Friendly Fire (Ricochet 2)

She knows you’re lying. Distract her!

“I’m getting a drink, would you like one?”

Rick moved to stand up and twisted too far, too fast, forcing him to suck in a sharp breath at the discomfort.

Way to distract her, dumbass. Bring attention to the injury you can’t explain.

Rick heard her gasp and saw Quinn’s eyes zero in on his face as it contorted in pain. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” She crossed the patio quickly. Her hands reached out, hesitating in the air between them. It made Rick sad that she wanted to help but was hesitant to touch him. Rick visibly deflated when her hands fell back down to her sides. He wanted those hands on him so badly that his skin tingled in anticipation.

“No. Yes—I mean, yes, I’m fine.” He winced as he opened the patio door.

I’d be better if you’d touch me.

Rick sighed. He’d have to make something up. It wasn’t as if he could tell her what happened on his mission. Were he not in so much pain, physically from the bullet wound and mentally from Quinn’s presence, he’d laugh at the thought of explaining his injury. “Oh, this? It’s just a through and through from a covert mission I was doing for Mack, who runs a secret mercenary for hire organization out of the gym doing off the books government black ops. No biggie.”

“Let me get a drink and I’ll explain.”

Still suspicious, and now actively hovering close enough that he could smell her intoxicating scent, Quinn followed him inside. “I’ll get the drinks. You should be sitting.”

“I’m tired of sitting,” Rick lied as he grabbed two bottles of water out of his fridge, handing one to Quinn. Their fingers brushed as she took it from him. He inhaled at the spark that zapped between them, yanked his hand away, and took a step back—needing to put some distance there or he’d do something stupid. Like maybe rip her clothes off and worship every inch of her right here on Dane’s kitchen counter.

He went back outside and could hear Quinn following close behind. “It’s better for me to move around every once in a while.” Rick collapsed back into his seat, sweat beading on his brow from the pain and effort of so much activity. He watched cautiously as Quinn dragged over a chair, flopping down in it, her knees close enough to brush against his. He flinched at her hot touch, and then hissed through his teeth when the quick movement pulled at his stitches.

Quinn pulled a face. “Yeah, I can see how much better it is for you when you move.” Her face softened. Showing… concern? Rick was thoroughly confused. She left him in her bed. Vanished for a month and a half. Now she’s here… worried about his well-being? It didn’t make sense. If she gave a shit, she wouldn’t have taken off without explaining. “Tell me,” she urged kindly.

“Yeah, I just don’t really know where to start,” Rick admitted. He didn’t want to go there with Quinn, he couldn’t tell her everything even if he wanted to. Plus, Rick had to keep his emotions in check in order to protect himself from letting her rip out his heart again.

Who are you kidding? You still have frighteningly deep feelings for her that you don’t understand. You know you’d willingly offer up your heart again—even if it meant getting it shredded over and over.

“Okay. Let’s start here.” Quinn reached out and gently touched above his knee, right at the hem of his cargo shorts, running a finger across the puckered, scarred flesh. “Why don’t you tell me about this? I noticed it… that night.” Her pale skin blushed crimson from the reference to their very hot, yet way too short, time together.

Rick’s muscle twitched from the contact, a warm, tingling sensation spread out from where her hand connected with his marbled skin. Her voice was soothing, comforting as she skimmed her fingers over his leg. She made Rick want to confide in her, to spill all of his secrets and unburden himself.

Why was she doing this to him?

He cleared his throat, knowing he needed to at least attempt to control himself around Quinn, even when every cell in his body screamed at him to grab her and sink into her warm depths. Rick grabbed his water and took a deep swig, hoping it would give him the time he needed to compose his thoughts. He didn’t know how much to tell her. He didn’t want to lay himself bare for her, yet he wanted her to know everything about him. The warring feelings inside of him had his heart racing in his chest.

“Shit.” He rubbed a hand over his disheveled hair, not believing he was actually going to tell her about that night in Iraq. “I was in the Marines. Recon. Enlisted when I was eighteen. They’re—”

“I know what they are. My dad was Force Recon, remember?

Rick didn’t think she had ever divulged that information about her dad. He knew her father served in the Corps, but not that he was Recon. “Oh. Then you know what we do. What I did.”

“Yes.” Quinn bit her bottom lip. “Well, no, not really. Dad wasn’t allowed to discuss anything specific and I was too young.”

“Right. He wouldn’t have discussed it.” Rick squirmed uncomfortably. It was really hot out now, more so than earlier. Or maybe it was the fact that Quinn was still touching his thigh, her small hand only inches from his traitorous half-hard cock. A bead of sweat formed behind his ear and he could feel it slowly trickling down into the back of his shirt. The heat, her touch, her scent, the fact that he couldn’t move without hurting—he was going to go insane.

If only she would move that hand an inch or two higher… Shit!

He knew she was only touching him to get him to open up, but his dick didn’t get the message. Rick decided that talking might redirect the blood away from his crotch and back to his brain.

“I was burned.”

“Burned?” Her voice wavered. Quinn was probably imagining how it happened. He would spare her those horrific details, besides it was classified.

“It was a few years ago. I had to have skin grafts. That’s what the scars on the front are from. They had to harvest skin to use on the back of my leg where the fire damaged it beyond repair.” Discussing the old injuries was making them itch, a psychological reaction he had whenever he paid it too much attention.

Rick wanted to reach out and scratch his leg, but he didn’t want Quinn to move her hand, despite the fact that his logical side was telling him to back away, to put some space between them. He literally couldn’t will himself to do it. Her touch was soothing, even though it was beginning to arouse him to the point of discomfort. He couldn’t deny that he still wanted her, no matter what she had put him through.