God, she’d been right—shag carpeting. Mottled brown shag carpeting to be exact. With patterned wallpaper that instantly made Bridgette’s head ache. The only saving grace was that Sam had assured her they’d only be staying until nine or ten tonight. Overnight, at the most. Not that she was going to complain. In this instance, ugly equated safe. And safe sounded pretty damn good in her book.
She shivered as she recalled the moment she’d realized something was off during their game. She’d been hiding in the closet—her feet shoved into an old pair of gumboots and her body concealed behind a couple of her long jackets. It’d been perfect. Even if Sam had opened the door, it would have taken moving the jackets in the far-left corner out of the way to actually see her. Sure, he would have eventually found her, but it might have been enough to make her feel as if she stacked up to him. Because…damn.
She knew he’d been using his Army Ranger training to figure out her hiding spots, not to mention as a means of evading her when she’d been hunting him. But she also wasn’t vain enough to think she remotely measured up to his skillset. A fact that had made her view the past week in a new perspective. All the times he’d “checked” the perimeter or said he was going to “stand watch” for a bit meant something different, now. And she realized how difficult she’d made his job by resisting him, at first. And by keeping secrets from him. He’d willing put his life on the line, and she’d been too worried about her pride to confide in him.
Then, she’d heard the door click open and felt the telltale swirl of cold air breeze through the cracks on the sides of the closet doors. At first, she’d thought Sam was breaking his own rule and had gone outside. She’d nearly jumped out of the closet to confront him when she’d realized there was another possibility. That there was a chance it wasn’t Sam, but whoever was intent on keeping her from making it to the trial.
Him. The guy from the garage.
And she’d panicked. She’d waited until the weight of not knowing had nearly crushed her before opening the closet and slipping out. She’d turned to look at the open door when Sam had grabbed her from behind.
Since that moment, she’d been stumbling her way through. Watching him put his body in front of hers, intent of being her first line of defense, had hit her hard. And she knew she’d never look at him the same way, again.
Sure, he was getting paid to protect her, but the nagging voice in her head insisted that he would have ridden to the rescue, regardless. That, if she’d called him up out-of-the-blue, he would have been standing in front of her door in record time in Seattle. No hesitation. No questions asked.
Because Sam Montgomery was one of the good guys. In every sense of the word. And she was quickly falling under his spell, again.
She laughed inwardly at the thought. She was only fooling herself if she thought she’d ever been free of his spell. The truth was, she’d only managed to hide from it all these years. But it had been there, waiting until the right moment to resurface. And it had. With sobering clarity.
Now, she was left dealing with the ever-present need slowly driving her insane. It was bad enough when she’d had an entire house to seek refuge in. The new arrangements meant she’d never be more than a few feet away from him. Ever. Even hiding in the bathroom wouldn’t give her any peace—not when she knew there were only a few inches of compressed wood between them. That he’d be sitting on the bed…waiting.
Which made her acutely aware of another issue. There was only one bed. Apparently, there was some kind of winter festival in town. Who knew there were festivals in January? Weren’t people still reeling from Christmas? Either way, there had only been one room with a king-sized bed.
Bridgette pushed away the thoughts. They might not even stay the night, so worrying if she was going to have to share a bed with Sam seemed pointless. And it wasn’t as if they hadn’t shared a bed before. Surely, she could lie on her half without losing it.
Or worse—pouncing on him.
Sam placed their bags beside the bed, twisting to face her. He sighed, motioning to the room. “I know. It’s…pretty bad.”
She plastered on a smile. “I’ve stayed in worse.”
“I already told you that you have a tell, darling.”
“I wasn’t lying.” She hitched out one hip. “Am I happy we left my nice, albeit old-fashioned, farmhouse for this seventies time warp? No, not really. But I’m not some prissy drama queen who needs five-star hotels. If staying here means we’re safe…”
“It does. At least, for now. I’m working on alternate arrangements.”
She nodded, testing out the bed with her hand before cautiously sitting. “The bed’s decent.”
Something flickered in Sam’s eyes, but it was gone before she could decipher what it was. He nodded then started digging through one of the bags he’d brought in. After a few moments, he pulled out a small elongated box. One she swore looked as if it held jewelry.
She arched a brow. “You know, Sam, just because I didn’t pitch a fit coming here doesn’t mean we’re going steady.”
He chuckled, sitting beside her before opening the box, revealing a beautiful silver necklace with a matching pendant. “You are tougher than most to charm in that way. I had Hank order this for me when I discovered you were my next assignment. Think of it as a Hail Mary.”
“A necklace is a Hail Mary? And is that a gavel?”
“You’re a lawyer. I wanted something that suited you. Something…pretty.” He removed it from the box. “It has a GPS locator inside the pendant, so, if the shit hit the fan and we got separated, I might still have a way to find you. Assuming it didn’t get broken or lost. Hence, a Hail Mary.”
She furrowed her brow, lifting her hair so he could clip it around her neck. “Call me crazy, but I’m a bit surprised you’re only asking me to wear this, now.”
“We were safely in your house before. It wasn’t needed. Besides, you never would have agreed to wear it before.”
“And it’s needed, now? I’m not going to try and ditch you.”
“While it’s comforting to hear you say that, that’s not the reason. Leaving your home means we’re adapting from here on in. I just don’t want to take any chances. And—once we’re done—I can deactivate the GPS so you can keep it…” He cleared his throat. “If you’d like. Consider it my way of saying I’m sorry for being a prick at eighteen. For leaving instead of facing you.”
She gazed down at it, wondering if the heat pulsing beneath her skin was from the necklace or the brush of Sam’s knuckles against her chest as he held the pendant in his hand for a few moments before finally letting go. “You already apologized. And explained.” She smiled when he frowned at what he obviously thought was going to be a rejection of his gift. “Are you sure? You could use it for your next client.”
“Did you miss the part where I said I had it made for you? If you don’t want it—”
“It’s beautiful, Sam. I love it. Thank you.” She lifted the gavel with a couple of fingers. “And it’s not that I didn’t want it. I’ve just never had anyone give me jewelry, before. Other than my mom.”
Sam brushed his thumb along her jaw, gaining her attention. “None of your other boyfriends ever gave you jewelry? Not even Brock before he became a raging monster?”
Other boyfriends. Christ, he’d said that as if he were her boyfriend, now. And the thought shouldn’t excite her—shouldn’t feel as right as it did.
“Nope. Unless you count a ring pop. Though, it was cherry flavored, so that might have made it special.”
“Oh, darling. You really have dated the wrong guys, haven’t you? You should be showered with gifts.”
“I’d be happy to start with a guy who doesn’t try to kill me.”
Though she’d meant it as a joke, there was no missing the instant change in Sam’s demeanor. The way his lips pursed tight and his eyes narrowed. The slight slash of red on his cheeks.
He held her chin, leaning in close enough he could have kissed her. “Never. Again.”
Then, he backed away as he stood. “Okay, now that we’re situated, time to continue our game.”
She fought to draw in a breath around the tight press of her chest. Christ, she wasn’t sure if she was more on edge because he hadn’t kissed her or because she’d wanted him to.
She managed to clear her throat, only coughing once. “You already won. We don’t have to keep playing if you have other stuff to do.”
“Oh, no. You promised me the whole day—and tomorrow, now, too—with no work, so I suggest you get comfortable.”
Any tension that had crept into her muscles eased. Games she could handle. They’d take her mind off the fact that Sam had gotten the pendant made—for her—before he’d even arrived on her doorstep. And knowing he’d taken the time to choose a design he hoped would have more meaning to her so she’d want to keep it, after, warmed her heart.
She groaned inwardly as the heat spread down her torso, settling hot and needy between her thighs. She muttered a curse, forcing a smile when Sam glanced her way. The last thing she wanted to do was show him exactly how far she’d fallen. That the only game she wanted to play involved them getting naked then rolling around on the bed for hours.
Instead, she pushed away the thoughts and smiled up at him. “Seeing as we can’t roam around like our previous game, I’m guessing we’re sidelined to Trivia Pursuit or something?”
Sam scoffed. “Oh, ye of little imagination. Yes, I do plan on challenging that gray matter of yours, but I also found this at your place and brought it along.”
He rummaged through another bag and removed a white square box. His face lit up around a devious smile before he flipped it over.
Bridgette couldn’t stem the laugh that bubbled free. “Twister? You found Twister at my place and actually brought it along?”
“What can I say? I’m betting I’m nimbler than you are, Counselor.”
“Really? You think all that muscly brawn you have can bend into a pretzel?”
“Guess we’ll find out. But, first…” He held up his phone. “I have this other game. You hold the phone to your head and the other person has to give you words to guess whatever’s on the phone…I’m not really sure. But I thought we could start with that—save the twisting fun until the end. That way we can shower then get some dinner.”
“We’re going out for dinner?”
His lips quirked before he sighed. “Not quite. We’ll have something delivered, but…” he added when he obviously noticed the slump in her shoulders, “…we are meeting up with some friends later tonight. Around nine at the Blue Moose tavern. All right?”
She chuckled. “The fact I’m excited to go to some hole-in-the-wall tavern just to get out shows exactly how far I’ve fallen from grace.”
“It’s a nice place. You’ll like it.”
“At this point, I’d like anywhere that’s ‘out’.”
“Are you saying I haven’t been enough company for you?”
“No. I’m sure it’s no surprise that I don’t go out with people like that very often. That I’m more of a loner. But, I am used to getting outside. I usually run four or five times a week. Stop for coffee on my way to work. Just…out. Staying inside the same four walls all the time makes me feel trapped.”
Sam moved over to her. “I know. And, if all goes well, it won’t be for much longer.”
“Until the next case. The next gang leader who thinks I should reconsider my career choice.”
Bridgette regretted the words the moment they slipped free. This was exactly what she’ told herself not to do. Playing on Sam’s inherent protective instincts would only erupt into another discussion about taking better care of herself.
As predicted, Sam clenched his jaw, making the muscle in his temple jump. He reached for her hand then changed his mind and let his arm fall to his side, again. “Let’s just deal with one threat at a time, okay?”
Her mouth gaped open for a moment before she managed to shut it as she nodded her agreement. Though, the wild look in his eyes suggested his statement hadn’t been what he’d really been feeling. Not that she was going to push her luck.
She extended her hand, wiggling her fingers toward her. “Hand it over. I’ll guess, first.”
Whatever else he’d been feeling faded into a smile as he launched the game then gave her his phone. She read the instructions aloud then picked a category. Before long, they were laughing so hard her stomach hurt. She never would have guessed Sam had such a playful side to him. She’d expected him to be focused. To never let his guard down. While she had no doubt he’d turn all of that on, again, in an instant should the situation warrant it, knowing he could let it go—even for just an hour or two—impressed her. The man was full of surprises.
After they’d gone through several rounds, each, they moved on to a trivia game. She’d hoped her knowledge of current affairs would give her the edge, but damn if Sam wasn’t just as skilled. In fact, she had a disturbing feeling that he was intimately aware of more than he let on from the endless missions he’d performed overseas. Either way, she was quickly discovering he was a hard man to best.
In a last-ditch effort to win at something, she suggested they hit the Twister board. It started off innocently, enough. Feet and hands going to various positions, which got harder with every spin. It wasn’t until they were pretty far into it that she realized she’d wrapped herself around Sam’s body with her face dangerously level with his groin. The fact his arm was pressed between her thighs didn’t help matters any, either.
Her heart thrashed against her ribs, threatening to pound through as the next spin required her to somehow reach between his legs. And she knew she’d never achieve it without pressing part of her body against his crotch.
Sam laughed. “Rut roh, Shaggy. Looks like you might be stumped on this one.” His smug tone ignited her competitive spirit.
She glanced over at him. “Oh, really?”
She sucked in a breath then slid her hand through his legs to the green circle behind him. There was a moment of rock-hard pressure against her shoulder before he attempted to shift. The slight change in position was all it took to tip her against him, and they landed on the floor in a tangle of limbs. Somehow, she ended up with her head notched in his groin and one of her thighs curled over his upper torso, placing his head squarely between her legs.
Their gazes clashed between a sea of denim, and she wasn’t sure whether to scramble to her feet or simply lie there, staring at him. Drinking in the way his breathing kicked up and how the blue in his eyes looked darker—more of a stormy gray, now. Even his skin seemed flushed, though it could have been from the game. But damn if she didn’t hope it was from the same restless energy strumming through her, burning up her cheeks and no doubt, turning them a deep shade of red.
Sam recovered, first. He gave her a panty-melting smile, which didn’t help considering his location, then somehow levered up. There were a couple of moments of being bent together before he gripped her shoulders, holding her up enough he slid out from beneath her as he moved over her, his hands cradling her head while his body hovered above her. On his elbows, he touched her from the waist down, the hard, long ridge in his jeans pressing against her abdomen.
Bridgette stared into his eyes as her palms pressed against his chest. She instinctively fisted the material in her fingers, caught between wanting to shove him off and needing to draw him closer. She didn’t allow herself to get in this position—allow any man to have absolute control over her. Even during her occasional sexual encounters, she insisted on either being on top or in front—any way that didn’t trap her with no escape. Lying there beneath Sam, his massive body eclipsing her view of the room, should have frightened her. While a touch of panic quickened her breath and slicked her skin with a cold sweat, another part of her wanted more—wanted their clothes gone, his skin touching every inch of hers. Wanted to feel him hold her in his arms as he slowly moved inside her.
Wanted her to submit.
Sam’s smile faded. “Bridgette? Are you okay? Did I hit your head or something?”
She couldn’t answer. Couldn’t get any words past the singular thought in her head. She never submitted. Had sworn it would be a cold day in hell before she gave over control—trusted a man enough. Because the last time a guy had hovered over her like this, she’d been knifed and left to die.
“Darling?”
She should tell him to move. Explain why she was having trouble breathing. Why the room seemed to dissolve into flashes of that night—Brock’s hatred glaring down at her as he waved the knife, making the blade glint from the hallway light. Instead, she whimpered as her hands flexed around his shirt.
Frozen. That’s how she felt. Frozen between the past and the present. Stuck in some kind of limbo where she couldn’t let go without falling but aware the fall, itself, might kill her.
Sam’s face paled. “Shit.”
He scrambled off her then helped her up, doing his best to support her without crowding her. He planted her ass on the nearest chair then shoved her head down between her knees, all the while telling her to breathe. It was then she realized she’d been holding her breath. That the burning in her chest wasn’t fear but the desperate need for oxygen. She tried to inhale, panicking when her throat tightened.
Sam leaned in close, rubbing one hand along her back in easy circles. “It’s okay. You’re safe, just try to relax. The rest will happen on its own.”
She reached for his hand, clenching it in hers when he threaded their fingers together. The hard grip grounded her, slowly forcing out the patchwork memories until her chest loosened, and she managed a few shaky breaths.
“That’s my girl.” He applied gentle pressure on her neck when she tried to look at him. “Not yet. Just stay there. Breathe. Give your body a chance to equalize or you’ll just get lightheaded.”
Shit. She knew that. What was it about Sam Montgomery that fried her intelligence and made her look as if she couldn’t think straight—take care of herself? What made her want him to take care of her?
Thoughts tumbled through her head as she stayed bent over in the chair, waiting for the room to stop spinning. Once it had stabilized, she slowly straightened. A few latent images teased her senses, but not enough to derail her efforts.
Sam moved in front of her, kneeling down to her level. “Are you still dizzy? Feel like you’re gonna puke?”
She shook her head. “I’m fine, now.”
“No, you’re not. But at least some of the color is back in her cheeks. Was it something I did? Something I said?”
“It’s not you, Sam. It’s me. It’s all in here…” She tapped her temple. “One minute, everything’s fine, then the next, he’s there. That fucking night is just looping inside my head, waiting for a chance to pounce.”
She pointed at the Twister mat. “You want to know what it was, this time? It was lying on the floor beneath you, because the last time any man was on top of me that way…”
He clenched his jaw, those red slashes returning to his cheeks. “Brock stabbed you.”
“It wasn’t your fault. It’s crazy.” She palmed her face. “God, you must think I’m crazy.”
He snorted, the odd sound drawing her attention, and she forced herself to look up at him. He skimmed his fingers down the length of her hair, toying with the ends as he sighed. “You’re not crazy. And you’re not the only one with ghosts that won’t leave you alone.”
Her breath stalled, again. “Is your ghost Gray?”
His mouth pinched tight, but he didn’t look away. “His name was Rick Lawson, but everyone called him Gray because he already had gray hair. Some kind of genetic mishap. We were in basic training together and managed to stay that way for twelve years. He was the closest thing I ever had to a brother. But our last mission…”
Bridgette touched his cheek. “You don’t have to tell me any of this.”
He took her hand and held it in his. “I can’t say too much. National security and all that bullshit. But…the jump went bad. Gray was unconscious, and I tried to help him, but we got caught under enemy fire and…” He swallowed, the sound tearing at her heart. “He died. Died because I wasn’t good enough to save him.”
“You got hurt on that mission, too, didn’t you? That’s why you were medically discharged. You injured something that prevented you from returning.”
“Injuries heal. I get a second chance. Gray… I was his second chance, and I blew it.”
“Sam—”
“It’s true. All that training, and I couldn’t save him.”
“Do you know why I win as often as I do? It’s because I’m pretty good at seeing through to the truth. Despite what people think happened. And I can say with absolute certainty that you didn’t fail. Sometimes, we lose, even when we do our best.”
“I’m not sure it matters when the end result’s the same.”
She sighed. She couldn’t fault him on his logic. It’s why she hadn’t been able to move past her own fears, yet. “Do you get flashes of that mission?”
“Not exactly.” He stood, pacing to the other side of the room. “It’s not that mission I see. It’s him. Gray. At first, I swear I saw his ghost everywhere. Just standing there, mocking the fact I was still alive. The doctors told me it would fade. That it was just a by-product of guilt. An apparition caused by my own self-loathing.”
She followed him over to the window by the door. “And did it?”
He made eye contact. “It…changed. Now, he’s a voice inside my head, telling me whenever I’ve fucked something up. Like at breakfast this morning. When I made you feel like shit. My conscience, I guess.”
A few tears slipped free, but she didn’t bother wiping them away. “That doesn’t sound too scary. In fact, it sounds as if you’ve found a way to make peace with it. With him.”
“Peace? That doesn’t exist, but… Let’s just say we’re sharing my head space better than we used to.”
He turned to fully face her as he placed his hands on her shoulders. “So, no, Bridgette. I don’t think you’re crazy. Or cold. Or weak. Or anything else you’ve worked up in your head. You were hurt. Most people would have let that beat them, but you chose to turn it into something powerful. Something that benefits everyone else at your expense. So, you might want to cut yourself some slack. Because that’s not a ghost haunting you, it’s a demon. There’s no making friends with it. And nothing but time will exorcize it.”
His hands fell to his sides. “Thinking we should shower.” He chuckled at her raised brow. “We should each take a shower. On our own. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. And we are going out tonight.”
“A shower sounds good. I hope there’s lots of hot water.”
“I don’t mind it cool, so…you go, first. Take as long as you need. I’ll see if I can find a menu for that delivery place Hank mentioned. We can order once we’ve both cleaned up and had a chance to see if there’s anything besides burgers available.”
“All right.” She turned then walked to her bag, removing the items she needed before heading to the bathroom. She paused at the threshold, looking back at Sam over her shoulder. “Thank you.”
“For what? As I recall, you’d said it was only fair that I confessed my secrets if you had to. And I’m a bit late in that.”
“You didn’t have to tell me. I know how hard it must have been. If it helps, you’re the first person I’ve ever told about Brock. About that night.”
“Seriously? Didn’t the hospital call your dad?”
“It hadn’t been very long since my mom had died, so I’d changed my emergency contact information. I didn’t want him worrying if anything happened to me when he was a few states away and couldn’t do anything. I had my girlfriend swear she wouldn’t call him unless I was actually dead. Thankfully, she followed my wishes. After I woke up, I guess I didn’t want anyone else to know.” She fiddled with her hair for a moment in an effort to control her emotions. “But I also meant for taking care of me. No one’s done that in a very long time.”
She cleared her throat. “I won’t be long.”
The door swirled air around her legs as she closed it then leaned against it. This was quickly becoming far more than a simple security assignment. And she had no idea whether to embrace it or run while she had the chance.