Angel's Rest(82)

Watching her now with her good leg folded up beneath her, the injured leg pushing against the porch to keep the swing in motion, he knew that the sex-not-possible-because-it-hurts-her-to-move excuse was soon to disappear. He clenched his jaw and sucked a breath past his teeth. Damn.

He wanted her.

She was … sunshine. She was warm and bright and full of life. She drew him like a moth to flame. He wanted to take her to bed and share in her light.

What was he going to do about it? Had he changed in the weeks since their California trip? Could he have sex without feeling guilty when it was over? He needed to be sure the answer was yes before approaching her. The last thing he wanted to do was to screw up what they had now.

And yet, if his head was finally on straight, what they had now could become even better.

Maybe the thing to do was to discuss it with Nic. One thing he’d learned from living with her was that she preferred to get things out in the open and face them head-on rather than *foot around. Maybe talking about it ahead of time would avoid awkwardness when, and if, the right time rolled around.

“The right time,” he muttered to himself. “That sounds like an erectile dysfunction commercial.”

That was definitely not his problem.

Gabe exhaled a deep breath, then went into the kitchen, where he poured two glasses of lemonade. He stepped out onto the front porch. “Thirsty?”

She set her book aside. “You read my mind. Thanks.”

He handed her a glass, then joined her on the swing. “What are you reading?”

She gave him a considering look. “You probably don’t want to know.”

He arched a brow, then reached for the book. One Thousand and One Baby Names. He winced and gave her back the book, wishing he’d left well enough alone.

“Okay. That answers that question. Still not ready to deal with this particular reality, are you?”

“Let’s just say that’s not what I came out here to talk to you about.”

“Oh? And that would be …?”

Well, hell. He couldn’t exactly talk about sex now, could he? Instead he brought up the other subject that had been on his mind today. “Today is my twin brothers’ birthday.”

“You have twin brothers?”

He nodded. “Apparently twins run in the family. I think I’d like to tell you about them. About what happened to my family.”

“I’d like that very much.”

So he told her. He explained about growing up in Brazos Bend, Texas, and the way the family fell apart in the wake of his mother’s death. He told her about being sent off to military school and being recruited by the State Department. “I was good with languages.”

Her eyes rounded. “You were a spy?”

“Officially I was an embassy worker in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Then he told her about Sarajevo, the shooting, his time as a prisoner, and the rescue.

“Is that where you got the scars on your chest?”

“Yeah. Look, I don’t want to go into all the gory details. All that really matters is that it was best for the good guys if I died, so I did.”

“I don’t understand.”

“They faked my death. I went back to the States and started a new life. Think of it as a version of the witness protection program.”

Nic blinked. “Whoa. Wait one minute. You’re in a witness protection program?”

“No. It’s nothing official. Except, of course, all my government documents are legit.”

Now she gaped at him. “Are you telling me you’re not really Gabe Callahan?”

“No, not at all. I didn’t have to change my name. They created a past for me, issued me a new social security number, and did a little work on my face. I started going by my middle name rather than my first.” He explained how he’d enrolled in grad school to study landscape architecture, met and married Jennifer, and made a name for himself—as Gabe Callahan—in his field.

“Weren’t you worried someone would recognize you?”

“No. The government made my death very convincing. Plus I look different.”

“Wow,” she said after a moment’s thought. “This just blows me away. I sensed you had secrets in your past, but I never guessed anything like this. What you are telling me is that, in effect, you gave your life for your country.”

“No, not at all. That makes me sound …”