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“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Matt agreed tightly because she just went from sexy to downright fuckable. He had to concentrate doubly hard not to get a hard-on while speaking with her.
“Glad we understand each other,” Grace said with a relief he hated. She smiled tentatively before pivoting and heading inside. He didn’t immediately follow, contemplating what just happened and what his next move would be.
He’d never been drawn to a woman like he was to Grace. After this mission, he may never see her again and his whole being rejected the idea.
So, he made a decision. He was going after Grace after Blood Bull was over. He wasn’t sure what they were going to be. He lived in a small town; she worked for the DEA. Would they be lovers who met once or twice a month, a year? He had to find out where this attraction was heading. He was tired of jacking off to a fantasy and having sex with nameless women trying to exorcise her from his flesh.
Little did he know that forty-eight hours later, he would change his tune.
Forty-eight hours later, he would never get out of that house party.
He would be captured by the Carillo Cartel and subsequently tortured.
He would blame Grace.
Forty-eight hours later, he would end up hating her.
Matt stood up and cursed himself for dredging up the past. He moved away from the bed, blinked his eyes, and pressed the heel of a hand against his brow. It wasn’t her fault, he reminded himself. That he’d been strung up, clubbed repeatedly by a piece of 2 by 4, and bled drop-by-fucking-drop by a razor across his back, wasn’t her fault. If Matt had been a lesser man, he would have faced a long road to recovery, but he was an Enhanced Soldier. Even when his superhuman strength deserted him at the age of twenty-four, he still healed faster than the average human. He hid the scars on his back under layers of ink, and he had seen enough horrors of war to survive mentally intact. He’d been successful at keeping people at an emotional distance, but somehow Grace had gotten past his wall. Her perceived betrayal had been a crippling blow to that wall, leaving a gaping crack. Even when the rumors had surfaced that it was Holden who had given the order, he continued to ignore her pleas to meet. He knew she could get into trouble with the DEA for it because by the time he’d gotten Stateside, the CIA unit he served had broken ties with the DEA. But that wasn’t his only reason.
He lied to Grace that morning.
He did do feelings with her. They were complicated, and he kept them battened down by a load of jackass behavior instead of dealing with them. Their one night together was forever etched in his mind and he freaked out that his craving for her had only intensified. He was appalled that he liked the idea of spending the weekend with her so much that it had spooked him. That led from one clusterfuck to the next, but no more.
He turned and looked at Grace’s sleeping form again.
Could there be a chance for an ES to find happiness?
He hoped so.
CHAPTER TEN
Grace
I jolted awake. My eyes were scratchy as I pried them open. How long have I slept?
Mom.
I panicked and searched my mind for the memories I had remembered and was relieved that they were still there. Calming my heart rate down, I listened for noise in the apartment, but it was quiet.
Glancing at the clock, I was dismayed that it was eight-thirty in the morning. I’d slept for almost twenty-four hours? Why didn’t Matt wake me? I pushed the blankets back and swung my legs to the floor, wincing slightly when an ache shot up my thigh. The swelling had gone down, and I didn’t need pain killers anymore once the antibiotics did their work.
I hobbled to the bathroom, grogginess from sleep making me walk like a zombie. I was almost scared to look at myself in the mirror. Would I see the stranger from the day before—the pale woman with a swollen face, and a rat nest of hair that hadn’t seen a brush in days?
I looked.
My green eyes had grown dull and looked way too big on my face, but I didn’t look as ghastly as I previously did. Milk tones had replaced my pallid complexion and although purple bruising ran down from my temple to the side of my face, my feelings of self-pity were gone.
My hair was still a disaster, and what was that smell? I sniffed my armpits. Definitely smelling a bit ripe, I snickered at myself. Sponge bathing wouldn’t cut it anymore. I had planned on showering after the waffle breakfast but fell into an exhausted sleep instead. Who knew amnesia could be so tiring? I stared longingly at the shower. Matt had warned me not to go in there alone, and had chuckled at my outrage.
“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” he said smugly.
“That’s not the point,” I snapped.
“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” he replied dryly. “If you’re feeling modest around me, I’m sure I can ask Millie or one of her girls to help you.”
Infuriating and bossy man—if I wasn’t careful, he’d steamroll me into doing everything his way. I stood up straight, moved my head, and stretched my arms overhead. I looked up, then down and side to side. No signs of dizziness. Good.
I eyed the bathtub longingly, but knew it was foolhardy to get in one just yet.Besides, Matt had a large walk-in shower with a fancy rainhead. I opened the glass enclosure and started a warm stream of water.
