Capture Me Slowly

by Joya Ryan

  “I’ve seen his shrapnel scars,” I said, then my face heated because I realized where they were located and knew that I had just inadvertently confessed to Rhys’s mother that I’d seen him undressed. “I haven’t wanted to force him to talk, but if you can give me some perspective, that would be great.”

  She nodded and patted my knee. “He’s never spoken much about it with me either, dear. I only know a few facts based on what he told me at the hospital right after he was hurt. He was on a lot of pain medicine, but what I gathered was that his unit worked with some locals who delivered information and I guess one of the people got found out and was forced to walk into camp with some kind of hidden bomb strapped to them and that . . .” She covered her mouth. “That was the explosion that Rhys was injured by. A couple men died, but Rhys, thank heavens, wasn’t as close.”

  “Oh God . . .” My lungs felt like they just shriveled in my chest and my whole face turned to ice. What an awful thing to see. To experience. I couldn’t begin to imagine.

  “Rhys took it hard, obviously,” Gwen said. “It wasn’t until his security company took off a couple years ago that he started coming back around. He’s at his best when he is doing something to help others. It’s just the kind of man he is.”

  “I know,” I whispered.

  I could barely process this fast enough, feeling more like the outdated computer in the other room than anything else. Pieces were coming together. Reasons why Rhys was the way he was. To his core, he was a good man. Honest and caring. Probably too much. And I didn’t know how to balance that, much less live up to it. How did I help him? Not that he needed my help in the first place, but . . .

  “What do I do, Gwen?” I palmed my brow, hating that my thoughts couldn’t form words.

  “I want to do something, Gwen. I want to . . .” I balled my hands into fists that hovered over the keyboard.

  Gwen’s soft hands enclosed mine. “You want to take it from him, dear.”

  I looked at her and the truth of her words sank in. She was totally right.

  “Yeah. I do,” I whispered.

  “I know.” She rubbed my back with one hand. “I want to take it from him too. I wish so much he didn’t have to live with that pain and the scars it came with.”

  Reality hit me. That was how Rhys felt about my past. This whole time I was thinking it was pity. But what I felt for him right now, was rage. I was angry. Hated that he went through what he did. No man, especially one like him, should ever have to experience such loss. Such fear. Such devastation.

  “I have a favor to ask you, dear.”

  I looked at Gwen.

  “Is there a way you can talk Rhys into not selling that hunting lodge?”

  I frowned. “Why?”

  “He loves it. Deep down I know he does, and his father left it to him. But he’s selling it for the wrong reasons.”

  “I don’t know if it’s my place to push him in one direction or another.”

  She shook her head. “He’s happy with you. He hasn’t stayed at that lodge in a long time and when I see him, how he treats you and how you look at him . . .” She smiled and nodded. “You’re helping him, Emma. I know you are.”

  I was helping him? If only I could laugh and tell her what was really going on. That Rhys was the one saving my ass. Hiding me. Taking care of me.

  “I really think if he can get through tomorrow, find some peace, he will keep the lodge and it will be a good thing for him. Anything you can do I’d appreciate.”

  Seeing her gray eyes, the same ones that Rhys had, go glossy with tears was unbearable. I couldn’t turn down her request. “Okay, Gwen. I’ll talk to him, but I have to be honest, talking isn’t my strong suit.”

  She smiled and wrapped her arm around my shoulder. “I know, dear. That’s why I like you. You don’t waste time with the formalities, just go in cussing and swinging.” She patted my shoulder. “And that’s just the kind of woman my son needs.”

  ~

  “Don’t you usually go for a run in the morning?” I asked as Rhys came out of the bathroom in his shorts and T-shirt.

  “Well, I’m going tonight instead.”

  He was snippy, and thanks to the chat I’d had with Gwen earlier today, I knew why.

  “I made grilled cheese. You hungry?”

  “No thanks.” He walked toward the door.

  “Hey, um, can I talk to you for a second?” He turned to face me. All the chiseled features of his face resembled smooth stone. Fierce and unmoving.

  I put the spatula down and leaned against the counter. Deep breath. Initiating conversation maybe wasn’t normally this scary for a regular person in a regular situation, but staring down a man twice my size and me having the verbal finesse of a drunk sailor, made me worried.

  “I know that tomorrow is the anniversary of your father’s death,” I started.

  “Damn it,” he mumbled, glancing at the ceiling. “I thought you were going to help her with her computer, not talk about things that don’t matter.”

  “But it does matter. This obviously affects you and you lied to me about what happened with your dad.”

  “I said he died a few years ago.”

  “Fifteen is not a few and you didn’t mention that you were with him.”

  “Because that’s not your business.”

  My chest stilled for a moment. This was not going how I needed it to go. He was hurting, so whatever I needed to say, to do, to help, I’d try. “You know what, Rhys, you’re right. Maybe in a different circumstance it wouldn’t be my business, but it is now.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because I care!” So much for finesse. I blurted out the plain truth with no smooth voice or verbal setup.

  He took a step toward me. “Really?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I know I’ve been difficult, I don’t do this whole feeling, talking stuff well, but I do care, Rhys.”

  The expression that took over his face about made me keel over. He looked at me like he wanted to believe me, but wasn’t sure if he could. Good God, I’d had those same thoughts before, now that I was standing on the other side of things, it hurt bad.

  “This doesn’t concern you, Emma. I can deal with my issues.”

  That stung. I wanted Rhys to open up. Wanted to push him the way he pushed me, because it wasn’t until I did that he’d trust me. He had my trust. Earned it. It was my turn now.

  “Talk to me,” I said, the same way he had asked me a few weeks ago.

  “I’m sure my mother already told you. We were out on the property and he had a heart attack. There’s nothing more to say.” Though he looked right at me, the topic made him obviously tense.

  “There is more to say if you felt like you could have saved him,” I said softly. His jaw clenched. “But his death wasn’t your fault, Rhys. Doesn’t mean you failed.”

  “He died, Emma. I’m not really interested in discussing this.”

  “But you need to talk to someone if you’re still holding on to this guilt, this feeling that you could have done something to help him.”

  He shook his head. “Emma, I’m fine. My father died, it’s hard, but it’s done and now I’d like to go for a run.” He gripped the door handle and just before he walked out I called after him.

  “What about Afghanistan?”

  He turned slowly back to face me. The look on his face was so deadly, it made me tremble. Swallowing hard, I pushed lightly, wanting so much to have him open up. Let me in. So I could help. Help lighten some of the burden like he did for me. Even just be there to listen. Anything. I’d do anything.

  “What about the bombing?” I whispered, pushing a bit more.

  “Careful, Emma,” he growled. “You’re going into things you have no idea about.”

  “Then tell me. Please,” I added. “It’s obviously still haunting you.”

  “Haunting me? You know what’s fucking haunting me? The people that died, Emma. A person was blown up right before my eyes.”
<
br />   “Did the woman in your wallet die too?”

  He clenched his teeth. “You’re going through my shit now?”

  “I was just putting money back last week and saw it.”

  His eyes were so hard, they looked like freshly poured concrete and his teeth were about to snap from the pressure of his jaw clenching.

  Oh no . . .

  “Was she the one they caught and sent in with a bomb?”

  His lips pulled back from his teeth as if the truth I was speaking was boiling his skin over. But what was even stranger was that there was just a hint of water lining his eyes. Everything he said came rushing back:

  I saw a lot people . . .

  I was there a long time . . .

  Good people looking for a way out . . .

  “You loved her,” I said around a choking sob in my throat. “Didn’t you?”

  “She was a nineteen-year-old woman trying to escape. She came to us, we prepped her, and for years she was an informant and translator. I was personally responsible for her safety.”

  Each word looked like it cut his throat coming out. My eyes hurt and matched the water lining his.

  “Rhys . . .” I took a step toward him, but he just yanked open the front door and slammed it shut behind him. Running into the night, from himself, from his past, from the guilt I knew he carried. And there was nothing I could do.

  My whole chest caved in on itself. I did the only thing left in my power. I sat down at the table, and waited for him to return.

  ~

  The door boomed open and I shot from my seat. I stood up instantly, unaware that my eyes had drifted closed. Rhys was in the doorway, breathing hard, sweaty and looking ready to fight, to scream, to hug, I had no idea which. But tension poured from him.

  “I was fine,” he said and walked toward me. I backed up until I felt the counter behind me. “Then you came along, with those big eyes and smartass mouth and I knew . . .”

  He pressed against me, the counter digging into my lower back. He smelled like the earth and wind and spice. Everything in me responded to him. Wanted to reach out, to hold him. But I could tell this wasn’t a tender moment. This was Rhys, looking for something.

  I just hoped I could be what he needed.

  “There was something about you from the beginning that called to me, Emma. Made me think you somehow needed me.”

  His breath hit my lips, but tension rolled from every part of his body.

  “I did,” I admitted. “I do need you.” I looked up at him. “I just didn’t know how to say it.”

  “But you’re saying it now.”

  I nodded.

  “I tried staying away from you. Tried spending this last week keeping things on the surface. Because I can’t fail again.” He gripped my hips and I felt his erection prod me. The man was aching. I felt it as clearly as if his pain was my own. Caught somewhere between what to do and how to feel. It was the same battle I was having.

  “Everything you do,” he whispered, “is like a goddamn call to me. I ran for hours, and I still heard you, felt you. The only time I feel like I can truly keep you is when I’m inside you.” His words made an entire army of hot shivers rake over my skin from my toes to my breasts. “I can’t keep this professional.”

  Professional? That was an odd way to put it, but he had mentioned before helping me that sex was no part of the deal. Despite our few relapses. It was the same way he referred to the woman in his wallet. He put it on himself to keep her safe.

  “I don’t want you to save me, Rhys. I want to save myself.”

  He grinned, but there was no humor behind his eyes. “And now you want to save me? Kind of hypocritical, don’t you think?” He bit my bottom lip quickly, then pulled away. It was long enough to leave a sting, but not for me to kiss, or bite, back.

  “You confuse me, Rhys. All I know is what happened with your dad, with that woman, it’s not your fault. You have to stop carrying the weight of everything around you.”

  “Mysha.”

  “What?”

  “Her name was Mysha , and it was my fault.”

  “No.” I shook my head and reached out for him, but he got my wrists and brought them behind me. Wrapped in his strength, I couldn’t move.

  “How are you going to get out of this, Emma?” He ground his hard cock against me and I stifled a moan.

  “I don’t want to get away.”

  He looked at me for a long moment and I kissed the edge of his jaw. With one hand wrapped around my two wrists, he used his free hand to grip my chin.

  “You drive me insane,” he said in a low growl. “You play games, toy with me, tell me exactly what I don’t mean to you, only to then tell me you want me.” He tugged a little harder and my gaze snapped to his. “You tell me now that you care? That you want to know? That you don’t need me to save you?”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  “Emma Wade isn’t some delicate thing, huh?”

  “No, I’m not.” Only with him was I considered delicate. But right now, I needed him to see me as his equal. See that I could take his baggage just like he had taken mine. That I could handle his past. Be there. A safe place for him to land.

  “You’re tiny. A petite little thing that should be made love to in a bed, not fucked right here on the counter,” he ground his hips again and I gasped because his cock hit just where I needed it, sending a bolt of pleasure though my body. “Sweet and gentle, that’s the kind of woman you look like. But everything else about you,” he ground again, “your sexy moans, your pissy little glare you give when you’re mad . . . you’re begging for something else.”

  “I’m begging for you,” I said sternly. Showing him, telling him, I was there, ready to take him, however he’d have me.

  I shook my head, enough to move his grip from my chin and I bit down on his finger. He hissed and his eyes fired.

  “I can handle you, Rhys. I’ve told you that from the beginning.” I sucked the same fingertip and his eyes went heavy. “Let me show you. Take me, fuck me, make love to me, whatever you want. But just know that I’m here. And I see you too. The real you.”

  With that, he groaned, hoisted me up onto the counter and yanked my little shorts down my legs and off. He hit his knees and I tugged the neck of his shirt and he raised his arms so the cotton came clean off. I tossed it to the ground.

  “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he said.

  With his hands splayed on the outside of my thighs and his face settled between my legs, he delivered one hard lick to my clit and pulled me onto his tongue.

  “Yes!” I threaded my fingers into his hair and met his seeking mouth. Plunging deep into my pussy, he fucked me hard with his tongue and I just held on the best I could.

  “Need you . . . Missed you . . .” I mumbled incoherently. Because all I could think about was him. How he felt against me. How he worked my body over like he owned it. Knew it. How he moved, how he kissed, how he hurt, every thought was for him. Everything I was, for him. I just wanted this, us connected, understanding each other enough to realize the problems and acknowledge that neither of us had it one hundred percent together.

  But we were getting there.

  It felt like we were finally making way through this. Together.

  “I could eat you for every meal, baby,” he breathed against my heated flesh, then dove back in. “You come off as so strong, tough, but I see something else.” He flicked my clit, and I almost bucked off the counter. “You’re sweet. Passionate.”

  He licked every last nerve ending and that was all it took. My orgasm raced over me and drenched his tongue, but he continued his assault. Devouring me, like an animal with pent-up need dying to get out.

  “And you’re all mine,” he said, dropping a few lingering kisses along my thighs, bringing me down from the brink. There was a moment when he pulled away completely. With my eyes squeezed shut, I didn’t know where he went. But by the time I got them working to open again, he was standing betw
een my thighs, naked and rolling on a condom.

  “Can you handle more, baby?”

  I locked my legs around him and reached between our bodies to grip his cock and place it at my opening.

  “What have I said about you questioning my capability to handle you?”

  He grinned slightly and wrapped one strong arm around my waist. “Yes, ma’am.”

  He thrust inside of me and my breath caught, refusing to surge from my lungs.

  “Fuck,” he said and placed his free hand on the cupboard behind me. He pulled almost all the way out, then surged back inside.

  I gasped.

  He groaned.

  The counter shook.

  “Why, Emma?” he muttered against my neck. I placed my forehead against his as he withdrew and returned with another deliciously punishing thrust. “Why do you feel so right?”

  My lashes brushed the sensitive skin beneath my eyes because I was squeezing them so tight to keep the water back. With my elbows on his shoulders, I threaded the hair on the back of his head through my fingers and kissed the top of his head.

  “I don’t know. You’re so wrong for me.”

  He thrust again, as if physically showing that he disagreed. My breasts bounced against his chest.

  “But I don’t want to let go,” I admitted.

  I was doing that a lot lately. Saying things out loud that I probably shouldn’t. He said he only felt like he kept me safe when we were joined. All I knew was that feeling Rhys inside of me was the single best thing I’d ever experienced.

  This last week, he had moved me into some kind of friend zone where he taught me self-defense and I went about my day just counting down the hours until this mess was over. But now, finally, we were back. The way we should be. The way we were from the beginning.

  The way that felt right.

  He wasn’t saving me and I wasn’t trying to save him. We were just us. One. Connected. Using the other for support and understanding.

  I clung to him tighter.

  “I’m here Rhys . . . I’ve got you,” I whispered.

  He leaned back just enough to look me in the eyes. A sad smile spread his face as he examined my face.