I’d been working at Carson’s desk in the library for a couple hours when my phone rang. I picked up Lee’s call without hesitation. “Good morning.”
“Hello,” he returned. “How are things in Georgia?”
Perfect, my body sang out, but my entire heart clenched tight at that thought. I was an emotional wreck, even though my body was singing a happy tune. “Better than in Vermont, I’m sure. Is he driving you insane yet?”
“Who knew he was such a city boy at heart,” he laughed. “I offered to take him fishing, and he almost lost his lunch.”
I laughed because the thought of Brady in a small fishing dingy with a hat covered in lures was the most comical thing I’d thought about in days.
“The FBI called,” Lee said, and my laughter died away.
“They did?”
“Because the case has crossed state lines, and because they have experience with celebrity stalkers like this, they’re now running point. They’d like to talk to the entire team tomorrow. Do you think you’d be able to join the video call?”
“Absolutely, just tell me when.”
“They’ll want to talk to Nash as well. He’s the one who’s been running point lately.”
“Don’t let Tanner hear you say that,” I said dryly, and Lee chortled.
We made arrangements for the meeting, and then I sat back with nothing left to do that could be done before Nash made his appearance. The three-hour demand had been both irritating and tantalizing in a way I’d never thought I’d be enticed before. I’d never been one to go for the alpha male, pounding his chest and dragging his woman around by the hair.
The best way to fight an enemy was to know your enemy. I pulled up the book I’d downloaded on snipers. Opening the book reminded me of the one Nash had been reading for two nights now while I’d played chess with his uncle. I went over to the loveseat and picked up the worn book. It was an anthology of Sir Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes.
I didn’t know what I’d expected―something more action and adventure than thoughtful deduction, yet Nash was really both. Silent and deadly combined with swift precision. The intelligence I’d suspected he had as a sniper had been proven by the meaning of the art on his chest that we’d discussed this morning. Philosophy, poetry, and literature.
I’d put on my latest Selena Gomez mix and was reading when Nash scared the daylights out of me. I taunted him and ran, knowing he would give chase just as I knew he would catch me. The kiss I received was worth every moment of it.
Maribelle’s laughter made me blush in a way I hadn’t since high school.
The blush disappeared into thoughtfulness as Nash held my hand and led me out of the house. I was unaccustomed to the men I’d allowed into my life showing any kind of public display of affection. In D.C., you never showed it unless you were in front of a camera, proving you were a dedicated partner supporting your running mate.
Even then, you didn’t show love.
Nash led me up a staircase at the back of the carriage house. It must have been where the grooms stayed in ages past, but the space had been converted into a fitness room that most top-notch gyms would drool over—weight machine, treadmill, exercise bike, even an elliptical and a rowing machine that were all top-of-the-line. Additionally, there was a large mat with a boxing bag hanging from a rope that could be hooked on and off the padded floor.
I stared in admiration. “It’s like the holy grail of exercise rooms.”
Nash nodded, a smile still on his lips from Maribelle’s tease. Nash felt different today. As if a weight which had been anchoring him below the water had broken away, freeing him to bubble to the surface. He’d become a mixture of the charming Nash I’d once known before he’d lost Darren and a man I didn’t know at all. A man who kissed me and touched me freely.
He let me go, moved across the room, and opened some cupboards where he pulled out headgear and full-body protective gear. A pair of boxing gloves tumbled out, and as he went to put them back, I said, “Don’t put those away; I want to use them after you’re done teaching.”
He held a glove in his hand as he turned to me. “You box?”
I shook my head. “But I’ve always wanted to beat the shit out of a boxing bag.”
He chuckled, setting the gloves aside.
“Who’s the protective gear for?” I asked and was surprised when he said, “Me.”
He read my surprise with a grin. “I don’t want you to hold back, but I also have no desire to end up with bruised balls. I have some ideas of how I want to use them tonight, and it isn’t sitting on ice.”
“Aw. The Otter has to wear protective gear to keep him safe from little ol’ me.”
“Keep teasing, and I won’t wear it, and then you’ll be the one wishing I had.” The sensual undertone, the double meaning, was potent, sending thrills down my spine. I wasn’t sure how much of this Nash I could take.
He waved me over as he put the gear on, and we spent the next hour with me beating him up over and over and over again. There was no doubt he was holding back on me, but true to his word, he didn’t want me to hold back on him. He actually got frustrated and half pissed at me when I went into the first punch at half strength.
“You need to do it full force now, or you won’t when it’s needed,” he said.
So, I did. At one point, I elbowed him in the face so hard the headgear went flying, and my arm cracked his cheekbone. He laughed, slamming the helmet back on and coming at me
