Hard as It Gets (9 page)

Without waiting for his reaction, she stepped into the hall and closed the door behind her.

Chapter 8

“W
ay to fucking go, Rixey.” He blew out a long breath, eyes still glued to the door through which Becca had just departed. “No matter which way you have to march, it’s always uphill. Shit.” He stalked across the room and slammed his gloves down on a shelf.

He thought about going after her but quickly dismissed the idea, because he wasn’t sure he could resist finishing what they’d started.

Watching her punch that bag, her eyes blue diamonds of concentration, her curves moving and flexing under that thin T-shirt, small grunts of exertion spilling from her open lips. It had been about as much as he’d been able to bear. Then, when he’d realized she’d been crying, that she’d literally been beating the emotions out of herself, a surge of protective possessiveness had run through him so swift and potent all he’d known was the need to get her in his arms.

And then she’d kissed him. Licked him. Sucked on his skin.

All those urges he’d had while she’d boxed had grown darker, needier, irresistible. Between his injuries and the ginormous mindfuck he’d been grappling with since his discharge, it had been more than a year since his body had last known the tight pleasure of a woman. And she’d stirred up a freight train of lust he hadn’t been able to hold back.

Jesus, her taste, her heat, the feel of her lush curves in his hands. Sweet fucking perfection.

When her hand had fallen on his cock, the touch had jolted a measure of awareness into his brain. He hadn’t been kidding about what he wanted to do to her. Even now, the mental image of her hanging onto the heavy bag while he took her kept him hard and aching.

But there were too many reasons to shut that shit down before things went balls to the wall, not the least of which was the fact that her father had torn apart his life, killed six of his closest friends, and turned him into a man he barely recognized anymore. A jagged hole of guilt and loss opened up in the center of his chest. Why hadn’t he seen Merritt’s lies sooner? Seen them for what they were? He shook his head and rubbed against the squeezing ache under his sternum. Given who she was, he should stay away from anything physical. Besides, with all the ways he’d failed—himself and his men—he didn’t deserve the comfort of her warmth and light anyway.

Not to mention the fact that after what had been done to the team, he hated lies. And the NDA meant he couldn’t tell Becca the truth. Another good reason to keep his dick in line. He scrubbed his hands roughly over his face.

With a last look around the gym he’d slowly but surely assembled since his return to the real world, Rixey killed the lights, crossed to his place, and made his way to the back of the quiet, still loft to his office. No sense going through the façade of lying down to sleep. The land of nod wasn’t on his current radar, not with how cranked his body was.

He fell heavily into his desk chair and pulled his drawing into his lap. Following from Jeremy’s rough sketch, the half fireman, half soldier tattoo was nearly done, though that didn’t mean he understood why he kept letting his brother talk him into doing this. Part of it was that art had always been the one thing he and Jer had in common. Well, that and video games. That was about where it ended. Only a year separated them, but Rixey had been sports, and his brother had been books. Rixey had been parties and drinking and hell-raising of the usual teenage variety, and Jeremy had been quiet around everyone but his small circle of Goth and punk friends.

But there was more to it, and Rixey knew it. He continued to do these tats and apprentice toward a license he didn’t really want and had no intention of using in the long term because he was fucking floating through life. No purpose. No plan. No mission.

For a dozen years,
all
he’d worried about was completing the mission and getting everyone home safe. In Afghanistan, his team had done counterinsurgency work, counternarcotics work, which had often been the same thing, and local police force training. It had been challenging, dangerous, and sometimes frustratingly thankless work, but it had given him the sense of purpose in life he’d been lacking as a younger man.

Now? Wish in one hand, shit in the other. See which one fills up the fastest. He chucked the pad to the desk.

The Army had given him more than just a purpose. It had made him part of something much bigger than himself, placed him in the middle of a brotherhood who understood him implicitly. Nearly a year later, he still mourned the loss of the six good men gunned down in the ambush. Eric Zane, Carlos Escobal, Jake Harlow, Walker Axton, Marcus Rimes, Colin Kemmerer. Their memory was a weight on his shoulders he was privileged to carry. But in not doing more with his life, he wasn’t doing enough to honor their memory. His survival should’ve
meant
something, shouldn’t it?

You
do
have a mission, shithead. Keep Becca safe. Find her brother. Get whoever is harassing them to back the fuck off. Maybe
that’s
why you’re still here.

Fair enough. It was a worthy mission. And if it filled the void for a few days, all the better.

A kind of peace settled over his shoulders—well, as close as he freaking got to anything in the same zip code as peace. And it was enough. Really, it had to be, didn’t it? With a last glance at his soldier-fireman, Rixey pushed up from the chair and made for his bed.

What was on the other side of his soldier identity? Someday soon, he’d have to figure out the fubar of his career and find his own next mission. Wasn’t anybody going to drop that shit in his lap. But, damn, oh stupid thirty in the mothereffing morning was too early to put his brain cells to work on that particular conundrum.

Not even bothering to shed his jeans, Rixey sprawled facedown on the bed, wincing as his jacked-up back reminded him it no longer appreciated that position. He flopped to his side, tugged the sheet up over his hips, and punched the pillow.

Jesus, he was tired.

Knock, knock, knock
.

He whipped his head up, alertness crashing through the haze of sleep. Light shone into the room. No way was it morning already. No. Fucking. Way. Felt like he’d fallen asleep about thirty-six seconds ago.

“Building better be on fire,” he groused.

Jeremy leaned into the room, looking a helluva lot more awake and together than Rixey felt. “Becca needs to be to work in forty-five minutes. Her car’s not here?”

Shit. No, it wasn’t. He’d wanted to clear it for any kind of tracking devices before she drove it again. “Okay. Gimme ten.”

“I wouldn’t mind taking her.”

“No,” he said. “I got it.” The door clicked shut behind Jeremy. Rixey pushed out of bed, his back raising hell and his cock hard as steel, and his brain went right to the events of the previous night. Kissing, touching, groping.
Sonofabitch
. Hopefully, they’d make some major headway on figuring out Becca and Charlie’s situations today. The sooner she was back at her own place and out of his life, the better for both of them.

In the meantime, he’d keep his hands and his dick to himself. It shouldn’t be that fucking hard.

“
S
ORRY
I
DIDN’T
think to ask about your schedule last night,” Nick said in a gravelly voice as he entered the kitchen and went right to the coffeepot. He poured a cup and turned to her, his butt leaning against the counter.

Becca swallowed a bite of cereal. Oh, man, he was as beautiful in the light of day as he was in the shadows of night. He’d clearly showered, and the dampness made his hair darker. His gray T-shirt clung to his skin, wet spots showing through here and there like he hadn’t dried all the way. The gun holster emphasized the bulk of his shoulders.

She cleared her throat, hoping things weren’t going to be awkward between them. They were adults, after all; they should be able to handle a kiss. Okay, a make-out. A really hot make-out. “It’s fine. We have a little time. And Jeremy was keeping me entertained with a description of his T-shirt collection.”

Jeremy grinned and nodded around a big dripping bite of Cocoa Puffs. The shirt he had on today was black with the words
Orgasm Donor
centered around a red cross. The guy was a flirt and a total smart-ass, and she kinda adored both about him.

Rixey shook his head. “I don’t think there’s a dirty shirt he doesn’t own.”

His brother sat his bowl in the sink with a
clunk
. “It’s my mission to make sure that’s true.”

Becca smiled. “Do you have any of the Big Johnson shirts from down at the shore?”

“Do I have . . . I’m wearing one tomorrow just for you.”

“Oh, God,” she said. “That was a dumb question, wasn’t it?” She slipped off the stool with her empty bowl.

“Told ya.” Rixey held out his hand. “Here, I’ll take it.”

“Thanks,” she said, meeting the light green of his eyes, like the sea glass she sometimes found at the beach. He held her gaze for a moment, silently asking if they were okay. She smiled, relief flooding through her. “I’ll be ready in five.” She dashed to the bathroom and brushed her teeth, then grabbed her purse and rejoined them in the kitchen.

Jeremy winked. “
Adiós, muchacha
.”

She winked back. “
Hasta luego.
”

“Oh, well played.”

She chuckled and followed Nick to the door.

“Later,” he called to Jeremy, guiding Becca out. “Remember the apartment code?” She nodded. “In case you need it, the exterior code is six-eight-zero-one-three.”

She repeated the number out loud, twice. “Got it.”

Outside, the morning air was cool and damp. Puddles settled here and there in the gravel, as if it had stopped raining not long before. They walked to his car in silence, and he followed her around to the passenger side, where he opened the door.

How he could be such a hard-ass and have such good manners, she didn’t know. Probably a military thing. Definitely a sexy thing.

A moment later, Rixey settled into the driver’s seat. “Where to?” he asked as he brought the engine to life on a low growl.

“University Medical Center. Greene and Lombard. I wish I didn’t even have to work today, but I’m covering for someone who couldn’t find anyone else. If I bail, they’ll be shorthanded. And Fridays are always crazy. But I’m going to arrange to take a leave until we find Charlie.”

“Well, I need to put some plans into place anyway. So you won’t miss anything.”

She nodded, and they made their way through the early morning traffic in silence.

“While you’re at work today,” he finally said, “if you’d be comfortable giving me your keys, I’d like to check your house and car out more thoroughly. If you’ll call a locksmith and let me know what time they’re coming, I’ll meet the guy and get your locks changed.”

“Are you still going to visit the private investigator?”

He nodded. “Yeah. He has the bug detection equipment I need, actually. And he’ll know the best way to organize the search.”

She frowned, hating that she had to do this last shift. “I wish I could go with you.”

“We can see him again when you’re free. Whatever makes you comfortable.”

Warm pressure filled her chest. “Thank you. I just want to know what’s going on.” She glanced out the window, worry for Charlie gripping her like quicksand.

“I don’t blame you one bit, Becca.”

The empathy in his voice drew her gaze. His expression was full of compassion. Man, she was lucky to have him helping her, though she felt bad derailing his whole day. “Are you really sure you want to do all this? I don’t want to wreck your schedule.”

His eyes flashed toward her. “I wanna help. Let me. And, anyway, I can set my own work hours, so it’s no problem.”

“Oh. Tattooing?” Amazing to think he had an artistic side. She’d love to see him draw something sometime. Maybe after they found Charlie and all this was over. She refused to believe it would end any other way.

He frowned. “What?”

“You work tattooing?”

Nick gave a rueful laugh. “No. I meant it when I said I’m not really a tattoo artist. Most of the time I’m a process server.”

“Oh.”
That
job, she totally got for him. “Is it dangerous?” she asked.

“Not most of the time.”

She heard what he hadn’t said. “Hmm. But sometimes it is.” The thought that he put himself in harm’s way even now that he was back in the States made her stomach drop. And now he was putting himself in even more danger for her. “I want you to know I appreciate what you’re doing, Nick. No matter what.” She couldn’t finish the sentence. She wouldn’t.

“Hey.” His warm hand curled around hers. She squeezed back, so grateful for the show of support. “Try not to worry. I’m going to do everything I can.”

When her eyes pricked, she pretended to get real interested in the passing scenery again. “Okay.”

A moment later, she gave him another squeeze and eased her fingers out from under his, then retrieved her smartphone and opened the internet browser. Soon after, she was explaining to a locksmith what had happened at her house. Angling the phone away from her mouth, she whispered, “Two thirty okay?” He nodded, and she made the appointment. “All set,” she said when she hung up. It took a big worry off her mind to know he was doing this for her. “When this is done, do you think it’ll be safe for me to stay there again?”