“Then I regret to inform you that you’ve utterly failed.” The bed near his hip dipped beneath her weight, and Will opened his eyes, wincing against the sunlight streaming through a gauzy curtain. Cooper smiled down at him. “You’d make a terrible spy—it’s the first thing they teach you.”
He sat up and she handed him a bottle of water, condensation seeping into his palm and running down the side. He chugged down half.
“I’d make an excellent spy,” he assured her. The sheet slid down to bunch around his hips, and a thin cotton t-shirt, crisp and clean, clung to his shoulders. The neckline gaped a little and his arms didn’t fill out the sleeves the way they once had, but he did his best not to focus on that. Time, food, and exercise would bring back a physique that had always required maintenance and devotion. His strength would return. It had to. “And a better ninja, which is frankly more impressive.”
“They do have the better uniform,” she agreed with a grin.
He lifted the bottle, ready to down the rest of it, but didn’t get more than two huge mouthfuls.
“Easy on the food and fluids, okay?” Cooper said, pulling the water from his lips with a fingertip pressed to the end. “Lots more where that came from.”
Will stole another swallow, then made himself stop. He couldn’t really remember the last time he’d had clean, cold water. Thumbing the edge of a peeling label, he wondered what else would taste this good, feel this forbidden. Where to even start? He’d been denied and wished for so many things. The mundane—sex, a hot shower, a double cheeseburger and fries greasy enough to disintegrate the bottom of a paper bag. The well-earned indulgence—an aged steak, rare and the size of a plate, a day on Lake Champlain with silent friends and biting fish, sex with a woman who made the pursuit interesting, the foreplay fun, and the climax memorable.
So many things he wanted. Some of them far away and out of reach . . . and some an arm’s length away.
As if she knew what he was thinking, Cooper arched and eyebrow and asked, “So? What’s at the top of the list?”
And in the end, the answer was simple and came to him with a rueful grin.
Priorities.
“Water heater work?” he asked.
“Far better than the air conditioner.” She stood and stretched, arms above her head, the hem of her shirt riding high and the waistband of her jeans sliding low. He wanted to touch the line of skin that showed between the two, brush his thumb back and forth, trail a finger along the curve above her hip.
Remind himself she was so much more than a fevered dream or distant memory.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, pushed himself to his feet, then sat right back down again when the blood rushed to his head and the room tilted to the left.
“Shit.”
Cooper laughed, the sound warm and rich and not at all at his expense.
“You Delta boys.” She shook her head. “Always in such a hurry. Take your time. I’ll get the shower going.”
She wandered toward the bathroom and the rusty squeal of ancient plumbing and the hissing gurgle of water pushing through pipes followed.
Will braced his hands on the edge of the mattress, took a deep breath, and pushed himself to his feet. Blood rushed from his head and his vision fizzed like it had gone carbonated, but the room remained steady.
Progress.
When everything settled, he followed his feet out of the bedroom door and around the corner, taking the time to catalogue the aches and pains that accompanied each step.
He felt surprisingly good. Sore, yes. But less like he’d been beaten to within an inch of his life—a state he’d become depressingly familiar with—and more like he’d slept for far too long and allowed his muscles to go loose and heavy, then achy and uncooperative.
He pushed open the bathroom door and a billow of steam rolled out to greet him, the heat and humidity a heavy, cloying reminder that reached with ghostly fingers to try to pull him back in time.
He pressed forward instead. He was done with all that.
“Towels,” Cooper said, appearing behind him with a stack of stark-white cotton. She dropped them on the counter near the sink. “Soap and shampoo are in the shower, Grizzly Adams, and I managed to source a razor and a pair of scissors if you’re feeling adventurous.”
He tugged the ends of hair that had never been short. He’d spent enough time in the Middle East to grow an “in-country” look, but he doubted he’d be deploying anytime soon—hell, his military career was likely over; psych would never clear him for field work after a year in captivity—and he was ready for a fresh start.
He stood there, caught between the door and the shower, wondering when simple things had become so overwhelming.
As usual, Cooper seemed to have some idea of what was going through his head . . . even when he didn’t.
“It’s normal, you know,” she offered when he didn’t move. “That feeling that nothing’s the same, that even daily chores we once did by rote are now foreign and overwhelming.”
“We?” He didn’t turn to face her but dipped his chin and tilted his head in her direction. He couldn’t look at her. Not yet. Wasn’t even sure he was ready to face himself. But neither could he deny the sleepy sliver of curiosity that lay beneath his skin like a splinter. Something easily overlooked, but noticeable when prodded. It would grow, too, he realized. As the fog of illness and too much sleep pulled back, questions would set in. Already, they circled the perimeter, curious as cats, hungry as wolves.
But they’d wait. For a little while longer, at least.
Cooper touched his back, her fingers light against his t-shirt, a cautious hello and a sad goodbye in one small gesture. “We,” she confirmed. “Shower. I’ll figure out food—”
Will turned, a laugh climbing his throat. “You cook?” He wasn’t sure why he found the idea funny, but he did. Cooper had featured in a lot of fantasies over the years but dressed in an apron and tied to the stove had never been one of them.
“Not as well as I shoot,” she said. “But then that’s setting the bar very, very high.”
Yes, it most certainly was.
“Bet a lot of things sail right under it.”
She met his gaze, her clear-blue eyes dancing like open water on a cloudless day. “Most,” she agreed. “But not all.” She dipped her chin toward the shower. “Get to it, Bennett, and I’ll see what’s on the menu.”
She walked away, pulling the door shut behind her and denying him the pleasure of watching her go.
He turned back to the shower, another familiar, yet foreign feeling stirring beneath his skin.
Priorities, he reminded himself.
It took nearly an hour, two tanks of hot water, half a bottle of shampoo, and two full bars of soap before the water ran clean and clear. Will’s skin was pruned and his body tired as he stood at the sink, a towel around his hips and a straight razor in his hand.
An hour on his feet, and it felt like he’d been running on fumes for days.
It was damn depressing.
Cooper knocked on the door, though he’d left it mostly open to let the steam escape and the cool air in. “Brought you some clothes. You okay?” she asked, eyeing the way he clutched the razor in a fist on top of the chipped counter.
“Yeah.” He swallowed, glanced into the sink and at the ragged scraps of hair he’d cut away from his face with the scissors she’d left him. It had been easy enough, long as it was. He wanted the rest gone, or at least cropped close, but . . .
He lifted his hand, watched the razor tremble, then set it back down in disgust.
“Food ready?” he asked, taking the clothes from her hands and ignoring the way her gaze skittered like a windblown leaf over the bare expanse of his chest.
What was left of it anyway.
He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. He’d known, of course, that he’d lost weight. A lot of it, apparently. Had felt the weakness in his limbs. But that hadn’t really prepared him to face the damage
that had confronted him first in the shower and later in the mirror.
He’d barely recognized himself.
Fitting, then, that outside matched the inside.
Nothing felt the same. Nothing looked the same.
He wasn’t the same. Of course not.
He just had no fucking clue what to do about it, or how to live with it.
He’d always been big. A weed at ten. A pole at fifteen. And then, when life got hard and he got mean, he’d filled out. Piled on a few more inches and packed on fifty more pounds. All of it muscle.
He’d made an imposing big brother, a decent athlete, and a helluva solider.
Being physical, being capable, being strong . . . it was just who he was. It always had been.
And now that identity had been stripped from him. But then, maybe he’d deserved it.
He’d never used that strength on someone else. Not until—
“I’m fine,” he grunted.
“Sure you are.”
And a shitty liar, apparently.
Will shook his head. He’d never shied away from a fight. Wasn’t about to start now. So he sighed, clenched his teeth, and faced himself.
As a kid he’d spent endless days with action figures—pitting them against each other, blowing them up with leftover fireworks, burying the remains then digging them up to do it all again. And always, he sided with the heroes. Let G.I. Joe and He-Man save the day. And though he couldn’t say he’d done it on purpose, he’d created a life in their image.
Strong. Fierce. Loyal.
Steadfast in the face of evil, brave in the face of weakness.
He hadn’t been prepared to confront either of them in himself.
He shivered and turned away from the mirror.
What did she see when she looked at him? What would his friends see when he returned? What Georgia would see when she hugged him—or slugged him. It was a tough call, really. His sister had never handled her emotions well or predictably.
He’d been gone a long time. She’d probably moved on. Probably written him off as dead. When he turned up alive . . . Yeah, she was going to deck him.
The thought brought a forlorn smile to his mouth.
“They still go on the same way.” Cooper’s voice drew him back to the here and now. “One leg at a time, in case you’re wondering.”
“You just going to stand there and watch?” he asked, resisting the ridiculous urge to hold the clothes close to his chest.
“Is that an invitation?” She cocked her hip against the door and let her gaze roam where it liked.
“Can’t imagine why you’d want one.”
It was an odd sensation, being on the receiving end of that stare. Wondering if he’d measured up. Resisting the slow, determined crawl of insecurity and embarrassment that swept over him like a hungry tide. In his experience, women tended to step into the pitfalls of vanity and insecurity. Will couldn’t remember a single one who hadn’t gone still or quiet or reserved, even if only for a split second, just before or right after the clothes came off.
He’d never before wondered what that felt like. Hadn’t cared, really. Naked was good. Naked and touching was better. Naked and sliding into a willing woman was the best. And it usually didn’t take much to set aside those fears and move past those insecurities.
A smile. A touch. A whispered assurance.
Fuck, he’d been lazy.
Now here he was, tables turned, half naked and self-conscious with it . . . and battered by the sudden realization that Cooper would have no such reservations. All too easily he could picture her walking away from him, shedding clothes as she headed to the bed, glancing back to ensure he followed.
He would. Like a lamb to slaughter, he would.
“You’ve given me a number of invitations in the past, but I was never in a position to accept them.” She stepped into the room and closed the scant distance between them. Slowly, she drew a fingertip along the edge of his towel, her nail brushing his still-damp skin.
“That was different.” He caught her hand before she reached the fold at his hip. “I was different.”
“In the mood, you mean?” she asked sweetly. “Or maybe you just enjoyed the game. The knowledge that you could say anything, promise anything, and never have to follow through.”
Oh, he’d wanted to follow through, all right. Had wondered what it’d be like to carry out the promises he’d made. To put her on her knees or hold her against a wall. To pull her pants down her thighs and bury himself in her. To bite her shoulder and bruise her hips. He’d known from the moment Cooper had first saved his team that she was different in every way that mattered.
An enigma. A contradiction. A challenge.
He hadn’t even needed to see her to know he wanted her.
He’d already drawn a picture in his head. Knew she’d be like the profession she’d chosen and the gun she carried. Tough. Competent. Dangerous.
Still and quiet one second, a riot of chaos the next.
And nothing less than one hundred percent confident.
He’d thought himself up to the task. Hell, he’d never even thought to question it.
When women came to Will’s bed, it was for the thrill, the story. They liked his height, his muscles, his job.
He was the warrior they took to bed simply to say they had—all fine by him.
And always, he’d restrained himself. Understood that what they considered wild, he considered tame.
But with Cooper, restraint would be out of the question—he’d promised her as much. Told her where he’d wanted to put his hands, his mouth. Warned her that there’d be no romance, no seduction. That between them, foreplay would look like war games, and the winner would take all.
It’d be him, he’d promised. That stripped of her gun and her perch, she’d be at his mercy. Smaller. Weaker. Conquered.
She’d moaned. Fucking moaned. Then told him she’d like to see him try.
The very idea had made him feel like a man in a way little else ever had.
Cooper would cede no ground. Give no quarter. And when he had her, pinned and writhing, wet and ready, he’d ensure defeat felt like victory and surrender like triumph.
But now, standing before her in little more than a towel and a body that had betrayed him, he couldn’t imagine what Cooper saw when she looked at him.
Whatever it was, it wasn’t strength, and that, more than anything, felt like weakness. Tasted like shame.
“So that’s it?” she goaded him with a huff. “Are you all talk, no follow through? Of course, you are.” She rolled her eyes on a sigh. “I suppose it’s easy, making promises in the dark you don’t intend to keep. Like video games and virtual reality—half the thrill and none of the risk.”
“I intended to keep them,” he assured her, grasping her wrist when she drew her fingers along the harsh, sloping line of his collarbone.
“Ah. Intended. Past tense. So either I’ve disappointed you, or you no longer think you can. Is that it, Will? Am I a letdown?” She knew damn well she wasn’t but tried to pull away all the same.
He didn’t release her. Instead, he let himself revel in the feel of her wrist trapped in his hand, the bones tiny and fragile and so easy to rub together. To snap.
“Not even close.”
He let go.
Backed away from the violence that was just there, simmering beneath his skin, ready to erupt. It had always been there. In school. In the field. In his bed. And he’d made his peace with that. Turned it toward something useful. Kept it leashed and harnessed and tamed.
But the last year had changed him. Brought forth darker, meaner urges. He’d been stripped of decency and restraint.
It was probably a good thing that the time had eaten away at him. That his strength had failed, and his body had withered.
“You think you’re weak.”
She traced her finger along the curve of a scar, one of the many Matías had carved into him.
“You’re not,�
� she promised when he flinched.
“How could you possibly know?” he asked, his voice gruff and unsure.
What was it about this woman that stirred passion to something else entirely? It wasn’t violence, or malice, or cruelty. He didn’t want to hurt her, not really, not in any way she wouldn’t like. But he did want to take her, use her, wreck her and ruin her. Enough so that she’d come back for more. Come back to him and only him and beg him to do it all again.
Cruel, that now that he had her here, in his grasp and taunting him, he wasn’t sure he could do any of those things.
“You must be joking.” She wrapped her fingers in the towel and led him toward the toilet. She dropped the lid and pushed him to sit. “You’ve had a taste of weakness, Will. But you don’t know what it is to live with it. Not really.”
“Don’t I?” he asked as she reached for a can of shaving cream and the blade he’d abandoned.
“No,” she assured him, “you don’t. How much do you want to lose?”
“What?” he asked, trying to keep up.
She drew a fingertip along his jaw and over the ragged ends of his beard. “I’m guessing mangy Wookiee was not the look you were going for, right?”
He swallowed hard. He’d hacked away haphazardly with scissors, assuming he’d clean it up or shave it off with the straight razor. But he hadn’t counted on the tremors.
“Gone would probably be easier.”
“For you, or for me?”
Either. Both. He wasn’t sure what he’d find if he shaved it all away. But he wanted to feel human and well-kept more than he wanted a close-cropped beard.
“You know how to use that thing?” he asked, eyeing the glint of the blade beneath the bathroom lights.
“I do.” She dropped a folded towel to the floor beneath his feet and stared down at him. “So, baby face? Neat and tidy? Or full lumberjack?”
“Neat and tidy.”
She knelt between his legs, her knees cushioned by the folded towel she’d dropped to the floor, and moved in close.
She shook the can of foam, then dispensed a cloud of white into her hand. With a gentle touch, she smoothed it over his cheeks, then over his chin and down his neck.
Fearless (Somerton Security Book 3) Page 8