Old habits from base life had never quite left her. Even in a place as new and quiet as the Black Heart Tactical Training Facility, appearances still mattered. Especially when she was about to walk into the office of the man who had once led her husband in combat.
She smoothed a hand down the front of her blouse, pressing away an imaginary wrinkle. If she’d spent the day unpacking boxes back in Coronado, she’d be coated in grit and dust, but this facility smelled like fresh lumber and paint.
She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and leaned a little closer to the mirror. She didn’t exactly know what to say to Church, especially after she practically volunteered to play the role of his wife.
Hell, she wasn’t even sure what made her jump in. Maybe it was a need to feel useful again.
Maybe it was the urge to smooth the lines around Church’s mouth. The fact he looked so strained was saying a lot. He was one of the biggest hard-asses she’d ever met.
No wonder she was stalling before going to see him.
The office wing was empty for the evening. Gabe and Theo had already headed home, leaving only a hum.
Church had returned from his second trip to the movie set hours ago, and according to Theo he’d retreated to his office and hadn’t come out since.
She suspected she knew why.
Fake marriage or not, the two of them hadn’t exactly discussed how this was going to work.
She pushed away from the mirror and headed down the hallway, her boots quiet against the polished floor. The door at the end was closed but a strip of light glowed from beneath it.
She took a steady breath, then knocked.
A chair scraped inside the room before his voice came through the door. “Come in.”
She pushed it open and stepped in.
Church sat behind his desk, and when he looked up, a shadow seemed to move behind his frosty blue eyes.
“Can we talk?” she asked.
Amusement tugged at the corner of his hard mouth. “You’re my wife. We can talk about anything.”
She let out a slow breath, relief making her fingers tingle. She drifted toward the chair in front of his desk and slipped into the seat without asking—her old boss in Coronado never would have allowed that. But she liked to believe she and Church had enough of a rapport to take the liberty.
He leaned back in his chair, folding his muscled arms across his impressively wide chest. Age looked good on him. He looked strong, fit.
Kind of…hot.
Earlier, she’d caught a glimpse of him in those mirrored sunglasses he’d always preferred, the late afternoon sun flashing across the lenses while he stood outside the facility. The yearshad carved sharper lines into his face, but if anything it only made him look more dangerous.
Now that she had his attention, her mouth dried out. Looking down at her hands knotted in her lap, she tried to arrange her thoughts into some order.
When she met his stare, she saw it again—the shadow lurking in the depths of his eyes. She drew a deep breath and just said it.
“I want you to know I never blamed you for Matt’s death.”
His nostrils flared and his tanned skin seemed to pale a shade.
She marched on despite the dull pain in her chest. “I know you were there for Matt’s funeral. I remember seeing you. But I don’t remember if we talked.” She glanced down again. “I was numb. It was a lot to take in.”
“Zee—”
She jerked her gaze back to Church’s. “I used to get upset, knowing Matt was in danger every time he went on a mission. But he had this way of talking me down. He reminded me that anyone is in danger at any time and all day long. That people get in accidents every day.”
Church’s throat worked as if he was swallowing something sharp.
She spread her hands. “He loved being a SEAL. He died doing what he loved. I don’t blame you for anything that went wrong.”
