Page 9 of Fighting For You
It had been for me. Only for me.
“She is,” I agreed.
What more could I say? That she set my heart on fire with her dark eyes? That her calm under pressure, her ready energy on mission, her strategic mind… they fit together into a dream I had night after night?
“Might be a good idea to tell her you think so,” Omi suggested, her knowing eyes seeing straight through me.
I nodded, but I also knew the truth.
She was dating Kurt, and this had crossed a line. Maybe not for her, but if I told her how I felt, she’d see the reality that I’d taken my best friend’s girlfriend to meet my family because I wanted her for myself.
And damn, but I wanted her. Like I’d never wanted anyone or anything. It shredded me, this longing for any glance my way or tilt of the chin or brush with her.
It was pathetic.
So I vowed I wouldn’t do that garbage again. I was better than that, and even if I’d felt the wedge between me and Kurt easing us farther and farther apart, I wasn’t trying to make a move on Jess. God forgive me, I’d simply been drawn to her.
I’d discovered the definition of inexorable—my preoccupation with her and her footsteps away from me, into Kurt’s arms.
It was three years before they set a date—three years I put space between us so she wouldn’t know, so I couldn’t tell her, and so I wouldn’t betray my friend.
And then it blew up, and she never looked at me with that smile again.
CHAPTER FIVE
Jess
Ihad six minutes to get downstairs to the lobby and meet Mr. Hanson for dinner. If only he was my handsome date and not Beast waiting to silent treatment me through our fake anniversary meal.
Finished confirming the roof-access security, I slipped back inside. Though it’d be a feat for someone to actually enter the hotel from the roof, we weren’t taking any chances. Jenna Halter’s privacy had been invaded too many times, and after Jo’s stalker had kidnapped her this summer, we simply wouldn’t assume anything until we put eyes on it.
Beast had set out almost immediately after dropping our bags in the two-bedroom suite to work on his list. In the meantime, I got ready. Our dinner was supposed to be an anniversary celebration. Why a couple celebrating their anniversary would need a two-bedroom suite, one couldonly guess, but thankfully, rich people did weird stuff like that all the time, so the hotel hadn’t seemed confused. I was not about toonly one bedwith a man who literally made my skin crawl with rage—sorry not sorry.
And that would’ve been too much to ask. Even in their need to see us cooperating, Bruce and Wilder wouldn’t expect us to getthatclose.
I walked as quickly as I could toward the elevator, subtly hiking up my strapless bra as I went. I wore a strapless black dress that hugged my body, and I accessorized with a sparkly clutch. My dark hair was lightly curled and brushed my bare shoulders just like it had on the drive here, but I’d darkened my makeup, slicked on a red lip, and even put in some earrings. I should pass the woman-about-to-go-to-an-anniversary-dinner test should anyone be paying attention.
Part of training in special operations was funneling energy where you wanted it to go rather than letting it control you—nerves, anxiety, worry, adrenaline… all of these were normal parts of anticipating a mission, but they could either heighten performance or hinder it. I used the training now, feeling more anxious than I had in a long while just to walk into a restaurant and sit down at a table with a man who was hardly an acquaintance anymore, let alone a friend or lover.
He used to be a friend.
I shook my head against the thought, unwilling to venture down that sad sack of a rabbit trail. Yes, Jude Rawlins had been my friend once upon a time. I’d cared about him, and I thought he cared about me. But then he got my fiancé kicked out of the unit, lied to me about it, and had never once even acknowledged he did something wrong.
So yeah, not my friend anymore. And with hindsight, probably never was.
But as a badass professional woman? I could do this.
Stepping out of the elevator, I moved right to the hotel bar where Beast sat—more like hunched like a gargoyle on the barstool even though he had rather excellent posture—and rose on my toes to kiss the air near his cheek.
I didn’t get near him often. We kept our distance. So it’d been a long time since I’d stepped close enough to catch the scent I remembered from when we were friends. An alarmingly appealing combination of woodsy and laundry and mint.
For another person, who didn’t feel bile rising at the simple reality of his proximity, it might’ve been intoxicating.
“Ready for dinner, honeybear?”
His gaze swung to meet mine, a total lack of amusement the driving force of his expression. His movement stilled and his eyes dropped to take in my dress and the strappy heels on my feet, then slid back up to my face. He swallowed and a beat passed before he dipped his chin.
The whole perusal was a bit much, but the wonders never cease! He actually responded!
