Off the Grid

by Monica McCarty

  He sighed. “All the time.”

  “Good. You irritate me, too, when I’m not thinking about—”

  She stopped suddenly, her cheeks turning bright red.

  Now, that wasn’t just sexy; it was really damned cute. It made him want to make her blush like that all over. Maybe when he stripped her naked and told her exactly what he thought of her body. Part by part. Starting with the chest he was trying not to look at.

  It wasn’t his fault. It was the damned V-neck T-shirt, which had an opening that was practically right in his line of sight every time he looked down at her.

  They were still walking along the canal, but it wasn’t the touristy part. When he took her arm and turned her toward him, he realized no one else was around. “What?” he demanded. “When you aren’t thinking about what?”

  She tried to pull away with an embarrassed laugh. “Nothing. I’m drunk. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

  Bullshit. She wasn’t that drunk. She had been about to say something revealing—that was the problem. And he wanted to hear it. He shouldn’t, but damn it, he did.

  “Tell me,” he said. It came out as more of an order, which she would typically ignore or countermand. But buzzed, she didn’t seem as indifferent as she usually did to him. He was beginning to think she might not have outgrown him as much as he thought. That maybe she was just as affected as before but had just grown better at hiding it.

  Her blush deepened, but she answered him. “When I’m not thinking about being with you.”

  “You’re with me right now.”

  She tried to look away, but he wouldn’t let her. He held her chin to face him. Those eyes. God, those eyes. He seemed to get lost in them.

  “Not like that,” she said in a soft, husky voice. “Being with you . . . intimately.”

  The last word was whispered so softly that he almost didn’t hear it. Or maybe that was just the freight train of desire that suddenly came roaring through his ears.

  Her mouth was right there. Tilted toward his so temptingly. He couldn’t help himself. He had to kiss her again. Just to see if it was as sweet as he remembered.

  He lowered his mouth to hers.

  She had time to react. Time to part her lips and give a little gasp of anticipation.

  A gasp that went straight to his cock. Everything about her went straight to his cock. But that wasn’t the only place that blood was rushing. His chest was feeling that tightness, too. It must be his lungs. Yeah, his lungs.

  But his lungs weren’t what was pounding.

  He stilled at the contact. The softness of her lips, the warmth, the sweet taste of strawberries coupled with the tangy edge of salt stopped him in his tracks. For a moment, he forgot what to do. He was too busy savoring every incredible sensation.

  His hand was still on her chin, tilting her mouth to his and holding her at a perfect angle to sink in his tongue deep and take a big sweeping drink of her. But he didn’t even want to take a breath, as if he could hold on to the moment forever. As if the connection afforded by a single kiss would be all that he needed.

  That was crazy. Wasn’t it?

  She made a sound. A whimper? A moan? He didn’t know, but the effect was the same. The lust that had been pounding in his blood came racing back full force. He knew exactly what to do.

  But when his mouth started to move over hers there was something different about it. His movements were slower. Softer. His lips were savoring and lingering with every gentle caress.

  It was as if every kiss, every soft circle and stroke of his tongue, were trying to elicit something.

  Or trying to say something.

  Never had a kiss felt so revealing, so expressive, so . . .

  Intimate. Just like she’d said.

  He pulled away almost as if he’d been zapped like a finger in a light socket.

  What the hell was he doing?

  She wobbled a little, which he attributed to the alcohol. Although the soft and hazy look in her eyes as she gazed up at him didn’t look anything like tequila. It looked like the wrong impression. It looked like emotions he didn’t want to see.

  “We should get back to the hotel,” he said, his tone abrupt. Or maybe it just seemed abrupt because of what had been happening a few moments before.

  She blinked up at him, obviously confused. A state he understood only too well.

  “All right,” she said, far too huskily for how hot he was right now.

  “I’m going to try to get a workout in before dinner,” he explained.

  Lifting weights and a good five-mile run on the treadmill should help. He was out of sorts because he hadn’t worked out in a few days. He needed to burn off some energy. Lots of energy.

  Maybe he’d better make that ten miles.

  He was so distracted he forgot that he was supposed to be distracting her and keeping her busy. Fortunately, she didn’t try to sneak off to the Internet café. She said she was going to lie down for a while and then take a bath.

  She was still in the bath when he returned—hot, sweaty, and on edge. He had to wait for his cold shower.

  She sure took long baths. When she finally came out, it seemed she’d taken most of her belongings in there with her.

  “Sorry,” she said, her cheeks still rosy from the steam. She’d put on some makeup and done her hair, but she was still wearing the hotel bathrobe. Which pissed him off. Didn’t she know how easy it was for him to take that thing off? “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

  He grumbled something and barely even looked at her as he took refuge in the icy-cold waters of his shower. After BUD/S, he swore he’d never take a cold shower again. That was before he’d met Brittany.

  He was more relaxed by the time he emerged, and he managed to make it through a pretty decent dinner at a local French-style café before some of that earlier tension returned. It wasn’t the long night ahead of him that confronted him when he looked at the two beds as they came back into the room—although that sure as hell bothered him; it was the turn their conversation took.

  At dinner, she’d been almost cautious in conversation topics. As if she knew something was bothering him. But as soon as they returned to their hotel room, all that restraint fled.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Nothing’s wrong.”

  “Then why are you acting like this?”

  “Like what?”

  Brittany had never had a high tolerance for his or any other BS. He shouldn’t have been surprised when she cut right to the quick.

  “Like you didn’t kiss me earlier.”

  “It was only a kiss, Brittany. Don’t make one of your federal cases out of it, like you do everything else.”

  Five years ago she would have flushed with embarrassment, but not now. Now it was anger. “And what about me sleeping in your arms last night? I guess that didn’t mean anything either?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You cried out. You were having a nightmare. I went over to see if you were okay, and you pulled me into bed beside you. You held me cuddled against your chest all night long.”

  John was the one who was embarrassed now. It was like she’d just thrown a pitch and dropped him into the dunking booth of shame. It washed over him in a hot rush of anger. The nightmares and talking in his sleep were why he’d avoided overnight female companionship since the op in Russia.

  What had he said?

  He didn’t want to know. But most of all, he didn’t want her to know.

  “I was asleep, Brittany. I didn’t know what I was doing. You could have been anyone.”

  He’d said something like that to her once before, but this time she called him on it. “That’s crap, John, and you know it. You knew it was me. Just like you knew it was me when you kissed me like th
at.” Her gaze held his in an unyielding challenge. “I’d wager you’ve never kissed anyone like that in your life.” She didn’t give him an opportunity to play dumb. “Like you cared.” And just in case he didn’t get the point. “Like you cared about me.”

  “I do care about you.”

  “You know I don’t mean it like that.”

  “Then why don’t you say what you mean, because I feel like you are talking in some kind of language I don’t understand? And if you are expecting me to say something, you’re going to be waiting a really long time.”

  Eyes wide with shock, she blinked. But it didn’t quite hide the hurt.

  He felt like an ass. But this was exactly what had happened before. She was trying to get too close. Trying to pin him down. “Look,” he said. “I’m sorry about last night. It won’t happen again. And I shouldn’t have kissed you earlier. You were drunk and obviously mistook my intentions.”

  “I didn’t mistake anything, and I wasn’t drunk. I was a little buzzed, but not drunk.”

  A drink was exactly what he needed. He started toward the minibar, but she stepped in front of him, cutting him off. “Alcohol isn’t going to help, John. It isn’t going to make you forget what happened, and it isn’t going to bring them back. I’m worried about you. The drinking, the nightmares. You need to talk to someone.”

  He snapped. This was exactly the kind of crap he didn’t need. She wasn’t his girlfriend; she needed to stop acting like one.

  He took one long look at her, standing there with her eyes too full of concern, as if she fucking understood. She didn’t understand anything. “Fine. I won’t drink here. I’ll be back later.”

  He’d finally shaken her confidence. Now she looked worried. As if she’d overplayed her hand and he’d called her on it. “Where are you going?”

  He lifted an eyebrow. This time it was his gaze that was challenging. “Does it really matter?”

  They’d been here once before. He knew exactly how to make sure she didn’t have the wrong idea.

  “I don’t know what you think you have to prove, but you don’t need to do this.” She moved away from the bar. “Stay and have your drink. We can talk about it.”

  That was the last thing he wanted. He’d done all the talking he was going to do.

  He grabbed the jacket he’d tossed on the chair when they’d walked in a few minutes ago and headed for the door. “Don’t wait up.”

  The slam of the door behind him sounded final. Even to him.

  Sixteen

  Brittany forced her eyes closed so she wouldn’t stare at the clock as she lay in bed not sleeping in the mostly darkened room. It was after midnight, and John had been gone for hours.

  She didn’t need to ask where. She knew exactly where he was going and what he planned to do when he said he was leaving. The only question was whether he would find anyone at the bar to pick up.

  Which was a stupid question. Of course he would. He could probably draw numbers, there would be so many volunteers. Knowing his luck, he’d find twins again.

  She never should have pushed him. She knew how much he didn’t like to be cornered about anything personal. As soon as she got too close, his first instinct was to do something to push her away.

  Just like last time.

  She tugged the duvet over her head and squeezed her eyes in frustration. Why did she care what time it was or what he was doing right now? She should be grateful that he’d reminded her of how much of a dog he was before she got too attached.

  Well, he could drink himself into oblivion and never sleep another night for all she cared. The big jerk.

  She refused to wait up for him. She had to go to sleep.

  But her body wasn’t cooperating. Especially her pounding chest, her tight throat, and her burning eyes.

  Damn him.

  She hated herself right now almost as much as she hated him. How could she let him do this to her?

  The red glow of the clock seemed to taunt her with each passing minute: 12:17. How long was she going to do this?

  For another minute—that was when the door finally opened.

  She held her breath, glad she was facing away from the door at that moment. She wasn’t sure what she would do if she had to look at him. She didn’t want to see him right now. If there was any sign of what he’d been doing, she might not be able to control herself.

  She’d probably do something horrible like burst into tears, and she wouldn’t embarrass herself like that. He didn’t deserve half the tears she’d already wasted on him. She wasn’t even a crier!

  She heard him go into the bathroom and pulled the covers over her head again, trying to calm the frantic pace of her heart. The toilet flushed. The sink turned on for him to wash his hands and brush his teeth. When it went off, she braced herself.

  She heard footsteps as he crossed the room and the creak of the bed as his weight landed on the mattress.

  A moment later she heard a deep sigh. It sounded enough like contentment to make her snap. All her good intentions flew right out the window.

  She tore off the covers and jumped out of bed. “Get out of here. Find another place to sleep, because you sure as hell aren’t sleeping in the same room as me.”

  For maybe the first time ever the fact that he wasn’t wearing a shirt didn’t matter. He disgusted her right now. She didn’t even want to look in case there were marks on him. Had someone else been digging their fingertips into his arms and shoulders when he made them come?

  Her stomach turned. God, she hated him right now.

  John looked taken aback by the vehemence of her attack. She probably looked like a crazy woman looming over him, but she was beyond caring.

  “Hey, take it easy,” he said. “There’s no reason to overreact.”

  That sent her flying right over the edge. For someone who was reportedly so good with women, he didn’t have a clue with her. You don’t tell a nearly hysterical woman to calm down and not to overreact!

  He’d climbed out of bed to face her, and when he tried to move toward her, she pushed him away. “Don’t you dare tell me how to feel or how to react. Just because you don’t feel anything or act as if nothing bothers you doesn’t mean that’s normal. News flash, John. It’s actually normal to have feelings. And it’s even normal to show them sometimes. Like when your mom dies, when you lose your best friend, or when you care about someone.”

  He went utterly stone-faced—full icy Viking. “I don’t know what you are talking about. I have feelings.”

  “Do you? You could have fooled me. How could you leave like that and do what you did? God, I . . .” Her eyes were burning too hard to fight it anymore. The blasted tears started to fall. “I am not going to let you do this to me again. You need to get out of here.” And just in case he hadn’t understood, she put both her hands on his ridiculously perfect chest and gave him a push. “Now.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, circling her wrists with his hands. Her push hadn’t budged him an inch. Stupid muscles! “We’re going to talk about why you are so upset.”

  The fact that he sounded so calm only served to light another fuse to a fire that didn’t need stoking. “Why I’m so upset? Jeez, I don’t know, John. Do you think it might have something to do with the fact that we’ve been spending time together like two people who care about each other, but as soon as I start to get too close, you run out of here like a scared rabbit and find someone else to have sex with so you can prove to me how much you don’t care about me? Well, you know what? I got the message last time.” She might have shoved him in the chest again. She was crying too hard to know. “You don’t care about me. Got it.”

  She was clearly past the “nearly” and on her way to full-fledged hysterical. And what was his response?

  “Ah, hell.”

  He tried to pull her into his arms, but s
he fought against it. “Don’t touch me. God, just leave me alone!”

  She was seriously losing it now.

  Despite her best efforts, his arms were around her and her damp cheek was pressed against his bare and very warm and cozy chest as he stroked her hair. “I didn’t sleep with anyone tonight.”

  It took a few moments for his words to penetrate her emotions. When they finally did, she seemed to freeze mid-choking sob. She looked up at him, trying to read his expression in the semidarkness of the room. “You didn’t?”

  He shook his head. “I wanted to, but . . .”

  Her heart, which had lifted for a second, sank. For a minute she’d thought . . . Her gaze dropped. “No suitable victims, huh?”

  “No. It wasn’t that.”

  Of course it wasn’t that. She looked back up again. “Then why?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just couldn’t. I didn’t want to.”

  “Why not?”

  “God, I don’t know,” he said, using his thumb to sweep tears from her cheeks. “It just didn’t feel right. Can we leave it at that for now?”

  He sounded so uncomfortable she took momentary pity on him. “But you wanted me to think that you had.”

  It wasn’t a question, but his shrug seemed to be an affirmation.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “I guess I didn’t like what you were saying.”

  “About the drinking and nightmares?”

  He paused and then nodded. He took what seemed a very long and deep breath. “Maybe everything isn’t as great as it seems.”

  Knowing what those words must have cost him, Brittany felt something inside her chest break. But it was a different kind of heart breaking—more an opening. It was a feeling that might make her terrified if her concern weren’t directed on him. “Why would it be great? You just lost your best friend, and I’m assuming other men you were close to as well.”

  “It’s part of the job. Shit happens. Lots of shit. You have to be able to move on.”

  “Of course you do, and I get that. But moving on doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to mourn a little or be sad. You can’t bury your feelings and pretend they aren’t there.”