The Fix Is In (Torus Intercession 4)

“Well,” I rumbled, smiling at him, “I do believe in signs, and when they point you in another direction, you have to heed them.”

“Yes,” he agreed, staring into my eyes like the secrets of the universe were hidden there.

“But listen, I’m here to help you, so you have to let me.”

“I—yes, I—huh, this is so unlike me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course not, we’ve only just met.”

He wasn’t making any sense.

“But it feels like I’ve known––” He was scowling like he was trying to figure something out. “This is so odd.”

He was flushed now, and with his parted lips, the slight tremor in his frame, and how dark his eyes were, it made something in my chest twist.

Taking a breath, he shifted in his seat to get out of the car, but I put a hand on his shoulder. When he turned to look back at me, I cupped his burning cheek in my hand.

“I’m glad to hear I don’t scare or intimidate you,” I told him. “It always sucks that because I’m big people are wary. I’m glad you’re not.”

“Then I hope you’ll be even more pleased to know that not only am I not scared in the least, but I would love to put my hands all over you.”

4

Benji bolted from the car after his confession, and it gave me a moment to get my bearings.

That was good. Sort of.

Sometimes thinking, or overthinking, was not the best idea.

Why did he want to touch me?

I knew he was gay, Delly’s father had told me, but maybe that wasn’t true. Perhaps it was only the man’s perception. And what did that matter anyway? I had no intention of taking Benji Grace to bed. I was here to do a job, not have a booty call. And that was all it could be. I certainly wasn’t staying, so what good was it to get attached? That was heartache just waiting to happen, and I was not a masochist.

My brain was scrambled over his admission. Usually, with me, there were no declarations of interest; there was simply me hitting on a man or woman, him or her saying yes, or him or her hitting on me and me saying yes. That was how my one-night-stands worked.

Being in the Marines, I had given no thought to a relationship. I knew guys who did, and they were either worried about dying and leaving their person alone or were happy and became careless with a loving letter from home, or they were devastated by a Dear John letter or, sometimes just as bad, a letter that went on and on without any interest in them, no mention of concern. It wasn’t everyone. The guys I knew weren’t all swayed by correspondence, good or bad, but enough of them were. They were human; it made sense. But to me, focusing on life and death, what was right there in front of us, seemed like the more important task. I didn’t want distractions, so I didn’t allow myself any. Later, when I moved up and was counted on to lead and keep people safe and make sound judgment calls, I took that as a sacred trust. Mothers and fathers, wives and husbands, girlfriends and boyfriends, and children—so many children—were counting on me to not let anything happen to the person they loved. I was consumed with bringing everyone home safe, so becoming involved, getting entangled with another person, was a distraction I didn’t need.

Now, after two years at Torus, watching a number of people go out on jobs, fall in love, and never return, I was starting to wonder. Why did I always come back utterly unaffected by other people? The last job I was on, the client had thanked me for saving her life but could not have been more excited to see me go. People didn’t want me around. I was the looming presence in their life they wanted gone.

But already, Benji seemed to like having me close. He’d shared something about his life that the others didn’t know for no other reason than I made him feel protected and relaxed. Some of that had to be because he knew I would keep him physically safe. But calm? It worked on my family, but as a rule, it didn’t extend to other people. I usually drove everyone nuts. The guys in my office wanted to murder me on a regular basis. Whatever was going on with my presence in his life was weird.

Finally ready to get out of the car, I would have opened the door, but my phone ringing stopped me.

“Listen,” Benji began before I even got out the normal greeting. “You need to bring your bag in and change out of your wet clothes, put on sweats and socks and whatever long-sleeve shirt you have, and get warm, because we both know once you’re warm, the last thing you’re going to want to do is run back out into the cold and rain to get your bag.”