The Bastard Billionaire by Jessica Lemmon (5)

It took every bit of resolve she possessed not to follow him when he stormed off. Something had happened just now. Something more than that explosive kiss.

Seriously, explosive. TNT, dynamite. C-4.

Ka-boom.

She bent to pick up one of the plastic pearl buttons from the floor and rolled it between her fingers. What…was that all about? One minute he was slicing an apple, the next about to shred her clothes. Her shoulders shivered thinking about it. Not shivers of fear, either. Shivers of want.

Where Eli was concerned, there was an instinctual, almost animal attraction. Isa wasn’t comfortable with how easily he’d disconnected her good sense from her “do me, baby.”

Getting back to work was the only way to get through the afternoon, so that’s what she did. She found a tank top in the bottom of her tote and knotted her ruined shirt at her waist over it. Then she sat down, put her fingers on her keyboard, and checked her e-mail. There were thirty of them—the perfect distraction from the lip-lock that had left her hot and bothered to the nth degree.

She handled a few from Bobbie at the Crane office with ease. Yes, Eli would be attending the dinner at the Royale London, a fancy Chicagoan banquet hall where Reese had invited lots of corporate muckety-mucks to rub expensively suited elbows.

It was a few months out yet, so she didn’t bother to run it by Eli. He’d go because she’d make him, or he’d have fired her for real by then and wouldn’t go, and it wouldn’t be her problem.

A few e-mails from Chloe showed she hadn’t hung around Elsa’s to hit on Zach some more, instead returning to the office to respond from Isa’s main account. Thank God for her, Isa thought with a breath of relief. She answered a few of Chloe’s questions, knowing her worries were over the moment she hit SEND. Chloe could handle the bigger issues without her.

Isa pulled in a deep breath of accomplishment, considering why she loved being a personal assistant. Lifting the weight from her clients’ shoulders was simple for her but life-changing for them. Her parents may well have thought her destiny lay in becoming president at Sawyer Financial, but as Isa rolled that title around in her head, she felt her nose wrinkle.

She could be there now. Wearing a beige pantsuit and carrying a calculator. Sitting in her beige office with beige carpet and walls. Living a beige life. A wave of very real nausea swept over her whenever she imagined that plight.

She pulled her focus from the screen to look around Eli’s pad. Exercise equipment, black and silver. Blue mat. Red and rust-colored exposed brick, yellow warning stickers on the warehouse elevator from whatever business had predated him. The dining room table where she sat now was surrounded by mismatched chairs, each rustic wooden frame adorned with a different tapestry-styled cushion seat.

Instead of beige, her life was vibrant color. She ran a finger over a knot in the wood of the table. And damn if that color hadn’t exploded into a kaleidoscope of neon when Eli’s lips touched hers.

Aaaand she was thinking about the kiss again.

With a sigh, she pressed a button to print the e-mail she’d been reading, realizing belatedly that she was not in her office.

“Shit, shit, shit!” she hissed, hitting the CANCEL button repeatedly. From Eli’s cave, the printer hummed.

Too late.

Standing, she smoothed her hands down her pants and flipped her hair. She had planned to quietly finish her work and leave without seeing him again. No such luck. And no hiding that she was heading his way when her heels clicked along the concrete floor.

Well.

The kiss had happened. The button incident had happened. There was no taking it back. Regardless of how either of them felt about it, she was going to continue working here. So. She would deal with the here and now.

Since the sun was shining, Eli’s lair was welcome instead of foreboding. No fire cracked in the hearth today. Also unlike his usual, he wasn’t at his desk. He was at the printer.

“This yours?” He offered a sheet of paper.

“Yes.” She couldn’t keep from explaining. “Pressed the Print button by accident.”

“Mi printer es su printer.”

Isa accepted the document and Eli sank his hands into his jeans pockets, his forearms flexing with the movement.

“I wasn’t—”

“I shouldn’t—” they said at the same time.

He pursed his lips and she looked at her shoes.

“Go ahead.” She was going to say, I wasn’t offended when you kissed me, but now that she’d had a millisecond to think it through, maybe she should pretend the kiss hadn’t happened. Which was…impossible. Standing this close to him, it’s all she could think about.

“I shouldn’t have ruined your shirt,” he said.

“I dared you to.”

“Why?” His eyebrows compressed along with his lips.

“Because you have accepted the role of beast, but I don’t believe that’s who you are.” She let her gaze linger on his face before tracking down his body. “And because I like a challenge.”

“Do you?” He took a wide step toward her.

She matched his move and took one step closer to him. “Yes. I don’t wilt easily.”

He threaded her hair between his fingers, a look of longing and hurt mingling in his eyes. “I was about to lie and say I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

Shivers climbed her spine as she remembered how firm his lips felt against hers. “Maybe…you shouldn’t have stopped.”

His hands moved to grip her shoulders and he lowered his head, closer, closer…

With only a tingle of warm air between their parted mouths, the unmistakable clang of the elevator doors jolted her like a shock.

Eli looked as alarmed as she felt, jerking his head around to a wide-faced clock behind his desk.

“We’re early!” came a woman’s voice.

“Who is that?” Isa asked in a rush, the sound of an intruder sobering her like a bucket of ice water over her head.

“My sister-in-law, Merina.”

Alarm shot through her limbs. Fantastic.

Isa licked her lips and backed away from Eli, who allowed his palm to slide down her arm before he gave a brief nod of Everything is fine.

Except for the fact that Isa was trying to win over Merina and Reese, everything was fine. She fluffed her hair and straightened her shirt, which was basically useless since strings poked out here and there from the missing buttons.

Maybe Merina wouldn’t notice.

Chin up, Isa stepped from Eli’s office, the paper in her hand helping her look as if she’d been in there on official business.

Merina blinked at Isa, recognition written on her face. Isa couldn’t be sure Reese had let his wife know Isa was pretending to be an employee of Sable Concierge rather than its founder.

With a quick shake of her head she hoped communicated that, Isa moved forward, hand extended. “I’m Isabella, Elijah’s personal assistant.”

“Of course.” Merina nodded a little too vigorously. She knew plenty. “You know my husband, Reese Crane.”

“Reese, nice to see you.” Isabella shook his hand next. Okay, this was bordering on silly, but Eli wouldn’t appreciate any level of scheming, so she wasn’t about to admit she’d been lying to him all along.

She would tell him she owned Sable Concierge. Eventually.

“I should get going. We’re through for the day, aren’t we?” She directed the question to Eli. His hands, now stuffed in his back pockets, broadened his delicious chest and muscular shoulders. Yeah, so she’d just focus on packing up her things rather than drool over him for all the Cranes to see.

“For the day,” he said, his lingering gaze lighting with challenge. “Thank you, Isabella.”

Her full name sounded foreign on his tongue, but then, he couldn’t very well call her Sable, could he?

“You’re welcome. Until next week.” In two minutes, she was packed and ready to go. The elevator door opened as she was strolling to it, revealing a giant with long, elbow-length hair walking arm in arm with a petite, gorgeous blonde. The man had to be Tag Crane.

She dispensed introductions quickly, but since there was no need to lie (she’d never met Tag), those were much easier. Rachel, Tag’s girlfriend, was instantly likable the moment she grinned and said, “I love your shoes.”

“Thanks,” Isa responded. “I’m sure Eli gets tired of me clomping around here all day, but they’re a weakness.”

“He’ll be fine.” Rachel gave her a conspiring wink before her eyes studied the strings poking out from the missing buttons on Isa’s shirt.

“If you’ll excuse me.” Isa closed her shirt with one hand. “Enjoy your dinner.”

Eli hadn’t invited Isa to stay for dinner, which was for the best. Especially with Merina and Rachel chattering away about Tag and Reese like they weren’t in the room.

Notably missing was their father and Rhona, but Alex didn’t make every family dinner, so no one was surprised by this. Least of all Merina, who’d made it a point to call and ask if they wanted pasta and salad. “Alex and Rhona are in Amish country. Did you know that, Reese?”

Reese hadn’t known that, and Tag and Eli exchanged equally puzzled glances. Why was their father in Amish country? Did he need a bureau? Cheese?

Merina dispatched dinner—Italian—with minimal fuss. She’d insisted on dishes but let Eli win the argument for paper napkins. Now everyone sat at the table, plates cleared and wineglasses refilled. Beers sat in front of Eli and Tag.

“She’s working out, I guess,” Reese said.

Pretending not to know what his brother was talking about, Eli only frowned.

“Isabella. The PA position.” Reese lifted his glass of red. “When I saw you with her, you two seemed to be getting along.”

“I’ll say,” Rachel put in.

Eli glanced over and Rachel sipped from her glass.

“I’d have thought you would have fired her by now,” Reese said.

“I have,” Eli grumbled. “Several times.”

“I bet.” Tag let out a chuckle and sent Eli a knowing look. “Hard to make moves on the girl when she’s on the payroll.” He sent Rachel a warm look. “Right, Dimples?”

Rachel gave Eli a nod of approval. “She’s very pretty, Eli.”

“And feisty.” Merina smiled.

“Takes one to know one.” Rachel held up her glass and Merina clanged hers in a “cheers.”

“What’s going on?” Tag asked, his smile gone.

Reese’s brow lowered. “They do this more than they used to.”

“Oh, come on, guys,” Merina said, setting her glass on the table. “It’s obvious Isa and Eli had something going on other than work.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Eli growled, then followed Merina’s gaze as it settled on a stray button on the floor.

Dammit.

The last thing he needed was for his family to know he’d crossed a line.

“No shit?” Tag asked, his smile edging across his face. “You and the PA.”

Eli sighed and drank his beer.

“I like her,” Reese announced in that commanding, authoritative way he had. Even Merina and Rachel paused to listen. “Especially since she massaged you into RSVPing yes to the Royale London event in November.”

His brain may have become hung up on the word massaged if not for what followed.

“What?” Eli barked.

“Nothing,” Tag said quickly, amused as per his usual. “Just a Crane thing.”

Eli sucked his tongue against his teeth. He’d take that RSVP up with Isa first thing Monday morning.

Then he’d fire her. Again.

“We should go out next time,” Merina said, breaking off her conversation with Rachel to focus on Eli intently.

“Be my guest,” Eli said. “I could use the break.”

Tag’s laughter shook the table.

“With you in tow,” Merina said.

“The two of you,” Rachel said, batting her lashes. She was braver when she sat next to Merina. “Wouldn’t you like to get out more?” She cocked her head in genuine curiosity.

“Look around, Rach. This place is big enough to hold a three-ring circus. Where do I need to go?”

“It’d be good practice for the event,” Tag said. “Like seeing how a formerly captive animal reacts to being in the wild.”

Eli sent him a death glare.

“You should bring your PA,” Merina sang, a smile on her face. “Your father always brings his PA.” She capped that statement with a grin and Reese leaned over and wiped it off her face with a kiss. Rachel, too far from Tag to do the same, winked at him and he grinned like a moron.

“That’s it. Everyone out.” Eli stood and grabbed his beer. “Your love connections are very inspiring but I’m not hooking up with my”—insanely gorgeous—“personal assistant. Take your matchmaking abilities over to the local college campus and do some canvasing there. Leave me out of it.”

He turned for the living room, but since it was attached to the dining room and there was no wall, it didn’t offer much privacy. And none of his helpful family members bothered standing and leaving. Instead, they fell silent for the count of five while Eli stared down his couch and weighed his exit, before he gave up and returned to the table.

Merina and Rachel went back to chatting, and Reese asked Tag if he’d heard back on the Texas Crane Hotel’s pool bar numbers yet.

Eli let the din fade to the background and tipped his beer to his lips.

For whatever reason, their being here didn’t bother him as much as it used to.

Monday morning, Isa swept in with her tote and double-shot cappuccino, phone to her ear as she slid the elevator door open.

“Yes, Chloe, that’s fine. Thanks.” At the dining room table, she found Eli’s laptop at her usual place. The screen was open to a document, one with a blinking cursor where he’d stopped typing. She poked her head down the hall. His office was dark. So was the kitchen.

“Eli?”

No answer.

She glanced back at the screen and saw the words my leg and was lured like Icarus to the sun. Prying could lead to her demise but she read the passage anyway.

“Sable!”

Isa spun away from the computer to face the bedroom where Eli stood in the doorway. He wore jeans and a tee as per his usual, arms at his sides, hair damp like he’d just finished showering.

Shit.

“Help you find something?” He advanced with smooth strides, veins popping from his forearms and his forehead at the same time.

She had no idea what to say. Just no earthly idea. There was no spin to put on the fact he’d caught her snooping. She had no plausible excuse. Gee, I thought that was my computer wouldn’t work and neither would I was just stretching my back, not leaning over reading your private journal entry.

Given that she couldn’t lie, she’d have to say something else. So she went with the question rattling her brain since she’d read what she shouldn’t have.

“Who are Christopher and Benji?”

He blinked in surprise like it pained him to hear their names out loud.

“Dead soldiers.” He didn’t move for the laptop to shut the lid or come any closer to her. He simply folded his arms over his chest, and stared her down.

“Oh.” Her heart ached from what she’d read, but she guessed telling Eli as much would silence him before opening him up. She licked her parched lips and told him the other thought in her head. “I didn’t realize your injury was caused by a grenade.”

A beat, then two, passed before he spoke.

“We were lucky. Some guys drive by roadside bombs and none of them walk away from it.” His voice betrayed his words.

“You don’t sound like you feel lucky.”

“Doesn’t matter how I feel. I am lucky. Many men have lost a hell of a lot more than I have.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him it wasn’t a contest, that pain was pain. But she bit back the retort.

“I shouldn’t have—”

“No,” he agreed. “You shouldn’t have. What are you doing here so early?”

“I’ve been awake for two hours, so I thought I’d get a head start. You’re always up early.”

“Marine,” he said in explanation, his voice stone cold.

“Are you going to fire me? Because if so, there’s no reason to unpack my tote.”

The corner of his mouth flinched into an almost-smile. So close. She’d give anything to see it, to hear a full-on belly laugh from him. To know what caused a man like him to smile or laugh. She wondered if he’d ever been the laughing or smiling type, or if he’d always been serious and quiet.

“I take it you don’t need coffee.” He dipped his chin at her paper cup.

“No, I…I should’ve called and offered to bring you one.” She clucked her tongue. “No wonder you fire me all the time.”

A sound came from Eli that made her snap her head up and look at him. She caught the tail end of a smile as he turned and strode into the kitchen, her chest lifting with pride. She’d made him laugh.

She grinned at his retreating back, wishing he hadn’t robbed her of the full effect. Did the brief laugh light his eyes? Twist his lips? She put a hand on her belly where butterflies came to life.

Someday she’d find out.

Isa spent the rest of the afternoon half in work mode and half in wonder.

When she’d first taken on this assignment, she’d sent the handful of potential assistants to sensitivity training so they knew how to deal with a man who’d literally lost part of himself in war. And while Eli definitely had signs of mild PTSD, she could now see it wasn’t the main motivation directing his life.

She would brew a pot of coffee to share with him this afternoon, and then she’d find out what that motivation was.

“Sent you an e-mail,” he announced as he strolled into the kitchen.

“Okay. I’ll check it in just a second.” She finished measuring fresh grounds and pressed the button to start the brew. When she turned, she found him scowling—nothing new there—but he didn’t look angry. He looked…worried?

“What’s wrong?”

“I”—he pulled in a deep breath—“need help.”

“Well, that’s what I’m here for.”

His frown didn’t let up. “I wasn’t going to ask for help but you’re you and you’re good at what you do and I need help.”

Every bit of his request was said through his clenched teeth and she felt her eyebrows lift. He’d spoken like a man who asked for help…never. It was music to her ears. Handling tasks people dreaded had always given her a feeling of supreme satisfaction.

“It involves you contacting Zach.” He cleared his throat and finished on a thick growl. “Who I trust you won’t date since I’ve asked.”

Scratch that. His tone was more petulant than growly.

“I don’t recall you asking.” She leaned a hip on the counter, enjoying Eli’s fidgeting.

“He’s an important piece of what I’m crafting and he doesn’t need the distraction.”

“Ha!” She folded her arms. It wasn’t as if she were Poison Ivy. She couldn’t do anything to Zach against his will. Men did possess self-control.

But then she thought of her buttons plinking off Eli’s concrete floor. She hadn’t exercised much control with him, but it was because she hadn’t wanted to. Couldn’t he see that?

“Fine.” She held up her hand like she was taking an oath. “I swear not to seduce Zach with my potent, exotic wiles, so help me God.”

Eli’s mouth started to smile until she added a caveat.

“If you agree to one small favor.”

It was impressive how many lines he could call forth from his forehead.

“Be my stand-in date next Saturday, so I’m not forced to ask Zach.” She was desperate. Chloe had overturned every stone and besides her twenty-three-year-old brother from Maryland, Isa was out of options.

“Stand-in date for what?”

“Fancy function.” Snobby bankers and carefully measured insults from her parents. But more importantly, a place where Eli would be recognized. Showing up with a Crane was as good as getting a Crane seal of approval in that group. She’d impress clients simply by being there with Eli.

“Forget it.”

Which was exactly what she’d expected him to say.

“Okay.” She shrugged and walked to the dining room, calling over her shoulder, “I’m sure Zach looks great in a tux.”

“Sable.” There, now, that was a growl. She ignored it, sitting down at her laptop and pecking in her password. He hovered while she opened and read the e-mail he’d sent.

“You need a website.”

“And a FAQ page,” he said, pointing at the bulleted list. “And a contact that is not me. Also, a way to accept donations online.”

She let his requests soak in as she reviewed the list and the paragraphs of carefully prepared descriptions for something called Refurbs for Vets.

“You’re working on a charity.” She announced her epiphany to the screen.

“Yeah.”

“That’s what you were doing instead of COO for Crane Hotels.” She looked up at him, seeing him differently than she had a moment ago. This man who had lost so much wanted to give back. It was like a light-blocking curtain had been lifted.

“Can you help me or not?”

Okay, the curtain had parted. Definitely not lifted.

“I am being paid by your brother to do Crane Hotels work, so you may have to pick up the slack on COO duties while I work on this.” She gestured to the screen, knowing she’d hand most of the items off to third parties rather than sweat over the details herself, but he didn’t know that. “This is going to take time.”

The sooner Eli was acclimated at Crane Hotels, the sooner she could resume her position at her own company. If she ever hoped to replace herself with another assistant, Eli taking the reins on Crane business was paramount.

“Fine,” he gritted out, and she resisted punching the air in celebration.

“Perfect.” She offered a folder. “Next week’s meeting notes and numbers. Your brother wants your take on it and since I haven’t read through them yet, I won’t be able to summarize in five or ten questions like I normally do.”

His eyes narrowed like he suspected foul play.

She smiled, doing her best to project innocence.

“I’ll get to work on finding a webmaster, securing a home page, and”—words…website-related words…think, think—“um, figuring out the best metadata for your charity.”

“No need to oversell it.” He snatched the folder.

“And, Eli?”

He let out a sigh like he knew what was coming, stopping short of his office and rocking on his heels while he studied the ceiling.

“Next weekend. Are you in?”

“Sure.” He didn’t know it, but he was doing her a huge solid. “I’d hate to subject you to Zach.”

She beamed. Eli raised one eyebrow.

“Do you have a tux,” she asked, “or do I need to arrange a fitting?”

He turned, rolling the file in both hands like it was a tube. She tried not to fixate on the way he was curling the edges of the perfectly flat papers within.

“Both,” he answered. “I have a tux, and I need a fitting.” He watched her when he said, “Clothes don’t fit now that I’m a different man.”

She turned over the phrase a different man for longer than she should, wondering what, other than the obvious, had changed him. And whether he was trying to become who he used to be or create someone new altogether.

“It better not be a wedding,” Eli told the white-haired man currently measuring his inseam.

Isa had arranged for the tailor to come to him, which Eli appreciated, since that meant he didn’t have to go downtown and deal with people and traffic.

She wasn’t there to oversee the process either, which he also appreciated.

“Or a charity event,” he added. He didn’t need recognition for helping others. It was enough just to do it.

The tailor continued working quietly and Eli gave up on voicing his litany of wishes. Whatever “fancy function” Isa had invited him to didn’t matter. He’d be trussed and pressed and present much like he’d been at a number of formal events his father had dragged him and his brothers to over the years.

“I’ll have it to you by Thursday afternoon,” the tailor told him. “Be careful not to remove the pins when you take it off.”

Eli went to his bedroom and carefully removed the suit, changed into his jeans and T-shirt, and returned the chalked and pinned tuxedo to the older man.

“It’s a lost art, tailoring,” Eli said.

Suit in his grasp, the tailor’s brow pinched and once again, he didn’t reply.

This was why Eli didn’t start conversations. Small talk had never been his forte. That gene had skipped over Reese and Eli and been given in triple measures to Tag.

“Good day, Mr. Crane.”

Eli opened the elevator and ushered out his guest, then walked to the window and examined the street below. This was his favorite part of Chicago. An area where tall new-build skyscrapers shined like mirrors next to rustic, hundred-year-old churches. The warehouse had been an abandoned machine shop when he found it and he’d had it completely overhauled to live in. He’d left the downstairs empty, figuring he’d install huge garage doors and park his fleet of expensive automobiles in it. Thing was, he never did buy a “fleet” of anything.

He’d reported for duty in the Marines repeatedly over the last ten or so years, and material possessions took a backseat to the real world. In between being gone, he used his time home to chill, check in with his family, and hook up with girlfriends, old or new. It had only taken a few days to slip back into his prestationed self.

This bout of recouping was taking a lot more doing.

When he’d returned home last year, he’d planned on holing up at home and not going anywhere. At least, that’d been the case until recently.

He didn’t know why things had changed. Autumn was edging closer, which meant colder nights and crisp days. Soon it’d be icy and snowy, the wind blowing off the lake and frosting the entire town.

Perfect season to stay in, stay warm, and work on his pet project.

He had wanted to be left alone.

Had. That past tense was pushed farther into the past after his family refused to stop showing up with takeout and after he’d reached out to Zach.

After you kissed your personal assistant.

Yeah. About that.

He was intertwined with Isa, not only because he’d curled her close and tasted her mouth. He’d let her talk him into attending an unnamed event he was dressing like a penguin to attend.

He’d let her believe he’d agreed so she wouldn’t ask Zach, but his needs ran deeper than a competing male. Being needed was a rare occasion in Eli’s life. Being needed by a woman an even rarer one.

Eli slipped on his shoes and pocketed his keys, setting off for a destination he’d been putting off for weeks. Months.

To visit Benji’s widow.

Eli had reconnected with Christopher’s widow, Amie. He knew too well what it was like growing up without a parent—his own mother had died when Eli was a kid. He’d wanted to make it right with Amie, to help her and her sons in any way he could.

Amie had been polite and agreeable when he’d asked if he could honor Christopher by posting the picture of the three of them—Eli and Benji included—on the Refurbs for Vets website. She’d wished him well and mentioned she was seeing someone. “A great guy I used to date in high school. He loves my boys,” she’d told him.

Knowing she was moving on, that she had someone who loved her—that Christopher’s boys were loved—had made it easier for Eli to shed some of the guilt that had built up over his friend’s death.

Benji’s widow, Michelle, was another issue altogether. She’d been just twenty-two years old when he died. They’d been married a handful of months. Eli’s stomach twisted every time he thought of her.

He started his car’s engine and navigated the route he’d driven many times, only to fall short of Michelle’s house. He wondered if he’d make it there today or stop at the edge of her neighborhood and go home instead.

Eli had been a lauded a hero, but after his injuries and surgeries and the realization he’d never measure up to the two men who’d saved his pathetic life, he didn’t feel like one.

He felt like an invalid, and not because of the leg. He felt like an invalid because in the clutch, when he could have saved two men—one a father, both husbands—he hadn’t done it. His counselor at the hospital reminded him repeatedly that he hadn’t had a second to react, and she was right. He hadn’t.

One second he’d been laughing at one of Benji’s horribly uninventive limericks, and the next his ears were ringing and there was sand in his eyes. And then the pain.

God help him, the pain.

Searing hot like red pokers through his foot and leg. He’d had a hell of a bout with phantom pain after. The military doctor explained it was because his foot had been so severely damaged that his brain held on to the image Eli could to this day call up without trying too hard. Getting past it had required a lot of meditation and a brief stint with prism glasses to make him see two whole legs instead of one and a half.

But. He’d survived. He’d rehabilitated even though it broke him into a sweat simply to put pressure on his prosthesis. He’d learned to shower without it, was careful not to drink too much water before bed so he didn’t have to get up to pee in the middle of the night and fuss with snapping it on. He’d learned to move without a stagger or a noticeable limp, his new walk a far cry from his formerly smooth, confident gait.

He hung a left when his GPS told him to, though he knew the route by heart. He’d traveled it the second he’d been able to drive.

The traffic blurred as he slipped into autopilot, his mind on Isa’s curves and thick hips, perfect for a man’s grip. To her molasses-colored hair and deep, dark eyes. He wanted to know the way she moved during sex. Hear if she moaned or mewled or was as quiet as a church mouse. He wanted to know what color nipples rested on the tips of her lush breasts.

A distant honk drew him from his imaginings. He raked a hand through his hair and blew out a harsh breath. If he played his cards right, maybe he’d find out exactly the sounds she made, her hot breaths in his ear.

He hadn’t had to contend with women or sex for a long, long time. He’d compartmentalized his life into medications, diet, rehab, and then the charity, adding challenges as others became routine or fell away completely. Sex was just another challenge to check off his list.

Or that’s what he kept telling himself.

At the mouth of Bay Street, Eli came to a stop. Michelle’s house was two turns away. He’d thought he was ready to tackle this moment—to look her in the eyes and apologize for not saving her husband. To ask if he could honor Benji by posting his photo on the Refurbs for Vets website.

He sat at the stop sign, head turned to the right, watching as an elderly woman raked the leaves in her yard. Heart heavy, lead in the pit of his stomach, Eli popped a U-turn and drove toward home instead.

Looked like another challenge on his list wasn’t getting a check mark today.