I can’t give him what he wants, and I don’t have the energy to try.
Squeezing my eyes closed, I force a deep breath into my lungs, dragging with it that spice and leather that’s even more overpowering now mixed with the heady, potent scent of sex.
I force myself to release it slowly, then glance over my shoulder at him to find those perfect lips of his slightly parted, his eyes closed, soft, steady breaths slipping out in his slumber.
Thank God…
Let’s hope he’s a really deep sleeper.
Because I have to get out of here.
I can’t spend the night in Gage’s bed.
He’s just…too damn much.
More than I am ready for or maybe ever will be.
I grab his wrist and start to slowly lift his arm from around me, but my eyes snag on the ink there. If I had ever seen him without that leather jacket on before for longer than a few minutes at the gym, I might have noticed that the tattoos aren’t random.
His left forearm bears a list of names and dates etched over an American flag waving in the wind. Bile climbs up my throat at the thought that they’re probably comrades who died in combat. If I took the time to examine every inked inch of his body, I’d probably find other images that hold deep, sentimental meaning for him.
Because that’s the type of person he is.
He cares deeply for other people.
His cocky charm and gregarious nature cover a man with deep wounds and scars.
I saw them tonight.
Puckered skin beneath the ink on his chest.
Jagged pink lines moving through the words and images.
And those are only the physical ones…
Even thinking about what he must have witnessed and experienced in his years in the Rangers makes that vise around my chest tighten and the bile force its way farther up.
I swallow it down and lift his arm fully off me so I can slide out to the edge of the bed. It creaks slightly, and I cringe, glancing back at him, but he hasn’t moved an inch.
After all the work he put in tonight, hopefully he’ll be out for a while.
Long enough for me to do what I need to.
I slide off the mattress, my bare feet hitting the old wooden floor, and I tiptoe over to where he tossed my clothes and tug on my jeans, wincing at the stickiness between my legs.
What I wouldn’t give for a hot shower right now…
But that can wait until I get home.
Keeping my eye on the bed, I grab my bra and shirt and put them back on, watching for any signs that he might be awake, but that strong, inked chest of his just rises and falls steadily.
Those long, thick, dark eyelashes stay down, spread across his cheeks hiding those warm blue eyes I so easily threw myself into, regardless of how easy it was to drown in them—and him.
Christ, he’s beautiful.
Even like this, when he’s so vulnerable, his strength radiates from him. All that lean, hard-earned muscle, strong hands and immaculately built body.
The way he took charge of me so completely—that isn’t something I’ve ever let anyone do.
