“You have a specialty?”
He crossed his arms. “Of course I have a specialty.”
She just bet he did. A soldier who carried her bag, tried to open the car door for her, put her up in his house to protect her, and now offered to cook her dinner. This guy was ten kinds of dangerous. And in more ways than she’d expected when she’d come to him for help. “Well, then, I eat meat.”
The left side of his mouth pulled up in a crooked smile, hinting at a dimple on his cheek.
A freaking dimple. A single spot of softness on a man otherwise built of hard planes and rough edges. Becca tried not to stare, she really did. But she found herself wanting to press her lips to the little indent. For starters.
“Good. Take whatever time you need to get settled in. There’s towels and stuff in the bathroom next door. Come out to the kitchen when you’re ready.”
She shook the ludicrous urge away. “You really don’t have to go to any trouble. We could just order a pizza. I already feel bad enough—”
He stepped in close, his heat and masculine scent, all leather and clean spice, invading her space. “It’s no trouble, Becca.”
Awareness raced from her head to her toes. For a split second, she couldn’t breathe, and the urge to lean into him, to lay her head against that big chest, to fist her hands in his clothes, had her nearly swaying on her feet. Would his body feel as hard and strong as it looked? Would his arms hold her tight, or lay loosely at the small of her back, his fingers interlaced? A rush of heat threaded through her veins. She forced herself to take a step back. “Need help?”
His eyes narrowed the smallest bit as they ran over her face. Had he felt the same pull? “Nope. I got this.”
She smiled, wondering what the heck he planned to make but satisfied to let it be a surprise. “Okey dokey.”
“Yell if you need anything,” he said, then stepped out the door and pulled it closed with a soft click.
For a moment, she stared at the back of the door. And then the day caught up with her and she sagged to the bed. Letting her back collapse onto the firm mattress, her eyes traced a random pattern over the exposed architectural elements above her.
But her mind stayed firmly on Nick Rixey. He was just . . . really freaking gorgeous. And he was making her dinner. And, tonight, he’d be sleeping down the hall.
Between the way he’d reacted to her plea for help the day before and his general history as a Special Forces soldier, Becca had no doubt: Nick Rixey was the walking personification of “complication.”
And Charlie going missing was all the complication she could handle.
Charlie was out there somewhere in trouble. He was the only thing that mattered right now. Not how hot Nick was, or how he tempted her body with desires she hadn’t felt in a really long time, or how safe she felt with him. She blew out a deep breath. Soon her eyelids grew heavy and her body melted into the soft comforter.
Get up, get up, get up, she told herself. Yes, that was totally what she should do. Get up, go out there, and see what the sexy soldier man was cooking her for dinner. The thought made her smile, although she was far too drowsy to know if her cheeks actually managed to move in response. So, right. She was totally going to get up. In just a minute, or ten . . .
Chapter 6
Nick slid the large skillet off the hot burner, hoping a little food would ease the anxiety that had been rolling off Becca since she’d first settled into the passenger seat of his car. She’d been a champ at holding it together, but it didn’t take a genius to see that the night’s events hung around her neck like an anchor, threatening to pull her under the surface. And who could blame her?
When she’d asked who Katherine was, his brain had imagined his sister in Becca’s situation. And the momentary mental exercise had both twisted his gut and lit up every protective instinct he possessed.
So, here he was cooking sloppy joes—his favorite meal, the one his mother had always made to cheer one of them up—for his dead CO’s daughter.
What a cluster.
He set out everything they’d need to eat and poured a couple of glasses of water. Then he made his way back down the hall and knocked softly at her door. No answer.
“Becca? No rush. Just wanted to let you know dinner’s ready.” Frowning at the silence on the other side, Rixey hesitated, then cracked open the door. “Hey, Becca?”
She was sound asleep at the bottom of the bed, her face turned to the side, her feet still on the floor. It was like she’d just fallen over from exhaustion. And, given the dark circles under her eyes, that probably wasn’t far from the truth.
Standing at the threshold to the room, he debated whether to just bug out or wake her. Her body had clearly been craving some sustenance, but maybe she needed sleep more. His indecision annoyed him, so finally he pushed into the room and crossed to the side of the bed. “Becca? Hey, Becca, wake up.” No response. Out cold.
He eased the covers back from the top of the bed so he could slip her between them. Crouching by her legs, he removed her sneakers, then he leaned in over her.
God, she was pretty, with her soft, pale skin and her full, pink lips. The yellow shirt nearly matched her long hair, still pulled back in a ponytail. She just had a light about her he found so appealing. Because, these days, he didn’t have much light in his own life. Everything was dark and heavy, saddling him with the bone-crushing weight of guilt and regret and wants never to be fulfilled. But Becca was just . . . sunshine, warm and life-giving.
His gut clenched. What if she’d gone upstairs when she’d gotten home earlier? What if the guy rooting through her office had been armed? What if Rixey hadn’t arrived when he had?
He couldn’t know the answers, of course, but he knew enough to know he didn’t like any of the likelies.
He slid his arms under her shoulders and knees and lifted her up. Her warmth soaked into his skin, making him crave more of it, especially when she turned her face into his chest. God, when was the last time a woman had touched him?
“Charlie,” she whispered.
A sharp wave of jealousy speared through him for a split second, until his brain’s cognitive function pushed through the possessive urges and reminded him that Charlie was her brother’s name. Jesus. Where the hell had that come from? What right did he have feeling jealous over her?
Refusing to examine those questions too closely, he laid her against the cool sheet and pulled the covers over her. She stirred, mumbling a little and pushing her bottom lip into a pout, and then she stilled again.
His body tight with all kinds of desires he’d no business having, Rixey turned on his heel, killed the lights, and closed the door behind him.
Back in the kitchen, he braced his hands against the counter and stared at the paper plates, napkins, and drinks he’d laid out on the breakfast bar. Probably better dinner hadn’t happened, after all. She didn’t have much insight into who might’ve broken into her place, and he had some things to look into before deciding how best to approach her brother’s alleged disappearance. What the hell else did that leave them to talk about?
So, did you know your father’s lies and betrayal led to the deaths of six of my friends, impugned my honor, and ended my military career? Can you pass me another bun?
Yeah, not happening. Ever. First, why would she believe him over the official Army line? Especially when the powers that be had gone out of their way to make sure no one would believe anything he or the others had to say about what had happened. Second, the Army had made his and his team’s freedom contingent on the signing of a nondisclosure agreement, so he couldn’t let that news pass between his lips even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t. Frank Merritt deserved everything he got. But no kid deserved to find out that their father was anything but the decorated military hero the Army made him out to be. Rixey was a lot of things, but spiteful SOB wasn’t one of them. Still, it chafed his hide to do anything that benefited the man responsible for pulling his life out from under him.