The Problem with Peace (Greenstone Security 3)

The doors opened, and I stared at the empty hallway for a long time before I stepped out. Long enough for the doors to almost close, to almost save me from making a dangerous decision.

But this was a time I didn’t need to be saved. I didn’t want to be saved.

So I found a strength that had a lot to do with Dutch Courage, but more to do with Heath and I walked out into the hallway, all the way to the door I remembered in stark detail. It was a plain door, of course. But plain things become extraordinary when connected to the memories of someone we loved with all of our being.

Before I could let the thought of him not being alone inside the tiny apartment poison my mind anymore, I knocked.

My hand was shaking as I did so. My heart was in my throat. My breathing was shallow.

Luckily since the apartment was small, I didn’t have to wait long for Heath to open the door.

He opened the door shirtless.

Shirt. Less.

My mouth dropped open.

I couldn’t help it. I had memories of his torso. They etched into my mind with as much definition as his abs. So I’d known his body was good.

And though he’d been clothed since I’d seen him lately, I know he’d gained more muscle. A lot more. And I did fantasize about what exactly the muscle looked like when I was alone at home with my vibrator.

But the reality far exceeded any fantasy.

He was wearing sweats, slung low on his hips, so I could see that delicious ‘V’ that pointed down to an equally delicious appendage.

My core pulsated with need. Hunger. It had been to years since I’d had sex. I couldn’t stomach any kind of romance while I was gone. Not like before, when I’d used some form of lust to pretend I wasn’t heartbroken. The mere thought of another man’s hands on me was sickening. Plus, I was too busy trying to figure myself out to even give someone unimportant my energy.

And every man who wasn’t Heath was unimportant.

I snapped my head up, realizing I was staring at his crotch, not speaking after I knocked on his door at almost midnight.

“I don’t know why I’m here.”

His eyes were dark and not and all blank how I’d come to expect them to be. There was a glimmer of hunger as he roved his gaze up my white sundress, cowboy boots, and denim jacket. My hair was plaited into loose pigtails.

“Didn’t ask why you were here,” he said. He didn’t say anything else.

Neither did I.

We both stood there, staring at each other silently.

I knew this was a moment that Heath was deciding what to do. If he stepped aside and let me in, it was more than in the literal sense, it was a tiny glimmer of hope that he might let me into places other than his apartment. Or if he closed the door, it was the final and heart shattered close to what had turned into a saga between us.

I expected him to close the door. I deserved him to close that door.

The seconds yawned in like years.

He stepped aside.

* * *

I was awake for a long time before I opened my eyes. I didn’t want to open my eyes. Because then the person whose arms were tight around me would know I was awake and most likely his arms would not be around me and then I’d have to abandon the fantasy that this could be every single morning.

“Know you’re awake, Sunshine,” a throaty voice said.

Obviously my tactics were extremely flawed.

But his voice wasn’t cold, cruel or detached.

So I opened my eyes.

I’d been using his chest as a pillow, my leg cocked up at his hip and sprawled across his body. Barely any of my body was actually on his mattress.

He didn’t seem to mind since both of his arms were tight around me, clutching me to his body. They loosened slightly so I could move my head to meet his eyes.

“You sober?” he asked.

He caught me off guard, so it took a couple of moments to answer. “Yes.”

“You hungover?”

A strange question, but I took stock of my body. I had a slight headache that was likely more to do with dehydration than a hangover. I’d drank enough to get me tipsy, to give me the courage to come over here, but not enough to take me out of my head. Or to make it throb the next day—though it was still the early hours of the next day.

My memories of the night before were stark and lucid.

After he’d let me in he hadn’t spoken, he’d taken my jacket, his hands ghosting over the bare skin of my shoulders.

My entire body shivered with the simple contact.

Because nothing was ever simple between Heath and me.