Head Start (Cedar Tree #7) (18 page)

“Pure beauty.” His lips whisper against my skin as his body collapses on me.

N
eil

Long after Kendra’s warm, soft and sated body stills with sleep, I simply hold her. My eyes are fixed on the ceiling, determined not to close despite the deep level of relaxation my body has reached. There’s a reason I prefer sleeping alone. But tonight, still savoring the feel and the scent of her body, I don’t want to leave her side. Instead, I hold her and think about the case.

Gus asked me to pull together what we have so far and join him for a full task force meeting with both the FBI and local law enforcement in Durango tomorrow morning. I’m pretty organized, but could stand to have a quick look over the file.

A little sigh from her lips brushes against my skin. Fuck, how she twists me up. You’d think after at least a year’s worth of anticipation, the actual sex might pale in comparison. Not likely. It was as close to perfect as one might ever expect to come. More would’ve made it perfect; I could’ve easily spent the entire night losing myself in her, but she drifted to sleep so peacefully, I didn’t have the heart to wake her.  I still don’t. I’ve worked too hard to prove to her I’m not a wild stud, looking just to sow his oats. I’m not about to wake her so I can have another go at her now.

With that thought, I carefully untangle myself from her limbs. She’s like an octopus, twisted around my body. When I lift her arm away from my chest, where she was resting it, she twitches and murmurs in her sleep. I tuck my pillow to her front, and she immediately wraps herself around it, making me smile. One last look over my shoulder at the bed, making sure she’s still sleeping, before I leave the room.

I spend some time working on the file, but at some point my eyes get so heavy, I can barely see the computer screen. Shutting everything down, I head upstairs. The twin bed in the spare room is cold and unwelcoming, but still so much better than some of the conditions I’ve slept under. It’s not a wonder that shortly after my head hits the pillow, I finally allow the draw of sleep to take me.

-

W
hen I wake up to the dim light of morning, on the floor, with my knees curled up to my chest, I’m glad I’m alone.
Son-of-a-bitch
. That was a doozy. Not my worst, I’d woken up to the remnants of a motel room that time, with Gus holding me down to prevent me from doing more damage to the room and to myself. His face was bloodied, and I’d needed stitches after that one. My body had seen its fair share of those. That’s why I hardly ever go back to a clinic to get them removed. It would just be a waste of time. It’s just as easy to do it myself.

Still lying on my side, I quickly check my hands and face for any bleeding. I’m clean. Relieved I roll on my back, and my eyes wander to the door, where a sleep-tousled Kendra is quietly leaning against the doorframe. Her arms are crossed under her breasts, which are regrettably covered with the shirt I was wearing yesterday. She must’ve put it on just now. Her head is slightly tilted to the side, but her soft gray eyes are warm on me.

“Hey,” I croak out, my throat dry from sleep.

“Comfy?”

“Hmmm. Not really.” I push myself up off the floor at the same time as Kendra walks in the room. When I sit down on the side of the bed and rub the sleep from my face, she sits down beside me.

“How often do you get them?” she asks, putting a cool hand in the middle of my sweaty back. I lift my head from my hands and turn my head to the side so I can see her. There’s only warm concern in her eyes. No judgement, no pity. No fear.

My normal reaction would be to deny, to evade. Other than Gus, no one knows about my crazy nightmares. Or should I say, the nightmares that
make
me crazy. But this is Kendra, and she’s just seen the aftermath of one. Not as bad as it can get, but still. Before I can make the conscious decision, my mouth is already answering her. Honestly.

“As many as three times a week, but usually maybe once a month. It depends.” My voice sounds hoarse. “It can get bad.” At that, those expressive eyebrows of hers lift back up.

“You mean to say this wasn’t bad? You were yelling so hard, I thought I heard the windows rattle in their frames.”

“I was? Christ, I’m sorry.” That explains my rough throat. My eyes do another scan of the room to make sure other than the bedding, nothing is out of place.

“That the reason you snuck out of bed in the middle of the night?” she asks calmly, and I just nod my response. “You’re afraid you’ll hurt me.” It’s not so much a question as it is a conclusion. One she has come to by herself without having me explain. Or at least try. “Do you know what triggers them? Is it anything I did?” The hint of uncertainty in her voice kills me. This has nothing to do with her.

I twist my torso, grab her by the waist and pull her on my lap. “Not at all.” Her eyes slide away to the side, but I take hold of her chin and lift her face back to mine. “You did nothing,” I tell her more firmly. “Sometimes...stress or excitement or any other kind of strong emotion can be a trigger.” This time it’s me turning away, but Kendra’s hand on my cheek draws my eyes back.

“Okay,” she simply says, kissing my lips softly as she gets up and walks to the door.

“Wait. That’s it?” I’m confused. Or maybe shocked is a better word. I thought she’d have a million and one questions, would want to push the issue, but instead she just says
okay
.

“Look,” she says turning back, one hand leaning on the doorpost. “I’m a smart girl. You’re ex-military, you’ve been stationed overseas. You’ve seen and done things. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is no longer a dirty word, Neil. Not something to hang your head in shame over. Certainly not with me. And you don’t need me to prod and pry, I’m sure you’ve had enough of that. So yeah, that’s it—okay. Sure, I hope to be able to wake up, still in your arms, at some point. Especially after what you gave me last night. The way you reminded me it’s about the whole and not the parts, the way you didn’t pry and just simply accepted my scars. When you’re ready, I’d like to show you I feel the same.”

I’m struck silent. I don’t quite know how to respond to that.

“Go have a shower. I’m gonna put some breakfast on.” With a wink she’s gone.

A bit numb, I sit for a few minutes trying to process her words, until I hear sounds of pots and pans from the kitchen. Then I get up and head for the shower, feeling lighter than I did yesterday.

K
endra

It wasn’t hard to figure out.

When he left the bed in the middle of the night, I thought about going after him, but I fell back asleep before I had my mind made up. The cries from the spare bedroom this morning had me shooting up straight in my bed. It sounded like an animal in pain. I wasn’t sure what I was going to find when I pushed the door open but the sight of that big, healthy man curled up in a ball on the floor was enough to stop me in my tracks. I wasn’t sure how happy he would be if I saw him in this state. I almost backed out of the room when I noticed him waking, but something kept me rooted in the spot. Those normally penetrating eyes looked dull with pain when they found me, and it almost felt like I was invading.

If he hadn’t said anything, I would’ve left at that moment, but he did. And opened the door for a few simple questions that quickly confirmed my suspicions. The fact he opened up even a little felt like a major vow of trust. And just like he rewarded my trust in him last night, I want to honor his trust in me. That’s why I didn’t push for more. If he wants to tell me, he can.

The gurgling of the coffee machine announces my first hit of caffeine is near. I need it. A lot has happened since last night, and I’ve barely had a chance to process.

I toss some bacon in a pan before pouring coffee in my favorite mug. I’m thinking cheesy scrambled eggs or banana-stuffed French toast. It takes me two sips of coffee to decide I’m craving sweet. French toast it is. I grab two bananas from the wire basket on the counter and the Italian loaf I picked up yesterday. I cut the bread in extra thick slices and with a paring knife, make a slit in the crust on the bottom, creating a little pocket for the sliced banana. Two eggs go in a bowl with a little almond milk and a bit of cinnamon. And then a quick stir with a fork to loosen the yolks. A piece of butter goes in the big second pan to melt and the bacon is flipped. When the butter is hot enough, I dip the four stuffed slices one by one in the egg mixture and arrange them in the pan.

I’m leaning against the counter, sipping my coffee and inhaling the mouth-watering scents of bacon and cinnamon when Neil walks in, shirtless. I freeze with my mug halfway to my mouth at the sight of his chest.
Holy schnikes
!

I’d been so overwhelmed with sensation last night, I never took the time to check out his body. Not that I hadn’t done that already, but he was always dressed. Mostly it consisted of sneaking peeks and inconspicuously wiping the drool off my chin. Neil with clothes on is a sight to behold. Neil shirtless is awe-inspiring. I don’t even want to think what Neil naked would be. Heart-stopping?

A deep chuckle draws my eyes to his face, which is sporting a cocky grin. “Babe,” he points out. “Your mouth is open.”

With a snap I close it, biting my tongue in the process, which in turn causes me to slosh hot coffee over my hand.
“Fuck!”

“Shit!” Neil is immediately there, taking the mug from my hand and dragging me to the sink. With his body behind me, he turns on the tap an holds my hand under the cold water.

“You said
fuck,”
his low voice sounds right by my ear.

“Well, it hurts!” I bite off. Then add with a heavy dose of sarcasm, “Forgive me if that offends you.”

“Not offended in the least. In fact, it’s kinda hot.”

With his head leaning over my shoulder and his front butted up against my back, it’s hard to ignore his physical response, which is pretty prominent. 

“I have to flip my French toast,” I announce in a feeble attempt to break the heated atmosphere that hangs thick in the kitchen. With another of his chuckles, he lets me go.

“And you might wanna put on a shirt,” I suggest as I quickly dry my hand, which is numb from the cold water, and tend to breakfast with my back to him.

“You’re wearing it,” he points out before I hear his footsteps retreat. Moments later, the front door closes and I finally turn around, wondering if he’s taken off. But just as I’m sliding breakfast on a couple of plates, the door opens back up and Neil comes back in, wearing a shirt and carrying a bag.

“Better?” he asks with a smirk.

“Much,” I fire back, putting breakfast on the dining table while he’s going through cupboards in the kitchen. I’m just pouring the real Canadian maple syrup I found at Safeway on my toast when he walks in carrying two mugs of steaming coffee. The kitchen clock catches my eye, and I see it’s only six thirty. Early yet.

“Dayum,” Neil mumbles with his mouthful. “This is great.”

I look over to his plate and it’s already half empty. In the time it takes me to eat one of mine, he’s done. I’m already pretty full so I slide my second one on his plate. “I’m full,” I explain when he looks like he might object.

I watch him eat while I sip my coffee. Nice. Weird. Oddly comfortable. Neil looks like he’s totally at ease. No remnants of his rough night visible. My mind drifts to what happened before that and I feel my body’s thermostat rise instantly. The memory of that same mouth currently folding itself around the forkful of dripping French toast being between my legs last night. The way he licks the sweet maple syrup off his lips too much like the way he looked hanging over me, mouth shining with my arousal, demanding I taste myself on him... My gaze trails up his face to find his eyes staring at me from under his eyebrows, burning with hot hunger.
Oh my
.

“I’m ehh... I’ll just take these...” I mutter, quickly collecting the dirty dishes and taking them to the kitchen. There, I stack them in the sink and start running the warm water to wash them. Anything to get my hormones under control.

“What were you thinking just now?”

I don’t need to turn around to know that Neil is right behind me. When I look up, I can see his reflection behind me in the kitchen window. I don’t answer. He obviously has a good idea what was on my mind because he takes a step closer, puts his hands on my hips and slowly slides the shirt up before wrapping his arms around my front. In the window, I can see one hand sliding up underneath my top, cupping my breast, while the other sneaks under the elastic of my panties.