It’d been a long time since his parents had come home, busy with their new lives far from Stoney Creek.
Tonight, though, it was Kinsley who stood at the sink with two T-bone steaks already grilled, mixing together a Caesar salad. Rhett was monetarily stunned by the view, and his reaction to it. He never brought women home to his space, and yet with Kinsley, he didn’t mind her there. Oddly, a slight flicker of warmth eased over his chest. His house was always so empty, cold almost.
But her…nothing about Kinsley was cold.
“Wow, you survived the dad-talk,” she said with a laugh, giving him a full once-over. “I had this ready for you just in case it went badly.” She handed him an already opened beer.
He accepted the bottle. “You thought your dad planned to rip into me, huh?”
“It was a toss-up, but I’m glad to see he actually listened to me and is letting me handle my own life.” She leaned closer and sniffed him. Her grin widened. “I see Remy got to you again, didn’t she?”
He felt a frown tug on his mouth. “I smell that bad?”
“It’s actually a nice smell.” Her mouth twitched. “Just not on a man.”
“Great,” Rhett groaned, still standing by the doorway. He should say something. But the only thing he came up with was, “Can I do something to help you?”
“Nope.” She fixed another plate and gestured to the full plate on the counter. “Just eat.”
A cold rush rooted him to the spot. He stared at the plate then at her. “I don’t know how to do this.”
“You don’t know how to eat?” she teased. But at his silence, she turned around and stared at him for a long moment then nodded like she had the answer to a question he never asked. She added utensils to both of their plates, then took her food and headed for the living room, not saying another word.
A second later, his television turned on.
Before he followed her, he stopped to get her water with ice, realizing he had no idea what she liked, and whatever it was, he probably didn’t have it anyway. Bad move, West. He should have thought of that. He cursed and grabbed his plate, keeping hold of his beer and her water, and entered his living room. The space lacked warmth. Like Rhett’s soul, it contained only the necessities, not offering much of anything except a cold space to rest awhile. But pure warmth sat on the chair facing the television.
“Have you ever seen The Office?” Kinsley asked, cutting into her steak.
He glanced at the television screen, realizing she was on his Netflix. “No.”
“No?” she asked. “Oh, good, then I know what we’re doing while I’m here. Total Office marathon. You’ll love it. It’s so funny.”
His heart raced as he set his plate and beer down on the coffee table. “Here,” he said, handing her the water.
She glanced up. “Oh, thanks,” she said with a full mouth. She took the glass, set it down, then focused right back on the television.
He couldn’t help the amusement that drifted up, bringing a smile to his face. Kinsley had always been this woman who seemed cut from a different cloth than anyone else. She didn’t have manners like other women. Her hair wasn’t neat, her messy bun obviously just thrown up there without a look in the mirror, and if she had makeup on, he couldn’t see it. He assumed that was because she was raised by her father and not her mother. But he liked that about her. Christ, no, he found that sexy. Low maintenance was hot.
He clamped that thought down immediately, forcing his gaze to his plate, not blind to how her sweet laughter touched tender places in his chest and how he remembered hearing that laugh when his kisses tickled her sides.
“If you’re waiting for your dinner to somehow taste better, you’re out of luck. I’m a terrible cook.”
He glanced into those bright blue eyes and felt sucked right in. Any other woman and he’d have to find something to say, but not this woman. He smiled softly. “As long as it doesn’t kill me, I’ll think it’s good.”
Either he said the right thing or his smile warmed her because her expression went utterly soft. “Well, I haven’t quite decided if I’m going to kill you yet, but don’t worry, I have no plans to do so tonight.” And with a wink, she turned her attention back to the television and all but shoveled her salad into her mouth.
He decided to do the same.
Chapter 7
A loud bang jolted Kinsley awake from a deep sleep. She sat up in Rhett’s queen-size bed, with a dark gray duvet over her, and glanced right, finding the clock on the nightstand that read 4:22. Darkness encased her, telling her she should still be sleeping. Another loud grunt sounded again, and she shoved the covers off, hurrying out of bed. Just as she reached the open door, Rhett’s yell froze her in place. “Run!”
Her heart leapt up into her throat, the sleepiness gone from her eyes, as she scanned the area quickly for a possible threat.
Rhett’s sharp intake of breath jerked her attention to the couch, where he suddenly sat up. Moonlight shone in through the window, detailing the hard lines of his body wound tight, sweat glistening off tense muscles. “Fuck,” he said, running his hands through his hair.
Not wanting to make a big deal out of an obvious nightmare, Kinsley slowly backed up until she climbed into the bed again. She lay her head against her pillow, sure he couldn’t see her through the darkness, and watched Rhett rise, scrubbing his face. Even from where she lay, he looked visibly shaken. The sound of his voice moments ago had made her blood go cold. She’d never heard that tone from him. There was no fear, no emotion, no nothing, just an order that was meant to save lives.
That was the soldier.
The man she didn’t know.
The bed felt cold, the sheets impossibly wrinkly and suddenly uncomfortable, as she heard the shower go on. With bated breath, she waited, and waited, and waited for him to finish his shower, to know he was all right. Ten minutes went by, then twenty, then twenty-five. No thoughts went through her mind as she slid out from under the blankets again and moved to the bathroom. Only worry for him touching every warm bit in her soul. The door was ajar, and she pushed it fully open, finding the small room full of steam. “Rhett,” she said softly.
Nothing. No response.
The all-glass shower was completely clouded. “Rhett,” she said louder. “Are you okay?”
Still nothing.
She moved closer and opened the shower door, every second feeling like a lifetime. When she peered inside, she nearly broke at the sight in front of her. Rhett sat against the wall, arms resting on his knees, hands threaded in his hair. Desperate to get closer, she went straight in, cotton nightgown and all, and knelt next to him. She placed her hand on his shoulder, sliding her touch over the rough skin of the bullet wound there that had ended his military career. He trembled beneath her touch, even though the water raining down on them was warm. “Rhett,” she said softly.
He finally lifted his head, dropping it back against the tiled wall, and his gaze met hers. His expression revealed everything…his pain…his truth…his horror at the things he’d seen, and she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him, regardless of whether he wanted it or not. She didn’t count the minutes she held him, but she relished when he dropped his head into her neck and inhaled deeply. He didn’t touch her, not until his trembling stopped. Only then did he wrap his arms around her tight.
Tears welled behind her closed eyes. She didn’t even want to think about what he saw in those nightmares. She pulled back from his embrace and met his dark eyes. “Bad dream?”
He nodded.
Pulled in by this hidden force between them, she cupped his face. “What can I do to help?”
He stared at her. She stared back. And in those passing seconds, there was suddenly nothing separating them. There was just this heated intensity that was passion and emotion and things she couldn’t even explain to herself. He dropped his chin and breathed so deep that it almost seemed like a weight had been lifted off him. “I can’t fight this tonight. Fight you.
You’ve got one chance to get up and go back to bed.”
She released a shuddering breath, embracing the burn he built inside her. “I’m not leaving you.”
His eyes blazed. “Then kiss me.”
And she willingly complied, knowing the danger, but doing it anyway. Because there was something addictive about Rhett, something she never could let go of. Being with him went against everything her mind told her. She risked her heart, and yet it felt right to do so.
A harsh shudder ran through him when she climbed onto his lap, her soaking nightgown a heavy weight against her. His strong callused hands caressed her thighs, sliding her nightgown up and up until he cupped her bottom. She stared into his eyes, lost in them, owned by them. He didn’t look like an empty man. He watched her with heat and passion, turning her bones to liquid. Albeit, with a whole world of uncertainty simmering just beneath the surface.
But all that went away when he kissed her, like he knew her body and how to make it awaken. He took and gave equally, undoing her completely until she was panting for more. Nothing in how he touched her now was like their one night in the tropics. It wasn’t playful and fun; it was raw and needy. It didn’t feel like he was caressing her; it felt like he was centering himself, reminding himself what was real and what wasn’t, and she wanted to be that for him.
She shifted her panties to the side and then ground her hips, rubbing herself against him, feeding pleasure to where she most needed it. He gave a rough growl, his kiss turning urgent, and she didn’t wait, needing him just as much. She lifted her hips, finding the tip of him, taking him deep inside her. He broke the kiss, one hand on her nape, the other on her hip helping her move and gain speed. Every slow stroke brought her higher, made her moan louder, echoed by his groans.
She lost herself in the way he watched her. The need there. And with a surge of pleasure, she sank deeper into this thing between them. The thing that made no sense, defied everything she believed in, and yet somehow seemed perfectly right.
His hands were suddenly gone, grabbing her nightgown and yanking the soaking wet fabric over her head. His fingers threaded in her wet hair again, and his lips met hers with a passion that burned. She felt him everywhere. In her body. In her heart. In her soul. But then his hands were on her breasts, his tongue sliding over a taut nipple.
Heat flowed through her, a building pleasure she couldn’t control. She moved harder, faster, as he sucked deeper, bringing her nipple to the roof of his mouth. Then his teeth brushed over the sensitive flesh, dragging and pulling, and all the building pressure suddenly broke apart around her. She vaguely heard his answering roar, his fingers digging into her hip, but the pulsing of her pleasure pulled her under.
The moment she remembered she had working parts was the same instant she realized that Rhett was hugging her tight again, his head buried in her neck. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close, and did the one thing she knew no other woman had done before her.
She didn’t let him push her away.
* * *
Darkness enveloped his bedroom as Rhett stood by the foot of his bed, shaking the excess water from his hair. He had slipped into his boxer briefs, knowing he should reach for his pants and shirt and walk away, but he couldn’t find the strength to do that tonight. The dream shook him, more so than it had in months. For years, nightmares had drowned him and whiskey had been his answer to silence them. Women helped them too, burning off the adrenaline and quieting his head. Tonight’s nightmare left him feeling raw and Kinsley made breathing easier. As she lay in his bed, his deep inhale felt lighter than it had since he’d come home from the military. Her light had encased him, and there wasn’t a damn chance in hell he’d walk away from that.
Alone, he knew. Cold, he understood. This warmth, he wanted to keep it for as long as she’d let him have it.
“If you’re going to say that was a mistake, prepare for a throat punch,” Kinsley said, her firm voice filling his dark room.
“Since I take that threat seriously, I won’t say it was a mistake.” He slipped into bed and she turned around to face him, snuggling in closer. “You want to be here, Kinsley,” he told her, “then be here.” Tonight, he couldn’t be stronger than his needs. And he needed her.
He lay his head back against the pillow and shut his eyes, feeling the welcome quiet wash over him. “We should, though…” He swallowed against the dryness in his throat.
Kinsley placed her hand on his chest, easing the tightness there. “I know what this was. I know what you can give and what you can’t. Stay in the moment, Rhett. I’m fine. This is fine. Everything’s okay.”
The surety in her voice surprised him, especially considering how she’d found him in the shower. He shifted onto his side, resting his head on his arm. She lay facing him, the moonlight from the window giving him a sudden view that had him hardening again. The line from her ankle to her hip was damn near appetizing. Her skin was so smooth, so perfect, and he remembered how he’d stroked every inch and how she’d moved with every touch he gave. His cock twitched, need overwhelming him as he took in the curve of her hip, the slightly rounder breasts than he remembered in the tropics, and her rosy nipples. But as he looked up into her face again, his eyes finally adjusting to the darkness, he saw her eyes under the moon’s beam. So bright, and full of life…Christ, this woman unraveled him. And the truth was, he wanted to believe her words, that everything would be okay. He brushed the hair off her face and muttered, “You’re a fiercely strong woman, Kinsley.”
“I know.” Her smile was sweet and soft and everything he expected from her.
But then that smile faded. “How often do you have nightmares?” she asked.
Well aware he owed her some answers after the condition she’d found him in, he answered, “There’s no rhyme or reason to them.”
Most women wouldn’t push. Of course, Kinsley did. “What are they about?”
He debated avoiding the question, but she saw him at his worst tonight. He needed to explain. “Afghanistan.”
Her pause lasted awhile, telling him she was mulling something over. “Well, I guess that’s to be expected,” she finally said. “Anyone coming home from war won’t just have physical scars, but emotional ones too.”
He let his silence be his answer. She was right: War left wounds, and not just physical ones.
“So, is it a recurring real dream?” she asked, breaking the silence again. “Or is it like a fictional thing?”
“Past memories.”
Again, she hesitated. “Can you tell me about the dream you had?”
He leaned back against his pillow, staring at the shadows on his ceiling. The sound of helicopter blades cutting through the air took him back to that day where the guy he once was died and someone else took over.
The heat was nothing he’d ever felt before. It not only scorched the body, but hurt with every breath. Rhett held his weapon steady, moving quickly through the cement structure. Once maybe, the place had been used as a house; now it had been long empty. He exited a small room, quite possibly an old bedroom, then came upon a garden where he found a girl, maybe twelve years old. Beside her was her mother, the woman who had been helping Rhett and his team locate her husband. “Target found, one deceased.”
“Roger, moving out,” Matthews said.
Rhett rushed forward toward the girl, dropping to his knees next to her. “Who did this?” he asked the daughter, who stared and trembled at her deceased mother.
Rhett took the girl by the arm and shook her. “Who did this?” he asked again.
“My brother,” she whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks. “You said they wouldn’t know. You promised to keep us safe. You lied. She’s dead. My mother is dead.”
Her mother had traded information in exchange for keeping them safe from a world she wanted to run from. One that would secure the protection of her daughter. But last night, while a unit drove them from the secure location to the airport to fly them to safety, the ve
hicles had taken on heavy fire, and the mother and daughter had gone missing. Six soldiers were killed. Four hours later, intel had led them to this location.
Over the communicator tucked into Rhett’s ear, his fellow Army Ranger, Collins, said, “Movement on the south.”
Rhett grabbed the girl by the shoulder. “Stay behind me. Hold on to my shirt. Stay close.”
She nodded, fear shining in her eyes.
He covered the girl with his body, a shield to protect her where they’d failed to do so for her mother, and he raised his weapon. He moved swiftly and quietly through the building, when suddenly he caught movement to his right. A boy, no more than eight years old, held an assault rifle aimed at Rhett.
“Dear God, what happened after that?”
Rhett blinked, and he was reminded that he wasn’t in that hot, dry place, and that the heat he felt came from Kinsley’s body. She curled into him, and his body trembled slightly. Fuck, he had no idea what he told her. He cleared his throat, breathing deep, trying to settle the rapid beat of his heart. “I got shot.”
She cupped his face, her voice filled with emotion. “You couldn’t shoot the boy, could you?”
“I hesitated, and it got me shot,” he answered, his throat tightening until he could barely get air in.
“Jesus Christ,” she all but breathed. “He killed his own mother?”
Rhett loosened a breath. “To him, according to the lies his father had hand-fed him, she was a traitor.”
A pause. A long, heavy pause. “Just before you woke up, you yelled, ‘Run!’ Who were you telling to run?”
“His sister.”
Kinsley’s breath hitched as she lay in his arms, snuggling her face into his chest. “Did he shoot her too?”
Rhett shut his eyes and forced his words through his dry throat. “The only person who came out of the garden alive was me.” And those were the haunting realizations. Three innocent lives were lost.
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