Falling for the Enemy (Private Pleasures 3)

“Well, I don’t know about that, but I’ll tell you one thing for sure. I’m tired and sweaty from hauling my sorry self out here, and a swim sounds like just the ticket.” Junior grinned and reached for his work boot. “LouAnn will never know I took a ten-minute break.”

Fingernails dug into his ass at the exact moment he said, “No!” The word came out more forceful than he intended. At least he knew where Ginny was now.

The shorter man straightened. “Why not, man? It’s muggy as hell today. That water’s gotta feel good.”

“I…I’m…” Fuck it. “I’m shy.”

“Dude, were you not in the military for the last ten years?”

“I was, and I never had any privacy. It scars a guy.” Just like fingernails using his ass-cheek as a squeeze toy. “I vowed to myself, when I got out, I’d have privacy I’d never gotten while serving my country.” He’d play the patriot card. He’d play whatever card it took to move Junior along.

“Oh-kaaaay.” Junior held his hands up and rolled his eyes skyward. “I wouldn’t want to get in the way of someone’s personal vow, or…self-pampering…or whatever. But a guy who values his privacy as much as you do probably ought to find himself a swimming hole on his own property.” With that, he turned and started up the slope.

From directly behind him, Shaun felt the water shift and heard Ginny gasp in a breath. He drew in one of his own, to cover. “Whew. Thanks man. I’m relieved you understand.”

“I understand,” Junior called, and continued trudging up the hill. He muttered something else Shaun didn’t hear clearly, but sounded like, “I understand you’re crazier than a shithouse squirrel…which still makes you the sanest Buchanan.”

Ginny sat in the passenger seat, in her soaking wet clothes, staring out the window. She kept her arms crossed tightly in front of her chest, and her mouth firmly closed, but he could sense her silently stewing from a hundred miles away.

He steered the Jeep along Haybarrel Road, taking the back way to her neighborhood. “I’m sorry about your clothes.”

“It’s not your fault,” she snapped. “You did what you had to do.”

“And yet you seem a little pissed off. Just a little,” he added, and held his thumb and index finger an inch apart when her eyes cut into him like twin green lasers.

“I’m pissed at myself. This was a dumb idea. I knew it. I never should have agreed to it, but I did, because I was so desperate to…” She snapped her lips closed and stared out the window again.

“To what?” He asked the question gently, while something moronically close to hope rose in his chest.

She shifted around until she faced him. He felt the weight of her gaze on his profile. “I was desperate to spend more time with you. So I did something stupid and reckless, and endangered an important goal—”

“I wanted to spend more time with you, too. I want more than a handful of stolen hours every night, after Mr. Cranston walks his dog and before Ms. Van Hendler wakes up in the morning.”

The confession earned him an exasperated look. “Well great. We both want the same thing. But you’ve known from day one we have to keep this thing between us under wraps, so instead of driving out to a place where anybody could happen along and see us, why don’t you just… Screw it. Never mind.” She re-folded her arms across her chest. “If I have to ask, then you clearly don’t want it to happen.”

How did he become the bad guy? Her feelings were hurt? Did she have any idea how much it hurt knowing she’d rather pass out from oxygen deprivation and drown than stand up and admit she was sleeping with him? “What don’t I want to happen?”

“Oh, come on Shaun. It’s so obvious. You live in the middle of nowhere. You have no neighbors. Unlike at my house, nobody would see me coming or going from your place. We could spend the entire night together, and we wouldn’t have to resort to a covert operation to make it happen.” She sighed and turned away. “Clearly, you don’t want me there.”

The accusation surprised him so much he pulled over. They’d covered this weeks ago. “That’s not true. You know why I come to you. I told you about my sleep problems. Under the circumstances, having an overnight guest is a bad idea.”

“You’re afraid my company will keep you awake? I promise I’ll be quiet as a mouse.”

He shook his head, to clear it rather than to disagree. “No. It’s got nothing to do with you. Virginia…I’m not in control of myself when I sleep. You got a taste of it the night you cut my hair. I have nightmares. Sometimes I sleepwalk. I’d just as soon avoid scaring the shit out of you again, or worse, putting a mark on you. I don’t want to accidentally hurt you again.”

Her hand shot out and she landed a punch squarely in the center of his chest. Apparently she had no similar compunction about leaving marks on him, accidentally or otherwise. “Spare me the guilt and those so-called protective instincts. You didn’t hurt me, you moron. I startled you, you reacted, and then I woke you up. You should be begging me to spend the night. You could finally get some rest without worrying about the consequences. I’d have your back.”

“I had you pressed up against a wall, and I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I have two good lungs, and am fully capable of speaking up. It’s all about intent, in my book, and I know you’d never hurt me. I trust you. You need to trust me.”

He scrubbed his palms over his face. “I don’t trust myself.”

“How many bad dreams have you had since the night in my salon?”

His heart pounded against his ribs. “None.”

“How many times have you sleepwalked?”