by Kris Norris
Sam leaned in close, rubbing one hand along her back in easy circles. “It’s okay. You’re safe, just try to relax. The rest will happen on its own.”
She reached for his hand, clenching it in hers when he threaded their fingers together. The hard grip grounded her, slowly forcing out the patchwork memories until her chest loosened, and she managed a few shaky breaths.
“That’s my girl.” He applied gentle pressure on her neck when she tried to look at him. “Not yet. Just stay there. Breathe. Give your body a chance to equalize or you’ll just get lightheaded.”
Shit. She knew that. What was it about Sam Montgomery that fried her intelligence and made her look as if she couldn’t think straight—take care of herself? What made her want him to take care of her?
Thoughts tumbled through her head as she stayed bent over in the chair, waiting for the room to stop spinning. Once it had stabilized, she slowly straightened. A few latent images teased her senses, but not enough to derail her efforts.
Sam moved in front of her, kneeling down to her level. “Are you still dizzy? Feel like you’re gonna puke?”
She shook her head. “I’m fine, now.”
“No, you’re not. But at least some of the color is back in her cheeks. Was it something I did? Something I said?”
“It’s not you, Sam. It’s me. It’s all in here…” She tapped her temple. “One minute, everything’s fine, then the next, he’s there. That fucking night is just looping inside my head, waiting for a chance to pounce.”
She pointed at the Twister mat. “You want to know what it was, this time? It was lying on the floor beneath you, because the last time any man was on top of me that way…”
He clenched his jaw, those red slashes returning to his cheeks. “Brock stabbed you.”
“It wasn’t your fault. It’s crazy.” She palmed her face. “God, you must think I’m crazy.”
He snorted, the odd sound drawing her attention, and she forced herself to look up at him. He skimmed his fingers down the length of her hair, toying with the ends as he sighed. “You’re not crazy. And you’re not the only one with ghosts that won’t leave you alone.”
Her breath stalled, again. “Is your ghost Gray?”
His mouth pinched tight, but he didn’t look away. “His name was Rick Lawson, but everyone called him Gray because he already had gray hair. Some kind of genetic mishap. We were in basic training together and managed to stay that way for twelve years. He was the closest thing I ever had to a brother. But our last mission…”
Bridgette touched his cheek. “You don’t have to tell me any of this.”
He took her hand and held it in his. “I can’t say too much. National security and all that bullshit. But…the jump went bad. Gray was unconscious, and I tried to help him, but we got caught under enemy fire and…” He swallowed, the sound tearing at her heart. “He died. Died because I wasn’t good enough to save him.”
“You got hurt on that mission, too, didn’t you? That’s why you were medically discharged. You injured something that prevented you from returning.”
“Injuries heal. I get a second chance. Gray… I was his second chance, and I blew it.”
“Sam—”
“It’s true. All that training, and I couldn’t save him.”
“Do you know why I win as often as I do? It’s because I’m pretty good at seeing through to the truth. Despite what people think happened. And I can say with absolute certainty that you didn’t fail. Sometimes, we lose, even when we do our best.”
“I’m not sure it matters when the end result’s the same.”
She sighed. She couldn’t fault him on his logic. It’s why she hadn’t been able to move past her own fears, yet. “Do you get flashes of that mission?”
“Not exactly.” He stood, pacing to the other side of the room. “It’s not that mission I see. It’s him. Gray. At first, I swear I saw his ghost everywhere. Just standing there, mocking the fact I was still alive. The doctors told me it would fade. That it was just a by-product of guilt. An apparition caused by my own self-loathing.”
She followed him over to the window by the door. “And did it?”
He made eye contact. “It…changed. Now, he’s a voice inside my head, telling me whenever I’ve fucked something up. Like at breakfast this morning. When I made you feel like shit. My conscience, I guess.”
A few tears slipped free, but she didn’t bother wiping them away. “That doesn’t sound too scary. In fact, it sounds as if you’ve found a way to make peace with it. With him.”
“Peace? That doesn’t exist, but… Let’s just say we’re sharing my head space better than we used to.”
He turned to fully face her as he placed his hands on her shoulders. “So, no, Bridgette. I don’t think you’re crazy. Or cold. Or weak. Or anything else you’ve worked up in your head. You were hurt. Most people would have let that beat them, but you chose to turn it into something powerful. Something that benefits everyone else at your expense. So, you might want to cut yourself some slack. Because that’s not a ghost haunting you, it’s a demon. There’s no making friends with it. And nothing but time will exorcize it.”
His hands fell to his sides. “Thinking we should shower.” He chuckled at her raised brow. “We should each take a shower. On our own. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. And we are going out tonight.”
“A shower sounds good. I hope there’s lots of hot water.”
“I don’t mind it cool, so…you go, first. Take as long as you need. I’ll see if I can find a menu for that delivery place Hank mentioned. We can order once we’ve both cleaned up and had a chance to see if there’s anything besides burgers available.”
“All right.” She turned then walked to her bag, removing the items she needed before heading to the bathroom. She paused at the threshold, looking back at Sam over her shoulder. “Thank you.”
“For what? As I recall, you’d said it was only fair that I confessed my secrets if you had to. And I’m a bit late in that.”
“You didn’t have to tell me. I know how hard it must have been. If it helps, you’re the first person I’ve ever told about Brock. About that night.”
“Seriously? Didn’t the hospital call your dad?”
“It hadn’t been very long since my mom had died, so I’d changed my emergency contact information. I didn’t want him worrying if anything happened to me when he was a few states away and couldn’t do anything. I had my girlfriend swear she wouldn’t call him unless I was actually dead. Thankfully, she followed my wishes. After I woke up, I guess I didn’t want anyone else to know.” She fiddled with her hair for a moment in an effort to control her emotions. “But I also meant for taking care of me. No one’s done that in a very long time.”
She cleared her throat. “I won’t be long.”
The door swirled air around her legs as she closed it then leaned against it. This was quickly becoming far more than a simple security assignment. And she had no idea whether to embrace it or run while she had the chance.
CHAPTER TEN
Fuck, he was in serious trouble.
And not the kind Sam’s years of training would get him out of. This…this went far deeper than trying to outsmart an enemy. This involved his heart. The one Bridgette had somehow wormed her way back into, resurrecting the damn thing after he’d gone to great lengths to bury it. Hell, he’d burned the fucker into ashes, and yet—there it was, beating frantically inside his chest, and all because of the woman behind the flimsy wooden door.
He’d nearly blown it, again. When he’d first moved over her, he’d come damn close to kissing her. Those pretty pink lips had been so fucking close—slightly parted as if begging him to slide his mouth over top and delve inside. He’d actually leaned into her, pressed his erection against her hip, with every intention of lodging it in her cleft as he slipped his tongue inside her mouth—tasted the sweet essence that had been tempting him all week. Thank Christ, he’d had the sense to gaze int
o her eyes, first. That was when he’d seen it.
Fear. Oddly mixed with arousal, but fear, nonetheless.
He should have considered the possibilities. That Bridgette might have lingering uncertainties about being in specific positions. But, when she’d confessed she’d taken other lovers after Brock—even if only for brief, limited encounters—he’d just assumed…
Shit. What had said about assumptions? That they usually came back to bite him in the ass? And damn if he didn’t have a set of marks burning a hole in his jeans, right now. Bridgette-sized marks because Sam hadn’t thought through every scenario.
He raked his hand through his hair, cursing the tremble in his fingers. Only it wasn’t from fear. Being that close to her had him on edge. He’d been hard after only a few minutes of trying to bend his body around hers, the feel of her against him driving him mad. Her scent had been a combination of perfume and arousal, and he’d wanted to yank off her jeans and bury his face between her thighs. Drown in the taste of her. Even now, the aroma clung to his clothes like an ever-present itch he couldn’t scratch.
He forced in a long, slow inhalation, using the techniques he’d learned to take control of his emotions. Just a few more breaths, and he’d be able to think clearly. Ease the pounding in his chest and allow himself to focus.
He took a couple of steps away, when Bridgette screamed. The high-pitched sound raised every hair on the back of his neck as he grabbed his gun off the side table and darted to the bathroom door. He didn’t bother trying it, choosing to kick it open, instead. The wood around the lock splintered, shooting chunks through both rooms as the frame gave way, bouncing the door wildly against the wall. He barreled through, gun aimed in front of him, his shoulders braced to fire.
Bridgette screamed, again, as she spun to face him, her face bleached white, her hands fisted around the edge of the towel pressed against her chest. Her nostrils flared, accentuating the overly white look of her eyes. He motioned for her to move into the small space beside the toilet with a flick of his gun then stalked forward, glancing into the shower then out the window.
Nothing.
Sam turned, rechecking the shower before slowly lowering his gun. Blood pounded through his veins, the steady surge of it echoing in his ears. Adrenaline pumped through his system, making him hyperaware, every sense stretched to the limit. He took one last scan of the adjoining room then centered his attention on Bridgette. She’d wrapped the towel around her, the pale color a close match to the hue of her skin.
He took a few steps toward her, cutting their distance in half. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, the jerky motion tumbling her hair over her shoulders and across her face.
He sighed, getting close enough to brush the silky locks back. “Can you tell me what happened? You scared me half to death.”
Her mouth gaped open for a few moments before she seemed able to shut it. “I scared you? What the hell, Sam? You broke down the damn door then looked at me as if you were about to wage war.”
“You screamed. I reacted. Appropriately. End of story. Now, why the fuck did you scream?”
Her brows drew together before she broke eye contact. “Shit.”
“Shit? What’s ‘shit’ mean in this instance?”
“You’re going to laugh. Or get angry. Maybe both.”
“Try me.”
Bridgette sucked her lower lip between her teeth, worrying it for a few moments before groaning. She drew a deep breath, then met his gaze. “I was ready to jump in the shower. All I had to do was get the water running so it could heat up a bit. But, when I reached in to turn on the taps, this…hideous…” She snorted. “I swear it was fucking huge. Like something out of a horror movie. It landed on my arm, and…and…it caught me off-guard.”
Sam arched a brow. “What, exactly, landed on your arm?”
She pursed her lips together, looking incredibly lethal and sexy at the same time. “A spider.”
He stared at her, positive he’d heard her wrong. “A spider?”
“Don’t take that tone with me. It was huge.”
“You mentioned that. Hideous, too, right?”
“See? I told you that you’d laugh and get angry. But you didn’t have to feel that…thing touch your skin. All those hairy legs. And the eyes! I swear they all looked at me at the same time.”
She shuddered, rubbing her left hand over the patch of skin where the spider must have landed on her right arm. When Sam just stood there, staring at her, she swatted him in the chest.
“See for yourself. It’s in the tub…somewhere.”
He waited for a few more moments before reluctantly stepping sideways and glancing in the bathtub. A dark shadow tried to scurry up the side, slipping before it got to the top.
He looked back at her. “You’re serious? You screamed over that thing?”
“It’s. Huge.”
“And, yet, still a thousand times smaller than you.”
Bridgette huffed as she crossed her arms over her chest. “If you’re just going to stand there and criticize me, you can leave, now. But a real man would kill that fucker so I could get on with my shower.”
He resisted the smile tugging at his lips. “A real man? You bitch at me for asking you why you don’t have a boyfriend, claiming I’m being sexist, then you toss that comment my way? I’m sorry, but I object, Counselor.”
Her eyelids fluttered a few times, giving him fleeting glimpses of blue, before she focused on him. “You’re right. That wasn’t fair. It’s just…” Her chin quivered, but she seemed to gather herself. “How about, as my bodyguard, you hold true to your oath and, you know, guard my body?”
“I hardly think the spider is the one who’s been sending you death threats.”
Red rose high on her cheeks. “Damn it, Sam, do you think this is easy for me? To ask you for help? But…” She shuddered. “I hate spiders. Like on an atomic level.”
“All you have to do is wash it down the drain—”
“No! It’ll just come back. Didn’t you ever sing that annoying song as a kid? ‘The Itsy Bitsy Spider’? He climbs up the spout, again, which means I’ll only be pissing it off. And, considering we might have to spend the night here…”
She groaned, again, when he didn’t move. “Please, Sam. I’ll pay you back. Give you a massage later, or…whatever. Just please, get rid of that abomination in the bathtub.”
“I’ll take care of the spider. But my price is a kiss.”
He stilled as the words slipped free. Shit. That wasn’t what he’d planned on saying. In fact, he vividly remembered how incredible her massages had been. And he was pretty damn sure they’d only gotten better. But, somewhere between his brain and his dick, he’d lost connection, allowing his prick to answer for him—even if it wasn’t the part of him she’d kiss.
Bridgette snorted. “You want a kiss? To kill a spider?”
“That’s my counter-offer. Take it or leave it.”
“I would have agreed to a dozen kisses if it meant you’d kill that spider, so…” She held out her hand. “Deal.”
“You said that just to try and up me. Don’t think I don’t know you, Bridg.”
He shook her hand then turned, seeking out the spider. Bridgette fussed behind him, telling him not to touch it or he’d have to wash his hands before she’d consider kissing him. Instead, he removed a shoe, killing it with one hit.
He glanced back at her as he slipped his shoe back on. “Can I wash it down the drain, now?”
“Are you sure it’s dead?”
“I’m a highly trained specialist in the art of combat. I’m pretty damn sure I can kill a spider. So, yeah, it’s dead.”
She continued to worry her lip as she nodded. He paused to stare at her. At the way she followed his every move. At how the golden cast of her hair made her skin gleam wherever it touched her shoulders. The woman was amazing, and he prayed he’d be able to control himself when he collected his payment.
Sam flicked on th
e shower and washed away the corpse. He adjusted the taps until the water was warm, but not so hot it would burn her, before spinning to face her. She swept her gaze down his torso then up, staring at him with those beautiful blue eyes.
Then, she arched a brow. “Guess it’s my turn to hold true to the deal.”
Sam pulled her into his chest before she could move, holding her body tight against his. He smiled at her gasp, searching her face for any signs of hesitation or that their position was freaking her out. Her lips were slightly parted, her pupils larger than just a few moments ago. He didn’t miss the wild strum of her pulse near the base of her neck, her skin fluttering with every frantic beat.
Good. He didn’t want to be the only one insanely aroused. Fighting to bury his attraction. Though, seeing her reaction made him press more fully against her. She definitely felt the hard line of his cock nudging her abdomen, but if it scared her, she didn’t show it. In fact, her pupils dilated further, and her breathing kicked up.
He lifted his hand, brushing his thumb along her cheek as he gently palmed her jaw. After dreaming about this since the day he’d left, he wasn’t about to rush it. He might not get another chance to taste her lips or feel her wrapped in his arms, and he’d be damned if he was going to mess it up. Moments like these needed to last a lifetime, and he planned on making it one hell of a memory.
Bridgette pressed into his touch. Whether actively or instinctually, Sam didn’t know. But that simple action was all the consent he needed. He dipped down, teasing her lips with a hint of contact then pausing with his mouth a breath away. Bridgette whimpered just loud enough to make his dick impossibly harder as his balls drew up against his skin. One more sound like that, and he might just come in his pants.
Fuck that.
He moved, claiming her mouth in one swift tilt of his head. She responded instantly, tiptoeing up as her hands landed on his shoulders. One traveled higher, carding into his hair then fisting around the strands. For the first time since he’d left the army, he praised his decision to grow out his hair. He’d been tempted to cut it a thousand times but had wanted to rid himself of any visible memory of his time in the military. His pathetic attempt to start over. But, standing there, his arms wrapped around Bridgette as she tugged on the strands made it seem possible. That, with her, he could find what he’d been missing. Fill the void inside him that had plagued since he’d held Gray’s lifeless body before passing out.