Honor Unraveled (19 page)

It wasn’t much. It wasn’t enough. But if it was all he could get, he’d take it.
Friend. Foe. Or fuck.

She straightened, pushing up from his chest as she took over their rhythm. He filled his eyes with the sight of her writhing against his hips, her dark hair spilling about her shoulders, shifting and falling like a living thing. He sat up, gripped her breasts, holding them against his face. She set her hands on his shoulders. When he suckled her breasts, she dug her nails into his skin.
 

And then her body tightened over his, and her small muscles fisted him. He took hold of her hips, lifting her body and crashing into her, pumping hard, deep, fast.

She cried out and ground herself against him. Her release pulled him into his. His balls, his entire cock tightened, shooting hot semen into the pocket of the rubber that sheathed him inside her body.

They were both breathing heavily when the tremors eased off. He cupped her head and closed his eyes as he brought their mouths together. Her body was soft and pliant against his. He longed to hear the words from her mouth:
“I choose you. Stay with me. Hold me tonight. Every night.”

Jesus. He’d serviced her. That was all. She no more needed him than the moon needed a man. Best save them both the embarrassment of dealing with any postcoital awkwardness.

He rolled them to their sides, then withdrew from her and walked into the bathroom. He tossed the rubber in the trash.
Friend, foe, or fuck
. He’d thought it wouldn’t matter—any of those would be an entrance to his ultimate goal. But it did matter. He turned on the faucet and splashed his face with cold water. He stayed there, bent over the sink, listening to the water as he tried to get his shit together.

It was a long minute before he dried off, then walked back into the bedroom. The bathroom and walk-in closet formed a short hallway into her room and gave him a few last seconds before he had to face her again. He leaned against the corner and looked at her, still soft and warm in her bed.
 

There was a chasm opening between them, wide and deep. Maybe it had always been there and he’d just been blind to it. He didn’t know how to cross it.
 

Friend, foe, or fuck was a crock of shit. It wasn’t what he wanted. Not even close.

He wanted everything.

He walked into the room and gathered his things. Bending over the bed, he kissed her cheek. “Sleep well, Ivy-mine. Your days apart from me are ending.”

Kit hit the gym at 4 a.m. the next morning. By the time the other guys joined him a couple of hours later, he’d run five miles, completed ten reps of sit-ups, push-ups, lunges, and squats, and had moved on to the free weights.

Angel turned on some reggae, and the guys went to various machines, focusing on their workouts.

Val came over to spot the weights for him. Kit was drenched in sweat, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by Val. He’d already done five reps with the barbells before the others came in, so he was glad Val was spotting. He wondered what the sniper would say about his predicament, but stopped himself before he broached the subject. The bastard never had problems with women. What the hell kind of advice could he offer?

Kit gave him a quick once-over, looking for the bruises that usually followed the shenanigans he pulled last night. Not a mark in sight. Kit looked into the mirror that lined the wall by the weights, checking to see if Angel or Kelan were banged up. Nada.

“Last night go okay?” he asked Val, who grinned in response.

“Oh, yeah.” He looked at Kit as he pushed the barbell up. “How about you? Wanna talk? You been in here all night?”
 

“Good, nope, and nope.” He completed his set, then hopped off the bench. “I’m hitting the showers.” Which he did. And then he swam laps for another three-quarters of an hour. He took another shower to rinse off the chlorine. When he went into the locker room, only Val, Blade, and Rocco remained.
 

Val gave him a look, then glanced at the other guys before focusing on something in his locker. Kit pulled on his briefs and cargo pants, then sat on the bench and stared at his bare feet.

“I don’t know how to get through to her,” he said, to no one in particular, and no one answered him. He pulled his shirt on, then yanked his socks on. “It’s just so goddamned screwed up.”

“Have you told her how you feel?” Rocco asked.

Kit stood and faced the guys as he tucked his black tee shirt in. “Yeah. She says she’s not making the same mistake again. I’m a fucking mistake to her.”

Val closed his locker. “Here’s the thing, Kit—they filled me in.”

He glared at Rocco and Blade. “Jesus, what is this? A coffee klatch?”

“You want my observations or not?” Val met his hard stare.

Kit gritted his teeth. No. He didn’t want to hear from Mr. Perfect Never Had a Problem With a Woman. “Go ahead.”

“You’re stronger than she is,” Val said, undeterred by Kit’s rage.

“Bullshit. She raised Casey alone for six years. That takes balls. And one helluva lot of courage.”

Val held up a hand. “Hear me out. She was a baby, with a baby. The boy she loved was taken from her, kicked out of town. Her parents were ashamed of her and disowned her and the baby. That fucked her up. Big time.”

“And it didn’t me? I was never able to see her or speak to her or communicate with her in any way. Her father lied to me about Casey and put a restraining order on me. I almost got kicked out of the Army for that. She left her parents and even then, for years, never tried to reach out to me. I never got to see my kid as a baby. I have to live with the fact that they were out in the world suffering when I coulda done something.”

“Right.” Val nodded. “That happened. It sucked. But you learned how to deal with your injury. She hasn't. She wakes every day with her wound raw and bleeding, as unhealed as it was the day before or the day before that or the day you left her. She’s still in that place where everything hurts. Fearing for her child. Knowing nothing about being a mother and having no one to help, abandoned by her own parents, having to deal with your abandonment.”

“I didn’t abandon her.”

“Maybe not by choice, but you lived. You thrived. Without her. She’s learned to take things minute by minute, hour by hour, always expecting the worst. To her, every day is the same as the day you left. But for you—you learned to cope, moved on. You healed. You’re not stuck in that place.”

Kit looked at Val, shocked by the depth of his perception. Maybe he was right. He swallowed and looked away. “So how do I reach her?”

Val shook his head. “Her heart is buried so deep you may never reach it. The best you can do is to find out how to feed it, and then give her a banquet.”

“She wants a husband and children and security.”

Rocco grinned. “So marry her. Give her a passel of kids.”

“Right. ’Cause I’m such a good father.”

“You have been. Once you knew you were a dad, you made Casey a priority,” Blade told him.

Kit shook his head. “I have to let her go.” He shoved his feet into his boots, yanked the laces tight and tied them. Then he slammed his locker shut and stalked out of the room, pounding his fist into another locker as he passed it.

* * *

Ivy was late joining the others at breakfast. Kit was standing by the French doors that led out to the wide patio at the back of the house, a coffee mug in his hand.
“Your days apart from me are ending,”
he’d said. Her stomach clenched as she glanced at him. She lowered her gaze, unable to summon a nod or a smile or a greeting of any sort. He was going to kill her, just shred her heart then leave her with the pieces. He was showing her enough kindness and tenderness to feed her addiction. She wanted more, craved it, and knew even that wouldn’t be enough. God, he was worse than a drug; he was a madness.

She had to take back control of her life. They were like wind and wildfire, one inflaming the other; she needed him like she needed air. It had always been that way for her. With him.
 

She sent a glance around the table. Several of the guys had eaten and left—Greer included. Great. She was going to have to confirm with Kit whether Mandy’s accountant had been cleared for their date next week.
 

She filled her plate from the buffet, then took a seat next to Mandy. “Not in training this morning?” she asked her friend.
 

“Not this morning. I’ve got a vet coming out to look at the horses. Want to give me a hand with that?” Mandy asked her.

“Sure. I’d be happy to.” She took a few bites of her breakfast—not because she was hungry, but more to appear composed and cover the turmoil that had her stomach in knots. If she acted like nothing was wrong, maybe sooner or later it would become her reality. Truthfully, though, with the guys on a constant state of alert, and the steps Kit had taken to make sure Casey would be safe at camp, feeling relaxed seemed impossible.

The front doorbell rang. Kit left his position by the back door. “I’ll get it.”

Ivy told herself to look at her plate, her fork, the table. Anything other than Kit. But her eyes didn’t get the message. She watched him walk out of the dining room, savoring his easy stride. It always reminded her of a puma’s prowl, rangy and predatory. It didn’t help to remember the feel of those lean hips between her legs.

Heat fanned out across her face and down her neck. Kit brought the vet in to Mandy. Ivy was vaguely aware of their offering him coffee or breakfast. He accepted the coffee, then he and Mandy crossed the dining room and went out the patio door, Mandy’s two dogs bouncing along behind them.
 

She screwed up the courage and faced Kit. This was her life. She was in control of it. “I wanted to confirm that you’ve cleared Rick. I’ll be seeing him next Friday.”

Kit looked like he wanted to either kill her or make love to her. A muscle bunched in his jaw, ticking the seconds away. “That what you want?”

No. Not at all. But what choice did she have? It wasn’t only a matter of her self-preservation. She had to think about Casey. Her primary objective had always been to provide a safe home for her daughter. Not life locked away in a fortress of a home. Not knowing every little sin of anyone who wanted to interact with them. Not worrying about when Kit’s work would catch up with him.

Though that last would never go away.

If she were with someone normal, boring even, but safe, maybe she could take her life off hold.
 

But would she want to?
That what you want?
She heard Kit’s question repeat in her mind.

She nodded, because to say the words would be a lie.

Kit pressed his lips into a tight line. “Yeah, he’s cleared.”

* * *

Amir strolled down Pearl Street Mall in Boulder. It was a busy day for the pedestrian shopping area. There was peace and obscurity to be found in a bustling crowd.
 

He’d regretted learning that Phillip Bladen had died. They hadn’t been able to retrieve his private ledgers prior to his death. Fortunately, he knew some of the men named in it from his conversations with Phillip. One of those, in particular, was proving to be quite useful—or rather, his son was. Roy Whiddon wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps. He needed funding for his fledgling political career. And he needed not to be connected to his father’s crimes of passion—or his predilection for young boys. That was the fruit of another tree that would be harvested when it was ripe. For now, it was enough to milk Roy’s ambitions.

“I told you, I’m not going to do anything illegal,” Roy Whiddon snapped. His chin was tucked in, and he was scanning the crowd, watching for those who watched them.

Such a neophyte.

Amir smiled at Roy. It amused him to let the young man believe he had a choice in the matter. “Your relationship with me is nothing for concern. You are a companion I enjoy. I am interested in supporting your ambitious career. All I ask in return is that you share some information with me. Nothing, of course, that wouldn’t naturally come up in a conversation among friends. It isn’t illegal, or even unethical, for you to share details about your private life with me.

“For instance,” he continued. “I know you’ve been cultivating a relationship with a charming restaurateur in Wyoming. It’s
 
lovely to discover she has a daughter. When I ask you about her daughter’s activities, I’m only making polite conversation. There is no harm in your satisfying my curiosity.”

“I don’t know anything about her daughter. She’s a kid. She goes to school. She goes to camp. That’s it.”

“Ah, and such trivial bits of data seem so unimportant to you, but they open worlds to me. Does the girl enjoy camp?”

“I guess so.”

“And what camp would that be?”

“It’s one in the Medicine Bow Mountains. Pretty remote.”

“Your girlfriend’s daughter is fortunate, indeed, to able to enjoy such experiences. And how is your relationship progressing?”

“Ivy’s busy. She hasn’t much time for dating—our relationship is pretty much just online. We thought we’d be able to hook up while Casey was away at camp. I can’t force this, Amir. She’s skittish.”