Page 62 of Long Shot

“Not really.” I drop my gaze to his strong throat. Then lower . . . to his bare chest. Jeez, maybe heisnaked. Holy crap.

He caresses my hip in a leisurely, mesmerizing motion. That clench deep inside me tightens even more, spreading through my pelvis. I’m in bed next to a big, gorgeous, possibly naked man. My body is responding. Who wouldn’t? Cade is strong and beautiful and . . . and good. He’s a good man. Despite his manwhore ways.

Well, I can’t blame all those women for wanting to be with him.

“Talk to me, Reese.”

“Uuuh . . .”

“What happened looked a lot like PTSD.”

I close my eyes, my body tensing. Shit. He probably knows something about PTSD. But fuck, I hate admitting it. It feels like a weakness. Yeah, yeah, I’ve been for the therapy; I understand what it’s all about. I didn’t have all the symptoms of PTSD to officially diagnose me with it, but enough that I struggled. My blood heats and my heart beats faster.

“What happened, Reese?” His voice is calm, his touch sure.

I gulp in a breath and even though I know it’s a bad idea, I burrow into him. “It’s . . . hard.”

“I know.” He shifts again, more onto his back, pulling me with him and wrapping both arms around me. I press my face into his neck. “I know. Have you talked to anyone?”’

“Yes.” I take a fast breath in and then out. “I saw a psychologist for a while.”

“Good.” He slides his hand down my back and this time goes low, resting his palm on my ass.

“I worked at Nova.”

“Yeah. Know that, babe.”

The endearment melts me. He’s my boss. But we’re in my bed, his arms around me, hands touching me, making my skin heat and my pussy squeeze. And he’s being sweet to me . . . bossy, controlling, unemotional Cade.

And that disarms me.

The words spill out. “One of the prep cooks who worked for me was a problem. He didn’t take direction. He wanted to do his own thing. He thought he was another Graham Sand. He was going to be a celebrity chef and every time I told him he needed to be more careful with his sauces or not overcook the lamb, or not ream out a line cook for making a mistake, he got pissed. His attitude was a major problem in the kitchen. It was affecting everyone.” I pause to take a breath.

“Asshole.”

“Yeah. I had to deal with it. I talked to him a couple of times, trying to give him feedback on his work, trying to tell him when he blew up at people it made things tense in the kitchen and made it hard for everyone to turn out a good product every night. He didn’t like hearing that, but for a while things would be okay. Then it would start over again. I talked to the owner of the restaurant and he agreed that we needed to let Jeremy go.”

“You had to do it?”

“Yeah. I’ve done it before. It’s not fun but sometimes it happens, and that’s why I was paid the big bucks.” I give a short laugh. “I wanted to be in charge of the kitchen and that’s part of it.”

“I hate that part, too.”

“Yeah?” It seems funny that a big tough Navy SEAL would have a hard time firing someone.

“Yeah.” His lips quirk. “So . . . you fired him.”

“I did.” I sigh. “He didn’t take it well. He was yelling and throwing shit around. It scared me, but I stood my ground, and he left.”

“Did he throw something at you?” Cade’s fingers press into my hip.

“No.” I draw in another long breath and let it out. “Not then. But he came back . . . later that night.” I swallow, my throat constricted, my mouth dry. “He had a . . . a gun.”

“Oh, fuck, no.” His fingers tighten even more on me.

“H-he started shooting.” It’s still hard to talk about this, even though I’ve recounted the story to so many people—the police, my family, my friends, my psychologist. “He killed two of my staff—my sous-chef Bahir and line cook Dang. He wanted to shoot me, too . . . he tried.” My voice cracks. “He missed me. I was yelling at everyone to get out of the kitchen, yelling at him to put the gun down, and h-he shot Bahir and Dang. They were . . .” I have to stop and take another breath. “They were on the floor, bleeding. I ran over to Dang and I yelled at Kasey to call 911. Jeremy was about to take another shot and I was sure this time he was going to hit me. I was w-waiting for the bullet to hit me while I was trying to stop Dang from bleeding. I was sure I was going to die.”

“Christ.” He pulls me closer, right up against him. “I heard about that. Now that you tell me. It was in the news.”

---