by Juno Rushdan
Her shoulders relaxed and she threw him a dazzling smile, her expressive blue eyes twinkling. She was gorgeous, easygoing, kind, with no interest in fussy designer labels.
In her orbit, he shed the burden of being Sanborn and found pleasure in simply being a man. He loved her company and affection.
He only wondered how long he’d be able to keep it.
“Then why aren’t you eating?” She flung her copper-blond hair over her shoulder, kicking up the sweet scent of her shampoo. Strawberries and cream.
“I’m captivated by you,” he said, forcing himself to open up in the ways that were possible. He was a guarded man. His secrets had secrets. But she’d told him that in order for this to work, he needed to share. He’d sacrificed so much to this business—his son’s life in a CIA mission gone wrong, his wife to divorce, a piece of his soul in the grind. He didn’t want Doc to be a casualty too. “You’re beautiful and intelligent. I can’t figure out why you’re with me. I get caught up in listening to you, watching the way you move, appreciating every little gesture. Honestly, I forget to eat even though I’m starving.”
She beamed, her cheeks flushing, and it warmed something inside him.
“That was the best compliment anyone has ever given me. I’m with you because you make me feel like the most beautiful and intelligent woman in the room. Not just desired but…valued.”
Doc was priceless. Why didn’t she see that about herself? “You make it easy.”
“I think it’s a reflection of the kind of man you are. When we’re together, you don’t notice the way other women look at you. Your eye never wanders. In the past,” she said, her entrancing gaze lowering for a second before returning to his, “I’ve picked the wrong men. Guys who left scars on the inside and out. Guys who cheated. Guys who made me question my self-worth. Even my own judgment. Guys whose love pressed on my heart like a bruise.”
He hated that she’d settled for unworthy men. She was blind to her own greatness. The right man would go to war for her, make any sacrifice to be with her.
“Emily…” He kissed the back of her hand. “Those jerks were small-minded and cruel and didn’t know how to love. I’d never—”
“I know you would never hurt me.” She pressed her palm to his cheek. “You’re one of the good ones. Like some mythical creature out of a fairy tale. You’re a much-needed upgrade in the men department.” She threw him another megawatt smile.
Unpacking his sense of responsibility and leaving the mountain of baggage at the office was impossible, but making her happy was the best distraction.
“Those other men, what are their names?”
“Why? Would you send one of your operatives to eliminate them?”
“No. No, of course not.” That’d cross the professional line. “I’d do it myself.”
She laughed, but he wasn’t joking. The thought of someone hurting her made him sick.
“Can I ask you something?” she said.
Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies. A phrase his alcoholic gambler of a father had often used. For some reason, it popped into his head now. “Anything. Fire away.”
“Why do you only wear bow ties, never neckties?”
“Shortly after I met my”—he caught himself and swallowed the word wife—“ex-wife, I had dinner with Penny and her parents at this upscale restaurant.”
Doc was sensitive to the fact he’d committed himself completely to someone else for more than twenty years but now had difficulty reinvesting in another relationship. If only he could make her understand, he was the one broken and she was the glue putting the pieces of his heart back together again.
“I was totally out of my element,” he continued, “this kid from Yonkers who had taken to the military like a fish to water. My necktie fell into my soup. Her parents turned their noses up at me and I’m sure you can imagine how mortified I was. I confessed to Penny I never wanted to feel that humiliation again. She suggested a bow tie. I’ve been wearing them ever since.”
He held out both arms in a ta-da gesture like the Wizard of Oz after pulling back the curtain.
“Penny,” Doc said tightly and sipped her chardonnay. “Of course.” A hollow grin. “Why did you two get divorced?”
“For years, she put my needs ahead of her own because with this job, a partner has to yield. She thought I put more into my work than our marriage.” With his obsessive focus, juggling multiple things at once, his compulsion to solve any issue before it became a problem…perhaps he had. “Eventually, she had enough and demanded I retire. I didn’t.”
He hadn’t chosen the job over Penny. A friend—the type so despicable you don’t need enemies—had put him in an untenable position. Sanborn chose to stay in this ugly business to protect his people. A heartbreaking decision that he couldn’t regret.
“If it’s for a good cause,” Doc said, “and your job most certainly is, I don’t mind yielding.”
But for how long? No lover wanted to play second fiddle forever.
He smiled but didn’t respond.
“For the record, the bow tie was a fantastic recommendation. They’re incredibly hard to pull off, but you do it so well.” Doc never succumbed to pettiness.
Another thing he adored about her.
With the speed bumps averted, Sanborn cut into his filet mignon and took a bite.
“But I think I prefer you wearing nothing at all.” She flashed him a flirty look. “How about tonight we go to your place?”
Every molecule of his being tensed and he nearly choked on his steak. He never brought anyone to his condo. Going to Doc’s meant leaving when he was ready, not worrying about her sorting through his stuff, no need to juggle anything or stay on guard.
The timing was the worst. There was so much going on right now, he had seven plates spinning in the air and had to stay two steps ahead.
“I shouldn’t have suggested it.” The light died in her eyes and regret pinched him. “You’re not ready. I’m sorry I pushed. When we’re together, I don’t want you to feel pressured. You have enough to deal with at the office.”
The out he wanted, the out he needed, was on the table. But in the three months they’d been together, she’d consistently given him all of herself yet only asked for so little in return, when she deserved the world.
If they didn’t progress, moving forward toward something, it would be unfair…to her. How could he ever hope she’d expect better for herself if he wasn’t willing to show her, for once in her life, the value of her heart?
“No. You’re not pushing, but you have every right.” He stopped midthought, trying to imagine what a normal guy would’ve said last month, perhaps two months ago. “I’d love to have you brighten my home and warm my bed.” Sanborn extended his hand to her and she placed her palm on his. “I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to have you over.”
Doubt evaporated from her face. She exuded sheer contentment, practically glowing.
Instantly, the realization dropped like a cold rock in the pit of his stomach: this would make him vulnerable. Invited mistakes.
He hardened himself against the concern, chasing it away.
Doc was worth the risk.
15
Reston, Virginia
7:20 p.m. EDT
Bang! Bang!
“No.” Kit’s eyes flew open, her heart wildly fluttering, beating way too fast and hard. She blinked at the darkness.
A nightmare. Only a nightmare.
The horrific replay of her friends being murdered had been so vivid, so agonizing. All the raw feelings she’d tamped down over the past two days came bubbling to the surface. The pain and crippling fear from that afternoon, the sound of the gun—deafening in the dream—was too much to bear.
She needed to get a grip. Push past the fear and not let what little control she had slip away.
Movement near the curtains drew her gaze. The moonlight peeking in didn’t illuminate anything in the dusky room, but she sensed a presence. Something unnatural.
In the corner, a shadow emerged and flickered, then moved…up the wall.
The darkness started taking shape as it crawled, sprouting arms, legs, a head. It slithered across the ceiling, creeping as a spider would, inching closer. And closer.
Kit wanted to get out of the bed, to run, to call for help, but her limbs were too heavy to move. Her tongue felt welded to the roof of her mouth. A buzzing filled her ears, like killer bees swarming for an attack.
The faceless shadow hung directly over her now. Only three feet of dead air separated them. Kit’s chest squeezed tight. The inky figure snarled, though it had no mouth. The animalistic sound rose along with the buzzing and it swooped down on top of her.
Kit jolted awake—for real this time—as she jackknifed up in the bed, screaming and swinging her fists at nothing. Her shrill cry died in her throat.
It had been a nightmare within a nightmare. As if the first hadn’t been bad enough.
Maybe she was losing her mind. Death was tormenting her, staying closer than any lover she’d ever had, refusing to give her peace. She ran a shaky hand over her forehead, her pulse rapid and skin clammy from sweat.
Heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs.
The doorknob rattled. Rap, rap, rap! Hard knocks resounded like gunshots. The earsplitting cracks nearly gave her a heart attack.
“Kit? Are you all right?”
She looked around, orienting herself.
Castle. She was at his place, in his room, in his bed. Kit struggled to summon her voice, but lingering fear was thick and real, still stuck to her lungs.
Boom. The frame splintered and the bedroom door gave way, flying open.
“Kit?” Castle stormed in, his ferocious gaze sweeping the room. “What’s wrong?” He checked the windows, whipped in and out of the bathroom, and hurried toward her.
In the moonlight, she spotted the sci-fi looking gun in his hands. “Oh God. Oh God.” She scurried back until the headboard pressed against her spine. Her vision filled with the sight of Bravo pointing the gun at Jasper’s head.
Bang. The sound reverberated in her chest, the memory acute. She saw Jasper keeled over, his blood and brains splattered across the keyboard.
She dry heaved.
“Kit. You’re shaking.” Castle set the gun on the nightstand and put his arms around her, strong and tight as iron bands.
Clutching his shirt, she buried her face in his chest. The weight of her failures bore down on her, stinging her eyes. She wanted to cry and hated herself for it. Kit wasn’t a crier.
Castle cupped her skull gently, like a precious egg he feared cracking, but held her tight. There was an undisguisable lethality about him that’d shine through even if he was dressed up as the Easter Bunny. The unexpected tenderness tore at her already frail heart. Uncontrollable tears edged past her lashes, but she flat out refused to descend into hysterical, racking sobs. Self-pitying tears were pointless. They’d only puff up her eyes, congest her nose, and change nothing. Every time life—or rather, death—kicked her in the teeth, she’d picked herself up, redefined her purpose, and started over in a new direction.
But this time, she was utterly lost.
Her shortcomings were the reason they were all dead. Her brother. Her mother. Now the Outliers. Everybody she loved had died because she’d failed them.
While she was left with the misery of surviving. Alone.
“No one’s going to hurt you. I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said, a guardian angel she didn’t deserve. His big, comforting hands stroked her hair. “You’re okay.”
Would she ever be okay again? How could she recover from losing every single person she’d loved? Each death burned a hole inside her, rendering to ash something impossible to replace. Her soul was scalded, throbbed with pain. Those scars would never go away. Never heal.
Her insides heaved. All the strength had been squeezed out of her.
“Breathe, Kit.” His husky voice was a lifeline pulling her from the darkness. “Just focus on breathing and nothing else.”
He kept repeating the words, over and over, until finally she did. In and out, one breath after another, the next slower than the one before it.
“You’re safe,” he said.
In that moment anyway, she did feel safe. Castle was hard-nosed and fierce, with an imposing build. Nothing about him was soft, but somehow enfolded in the rugged strength of his arms, the scent of soap and aftershave and peppermint toothpaste curling around her, a calm stillness stole over her. Little by little, the tidal wave of ugliness receded. Her mind gloriously emptied.
That sense of tranquility was the freaking best she’d had in her sorry life.
She looked up at him. Wide, muscular chest. A tattoo on his left pectoral muscle of an eagle holding a trident, anchor, and antique gun. On his right shoulder was another tattoo of a frog’s skeleton. A dusting of stubble on his cheeks—ideal for the right kind of friction.
Damn. He was so unbelievably hot it was unfair.
Her gaze lifted, meeting his. Those eyes were star bright, the blue-green shade so enthralling the color would forever haunt her.
Something between them shifted, as if someone hit pause on time, on reality, giving license to delusions of intimacy. Awareness seeped through her body. She trembled, her heart pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with nightmares.
Castle brushed a lock of hair from her forehead, tucking it behind her ear, and wiped her tears away with his thumb. Their mouths were dangerously close, the heat of his shallow breath warm on her face. He had the most delicious lips that’d probably possess and demand, leave her breathless and aching.
How could this powerhouse tough guy touch her with more tenderness than any other man she’d known?
It’d been a long time, far too long since someone had shown her genuine affection of the nonplatonic variety. Simply held her without wanting something in return. Top it off with the last few grueling days—the running, the stress, terror lurking around every corner waiting to pounce. She’d been operating on fumes.
He caressed her face, tracing her jawline with his fingers, his rough calluses tickling her. She held her breath at the whoosh through her belly as she wondered what those big hands would feel like all over her skin.
His gaze dropped to her mouth and slid back to her eyes. They were having one of those moments. A kindled spark flared, sucking up all the oxygen in the room.
Familiar desire was written across his face and her throat tightened with longing.
She leaned in, closing her eyes, and brushed her mouth over his, needing, craving a deeper comfort. The soft, delicate kiss barely skimmed the surface of what she wanted, yet her thighs tingled. Her heart thrummed. The sudden rush was exhilarating.
And fleeting.
He stilled, his muscles locking, his body turning to steel. There was no answering pressure from his lips, no hot, silken stroke of his tongue in return.
Gripping her arms, he eased her away, unfusing their lips, and shook his head. “No.”
“What?” Had she misread him, the moment? Made a complete fool of herself?
“This can’t happen.”
Something inside her wilted. “Why not?”
“You’re a POI. This is my assignment.” The icy veneer she was starting to hate fell over him. “I don’t shit where I eat.”
It was such a searing statement that her gut burned. “Well, that’s lovely imagery. I never would’ve guessed you were so poetic.” The crushing blow to her pride was more severe than she expected and she almost gagged on the dry lump of embarrassment stuck in her throat.
“I can imagine how rough things have been for you,” he said. “I was tryi
ng to be helpful.”
Helpful. An instinctive wince slipped out of her. She’d mistaken pity for passion. Idiot. Flaming idiot.
Of course, Castle wanted her…to help him, to hand over the information on the drives, to recover Z-1984 before there was an attack. He just didn’t want her.
Icky, awkward silence settled between them. She’d give anything to dissolve underneath the covers into a puddle of humiliation. What was she thinking, anyway? He was the embodiment of everything she stood against, the epitome of what she despised about the government, with their ubiquitous mass surveillance that was the enemy of democracy and freedom. Hell, she didn’t even like him.
Much.
Okay, not very much.
It was one of those like–hate things. But wanting him would be such a gross error in good judgment, and sleeping with him…well, she was as uninterested in the idea as him. They were from two different worlds. He was the opposite of the type of men who buzzed around her. Pretty-faced Jaspers, inclined to brag about the size of their brains instead of their cocks, with mediocre bedroom skills and grandiose plans to torpedo her life.
The enormity of everything that had happened hit her, sinking in deep. She’d never see the Outliers again. Get to hug them. Tell them how much they meant to her.
Emotions tangled like a knotted ball of yarn around her heart.
Castle grasped her chin with the tips of his thumb and forefinger, raising her head, and their gazes collided. There was something primal and raw in his eyes.
It’s just pity, she told herself, but her thighs tingled nonetheless.
The sick truth was she’d never been so powerfully aware of a man. Inextricably drawn, caught up in a gravitational pull that defied reason.
She’d always flaunted her inherent sensuality and never found sex shameful. Flipping the off switch now was impossible when he kept touching her and staring at her that way. And without his shirt on, for crying out loud. Who knew two hundred fifty pounds of ripped muscle could be so mouthwateringly hot?
With the quickness of a shifting breeze, his expression changed. He dropped his hand from her face and stood, stepping away from the bed. “Think you’ll be able to go back to sleep?”