Still Waters (Greenstone Security 1)

The air was thick, Keltan’s stare along with Dwayne’s somewhat stifling.

“Think there is such a thing as too late,” Keltan cut in, voice still friendly but with an edge. One that could’ve cut steel.

I actually wanted to look down to my new shoes to make sure there was no pee on them from this epic pissing contest.

Dwayne’s body tensed for a split second, and I worried about the gun he’d only just sheathed. But the bloodshed was avoided as he relaxed.

He gave Keltan a stiff nod and me a lingering and pointed look before sauntering down the walk.

I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off Keltan with Dwayne as a buffer, but now I was very fascinated with the journey of the back of his cut, watching the reaper on his back melt into the darkness.

I then heard him ordering Rosie to put the cigarette lighter down, followed by a mutter of curses before doors shut and the car left the curb.

Then silence.

And I was forced to turn to look at Keltan.

My eyes drank him in in the gentle moonlight. The muscled form very annoyingly shielded by clothing, his body still exuding that presence that seemed to steal the air from my lungs. Though this was stupid to think, even drunk, my heart stuttered once, twice, three times when my eyes locked on his.

“You’re back,” I observed.

His eyes glowed. “I’m back.”

“From war,” I clarified, my voice blank and shaking with that slight slur that gave away drunk teenagers to knowing parents everywhere.

He nodded, his eyes dancing with a little amusement, a lot of desire and a sprinkling of that residual anger.

“Early,” I continued, remembering the fact that he was meant to have at least another month.

I had been counting. A month to try and extract myself from the web I’d found myself in. A month to get tangled even deeper.

“Yep. Surprise,” he all but whispered.

But men like him didn’t whisper. Such a soft and feminine word wasn’t exactly right for the way his rough tremor quieted to vibrate through the air in a way that had my stomach and below my stomach doing a jump.

My gaze flickered over his body, the tight tee and the faded black jeans and the boots. All better than I had remembered. Then I traced the clean-shaven jaw, high cheekbones, finishing at the chocolate eyes.

“No holes or shrapnel sticking out of you,” I said on a rough swallow. “I’m glad.”

“Makes two of us, Snow,” he murmured, his eyes lingering on mine before doing a similar once-over of my body. The gaze was physical, a thousand calloused hands running over where his eyes touched my skin.

The distance between us seemed to glow, taunting me. I shifted uncomfortably on my shoes. And not just because they were new and fabulous but rather painful.

“And you’re now on my doorstep,” I rasped, trying to shake off the numbness at the edges of my mind. “In the middle of the night.”

Wasn’t that the thing? Whenever you desperately wanted to sober up, alcohol clung to you like Velcro, but when all you wanted to do was stay drunk, you were sober in an instant.

Keltan stepped forward, shortening the distance between us. “And now I’m on your doorstep,” he repeated. “In the middle of the night. Though I didn’t get here in the middle of the night. It was late, sure, but I told you this was the first place I’d come. I’m a man of my word.”

I moved my eyes up; the closer he got, the higher his eyes got. “Why?” I whispered.

He stared at me for a long beat. Or it seemed long to my fuzzy mind. Tipsy people weren’t the best to judge the passing of moments.

But then again, moments with him weren’t exactly slaves to things like laws of nature.

Then he wasn’t staring at me with that cocktail of emotions swirling in his eyes. He was kissing me. And despite my inability to stand straight, get out of a car without help and sober myself up, I was able to respond to the kiss.

Enthusiastically.

He yanked me into his body with one hand, the other tearing into my hair as he kissed me with a ferocity that was nothing like the gentleness of that morning that seemed to be a lifetime ago.

I let out a little moan from the back of my throat as I raked my fingers up the fabric of his tee so my nails could scratch at the smooth, sinewy skin of his back.

He let out a hiss between his teeth and pulled back, eyes wild.

“I’m here because of that,” he rasped, voice thick and rough. “Because of bungee jumping, running and crunchy peanut butter, babe.”

To my immense displeasure, he stepped back, leaving only the empty air to embrace me.

One hand held onto mine, the other open, palm up. “Keys,” he demanded.