He hated to waste his breath.
“I was hoping we could talk,” she told him. She rounded her eyes and did a little head tilt thing, indicating the house behind her. “Your gramma asked me to.”
He followed her gesture in time to see his grandmother’s head disappear and the screen door shut. Nice. Gramma Irene was trying to save him with sugar—and he didn’t mean the cookies.
“I thought you were the community outreach liaison here on the behest of the mayor.”
“That, too.”
Right.
“Not interested,” he said again.
She huffed. Actually bunched one fist on her slender hip and gave a big huff. He wanted to grin but he figured it’d just give her crazy ideas.
He tilted his head toward the walkway instead, indicating she should go.
“C’mon, just five minutes. We’ll ease your grandmother’s worries and I’ll be able to tell my boss I did my job.” When his expression didn’t change, she pouted.
He eyed the stubborn tilt of her chin. Another thing that apparently hadn’t changed. It was as if the last ten years hadn’t even happened.
It all crashed down on him.
Thanks to a bad leg, he was trapped in Bedford. Because of the mission that’d jacked his leg, his life sucked and he had no freaking hope for the future.
And here was Genna, the town princess. Shining bright and cheery. The sexiest thing he’d ever seen.
He gritted his teeth against the pain of it all.
She’d gotten him in trouble once before.
For his first year in the navy, he’d cursed her walking into that garage. But even as he cursed, he hadn’t been able to regret it. Hell, he was already paying the price. What was the point of not enjoying the memory?
By his second year, he realized she’d inadvertently saved him. A girl like Genna was out of reach for a guy like him. An impossible dream that he wasn’t stupid enough to think he’d had a chance at keeping. But because he’d touched that dream, he’d found a shot at a great life. At a life he was great at.
And now? Now it was all gone.
Despair poured over him like tar, black, sticky and impossible to ignore. Damn Genna for making him open the door, both to the guesthouse and to the past.
Done with the conversation, and all the emotions it stirred up, he turned away. Two excruciating steps, even though he tried not to put too much weight on his leg, and he let the door swing shut behind him.
With Genna on the other side where she belonged.
He closed his eyes, leaning his head back, and sighed when he heard the door snick back open.
He should have known.
“Brody, please, listen to me.”
“I told you to go,” he said, not turning around.
“Not until we talk.”
God, was there no end to the woman’s stubborn streak? She still hadn’t learned when to give it up. And why should she? She wasn’t the one who’d paid for playing with fire.
He was.
Not because he’d been shanghaied into the navy. But because once there, he’d found himself. He’d found his path, his life. He’d made a difference, for himself, for his country. And now it was gone. Freaking blown to hell like his leg, and as dead as his friend.
And here she was, doing it again. Those big blue eyes gleaming with an invitation that spelled trouble. The delicious, mind-numbing, body-draining kind of trouble that made a man stupid.
Tempting him, stirring up longings and hopes that had no chance in hell of surviving.
Playing with a sweet thing like Genna could only end up with the same results as last time.
A glimpse of heaven, a little bit of delight and yeah, sure, probably a little happiness. But it wouldn’t last. Nothing did.
And when it was done?
He’d be right back where he started, alone and empty.
With yet another memory of what he couldn’t have.
Hadn’t he paid enough already?
He had nothing left.
6
“CAN’T YOU TAKE A HINT?” he asked gruffly, turning around in time to see her set the cookies on a small table by the door. “Even when the hint is spelled out in short, simple words.”
“I’ll go in a minute. Right after I pass on the messages I’m supposed to.” She put on that obstinate look he remembered so well, chin high and arms crossed over her chest. Fine. She wanted to see stubborn, he’d show her a thing or two.
He didn’t say a word. Instead he crossed the room—what should be a quick task given that it was the size of his footlocker but was instead a study in pain. Genna’s eyes got wider with every step closer he took.
Unfortunately, his body got harder with each step, too.
By the time he was standing next to her, his head was filled with her scent. Sweet spice, it wrapped around him like a warm hug that quickly turned hot.
He was trained to control his body. To ignore pain, to push through discomfort. He’d endured Hell Week. He’d trekked eight miles through a jungle in Bolivia once with a broken ankle. He’d won five hundred bucks once betting that he could sit through three hours of Farrelly brothers without cracking a smile.
But the scent of Genna’s hair made him quiver. Sent his head into a tailspin and his body into overdrive.
He told himself to resist. Warned his body not to engage.
His body ignored the warning. It was as if she was jamming his radar and manipulating the signals.
He didn’t like it.
“What do you really want, Genna?” he asked, furious at the frustration coursing through his system. Frustration that was all her fault, dammit. He’d been fine holed up here, ignoring the world and reliving every miserable detail of the end of his last mission. The explosion. The helplessness.
The memories gripped him with inky black fingers, trying to pull him down. But Genna’s big eyes, sexy mouth and intoxicating scent held his attention, forcing him to stay in the here and now.
“I told you, the mayor asked me to stop by.” She bit her lip, studying his face as if she were gauging just how much to share of the rest of the mayor’s wants. “He wanted to extend his appreciation for your service.”
Smart
