Half-Broke Heart (Combat Hearts #1.5)

by Tarina Deaton

  “Let’s just say I had enough ones stuffed down my pants on a Friday and Saturday night that I didn’t have to work the rest of the week. I graduated top five percent of my class.”

  She laughed as she made the left onto his street.

  “I bet you have some juicy stories.”

  He did, but he wasn’t about to share any of them with her. “Let’s just say you women are handsy.”

  Damn, he’d never reacted so much to a woman’s laugh before. It was as if the hair on his body was tuned to the exact frequency of her chuckle.

  “Which one? I can’t see the house numbers.”

  He thought about telling her she’d missed it and to drive around the block, just to spend an extra five minutes with her. “Next house on the left. Black pickup in the drive.”

  She was different than any woman he’d met before, equal parts one-of-the-guys and hottie-next-door. He couldn’t decide if he should punch her on the shoulder or ask her to sit on his face.

  Pulling in behind his truck, she put the SUV in neutral and set the brake.

  They spoke at the same time.

  “Is it okay if I—?”

  “Do you want to—?”

  “You first,” she said.

  “I was going to ask if you wanted to come in.” He had no idea why he invited her in. His dick pulsed in his pants, calling him out for the liar he was. He wanted her to sit on his face—that’s why he invited her in.

  “Oh, good. Because I need to use your restroom.”

  Maybe it was her excuse to get in the door. “I reserve the right to check it first, but sure.” He got out, grabbed his bag from the backseat, and made his way to the door. Inserting his key in the lock, he felt her presence on his right.

  “No Sprocket?” He pushed open the door and flipped on the light.

  “She’ll be fine for a few minutes in the car.”

  He dropped his keys on the table by the door and gestured. “Living room, dining room, kitchen.” He gestured to each as he pointed them out.

  She stood right behind him when he turned, her gaze flicking to his mouth before looking back up again. “Bathroom?”

  Her voice was husky, reminding him of the actress who did the voice for Jessica Rabbit. She’d slid her hands into the back pocket of her shorts and her t-shirt stretched across her chest.

  Eyes up.

  “Let me check it. Pretty sure the seat’s up.”

  He lips twitched. “Sure.”

  Turning on the lights as he went, he slipped into the bathroom. The shower needed to be cleaned so he pulled the curtain closed. He flipped the seat down then picked up the boxer shorts from the corner and shoved them into the laundry bag hanging on the back of the door.

  Denise waited at the top of the hall.

  “Good to go.” He stepped out of the doorway and swept his arm out.

  “Thanks.” She brushed past him and closed the door.

  An idea niggled the back of his brain. Not a good one. It was probably going to end up in the epic fail column.

  He smirked. He’d never not done something just because it was a bad idea.

  Chapter 3

  The hall light was off when Denise left the bathroom and she paused in the dim hallway.

  She wanted to linger. Hang out. Have a beer. Flirt even.

  It’d been so long since she’d been attracted to someone—since she’d allowed herself to be attracted to someone—she wasn’t sure she could flirt without being a total spaz.

  She hadn’t been kidding when she said most of the guys in her life had four legs. The others either fell into the friends, family, or employee categories.

  She shook her head. Who was she kidding? She was going to go home and curl up with a book, a glass of wine, and Sprocket. Anything else was a bad idea.

  Chris had turned off the overhead light and switched on the two table lamps. He stood behind a ladder back chair that he’d put in the center of the living room.

  She raised her eyebrows, silently asking the question.

  “Want to see a better example of my questionable past?”

  Bad idea. Bad idea. Her self-preservation alarm blared full force in her mind.

  He tapped his fingers against the back of the chair, all but double-dog daring her to take a seat.

  She ignored the warning her mind was desperately sounding. Time to take a chance. “No picking me up and spinning me around. I’m still digesting.”

  He grinned. “Deal. Have a seat.”

  Taking the three steps, she sat and placed her hands on her upper thighs. “What brought this on?”

  He fiddled with the entertainment center. “You looked disappointed when I wouldn’t share any juicy details.”

  “Did I? Hmm…I don’t remember that.” She hadn’t been disappointed. She’d had no desire to hear about him and the mass of groupies she was sure he’d acquired. Nor had she wanted to explore the reasons why she was opposed to hearing about it.

  The first strings and electric notes of Sail by AWOLNATION came from the speakers. “Yup. You got twitchy, right around the corner of your eye.” He touched the corner of his eye and strutted toward her.

  “I don’t get twitchy.”

  “Squinty then?”

  “Not sure that’s any better.” Her hands slipped down to grip the sides of the chair and she forced herself to drum them on the underside. It was either that or white-knuckle the edges with nervousness, unsure if she should be doing something other than sitting there.

  The music hit the heavy electronic beat and throbbed in time to her pounding heart. Chris dropped to his knees, spread them wide and thrust his hips. He went up on one knee and slid across the floor on each subsequent beat like a male Russian ballerina.

  What were male ballerinas called? Ballerinos?

  Hello! Focus! He whipped his shirt off over his head, revealing a wide chest covered in dark ink and chiseled abs. Liquid warmth coalesced right below her belly button and flowed south. Holy…wow. She wanted to quote Emma Stone in Crazy, Stupid, Love and ask if he was photoshopped.

  Tossing his shirt somewhere over his head, his palms covered her knees and he spread them apart. His face lingered inches from the juncture of her thighs.

  Heat pooled where she imagined she could feel his breath. Trying not to gasp, she inhaled sharply through her nose. She didn’t know what she’d expected—maybe some cheesy version of the Chippendales, but this was more than she’d bargained for. Her fight or flight response kicked in and she fought the urge to jump up and either head for the door or jump Chris.

  Using her legs as leverage, he hovered over her as he rose. He spun twice and stopped in perfect time to the music. Dropping into a backward roll, he came up on his forearms, legs slightly akimbo above him.

  “Whoa.” He dropped onto his stomach. “Whoops. Been a while since I did that move. Should probably practice it more.”

  If this was what he could do with his body without practice, there’d need to be a national advisory if he started. No wonder he’d been able to put himself through school.

  “What’s your signature move?” What was she doing? It was as if her long-dormant libido had taken control of her mouth when what she needed to do was tell him goodnight, thanks for the show, so sorry, gotta go.

  He paused mid hip thrust. “Hmm…I don’t know if I can do that anymore.”

  “Give it a shot.” Bad as it might sound, she needed him to fall on his face to break the mood.

  “I hear a challenge.”

  “If that’s what gets you motivated.”

  Dropping to his knees in front of her again, his hands ran down the outside of her legs from hip to knee.

  Shit, this might not go as planned.

  He pressed her legs together. “Keep ‘em closed.” He winked.

  “That’s what she said.” Damn her knee-jerk reaction to an innuendo.

  He snorted then stood and spun so his back faced her. He shook his butt, stepping back until he straddled he
r legs and the chair. Bending at the waist, he braced his hands on the floor before lifting one leg onto the back of her chair and then the other, caging her head between his thighs.

  She had a face full of crotch.

  Please, god, don’t let him fart.

  Once the first giggle escaped, she couldn't stop the ones that followed. With nowhere appropriate to put her hands, she tapped the outside of his thigh.

  The denim of his jeans brushed against her ears when he rolled forward. The muscles on his back flexed and pulled when he propped his elbows on his knees and twisted to look at her over his shoulder.

  “Not the reaction I’m used to getting.”

  She waved a hand in front of her face, trying to catch her breath. “I’m sorry. All I could think was—” Her head fell back and she laughed. One hand on her chest and the other on her stomach, she gasped and raised her head. “Please don’t fart.”

  Covering her face with her hands, she bent forward overcome by her own hilarity. Or nerves. Whichever it was, it had thankfully killed whatever mood had been building. Her guffaws dwindled to the occasional chuckle and she sat back up.

  He’d knelt in front of her at some point and his broad, tattooed chest filled her vision when she opened her eyes.

  “You done?” He looked pissed.

  If she hadn’t been inches from him, she might have missed the amusement in his Caribbean blue eyes.

  An involuntary giggle escaped before she forced the muscles of her face to assume a serious expression.

  She cleared her throat. “Yes.”

  Firm, warm lips pressed against hers. The tip of his tongue traced the seam of her lips, sending waves of lust coursing through her.

  She followed him up when he stood from his kneeling position. He gripped the back of her head with both hands, trapping her arms at shoulder height. Heat radiated from him and pooled between her legs.

  Pulling her closer, he changed the angle of the kiss. Deeper. Hotter. Turning her on more than anyone had in years. Because it’d been years since she’d been kissed by a man. Or aroused. Or held. Or even inclined to let anyone close enough to try.

  Yet here she was in the arms of a guy who exuded alpha-male and sex appeal.

  Her skin felt too tight, her body suddenly too small to contain the emotions she was feeling. Not only lust and desire but others as well. And if history had proved nothing else, it was that emotions were a dangerous thing to have.

  She angled her chin down and tilted her head forward, breaking the seal of their mouths.

  He rested his forehead against hers, his warm, harsh breath fanning across her face and drying the moisture on her lips.

  Watching his chest rise and fall, she fought to gather her thoughts. She’d lied to Bree when she told her to do everything she would do because she wasn’t going to do it.

  Not here. Not now.

  Unclenching her fingers from the grip they had on Chris’s shoulders, she pulled her head back.

  “I need to go,” she said.

  “You sure?” He still hadn’t released her.

  “Yeah. I—Sprocket’s still in the car.” Shit. She’d forgotten about her dog. She’d never forgotten about Sprocket or been in a situation where she failed to notice her absence. Not since she’d gotten her.

  “We can bring her in.”

  The possibility of where tonight could lead flitted through her mind. In seconds, she assessed the possible courses of action and discarded each one. No matter the outcome, sex led to emotions and emotions led to nothing but trouble. She wasn’t going to take that chance. Not again.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Are you worried about Jase and Bree?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “It’s complicated.”

  “Isn’t it always?”

  She smiled. “I think it’s probably best if I go home tonight.”

  His hands ran down her back and slid from her waist before he took a small step back. “This wasn’t the plan when I invited you in.” He grabbed his shirt from the floor and pulled it over his head.

  “I kind of figured when you almost fell on your head.”

  He smirked. “Probably not my finest moment.”

  “It was definitely the most entertaining thing I’ve seen in a while.” She felt him close behind as she walked to the door. Her heart still pounded in her chest.

  Reaching around her, he grabbed the door knob, surrounding her once again. “Denise.”

  She looked over her shoulder, afraid if she turned the whole way around she’d lose her will power and climb him like a tree.

  “Thanks for the ride.” He kissed her cheek, close to her lips, his bottom lip teasing the corner of her mouth.

  She ignored the whoosh of sensation that traveled the length of her body. “You’re welcome.”

  He opened the door for her and stood in the threshold while she walked to her SUV, doing her best to ignore the heavy weight of his gaze. She let Sprocket out of the cargo area and into the backseat.

  Getting in, she finally looked at Chris. Wide-legged stance, shoulders relaxed, hands in his pockets. Even just standing perfectly still, a slight smirk on his face, he had a bad-ass aura.

  Fuck, she was an idiot. The problem was, she didn’t know if it was because she should’ve stayed or because she never should have agreed to sit in that damn chair to begin with.

  Sprocket pushed her muzzle against her neck. “I know.” She scratched her behind the ear and started the car. “Mommy’s making bad decisions again.”

  Chapter 4

  Chris checked his phone for what felt like the hundredth time since Sunday night. No pings. No texts. No calls.

  “Hot date?” his partner, Phil asked.

  He glanced up from his phone. “What?”

  “That’s the tenth time you’ve checked your phone since lunch. And since it’s not your work phone, I have to assume you’re waiting for a girl to call you.”

  “Sorry, man. No hot date.” Pulling up another report on his computer screen, he tried to concentrate on the new intelligence they’d received.

  “Come on. Give this old married guy a break. I need to live vicariously through someone.”

  “Dude. You’re two years older than I am.”

  “Yeah, but I’ve been married to Becca for fifteen years. We schedule sex just to make sure we remember how to do it.”

  Chris shook his head, not even trying to hide his grin. Phil and his wife were that couple people loved to hate because they were just that cute together. He also knew it wasn’t just for show since he’d had the misfortune of picking up Phil’s phone one day and Becca had launched into a description of what she wasn’t wearing before he could tell her he wasn’t Phil.

  “If there’s no hot date, what’s the story?” Phil asked.

  Chris sat back in his chair and threw the pen he’d been spinning onto the desk. “I don’t know. We hit it off, but she ran. Haven’t heard from her since.”

  “First time for everything.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re usually the one ducking calls and texts from chicks until they give up and go away.”

  Shit. Was that what Denise was doing? Had he totally misread the situation the other night?

  No. She’d been into it. He didn’t know why she put a halt to things, but he didn’t think blowing him off was the reason.

  Although she hadn’t returned his texts either.

  “That’s not going to work,” he said. “Our best friends are hooking up, so we’re going to see each other again one way or another.”

  “Then I guess you’ve got two options.”

  “What would those be, wise old man of relationships?”

  “One, shrug it off. Don’t act like you’ve been mooning over her—”

  “I’m not mooning.”

  “And be polite when you’re in the same place because of your friends.”

  “And two?”

  “And tw
o…” Phil smirked. “Show up at her door and ask her what the hell.” He pointed a finger at him. “But don’t be a stalker about it.”

  Option two it was.

  “That’ll be fifty dollars for the consultation.”

  “Add it to my bill.”

  “Shit. If you ever pay your bill all three of my kids’ll go to college free and clear.”

  “We’ll just call it the Christopher Nolton scholarship fund.”

  “Pfft.” Phil went back to reading his own reports, weeding through the information in preparation for their meeting with the division chief the next afternoon.

  At five o’clock, Phil loosened his tie and groaned. “We good for tomorrow?”

  Chris released his own tie from the choke-hold around his neck. “Yeah, we’re good. I’ll finish the brief tomorrow after we meet with the rest of team so we can give the chief the whole picture.”

  “Sounds good. I need to go. Phee has a gymnastics meet tonight and I need to fight traffic across town.”

  “Tell her I said good luck.”

  Phil punched at the lower corner of his computer screen, turning it off. “I’m not telling her that. That girl doesn’t need any more luck. If she places tonight, which is damn near guaranteed, I have to foot the bill for another damn leotard.” He stood and shoved his chair under the desk. “Three hundred dollars for a piece of elastic that doesn’t even cover my fourteen-year-old’s butt.”

  He snatched his coat from the back of his chair, shrugging into it. “I’m an FBI agent. Why the hell am I talking about leotards?”

  “Because you have three talented daughters?” The question was rhetorical. Phil’s oldest daughter, Phoebe, already had colleges and Olympic coaches scouting her. Phil was extremely proud of his girls.

  “Don’t even get me started on Fillipa’s dance costumes.”

  Chris pressed his lips together. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “See you tomorrow.” Phil waved over his shoulder, still muttering about the cost of spandex.

  Chris grinned and shut down his computer, the blank screen of his cell phone mocking him from his desk. Screw it. She’d mentioned she lived in an apartment at the rescue she ran. Least she could do was tell him no in person.