The Military Wife (A Heart of a Hero, #1)(71)

She tightened her hold on him. “It totally did.”

His beard rubbed against her temple. “Did you go to the auction?”

“Yep. I took Joyce. She’s a firecracker. We did well, but I nearly had a heart attack when it came time to pay. That’s more than I’ve spent in one go ever.”

“I remember the feeling. Buying stock to fill this place up was daunting.”

Everything about him felt right. His size, his strength, the way he held her with a barely disguised fierceness that stoked an answering burn in her. Noah had been her inverse. His light had counteracted her dark.

She and Bennett were alike in ways that made her nervous. He understood her fears because he battled them, too. She had admired Noah’s optimism, but she craved Bennett’s intensity.

“Do you want to come upstairs?” His chest rumbled. A storm was coming and she had two choices, revel in thunder and lightning and chaos or run back to her calm existence.

It was a no-brainer. She slid her hand into his hair and leaned back. His eyes were shadowed and tension drew his lips thin. The moment was pivotal.

“I’d love to.”

The brackets around his mouth smoothed, although the ferocity of emotion in his eyes only deepened. His grip on her tightened and then eased. “Let’s go then.”

He locked the front door and led them to the back of the store to the stairs. Now that she was out of his arms, a shiver ran through her. Not fear of the future or regret of the past, but an excitement she hadn’t experienced for too long.

He gestured to the stairs and she preceded him, his hand warm on her lower back. At the top, she opened the door and stepped into a warm loft-style space. A TV was mounted on one wall with an L-shaped comfy-looking couch in front. Neatly stacked magazines were on a side table. A pair of running shoes jumbled against each other in front of the couch as if he’d toed them off and collapsed. Stainless-steel appliances reflected the light coming in the windows. Through an open door to the side of the kitchen, she could see a sink and shower.

Browns and greens dominated the color scheme. Log walls and beams along the ceiling gave the impression of being in the woods except with all the comforts of the indoors. A king-size bed with rumpled covers took up the back wall. Nerves sprouted in her stomach and clogged her throat.

She whirled around and attempted a smile, even though her lips were dry and stiff. “It’s very you.”

“How so?”

She swallowed. “Masculine” and “sturdy” were the first words that popped into her head, but those were too telling, and he already had the home field advantage. “Woodsy and natural,” she finally said.

“Like an air freshener?”

A laugh sputtered out of her. “Only the best sort. The little pine trees you hang from your rearview mirror.”

His half smile was easy and charming. “How about a drink? It’s five o’clock somewhere, right?”

“Sure. Why not.”

He rubbed his hands together and quickstepped to the kitchen. He was nervous, too. The realization washed over her, and although it didn’t eliminate her nerves, the knowledge she wasn’t the only one battling worried anticipation about the next step helped her function like an adult.

“I don’t have martini supplies, I’m afraid. But I have an excellent red wine.” He held up a bottle.

“Perfect. My mom is the martini fanatic. I think she read a how-to book with steps on becoming the most eccentric retiree. Martinis and embarrassing T-shirts were top on the list.” She joined him in the kitchen and leaned a hip against the counter as he opened the wine.

Watching his hands manipulate the corkscrew bordered on foreplay. Soon those big, capable hands would be on her doing things she’d dreamed about. He shot her a look, his eyebrows raised, and as if he could read her mind, heat raced through her. Luckily, he didn’t call her on it but poured them two glasses.

She sipped the wine more out of something to do than any real desire. He led the way to the couch, sprawled in the corner, and watched her over the rim of his glass. She took her time, running her fingers along the back of the couch and making a more thorough examination.

The top magazine focused on outdoor sports; the one underneath was National Geographic. Picking a seat seemed a first test. She sat next to him but not close enough to touch.

“You’re nervous?” Amusement edged his voice and fired her ire.

“And you’re not? We’re going to—” She gestured toward the bed. “It’s been a while and what if I…” The look on his face stopped her rambling. Had she misread the situation? “Oh my god, if you don’t want to have sex then—I just assumed that—”

“Slow down, darlin’.” He grabbed her wrist when she tried to stand and pulled her back down. She landed between his legs, and her back settled against his front. “Yes, I want to have sex.”

He plucked the wineglass from her stiff fingers and set it next to his on a side table. She wanted to relax and at least give the appearance of worldliness, but the tension in her body coiled even tighter, as she waited for him to make his move.

His arm snaked around her middle and locked her tighter against his body, and his hand covered her fist. The gentle, nonaggressive brush of his fingers unlocked the tight hold and her hand unfurled and linked with his.