“Well, I didn’t,” I admitted. “Go to college, I mean. But if you know how to start a fire and you’re not too busy with the steaks, the fireplace is yours, too.”
She grinned. “Okay, I will. You need to do me one favor, though.”
“What’s that?” I asked, pulling my shirt back over my head and straightening the front.
“Could you bring in the wood for me? My poor, weak woman’s arms can’t carry many logs at one time.”
“Yeah,” I agreed with a laugh, “Think I can do that for you.”
She turned and headed back inside with a smile.
Another thing I realized about the benefits of the meditative work was that it helped keep my mind off Jessica. Now, just as she’d left, I felt the need to be close to her stirring inside me again. I wanted—no, needed—her by my side. When she was near me, my blood sang the same way it did when I was on the hunt with the rest of my pack. There just wasn’t any other way things could turn out.
There were just two things wrong with that: she needed to return my feelings, and protocol. I grunted as I put the last of the wood in my arms and headed back around to the front of the cabin. I didn’t know how I was going to make it through these three days without making a move on her, but I knew I should.
I had to.
Chapter Thirty-two - Jessica
Richard came back into the living room from the shower smelling clean, like the smell of soap and pine sap, something I realized I could get used to. I'd laid out dinner at the small table. Steaks, mashed potatoes, and a light salad to top it off. I’d fished out a bottle of red from a lower cabinet, an older Merlot that I hoped was good.
“Smells delicious,” he said appreciatively, pulling a chair out and taking a seat. “Wine, huh? Where’d you manage to find that?”
“I’m a great scavenger,” I replied with a grin, pouring a glass for myself in one of the small tumblers I’d found in the cabinets. He declined his own small amount, but I poured him a touch anyway. “What kind of dinner is it without wine?”
“A sober one,” he replied, dropping a paper napkin on his lap.
The way he ate dinner and the noises of appreciation he made had me a little concerned with the overall effect it was having on him. “Enjoying the steak?” I asked as he tore into the hunk of beef.
“God, yes,” he said as he cut off another piece and dragged it through potatoes. “You’re going to spoil me for all my future protection details.”
I laughed. “Well, maybe I can get another discount from your boss, then,” I joked. “For providing meals while on the job?”
“Maybe,” he replied with a wink. “I’ll talk to Peter when we come down from the mountain.”
During the rest of dinner, we chatted about the cabin we were staying in, about how he and his boss had renovated it and made all the updates over the course of a summer when their business had just opened. When I was finished asking questions about all the work they’d put into it, we discussed my time at university, the classes I’d taken, and how I’d settled on marine biology as a minor.
When we finished eating, he cleared the table and cleaned up the kitchen while I retired to the couch with my wine. I was only on my second glass, but I could already feel the alcohol going to my head. I set the cup on the coffee table, drew my feet up, and laid back. I relaxed into the cushions with a smile creeping across my face as I looked at the fire I’d gotten crackling in the fireplace.
Pleasant dinner conversation with a handsome man who was actually doing the dishes? A cabin deep in the woods, isolated, quiet, with a beautiful view? I wasn’t going to lie, I could get used to this. Everything else aside, like the stalker and the biker gang hunting me, this was turning out to be a nice little vacation.
Richard came into the living room a little while later after finishing the dishes. He dropped onto the other end of the couch, sighing, a content look on his face as he glanced at me.
“What now?” I purred like a contented, fat cat as I put an arm on the back of the couch and propped my head against it, just looking at him in wonder.
“TV?” he asked. “The satellite dish works fine.”
I shook my head, not moving it from where I’d rested it against my fist. “Nah. Not in the mood. I enjoy talking to you, why would I want a TV going?”
He smiled, turned his body a little towards mine, and relaxed back into the cushions.
“Will you do me a favor?” I asked after a long moment of comfortable silence.
“Sure. What do you need?”
“Will you tell me everything’s going to be alright again?”
He smiled. “Everything going to be alright. I promise.”
I smiled at first, then frowned.
“What’s wrong?”
“Just thinking, that’s all. Sheila, my friend that’s been doing the books for me.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I remember.”
“She told me the gallery is failing. That I should take the money from Wyatt and run.” I then began to lay out the financial problems with the business, about how Blake had been keeping it afloat.
He frowned as the story continued and asked questions in certain parts for clarification.
“So,” he said when I was finished, “even if we get these Skull and Bones guys off your back, your business is still going to go under unless you make some changes? What kind?”
I told him about the gift shop idea, about the diversifying I’d considered, branching out into offering more retail stuff for sale.
“Well,” he said with a laugh after hearing it, “I could always invest in it, you know. Peter might be interested, too.”
I laughed. “Oh, come on, you don’t have that kind of money.”
“Who says?” he asked. “Think security doesn’t pay well enough or something?”
“I saw my invoice,” I joked.
He gave me a knowing look that said, Come on, Jessica.
Then it dawned on me. They’d cut me a serious discount! “You guys cut your fee, didn’t you? How much?”
“We like helping out the locals,” he said with a shrug.
I suddenly had a mix of feelings, and didn’t know exactly how to react. I appreciated that they were willing to help, but I suddenly felt like I was a charity case. I reached down, grabbed my wine, and finished it off in one go.
“One second,” I said, holding up a finger as I climbed off the couch and headed back to the kitchen, glass in hand. I poured myself another glass, not knowing what to feel. When I glanced back to the living room, Richard was looking my direction.
“You’re not mad, are you?” he asked as I came back, glass of wine fuller than before in hand. “Or offended?”
“I don’t know how to react, to be honest,” I said as I sat down on the couch next to him, closer this time, and curled my legs up beneath me. I rested the glass on the cushion in front of me as I leaned my head on my hand and looked into his eyes. “One part of me feels like you’re treating me like a damsel in distress. The other doesn’t mind being treated like one.” I leaned forward. “Is that weird?”
He laughed as he readjusted himself, stretching an arm across the back of the couch. “No, it’s not weird. The way we see it, the Rock needs to stick together on certain things. Peter and I know Sheriff Peak can’t cover everything, and we want to keep places like art galleries open. If Dixie had come to us like that, I’m sure Peter would have cut her a deal, too.”
I rolled my eyes and took another sip of wine. “Well, thanks. Now I don’t feel so special.”
“Sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No, no,” I replied with a giggle and sipped some more wine. “I think you’ve helped enough.” The wine was definitely getting to my head. This was my third glass, and Richard had hardly touched his own. It wasn’t a great vintage, or anything, but it was good enough for a long day like today. I reached out and patted his hand that was resting across the back of the couch, reassuring him. I left my han
d on top of his, just enjoying how he felt.
He laughed, shifted a little closer on the couch, but didn’t move his hand. “Well, if you can think of anything, I’m sure Peter would like to know I screwed up and told you about the discount. We kind of wanted to keep it to ourselves.”
I looked at his hand in my peripheral vision and traced my red nails over the back. It was a strong hand, a well-worn one. The kind that belonged to a good, hardworking man. There was a comfort in touching him, the feel of warm skin against mine. Knowing that he wasn’t a total creep or an asshole helped.
Geez, I thought. Was that the alcohol talking? No, I’d probably had one glass too many, but I knew it wasn’t just the alcohol. I’d been feeling this way, I realized, since the first time I’d met him the day before. Still, deciding I’d had enough wine for the night, I set the glass aside on the coffee table but didn’t remove my hand from his. Keeping it there just felt…right.
As I straightened up and curled back onto the couch, we looked into each other’s eyes, his gray searching deeper into my green than any man ever had. The flame from the fireplace danced in his pupils, lighting them up like some wild animal on the edge of a campfire.
My breath caught in my chest at the realization of how close we were sitting on the couch. We’d just been talking, and I hadn’t thought I’d sat so much closer to him when I’d gotten my last glass of wine. But,between the fire and Richard, I didn’t think I’d ever felt so warm in my entire life.
Now, as we gazed into one another’s eyes, I realized how deep our connection really went. It felt like he was peering into my soul, and I into his. I bit my lip and tried to look away, but couldn’t.
Without my even realizing, my fingers entwined themselves in his, my slim digits slipping effortlessly between his big, rough ones. His eyes glanced down to my lips, and mine traced over his.
Almost as if we were being orchestrated, we slowly leaned in towards one another. As our lips came closer together, inch by aching inch, I closed my eyes.
His lips were as soft and full as I’d imagined they would be. He kissed me gently at first, then pressed his lips harder, more intensely against mine as our hands grasped each other and squeezed. I brushed my tongue over his lips, groaning as how wonderfully long this wait had been.
Richard brushed my cheek with his free hand and cupped my face as he kissed me harder, our tongues dancing between us like it only can with two fresh lovers. He growled low in his throat like an animal, and a thrill went up my spine.
All the worries about the gallery, the Skull and Bones, and the death threats melted away like the sun coming out to thaw the high country on the first day of spring. I’d never been kissed like this before, so intensely but so softly. It was like our lips had been made for one another, like we’d been destined to be together.
But, then, just as wonderfully as it had begun, Richard pulled back, breaking our kiss. “I’m sorry,” he panted, his hand still tenderly cupping my cheek. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
I shook my head. “No, no,” I insisted, smiling softly, “you should have. You definitely should have.”
He smiled a little, but it swiftly turned into a frown.
I grimaced. “It’s against protocol,” I said before he could.
He nodded, stroking his thumb softly over my cheek. “Yeah,” he admitted. “It is. God, I wish it wasn’t, though.”
I touched the back of his hand cupping my face, turned my lips inward, and kissed his callused palm as he gripped my hand tighter. “Believe me, I can sympathize.”
“And, besides, you’ve been drinking. I’ve hardly had a drop.”
“Oh, believe me,” I said, “I’ve been waiting for that kiss long enough to know it’s not just the wine that kissed you back.”
“It wasn’t?” he asked, a small smile dancing over his lips. “You sure?”
I nodded. “I’m sure, Richard. Believe me.”
“As soon as this is over,” he said earnestly, “as soon as we’ve got you safe, and the contract is over…”
“I’ll cook you dinner,” I suggested. “But, this time, you won’t be getting paid to eat it with me.”
He laughed. “Yeah. I’ll be there, even if Peter docks me pay for breaking protocol. Your Spaghetti Bolognese if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” I replied, pulling myself towards him and laying my head against his chest. “That one’s easy.”
He wrapped his strong arms around me and embraced me close. I could hear his heart thumping inside his chest, a warm, strong sound like nothing I’d ever heard before. I closed my eyes and felt a sense of contentment wash over me.
If only I could have stayed like that forever. If only we could have been together like that forever.
Unfortunately, like all things, it had to come to an end.
Chapter Thirty-three – Richard
I paced my room, having not even bothered to undress. What the hell was I thinking kissing her like that? I mean, I wanted to, I needed to, but I’d no doubt crossed a professional line. I’d taken my focus from the mission, had maybe put myself and her in jeopardy by dropping my guard for even a moment. What if this had been Afghanistan or some other dangerous situation? I could have gotten us both killed!
I growled at myself, my fists clinched so tightly my knuckles popped.
And the worst part about it? It had felt so wonderful! Like slipping into a hot spring after a long, hard day. Like running beneath the moon with my pack, the smell of a hunt hot in my nostrils. Like when the bullets whiz right past your head or the bomb misses its mark. It made me feel alive, I realized, for the first time since I’d been risking my life every day.
I shook my head. But, still, protocol. The mission. I’d let it down. Peter was going to be pissed that I’d fucked up.
Of course, I realized, Peter had to have known it would happen. He had to have known how strong my pull to Jessica would have been, like two magnets drawn to one another across a vast distance, two heavenly bodies drifting together from their own mutual, gravitational attraction.
And, if he’d known I couldn’t resist her, that it was my instinct driving me, then he had probably put me in this position to begin with. That idea, no matter if it was wrong or right, took a little sting from my self-flagellation.
I was a soldier, though. I was trained to resist my instinct. I was taught to rush towards danger, towards the enemy as they actively tried to kill me. To act on my training.
That, I admitted, I hadn’t done. I’d listened to the song inside my blood. I hadn’t been able to resist it. I growled again, fighting back the urge to lay into the wood panels that lined the bedroom. My hands remained at my sides, still tightly clenched, still alive with the feeling of her touch on them.
My only thought was to maintain the mission. To keep myself focused. Maybe if I did that I would keep myself from slipping into her room. And I knew that I could. She wouldn’t turn me down, instead she’d welcome me with a warm bed and open arms.
I shook my head again.
No. I needed to remember she was a human, a woman. As much as my shifter urges pressed on me to just go into her room, I still needed to wait. She was my mate, and I knew it, but there was still the mission. Still her to protect.
But more than that, deeper even than the needs of the mission, or of my own instincts gnawing away at my insides like a hungry wolf…how was I going to tell her the truth?
That I wasn’t even human.
I sat down on the edge of the bed, head in my hands. I’d stayed distant from women in the past specifically because of this. How do you tell a woman you care about that you’re a shifter? That, if we had children, they may receive this blessing-slash-curse, or they may not? But that our grandchildren, or our great-grandchildren might? That it was in my blood as surely as any of my other genes, that it was just an aspect of me that they’d have to hide from everyone they ever knew or cared about if they wanted to keep me safe?
They’d eit
her try and have me committed or they’d running screaming in the other direction. When Mom had given me Dad’s letter about my heritage, I’d been so young I hadn’t even thought to ask how he broke the news to her. I just knew they’d met and fell in love. All the nitty gritty details? Who needed that? Now, though, I wished I’d asked. In detail. So much detail she got sick of giving me all the tiny minutiae that might guide me forward in my own life. By the time I’d thought to ask, of course, they were both long gone from this world.
I couldn’t lie; it was one of the many regrets I had with my mom’s passing. How could I have let her go without asking simple questions she’d probably had the answer to? The truth was, though, I’d been so hurt by her and my dad withholding my past from me, I’d shut her out. Why bother listening to any of her other advice when she’d lied to me about one of the single most important things?
I shook my head at my stupidity, nearly punching the wall again.
I went back to pacing, growling at myself for being such a fool about everything.
The other option, of course, was just to not tell Jessica. But what kind of life would that be? I’d always been able to empathize with people who were different because of my own secrets. Rather than a closet, I lived in a kennel. Luckily, I’d found a pack. But, no, I couldn’t just lie to her by omission. How could I? It would just be outright betrayal. Like my dad had done to me. I remembered how I’d felt when the truth had been revealed. Wouldn’t she feel the same?
I’d dated women in the past, of course. I wasn’t a celibate monk or anything, living in a monastery with other shifters just because of my heritage. But I’d never let it progress to the point where our lives became as intertwined as mine and her fingers had been earlier. I couldn’t tell her. Not until I was sure we were going to be together for a long time.
But, like Frank had told me earlier, she was my mate. She was The One, wasn’t she? If I couldn’t tell her, who else could I tell? Would I just have to stay in the kennel for the rest of my life, only free to be me when I was around my pack? Was I not allowed a woman unless she was a shifter as well?
Frost Security: The Complete 5 Books Series Page 16