Stirring Attraction (7 page)

Almost as if I wake up screaming every day and he rushes in for breakfast. After spending the night in his car. . .

“And how is our police chief?” she asked as she poured the juice.

“Fine.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him press the start button.

“My dad offered to make us breakfast,” he continued. “While he cooks, I can take a look at the file from your attack.”

She set the carton and glass down on the counter. “I thought they closed the case.”

“Not exactly. The case is still open. They don't have any leads, but my dad agreed that a fresh set of eyes might help.” He turned and opened the cabinet containing the mugs with his left hand. “Plus, my father makes a mean omelet.”

“I remember.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Honey, if you remembered his eggs you'd be racing to change out of your penguins and polar bears. My father's a damn good policeman. But his omelets are out of this world. Go change. Shower if you want. I'll make myself at home on your couch and wait.”

“Do you expect to find something in the file?” she asked. “Do you think your dad missed something?”

“I doubt it.” He turned back to the counter and filled his mug. “But it's a place to start. Plus, I'd like to get cleaned up. Maybe while you chat with my dad.”

He wouldn't leave her alone. Not even for a shower . . .

And he wanted to find the man. When everyone else said to move on, focus on healing . . .

“You're going to try to find him,” she said. “The guy from the park.”

He nodded.

He'd promised before. And she'd chalked the claims up to alpha-­male bravado. But if he'd asked to see the files . . .

She crossed the room and stopped in front of him, close enough to wrap her arms around him. But she didn't touch him. She rose up on her tiptoes until her mouth was level with his ear. Then she leaned as close as she dared.

“Thank you.” She pressed her lips to his bearded cheek. Nothing else touched. One hand on his chest and she might be tempted to show off her red panties again.

Before her lips could savor the feel of his soft beard against her lips, she drew back and met his intense gaze. “And you're welcome to my shower,” she added.

“While you're in it?”

She laughed. “I don't think that's a good idea.”

“Probably not.” He raised his mug to his lips. “But I've spent the last few months hiding from the world in my apartment. Bad ideas are my specialty these days.”

She stepped back as if the mounting tension had physical barriers. If she crossed over the line, she wouldn't be safe. She paused by the door. If she went too far . . .

“You'll wait here while I shower?”

He nodded. “You can close your eyes when you wash your hair. Trust me, I'll keep you safe.”

She turned and headed down the hall for her bedroom. Out of all the men in the world, why did the one who believed her have to be the same man who'd break her heart when he left again?

 

Chapter Seven

D
OMINIC GLANCED AT
the police file that was riding shotgun in his rental. He'd crashed at his childhood home while Lily tended bar. After his nap, he'd slipped out of his dad's farmhouse with the file tucked under his arm. Then he'd picked her up at the bar and returned to his post outside her house. If he took another look now, he might find something he'd missed when he'd scanned the pages this morning over his dad's omelets. Plus, he'd been distracted earlier. Lily's hope had practically filled the fourth place at the kitchen table.

She's counting on me to find something. To put her mind at ease and help her move on. I can't let her down.

He picked up the folder and scanned the pages. But even as he read over the words again, he knew the clue he needed wasn't there. He closed the file and tossed it aside. His dad might be right. This guy could be in another state by now or in Portland, waiting to slash his next victim. Or locked up in a psych ward.

But he trusted Lily's gut feeling. She'd been the one on the ground, the person under attack. And yeah, he'd been there before. He knew that sometimes instinct trumped logic. Plus, this was Lily. She wouldn't lie for attention. She wouldn't make this up.

And he'd promised her that he'd find the guy. If that proved impossible, hell, he'd be stuck here in Forever searching for a damn ghost.

He turned his right hand over, flexing the damaged muscles and nerves. Stay here . . . It felt as if he was abandoning any hope of finding his way back to the life he'd had with the army. The finality of that thought—­that he was broken beyond repair—­sank down like a lead weight pinning him to the seat of the car.

His hand would never work right again. He'd known that when he'd walked out of physical therapy that last time. He wasn't hoping for a miracle.

What's next?

The question echoed in his mind. It had been there for months, but he still didn't have a clue.

He let his right hand rest on his thigh and lifted his gaze to the house lit up like a jack-­o'-­lantern on Halloween. He'd never pictured coming home to her if things didn't work out with the rangers. Shit, he'd never thought about getting hit, living through it, and getting sidelined. He'd daydreamed about moving Lily and her mom to Georgia even though he knew Mrs. Greene wouldn't leave behind the doctors at the town university. And yeah, he'd hoped Lily would come to him, marry him, after her mother passed away.

But that fantasy felt fucking selfish. He'd lived through that particular loss and wouldn't wish it on anyone. And yeah, there was also a part of him that pictured leaving the rangers at the top of his game. Maybe take a promotion and transfer to the West Coast. If they both lived on the same side of the country, and he didn't spend so much time deployed, then they could make it work. He could provide for her, take care of her.

But coming home to Lily like this?

No, she was part of his reason for leaving Forever and trying to become more . . . better . . . a hero. He'd wanted to come back to her with something to show for his time away following his dream to be the best damn soldier he could be.

And dammit, he'd thought she'd be safe here until then. He'd thought—­

A scream pierced through the still night, louder and more forceful than the one he'd heard early that morning. The sound seemingly echoed around the cul-­de-­sac. But he knew its origin.

He pushed open the car door and headed for the brightly lit house. He didn't have a key, but he wasn't going through the front door. The cries had originated from the bedroom window facing the street—­Lily's window.

Bushes lined the side of the single-­story home. He stepped onto them, crushing the branches. Yeah, she'd have to replant the flowers, but he needed to reach her. He raised his fist and pounded on the window beside her bed. Inside, he could see her thrashing about on her bed. She wasn't wearing her penguin pajamas tonight. But she'd managed to twist the sheets around her limbs.

“Wake up, Lily!”

He hit the glass with the side of his fist. Pain shot through his hand. But he could write a freaking book about ignoring the sharp pangs at this point.

“Come on,” he growled. If she didn't wake up soon, if she kept screaming, he would need to run around the side of the house and slip in through the sliding glass door. But before he tried to break into her home—­and possibly throw a rock through the window if he couldn't get through the door—­he needed to keep trying to wake her up. He'd shatter her slim sense of security if he showed her just how easy it was to get into her home.

“Lily!” he screamed. “Lily! Honey, open the damn window!”

A wild-­haired blonde appeared in the glass. Her blue eyes were wide and so damn haunted his heart cracked.

No, Lily. Don't look at me like that.

Then the pesky organ hardened again. She needed help. Right now, it didn't matter if the threat was out there somewhere, waiting for the perfect time to strike. She needed him
now.

“Lily, you're OK,” he called through the single-­paned glass. Thank you, God, that she hadn't replaced the windows. “Let me in. Please, honey.”

“No . . . I . . .”

The word drifted through the window, pieces of sentences she'd mumbled to him or someone else.

“It's Dominic,” he said. “Please let me in.”

She nodded at the sound of his name as if it had snapped her out of the nightmare that held such a tight grip on her.

What had this bastard done to her?

Hell, he'd never wanted to kill. He'd done it, sure. It was part of his job. He'd placed bullets in the hearts of men who disagreed with everything he believed. And yes, on one occasion a woman who'd joined their cause. He'd acted out of duty.

Tonight he wanted to hunt down and hurt the person who'd done this to his Lily. He didn't give a damn that he shouldn't have a claim to her. On some level, she would always be
his
—­his first love, his dream . . .

“Lily!”

The window cracked open and he breathed a sigh of relief. A second later, she'd hauled it up and pushed the screen down on his head. He tossed it aside. He'd pull it free from her remaining flower bushes in the morning.

“What are you doing out there?” she asked.

“Waiting for you to open the damn door,” he said. “Go around to the front and let me in.”

“You'll be there?” she asked. Her brow furrowed and he could read the doubt layered into her expression.

He'd take a swift kick to the gut over that look in her blue eyes. If she couldn't believe he'd be there after she surfaced from nightmare hell . . . shit, he had stayed away too long. He'd pushed too hard against a future with her. And yeah, he'd made the wrong choices. He should have tried harder to stay in Oregon. He should have said to hell with his military career.

But “should haves” wouldn't rescue the girl rooted to her childhood bedroom. The fear held her captive. He was here now and he needed to save her.

“Yeah, honey, I'll be there. I'd climb through the window, but I'm not sure I'll fit.” He hadn't played football in years, but he still had the build of a linebacker.

She nodded and backed away from the window. When she reached the door to her room, she broke into a run.

He climbed out of the destroyed bushes, ran across her front yard, and reached the front entrance as she flipped the deadbolt. He heard the familiar click and then the door opened.

I'm not waiting for an invitation.

Two steps and he stood inside gathering her into his arms. “I've got you, Lily.”

He kicked the door closed behind him. And he kept his good hand pressed against her lower back. The muscles in his arm contacted, unwilling to give an inch. His free hand ran down her long hair, smoothing it away from her cheek as she turned her head and rested the other side against his chest. Her hands moved around his waist. And her palms remained flat as she ran them up his back. She reached his shoulder blades and paused, her nails digging into him.

“Nightmare?” he murmured.

She nodded. And hell, the movement sent shockwaves through his body. He wanted to feel her against his bare skin, her lips on his chest. Her mouth pressed to his . . .

But he couldn't. Not now.

“It's the same one every night,” she whispered.

“Ah hell.”

He scooped her up, slipping his right arm under her legs, and carried her to the couch. He sat and cradled her on his lap, her bare legs draped over his thighs. She drew them up as if trying to curl into a tight ball on top of him. The long-­sleeve shirt she'd worn to tend bar earlier rode up, revealing a hint of black lace panties. He lifted his gaze to her face. She could be bare-­ass naked and he wouldn't touch her.

S
he doesn't need deep kisses and roaming hands tonight.

Her head leaned back against his arm and her face turned up to his. “I need you to catch him,” she murmured. “As long as I know he's out there, I can't sleep. I close my eyes and he's right there with me, cutting me and telling me it's all my fault.”

“It's not,” he said firmly. “Honey, you're the victim. You did nothing wrong.”

He raised his right hand, the one he'd been floating in what felt like midair since they'd settled onto the couch. He knew better than to rest it on her legs. She was all bare skin and curves. But he hadn't known where to place it.

Until now. He cupped her cheek and ran his thumb up to the edge of her lips.

She captured his hand and drew it away.

“Lily, I wasn't trying to—­”

“You're a victim too,” she cut in. “Of war. You're scarred too.”

“Yeah.”

She interlaced her fingers with his. “How do you sleep at night? How do you escape the nightmares?”

“I don't sleep much anymore,” he admitted. “But I don't have nightmares.”

He couldn't get comfortable. With his injuries, with the new life those bullets had set in motion . . .

“I just can't,” he added.

She nodded, still holding tight to his hand. “What if we took turns? I'll watch over you. And you can watch over me.”

Dammit, he didn't need a babysitter while he slept. He wasn't worried about the bogeyman lurking behind closed doors. And if someone busted in? He could take them out with his bare hands. He didn't need a gun or a change in status to “currently enlisted.” He had years of training to put to the test if necessary.

But Lily didn't take without offering something in return. Plus, she'd spent so long caring for others—­her mother, her father, her students—­the offer was probably second nature.

“Sounds like a plan,” he said.

“Good.” She shifted off his lap and onto the couch beside him. Her long legs reached for the opposite arm as she pulled the throw blanket draped over the back of the sofa down onto her. The grey covering stole away his view, but then she rested her head against his thigh and he was grateful for the blanket.

He would have survived the next few hours staring at her lace panties and all of the tempting skin her underwear and T-­shirt failed to cover. But there was a part of him that wanted to keep her awake, that wanted to take their little game of “I'll show you mine if you show me yours” from the other night to the next, very naked level. That part of him was pretty damn close to her face right now, and hard to miss.

She lifted her right hand and captured his. She intertwined their fingers. Then she drew their joined hands down to rest in front of her body.

“So you don't slip away while I'm sleeping,” she said.

“I'll be right here as long as you need me. I promise.”

“I know.” Her eyelids drifted shut as if the exhaustion was finally taking hold, thrusting aside her near-­constant worry. “You never once left without saying goodbye. It's not your style.”

But I always left.

He stared down at the messy pile of blond hair strewn over his legs. He studied the fading red reminder of the attack on her cheek. He was hard-­pressed now to see why he'd left.

The army. Your duty. Your drive to serve. . .

Yes, that was a part of him even now that he'd been sidelined. But why had he pushed Lily away? After her mother died, he should have come home, gotten down on one knee, and taken her back to Georgia. They could have bought a house near the base.

But I never would have been there.

She would have been alone while he deployed, removed from the hometown that loved her and could comfort her while she grieved. But dammit, he should have given her the choice instead of pushing her away.

He looked up and stared out into the dark night beyond the sliding door. On some level, he knew there was more to his messed-­up logic. He'd wanted to be more—­a man at the top of his game—­before he claimed her.

And I fucking failed.

There would never be anyone else for him. He'd always known that even if he'd tried to bury that truth from himself.

Her hand gave his damaged palm a squeeze and he glanced down at her. Her eyes were still closed. And she finally looked relaxed. Peaceful. And yeah, he'd given that to her. For tonight.

But how the hell did he become the man she needed in her life beyond the sunrise?