Resting his hands on her shoulders, he said, “Not going to pretend to know what I said to upset you, but for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
Nikko couldn’t remember the last time he’d apologized to anyone for anything. And here he was doing it for the second time in the last thirty minutes. Hell, that must be some kind of a record or something. What was it about this woman that kept him in knots?
She reached up and laid her hand over his, giving him a smile in the window’s reflection that failed to reach her eyes. Yeah, she was definitely dealing with her own shit, and if Nikko had to guess, he’d say her ex was at the root of it. The guy was lucky they had eight states separating them.
“It’s not your fault. I don’t know what came over me, honestly . . .”
“It’s late. You’re probably tried,” he said, giving her the lame excuse neither of them believed. “I should go.” Unable to resist, he pressed a kiss on top of her pale-blonde head and couldn’t help taking the opportunity to breathe her deep into his lungs. Her light vanilla scent infused his senses, setting his blood on a low boil and turning the twinge in his groin to a full-on ache. Pure. Fucking. Torture. That’s what this was. God help him, he wanted her . . . If he didn’t leave now, he wasn’t going to have the resolve to do it.
Forcing himself to take a step back, he turned and headed to the door. He had it open and was nearly outside when he heard his name.
“Nikko?”
He stopped, not trusting himself to turn around. “Yeah?”
“Thank you . . .”
He wasn’t sure what for but wasn’t about to ask. “Don’t mention it,” he mumbled, forcing one foot in front of the other as he escorted himself out when every male instinct inside him was clamoring to turn back around and claim this woman, because there was no doubt in his mind that Violet Summers was his—she just didn’t know it yet.
“Yes, I hope you can help me. I’ve been transferred several times already. This is Dr. Violet Summers. I’m a psychologist treating one of your veterans, and I’m having trouble getting ahold of his military records.”
“Name of the officer?”
“Sergeant Nikko Del Toro.”
“What branch of service was he in?” the woman on the other end of the line asked.
“MARSOC division.”
Silence.
“Hello? Are you still there?” she asked impatiently. For the last half hour Violet had been on the phone getting transferred from one department to the next. No one seemed to be willing or able to help her. Which led her to one of two conclusions—either the government had their heads up their asses, or, like with Lieutenant Williams, she was getting stonewalled. Both were likely possibilities.
What the hell was going on? She’d treated vets in the past and had never had this kind of trouble getting access to their military records.
“Yes, Dr. Summers, I’m still here. Did you send a release of information?”
Vi could hear the woman’s nails tapping rapidly on her keyboard.
“My secretary faxed it this morning.”
More typing. Then a long pause. And then . . . “I’m going to have to transfer you.”
Oh, for crissake! Before she could protest, there was a series of clicks and then the elevator music started up again. Several more minutes passed before someone new came on the line. “Ms. Summers . . .” The voice was deep and commanding, holding a distinct air of authority and a snip of impatience, as if she were the one bothering him, because she hadn’t just spent the last thirty minutes getting the runaround from the Pentagon.
“Dr. Summers,” she clarified with an equal amount of snark.
“Yes. Well, I understand you’re requesting the military records for Sergeant Del Toro. I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that isn’t possible.”
“Why not?”
“We show no records for a Sergeant Nikko Del Toro.”
“What? That’s ridiculous. His dates of service are 2001 to 2012. MARSOC division. Please check again.”
“There is no need. We have no records for the person you are speaking of. I don’t know what else to tell you, ma’am. I can’t help you.”
Before she could insist there must be some sort of mistake, the line went dead. “Dammit!” Violet cursed, slamming down the receiver.
“No luck, huh? I told you I’ve been trying all morning to get his records, and they just kept transferring me from department to department,” Pen said, carrying a brown paper bag into Vi’s office and plopping down in her favorite chair. “The Pentagon’s about as unhelpful as Camp Pendleton.”
“I don’t understand it. I’ve never had anything like this happen before. The guy in Washington said they didn’t have any record of him.”
“If you ask me, one of two things is going on here.” She opened her paper bag and began lifting out white metal-handled boxes, lining them up on Vi’s desk. “Either Nikko’s lying, or the government is.” Looking up from her bag, she paused her unpacking and asked, “Which one do you think it is?”
That was a great question. She wasn’t naïve enough to believe Nikko wasn’t hiding things from her—he’d all but laughed and said good luck when he’d signed that release of information—but being in the Marine Corps Forces Special Operation Command wasn’t one of them.
“You want to know what I think?” Vi said, opening the flap on her white, square box. “I think something happened to him over there that the government doesn’t want anyone knowing about. And whatever it was is bad enough that they would deny even knowing him to avoid having to give me his records. The only person who knows the truth is Nikko. Problem is, he’s not likely to be any more helpful than the Pentagon was. What is this?” Vi asked, changing tracks when her stomach growled. She was starved. She hadn’t expected the call to take up most of her lunch hour.
“General Tso’s.”
Vi beamed a big grin at her friend. “I love General Tso’s. Thanks, Pen. I was wondering how I was going to sneak out for lunch and get back in time for my next appointment.”
She shrugged like it was no big deal. “What are friends for?”
Pen handed her a set of chopsticks, and Violet tossed them in the top drawer with the all other pairs she’d given her and pulled out a plastic fork.
“You’re ruining the experience, you know,” Pen complained.
“Yeah, well, I don’t want the experience of scrubbing red sauce out of my white blazer, so . . .” She shrugged.
“That’s boring.”
“I think we’ve already established that’s why you’re the fun me, remember?”
“Oh, yeah.” Pen laughed at their running joke that was sadly so true. “I’ve been meaning to ask you: You think it’ll be all right if the fun you asked Nikko out this Saturday night?”
Vi swallowed wrong, sending spicy sauce searing into her lungs. She started coughing, trying to clear her airway, thankful for the brief distraction. What in the hell was she going to say? Don’t call him? I want him? Problem was, she couldn’t have him. She had no claim on Nikko, and after the ass she’d made of herself last night, she probably never would. He hadn’t tried to contact her since he’d left last night. If Nikko wanted to go out with Pen, who was she to stop them? He would probably like her better, anyway. All the guys did.
“You all right?” Pen asked, setting her carton on Vi’s desk. “You don’t need me to, like, give you that hind-lick thing, do you?”
Vi shook her head, still coughing, except now she was laughing, too. “It’s Heimlich, you goof!” she wheezed between coughing fits. “Not hind-lick!”
Pen busted out laughing when she realized what she’d said. They were both in a full-on chorus of the giggles when there was a knock on her door. “Am I interrupting?”
Nikko? At the sight of the fighter, Vi’s pulse spiked. Her immediate joy at seeing him was quickly hampered by the lack of any such emotion on his face. Something was wrong. Anxiety replaced her excitement as his eyes locked on hers. Unfortunately,
Pen wasn’t reading the situation because she took that opportunity to make her move.
“You’re not interrupting,” Pen said. “Come on in.”
Nikko’s already taut brows grew tighter. “You all right?” he asked Vi, ignoring Pen and her invitation.
Vi nodded, still coughing to clear her throat.
Nikko stepped into her office. Pen was nothing if not persistent; she cut him off on his way toward her. Violet watched the scene play out like two trains on a collision course, helpless to stop either one of them. “I was going to call you, but since you’re here . . .”
Now that got his attention. Nikko’s dark brow arched curiously and he shot Vi a quick questioning glance before turning his focus back to her friend. Oh, no, she was going to do it. She was going to ask him out. Vi couldn’t breathe, and not because General Tso’s was choking her. Her heart lodged in her throat and she feared it would be shattered into a million pieces in the next few minutes.
“I have two tickets to Jubilee Cirque du Soleil and was wondering if you’d like to go with me this Saturday?”
Nikko’s top lip tugged into the cutest grin—that should have been reserved for her, dammit!
“Does your boss know you’re asking me out?”
The deep rumble of his voice was like a caress. He shot her a questioning glance.
“Of course she does,” Pen quickly answered for her.
Nikko’s grin disappeared and a little muscle in his cheek ticked with irritation. That hard-ass furrow of displeasure was back—and aimed directly at Violet—like this was her fault or something.
“And she’s all right with it? Us going out?”
They were talking about her as if she weren’t even here.
“Why wouldn’t she be?” Pen asked, looking genuinely confused.
Apparently, her friend had decided to take Vi’s denial of interest in Nikko to heart.
His brow arched in question, challenging Vi to do so now. What did he want her to say?—that Nikko was hers? Because he wasn’t.
When a few seconds passed and she remained silent, Nikko grunted in disgust and turned away, giving Pen a placating smile. “Thanks for inviting me, but I’m going to be in Laughlin all weekend.”
Laughlin? So that’s where he was going this weekend. He must have been talking to his sister that night at Carboni’s, or maybe one of his nieces? He could have told her that—stubborn jerk. He knew what she’d been thinking, and yet he’d given her only his denial that he was involved with another woman as explanation.
Relief swept over her and she almost laughed out loud, but her brief moment of joy quickly crashed and burned when he told Pen a second later, “Maybe some other time.”
“Great, I’ll call you,” she promised, flashing him her patented Pen grin.
And there it was, ladies and gentlemen, Penelope Cantrel in action. It was truly a thing of beauty, when it wasn’t targeted at the guy Vi wanted. She had a way with men that seemed to defy logic. They freaking loved her. Why would Nikko be any different? As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t be mad at her friend. Vi had been given more than one opportunity to tell Pen she had feelings for Nikko.
She studied Nikko, trying to read the sincerity in his promise, but got nothing—until Pen excused herself. But the moment she closed the door, Nikko spun on her and that all-too-familiar scowl was back on his ridiculously handsome face.
“What the fuck was that?” he growled as if this was somehow her fault.
“I think you just made a date with my secretary,” she snapped back, not even trying to hide her snark as she closed the lid on her carton of General Tso’s, no longer hungry.
“No shit. Why haven’t you told her about us?”
“Because there isn’t any us.” Is there? She left the end of the sentence an unspoken question. Did she want there to be an us? Regardless of her answer, there couldn’t be. Not as long as she was seeing him as her patient.
Her denial earned her a darker glower. Nikko moved toward her with a predatory grace that made her feel like a rabbit caught in a hunter’s snare. The challenging glint in his eyes sounded off alarms in her head like the bells of Notre Dame. “You want me to prove you wrong, Clover?”
The seductive lilt in his voice had her senses clamoring with awareness. She wasn’t sure how he intended to do that, and the wild part of her that Nikko seemed to court rose up out of nowhere and wanted to put him to the test.
But she couldn’t—not here. What was it about this guy that made Vi want to throw caution to the wind? What was it about him that made her feel more alive than she ever had in her life? Nikko was a guy that lived his life on the edge, and whenever she was around him, she found herself wanting to grab hold of his hand and leap. This couldn’t be healthy—could it?
“I wasn’t expecting you to come by today. Was there something you wanted?”
Her attempt to bring his visit back to neutral territory failed miserably when he read into her question and flashed her the sexiest grin she’d ever seen in her life, that dimple making a rare appearance—and, OMG, her panties were actually getting wet.
He stopped in front of her desk and planted his palms beside General Tso’s, putting those impressive arms on display. Her rioting heart sent blood thundering through her veins. Being this close to him did traitorous things to her body, and by the hungry look his eyes, he knew it, too. Damn him . . .
“Tell her, Clover,” Nikko warned, his deep voice a sexy rasp she felt all the way to her core. “Or I will . . .”
The threat hovered in the air between them, the challenging flare in that fighter’s eyes daring her to deny it. What good would it do to lie to him or herself? He knew as well as she did that there was something going on between them. Just because neither of them knew what that might be exactly didn’t make it any less real. He didn’t seem to care that he was violating her ethics and pushing her past her comfort zone. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear he was well aware of what he was doing and enjoying himself immensely.
Nikko wasn’t the kind of guy who went through life following the rules. He made them up as he went along and seemed perfectly content to live that way. Vi, on the other hand, found comfort and security in structure. She liked boundaries, living within the borders of order and control. Perhaps that was what attracted her to Nikko so much, aside from his handsome face and killer body; he intrigued her in a way no one else ever had.
But as much as she might like Nikko, and as much as Vi might be a rule follower, she wasn’t a spineless wallflower. No way in hell was she about to sit here and be bullied by this overbearing ex-Marine who she suspected gave orders and expecting them to be followed.
“You will do no such thing,” Vi hissed back. “Penelope might be my friend, but she’s also my employee. This”—she gestured between them—“can’t happen as long as you’re my patient, and I’ll not have you doing or saying anything that can damage my reputation or my career.”
Seconds ticked by, interminably painful as they remained locked in a battle of wills. She fully expected him to come over her desk and kiss her into submission. It wouldn’t take long for her to tap out. Already, the moisture between her legs told her she was fighting a losing battle with this man. He had her against the cage . . . So it surprised the hell out of her when he stood, squared his shoulders, and said, “Fine.”
Taking a step back, he plopped into the chair across from her. She didn’t like the sound of that fine, and unease prickled up her spine. It wasn’t like him to give up so easily, and there was a part of her that wasn’t sure she wanted him to.
“Dean called me into his office today. He said you contacted him this morning and asked him to let me start training again. Also said you signed off on my psych eval. Why would you do that?”
Nikko jumped tracks and turned a one-eighty on her so fast it took Vi a minute to catch up. He had a very blunt, in-your-face communication style that took some getting used to. “Is he going to do it?” she said.<
br />
“I don’t know yet. He said it’s not only up to him. You still didn’t answer my question. Why did you do it?”
“I called Dean and asked him to let you start sparring because I know you’re going to do it anyway, and I don’t want to see you get into any more trouble. You need to fight, Nikko. After seeing you last night, I realized that. It’s how you cope with whatever it is you’re dealing with. I’m here to give you more tools to manage your emotions, not take them away. I want to help you. That’s my job. My calling Dean had nothing to do with what’s happened between us outside of this office.”
He sat there a moment watching her with that all-too-perceptive stare, saying nothing, but there was a lot going on behind those silvery-blue eyes.
After a moment, he nodded, as if satisfied with her answer. Some of the tension eased from his shoulders.
“If it matters, I believe Dr. Morrison would have done the same thing. Is there anything else you’d like to talk about while you’re here?” She glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. “I have a few minutes before my next appointment.”
He met her gaze and held it. She wasn’t sure how long they sat there staring at each other. Finally, he muttered a curse and dragged his hand through his hair, exhaling a pent-up sigh. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to let you in.”
His confession caught her off guard. “What if we start by me asking a few questions? It’s just standard stuff Dr. Morrison’s going to need to know when he takes over your case next month.”
He nodded, but when she grabbed her pen and paper to take some notes, wariness darkened his gaze.
“I promise I’ll be gentle,” she teased, trying to lighten his somber mood but failing miserably. “How are you sleeping at night?”
He shrugged.
“Do you dream a lot?”
He shrugged again.
So getting information from him was going to be about as easy as traversing a cliff. “How many hours a night do you sleep?”
Fighting for Control (Against the Cage Book 3) Page 13