Tempted by the Wrong Twin (Texas Cattleman's Club: Blackmail 8)

Heart thudding against his ribs, he pried his eyes open to see Harper filling his vision, her achingly beautiful face surrounded by a soft halo of light.

“Hey,” she said gently.

He couldn’t yet form words, and he didn’t know what he’d say anyway, but he did know she was the only person he wanted to see right now. The only one who could make the darkness inside seem a little more bearable. Though, even as his arms wanted to reach for her, he locked his muscles tight to stop them. Dragging her further into his darkness would be selfish.

More than that, he didn’t deserve the comfort. The nightmares were a fair penalty—reliving the horrors was the least he deserved. After all, some very fine people hadn’t made it through to be able to remember it.

This was his penance.

His father had told him to stay strong. Good advice. No matter what was in his memory banks, he should be able to handle it. He drew another shuddering breath and clenched his hands to stop them shaking. He had to be honest with himself—he was clearly not handling it. Worse, Harper could see his failure. She was bearing witness to his shame.

Something wriggled on his other side, and he became aware again of the soft whining in the background. He turned to find Frank on the bed, stretched out alongside him, burying his face in Nick’s side.

“I didn’t invite him,” Harper said. “When I woke up and realized you were having a nightmare, Frank was already here, leaning in to you, making those noises.”

Nick put an arm around Frank, and his dog settled against him, feeling solid and reassuring. The presence gave more comfort than he would have expected. There were treats in that dog’s immediate future. Just as soon as Nick mastered basic things like breathing and moving again.

He began to silently count his breaths, a technique he used to calm his body and slow his pulse, relying on the steady strength of both Harper and Frank to help. Three breaths in, Harper lay down and wrapped her arms around him, holding him. It was more than he deserved. She was always more than he deserved, more than he should accept, but, God help him, he couldn’t bring himself to push her away. Pathetic as he was, he wrapped his arms around her and took th

e comfort she offered, grateful she at least hadn’t been horrified this time.

* * *

As Harper watched her husband beside her, she was determined not to let the tears pressing at the back of her eyes form. He wouldn’t want them. Instead, she lay quietly, letting him deal with whatever was in his mind at his own pace, trying to be a calm presence.

Calm was a big ask when she was torn between despair at seeing him in pain and hope because he hadn’t shut her out this time. She rubbed his tense shoulders and settled for calmish.

After long minutes, he pulled himself up, but still he didn’t push her away—he sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his head hanging low, as if he was still trying to regain his breath. She swung her legs around to sit beside him, laying a hand gently on his back so he knew he wasn’t alone.

Without looking at her, he reached out and snagged her other hand, bringing it to rest on his thigh, their fingers tightly entwined. Her heart stopped dead at the meaning in the simple gesture, then roared back to life, flooding her body with emotion. By reaching for her instead of pushing her away, Nick had let her though a major barrier.

“Thank you for trusting me,” she whispered. “For sharing the parts of you that I know you’d rather keep hidden.”

He didn’t look at her, barely moved beyond his chest rising and falling more roughly than it should. “I’m still not feeling great about dragging you into this mess.”

He might not feel great about it, but she was happy to be dragged anywhere with him. It was being left behind that hurt.

She stood and drew him to his feet. “Together, we can face this.”

“I’m starting to believe we can face anything together.”

“I think you’re right.”

Pulling gently on his hand, she led him into the attached bathroom, and once they stepped past the door, she lifted onto her toes and kissed him. He returned the kiss—not one of passion, but sweetness, trust, bearing witness to the depth of their relationship. Tears stung at the backs of her eyes, but she didn’t realize one had fallen until he wiped it from her cheek with his thumb.

Wordlessly, she stepped back and turned the shower on, testing it with her hand as the water warmed to the perfect temperature. Then, their fingers again entwined, she stepped in, tugging his hand to bring him in after her. One corner of his mouth lifted in a shadow of a smile, and he followed. Her pulse kicked up a notch. She released his hand and placed her palms on his chest, gently pushing him under the spray.

As she soaped him up, she allowed herself the luxury of admiring his body, loving the ridges and hollows, the scars as well as the smooth perfection. And he allowed her—turning when she nudged him, letting her take the lead.

“No need to think,” she said. “Just feel.”

His shoulders relaxed a fraction more as he gave himself over to her. His body followed her movements as if they were in a dance, his breaths becoming fast and shallow, matching hers.

She wanted to give him this—the mindlessness of his body’s reaction, all traces of the images that had haunted him banished under the weight of desire. So she touched him the way she’d learned he liked to be touched, lightly feathering her fingertips over his abdomen, kissing along his collarbone, scraping her nails over his back.

“Harper,” he rasped against her throat. Her skin felt too tight for her body, and his hands roaming only made her restless for more.

With a hand under one of her knees, he picked her leg up and brought it around his waist, then gripped her hips and lifted her. She leaned her weight against the cool tiles at her back and wrapped her other leg around him.