Page 29 of Rogue Survivor
Isabel’s eyes soften, and the intensity of thisthingbetween us grows until we both look away. “I didn’t mean to pry…” she says softly.
Way to make her feel like shit. You weren’t raised in a barn. Fix this.
I reach across the counter and link our fingers, giving hers a gentle squeeze. “You weren’t pryin’. I’m not used to talking about myself, and that’s on me. Let me make you something to eat. I have eggs, breakfast burritos, yogurt, and cereal. What’ll it be?”
“I can’t,” she says. Pressing her free hand to her stomach, she shakes her head. “IknowI should. But…”
“But nothin’. Other than the food I brought last night and—what?—two bites of that awful egg sandwich, have you eatenanythingin the past two days?” I already know the answer. We had coffee Monday morning, and her cheeks weren’t this hollow then. Even the new clothes hang off of her. Maybe I gave AJ the wrong sizes, but my gut says I didn’t.
She stares down at her feet, and her whispered response is so faint, I have to strain to hear it. “No. The nurses offered, but…”
“If nothin’ I have sounds good, we’ll stop anywhere you want on the way to your house.” Hiding my limp is getting harder and harder, but I shuffle around the counter until we’re close enough the heat of her seeps into my chest. “You tell me what you want—or what you think you can stomach—and I’ll get it for you. I don’t care what it is.”
“Why are you doing this?” she asks. The look in her eyes? She’s truly confused, and it kills me that someone putting her first makes her feel this way.
“Because I care about you, Isabel. I know we went from strangers to…somethin’ more in one-half less than no time, but we’ve both been on this earth too long to fuck around with relationships that ain’t worth spit. When this is all over, if you decide I’m not who you want, I’ll walk away. But somethin’ tells me you feelit—whatever this is between us—as strongly as I do. Or you will, once you can breathe again.”
Isabel drapes her arms around my neck, her head tipped back and her lips parted. For the first time since I got to the hospital last night, her gaze holds something other than fear. Need. Desire. More?
Slanting my mouth over hers, I savor the way she melts against me. Her curves, largely hidden by the baggy sweatshirt and yoga pants, make me want more. So much more.
Her little moan is a balm to my damaged soul. Lightly, I trace the seam of her lips with my tongue. The heat between us explodes into a five-alarm fire, and if I thought she was ready for it, I’d carry her into my bedroom and strip her naked right now.
Instead, I capture her lower lip between my teeth, tugging gently until we part, both breathless. “I’d apologize, but…”
“Don’t you dare.” Isabel grabs my forearms to steady herself, then takes a step back. “I can’t promise you anything, Connor. Not tomorrow, not next week…hell, not even tonight. Veronica has to be my priority.”
“I know, darlin’. I won’t make you choose. Ever. She’s your daughter, and I’d be a complete asshole if I didn’t give you the space you needed. But that doesn’t mean I’m gonna walk away. Not unless you tell me to.”
For several long moments, she doesn’t reply, and I swear my heart stops beating.
“No,” she says softly. “I can’t do this without you. Or…I don’t want to.”
Relief washes over me, sweeter than stolen honey, and I gesture to the kitchen. “Then what can I fix you for breakfast?”
Isabel
When Connor emerges from his bedroom, the scents of leather and spice—along with the sight of his tousled hair and freshly trimmed beard—draw me to him. I shouldn’t notice how good he smells or want to feel his beard scrape against my cheek again. Ishouldbe spending every minute thinking—worrying—about Veronica. But before she disappeared, I was excited about our date. About the possibility of more. And now that my life has turned upside down, Connor’s showing me what kind of man he really is.
The kind I could fall in love with.
I dry the cereal bowl and spoon, but I wasn’t paying enough attention when he got them out, and as I’m opening the third cabinet door, he comes up behind me and eases the bowl from my hand. “You didn’t have to clean up.”
“I need to do something. Otherwise my brain won’t stop playing the worst-case scenarios on a loop, and that’s exhausting.” Hugging myself tightly, I head for his living room window. The view isn’t much—a small slice of greenbelt next to a basketball court—but any distraction is a good one right now.
“Heard from Zephyr just a few minutes ago,” he says. “She wants to do a video call. You mind if I connect with her before we leave? AJ texted right before I got in the shower. He and Veronica are fine. She’s kicking his ass in some game on his tablet.Ticket to Ride?”
Knowing my daughter feels up to playing a game—and playing to win—eases some of the tension in my shoulders, and I nod. “It’s fine. Plus, I’m guessing Zephyr wouldn’t want to talk if it weren’t important.”
Connor shrugs. “I have no idea. Never worked with her before.”
“And that’s supposed to reassure me?” He cringes, and I regret saying anything. Hell, maybe I should ask him to take the call in his bedroom. What if I lose it and start grilling this Zephyr woman about her qualifications? That won’t help anyone.
His warmth as he sidles up behind me is reassuring, though not enough to stop my heart from beating like a bass drum. I lean against him, and the rumble of his voice sends goosebumps racing down my arms. “She works for the man who’s responsible for saving my life. Austin Pritchard used to run the Joint Special Operations Command—one of the highest-level military operations in the United States. He retired a little over a year ago. Does his own thing now.”
“His own thing?”
Connor wraps his arm around me from behind, his fingers splaying over my stomach in a gesture that’s so possessive, the “strong, independent woman” in me should hate it. Instead, it makes me feel safe. Like nothing in the world could ever hurt me.
