Still, she’d looked at him with more concern than he felt worthy of and now she stood outside in this cold ass, single digit weather for him, too. Though the snow had subsided, she pulled the furry hood of her parka over her head while he started his truck and cranked the defrosters. She looked like an Eskimo, all warm and cozy, and he wished he didn’t have to leave, so he could pull her in close and share in her comfort just one more time. Then he’d tell her that he wasn’t the man she thought he was. That she should save her fear and compassion for a guy who deserved them. A guy who hadn’t left his buddies’ souls back in the desert.
“Tell me you have a hoodie in there somewhere,” she said when he closed the truck door and tucked his hands into his pockets, bouncing on his toes to ward off the chill.
“I’m fine. It’s you I’m worried about. You didn’t have to come out here.”
“Yes, I did.” She shifted forward and slid her arms around his waist without hesitation. “Here, let me warm you up.”
Jesus Christ. She really wanted to kill him, didn’t she?
“You know he’s probably peeking from behind the curtain,” he said, turning his face into the protection of her hood.
“Good.” She ran her hands up and down his back, creating heated friction between her skin and the cotton of his shirt. “Maybe he’ll stop watching my every move.”
“You using me to piss off your ex, sugar?” When he tried to rock them from side to side, hoping to make light of the only half-sarcastic question, she tensed. “I’ve been that guy before. I’d do it for you if it meant getting him off your back.”
She pulled back, her pretty brow furrowed. “This isn’t about him.”
“This?” He liked the sound of that way more than he should. “What do you mean by that?”
“You told me your last deployment was awful, yet you want to go back again. Why? And don’t tell me it’s just your job, because we both know that’s a cop-out.”
Ah, that kind of this. “Don’t read too much into what I said that night. Most of that was the whiskey talking.”
She shook her head. “No, you spoke from the heart. And the subconscious doesn’t lie, either.”
Stupid, drunken stupor. “Look, it’s not what you think.”
“Then tell me so I don’t make assumptions.” She wiggled closer until the soft fullness of her tits hit his chest. Goddamn, she felt good. Why couldn’t she have been like all the other women in Vegas that night? Why couldn’t she have been content to fuck him and be on her merry way?
“I can’t.” Wow, Nelson, that’s deep.
She stared up him, giving him no chance to look away and hide what her spot-on intuition had probably already sensed—he was a walking, talking fucking mess. “You can’t or you don’t want to? Maybe I’m not the right person, but there’s got to be some—”
“Jenny, stop. Please. We don’t talk about this shit, okay?”
She nodded and he hated the pity he saw in her eyes. “I get it, I do. But I can see that it’s eating you alive and I...I just want you to know that if you ever did feel like talking, I’d listen.”
Goddamn. “You’re too friggin’ giving for your own good, you know that?”
“You didn’t leave me in Vegas. You held my hand while we slept.”
He should send her on her way. Tell her to run while she had the chance.
Fuck it. He tugged on the sides of her hood to bring her close and then he dipped his head, his focus on those shivering pink lips. “That asshole in there? He’s got no fucking idea what he’s throwing away.”
She blinked at him, her eyes flicking from his gaze to his mouth, hovering above hers. “He doesn’t?” she whispered.
“Nope. I should be a good friend and leave it at that, but...” He gave his head a half shake. “I’m not feeling real friendly all of the sudden.”
Realization flashed in her eyes and a small smile quirked her mouth. “How are you feeling?”
“Like this...” He dipped his head and he kissed her. Not soft, but not gentle either. This girl could take it. She had the kind of strength he’d only seen a handful of times before. In Ernie and Troy and a few of his fellow Marines, who understood the magnitude of the commitment they’d made when they’d signed on that dotted line. But putting on a uniform and toting a gun didn’t make you a hero—being a decent fucking human being did that.
Jenny Riley had that shit down pat. She was the most real person he’d met in a long time. She'd give you the shirt off her back if you needed it. And she’d kick your ass a second later if you deserved it.
And kiss...fuck, could she kiss. She pushed up on her toes, fisted his shirt, and gave just as good as she got. Parted lips, soft moans, and the slow, fiery caress of her tongue against his. That sweet perfume she wore had nothing on the honey dripping off her tongue and he cursed himself for not doing this in Vegas.
He wasn’t ready to talk. Nor was he ready to be the kind of man Jenny deserved. But maybe they could compromise and give each other what they could, because it was obvious they gave each other something.
And a little bit of Jenny Riley was better than any therapy session.
Chapter Seven
I can’t resist him. I should, but...I can’t. And, God help me, I don’t want to.
Brody pushed her hood back and slid his finger into her hair, holding her steady while he rocked her world with nothing but his mouth. Well, maybe that wasn’t true—his hard body pressed against hers got her warm in all the right places, too.
He softened the kiss, his lips and tongue featherlike against hers, and she missed him before he even broke contact. Maybe he wasn’t eager to retreat either, because he rested his forehead down on hers and caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers.
She smiled. “Mmm, that wasn’t the kind of talking I had in mind, but if you’d rather communicate with kisses, I’m game.”
Brody chuckled. “You’re way too easily persuaded, sugar.”
Story of her life, but, like a true addict, she told herself she’d deal with the repercussions later. Right now, she needed the hit. “Are you complaining?”
“Nope. I’ve kicked my own ass for the past six weeks, wishing I’d tasted you in Vegas.”
Like I’m some kind of delicacy. Butterflies tickled in her belly and a rush of desire spread south¸ making her sex pulse. Definitely an addict.
“Look, I’m coming back through on Sunday. I know it goes against your whole men suck movement right now, but I’d like to see you again.” He twirled a strand of her hair around his finger and she watched errant snowflakes melt on his eyelashes.
“I won’t sleep with you,” she said, repeating his words from that first night, though she hated herself for having to. It was tempting to give in and tell herself she’d start her no-man diet again after Brody, but that was a self-defeating cycle she’d been caught up in for too long already. And even the worst addicts had to put up a fight sometimes.
“I don’t expect you to. I know that you’ve probably heard that from plenty of other guys. Even telling you I just want to spend a little time getting to know you better probably sounds cliché. I can’t escape the long-standing history of my gender—”
“Or the fact that you’re sex in combat boots,” she interjected, the heat rising in her cheeks before she could finish the sentence. He gave a crooked grin.
“Talk like that is gonna make it hard for me to be an honorable man, sugar.”
“I won’t pretend I’m not attracted to you, so I guess that means I’ll have to work even harder to resist the temptation.” What was it about this man that inspired her to spill her guts without shame? Well, maybe there was a little shame—if she hadn’t acted so foolishly up until this point, she might actually be able to have him like she wanted him. Every last sexy bit of him.