“Just give me a damn second, okay?” He shouldn’t snap, especially not at Jo. It wasn’t her fault he was fucked up. Broken. A victim to his goddamn past.
He looked up to tell her as much, feeling like an ass when he saw the concern reflected in her eyes.
She was propped up on one arm, but now she sat upright, the sheet falling away as she did to reveal pert nipples under the thin tank top she wore. His cock grew harder, his vision swimming with violent need. She didn’t have a clue. Not a goddamn clue.
It would be so easy to take her. To use her. To push past this moment so he could center himself.
He took a step forward, then stopped cold, sickened by his own base needs.
“I’m sorry. Fuck it, I’m sorry.” The words came out as a growl, and he turned, barely registering Jo’s worried and confused expression as he stalked out of the room and into the guest bath.
He turned on the shower, then sat on the edge of the tub, stupidly wishing that things were different. That he was different.
He remembered that first day he’d met her when she’d tumbled off a curb, unstable on her crutches. He’d leapt to her rescue, then held her close as she regained her balance. Her hair had smelled of strawberries, and that combined with the sensation of her body pressed against him had made him giddy.
He’d wanted her that day.
Hell, he’d wanted her every day after, too. But he never made a move. How could he when he and Mel and Jo had so quickly bonded, their friendship the kind that he’d known even then would last for years? Something rock solid that he could count on.
No way would he risk screwing that up.
Then he’d graduated early to join the military and had been immediately recruited by the SOC. His perspective had shifted in those early days in the service, forging in him a deep need for stability and love, home and hearth.
He’d tried not to think of Jo in those days—by then she was firmly in the friend slot. But he’d gotten serious with a few women he’d met either on missions or in those months when he was off-duty, recharging for the next deployment. And somehow, in the back of his mind, he always compared them to Jo. Made sense, after all. Sex wasn’t everything; if he was going to sleep with a woman, he’d wanted her to be a friend, too.
Lisa had been both. Lover, friend. A kind woman with a sharp mind, a brutal uppercut, and deadly accuracy with a firearm. They’d worked two missions together before she’d gone undercover as a flight attendant.
Before everything had changed.
Before he’d changed.
Now Lisa was dead and Red wasn’t the man he used to be, not by a long shot.
More than that, he knew he never would be. He’d tried to find himself after Romania. Tried to slide back into this life and normalcy. Hell, he’d even turned to Jo, certain that if anyone could bring him fully back to himself, it was her.
God, how he’d wanted her.
He’d held back at first, hesitant to poison their friendship. But there was no denying that the passion he’d always felt for her hadn’t dimmed. He’d taken a risk that night by kissing her, and his heart had leapt when she’d responded with such passion, almost with desperation. As if she’d been waiting years for his touch.
Hell, maybe she had been. Hadn’t he? Even though he’d forced himself to do nothing, hadn’t he always wanted her?
God yes, and for a few blissful moments, he’d lost himself in the sweetness of her lips and the strawberry scent of her hair.
It didn’t last, though. He should have known better. The ghosts. The panic. The weight on his lungs and heart so heavy he couldn’t breathe.
He’d broken away, feeling like an ass but knowing it didn’t matter. He had to get some distance between them. Had to make her understand that nothing could ever happen.
She deserved better than a man like him, broken now in so many ways. And there was no way in hell he would bring her down to that level.
But oh how he wanted to.
To claim her. Make her his. Feel her alive and wild and vibrant beneath him, begging him. Needing him.
He wanted that release. Craved that sensation of being alive.
And what in his life had ever made him feel more alive than simply being in Jo’s presence? No one, not even Lisa.
But he couldn’t have her, and he damn well knew it, so why the hell was he torturing himself? And what the fuck was he doing even thinking like that less than a day after his best friend’s murder?
It didn’t matter. His mind had no conscience, and in his thoughts his mouth was on her tight nipple, his fingers sliding between her legs. And his cock—
“Red?” Her voice and a tentative knock, and he shot guiltily to his feet, only then realizing how steamy the bathroom had become. “Are you okay?”
He almost laughed. Did it seem like he was okay? But he said nothing. She tried two more times, then gave up. He closed his eyes and counted to ten, hating himself for craving her like that. For having the images in his head even now. Her naked body beneath him, open to him. His to use like a shield against the demons that haunted him.
They’d made him a damn monster.
With a sigh of self-loathing, he stripped, then stepped into the shower. He tilted his head back, wishing the water could wash away the pain and the past. It couldn’t, though. Romania had scarred him. Hell, it had destroyed him. Lisa and his team and those other two innocent women had died. He’d lived. But to this day, he wondered if they hadn’t gotten the better deal.
He stayed under the spray until the water turned cold, then felt like an ass about that, too. Jo probably wanted to shower as well.
When he couldn’t justify staying in the bathroom any longer, he wrapped one of the huge towels around his hips and left the bathroom for the guest room, hoping to hell Jo wasn’t in there.
She wasn’t, and he breathed a sigh of relief, then smiled when he saw the folded clothes on the bed. He’d been an absolute prick, but she’d still thought to bring him fresh clothes.
He put them on—jeans and a Swift Red tee—then told himself he couldn’t avoid seeing her and pulled open the door. She looked up when he entered the living area, and he was relieved to see she’d put on a robe. She stood in the connecting kitchen, staring at the coffeemaker as if that would make it brew faster.
She looked up at him, and though she smiled in greeting, he thought he saw trepidation in her eyes. As if she was afraid he’d go postal on her again.
“I thought Mel’s clothes might fit you. Figured you’d want something clean.”
“Thanks.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
It wasn’t fine, not by a long shot. But he didn’t argue.
She poured a cup of coffee and passed it to him. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
Her lips twitched. “Color me not surprised.” She crossed the small area back to the coffee maker.
“Bottom line, I’m not used to waking up to a woman in my bed.” That was true, but it damn sure wasn’t all of it, and he was certain Jo would realize that as well.
She poured her own coffee with her back to him, then turned to face him. “Are you telling me you’re celibate? Or you just haven’t been dating for a while?”
He almost told her it didn’t matter. He’d apologized; end of story. But dammit, she deserved more. This was Jo, after all, and even if he couldn’t have her, that didn’t alter the reality that he’d loved her for years. As a friend and, yes, as so much more.