by Hart, Taylor
“It’s like you’re eating chocolate when you’re kissing me,” he said.
“Sorry. I guess I like it.”
This insane attraction must have been what Romeo had felt. “Don’t have to apologize for that.” To tamp down the feelings, he thought of what he’d be doing in Afghanistan right now. Working out in one-hundred-degree weather. Tracking a bomb maker. Planning the next mission. Yep. It worked.
“So what’s the plan, soldier?” she asked after taking another sip.
He shrugged. “You’re coming, right?”
Already nodding, she moved toward the door. “Yep, give me ten minutes.”
He watched her go and felt what he always felt around her: a bit windswept. Turning back, he noted that she hadn’t put her paint away. He walked over and capped the tubes she left open. “She shouldn’t be wasteful,” he mumbled as he put the tubes with the others and then took the liberty of taking the bucket of water into the house and emptying it and cleaning it out.
He went back out and put it next to her things and shut off the jukebox. Dang, was this what it was like to be dating an artist? Dating? Was that the word he would use? Somehow, he didn’t want to just date her.
Walking back into the apartment, he decided to make them sandwiches to go. After all, he refused to eat another hot dog, and he knew his father’s apartment wouldn’t have much in it. Honestly, he hadn’t had time to do much of anything after he’d arrived except crash and go to the funeral.
Dread filled him, and he forced himself to push away all those dark thoughts about him and his father and their lack of relationship. It was much nicer to think of Elena.
The shower was still going, and he could smell that coconut smell. He smiled and pulled out turkey, provolone cheese, pickles, sprouts, spinach, tomatoes, and mustard. Then he got to work making a wrap with lettuce leaves.
After assembling them, he found some cellophane and wrapped them up so they could eat them on the way. At least, he would eat his on the way. He was starving. Typical. He was always starving.
He was just finishing cleaning up when Elena emerged, wearing a white sundress. Her hair was pulled back in a barrette, half up, half down. She had put on some makeup, not a lot, and she looked stunning.
He stopped wiping the counter.
She gave him a shy smile. “What’s wrong?”
“You’re beautiful,” he said softly, unable to look away.
Her lip twisted up, and it seemed almost magnetically that she came to his side. Like she belonged there. She took his hand.
He leaned down and kissed the side of her cheek as if that was completely normal too. The feel of her soft hand in his was heaven. Pulling their hands up between them, he knew he’d changed. Everything had changed for him, and he didn’t know if it’d started the moment he’d walked into the gallery, or when they were eating pancakes, or right now, but there was no denying he was not the same man.
She smiled and gently put a hand on his cheek. “So serious, Herc.”
He kissed the back of her hand, but didn’t know how to tell her in his mind she was already his. How could he say it without sounding—what had her word been? Asinine? Yes, without sounding that.
She smiled and blushed and noted the wraps on the counter. “You made us wraps?”
“Yep.”
“You’re amazing. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” And he knew he wanted to do amazing things for her forever.
Chapter 10
Elena sat in the cab next to Blaine, eating her delicious wrap, a bit mystified. Who was this man who’d shown up three days ago and sent her on this whirlwind ride? Right now he looked deep in thought about getting to his father’s place and figuring out this key and packing everything. She didn’t know much. Obviously, she knew his father had sucked, sticking him in boarding schools when his mother died. He hadn’t told her that something bad had happened between them, but she suspected it in the way he didn’t want to talk about it.
When she was near him, it felt like her heart beat in a faster rhythm than normal. Not just because of this attraction, though that was surely part of it. No, there was something more. Being around him, the way he thought, the way he was always analyzing and noticing everything, was so different from anything she’d ever experienced. And he was good. There was this goodness about him. She thought of the night he’d tried to make her not destroy her painting. He hadn’t even known her. That was just him. Then there was the way he listened to her. The way he looked at her. How he prayed over his food.
It was so different from Antonio.
Dang it. Not that she wanted to compare, but she couldn’t help it. Blaine was different from any guy she’d ever dated.
Staring out the window, she watched the buildings go by, and wondered if her father would freak out if she didn’t show up for the stupid speech. Would her father would try to reach out or call her? How long had it been since he’d spoken directly to her, not through his chief of staff?
Blaine put his hand gently on her knee, settling the staccato rhythm of her bouncing leg. “You okay?”
She looked at his hand, then at his eyes. It felt like the anxiety she was feeling quelled with the calm steadiness of his hand. She put her hand over his. “With you beside me, I’m great.”
A smile played at his lips, and before she knew what happened, he’d leaned in and gently, tenderly kissed the side of her cheek. “Me too.”
His reassurance, even just for a second, was heavenly. Time seemed to slow, and she felt herself lean into him, into the day’s hair growth on his face.
Worry surged inside of her. How would she be without him when he left?
“What?” he asked, a look of concern washing over his face.
“Nothing.” This was crazy, to be this worried about a man leaving she hadn’t even known a week.
The cab stopped at an apartment in Brooklyn, and Blaine pulled out some cash and handed it over the seat. “Thanks.” He pushed the door open, got out, and held his hand out to her.
Everything about Blaine was gentlemanly. Not that Antonio hadn’t cared about her. He had, in his way. He’d never really looked at her paintings, though, which hurt the most. He’d never concerned himself with what food she’d eaten or not eaten that day. He didn’t shield her from weirdos on the sidewalk. Or take her hand and pull her to his side to keep her safe. Or put her in close physical proximity. Or talk to her like Blaine did, like he really cared about what she thought.
Had she ever noticed this before? No.
They went up three flights of stairs to apartment 305. Blaine pulled a key out and put it in, expertly turning and opening the door like he’d done it a hundred times. He pushed the door open and waited for her to go in.
She stepped into the apartment and couldn’t help but feel stifled. It didn’t stink, per se.
“It’s been closed up.” Blaine quickly stepped in, shutting the door behind her and locking it. He moved around her. “The air is stale.” He took a couple of big steps through the living room to the windows and pulled them open, revealing a view of a back parking lot.
Elena didn’t want to point out that she didn’t think it would help that much. He seemed like a man on a mission, moving through the apartment, going into the little kitchen and dining area to open that window before moving on to the only bedroom. Elena didn’t follow, but she heard him opening that window as well.
Emerging, Blaine glanced awkwardly at her, his eyebrows up. “Well, this is …”
“Probably overwhelming for you,” Elena filled in quickly. “What can I do to help you?” She should have offered sooner. “I can call storage units or movers or whatever you need me to do.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a small, framed picture. Blaine must have noticed it too, because he moved over to pick it up. She joined him, looking over his shoulder to see a faded picture of what she assumed was Blaine as a boy and his father and mother and a dog.
“Max.”
He softly touched the animal through the glass.
Turning to him, she saw the emotion on his face. “Are you okay?”
He let out a breath. “For years, all I wanted was a dog, and on my ninth birthday, my parents got him for me. I remember my father was stationed at Pendleton then. He would come home, and we’d play fetch together with little Max.” He swallowed. “It’s the memory I search for when I want to remember what it was like to be a family.”
She put her arms around his waist and stared at the cute family. “Was that the last picture you ever had with your father?”
“I think it is. Excuse me.” He whipped out his phone and wandered away from her as he placed a call. “Yeah. I need to get some boxes and guys here tomorrow at noon. Do you guys rent storage units?” He paused. “Great. I’ll take one.” He gave his name and the address before hanging up.
It was obvious that he was a SEAL. This had clearly become his mission as he buzzed around opening and closing things, pulling a stack of paper out of the cupboard and sorting it on the table, going through it, calling numbers and letting them know that his father had passed.
“That was fast,” she said when he’d apparently gone through all the bills for the household and even tackled calling the life insurance policy he’d found. She felt helpless compared to this whirlwind of efficiency. “What can I do?”
He flicked a glance her way, not even slowing down. “Actually, just being here is surprisingly helpful to me.”
The center of her chest filled with warmth. She lifted her eyebrows and gave him a smile. “Then I’ll stand here and look pretty.” She hadn’t really meant to say it. She’d been trying to be funny, even though she was feeling awkward.
He held her gaze and looked amused. “You don’t have to try to do that.” Walking past her, he took her hand for a second, then dropped it when they moved out into the living room.
His touch was electric, and her whole body felt lit up by him.
After two hours of watching him sort through everything, she heard him say, “Let me finish up a couple of boxes in the room, and then we’ll try to track down Mr. Brooks—the guy who gave me the key. I know he lives in the apartment complex somewhere.”
While he was sorting in the room, she walked the apartment, looked for clues as to where this Brooks would have lived. She spotted an older-looking cell phone on the counter. It was plugged in, and she took a chance and opened it. Her hunch was correct. There was no security PIN to unlock the phone. Brooks appeared on the contact list, along with an apartment number in the building.
“Jackpot,” Elena whispered as she put the phone back down. While she waited for Blaine, she wandered back to the album in one of the piles on the couch.
There was only one full album of pictures. The other was filled with newspaper articles. Elena turned the pages, pausing to notice old, worn articles about the Air Force. She saw different awards that had been given to Blaine’s father for acts of bravery. She thought about Blaine, about how he was a Navy SEAL and not Air Force. That must have been hard to take for his father.
“Now who’s the spy?”
Jolting, she looked up and saw Blaine comfortably leaning against the doorjamb, his hand stretched above his head. Today he’d worn a black athletic shirt. It stretched across his muscles nicely in all the right places, outlining his shoulders and biceps as it stretched across his chest.
The lower part of her gut hummed with butterflies. “Sorry.” She smiled at him.
Abandoning the doorway, he came to her side and thumbed through one of the albums, stopping on a picture of his mom and dad holding him when he was a baby. “I know. You had to see me naked in the bathtub, didn’t you?”
“You were so cute,” she said, meaning it.
He turned to her, seeming to size her up. “You want kids?”
The question took her aback. It wasn’t that she didn’t want kids; it was more that she hadn’t thought much about it in the past few years. “I’ve always assumed I would have kids.” The thought warmed her, and out of nowhere, she thought of what Blaine had looked like as a little boy. She thought of having a little Blaine around. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she knew she was blushing. She tried to focus on something else, so she gently traced his jawbone, down to his chin, unable to stop herself from yearning for her canvas when he was around. “A little Blaine might be nice.”
He froze, and slowly turned to her.
Her heart hammered inside of her chest. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”
But he was already kissing her. He grabbed her hand before she got her footing, and she tumbled back and right into his lap.
Which, according to his grin, was exactly what he wanted. “Little Elenas might be nice too.”
She found herself lost in the kiss. Lost in the way he tipped her back, one hand behind her head and one on her waist as he held her close. Lost in his spicy cologne, which had cinnamon and a hint of mint. She deconstructed all things Blaine as thoroughly as she would the colors on her color wheel.
This was crazy!
He broke from her lips and moved up her cheek, to her ear, and into her hair.
She giggled, loving this moment. “Are you kissing my hair?”
Pulling her up so she wasn’t leaning back any longer, he said, “Maybe I was smelling through my lips.” He over exaggerated the words and flared his lips in a Dracula impression. “And now I shall suck your blood.” His lips pressed against her neck.
Another giggle escaped her. It simultaneously amused and delighted her that this tough military man could be so serious one moment and then so fun and silly in the next. She wiggled, pretending she wanted to be free of him.
“Oh yeah,” he said. “You think you can flee from me.” He was still half in the Dracula impression. “Take ziz.” He tickled her beneath the chin.
A shriek came out of her when he tickled her under the arms, and then she giggled harder at the insane way he looked at her.
He howled with laughter.
She tried to tickle him back, but he was too strong. “Okay. Okay. Uncle. I give,” she said, out of breath and unable to absorb the tickle attacks any longer.
A smug look washed over his face, and he breathed out a mock sigh. “Doesn’t surprise me, Gates.” But he let her stand, and he stood too.
Next to this man, being with this man, she felt like she was free-falling and the only thing keeping her grounded was him. She tried to smooth her hair and clothes, putting herself back in order.
His smug grin softened into a genuine smile.
“What?” she said, pushing down what she knew would be even more unruly red curls.
He snaked his arm around her waist. “I know I’ve said it before, but you’re pretty much the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
She thought he would kiss her, but he didn’t. Instead, he simply held her close, his face going completely serious. He reached out and fixed one of her curls.
“You have to tell me I’m beautiful after you’re the one who just wrecked me,” she said. The intensity in the way this man evaluated her once again made her feel like she’d finally found the only person she would ever need.
“Do you want to know what I saw the first night when I saw you staring up at your painting?” he whispered.
“What?”
“I was there for a bit before you noticed me. SEAL mode.” The side of his lip tugged up.
“SEAL mode.” She cocked an eyebrow, and her heart pounded harder. She could not take criticism of that painting. None. At. All.
Lifting his hand, he touched the end of a strand of her hair, then rolled it in between his fingers. “I didn’t even see the painting.”
This made no sense to her.
His eyes searched hers. “I only saw you. I’m falling for you, Elena.”
Her heart felt too full, and she fell into his kiss.
“Elena,” he whispered as he trailed soft kisses down her neck. “Elena.”
He chuckled before turning her in his arms and dipping her back. “I sorta hoped you were.” He held her and kissed her, and she knew she would never forget this moment for as long as she lived.
Chapter 11
The sound of a knock on the door had both him and Elena jumping.
“Oh my gosh.” Elena let out a breath and put a hand to her head.
Blaine kept her close, then let out a short laugh. He’d been so thoroughly preoccupied with kissing this woman that he’d let his guard down. Not that he needed it up, but it felt strange to have it down. “I’ll get it.”
When he pulled the door back, the man from the funeral, Mr. Brooks, was there. “How are ya, kid?”
“Hey, Mr. Brooks. I was actually going to come look for you.”
“Were you now?” The man glanced behind him.
“Oh.” Blaine felt protective of Elena, but he reminded himself this wasn’t an op and he didn’t have to hide her or anything. “This is my friend, Elena.”
Mr. Brooks smiled at her, then back at him. “Already made friends in the city, I see.”
Blaine nodded. Of course he wouldn’t explain how he’d met Elena.
Elena moved to the door and shook Mr. Brooks’s hand, introducing herself. “So nice to meet you. Were you close with Blaine’s father?”
Blaine had wondered this himself, especially since the only time he’d met him was the other day at the funeral.
“Me and Blaine’s father go back to the old neighborhood.” He smiled at Blaine.
“Ahh,” Elena said, giving the appropriate amount of womanly sigh.
Blaine frowned. “Really?” He hadn’t cared that much about not knowing anyone at the funeral. After all, they had moved a lot when he was growing up. Then he had been in boarding schools, but it was interesting to think of his father’s friends knowing him. That his father had connections and people.