The Charlotte Chronicles (Jackson Boys 1)

“Patricia was advising me that it takes a very special person to understand months of separation and silence.”

He cringes and releases my hand to cup my shoulder and draw me under the shelter of his body. “Did you tell her you already know all about that?”

“No, why would I?”

When we reach the Jeep, he turns me to face him.

“It takes a special kind of woman to keep her heart open for so long and to be willing to forgive innumerable acts of stupidity. The inability to talk about my missions will be like cake for you.”

“I noticed that several of your teammates are not married.”

Running his hands over the goose bumps on my arms, Nate says, “Some think that they can’t serve the team and be a family man at the same time. Others believe they are too broken to have anything worth offering.” He tips my chin up with a finger. “I’m neither one of those, but I’m happy to leave the teams to be with you. We’ve spent too much time apart. Now that you are willing to let me back into your life, I want any scrap you will give to me.”

I want to retort that I’m not the one handing out scraps. He reappeared in my life a couple of days ago. I’m still reeling from the change, and now I’m supposed to make a life decision in the span of time it takes to snap my fingers? But what’s the alternative? Not being together? I don’t want that either. Fighting with Nate is unproductive.

“I don’t want you to feel like you’re sacrificing for me.”

“What’d Patricia say to you?” He shakes his head. “Is she trying to warn you off?”

“She was looking out for you. I love that you have friends who are fiercely protective.” I don’t love how she attacked me, but I can appreciate the sentiment behind it, regardless of how awfully she tried to convey it.

He snorts. “It’s as much loyalty as it is someone trying to prove her dominance.”

I release a small sigh of relief. He has her number. Leaning into him, I say, “I don’t care about Patricia or her role as the queen bee of the South Side SEALs. I only care about us.”

“Me too.” His head descends, and for a time he kisses away all the thoughts of his life in San Diego and my life in Dallas and our troubled pasts. But when we climb into his Jeep, my gut is churning and my chest feels tight. The words of the wife tumble inside my head even as I try to shut them out.

When we get home, I cling to Nate. I run my hands over every inch of his body, trying to replace my old memories with new ones. My throat is tight and hot, and I’m afraid to give voice to any of my fears—as if that will give them power. When he snaps on the bedside lamp as we maneuver into his utterly bland room, I throw an arm across my face.

“No light, please,” I beg.

He pulls me down to the bed but doesn’t turn it off immediately. “What’s wrong, baby?” His beautiful eyes search mine, and I try to hide away my unease and uncertainty.

“I want to feel you,” I say.

“And I want to look at you.” The left side of his mouth quirks up. “I can’t get enough.”

It’s hard to turn down the plea in his eyes. The light stays on, and I focus on his beautiful face. His cheekbones are more prominent, all traces of boy have been erased and replaced with intense masculinity—from his forehead, down the straight line of his nose, and to his square jaw. I’ve always found him breathtaking, but as a teenager I didn’t have many points of reference. Since then I’ve seen some of the most magnetic males with the most perfect bodies, but none of them compare to Nate.

I rub an arm over the hard swell of his biceps and under the short sleeve of his T-shirt. “Fill me up,” I whisper. “Let’s make new memories.”

His eyes widen, and his nostrils flare. He tears at my clothes and then struggles with his own. I laugh, but the sound dies in my throat as his heavy erection springs free. Red and thick, the velvet-covered steel bobs in the air as he stalks toward the bed.

“Find me funny, do you?” he says in mock anger.

“I don’t know how you walk around with that thing between your legs,” I answer primly. I fold my legs together and rest my hands in my lap. It would be a perfectly ladylike pose if I wasn’t nude.

“Maybe we should take a walk while you have this between your legs.”

The thought of him carrying me about the apartment impaled on his cock is pretty damn exciting. I squeeze my thighs together, an action his careful eyes don’t miss at all.