Words fail me. The sorrow in her voice raises a lump in my throat. She’s been through so much, and yet she’s still here. That bastard didn’t kill her spirit. It might be bruised. Weak. Beaten. But she survived, and that’s a fucking miracle.
“I’ll hold you as long as you want. Or at least until nature calls for one of us.” The quip has the desired effect, and Hope huffs out a laugh, then relaxes again.
Delicate fingers skate over my t-shirt, tracing the ridges of my abs. No one’s touched me like this in years. I didn’t know how much I’d missed human contact. Holed up in the middle of nowhere with only Murphy for company sounded like a good idea. Even felt like one. Until yesterday. Now, I’d give anything to be closer to Seattle. Closer to West and his team. Closer to anywhere the woman in my arms might want to settle.
With a sigh, Hope tucks a lock of dark hair behind her ear. “Wyatt, I’m scared. Simon will find me. And if I can’t send him to prison—or if that doesn’t stop him—he’ll…” She chokes back a sob, then buries her face in the blankets. “He probably won’t kill me. But he’ll make me wish I were dead.”
The growl escapes before I can stop it, and she flinches against me.
“He won’t hurt you again, Hope. The guy I told you about—West?—is a friend from BUD/S.” She peers up at me, confusion wrinkling her dark brows. “It’s the training you have to go through before you can become a SEAL. West works with a whole group of Black Ops guys now, and the team leader owes me a favor. A big one.”
As long as I live, I’ll never forget the sight of Ryker McCabe crawling out from under a snow-covered bush eight clicks from Hell Mountain. Son of a bitch walked almost five miles barefoot, malnourished, and half-dead before we found him. Then tried to turn around and lead us back to his brother-in-arms, Dax Holloway, who was still trapped in the Taliban’s most notorious prison.
“Simon has people everywhere,” Hope whispers. “What if your friend—or one of the men he works with—is—”
“Not a chance in hell,” I grit out. “West Sampson would slice off his own nuts and toss ‘em into the deep fryer before he’d let anyone get their hooks into him.”
Her gaze holds mine, and silence stretches between us until Hope finally nods. “Will I ever see you again? After I go with West?” The pure need in her eyes mirrors what I feel every time I breathe in her scent. Touch her. Talk to her.
“I don’t know.” It’s the truth, as much as I hate to admit it. “I can’t come with you to Seattle. Me and cities? We don’t get along. And you sure as shit can’t stay here.”
Her expression hardens, and anger has her shoving at my chest with her good arm. “You can be a real ass, Wyatt—”
“Fuck. That’s not what I meant.” Pinning her with my arm around her back, I wait for the huff I know is coming. Followed by a scowl. “Will you let me explain?”
“Fine.” She rolls her eyes, but some of the tension melts from her limbs.
“I live in a seven-hundred square foot cabin in the middle of nowhere, Hope. No phone. No TV. No Netflix or internet. The fanciest meal I can make is grilled trout—if it’s nice enough to go fishing. The only vehicle I own is an ATV. If I want to leave the mountain, I gotta call West. And hope he has time to drive almost five hours to get here.”
A little of the light leaves Hope’s gaze with every word out of my mouth. I should stop, but I need her to understand.
“You went through hell and came out the other side. You deserve to live where you can do whatever you want. Go to a movie, order pizza, make friends. You can’t do any of those things up here.”
She chews on her lip, and even though she’s been here less than forty-eight hours, I can read her easily. She’s made up her mind about something.
“What is it, darlin’?” I should stop with the term of endearment. Every time I say it, I want more with this woman than I have any right to expect. But whether it’s the way she clings to me or the flashes of strength and sass she finds despite what she’s been through, I’m falling for her.
“I haven’t felt safe for three years, Wyatt.” The desperation in her tone stirs every protective instinct I have. “Until now.”
Pride swells in my chest until I realize I had nothing to do with it. “You felt safe with six feet of snow outside this door. And Murphy sleeping next to you.”
“No.” Sitting up, Hope reaches for my hand and links our fingers. “Murphy’s great. And yes, the snow helped. But you’re the one who pulled me out of the car. Who patched me up. Fed me. Protected me. And held me all night.”
I want to tell her that was a mistake. But I wouldn’t take it back. I’ll cherish the memory of Hope in my arms for the rest of my days. “I thought I was better off alone. But having you here…. It makes me want what I can’t have.” The admission costs me, but Hope deserves the truth. Leaning closer, I drag a knuckle along her jaw, and she holds her breath.
The ache to pull her against me, to claim those full lips and make her moan rears up, and she melts into my arms. But then bold, brave Hope takes over, shocking me, and making my dick rocket to attention.
It’s her tongue that begs for entrance, not mine. I yield—I’d do anything for her in this moment. Two hard points of her nipples call to be pinched, and when I roll one between my thumb and forefinger, Hope mewls into the kiss.
I slide a hand from her hip to her waist, then higher so I can cup the gentle swell of her breast. Hope shudders, and all I can think about is getting her naked. About her begging me to taste her.
Warning bells go off in my head. This is dangerous on an epic level. I’m broken in so many ways. Then again, maybe Hope is too. Maybe that’s why we fit.
“Hope,” I manage when I finally break off the kiss. “We should stop.”
Her cheeks flush bright pink, and her fingers dig into my ass. “I need this.”
What?
