Fully Engaged (Wingmen Warriors 12)

“Thanks.”

“Uh, sure.” She stared back, the moon streaking star sparks against his jet-black hair and eyes. “No problem.”

“Nola, come here.”

Nerves pattered. She tamped them down, tossed her shoulders back and inched closer.

“Yeah?” she asked, stopping toe-to-toe in front of him.

“I figure if there’s anyone looking at your new watchdog, we’d better clear up that whole me sleeping in the garage thing and why you carried my luggage. Just to be safe, we want them to believe I have a vested interest in keeping you safe.”

Hmm. She hadn’t thought about that. She backed away a step from the intensity in his opaque eyes.

Her feet shot out from under her—thanks to slick dew in the mulchy leaves. She’d been so busy worrying about him she hadn’t thought about herself falling flat on her own butt on top of him.

Then he folded her into his lap, his arms going around her in unmistakable possessiveness. His face hovered just over hers, his mouth so close. She remembered. Oh yes, she remembered the confidence of his kiss. The way he seemed to know right from the start exactly what she wanted.

He listened to her needs.

His thumb resting on the curve of her breast twitched.

With his face so close to hers she could feel his breath caress her as gently as his hands once had. A simple stretch up on her toes and she could press her lips to his again. Would reality match the memory?

That simple thought was enough to help her pull away. She didn’t want to lose the special remembrance that had carried her through. To find out it had somehow been a fantasy could make her lose faith in her recovery. How messed up was that? But she’d fast learned much of the healing process involved the body and mind working in synch.

She simply couldn’t risk…fear.

Nola scrambled off his lap and gave him a bold once-over. “All right, pal, no more of that. People don’t have to think we’re dating for you to be a watchdog. And about the lap thing…” She swallowed hard. Harder. Gave up getting rid of the lump and just moved on. “We can rest easy since we’ve now officially cleared away the wrong thing to do right off.”

“Just how we said all the wrong things on that first night in the bar?”

“Exactly. Because anything intimate would be unwise. I’m not in the market for a relationship.”

“And I came here to watch out for you—not to watch you.”

“You have to know, though, that the attraction is still there. We’re only human.”

His eyes went harder than the steel of his muscles as he stood. “I don’t need a pity f—”

“Whoa. You can stop right there. There’s no reason for you to assume that from what I said.” Her own voice went as hard as his eyes. She didn’t take that kind of crap from anyone. “I don’t deserve that kind of garbage tossed my way. I wasn’t pitying you and I don’t say or do things I don’t mean. I also don’t give my body away that lightly, thank you very much.” She pulled herself upright and braced, in charge. “Besides, you’re the last guy I would pity. You seem to be able to hold your own just fine.”

He smiled, damn him. “Right when I think you’re going to piss me off, you go and say something all sweet and perfect.”

Sweet? Sheesh, he was charming.

Ignore. Ignore. Ignore. “I’ll be back in a few with some clean sheets. You can make your own bed, though, because I’m not any man’s maid.”

Spinning away, she held her rigid spine stance even though his wicked smile could deflate a dirigible. Whoa, mama, what had she let herself in for?

Well, hell. She’d sure told him.

The grin Rick hadn’t even realized spread across his face dug deeper until next thing he knew he was laughing so hard his legs gave out from under him and he fell on his ass in the iron chair again. Even then, his humor didn’t fade. It felt good to be treated like a man instead of a patient. Damn good.

Laughter tapering off, he made his way on aching-like-hell legs back into the garage apartment by holding onto trees and then walls until finally he collapsed on the sectional sofa. Plenty of room to stretch out—he liked it, a couch that wasn’t institutional-board hard. Air that smelled “home normal” rather than “hospital antiseptic.”

Home normal. What would that be? Regular cleaners? Like Windex and some air freshener. What did women call it…?

Potpourri.