I feel lost. Alone. I’m sad for my husband, and I already miss him terribly. Not in a way that makes me regret asking for the divorce, but because he was a good man who was my friend and now someone has taken him from the world. From me. From everyone who loved him.
I sigh, realizing that in the morning I have to call his parents, and I hate that I can’t tell them the truth, because they would undoubtedly want the police involved.
The whole thing is so horrible, and I can’t stop thinking about death and darkness. I feel like I’m tumbling into a dark pit full of horrible thoughts and gnashing demons biting at my heels.
I hug myself wishing I was stronger, but I’m not. And I really don’t think I can do this alone.
With tears stinging my eyes, I sit up, then slip out of bed and walk the short distance to the guest room. I tap lightly, but when there’s no answer I enter anyway. A bit of light seeps in from the crack in the curtains, the illumination coming from the front porch light.
It’s not much, but enough that I can see that Red’s asleep. I hesitate, knowing I should probably turn around and go back to my room. But that means going back to being alone.
So instead, I move quietly to the bed and slide in beside him. Despite my stealth, I see his body tense the moment I disturb the covers. I’m not surprised. He’s always been a light sleeper. On top of that, even though we weren’t supposed to know about it, Red once told me and Mel that he’d been part of a Special Forces team. An elite, secret team. And I imagine that living with that kind of danger gives you an even sharper sense of your surroundings.
“It’s me,” I whisper. “I don’t want to be alone. I promise I won’t hog the covers.”
He rolls over, his eyes on mine, and I’m suddenly aware of how long his lashes are. Not to mention the fact that in turning, the sheet has shifted, settling down around his hips.
My mouth goes dry. I hope—do I really?—that he’s wearing boxers or something, but maybe I should have considered that before climbing into bed. As it is, his top half is entirely bare, and even in the dim light, I can see the wild and colorful tattoo that dominates his chest.
With effort, I drag my eyes up from it back to his face. “I can stay?”
“Whatever you need, Jo.” He reaches out and brushes his thumb lightly over the curve of my cheek. “Anything at all.”
I smile and whisper thanks. Then I close my eyes and sleep finally creeps up on me. I start to drift away, and as I do, my mind returns to the single kiss that we shared after he came back from that horrible mission that he refused to talk about. The last mission before he left the service. And though I don’t know for sure, I assume that’s the reason he left.
It was still months before Mel and I got romantically involved, and the three of us had been laughing and watching a stupid movie. I don’t even remember what. Mel left to go pick up more beer, and the vibe shifted to something edgier. Needier. I hadn’t expected it at all, but when it did, I knew that it was what I’d wanted. I don’t think he’d planned it either, but when I leaned toward him to reach the remote, he cupped my chin and turned my face toward him.
I’d been breathless almost to the point of begging. An eternity seemed to hang between us, our eyes locked on each other. Then he pulled me to him and kissed me like I’d never been kissed before. Or, honestly, like I’ve never been kissed since.
A long kiss, so deep and sweet and passionate that it seemed to steal my senses. I was floating in space, and I never wanted it to end.
Who am I kidding? Not end? Hell, I wanted more.
But all too soon he pushed me away, breathing hard. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was a mistake.”
“No,” I said. “I don’t think it was. I think it was incredible.”
I smiled, but his expression didn’t change, and I felt the tension grow in my chest.
“It won’t happen again.” He stood up, then walked to the door. He paused there, and all he said was, “Jo, I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to tell you how sorry I am.”
And then he left, leaving me on the couch, my lips still tingling, and my mind spinning with confusion.
We never spoke of it again and I wasn’t sure if I was hurt or angry or just confused. I ended up deciding on the latter, because I didn’t have any other choice. He was my best friend. He’d just gotten back from an assignment that I knew nothing about other than that it had been like going through hell.
I had no idea what was going on with him emotionally. And I knew that, more than anything else, he deserved the benefit of the doubt. I could let it go, even if, in my deepest most secret places, I held it close every night for the rest of my life.
Over the next months, the topic turned to the dream of starting a distillery, and we three were together almost constantly as those plans evolved. Every day, I hoped something else would spark between Red and me, and every night I was disappointed.
I’d sit a little too close, then accidentally brush his hand. I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t help it. If he noticed, he never commented. And he never kissed me again.
Soon enough, I let it drop, though I still kept the memory in my heart. Not long after that, Mel started to see me as more than a friend, and I leaned into that. I even went so far as to ask Red if he minded that Mel and I might start dating.
I told myself that I wasn’t asking because of the kiss. On the contrary, it was because we’d been a trifecta of friends, and if Mel and I hooked up, it might make it strange.
Except of course it was about the kiss. It was always about that kiss.
But all Red said was that we’d make a great couple and he wished us well.
That was the day my fantasy of having Red in my arms finally died.
Now, as I drift off to sleep, I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if, on that day long ago, instead of wishing us well, Red had pulled me close and kissed me.
Chapter Eight
Red bolted awake with a startled yowl, his heart thudding painfully in his chest as he leapt out of bed, desperate to escape the hell he’d awakened to: an erection, a woman in his bed, and the earthy smell of juniper and eucalyptus filling his senses.
No, no, goddammit, no!
“Red? Red, Christ, are you okay?”
The dark fog around him faded to reveal the reality that the woman in his bed wasn’t her. It was Jo, looking both concerned and terrified.
His cock tightened, and he was breathing hard, trying to rein it in. It would be so easy. Push her back against the mattress. Hold her wrists above her head with one hand as he fucked her hard, his other hand over her mouth to stifle her moans until he let her cry out.
He wanted that, damn him. Wanted to overpower. To take.
To take back.
He wanted to hear her call his name, to beg for more, to have her completely at his mercy.
He wanted it, dammit.
And there was no way in hell he was going down that rabbit hole with Jo.
“Red.”
A sharp swath of anger—at himself, at his demons—cut through him, and he bent over, his palms to his knees as he tried to breathe. To center himself. He was home. He’d escaped. The bitch was dead. A painful memory, but still just a memory.
“Red? You’re scaring me.”