Page 69 of Nothing to Fear

He wrestled the snarling swell and stretched for the higher rung on the ladder. Raking in a ragged breath, he climbed out, putting one foot above the other, the last of his strength leaching from him.

With his right hand on the rail and his left arm around Willow, he trudged carefully toward the cabin, ensuring they weren’t catapulted overboard by another surprise attack.

He slid the glass door open, ushering her inside, and shoved it closed behind him.

Breathless, they collapsed on the floor, half drowned. Trembling and clinging to one another, relief to be alive resonated in the tightness of their grips.

He still had to cut the line and free the boat, but he needed a moment to recover.

The storm raged around them, rain smacking the doors and windows loud as marbles thrown against glass. Only one thing mattered. Staying alive.

28

Atlantic Ocean

Sunday, July 7, 4:37 a.m. EDT

Gideon had cut the anchor and navigated them safely out of the storm.

It was still raining, but they were in calm waters.

Willow had been freezing and shaking uncontrollably even after drying off, putting on another of his T-shirts, and lying under the covers, curled in a tight knot.

He’d climbed into the bed alongside her, clothed. His only thought was to rid the chill from her with his body heat and ease her shock from nearly drowning. He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, spooning, her clutching his forearm, glued to one another.

Once his own skin and blood and bones had warmed, she stopped trembling. That was his cue to leave, but he couldn’t move. His limbs were heavy. He was utterly spent, and having her in his arms was one of the simplest yet greatest pleasures of his life.

She was nuzzled against him. The top of her head under his chin, her scent invading his senses. Lounging on fresh sheets warm from the dryer on a rainy Sunday morning. A clean breeze blowing from a garden. She smelled like heaven.

Made him want to die.

She lifted his arm, brushing her cheek over his bicep, and grazed his thumb and the rest of his fingers in turn, lingering on the ones with odd nails. He’d lost three fingernails, ripped from his right hand during a mission in Syria that had hiccups. He got bagged, and the torture had escalated before Reece and Maddox found him. It had taken seven months for the nails to grow back, and they’d never looked the same.

Women didn’t notice the funny shape and distorted color during a one-nighter.

But Willow kissed each fingernail, slowly, gently.

Her compassion seared through him. Pressing his face into her hair, he hugged her tight. He was tormented and confused, aching to be closer to her in the one way he knew how but not wanting to ruin things by being himself.

She rolled over in his arms, meeting his gaze with a soft, sensuous look, and stroked his hair. The air between them turned flammable as methane gas. His body hummed with arousal. The power she had, to have him unraveling with a look.

“You have such beautiful eyes. Does my staring make you uncomfortable?”

Not one little bit. “No.”

“You’ve saved my life multiple times. If I wasn’t your assignment, I’d be dead.” The dark whisper clawed through him. “I know I’m just a job for you and that you’re not interested in me sexually, but thank you. I really needed this, to be close to someone. To you.”

She took his stance as rejection? Why didn’t she see his impressive self-control as noble?

“Willow, I do want you.” Like a dying man wanted CPR. “I’m so attracted to you that it hurts. But emotions have been running high, and the tension and stress of the situation are distorting things.”

She was eight years younger—might as well round up to a decade—was so full of light and had so much to offer. Under different circumstances, she wouldn’t want this. Not with him, a man she feared on some level.

Gideon was a damaged piece of meat, scarred more on the inside than out. He didn’t have clean hands or a clean conscience, and one day, his demons would catch up with him. And when that happened, he didn’t want her near him, regretting anything they’d shared together.

“You don’t know what I’m capable of,” he said, “what this job requires of me. It brings out a darkness and feeds something terrible inside.”

He often purged that same energy during sex.