She smiled and let him lead her to the kitchen. Not a single bit of her protested.
Chapter Twelve
“Jesus, you could have an orgy in that thing.”
Brody laughed from the doorway of the master bath. Ahead of him, Jenny stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the deep tub. “Pretty sure whoever built this house had something similar in mind.” Right now, his own thoughts weren’t so far removed either, between him and Jenny, at least. But tonight he’d be happy to get her a little wet...in every sense of the word.
“So how are we gonna do this?” She tossed a saucy grin over her shoulder.
“Do what?” He arched an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning into the door. Okay, so maybe he was hoping for completely naked, but if that happened, it’d have to be her call entirely.
“You’ve got some things you want to say, right?” She turned and faced him, her dark eyes heavier, more intense than they had been only moments earlier when they’d shared a quick brownie sundae and he’d given her the tour he’d promised. When he’d gone out to her car and brought in her overnight bag, an unspoken agreement that she’d stay forged between them.
“I do.” He dipped his chin, watching her intently. Her call, man. Bide your time.
“But you’re obviously dragging your feet.” Head cocked to the side, she bit her lip. Made him want to give her something else to nibble on. “Maybe I could offer some incentive.”
Yep, he liked incentives. “Keep talking.”
“You tell me your secrets and I’ll get into that tub with you.”
“Deal.”
She laughed, putting one methodical foot in front of the other until she reached him. “Don’t be so quick to agree, handsome. I wasn’t done laying out the game.”
Didn’t matter. The prospect of seeing more of her gorgeous skin was the only persuasion he needed. “Go on.”
“You have to get naked first.”
He had his fly down faster than it took her eyes to zero in on his belt. “And?” he asked, stripping his t-shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor.
“Are you playing me, Superman? I’m starting to think you don’t really have anything to say at all.”
“I’m a guy, sugar. You’ve just baited me with the ultimate reward. I may not be the sharpest crayon in the box, but I’m with it enough to know a good deal when I hear one.” His jeans hit the tile next and her eyes widened as he kicked them free. Probably had something to do with his hard cock threatening to bust out of his boxer briefs. He grinned. “Ah, that’s right—I’ve got something you wanna see, too.”
“You sure know how to turn my games around on me, don’t you?” She shifted back a half step, her eyes still trained below his waist. A shiver rocked her body from head to toe and she muttered a not so secretive, “Good Lord.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, beautiful—this has always been my game.” With that, he stepped around her and cranked on the hot water.
“Mmm, if that’s what you want to think.” He felt her at his back, her soft lips pressing kisses across his shoulder blades. “I don’t think I told you before, but I like your tattoos. They’re hot. You’ve probably heard that before.”
He had. He’d even had a few women who insisted they lick every single one. Still, Jenny’s adoration stroked his ego. Being physically appealing to her was more important than it had ever been before. Especially given the evidence of war that had riddled his body.
“What happened to your thigh?” she asked quietly, her fingers gently brushing over the bumpy, once raw skin of his upper right leg. It wasn’t a big area. Seven inches wide by nine long and, really, it had been nothing more than a flesh wound. But it was still ugly. And yet it was nothing like Ernie and Troy had suffered.
“IED,” he muttered, that same instantaneous guilt brewing fast in his gut.
“I saw the bottom of the scar in Vegas, but didn’t want to ask. It looks like it hurt.” She continued to touch him and he ground his jaw. He didn’t deserve this attention. This pity. He was still alive while Ernie lay in a cold, dark fucking grave, a hole the size of Nebraska in his chest.
“I’m breathing. That’s all that matters, isn’t it?” he snapped, fully aware that this was his issue—not hers.
She shook her head slowly. “No, Brody, it’s not.”
“Yeah, it is. My buddies died and all I got was fucking road rash.”
“This looks likes more than road rash. It looks like—”
“It was burn, okay? Nothing a couple grafts couldn’t fix.” He cranked the water harder and raked a hand back through his hair, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut. Wishing he’d pushed her away instead of pulling her in. But he’d been helpless to it, stuck in a continuous game of wanting something he knew better to think he deserved.
She couldn’t fucking heal him.
“Hey...” Lifting her hand to his cheek, she toed up and brushed a sweet kiss across his lips. “Let’s just get in, okay?”
He nodded. Even if his head stood firm in the belief that nothing could change this personalized version of guilt-ridden hell, his heart still held out hope that this woman would be his salvation.
He climbed into the tub with his boxer briefs on, kept his back to her just long enough to hear the rustle of denim hit the floor, followed by the soft whisk of her shirt through the air. He turned, lowering himself into the water, as she stepped away from her jeans, wearing nothing but black satin panties and a lacy pink bra.
“Holy shit,” he murmured, unable to look away, even when she wrapped an arm around her waist and glanced down at the floor, a blush even darker than her bra creeping into her cheeks. “Why you hiding from me, baby?”
“I’m not perfect either.” She wouldn’t look at him, just curled her toes into the tile and kept that protective shield slung across her belly. A belly that wasn’t cut like she worked out every day at the gym or even once a week, for that matter. Instead, she looked soft and curvy. Feminine. And every fucking bit as beautiful as he imagined she’d be.
“Come here,” he rasped, but she hesitated, opening her mouth like she might refuse him. “Dammit, woman, don’t make me come get you.”
“Just...hear me out, okay? I need to say this.” She pushed a hand back through her hair and fisted it, all the while sucking in and then blowing out a shaky breath. “We both have our issues and this is one of mine,” she admittedly quietly. “I don’t usually worry about whether or not I’ll live up to anyone’s expectations, because I know it’s almost never about me personally. It’s just my willing body that most guys care about.”
“Jesus, babe...”
She held up a hand. “I like you, Brody, and when you do things like text me late at night, hold my hand in the freaking grocery store, and eat the stupid vegetables I cook for you, it’s hard for me not to like you even more. Even when you tell me there are things about you I don’t know.” She tipped her head to the side and the emotion that lined her eyelids made him want to go out and beat the hell out of every bastard that had ever hurt her.
“You’re angry and feeling guilty and I’m scared to freaking death that I’m not going to be enough for you either,” she whispered, a small, vulnerable smile trembled on her lips.
He was on his feet and out of the tub in an instant. His hands found her hair and his mouth came down on hers without hesitation. He wished he could kiss all the pain and uncertainty out of her, or even load it onto his own shoulders, so she could see how friggin’ real this was to him, too.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured between sweet caresses of her tongue against his. “But I’ve gotta be straight with you about something.”
Her eyes fluttered open and she pressed her fingertips to her lips, looking up at him with so much fear in her eyes that it hurt—actually fucking hurt—to pull in his next breath.
She wasn’t the only one who was scared. Fuck, he was terrified. If he told her the truth and she ran, not only did he lose her, but he’d lose the only, barely-grasped thread of hope he found for his recovery, too. Somehow, her non-judging goodness had become tangled up with all the chaos in his head and, despite his efforts, he couldn’t separate them. She was his recovery.