My Heart For Yours (Sinful Secrets 2)

His face pales.

I look down at the table. “Sorry. This is kind of weird date talk.”

“Not weird.” His arm comes around me, folding me to his chest. His scruff brushes my hair. “I’m sorry if I made you feel that way.”

I steal a wary glance at him. “You just looked…”

“I know.” His voice is rough.

I feel him take a deep breath, his chest pressing against me. His eyes are everywhere but on my face, and then they come back to mine, and they’re so intense it startles me.

“I have to know—” His voice roughens on the have to— “But…” His mouth flattens. He shakes his head.

It upsets him. Heat sweeps through me as I realize that’s what this is. It bothers him, hearing about the accident.

I wrap my arms around him, and that’s the way our waiter finds us when he returns for our food order. He gives us a funny little wink, and Bear and I place our orders.

When he leaves, Barrett takes a long swig of his water and turns to me. “In the Unit,” he says slowly, “there are short gunners and long gunners. The short gunners, some people call them assaulters…they burst into places, clear buildings. Do hand to hand. They’re on the ground. Task-oriented. And the long gunners, the snipers, cover them. We’re watchers. But nineteen times out of twenty, you know the person that you’re covering.” He shuts his eyes for a small moment. When they open, they glow in the candlelight like gemstones. “You asked earlier… I am protective.”

I hug him tight and wrap my legs around his underneath the table. “Barrett Drake…” His neck and chest flex slightly under my tight grasp. I grip him more tightly, brushing tickling kisses along his collar bone.

The little groan that rasps from his throat gets into my own chest, spreading through me in a lazy tendril that seems to center in between my legs. I feel Barrett shift his hips, and slide my hand down his flat abs until I feel his hardness.

“Gwen.” It’s practically a sigh.

“So hot.” I rub him.

“Stop.” The word is hung between a moan and chuckle. “Damn, Piglet. I’m gonna need another pair of pants.”

I giggle evilly. It’s a good thing that our food comes moments later. We chat as we eat, the conversation never dipping as deep as it did a little earlier. We’re almost finished eating and have just realized we’re both NFL fans when my phone rings.

“Oops, forgot to cut it off.” I fish it out of my purse. “Jamie. Hey, I bet she wants to—”

Talk to him. But Barrett’s standing. “Bathroom,” he mouths with his signature small, dimpled smile. It’s such a peaceful smile. A happy smile. Mine.

The word streaks through my brain as I answer Jamie, so it’s forgotten as she asks to Facetime Bear and me, and I give her a rain check from us.

“He’s kind of the quiet type, remember?”

“So? I’m your bestie. Tell homeboy to pony up.”

I laugh. We’re off the phone by the time Barrett comes back. As we wait for the check, he and I debate whether this should be Peyton Manning’s last season, and before I realize what’s the what, our waiter comes, and Barrett sends him off with his card.

I catch his hand in mine. “You don’t need to do that.”

He brings my hand up to his mouth, kissing my knuckles. “It makes me happy to take care of you.”

We leave the restaurant holding hands, me with the rose in my free hand. We pass a Native American craft store as we head toward my car.

“Do you mind if we go in?” he asks.

“Let’s do it.” I have a thing for pottery and handmade jewelry, not surprising when I think about the kinds of crafts that adorned my childhood home.

“I’ve got a Native friend. Native American. He used to have a dream catcher, when we’d be at different outposts.”

“You want one? That’s a nice idea.”

“His broke. He mentioned it a while back, so…” He shrugs.