’t bad, either. But Misty only picked at the toppings on her slice and didn’t eat much.

“Not hungry?” He finished off his crust before starting his second slice. They were huge; he didn’t think he could eat more than two.

She shrugged. “Not really.” Her voice was funny, and he noticed yet another side of her he hadn’t seen before. The many sides of Misty Walker fascinated him.

“Look at me, Misty,” he put a bossy note in his voice, and her eyes rose.

“Tonight will be special, but we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” She smiled at him, but it wasn’t her normal full-on smile. Her bottom lip was turning white, trapped between worrying teeth. She was scared and he didn’t know why. Trying to allay her fears, he took another bite of his pizza and chewed, trying to decide which tactic to use.

“I used to look at your picture. A lot. When Crash wasn’t looking, I’d stare at it. He kept it near his bed. I’ve always thought you were gorgeous.” He took another bite, but the texture of the pizza was more like greasy sawdust between his teeth, so he pushed the rest of it back as he chewed. “Staying with you this month has been amazing, and I can’t lie, I want you. Bad. But I don’t want anything you don’t want. So the ball is firmly in your court, Misty. I swear this isn’t just a casual fuck for me. Far from it.”

Not at all. In fact, as far as Chris was concerned, Misty was the last woman he wanted in his bed for a while. Maybe even forever. Yeah… Forever had a nice ring to it.

As he watched her, Misty pulled an olive off her pizza and chewed it thoughtfully. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

She nodded and gave him a stronger smile than the one she had before. “Okay.”

He sort of wanted something a little more affirmative, but honestly, he would take what he could get. “Then shall we?” He rose and offered her his elbow. She nodded and took it as Chris’s heart soared.

***

The ride home was made in awkward silence. Misty’s tension was palpable, and it was compounded by the fact she’d never been this way about sex before. Yes, she was nervous with Chris. Based on what she knew about him, he’d been with a lot of women, and as much as she didn’t want to think about that, she couldn’t help it. His friends called him Casanova, for crying out loud. Misty didn’t want to be one in a long line of lays. She wanted to be special.

But his words before had told her she was special. And that put an entirely different spin on things, didn’t it? With all the women in his past, what if she couldn’t live up to whatever expectations he had?

She sighed without realizing it, and Chris chuckled in the seat next to her before reaching out for her hand and entwining her fingers with his, wordlessly. The gesture soothed her, calming her nerves a bit.

But she was still nervous. When they got to her house, Chris said, “Hang tight. Let me get the door for you.” He rushed around to her side of the car to open her door, a first for them. The way he moved with quick, furtive movements told Misty he wasn’t accustomed to acting like a gentleman and was making an effort. It was sweet.

She took the hand he held out to her, but when she rose and looked at his face, the intensity in his clear blue eyes took her breath away. His look told her he was all in, and she was suddenly nervous again.

Would she measure up?

Chris stopped her train of thought by gently pushing her against the car and taking her face in his hands. His earnest eyes bore into hers. “Stop thinking so much, Misty. Feel this. Feel what we can do together. It’s going to be incredible.” Then his lips touched hers.

His soft warmth invaded her senses, and her knees buckled. Chris held her up, though, pushing his body against hers, the heated metal of his car pressing against her back while his muscled hardness pressed against her front. His knee lodged between her thighs and she helplessly ground into it. She was mindless, needy, and loving every minute.

All the while, his tongue made love to her mouth in ways she’d never experienced. With soft nips of his teeth and gentle suckling motions, his lips and tongue meshed with Misty’s, conspiring to rip her to pieces in the most amazing way possible.

Chris kissed her into a pile of putty in her driveway before breaking the kiss and leaning his forehead against hers, breathing like he’d just finished a marathon. “Let’s take this inside, shall we?”

Misty refused to let her lack of self-confidence rule her thoughts; instead, allowing her hormones to reign supreme. She had no idea if it would really lead to a future between the two of them, but she was going to take tonight.

Chris led her by the hand inside her house, making sure to lock the door behind them, then continued on to her bedroom—no hesitation whatsoever. She took his lead, blind with lust.

Misty was burning, aching with need. She couldn’t stand still, her body humming with anticipation as Chris shut the door, advancing on her, eyes blazing. Chris was a predator, and Misty quaked—firmly in his sights.

His hands reached for her skirt, bunching the chiffon in his massive hands, lifting it slowly. Her knees gave out at the intensity of his stare, and she dropped to the bed. As he pulled the dress over her head and arms, the sudden chill of the room’s A/C hit her heated skin, goose bumps popping on the surface. Chris’s eyes followed the path of the goose bumps, searing them into submission with the heat of his gaze.

His finger trailed lightly around the outline of the tattoo on her ribcage, and she trembled under his touch. Chris’s hands shook, and Misty marveled at the power she held over him. Gently, he guided her to lie on the bed, where he continued watching her hungrily.

Chris clenched his fists at his sides, inhaling deeply and blowing out a long breath through his mouth before he shrugged out of his jacket and began fumbling with his tie. Misty made a move to help, but he stopped her with his firm voice. “No. Just stay there. You’re too damn beautiful. I need to look at you.”

As he unbuttoned his shirt, way too slowly, Misty saw the restraint in his shaking hands. He was trying to build anticipation, draw this out.

Misty trembled, suddenly realizing she was in way over her head. He had way more experience than she did. But she didn’t give a flying fuck.

Leaning back on her elbows, she watched him undress, revealing ridges and bumps no mortal male had a right to possess. When he was stripped to his underwear, she couldn’t stop her tongue from snaking out and wetting her top lip. Chris made a guttural noise in the back of his throat, lowering himself to the bed next to her.

His hand reached for her, and she turned toward him, tangling her fingers in his hair and yanking his head to hers for a kiss.

He complied for a little while, his tongue laving hers while his surprisingly smooth hands roamed her body, eliciting tingles of pleasure everywhere they reached. Chris lowered his head to her neck, dropping kisses along the skin leading to her breasts—suckling, nipping, and grazing with his teeth. Misty arched under him, needing his mouth everywhere, needing his hands all over her.

Again, he complied. His mouth embraced her breast, gentle suckling motions drawing more pleasure from them as his hands gripped her waist, her hips, her thighs. She succumbed to all the sensations, willing them to continue. This was a seduction of the best sort. He was exploring her body with his hands and tongue, worshiping her, cherishing her. And she was flying high on a cloud of sensation she never wanted to leave.

When his mouth reached the apex of her thighs, he stilled. A low groan sent cool air across her heated flesh, and she moaned as she arched her hips closer. Gripping her thighs, Chris plunged his tongue inside her folds, raking it across her sensitive skin, nipping her clit with his teeth.

“Oh… Fuck, Chris…” She felt his grin as his tongue went to work, and she sank her fingers into his hair, desperate for something to anchor her to reality. But the sensations were an exquisite madness, and she had to have more.

He lapped at her, flicking his tongue across her bud, hands stroking her thighs. When one of his hands reached up to her breast, squeezing a nipple between his fingers, she thought she would lose her mind.

Her toes were cramped, pressed into the mattress as she arched up into him. Her thighs shook with the tension as she groaned an inhuman noise that reverberated through the dark room. The air was thick with the sounds of their pleasure mingled with the smell of her desire. It was more than desire, though; it was a full-on craving. His mouth on her sex was like a declaration, something she never wanted to stop.

She was heated from the inside out, her skin humming with electricity as his tongue worked its magic. When Chris concentrated all his efforts on her pleasure, circling his tongue over her clit with maddening precision, the heat and electricity meshed together, and Misty exploded with a scream, fingers still tangled in his hair.

Chris grinned at her, his eyes crinkling over his perch between her legs. His hair stuck up wildly where she’d yanked on it, but his smile took what remained of her breath away. It was slightly cocky, as if he could have any idea of what he’d just done to her.

Then the predatory glaze came back, and he prowled up her body, his dangerously talented mouth meshing with hers in a languid kiss that promised so much… more.

She tasted herself on him, and mixed with the heady taste of Chris, it made her lightheaded. Misty wrapped her arms and legs around him, demanding to feel his skin everywhere.

Enveloping her in his embrace, Chris muttered into her neck, “I need you, Misty. This is it. No going back now.” His breath was ragged, and she got the impression he was talking to himself, allowing her to hear. “You’re mine.” At the last word, he plunged his thickness into her with a moan, and suddenly, Misty was stretched full.

“Oh, God…” That was all. Frozen together, as she adjusted to his size, words disappeared. No description could adequately describe what Misty felt right now. They were two halves of a whole, one entity, one life. He kissed her neck, sucking gently—sure to leave a mark—as he eased out of her before thrusting back in with another groan.

“So perfect.”

They found a rhythm together, slow, dreamy, and unhurried. They had all night, and Chris’s restraint was remarkable. His arms were under her shoulders, holding onto her, their bodies pressed fully together. Misty tilted her hips and rocked with him. It was a sweet torture. Where before, his tongue had set her body on fire, now it was a slow burn—one about to consume her and leave nothing behind.

Chris brought his head up, looking into Misty’s eyes, and the connection was palpable. His eyes were the darkest blue she’d ever seen, dark with reverence, yearning, and possession. A thrill went through Misty, and as she felt him move over her, she felt him. All of him. He was it.

Yes. After tonight, Misty would be ruined. Utterly, wretchedly, blissfully ruined.

Resting his forehead on hers, Chris looked deep into her soul as he made love to her body. Misty couldn’t stop the climax from coming even if she’d wanted to. As her body responded to his—sweaty skin gliding against skin—she felt the heat rise. The electricity firing just under her skin turned from a tingling hum to a high-voltage thrum. Tossing her head back into the pillow, her quaking body detonated in a rush of pleasure. Chris’s mouth dropped to her neck and he cried out her name, following her over into oblivion.

 

Chapter twelve

It was still dark when something woke Chris. He listened, allowing the nighttime sounds to drift into his awareness. All was quiet, so it must have been his imagination. But the naked warmth cuddled up next to him was very real.

Misty’s skin was so smooth, unvarnished. She was the realest thing that had ever happened to him. Last night and this morning had been amazing, hands down the most intense experience of his life. Memories of her face while they’d made love would stay with him for the rest of his life, and he hoped to make more of those memories. Lots more.

Deciding he hadn’t heard anything, he rolled over and snaked his arms tighter around her thin frame. She worked too hard. He wanted to talk to Evan and Jordan about the girls hiring more help so they didn’t have to work so much. There were a couple of people who worked with them, but they needed more. Misty needed time off to rest some.

Thoughts of relaxation with Misty took over. Laid-back evenings with a movie and popcorn on the sofa, lazy mornings in bed. Of course, they needed their own place. They couldn’t live with Crash.

“Motherfucker,” Crash’s voice sounded from the doorway. Ah… So Chris had heard something. And Crash looked pissed.

“Andrew?” Misty’s sleepy voice rose from under the covers next to him.

Crash advanced on Chris, tense and ready to fight. Chris held his hands up in a gesture of defeat, unwilling to fight his buddy.

“Hey, man. It’s not—” Chris started to explain, but Misty’s brother was having none of it.

Crash grabbed his hand and yanked him bodily from the bed, and Chris allowed it. He’d taken Chris in hand-to-hand combat training a couple of times. But he wasn’t willing to fight in front of Misty. Not right now.

“I told you! You were the one guy I trusted to not fuck my sister, and what happens? You’re fucking her!” He raised his fists to hit Chris, and he understood. He totally got it. Crash had trusted him, and he’d broken that trust. The bro code. He’d fucked up.

But he couldn’t see any way around it. He had to go against the loyalty to his best friend to be with the woman he loved.

“Dude, hang on a second—” Before he could finish his sentence, Crash’s fist smacked his jaw and pain radiated throughout his head, rattling his brain around. His neck snapped back, and the pain floated toward his shoulders, but Chris ignored it, looking his friend square in the eye.

Crash’s dark eyes were full of betrayal—a betrayal which bled over into murder. Chris was confident his best friend was about to kill him.

Misty was holding the sheet up to cover herself, sitting up in the bed on her knees. “Andrew, stop it.” Her voice was calm, and a ripple of admiration went through Chris.

“Dude, chill,” Chris tried to placate. If he could calm Crash down, he could explain how things had played. But Crash wasn’t seeing any of it.

“Do you have any idea? What? Are you planning on just fucking my sister and leaving in the night, like the asshole you are with women? Do you not understand what she’s been through? She doesn’t need that shit in her life. I trusted you,” Crash seethed as he bounced from foot to foot, ready to strike again. His eyes darted around wildly, finally landing on Chris’s nudity. “For fuck’s sake.”

“I love her.” Telling her brother first wasn’t the way Chris wanted it to happen. He’d imagined a candlelit dinner and an explanation he hadn’t uttered those words to any woman besides his mama. But Chris was about to screw things up royally between them, and he needed his friend in his life.

“I’m going to pretend this never happened. You make me fucking sick.” Crash’s fists dropped, and his shoulders went limp. He looked defeated. “Get some fucking clothes on. I’ve got a job and I need you away from her for today so I can think about this without worrying you’re fucking up her life.”

That hurt, but Chris nodded. He looked over at Misty, who was staring at him, eyes wide and unblinking. What if she didn’t feel the same way about him? Had this just been a fuck for her? He didn’t think so, but she’d never said as much. He didn’t expect her to love him the way he loved her, because she hadn’t been staring at his picture for years. But he’d hoped she at least cared for him.

God, she was beautiful with her hair all mussed from the long night of love-making and her mouth swollen from his kisses.

“We’ll talk about this later.” Chris leaned over and tangled his hands in Misty’s hair, pulling her toward him. “After I calm him down, we’ll talk. I mean it.” Kissing her possessively, he wanted to leave no doubt he’d meant what he said. He loved her. She was his. Now he just had to make her brother—his best friend—understand that.

***

After she heard the guys leave, Misty got up and got ready to go in and open the coffee shop. It was still a little early, but there was no hope of her getting any more sleep. She’d never seen Andrew so angry before. And Chris’s words were still banging around in her head. I love her. Stated so simply. She had no idea if he really meant it or if he was just trying to keep Andrew from beating on him more, but she liked hearing it.

Because she loved him, too. If she’d had any doubts before last night, they were now eradicated. The way he’d physically shown her so many acts of love and kindness in the last twenty-four hours had only opened the door to her feelings for Chris Malone.

She’d fallen face-first off the cliff and was mired in the love bog. She could only hope he’d meant what he said and wasn’t just trying to keep Andrew from killing him.

As Misty showered and dressed, she hummed absently, unable to stop herself. She danced around her house, getting ready, and then laughed at herself because she was acting so silly. But she didn’t care. Misty floated on a cloud to work, nothing seeping into the happy feelings she felt. Not even her brother.

Andrew would get over himself.

At her shop, Misty was surprised to see a crowd of people from all walks of life milling around. Due to the neighborhood, there were typically pan-handlers trying to get some spare change from the professionals who went in and out of the capitol building, as well as the tourists trying to get a great picture. But the people here were all races and income levels. She remembered the rumor about the emergency legislative session at the Chamber mixer last night and smiled to herself. She loved being in the middle of stuff. There was no doubt she would be busy today.

Misty sent a text out to her employees, asking if she could get all hands on deck today, then went into the kitchen to start the baked goodies before opening.

When a scraping at the loading bay had her seeking out the source of the noise, Misty was surprised to see Ghost standing in her kitchen. He wore all-black fatigues with all sorts of paraphernalia strapped to him, including guns. Her eyes widened. She knew it. He must be the Delta guys she’d heard about last night. Suddenly, his warning about the chatter on her Wi-Fi flooded back to her. She’d been so distracted with Chris and sex, she hadn’t given Ghost a second thought. Judging by the seriousness of his attire, she’d made a mistake there.

“Um, couldn’t wait until we opened for your coffee?” She laughed through her unease. This wasn’t like Ghost to scare the crap out of her. “I thought you were on a different assignment?”

His grim face didn’t do much to allay her fears. “I’m here now. Is there any way I can convince you not to open today? I’ve been working a case, and your coffee shop is smack dab in the middle of it,” he pleaded with her, which was a rare thing for the usually no-nonsense man.

She thought on it, but honestly, she couldn’t imagine anyone targeting her little shop for anything nefarious. Even with Misty’s background, she chose to believe the best from people. In her wildest imaginings, she just couldn’t come up with a picture of some suicide bomber walking into her store with dynamite strapped to his chest.

She couldn’t shut down on what was promising to be the busiest day she’d had so far. Thoughts of all those lost donations filtered through her head.

But Ghost seemed adamant.

“I’ll keep an eye out. If things look rough outside, I’ll close up shop. Okay?” She was trying for some sort of compromise, but Ghost’s face didn’t buy it.

He pressed on his throat and murmured something before turning and leaving the way he came.

Well, that was weird.

 

Chapter thirteen

“So, what’s up with the new job?” Chris was anxious to get his buddy thinking about something different. The cold shoulder on the way downtown was ridiculous. Crash drug Chris along, the least he could do was explain himself.

“It’s at Pierce Securities, with Jordan. He’s a cool guy. They’re all cool.” The square around the capitol building was full of protesters and law enforcement. Everyone was edgy. The protesters were looking to make the news and the police looked terrified of making the news. Media was everywhere, capturing it all on film.

“I filled out the paperwork a couple of months ago, and when I got fired from the surveying job, I called Jordan. City of Austin sub-contracted every security firm in the city to help out with this. It has potential to turn into a cluster-fuck.”

A shiver of unease coursed through Chris. “Then why am I here?”

“I’m keeping you away from my sister,” Crash growled at him, clenching his fists.

Holding his hands up in front of him to ward off more blows, Chris countered, “But if the city implodes, who’s going to be with her?” If she was in danger, he needed to be at the shop.

“Not you, fucktard,” was his friend’s only reply.

“I meant what I said. I love her, man.”

A huge guy with dark hair and eyes and more muscles than most men walked up to Crash. “Hey,” he acknowledged, eyeballing Chris. He looked familiar, but Chris couldn’t put his finger on it. He was still wrapped up in the possibility that Misty was in danger. And all the people milling around were making him more nervous.

“Hey, Quinten. This is Nova. Chris Malone. AKA Dickface,” Crash sneered the words, and Chris rolled his eyes.

Chris held out his hand for a shake, and the man’s grip nearly brought him to his knees. “Nice to meet you. Are you with the security team?”

Not much intimidated Chris, and this muscle head didn’t, either. Until he spoke.

“I’m the firm lawyer.”

“Wait. Are you the Haymaker?” It was like a clicking noise went off in his head. He’d seen the guy fight once a couple months back. Dude was fierce. And a lawyer? He never would have put those two together.

One nod, and his eyes narrowed on Chris, as if sizing him up.

Looking back at Crash, Quinten, AKA the Haymaker said, “You need to get mic’d up. We have to be in constant communication. Anything you see goes to the police. We’ve got strict instructions on this one. We can’t get too involved. We’re security only.” Holding out his hand to Crash with a tiny electronic device inside, he said, “Put this on. Things are about to get weird.”

***

Misty watched the line grow as her shop filled with people. Mia had texted that Jordan wasn’t letting her leave the house today, but some other employees had shown. So she had plenty of help, but things were getting crazy. At least people were buying coffee. She’d sold out of muffins and one of her girls was in the back, making more, as people were sitting in front of the window, watching the events unfold outside.

Protesters were lining the sidewalks with homemade signs, trying desperately to appear unaffected. Some of the protesters egged them on, but most just silently held their signs while law enforcement stalked around in front of them, hands itchy at their weapons.

Every once in a while, someone would yell out something which made the police jump a little, but nothing ever happened. Camera crews were around, trying to set up with reporters primping to get on camera. Men and women in suits tried to get through the line of people, and most went through unmolested, but more vocal protesters were there to yell in their faces.

It was tense to say the least.

Misty was watching for the oddness Ghost had warned her about, but so far, it just seemed like a relatively peaceful protest of the governor’s plans to keep refugees out of Texas. There was a group of Muslims protesting racial profiling, which Misty could see their side. But on the other hand, she could understand why the refugees weren’t being let in, especially with recent events in other parts of the country. The entire state of affairs had her torn. She wished there was a peaceful way to remedy the situation.

When Saul came in with another man, Misty was so glad to see the familiar face she didn’t immediately recognize the threat. When his friend turned and stuck a gadget in the closed door, she still didn’t see it. It wasn’t until Saul raised a gun in the air that she gasped. It looked like an automatic rifle, but it was small. She didn’t know much about guns, outside of the movies, but she didn’t let the size of this one fool her. Saul had brought a deadly weapon into her store. He fired one bullet, which had everyone in the shop ducking for cover and screaming.

“Everyone in the back, or I’ll blow the door!” His normally sedate expression was unfamiliar to her, wild and angry. It was like he was suddenly a different man, and a tremor of recognizable fear raced through her. She wished this feeling wasn’t so memorable to her, and she pushed down the memories of Michael’s house and bed that suddenly surfaced in her mind. She needed to save her customers.

Because Saul was holding up her coffee shop.

While everyone else raced for the back, trampling each other, the silent man stood by the front door. He wrote on a piece of paper and showed it to her before sticking it to the door so everyone who walked up could see it.

Door is rigged to explode when opened.

That’s what he’d stuck to it. An explosive device. Motherfucker was going to blow up her shop. Her shop.

Misty was pissed. Grateful the fear subsided, Misty embraced the anger.

While everyone else ran to the kitchen area, hands thrown over their heads, Misty stood at the register, fuming.

“Saul, what the fuck are you doing?”

The silent man walked back to the kitchen, raising his own gun in the air, shouting words in a different language into a walkie talkie. Saul faced Misty.

“You need to get in the kitchen, too, Misty.” Saul’s voice was back to the quiet she was used to, although his face was still angry.

“Why?”

He gave her a small smile, one she’d seen before, but only now realized the secrets it hid. “Just go.” He raised his gun level with her heart, and Misty was helpless to refuse him. Heart pounding, she raised her arms in a gesture of defeat while her mind raced.

In the kitchen, one of her employees—a girl not much younger than Misty—was doing her best to calm everyone. For the most part, they all followed Misty’s movements with wide, pleading eyes. Most of the customers were young; there was one family with a young boy, probably about eight years old. His wide blue eyes would haunt Misty’s dreams for a long time.

She had to put a stop to this. That little boy’s eyes were the stuff of all new and improved nightmares. Dirty clothes in a garage were nothing compared to what she would dream of if something happened to that child. Misty had to come up with a plan.

 

Chapter fourteen

On the other side of the square from Misty’s coffee shop, Chris was crawling out of his skin. The protesters seemed peaceful enough, but it was the idiots who were just showing up to start shit that had him nervous. There was a group of people, totally unorganized, who were shouting things at the law enforcement officers about being pigs and baby killers, and then shouting at the congress people trying to go to work that they were evil. They were the pot-stirrers, and they were the ones causing trouble here.

Meanwhile, he was sure the same thing was going on over in Misty’s neck of the woods, and he was stuck here with his buddy who wasn’t speaking to him.

“What the fuck am I doing here, man? At least let me go check on Misty and make sure she’s safe. That’s what you wanted me to do.”

Crash’s eyes hardened as soon as Chris opened his mouth.

“You know what? Fuck you, Andrew. I don’t like this. I’ve told you my intentions toward your sister are good, but you’re the one being a dick face. I’m going to go check on her. You can fuck the hell off.”

With that, Chris set off at a jog around all the people. He was only about a half a block away when he saw a man in black fatigues melt out of the shadows. He grabbed a man in a choke hold and dragged him back between the buildings, melting away.

Ghost.

Fuck. His jog turned to a sprint. He’d known Ghost was military, and his words yesterday came back with a vengeance. Don’t leave her alone here.

And he’d left her alone. Dude had to be some sort of Special Forces. Maybe even Delta. At Fort Hood, he’d heard about the Deltas but had never seen one that he knew of. They were legends. Myths.

Ghosts.

Knocking people out of his way, Chris could only hope he reached her in time. The crowd was working itself into a frenzy and his nerves were shot. He could only hope to find Misty safe, convince her to close up shop until all this shit was over, and get her home safe.

Then the explosions started. One deafening boom after another, knocking Chris off course.

He was back in Syria, bombs going off, gray dust everywhere as he searched for survivors. He couldn’t let that happen here. This was Texas, for Christ’s sake. He was finished with his time in the military. He remembered finding an entire family, huddled together for safety under a bunch of rubble, dead. Chris saw, in his mind’s eye, the random, detached limbs on the roadside, amid rubble from the buildings.

He couldn’t tell what was real and what were memories from another time. All he knew was he needed to get to Misty.

His steps only faltered briefly. Chris was a man on a mission. People around him were going crazy. The protesters were screaming and running. A cop was firing wildly into the crowd, getting tackled to the ground by bystanders. People were yelling and crying as smoke poured into the air.

Chris squelched the panic in his gut.

He had to get to his girl.

***

Everyone in the kitchen screamed when the explosions started. So far, the front door to her shop hadn’t blown up, but Misty was afraid it was just a matter of time. She was dancing with the devil right now as she looked at Saul and his soft smile. He seemed to be enjoying this, and it made her a little sick.

Panic welled in her gut as the scent of the explosives drifted in through her air conditioning system. The fear came back, but it was a different sort of fear. She wasn’t afraid for herself, which was what her fear months ago had been all about. Now, she was afraid for her customers—the people who had only come in for a cup of coffee and some people-watching entertainment. Guilt filled her at her earlier thoughts of the increased business from the protests. It was the fullest her coffee shop had ever been, and now they were all going to die at the hands of a madman.

Misty had to do something. She could hear the little boy sniffling near her, but she couldn’t stand to look at his cherubic face. Sirens wailed in the distance, and she heard the muffled pop-popping of gunfire nearby in neighboring businesses coupled with the sound of screaming. She wondered how many other people had been taken hostage. Or killed.

It was surreal. This wasn’t her life. Then again, she’d had that thought before, hadn’t she? It was her life, and she wasn’t going to lay down and play victim again. She took a deep breath, filling herself with resolve, hoping to block out the fear. This was a mind over matter mission.

Misty caught the eye of a young man—a hostage like her—and pleaded with him to understand her. She flicked her eyes back and forth to the gunmen and him and his buddies. His eyes widened, as if she were crazy.

Taking a deep breath, Misty tamped down her frustration. This was two men against maybe twenty-five customers. The guns were just machines, and she understood how they worked. As long as the barrel wasn’t pointed at anyone, she could take one of them down if she had a little help.

The only thing stopping these people from doing it was fear. The gunmen were banking on their fear to make them pliable. Well, Misty had been scared before. It wasn’t going to work this time.

She exhaled all the air from her lungs, then filled them with a cleansing breath. Saul had his back to her.

Big mistake.

With a primal roar, Misty launched herself at his legs. Miraculously, the other man followed suit, tackling the other man to the ground. With that, the father of the boy joined in, and soon enough customers were dogpiled on top of the gunmen, their useless guns flat beneath them.

“Someone open up the freight door and get us some help,” Misty gasped from under the people who had piled on top of her. The mother of the little boy cradled him tightly and mouthed thank you to Misty as another woman got up and did as she asked.

***

Chris let out a roar of fear and frustration when he saw the sign taped to the door of Misty’s shop. He yelled Ghost’s name as loudly as he could, hoping against hope the superhero could hear him. There was a gaggle of police officers clustered around him, talking into their shoulder mounted walkie talkies, hopefully getting some help.

Knowing there was a back entrance in her kitchen, he took off at a sprint around the block to get to the alleyway behind the row of shops. Chris had to guess at which was hers but went based solely on the smell of the garbage behind it. When he saw the coffee grinds and familiar cups, he knew he had the right one.

He looked around for more explosives, but seeing none of the freight doors on the alley had blown, he could only make an educated guess that these weren’t targeted. He held his breath, thinking wildly. If he opened the door and it was wired to blow, he’d be killed, as well as any innocent bystanders nearby. He couldn’t have that. What if Misty was standing right there?

Shit.

Before he could think too much, the door opened on its own, and a woman’s tear-streaked face poked out. She gave a yelp and opened it wider, running out as if the devil himself was on her heels. Chris took that as a sign and pushed through the other people trying to get out. Like a salmon swimming upstream, Chris made it inside Misty’s shop.

He stopped, frantically trying to find her amid the chaos inside.

“Misty?” he called out. There were piles of bodies and people racing for the doorway he was standing in front of. Chris moved inside the kitchen and finally saw a headful of curls under a bunch of people.

His eyes took in the scene. People were yelling and screaming and crying. Some hysterically so.

“Everybody that can get out, move!” His training took over. “Get away from the building. I think there’s a triage station set up a couple of blocks that way!” He was gesticulating, hoping he was right as his arms waved at the people he needed to get out of his way.

“We need something to tie them up. We can’t get off them.” Misty’s voice came from under one of the piles of people, and Chris’s knees went weak with relief. She was alive. She was okay. And he’d be damned, but she’d taken out the gunmen. Of course she had. His girl was a badass.

“Get those people out of here,” one man grunted from his pile.

Methodically, he began peeling people off the pile with Misty on it, giving instructions to them to leave. He only needed a few to stay and help until the police or more military arrived. He needed to get the rest to safety.

The closer he got to Misty, the better he felt, calmer. They had this situation under control.

Until they didn’t.

 

Chapter fifteen

Misty didn’t know what happened. One minute she was on top of Saul, with his hands under her and the gun out of sight while Chris peeled people off her.

The next minute, she was being held in front of Saul with his gun to her head.

“Everybody on the fucking ground, now!” Saul’s voice was cracking as he saw his plan unravel. Misty watched everything in slow motion as Chris remained standing while everyone else dropped to the ground. He held his hands out in a gesture of compliance, even though it was plain he was not doing as he was told. The other gunman waved his little machine gun around, trying to cover everyone.

“Easy, man. None of us are armed. I’m gonna show you, okay?” His eyebrows raised in question, Chris lifted his shirt and boldly turned his back to the gunman holding Misty hostage. Saul’s gun shook as it pressed against her cheek and his other arm tightened around her. She felt lots of other hard things strapped to his body, probably more guns. Squeezing her eyes shut, she didn’t open them until she heard Chris’s voice again. “What’s going on? Are you guys wanting some refugees in, man? You got family over there you’re trying to get here?”

Chris’s voice was reassuring, unbelievably calm. Misty couldn’t see how he was so placid in this situation. He hadn’t moved, but he was buying some time. Hopefully, he was coming up with a plan.

“My wife is over there.” Saul’s accent had always been faint, and Misty hadn’t ever really cared to place it, but now it was thicker, and a hint of the Middle East shone through. Not that it would have mattered. Austin was a multi-cultural place, and he still would have blended in, even without the suit and tamed hair and his skin tone. He was olive-complected, but Misty was darker than he was.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” Chris continued placating him, one eye on Saul but still watching the other gunman. “That sucks. But do you really think this is the way to go about getting her over here? By blowing up Austin?”

Misty wondered how many stores on the square had been blasted. Her mind went to dark places, envisioning a post-apocalyptic downtown area filled with people covered in concrete dust. It wasn’t a pretty sight, and her body convulsed in a shudder.

“A lot of us have family over there. I’m a citizen. I was raised here. My wife’s family has been killed and she’s in a camp, being treated abominably. I want to bring her home to me, but the government won’t let me. There are so many of us.” Saul’s voice choked on tears, and Misty would have felt bad for him under any other circumstances. But sympathy was hard to come by when she had a gun to her head.

“Can we sit down and talk?” Chris asked, his hands still in the air. “Like normal people?” He should have been a hostage negotiator. Misty could feel Saul’s body relax behind her.

***

Chris’s heart was in his throat throughout the entire exchange. He felt for the guy, but not enough to let him put a bullet in Misty. He was panicking on the inside but forcing an exterior calm because it seemed to be working. He tuned out the sobs of the man on the ground next to him.

“You love this one, right?” Saul’s voice held an edge of madness to it—a madness only a man led to desperate measures could attain. “Imagine if she were in living in a tent, sick, with no food and no water.”

“I get it. I really do. You want her here with you, where you can take care of her. I would want the same thing.” He watched in horror as Saul jolted the Uzi against Misty’s face. Again. The irony wasn’t lost on him that the Syrian was using a Jewish-made weapon. But the weapon was perfect for hiding under a suit jacket like the one Saul had on. Thank God for small weapons. He had one of his own, strapped to his ankle. He just needed to get to it. But first, he had to get that gun out of Misty’s face.

Saul’s counterpart, the other gunman, didn’t look like he had much patience left for this charade.

Chris looked to the other man and started making shit up off the top of his head. “Look. I’m former military. So is my dad. We’ve got some connections. Maybe we can work something out. Let me and Saul here go in the other room and sit and talk a minute. Okay?” He was amazed at his voice. He sounded so calm. Where the hell had that come from? Looking back at Saul, he repeated. “Just talking. Okay?” It was like talking to a child.

The only problem was, if he got the gunmen separated, there was no telling what this one would do in the kitchen with all the other people. There were eight other people here, and if that other gunman had explosives strapped to him, they would all die.

Saul’s expression showed his internal war. His plans had been thwarted. Whether he intended for people to die on this mission or not, it was clear he wasn’t leaving unscathed now. But Chris saw when he made his decision to take Misty to the main seating area to talk.

The relief flowing through Chris was palpable as he followed Saul, backing through the swinging door and out of the kitchen. He barked a few words to his cohort in a language Chris didn’t speak but recognized from his months in Syria.

Months he’d hoped to have left behind when he came back stateside.

The windows across the storefront showed a buzz of activity. People were everywhere—bleeding, crying, covered in dust from explosions, covering their heads as they scurried around. They were seeking cover, looking for loved ones or someone in charge. Police were barking orders, trying to find sense in the madness. Some hardcore protesters were still yelling at everyone, trying to get attention for whatever cause they championed—it was hard to make sense of it anymore. Chris saw teams of people working on explosive devices on doors around the square through a cloud of hazy smoke, but no one worked on the one on Misty’s door.

But one man stood still in the midst of the bedlam. A man in black fatigues, like everyone else, covered in gray dust—unrecognizable to anyone who didn’t know him.

Ghost.

Saul led them to a small round table, forcing Misty into his lap, gun still trained to her head, and Chris followed, sitting across from him, his profile to Ghost. Saul hadn’t seen the man; he was focused solely on Chris.

Leaning back in a forced gesture of casual nonchalance, trying to portray a visual of confidence, Chris rested his hands on his thighs. He flashed the number two with his fingers, followed by his pointer and thumb in the shape of a gun, to let Ghost know there were two gunmen. He pointed to Saul and then the kitchen to tell him where they were. Then he flashed four fingers and tapped his leg twice before pointing to the kitchen to convey there were eight hostages back there. Ghost took off at a controlled run around the building.

“So… is this a Muslim thing? I’m not sure I can garner a lot of sympathy with the powers that be over a religious turf war on American soil.” Chris spoke calmly, and to his relief, Saul put the gun down on the table. Misty practically sagged into Saul’s lap as the gun came down from her face.

Chris crossed his legs to have better access to his ankle holster. Sitting so casually next to the bomb on the door was freaking him out, but he could only handle one thing at a time.

“No. I told you,” Saul raked his free hand through his hair, “it’s about the refugees needing a home to come to.” The hand resting on the Uzi twitched. Misty sat calmly in his lap, eyes wide, waiting for a signal from Chris. He wasn’t going to give one. He didn’t want her to do a damn thing but stay alive.

“So tell me about it. How many are we talking?” He felt sick talking about this so calmly while his girl sat across from him in so much danger.

Saul scratched his chin while he was considering the answer. “There are thousands in the camps, but we just want our families here.” Chris held back his disbelief that Saul actually believed he could do something. He couldn’t do a damn thing, and he wasn’t about to try. He just needed a distraction, which seemed to be working.

When the gunshots went off in the kitchen, Chris took his opportunity. Misty reacted by jumping to the side and diving to the floor, and Chris’s gun was out of his ankle holster and in his hand in a nanosecond, trained on Saul’s face before he could tighten his hold on his Uzi.

Chris swept it off the table—toward Misty—and stood, towering over Saul. Misty grabbed the gun and held it like a novice, which scared Chris more than almost anything. He held his free hand out for her, and she rushed into his arms.

Checking the weapon, he trained it on Saul instead of his pea-shooter, feeling the familiar heft of the firearm.

“He has more guns under his coat,” Misty whispered.

“Okay.” To Saul, Chris said, “Hands up. I need to see them.” He wanted to know what was going on in the kitchen but needed to keep an eye on Saul. And the bomb on the door was an ever present reminder that there was a cluster-fuck happening outside.

“Misty?!” Andrew’s voice carried through the kitchen, and Chris answered him with a yell. He guessed that answered the question about what was happening in the kitchen.

Crash came barreling in the seating area, panic all over his face. “I heard you had a bomb on your door they haven’t gotten to yet. Why the fuck are you still here?” He looked at the scene before him, and Chris saw the minute dawning struck. “Saul? You’re part of this?”

Saul nodded, his chin held high, eyes defiant. Crash’s eyes went from Saul to Misty to Chris before striding over to Saul and grabbing the front of his collar.

“You son of a bitch,” Crash seethed.

Chris knew what was going to happen. “Can you disarm him before you clock him? He’s got weapons all over him.”

But apparently Saul didn’t know how to use them, if the fact he made no move to stop Crash was any indication. Or maybe he knew he was totally defeated.

Holding one of his own guns on him, Crash doubled Chris’s cover. “Police are on their way. Ghost took care of the guy in the kitchen. He won’t be holding anyone else hostage. How long have you been here?” As if it were a normal day and they had this conversation all the time. Chris rolled his eyes.

Saul had gone pale at the mention of his buddy being incapacitated, and Chris was sure he was wondering if he was dead. Chris didn’t care much.

“Andrew, I need to tell you something,” Misty interrupted. Chris was still holding her around the waist, unwilling to let her go as he kept the Uzi trained on Saul. “I love him, too. I didn’t say it back because he caught me off guard, but I wanted to thank you for choosing Chris to take care of me. He’s been amazing, and I’m looking forward to a lot of time in our future.”

Andrew grimaced. “Now really isn’t the time, Misty.”

“I know, but I wanted you to know, since you have a gun in your hand. I don’t want you doing anything stupid.”

“I’m not pointing the fucking gun at your god-damned boyfriend, Misty. Chill.” Crash’s words were gritted out of teeth clamped shut. It was like his jaw was wired closed, and Chris grinned at him, taking Misty’s lead. The cops had come to take care of Saul, so there wasn’t anyone to cover anymore.

Pressing her closer, Chris grinned at Crash, who was staring at both of them. “I betrayed your trust. But I still love you, too, man. You’re my brother. And she’s my girl. It’s actually kind of perfect when you think about it. Not that this is a great time to be thinking about it…” But he did. As a bevy of police officers took Saul out in handcuffs and cataloged all the guns he had in his coat, it was all Chris could think of.

Andrew went with them—still on the clock—but before he left, he turned to Chris. “Try and take her back to the house, would ya?” His expression softened a bit as he tossed Chris his truck keys. “I still need to talk to you guys, but just keep her safe for now. I don’t know how long this is all going to last.”

“Will do.” Chris hadn’t let go of Misty since he’d gotten his hands on her. He needed to feel her under his fingers, to make sure she was really here, really okay.

And he didn’t let go the entire way back to Crash’s truck, where he’d parked it blocks away. They drove home in a heavy silence as their adrenaline bottomed out. He could barely hold his eyes open as he made his way through the traffic, news vans, and police cars to get out of the downtown area. There were roadblocks set up, but Chris managed to talk his way out of them, practically signing over his first born in the process. This was an unprecedented situation, one without protocol, and he was sure he’d be talking to the police, government, and military, explaining what had happened for the rest of the calendar year.

But right now, he had to get Misty home.

 

Epilogue:

One month later…

“This one?” Misty was biting her bottom lip as she thought, and it was sexy as hell. If she would stop that, he’d be able to focus on actually eating on the table, but instead, he was envisioning spreading her out on top of it. Jesus. Every dining room table they had looked at, Chris had based his likes on whether or not it was sturdy enough to have sex on.

Ignoring other shoppers and the pushy salesman who he’d already told to fuck off, he crowded Misty against the table. Boxing her in, he palmed the table top while he nuzzled the exposed skin of her shoulder. She tasted so sweet, it made his head swim.

“Okay, so we’re trying it out?” He heard the laughter in her voice before grasping her hips and lifting her onto the top of the table. Yup. His hips fit perfectly between her thighs.

Truly, the idea of fucking her on their dining room table was very important, but the symbol of the table was even more paramount. They were moving in together, into a place with a dining room. He was going to eat dinners with her every night, and eventually they would have a family who would eat around the table, too. Not that the relationship had gotten that far, but Chris was all in. Misty was it for him. He was done fucking around and just knew she was the rest of his life.

Yeah, Misty said she wasn’t ready yet, but she wanted kids someday. Someday, she’ll have the rounded belly that will hold Chris’s child. She’ll be baking apple strudel in the kitchen and cooking her fabulous dinners, while he’ll be outside firing up the grill. And then they’ll all eat around the dining room table.

“This one’s perfect.”

Chris smiled down at her, and as she smiled back, he realized how full his life had become in such a short time. Stroking a curl behind her ear, he couldn’t stop looking into her fiery brown eyes, admiring her strength. Someone had pulled some strings at Crash’s new office, and the local news stations had all done feature stories on the coffee shop. Donations had rolled in, and the repairs had been finished in record time. All the bullet holes were patched up, and it had been repainted, and there was money to spare to send off to Misty and Mia’s charity.

A sizeable donation.

Misty had been through-the-roof ecstatic, and Chris had been proud to be a part of it. In fact, she’d let him be a major force in her success, and he loved that. Ever since the Chamber mixer, she’d allowed him to be a mouthpiece for her and Mia’s work, working up press releases and continuing with their marketing plan. He did the promotional stuff while they focused on getting more help in the coffee shop.

A throat clearing behind them brought him back to the present, and Chris realized he still had her wrapped around him like a monkey trying to crack open a coconut on top of this table in a furniture store. He extricated himself, realizing Misty was blushing.

“Yeah, we’ll take this one. Can you deliver tonight?” This was their first piece of furniture for their new apartment, and Chris was looking forward to christening it.

Crash had been cool with things once he got used to the idea of him and his sister being together. But even after the attacks downtown, and Chris and Misty’s declarations of love to each other, it had still taken a couple of weeks of Chris showing up to dinner—and Crash seeing them together—to make him realize they had the real thing and he wasn’t jerking Misty’s chain.

But now, he was on board and ready for them to get a new place together. Her brother was definitely tired of him staying overnight. And Chris was tired of trying to be quiet with their overnight activities.

They’d signed the papers yesterday and were moving in today. In fact, Crash should be there already, unloading most of Misty’s stuff. After paying for the table, they got in the car with an air of excitement. They were about to start a new life together. A life they both wanted.

“Have you heard from Ghost? I haven’t,” Misty sounded sad at the prospect, and Chris commiserated. The man had been a friend to her when she needed one and had done a lot to warn Chris of the attack. Not that he’d heeded it like he needed to. If he could go back in time, he would have locked Misty away and not let her open up that day.

“Yeah. He’s back at home, waiting for another assignment. In fact, he’s probably been on at least one since we saw him last. That’s sort of how they roll.” Chris pulled into the parking lot of their new apartment and got out before going to open Misty’s door for her. He slipped his hand around hers as they walked to the ground floor apartment.

“We were so lucky to get this apartment so fast,” Misty breathed. She was right. It was a really nice apartment in a relatively safe area, gated and everything. He had an idea one of her cohorts with Pierce Securities had a hand in it.

She’d been looking over her shoulder every time they were out in public, but he knew only time would make that go away. After all she’d been through, he only wanted to protect her. Saul was locked away, as well as his fellow terrorists, the ones who hadn’t been killed in the altercation. There were actually a minimum of fatalities, surprisingly. Only three civilians who weren’t part of the organized terrorist attack were killed. It was tragic; none of them should have died, not for this.

But her nightmares had been less frequent, and Chris was thankful for that. The sheer terror she displayed when her nightmares visited her gutted him, every time, and he would do anything to make them stop. The fact they’d lessened in frequency would have to be enough. Eventually, they would go away.

Misty unlocked the apartment door, and Chris scooped her into his arms before striding into the apartment. It was filled with boxes, and Misty let out an awe-filled moan.

“Oh God, I have the best brother ever.”

“I’m just glad he’s gone now,” Chris murmured as he put Misty down. She eagerly started rummaging around in boxes eloquently labeled “Kitchen Shit.”

“What do you want for dinner? I can run to the store for something for a pasta bake, if that sounds good.” She had her head buried in boxes while Chris looked around.

“Baby, let’s call for delivery. I don’t want to leave again.” He stalked toward her as Misty caught on to his intentions. “I hate to say it, but shopping for tables made me really horny.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him, but her smirk told him something else entirely. “I think everything makes you horny.”

“Since I found you, baby. Only you.”

***

A retort about his nickname being Casanova was about to fly out of Misty’s mouth, but she could only manage an inelegant snort before Chris yanked her face to his and kissed the fool out of her.

Instantly distracted, she wound her fingers in his hair and enjoyed his tongue stroking the inside of her mouth. His hands gripped her ass and lifted her, carrying her into the bedroom, where Andrew had put the box-springs and mattress. There weren’t any sheets, but she didn’t have time to think about it before Chris unceremoniously dumped her on it, falling on top of her.

In a rush of lips and hands, they made love—fast and loud—before they lay there, spent and gasping. She trailed her fingers under his shirt, feeling the sheen of perspiration.

“Sorry. Got a little carried away,” Chris muttered in her ear, his breathing still heavy.

“I’m not complaining. Next time we’ll take it slower.” She had no idea why Chris had insisted on a dining room table before all else, but she had to admit she was pleased. The idea that he treasured her dinner times as much as she did made the fact they couldn’t afford a sofa for another month okay somehow. She knew he wouldn’t argue about being home in time for dinner—a rule she didn’t understand herself—but knew how important it was for a family to have family time. The fact he agreed was awesome.

They laid there, ignoring all the unpacking they had to do, dozing lazily, until a knock at the door woke them.

“That’s the table,” Misty squeaked, looking around for her shirt. Somehow, she’d managed to get naked during their interlude, yet Chris had stayed clothed.

“I’ll get it sorted. You stay here. I’m anticipating a lovely feast tonight.” His eyes darkened deliciously as they narrowed on Misty, and she knew whatever came out of his mouth next was going to make her a dripping mess. Sure enough, she wasn’t disappointed. “I want you on that table, naked, laid out for me, spread wide, with that pretty little pussy ready for me to eat.” His words were a growl, and Misty shivered at the thought as he turned and walked out the door.

“God, I love your filthy mouth,” she breathed to his back as he went to let in the delivery men. Chris knew how much his dirty talk turned her on, and as she lay there, listening to him instruct the delivery men, she got herself worked up with images of Chris feasting on her body.

She was going to love her new life.

 

##

 

Thank you for reading my novella for Susan Stoker’s Special Forces Kindle World.  I really hope you enjoyed it.  If you did, I encourage you to leave a review, and consider reading about some of my boys in Pierce Securities. 

 

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