After dropping the putty back into its tin, I rush for the door and practically launch myself at Trevor.
“Dani, what the hell? If I’d been a hostile…where’s the damn knife?” Trevor flicks the lock, then the deadbolt, before scooting around me to deposit two plastic bags on the table by the window.
A hint of shame flushes my cheeks, and I glance over at the desk. “I kept it with me while I was working. And I like the forward grip better.”
Trevor freezes, then slowly turns towards me. The heat in his gaze makes my core clench. “You…practiced?” he asks.
With every step, I’m hyperaware of the shrinking distance between us. “The first time I went to Afghanistan, I knew nothing. I don’t think I could have thrown a punch to save my life without breaking my fingers.”
Taking my hand, Trevor runs his thumb over my knuckles, and I try not to let him see how that simple touch is about to reduce me to a puddle of highly aroused goo.
“The guys I was embedded with showed me a few tricks. How to break a choke hold.” I bring the heel of my hand up towards his face, but stop short, my palms itching to feel the stubble on his cheeks. “How delicate a man’s nose really is.”
Trevor threads our fingers and brings our joined hands to his side. “Good men.”
“They were.” We’re so close, his breath warms my face, and I inhale the subtle scent that always lingers on his skin. It’s so light, I never realized it was as ingrained in him as his voice, the intelligence behind his eyes. “When I got back from that assignment, I signed up for an Aikido class. The first time I took a guy to the ground…I was hooked.”
His laughter…it’s rare. Like he doesn’tlethimself enjoy many things in this life.
“Why don’t you do that more?” I ask as I skim a light touch over his cheek.
“Do what?”
“Laugh. Relax. Can’t you stop thinking all the time and just…be?”
He takes a step back, and the moment shatters. A string pulled past its breaking point. My brother wasn’t the only casualty five years ago. Something else died along with him. And I’m just now seeing it—the missing piece. Joy. The emotion no longer lives in Trevor’s eyes.
“Pabellón Criollo,” he says as he pulls a Styrofoam container from the first bag. His words are rough, and a muscle in his jaw ticks as he sets two plastic forks on the table, followed by two bottles of water. “It’s the national dish, apparently. You said you ate everything.”
“Except—“
“Zucchini and SpaghettiOs.”
The hole left by the piece of my heart I gave him so long ago aches. “You remembered.”
“I remember everything you’ve ever told me, Dani.” He sheds his light black jacket, and the pistol secured in his chest harness draws my gaze. Followed by the knife under his other arm. As I stare, my mouth slightly open, he looks away. “Sorry. I should have…I don’t know.”
Before I can reply, he escapes to his room, and when he returns without the chest harness, he sets the pistol—now in a holster—on the table, then moves to my mini-fridge.
“Want a beer?” he asks as he crouches in front of it.
“Sure.” I’m not much of a drinker. Hell, before last night, I don’t remember the last time I had a beer outside of work events, but Trevor is pushing every one of my buttons, and I don’t know how much longer I can go without jumping him and begging him to fuck me or losing my patience with him completely.
Tonight, he only pulls a single beer from the fridge. “You’re not having one?”
“Don’t want to compromise my judgment. Or my aim. I’ll stick with the water.”
“Trevor James… Are you calling this,” I gesture between us, “compromised judgement? Because you kissed me before you left this afternoon, and now, you’re bouncing between sexy as fuck and annoying as shit.”
“Danisaur—“
“Don’t call me that. I haven’t been into dinosaurs since I was nine.” Wedging my hands on my hips, I keep the table between us so his amazing scent and all those muscles can’t compromisemythinking.
This time, his laugh doesn’t appear to shock him, but it sure as hell shocks me. “What?”
“Dani, I never called you that because you were into dinosaurs.” When he gets himself under control, the heat in his eyes could melt lead. He circles the table, and when he stops right in front of me, I hold my breath until he pulls me against him and slides his fingers into my hair. His lips are so close I can feel their warmth against my ear. “I call you Danisaur because when you get angry, baby, you roar just like that T-Rex inJurassic Park.”
Slapping my hands against his chest, I try to shove him back, but he’s too strong, so I huff, which probably doesn’t do much for my case. “I do not.”
