Way of the Warrior (Troubleshooters #17.5)(27)

Her hand went to her side, right over the spot where her skin hummed from his simple touch. She wanted to reach out for more, to hell with being smart, and lose herself in the passion they shared.

But his words gave her pause. Was he judging her? That notion hurt. So much. And dissecting the reasons was tough, how she fell into the battered woman pit. Jared had appeared to worship her, played the adoring husband almost too well, flowers and chocolates and jewelry. The signs had been small at first. He’d started dictating what she wore, but she’d written it off as too much stress at work and taking it out on her. Then he took away the credit cards for “fiscal prudence” and put her on an allowance, a move she’d countered by job-hunting to help their cash flow. Except then he was insulted. Adamant about her not working. So many signs that seemed minor taken individually, then the temper, the explosions and apologies. She didn’t realize how truly twisted their relationship had grown until the first time he’d hit her. By then, she was already isolated. No job. No means of support.

And it didn’t help that she’d felt so…humiliated. Embarrassed. All the things abusers counted on a woman feeling to keep her silent. She’d walked that victim path and told herself she could fix it, even when the bruises multiplied. But then her lung collapsed while she was grocery shopping.

She’d passed out and woken up in the hospital, knowing she could never go home. “Does it matter now why I married him?”

“To me? Yes, it matters.” He turned to face her, one hip resting against the counter, his face taut with intensity. “We loved each other. We exchanged vows and maybe they weren’t legal, but we have a connection. History.”

She blinked back tears at memories of that waterfall “wedding” where they’d pledged themselves to each other with words…and then their bodies. “I loved you, but you made it clear you were never going to settle down. We were both too stubborn to compromise. But I still wanted a life, a marriage, children. I settled for a man I thought I could have that life with. That was wrong of me, and he knew it.”

He shook his head sharply. “Don’t even suggest for an instant any of what this bastard has done to you is your fault.”

His fierce defense soothed a part of her battered ego. Jared had been an expert at eroding her confidence, and trusting her judgment again had been a damn hard row. “That’s a part of the mind game of abuse that’s hard to shake.”

“But you’re going to.” He reached for her hands, sliding his fingers along the insides of her palms with a gentle stroke, his sightless brown eyes so close to meeting hers. “You deserve better from life. He’s a twisted man who should be in jail.”

“I know. I just wonder if I’ll ever be free. He’s so…obsessed. There’s nowhere to hide.” She swayed closer to him, her breasts skimming against the rock-solid wall of his chest. She ached with the need to press closer, to put her lips to him, explore the hard planes of his body. “And to think I turned you down because I thought military life would be too difficult.”

“You were right,” he said darkly. “Look at me now. Your fears came true.”

“You look…strong. Handsome.” And every bit as dear to her now as he’d been all those years ago.

She surrendered to temptation and leaned the rest of the way in, her mouth to his, holding still, their breaths flowing back and forth between them in a frozen moment in time. Then his hands slid up, bold and sure, palming her back and bringing her body flush against his. She moaned her pleasure and consent, her fingers digging into his shoulders. The ever-present attraction between them flared hot and ready, as if the past decade had never happened. But there was a mature edge to the need, a sense of just how much life could steal from them if they were foolish enough to waste this gift.

“Anastasia,” he murmured against her lips, then along her neck, “are you sure this is what you want? I need to be clear you understand where this is going if we don’t stop soon.”

She cupped his face in her hands, his five o’clock shadow rough against her palms. “I’m hoping it’s going to your bedroom.”





CHAPTER 4


Gavin wrapped his arms around Stacy, lifting her against him as he walked toward his bedroom. He didn’t need to see to move. He knew every inch of his home, so all his instincts could be focused on kissing her, feeling her gentle curves against him, drawing in the strawberry scent of her hair. A decade without her had left a hunger so deep inside him he didn’t know if he could ever fill it.

But he sure as hell intended to try.

He booted his bedroom door the rest of the way open, stroking and walking, then pausing at the foot of the bed. “Here or in the shower?”

She purred her approval, whispering against his mouth, “The shower. Then the bed.”

“I like the way you think.” He cradled her face and took her mouth again, anticipation, all the pent-up tension of the past twenty-four hours ramping him higher.

She tugged at his T-shirt, pulling it from his jeans, sweeping it up and off. The brush of her cool, soft hands against his skin as she unzipped his jeans made him throb harder. He backed her toward the bathroom, sliding free the buttons on her shirt, parting the fabric and yessss, finally touching her. Anastasia.

Even with the lacy rasp of her bra, he could feel her heat, the pebbling of her nipples in response to his touch. He ached to see her so damn much that the loss of his sight threatened to bring tears to his eyes. But he could touch, explore, learn the “look” of her again with his other senses, and he intended to make the most of that. He unhooked her bra and flung it aside before sketching his hands around to reacquaint himself with her gentle curves. Perfection.