What the hell was wrong with him?
But he knew. He was possessed. Possessed by that green-eyed monster. Possessed by the little boy in him who never got picked. Possessed by the need to lash out and protect himself.
“That…uh…didn’t come up.” Her throat worked over a swallow.
“No?” He cocked his head. “Funny. Given the way ya kissed him out front, I figured it was the lead story.”
Her chin jerked back. “How did you—” She glanced over the railing toward the big TV mounted next to the shop’s front door. It had switched from showing daytime’s full-color security feed to night’s black-and-white images.
“You saw that?” She turned back to him.
“Happened to be walkin’ by,” he admitted through a jaw that ached from clenching. “Kinda hard to miss.”
She leaned forward a little, her voice…what? What was her tone? “How did that make you feel? To see me kissing another man?”
It had made him want to rip the whole damned security system out of the wall before breaking Martin Massey’s perfect jaw.
“How should it have made me feel?” he asked carefully, painting a fresh coat of confusion on his face like he painted on fresh oil camo before each op. “We’re friends, right? If Martin’s the man for you, I’m happy.” He softened his tone. It was the only crack in his armor he would allow. “All I’ve ever wanted is your happiness, Sabrina.”
Her eyes were bright in a way that made him want to look away. But he forced himself to hold her gaze. Forced himself to listen and believe when she whispered, “It’s all I’ve ever wanted for you, too, Hew.”
“So, we’re good, ayuh?” His heart pounded out a terrible rhythm.
Why couldn’t he just tell her he wanted her?
Why couldn't he just say he’d been waiting his whole life to feel about anyone the way he felt about her?
Why couldn't he admit he loved her?
He did love her, by the way. That fact had become crystal clear to him in the hours since she’d left. In the hours he’d spent envisioning her in Martin’s arms and then fantasizing about all the ways he could rip apart the hedge fund manager limb from limb.
He loved her, and yet...
She’d given him no indication she felt the same.
She liked him, of course. And her body certainly liked the things he’d done to it. But she’d never said a thing about having feelings for him beyond friendly affection. She’d raced to her date with Martin. And then she’d spent four hours with the sonofabitch.
It didn’t take four hours to apologize for missing their date. And it certainly didn’t take four hours to tell a guy she didn’t want to see him anymore because she was in love with someone else.
“We’re good,” she finally said, slowly standing from the table before walking purposefully across the room.
When she disappeared up the stairs, he was left alone.
As usual.
36
Washington D.C.
15 days later…
Graham sat tucked in the shadowy back booth, his long legs stretched under the table. He nursed a lukewarm beer while his eyes tracked Lura across the room.
He’d been tailing her for two weeks and had learned two things. One, work wasn’t just her nine-to-five. It was her oxygen. She lived and breathed her job. And two, she was a creature of habit so predictable he could set his watch by her.
That’s how he knew she’d be at this particular bar in D.C.’s Capitol Hill Neighborhood tonight.
Wednesday night, barring a White House event, she went for sushi. Thursday evening was set aside for hot yoga followed by frozen yogurt. And Friday night? Beers at The Pug on H Street.
