Gabe (In the Company of Snipers, #8)(45)

But Agent Cartwright hadn’t. He still worked. Walked. Acted like any other guy. He was just—Gabe. Kelsey’s protector. The one who had gotten up with her in the middle of the night and took her for a short early morning walk after a night of little sleep. Like he cared.

Shelby pressed her hand to her chest to still the kettledrum beating there.

But the light in those eyes when she’d flung the door open. Sultry green. Downright enticing. Steamy…

Another heat wave throbbed up the length of her body, just thinking about him standing there without a stitch. Nope. Agent Cartwright, umm, Gabe, wasn’t like other guys. Not at all.

Missing a foot or not, he still looked—chiseled, like one of those carved Grecian gods adorning half the buildings in D.C. with all their naked splendor. Only this guy was built. Ripped. Muscled from chin to, umm, foot. Tanned. The right sprinkle of dark hair dusted his pecs, trailed down his stomach and from there to—

There.

She should know. She’d just seen all that male splendor, up close a little too personal. He was more—endowed. She licked her lips. Prickly desire filled her breasts yet again, places farther south, too. He was fast becoming an unhealthy fixation, and she needed to get a grip. This uncontrollable feeling was nothing but animal attraction, but—mama. What an animal.

She’d almost reached out to touch that six-pack just to know if that abdominal wall was as solid as it appeared. What did the guy do? Live at the gym?

Thank heavens she’d kept her hands to herself, although further examination would’ve been purely medical. Yeah, right. His medical condition wasn’t why her heart banged at the back of her throat. Well, kind of it was. Every rare specimen deserved a thorough examination, didn’t it? Didn’t he?

Shelby composed her nerves as much as she could. She had work to do. This crazy infatuation had to stop. Opening Kelsey’s bedroom door, she peered inside.

Kelsey looked up from where she sat at the edge of her bed.

“Can I help you with your shower?” Shelby asked, her voice squeakier and her mouth drier than she’d intended.

Kelsey looked up from where she sat at the edge of her bed. “Thanks, but I’m already done. I have a favor to ask, though. Could you reach the box on the top shelf in my closet while you’re here? I can’t grab onto it with my fingers like they are. It keeps slipping.”

“You bet.” Helping Kelsey was easy and Shelby needed someone else to think about. She retrieved the box, and would’ve made Kelsey’s bed for her, but it was already tucked in for the day, the pillows fluffed, the drapes opened. “You’re doing really good for a lady with four broken fingers.”

“I manage. The plastic bags you suggested for my hands worked perfectly in the shower. Good thinking, Shelby.”

Shelby placed the boxes on the bed. “Is here okay?”

“Yes, thank you.” Kelsey lifted the lid off the nearest.

The boxes were full of carefully indexed photographs, each index card dated in black ink with feminine handwriting. She’d just given Kelsey a time bomb of memories.


Oh, no. What have I done?

Shelby sank to the bed. “Are you sure you want to do this right now? Wouldn’t you rather sit on the couch or something?” Play with your dogs. Read a book. Anything but this.

Splinted fingers tapped over the index cards. “No. This is exactly what I want to do right now.”

God, why not wait a year or two until you’re over him? Give yourself time to heal, to find someone else. To move on.

“Can I at least help you find what you’re looking for?” Shelby asked, her heart in her throat.

“No. I’ve got it. This. Just this.” Kelsey pulled out an envelope of photos, her lips pinched in a thin line of determination. She spilled them to the comforter, spreading them like a deck of playing cards. “I want to introduce you to my husband, Shelby. We took these on our honeymoon. This is the man I love. This is Alexander Bradley Stewart.”

Shelby swallowed hard, taking the photo Kelsey offered. She’d used one very definite word: love, not loved. Shelby adjusted her thinking accordingly. If Kelsey wasn’t ready to use the past tense, neither would she.

The happy couple in the wedding picture melted her heart. Kelsey’s smile filled her whole face, but the man standing behind her? Utterly drop-dead gorgeous.

Alex stood at least a foot taller than Kelsey, dark-haired and debonair, his arms around her and his hands interlocked over her stomach, his chin tucked into her neck and his eyes on the camera. They were both dressed formally, her in a long, ruffled gown, her bare toes peeking out from beneath the hem. He wore a proper black tux and shoes, but the light in his blue eyes? Pure adoration.

What a hunk.

“That was taken on the beach at Waikiki. Sunset. We’d just said our vows.” Kelsey rummaged for another shot. “Here. Look at this one.”

In the next shot, she faced him, her hands on his chest and his heart very much on display in those sexy blues. What a romantic couple. They glowed and it wasn’t from the pink sunset tinting her white gown, either. Love and lust emanated from both of them. The perfect couple.

“My goodness, you two look amazing. How did you meet? How did he propose to you? Why did you choose Hawaii?” A plethora of questions filled her head stemming from a need to know this man and woman better.