Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
“You were coping,” I say with a nod.
“Um, I guess. Sorry if that makes me a weirdo.”
“You’re human, Delia,” I bite off. “We all have ways of making life bearable. And you had the sense to choose a harmless one that helps you make pretty pictures. Smart.”
Her brows knit together. “Doesn’t feel like it. You’re the only one who’s asked, the only guy I’ve told.”
“It doesn’t have to be some awful secret,” I say sharply. “For every person who’s coping well, I guarantee you’ve got ten more feeding their demons instead. Booze. Drugs. Hookups. It’s okay to hurt, just as long as you manage that pain.”
“...really?” Her lips tremble as I take her hand again and squeeze.
“Yeah. Fuck knows I haven’t always been on the best path, but once you get writing, I hope you know there’s more than just death and regrets with what I do.”
She stares for a heady second and then smiles.
“Oh, right. You guys have to boast about your women all the time...”
I chuckle. “You’d be surprised how wrong you are. One time, this new recruit snuck contraband rum in on the last day of our exercises in the Aleutians. He was so trashed the next morning he tried to put the moves on a walrus.”
She breaks, laughing until her face scrunches.
Goddamn, she needs that, and so do I.
Her happiness is sexy, the secret medicine we need to bleach the death and stalking terror from our brains.
“No joke?” she sputters.
“Seriously. Dude almost got a tusk through the eye for his trouble before we frog-marched him back to base,” I say with a shit-eating grin.
Somewhere in all the laughter, she starts on her Beef Wellington and mashed potatoes.
Good.
The girl needs the calories.
I try to keep her off the wine after a second glass, draining the rest of the bottle myself.
Emotions are volatile, and right now they’re riding high.
Too much booze in her veins could set her off all over again. That would be tragic when it’s starting to feel like a halfway normal evening.
I work her over with bawdy jokes and old stories, trying like hell to look at her face instead of the cleavage spilling out her top.
“Oh my God—stop! You’re going to make me choke.” She kicks under the table, brushing her bare foot against my leg.
Lust seethes in my hot veins.
I tell her about a soccer game we played with these kids in Iraq during my first tour. How we let them beat us, rewarding them with their weight in chocolate rations from Uncle Sam.
It’s the least we could do when half of them were missing their fathers. Years of war and strife took their toll, and it’s always hit me the most with kids for some reason.
I try not to think about those girls with Warzach for the ten thousandth time.
Try and fail.
But I force a smile, get her talking about this shallow dope, Marnie. I’ll never understand how they’re best friends.
Delia needs the laughter, the passion, about as much as she needs my mouth all over her body.
She can’t stop smiling as her pecks of food turn into proper bites.
When we’re done eating, an impulse takes over.
Reaching under the table, I grab her foot and hold it in my lap, massaging her ankle gently.
I noticed it’s slightly bruised this morning, twisted from the way she walks, courtesy of the merry band of scumfucks I dispatched.
She goes quiet, casting small, shy looks at me.
I swear on everything holy those mahogany eyes could take me to heaven.
“If anything hurts, tell me,” I say. “We’ll get you a doctor.”
My hand works her arch, my fingers working deep into her tissue.
It’s damnably impossible not to think about the way her toes curl—and how I could curl them more if these feet were wrapped around my ass while I drive hard, having her for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
Fuck.
“So. A man of many talents,” she says, her laughter fading as she watches me massaging up her ankle. “I won’t lie—I thought you were kinda an arrogant jackass when we first met.”
“Still am. Total donkey and proud of it. Deal with it,” I tell her with a shrug. “I know what I want in life more than anything. I stopped caring what the hell people think a long time ago.”
Her smile softens to worn empathy.
I think she gets it, even if I’m ruining this head trip where she sees normal Chris, and not a carefully honed killing machine.
I polish off the last of my wine and stand, heading for the balcony. She follows me outside just as a breeze sweeps in, tossing her raven-dark hair around in tresses.
“Still want that brownie sundae later? Sounds like it’s as big as my head. I’ll need backup if we’re gonna tackle Mount Chocolate.”
“Oh, man, I can’t even. Rain check?” Smiling, she lays a hand against her belly. “I’m about to burst at the seams. Kinda got carried away while you were talking, but I guess I was hungrier than I thought.”