Double Threat, page 3
“Are you okay?” she asked, her touch on his shoulder light.
He soaked in the concern in her eyes and felt her warmth down through his body. Damn he ate it up like candy. “I’m good. How’s the ankle?”
“Aches a little but it’s not bad. I consider myself lucky. And stop trying to deflect.”
“Deflect?”
“Turn this toward me. I saw something in your eyes a second ago. What’s wrong?”
“Once a counselor always a counselor, eh?”
“You have a problem with counselors?”
Rick took a deep breath and, in his usual fashion, went right for the truth. “Yeah. I do.”
Fire returned to her eyes, and maybe disapproval she couldn’t hide—or wasn’t trying to hide. “Such as?”
“One tried to ruin my career a couple of years ago.”
Her hand drifted away from his shoulder and he was glad. Well, okay, he wasn’t glad but if she kept touching him he’d forget why he needed to keep an emotional distance from her. He played with the idea of keeping his reasons to himself but he’d never been good at that.
But when he opened his mouth something else came out. “It’s a long story. Not sure you’d like what you hear.”
Her mouth tightened and when he spent too much time looking at those soft lips, his groin heated.
“I see,” she said.
He doubted it. “You have a crystal ball?”
A smile flirted with her mouth. “Of course not. But I know people. It’s my job.”
“I don’t like being another person’s job. I like to relate one-on-one, honestly and directly.”
Defensiveness tightened her mouth. “So do I. I don’t play games, Rick. I try to help people. Military or not.”
Before he could form a word, movement occurred around the S.W.A.T. command center.
“They’re getting ready to move in,” he said.
“Good. I hope.” Worry created lines between her brows.
“They don’t mess around these days.”
Concern flashed across her face. “Please let everyone be all right.”
He reached for her hand and squeezed. “It’ll be okay.”
She allowed his touch and he was half tempted to keep holding her hand. He hadn’t reached for anyone to give or receive comfort in a very long time and it felt both alien and wonderful. She took away his doubt when she turned her hand and twined her fingers with his.
S.W.A.T. went in, and as the moments stretched and stretched, he breathed a little prayer that everything would happen smoothly. Finally the main mall doors opened and his brothers walked out with Kathleen and Melanie.
“Oh my God,” Lena whispered, and she tightened her grip on his hand.
A smile broke over his face and relief flooded him so quickly that if he’d been standing he might have collapsed to his knees.
Chapter Three
Lena’s mind felt like scrambled eggs. She sat in Rick’s truck…he’d borrowed it from an old friend of his in Constitution rather than renting it. It was white and clean and even smelled fairly new. She knew she was concentrating on mundane things because her mind didn’t want to wrap itself around everything that had happened that day.
After Melanie, Matt, Jake and Kathleen had left the mall unharmed, they’d all endured more questioning. Her friends, minus the brothers, had gathered around for a group hug and bonding. Kathleen had insisted they had serious crushes on the Frasier brothers and maybe should do something about it. Lena had said no way but had acquiesced to the idea of Rick taking her home. Melanie went to dinner with Matt and Lena saw the way they’d looked at each other. Smitten. Kathleen seemed determined to jump Jake’s bones and Lena was pretty certain she’d do it. Not that Lena believed her friend should but she also knew unsolicited advice wouldn’t go down well at this point. Whatever her good friends decided to do, they were adults and would make whatever decisions they’d make. She didn’t have the right to lambast them if they decided to drown the drama with sex. No, she didn’t have the right.
Because ever since she’d realized her friends were safe her mind had turned again and again toward being close with Rick. She hated it and didn’t understand why she wanted his nearness. He’d offered to drive her home and with her sore ankle it sounded like a good idea. They’d agreed dinner out sounded like a bad idea. Snow had started to fall and night intruded. The hypnotic wap wap noise of the windshield wipers made her sleepy. Silence added to her sense of isolation. And yet she’d never felt safer in her life.
She pointed out her street and he made the turn down Cascade Avenue, an old part of town lined with modest homes built in the early nineteen hundreds, before the First World War. Huge trees lined both the sides of the street and the center median of the wide thoroughfare. He pulled up along the curb when they reached her green house.
“Come in for a little bit?” she asked. “You must be starving, and there’s nothing better than pizza after fearing for your life.”
He smiled and shut off the truck. He unbuckled his seatbelt. “I beg to differ. Fried chicken is the best thing when you’ve just survived almost getting your ass shot off.”
She smiled. “I’m all out of chicken, fried or otherwise.”
“It’ll have to be cold pizza then.”
“If you’re good I’ll nuke it for you.”
He laughed. “What do I have to do to be good?” His husky voice, deep and liquid with double entendre, made her breath catch in her throat. “Stay right there. I’ll carry you.”
“No way. I’m hobbling my way to the door.”
He shook his head and left the truck cab. When she exited the truck she found her ankle didn’t feel as sore as it had before. She could put most of her weight on it.
“Here. At least take my arm,” he said.
She did as he asked and they headed to the front door. Once they entered the house, she flipped on some lights.
Rick turned around in the foyer and took off his coat. As she took his coat to it hang up in the hall closet, he said, “Very nice place.”
“Thank you.”
She knew it was well-kept—she didn’t like a dirty house. But it was also pretty modest. She didn’t make enough to warrant extravagance.
“Come in to the kitchen.” She waved him in that direction and he followed. “Make yourself comfortable.”
“Why don’t you take a load off, tell me where things are at, and I can feed us,” he said.
She grinned. “No way. The least I can do to thank you is to feed you.”
“You’re still feeding me. Just not standing on that ankle.”
She returned his cocky smile and threw up her hands in surrender. “All right. All right. Cold pizza is in the fridge, dishes here and utensils here. Napkins there.” She gestured behind her to another open door. “The dining room is right through this way. I’ll sit down.”
Once inside the dining room, which she rarely used, she sat at the eight-person table that filled the room. It felt kind of nice to enjoy the coziness of the nostalgic pastoral paintings on the wall and the large china cabinet behind her, which she’d inherited from her grandmother. Clanking sounds echoed from the kitchen.
“Cold pizza or nuked?” he asked.
“Nuked please.”
He entered the dining room a short time later with a plate of pizza and a fork and napkin for her. She thanked him and he returned to the kitchen to fetch his own nuked pizza. He returned to the dining room within minutes.
“Thanks again for the pizza. I was starving,” he said.
“Well, there’s more where that came from if you’re very hungry.”
When she speared a bit of pizza with a fork, he picked up his whole slice and took a bite. He ate with eagerness but not like her last boyfriend, who’d eaten his food as if it might get away.
“No fork?” she said.
He lifted one eyebrow and stopped chewing for a moment, as if she’d startled him. He swallowed. “I can’t believe you’re using a fork. It’s not American.”
She laughed softly. “Hey, no fair. There’s Italian on my father’s side of the family.”
His gaze smoothed over her in a warm caress. Sheer arousal warmed her stomach.
“With that blonde hair I thought maybe it was Scandinavian but I realize a lot of women color their hair so…” He shrugged.
“Actually, this is my real hair color. I don’t color or perm it. And yes, there’s a lot of Scandinavian on my mother’s side.”
“You’re authentic.”
She chewed on that one. “I try to be.”
“You try?”
She thought maybe she heard some disapproval in his tone. “You know how it is. There are times where a person has to fake it to make it.”
“Under what circumstances?”
“I’m in a job where I can’t always blurt out everything I’m thinking. My work is more subtle than that.”
He nodded. “I can understand. What about your personal life?”
That was an easy answer. “I’m always authentic.”
He tilted his head a little, as if he weighed her words and found them lacking. She didn’t like that and a tiny piece of her hardened.
“Do you tell people what you’re really thinking?” She asked the question as a challenge.
“Yes and no. There are times in the Coast Guard you can’t be brutally honest. It’s one of the reasons why I don’t mince words in my personal life.”
“How do you get away with being late?” The question popped out before she could think how offensive it would sound.
His warm grin surprised her. “I’m not late on the job. But yeah, I take things a little more laid-back off the job. When I was a kid I was late to everything. Mom broke me of that habit early on.”
She smirked. “Not if you’re still being late in your personal life.”
He shoved his plate aside and leaned on the table, pinpointing her with a serious stare. “I’m not perfect, Lena. And that’s the truth.”
What did she say to that? “No one is, of course. We all have things we could stand to work on.” Silence gathered around them until she said, “I’m sorry I forgot to offer you something to drink.” She rubbed her hands together. “Does decaf coffee sound good?”
“Yeah.”
“Cream or sugar?”
“No, thank you.”
Using a single-pod coffee machine, she quickly brewed two cups. She returned to the dining room.
After she’d settled back at the table, she asked, “Your mother was in the marines, right?”
“Yep.”
“So why are you late in social situations? I remember your brothers saying once that you couldn’t be on time to a party even if it was your birthday.”
He shrugged. “I’ll admit when I was a kid it was a problem. My Dad sat me down once and explained to me how rude it was. Disrespectful to others. My mother told me the same thing but when she said it I wouldn’t listen. I guess you could say it’s rebellion against my mother. Isn’t that what a counselor would call it?”
She wondered if he feared her occupation. “I won’t analyze you, Rick.”
“Ah but you offered to teach me to meditate.”
She put her fork down on the plate. “The offer is still open.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not backing away from it.”
Pleased, she returned to eating. “Good.”
He polished off his slice.
He glanced around the room, his expression admiring. “I love this place. How long have you lived here?”
“I bought it ten years ago. I love it too. It’s not a huge house but it has enough room to move around. Three bedrooms upstairs. It was renovated before I bought it so it’s in good shape. I had an inspector check it out before I purchased to make sure it was structurally sound.”
He smiled around a mouthful of pizza but finished chewing before he said, “You’re a stickler for details, aren’t you?”
She smiled right back. “Unapologetically.”
“Seems like we’re both unapologetic about our faults.” Sarcasm tinted his voice.
“You’re right. Guess we wouldn’t make a good date.”
His lopsided grin was way too appealing as he said, “I don’t know about that. I think our differences could make for an interesting experience.”
Part of her believed him and that disturbed her the most. “So want to try the meditation?”
“Right now?”
“Are you up to it?”
“Of course. But I warn you—”
“I know, you can’t be hypnotized or taught to meditate. I’m going to prove you wrong.”
He laughed and they took their dishes into the kitchen. She led him into the small family room, eager to show him how easily he could meditate if he kept his mind open. He flopped onto the couch with a smile, humor and skepticism mixed in his expression. When she sat close to him his grin went even wider. Damn the man. Even with a teasing smile he didn’t look so much boyish as roguish.
She sat close to him. “Okay, close your eyes. Now, inhabit your body.”
His brow wrinkled. “What?”
“Feel your body. So many people aren’t aware of their own body.”
He nodded. “I know what you mean. But I work out daily. I’m pretty aware of myself.”
“Good. But make sure you settle into where you are. Feel yourself sitting on this couch.”
He didn’t smirk or make fun of that idea. “Okay.”
She gave him a few moments to do this before she said, “Take a deep breath and accept the idea of nonresistance, peace and acceptance.”
His eyes opened again. “Nonresistance? I dunno…”
“Shut up and close your eyes,” she said mildly.
As his eyes fluttered closed her attention snagged on his long eyelashes. God, he’s too damn gorgeous. He drew in a deep breath and she watched that broad muscular chest move up and down. Distracted, she didn’t speak. His eyes flew open and she jumped.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
Disconcerted, she cleared her throat. “No. Now close your eyes.”
He gave her a half-smile and did as told.
“Good. Now take deep breaths. Eight deep breaths. Each time you breathe out, exhale tension and anxiety.”
“I don’t have anxiety.”
“Quiet.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Breathe deeply.”
She watched, patient, as he drew oxygen in and slowly let it out. An ease came to his face that she liked—many of the military men she’d counseled had so much tension locked up inside that their faces retained a rocklike facade. She liked that he relaxed, and that watching him kept her calm. Because inside her lay dormant a desire to scream. To acknowledge every tortured moment of fear from this evening.
After he’d taken the deep breaths, she spoke again. “Now I want you to allow every thought that passes through to simply be. Don’t try to stop it. Don’t try to impede any thoughts you have. Your mind is stable and calm. Pay attention, on purpose, but be in the moment. Don’t judge your thoughts. This is most important. Recognize the sensations in your body.”
She watched him for a short time then settled back on the couch herself. She took her own medicine, breathing deeply and doing the meditation along with him. Before she knew it, time had no meaning. How much time passed she wasn’t sure but then she felt him shift on the couch. Her eyes popped open.
She looked over at Rick. He was turned slightly to the side, his warm expression filled with admiration. It hit her square in the gut and her lips parted in surprise. Feeling groggy, she glanced up at the small clock on the fireplace mantel.
“Oh my God. We fell asleep,” she said.
He glanced at his watch. “Yep. An hour.”
“That’s not the goal with mindfulness meditation.”
“Well, I think we can give ourselves a break. After what we went through I think it’s reasonable.”
She rubbed the back of her neck and sighed. “So…” She swallowed hard. “How did that feel? The meditation, I mean.”
“Amazing. I think I might be able to do it.”
“Really?” Skepticism colored her voice. “After one session?”
“Well…I always admit when I’m wrong.” He leaned closer, a mischievous smile on his lips. “I can always learn something new. Maybe even to be on time.”
She couldn’t resist his smile this time, and the glow spreading through her burned to a new high when he drifted closer to her.
He blew her away. “Really? You aren’t pulling my chain?”
“Would I do that?”
“I think you would.”
One side of his mouth quirked up in a smile but just as fast it dropped away. “Yeah. On some days. But not this minute. Not right now. What we went through tonight…” He shook his head. “It was deep. As deep as it gets.”
“We weren’t in the thick of it like the others. No one shot at us.”
He shook his head. “Damn, you never give yourself credit, do you?”
“What do you mean?”
His eyes went soft…soft as she’d ever seen them today. “You’re a damn strong woman and I admire that. But you don’t have to pretend. You’re safe with me, Lena. I’m not going to laugh and point. I won’t think less of you if you show who you are. What you’re thinking right now. What you need.”
