Deadly Promises (Tracers #2.5)(78)

“I’m not in bed. And there’s no way I can sleep tonight knowing you’re out in this rain. Come inside.”

He sighed heavily and dropped his arm over his face. “Kelsey, come on. I can’t sleep with you. Jesus. If Joe finds out—”

“I didn’t ask you to sleep with me. You can sleep on my floor. Inside.”

He gazed up at her and she crossed her arms, adamant.

Finally, he got to his feet. He wore the same jeans and T-shirt he’d had on earlier, and he’d gone to bed with his gun on. Was he really that worried about her safety?

He shoved his feet into the boots parked beneath one of the worktables. “You’re trying my patience, Quinn. I was almost asleep.”

She turned her back on him and went inside the camper. She moved a few stacks of books, then retrieved the sleeping bag from her fold-out bed and spread it out on the floor. She’d settle for a blanket tonight.

Gage stood in the doorway, watching her. His gaze shifted to the stove.

She tossed him a dish towel. “You told me you ate already.”

“I did.”

She watched him dry off, trying to imagine what he’d put together for his dinner while she’d been in here buried in work.

“I’ve got chicken tortilla soup,” she said.

“Really, I’m okay.” He glanced at the stove again.

Kelsey took a clean bowl from the milk crate where she stored her dishes. It was one of her few indulgences. She didn’t mind cold showers, and Laundromats, and no phones all summer. But she despised eating with paper plates and plastic utensils, so she brought dishes from home. She filled a bowl with steamy soup and put it on the table.

Gage stepped onto the camper, finally, and looked around for a place to stash his duffel.

“Under the table’s fine,” she said. “You can move those books.”

Gage stowed his bag and slid onto the bench seat. His long legs stuck out into the middle of the room.

“Sorry about the clutter.” Kelsey put two spoons on the table, then filled another bowl with soup and slid onto the seat beside him.

Gage rubbed his eyes and sighed.

“You weren’t really asleep, were you?”

His gaze met hers. “No.”

She sampled her soup. It was hot and spicy and the chicken chucks were tender. Kelsey wasn’t much of a cook, but Gage took a bite and didn’t leap up from the table in disgust, so she took that as a good sign.

“You know,” she said, “I do know a few things about SEALs. I’m pretty close to my uncle.”

He watched her as he scooped up another bite.

“I know about BUD/S training, and Hell Week, and all those practice missions on San Clemente Island and up in Alaska.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is, you don’t have to act like Superman all the time. I’m already impressed.”

Their gazes locked. She’d told him she was impressed. And she was. She had an incredible amount of admiration for these talented men who dedicated themselves to training and practicing and honing their skills in order to be part of one of the most elite fighting forces in the world. She felt the same admiration for her uncle.

But along with her admiration for Gage—and every other man in his profession—was something more. Something that had nothing to do with his job and everything to do with the way her pulse raced whenever he came near her. She’d never responded to a stranger this way, and she wasn’t sure exactly what to do about it. He’d be gone in a few days. She needed to remember that.

Maybe this was just about sex. And maybe, as Mia had so often suggested, Kelsey needed a rebound man. Her ex-boyfriend Blake lived in suits and went through life with a BlackBerry attached to his ear. He hated camping and kept hand sanitizer stashed in his glove compartment for emergencies. A hardened warrior he was not.

Kelsey eyed Gage’s T-shirt. Today’s was desert-brown instead of olive drab, and the collar was slightly frayed. It would be tough to imagine a man less like Blake, and maybe that explained her fascination. Ever since Gage had shown up she’d felt edgy.

But it was a good edgy. A warm-feeling-low-in-the-belly kind of edgy.

Gage tipped his bowl to get the very last spoonful. He glanced up at her with those impossibly blue eyes. “What?”

“Nothing.”

Nothing was right. He was leaving soon, and this was going nowhere.

Kelsey got up and felt his gaze on her as she retrieved a couple of beers from the minifridge.

Gage raised an eyebrow. “Drinking on the job?”

“I’m done for the night.” She used the cuff of her sweatshirt to twist the cap off her bottle. “Here’s to silver-bullet assignments.”

He gave her a look she couldn’t read. Then he twisted his cap off and clinked bottles with her.

KELSEY MADE A mean bowl of soup and she liked Miller Genuine Draft. All the more reason for him to get his butt back out there in the rain.

And he would. Eventually. He planned to do some reconnaissance tonight while she was asleep. But for now sitting inside her messy camper and watching her put away dinner felt just a little too good.

And so he stayed. And watched her. She’d changed into boxer shorts and a sweatshirt and he tried not to notice how good her legs looked without any shoes on. Gage forced himself to look away and wondered, again, what the hell Joe had been thinking sending him out here. Did he realize what he was asking? It was like sending a man across the desert and then asking him to guard a glass of water.