A Lot Like Home

Just in case she was there for something a little more hands-on, he’d already be almost undressed for the occasion.

She didn’t say a word. Her gaze strayed down his torso as if she’d stumbled over the best side of beef at the market and she was starving.

“It’s a little early in the morning to be looking at a man like that,” he said drily. “Unless you’re planning to come in and make good on it.”

She cut her gaze back to his and locked on, a guilty flush staining her cheeks. Which pleased him enormously because it meant she had indeed been indulging in some naughty thoughts despite the back-off mandate she’d issued the last time they’d talked.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be half-dressed,” she mumbled. “Or have such a fascinating array of nicks and scars on that one shoulder. Your skin is this interesting bronze color that I hadn’t properly imagined and… I’m going to shut up now.”

Oh, that would be a shame. He tried to hide a grin and failed. “Don’t do that on my account. I like listening to you talk about my body. There’s more you haven’t seen if you need some additional parts to describe.”

The flush heightened. “I’d really prefer it if you’d put a shirt on.”

“You came to my door at—” He leaned back to glance at the clock, but really it was an excuse to reveal more of his naked chest because flustering her was so much fun. “Eight-oh-five a.m. How dressed did you think I was going to be?”

“Most people put clothes on to answer the door,” she countered and averted her eyes but not before she copped a peek. Hopefully that eyeful had given her enough to consider whether she’d like to take this early-morning meeting to the next level.

“Most people haven’t spent the past decade face down in dirt for the better part of a night. Now that I don’t have to, I like to be as comfortable as possible. I’ve never been modest, nor am I about to start.”

She nodded once. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

“Are you sure you didn’t come by hoping to catch me still in bed?” he asked tongue in cheek. “Or did you actually intend to have a conversation about something other than my poor battle-worn skin?”

Her gaze strayed back to his shoulder, softening. “I guess I should have put that together. It didn’t occur to me that you’d have wounds from being in the Navy.”

“I was a SEAL. We did the stuff no one wants to talk about,” he told her flatly. “I tangled with the wrong end of an al-Qaeda butcher knife. More than once.”

Her head bobbed in agreement a bunch of times as if she couldn’t quite process that. “Sure, of course. I get that it wasn’t pretty.”

“And neither am I. But I fared much better than the other guy.” Fact of life. Some women didn’t like that part of his past, and if she was one of them, now would be a good time to establish that.

But she lifted her eyes to his, and revulsion wasn’t even close to the top of the list of things he saw there. “You’re beautiful, Caleb. You earned those scars in the most honorable way imaginable. Why would anyone see them as ugly?”

Now it was his turn to flush, but why that pleased him so much, he couldn’t say. “Now you’re embarrassing me.”

“Then put a shirt on,” she advised him saucily. “If you don’t want to be ogled, don’t run around naked.”

Touché. And she’d made him laugh before coffee, a feat of gargantuan proportions. “Give me a sec.”

He ducked back into the room and found a T-shirt, pulling it on over his skin that Havana had apparently been visualizing enough that its color had surprised her. When the Navy trained SEALs, shirts often went by the wayside as recruits spent an ungodly number of hours wallowing in sand and mud. That rigorous bit of fun had been followed by multiple rounds of HALO drops into the Persian Gulf, among other things. Wet clothes weighed a man down. The reasons he had a good base tan were myriad and something he’d rather not think about right now.

“Happy?” he asked her as he pulled the door open wide to reveal his now-covered torso. “Or at least happy enough to tell me the purpose of this early-morning lesson on how I should dress for a woman who sneaks onto my balcony instead of calling first?”

This time she didn’t flush, which he immediately missed.

“I’m right upstairs. Calling felt anticlimactic.”

Somehow he didn’t think she’d appreciate any of the jokes that sprang to his tongue, so he bit them back and crossed his arms to keep from reaching out. He hadn’t brushed his teeth yet, and if she kept standing there looking so delectable, he might be tempted to get a little handsy. “And now you’re right downstairs. Still not telling me why you’re here. A man might start getting the idea that you want exactly what it seems you came for but you’re too shy to admit it.”

She scowled. “If I wanted that, you’d know. I came to see if you’d go with me to talk to Damian. I told him the fake engagement was off. We’re a united front, and I need him to see that.”

Well, well. That statement was full of so many loaded variables he hardly knew where to start. Oh, yeah. He did. “How exactly would I know you wanted that? Give me some clues.”

“Please get your mind out of the gutter,” she said, her exasperation clear. “If you’ll focus, I solemnly swear I will never come to your door this early again.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You come to my door any time of day or night that it strikes your fancy. It’ll never be locked.” His mind refused to get out of the gutter where Havana was concerned, so he didn’t even bother to try. But since she’d asked, he shifted the conversation to her chosen topic. “I’d be thrilled to go with you to talk to Scott. Especially if the goal is to establish us as a couple.”

She rolled her eyes. “I wish you were half as cute as you think you are.”