Cindy Gerard - Killing Time

He almost deleted the message unread, but curiosity got the best of him.

And by the time he finished reading, he didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, get drunk, or wish to hell he’d never opened the damn e-mail.

Eva headed straight for the guest bedroom after leaving Brown on the terrace. She needed some real distance from him, real fast. Unfortunately Gabe glanced up when she walked past his office door and swiveled around in his desk chair.

“I put a T-shirt and a pair of boxers—Jenna’s go-to sleepwear—on the bed. Help yourself to anything else you need.”

“Thanks.” She hung uneasily in the doorway, not wanting to appear unappreciative but hoping he’d realize she wanted to move on. “That was very thoughtful.”

He watched her with eyes that were far too perceptive. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, but everything was not okay. She’d let Mike Brown kiss her. And she’d liked it. There were more things wrong with that picture than she could begin to sort through. She forced a smile. “I’m just tired.”

“He’s a good guy, you know.” Jones was still watching her. “A smart-ass, but a good guy.”

She didn’t have a response for that. It rattled her that he was sensitive to the fact that Brown was on her mind. Was she that transparent?

She met Gabe’s eyes, hesitated, then walked into the office. She found a piece of paper and pen, wrote down a name, and handed it to him.

“A project for your spare time.”

“Brewster?” Gabe looked from the name to her. “Something you want to share with me?”

“It’s the name of Mike’s CO in Afghanistan.” She lifted a shoulder. “Might be worth checking out.”

“Checking out for what, exactly?”

She’d been thinking about this a lot, was now willing to give Mike’s CO the benefit of the doubt. “I have a feeling he might be my Deep Throat.”

“Seriously?”

“I don’t know. Word to the wise? Don’t mention this to Mike unless you’re up for a lecture.”

After shutting herself in the guest bedroom she stripped, pulled on the borrowed sleepwear, and crawled into bed. Exhaustion hit her like an anchor. She was dead on her feet. She should probably feel guilty that Mike was left with the sofa, but she couldn’t go there. Just like she couldn’t let herself think about that kiss.

As tired as she was, though, she did think about it. Couldn’t stop thinking about it. She closed her eyes and smelled him, felt the solid heat of him, the softness of his lips, the rapid beat of his heart pounding against her breasts.

This was not good.

Restless, she rolled to her back. Hot and achy, desperate to get the taste of him out of her head, she stared into the dark, a thousand other thoughts keeping her from sleep. Thoughts that started with Ramon and ended with how good it had felt to be kissed by Mike. She’d married the last man who had stirred her that way.

It was irrational, but even the thought of getting involved with Brown seemed like a betrayal. Ramon had hated him. Based on what Ramon had told her, she’d believed that Brown was a misogynistic, arrogant prick. A user, a grandstander, a bad human being, and a worse teammate.

Because of that, she’d flown to Lima and laid her trap without any guilt. All that had changed, however, once he’d dropped the smart-ass act and she’d seen the anguish Mike lived with.

“You led those men to their deaths.” She got right in his face again. “You got those people caught in the crossfire. Because you were hotdogging. Because you were playing games with people’s lives.”

“The hell I was! The hell I did!”

That kind of passion and conviction couldn’t be faked. She’d realized right then that he was innocent. At least, intellectually, she’d realized it. Her emotions, however, were dragging their feet. She’d wanted to believe he was guilty. Because believing in Brown meant no longer believing in Ramon.

Her dead husband.

Brown was very much alive. And because of that kiss, she felt alive in a way she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

Groaning, she rolled to her stomach and pulled the covers over her head. She’d become a cliché. A sex-deprived widow, looking for a little strange to get her through a rough spot.

Sad as that thought was, she almost wished she could chalk it up to that. It had been a long time since she’d been with a man, and she had a healthy libido. But she had never been ruled by her hormones. There had to be more than animal attraction for her to consider a physical relationship. There had to be respect. Affection. Trust. None of which she felt for Mike Brown.

As Gabe had glibly put it: That was her story and she was sticking to it.

What happened between them had been about fatigue. About their startling discovery that Joseph Lawson had been in Afghanistan on the night that had changed her and Brown’s lives forever. It was about what they’d both been through to get to this point. It was about raw emotions and anticipation. Her goal couldn’t change. Ramon deserved vindication and she was getting close to making it happen.

And Brown—well, he had to be as exhausted as she was. His emotions frayed beyond reweaving. Everything had changed for him tonight. His past. His future. It stood to reason he’d be responsive to and even intuitive about what she’d been feeling when she’d stepped out onto the terrace.

So that kiss, the lingering pangs of longing… it was simply about action and reaction, nothing more. This she could comprehend. It made sense.

If only it was even remotely true, because, damn it, she was thinking about him again.

Was he lying awake, too, thinking of her?

Or was he thinking about Cooper? Had he made the call?

It couldn’t have been easy for him.

The thought sobered her.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” she sputtered and threw back the covers. She wasn’t going to get any sleep. Not until she knew.

On a deep sigh, she sat up, finger-combed her hair away from her face, and got out of bed. Because he probably could use someone to talk to, she told herself. He wouldn’t talk to Gabe because guys didn’t spill those kind of personal pains with each other. They trash-talked, joked, and skirted the tough issues. A slap on the back, a quick silent glance. Problem solved.

Not so much. She opened the bedroom door. She knew what it was like to be alone. To cope. To deal. To try to make sense of something that was senseless. Why she felt that it was up to her to make certain Brown was okay, she didn’t know.

Or maybe, she thought with disgust, she did.

Gabe’s office was dark, but there was a light on in the kitchen. She followed the smell of brewing coffee—and found Brown. Alone. Standing with his back to her at the counter, shirtless, barefoot, wearing the pants she’d bought him.

Tan chinos hung low on his hips, emphasizing taut, hard buttocks and a narrow waist, the whipcord leanness of his ribs. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. He was all defined muscle and ropy sinew. Canned ceiling lights in front of the cabinets cast soft light and shadows on his broad shoulders, showcased a scar beneath his left shoulder blade. It was about three inches long, the skin puckered and raised.

She stared at it, wondering how he’d gotten it, suddenly knowing she’d made a major mistake. She needed to go back to the bedroom.

Then he turned around.

For a long moment neither of them said a word. The soft gurgle of the coffeepot, the ticking of the clock above the sink, and her uneven breathing were the only sounds.

She needed words to break the quiet. “Couldn’t sleep?”

He nodded. “Apparently you have the same problem.”

Oh, she had lots of problems. Most of them were wrapped up in six-plus feet of this ridiculously gorgeous, shirtless male.

She cleared her throat. “Did you call Cooper?”

Raw emotion put gravel in his voice and so much vulnerability in his eyes that it made her heart hurt. “Yeah. I called.”

She didn’t know why she was so sensitive to him, and yet she was. “Is he… is he coming?”

He leaned back against the counter, crossed his arms over his chest, and propped one bare foot on top of the other. One broad, bare shoulder lifted in a shrug. “I don’t know. Doubt it. I got his machine. Left a message.”

Her heart dropped. “I’m so sorry you didn’t make a connection.”

He compressed his lips, gave another shrug, but he wasn’t fooling her. He was hurting.

“Look, Eva. I’m a little raw around the edges. Lack of sleep. Ketamine. It’s probably not a good idea for you to be here right now.”