When I’d returned to the beach house the day after Tristan left and Nash took off for Little Creek, the dog had acted like she’d been left alone for a lifetime, whining at the basement door and at the baby’s high chair. It was as if she’d sensed a change in the air. The tension between Nash and Tristan had never gone away before she’d left.
It was different than the tension I felt whenever I was in the same room with him. Theirs had been the stress of unspoken words; mine was all desire. As if something inside me ached to be closer to him. But I wasn’t going to make a fool of myself. Not only because Mac would kill us both, but because Nash knew exactly how to charm a woman’s panties off. I didn’t plan on being one of his long list, regardless of how good he looked shirtless.
The memory of him in the armchair with Hannah on his bare chest was seared into my brain. The harsh red scar stretching from the base of his neck and trailing along his collarbone, blending in with the swirling black and colored ink that twisted over his skin—only the SEAL Trident obvious, the rest a mix of objects and words that I didn’t know how to read. The tattoos and scars were layered over defined muscles, cuts you rarely saw except in bodybuilders.
That image had been following me into my dreams over the last two weeks. It was a welcome relief to my nightmares but still had me waking with a body shaking. Desire and need coursing through me instead of fear.
The physical reaction I had to Nash made me feel like I was fifteen all over again with a crush on Bee’s boyfriend, Zane, the senior basketball hero who everyone at the school adored. Tall, lean, dark, curly hair with a great smile. He’d always been nice to me, even when I was exactly the awkward teen Bee had accused me of being.
That Dani—the insecure Dani who wasn’t sure she’d ever be anything more than a joke—had glowed like a sunflower turning toward the sun when Zane had talked to her, flirting a little and making Bee frown. They weren’t moments I was proud of when I thought back on them. You don’t flirt with your sister’s boyfriend. But I hadn’t built up a wall against Bee then, and we had often struck out at each other. Sisters who loved each other but also didn’t know how to get along.
Having the same physical reactions to Nash as I’d once had in my childhood to another off-limits male didn’t exactly make me want to be in the same room with him. They weren’t feelings I wanted to succumb to, especially when the man was fighting his own set of demons.
I finished the jog on the beach, which had replaced my time at the gym, and returned to the house determined to do something more than dwell on my past and a man I shouldn’t want.
♫ ♫ ♫
I had the music blaring as I grated the last bit of cheese to put on top of the pan of enchiladas I’d made, following Mom’s recipe. I wanted to freeze a few things for Tristan so, when she got home, she wouldn’t have to worry about dinners for a while. Even though I royally sucked at cooking, Mom had promised this would be simple, and it had been. Messy, but simple.
I was still in my running gear. Yoga pants, sports bra, and a tank that barely covered it, but it had been pointless to change. Who was going to see me?
I was belting out Selena’s “Boyfriend” as I turned around to put the block of cheese back in the fridge and screamed at the body that stood leaning in the archway.
“Holy shit,” I said, resting my hand on my heart. “What the hell, Nash?”
He didn’t respond; he just took me in like he always did. As if he were cataloging every item I was or wasn’t wearing, along with every single mole and beauty mark. My heart didn’t slow down; instead, it picked up the pace at his gaze. I returned it, like I always did, a silent challenge. He had Molly, the really bad watchdog, cuddled in his arms against his uniform. The T-shirt and his cammies clung to his muscles, showcasing them. The expensive boots on his feet stated his profession in case his uniform, his build, and his attitude hadn’t already given it away.
When I’d studied his face, with its square jaw coated with dark stubble and eyes so dark a green they appeared black, it was his eyes that shot darts into me. Poisonous darts of liquid sex, making my body tremble with just a look. Damn him.
“You’re cooking,” he said, lips quirking at the corners. “I thought you never cooked.”
Had I told him that? Had he filed away all of my words the same way he seemed to catalog my looks? The majority of times Nash and I had been together, we’d been surrounded by others: Mac’s mess of Navy friends, my entire family, or Tristan’s family. There’d only been the one time we’d truly been alone when we’d accidentally run into each other at a bar in D.C. We’d talked about nothing specific over the round of beers I’d bought—much to his chagrin. I’d promised he could buy the second round. A second round we’d both known was dangerous with the fire licking between us like a flame curling its way up the first logs in the grate. It had been a good thing when I’d been called away with a crisis in Matherton-land.
Molly squirmed, and he put her down, patting
