Defy (Brothers of Ink and Steel Book 3)(38)

Rodriguez rolls his eyes.

“It’s hard work being a hero. You know, I think it’s a good time for you to get that nicotine fix,” I say to him. Then to Jones, “Let’s go.”



Rachel





I’m embarrassed that I even asked for Ryder to be brought in. I only saw him once more during the extensive questioning, but knowing he was still close by was comforting.

I can’t believe I doubted him now that everything’s said and done. In the moment, everything was just so surreal, and I couldn’t process it all. I was so sure he was crazy—that he was letting paranoia get to him and was racing me straight toward an early death. Of course, he was right all along.

Now, embarrassment doesn’t even come close to the mortification I feel as he walks through the studio-apartment-slash-military-barracks room where I’m pacing the floors. His presence unnerves me in so many ways.

“Hey.” I can feel my face flush under his gaze.

“Farrington,” he says. His voice is low and sounds like it’s being sifted through gravel. It’s sexy and deep and makes my lady parts ache. “Why aren’t you asleep yet?”

Ryder is a man that misses nothing. He looks completely at ease here in this place—he’s relaxed, and his demeanor immediately makes me feel the same.

“Can I talk to you over here for a moment?” I ask him.

There’s no privacy in this space, and the guards aren’t going to give us any. We step over to the cramped kitchenette that’s adjacent to the bedroom—that’s adjacent to everything else.

I stand there awkwardly with Ryder just one foot away from me. His frame towers above mine, his body seems indestructible and strong and I want to hide within his arms as if he were my own protective shell. How did I ever doubt this man?

I know what I want to ask, but the thought is halted. I peer around the room—my assigned FBI agents are being casual, playing cards, watching out the window, looking at the television—but it’s not enough . . . intimacy.

“Come into the bathroom.” I grab Ryder’s arm and drag him through the door into the tight space where he crams his body against the sink.

I sardine in with him and close the door.

His eyes hold deep concern. “Are you alright?”

No. I am definitely not alright.

We’re pressed so close together—I hadn’t thought of that when I brought him in here—now my own tension is even thicker and my mind becomes foggy.

I open my mouth to speak, but his nearness renders me incoherent.

“You’re not alright.” Ryder gazes down at me with tenderness.

“I’m terrified,” I whisper.

“And you’re exhausted,” he confirms.

His breath smells good—like fresh mint toothpaste. His body gives off the scent of soap, and he’s in fresh clean clothes—a simple black t-shirt and military camo pants.

He radiates a heat my body and senses crave. Ryder says something, but I don’t hear the words, instead my eyes close with the timbre of his voice as it washes over me. I want to crush myself against his thick chest and stay hidden there until all of this is over.

“Ryder, you do know I’m a psychology student, and I realize this is probably terribly unhealthy but I—” My throat constricts, and I try to swallow the lump that forms, without success.

He leans his body forward and opens his arms—an invitation.

A strangled moan of relief breaks through my chest. His sweet invitation and acceptance are all I need to fold into him—into his rugged, gritty strength, into his immense and undauntable power.

He blankets me within his embrace.

In that moment I feel like I’m floating away, higher than I’ve ever been, filled with helium, even while I experience an anchoring to him as if I’m a ship moored to his docks.

The sensation is deliciously indescribable.

Something else is indescribable: the heat, the fever—the delirium amalgamating with peace, security and wanting. I know the ink that covers his skin; I know his passion and what he is capable of, the danger he is unafraid of and his commanding skills—they make him all the more volcanically attractive and incredibly potent.

Ryder’s chiseled arms flex and then release slightly—as if maybe he thinks it’s not a good idea to hold me and is about to change his mind—but he continues to cradle me in spite of his hesitation. I nuzzle deeper. His chest is solid like plate armor, as if he may be more than just a man—but then I feel and hear his heart beating unsteadily.

His humanity. Maybe I affect him too.

“Don’t leave me tonight,” I whisper. “Please, stay with me.”

His breath becomes raspy as he holds me closer and tighter, bringing me into him even more. “I can do that.”

I don’t want to let go—I loathe the very thought—but a yawn rolls up and through me as I’m consumed with exhaustion.

With Ryder here to protect me, l could fall asleep in seconds.

But with my body in a fiery frenzy, I don’t want to.

Still, considering that we’re surrounded by FBI agents, I have no choice but to douse the flames with sleep.

“Come on.” Ryder takes my hand in his and brings me out of the bathroom and to the bed.

I really, really wish the agents weren’t here.