He makes a low rumbling sound, almost a purr, and it’s enough to send me falling off the cliff into an ocean of pleasure.
Chapter Eighteen
Quinton
My dining roomtable is the size of a postage stamp, which just makes dinner all the more intimate. I’m still riding the high of what we just shared, of the trust he put in me.
We sit side by side, digging into steak, crispy potatoes, and salad, with a bottle of wine between us, sharing bits and pieces of our days.
It sounds like nothing special. But these little stories, the boring, run of the mill stuff? This is everything I’ve never had. Alec didn’t listen to me. Never asked questions. Graham does.
And when he talks? He doesn’t craft every sentence to make me feel less than.
“Ry—he’s in charge of Hidden Agenda—is freaking out over leaving his wife for two days. The same guy who told me at my first interview: ‘No relationships. You do this work, you stay single.’ Then he went and fell in love.”
“Why is he upset? You said you went all over the world for jobs.” I cut another piece of steak, perfectly medium rare, and it hits me—hard—that Graham risks his life every time he goes on a mission. My stomach flips at the thought, and I set my knife down. “This isn’t anymoredangerous than usual, is it?”
All his attention is focused on his plate, but he snaps his head up at the concern in my tone. “No. It’s just a training mission. But Wren’s pregnant. When he told us…” He shakes his head, and I can feel the affection he has for these people he calls family. “Ryker’s…well, picture the Rock, but a good six inches taller, a hell of a lot meaner, and covered in tattoos and scars. The baddest badass to ever walk the earth. But when he pulled out that sonogram picture, it was like the whole world fell out from under him and he couldn’t figure out which way was up.”
“Is he going to retire?”
With a snort, Graham picks up his wine glass. “Fuck no.” After a healthy sip, he sobers. “Ryker spent fifteen months being tortured in a Taliban prison deep underground. They broke fifty-three bones, burned him, blinded Dax, and handed Ripper over to the sickest bastard since Bin Laden. The army thought all three of them were dead. They’d stopped looking completely until Rip got a signal out right before the fuckers sent him to that fucker, Faruk.”
He shakes his head and lifts his gaze to mine. “Ryker will do this job until he can’t anymore. So will the rest of us. Because we really are the best at what we do, and we don’t give up. Onanyone.”
For a full minute, maybe two, the only sounds around us are the clink of silverware and Clementine’s occasional playfulmeowas she bats one of her toys around in the living room.
I’m not an idiot. I know Graham wasn’t only talking about the people his team rescues. He was also talking aboutme.
After a healthy sip of wine, I clear my throat. “Alec sent me a message the other day.”
My voice sounds thin, even to my own ears, and before I can regroup, Graham’s fork clatters against the plate, and his whole body stiffens. This is him in full protector mode, and it’s both reassuring and a little scary at the same time. “What?”
“He’s messing with me.” I can’t look at Graham, so I focus on a grain of salt on the side of my plate. Now that I’ve admitted a part of my truth, I don’t want any more secrets between us. “When we were together, he refused to buy beer or ice cream. If he found them in my fridge, he’d toss them. He made me switch to cider and popsicles. ‘Healthier,’ he said.”
Next to me, Graham clutches the edge of the table, his knuckles white, and when I risk a glance at his face, I find a mix of pain and outrage in his eyes. “He doesn’t get a say in what—”
I cover his hand with mine. “There’s more. Please? Let me get it all out before I lose my nerve.”
Linking our fingers, he nods, but I can tell he’s barely holding it together. “Yesterday…I was such an ass to you because he called the grocery store and had them add a six pack of his favorite cider and a box of popsicles to my order.”
That’s enough to send Graham over the edge, and he pushes to his feet. “I thought he was back in Texas. Q, if he’s in town—”
“He’s not.” I rest my hand on the back of his now-vacant chair and wait for him to sit back down. He does, but with the way his jaw ticks, I’m worried he’s going to crack a tooth. “After he emailed me, I told my brother. I don’t know what Connor does for a living, but I think it’s something with the government, because he said he had two of ‘his guys’ watching Alec, and confirmed he’s still in Dallas. Connor will call me if that changes.”
Graham doesn’t look convinced. “I thought you weren’t close with your brother.”
“I’m not. We don’t…talk. But he saved my life. If he says Alec is still in Dallas, he’s still in Dallas.”
With a heavy sigh, Graham takes my hands, his gaze fixed on our linked fingers. For the first time tonight, I can’t read him, and a hint of anxiety rears up inside me. “Q, I did some research on antisocial personality disorder. That’s what Alec has, right?”
He glances up at me quickly, then looks away. I nod, amazed he thought to look it up. “That, and he’s a classic narcissist and a sociopath. The combination…” Memories hit me before I can stop them, and tears spring to my eyes. “I think…if Connor hadn’t gotten me out of there, he would have killed me eventually.”
“How?” He scoots his chair close enough our knees touch. The contact renders me speechless, and he sighs. “You’re important to me, Quinton. I know it hasn’t been that long, and I wouldn’t blame you one bit if you kicked me out for saying this, but…” He leans forward, and the scent of bay rum comforts me. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone.”
“Graham…”
“Dammit. I know it’s too soon, but I’m leaving tomorrow night for at least thirty-six hours. How can I do that knowing Alec is still fixated on you?”
