Need You for Always (Heroes of St. Helena)(66)
Who made her every day.
Then he reminded himself that in order to do that, he’d have to be there every day.
Not wanting to go there right then, he waited until Emerson passed behind him on her way to the sink and reached back to grab her leg.
“Dax,” she squeaked, then swatted his hand. “You aren’t Lethal Weapon Ranger right now. You are a judge.”
“Does the judge get to sample your cupcakes?” He heard her smile. It was the wrinkled nose smile combo she gave when she thought he was being cute. The little snort gave it away. “If not, then I want to change my character. To Lethal Weapon Ranger. He sounds like a cool guy who gets all sorts of cupcakes thrown his way.”
“The judge gets to lick frosting off my finger,” she said and walked back around the counter. He tracked her from the fridge to the sink, then finally she was standing behind him again.
“Now, open up and tell me what you think.”
“Fine.” He spun in his chair to face her. “I’ll play judge for a while, but”—he sniffed the air, which was rich and spicy, with a hint of brine—“that doesn’t smell like cupcakes. Game over.”
He reached for his blindfold to take it off, but her cool hands settled on his. “Cupcakes are last. I have to take you on the complete culinary journey so you can see how the flavors build and play off each other. Now stop being fussy and smell this.”
Since fussy was one letter off from a fighting word, Dax did as told. Fragrant steam moved across his lips and his mouth watered. He inhaled deeply, shook his head, and fussy be damned, sat back.
“Sorry, baby, I hear words like culinary journey and all I smell is green.” He took another tentative sniff. “Is there green stuff in that? Because green always comes in last place for this judge. It comes in last for Lethal Weapon Ranger too, in case that was your next question.”
A sigh escaped and he could picture her blowing the little wisps of hair off her face. “Then stop being a judge and stop being a Ranger,” she said quietly, her hand resting on his knee, rubbing the right spot to release the pressure. “Today, right now, just be Dax, the guy who turns everything into an innuendo and hates all things green. And let me be the chef, who convinces you my food is incredible.” Another little squeeze to his kneecap. “Can you do that?”
“I don’t know,” he said honestly.
His mother had died because she’d forgone cancer treatment so that Dax could live, something he remembered every time he looked at his brothers. Then he’d become a soldier, spent fifteen years in the army, the past nine of those as a Ranger sniper, making him some people’s last judge and jury. His entire career had been a balancing act between life and loss, a Sunday school lesson of the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh, and Dax wanted to know who the hell decided he was the guy for the job.
Someone had, though, and guess what? He didn’t want the damn job anymore, but he couldn’t just stop who he was. Being a Ranger was his whole life, the good and the bad. Some parts were easy to walk away from . . . the rest left him feeling more isolated than a five-day stalk in the middle of BFE. How did someone just turn that off?
“I do,” she said, her hands coming to rest on his cheek, and that was how to turn it off, he thought. One touch from her and it was as if everything vanished. “Now open up.”
He could feel the soft breeze of her breath against his face as she spoke, the ends of her hair brushing his arm, and everything in the air shifting to something much more intimate. Vulnerable. He had shared a part of himself with her yesterday, and now she was offering him a chance to experience an important part of her.
He opened wide, and she slipped something salty and crunchy inside.
“This is my take on a Greek nacho. I was going for approachable with voice. Loud but not entitled.”
Just like her, he thought as he closed his lips around it and the bold collection of flavors exploded in his mouth. It was vivid and complex and damn good. Intense power packed into a tiny body, with plenty of originality and attitude, followed by a nice kick of heat at the end.
“Well?” she asked and he could hear the hopeful uncertainty in her voice.
“It doesn’t taste green,” he said and she went to smack his chest, but he caught her midair. Not a hard task for a guy who held the platoon record for disassembling and reassembling a service weapon blindfolded. “It’s really good, Emi.”
“Like another-bite good?” She bounced on her toes while she talked. “Or I’d-have-to-eat-the-entire-plate good?”
“Like I’d lick the crumbs off the plate.” And to prove it, he brought her hand to his mouth and licked each and every finger, spending a little extra time on the last.
He heard her breath catch, felt her pulse pick up, and knew he was in trouble.
Dax had convinced himself that his interest and attraction stemmed from their unfinished business at the wedding—a bad case of the whole one-that-walked-away syndrome. The cure was as simple as one more night.
Emerson was on the same page. Or so she told him. A no-strings, wall-banging event was all she was looking for. But there was nothing no-strings about her. She was selfless, nurturing, and the kind of woman who couldn’t see past always. She put up a good front, distracted him with her tough-girl shoes and one-night ’tude, but the more time he spent with her the more he realized that she had a big heart and an even bigger capacity to love than anyone he’d ever met.