Page 12 of Broken Trust
“I had nothing to do with her being here. You gave her clearance to enter the base.” He sounded too defensive, but it was only because he was about to lose his mind.
Con’s gaze drilled into him. “Keep your wits, Mason. We need her.”
“Got it.” He sounded like he’d choked on gravel.
Without another word, Sophie took Con by the hand and was towing him out of the kitchen. Dante had already vanished.
The silence that followed wasn’t peace, it was pressure, a nagging ache under his ribs. The hum of the refrigerator, the ticking of the damn clock, the low murmur of voices outside—all of it pressed in on him until the air felt too tight to breathe.
He lied about choking on water, but it really felt as if he’d swallowed a flaming sword. He needed to speak with Elin.
After she was dressed.
He couldn’t leave her out there alone with Sinner either, not when some of the girls started calling him a Zaddy, slang for a man who was not only smart and attractive but a good dresser.
Mason couldn’t see how Caius Sinclair—Sinner—was any of those things. Then again, he only saw a teammate, a brother in arms, not someone to swoon over.
Beyond the glass and through the haze of steam surrounding Elin, Mason saw her toss her head in that way that had his gut clenching simultaneously with desire and jealousy.
She was laughing. And she was so goddamn beautiful when she laughed.
But he didn’t want her laughing at whatever Sinner said.
In a few strides, he crossed the kitchen, pulse spiking until he could taste metal at the back of his throat. Every instinct told him to walk away—to cool off, tothink—but a darker voice rose up, fierce and undeniable, whispering that she’d been his long before she ever laughed like that for another man.
The heat building inside him wasn’t just anger. It was something rough and as old as time. A familiar burn that felt like battle readiness but carried the edge of longing he swore he’d buried.
He whipped open the glass door.
For one suspended heartbeat, he stood there—caught between the discipline that had kept him alive and the emotion that could destroy him.
Then he heard her tinkling laugh again and stepped out into the night, his senses alive and his heart hammering for all the wrong reasons.
* * * * *
Steam curled off the water in lazy ribbons, carrying the scent of chlorine and woodsmoke from the pizza oven nearby. Elin sank deeper into the hot tub, hoping the heat would coax the tension from muscles that hadn’t relaxed since she received the official nod to come to Charlie’s base.
When she climbed into the hot tub, the guys cleared out quickly, leaving only her.
At first, she thought the SEALs were under orders not to speak to her—though she was here to offer her expertise, she was still an outsider.
It wasn’t until the air hit her skin that she realized what might have sent them running. She’d forgotten her top.
Not on purpose. It was simply muscle memory from summers in the Mediterranean, where nudity meant nothing, where the sun and sea stripped away more than clothing. Here, however, the men had scattered like startled birds, muttering half jokes about missions as they disappeared inside.
All except one.
“What do they call you?” she called out to the big guy stacked with muscle.
He lingered by the outdoor kitchen, sleeves rolled to his elbows, working the pizza oven like a man who’d rather handle fire than conversation. He hadn’t gawked or stammered or made her feel like she’d committed some mortal sin. Just kept sliding dough into the heat and flicking glances her way, polite but amused.
She liked him immediately for that.
“Name’s Sinclair. They call me Sinner. But some of the girls started jokingly calling me Zaddy.”
She chuckled at that. “You make excellent pizza.” Her accent was thicker with steam and the fatigue of one very long day.
Sinner’s mouth tipped into that lazy grin she’d noticed earlier—the one that probably made women lose their sense of direction. “Glad to hear it. It’s the only thing I’m known for around here besides bad ideas.”
