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Somewhere between the nail salon yesterday and this awkward-as-ass encounter this morning, he’d gone and allowed her into his heart, allowed her into his confidence. Exactly when or where, he wasn’t sure, but it probably had something to do with how she’d made him feel when he’d been sunk so deep inside her that he never wanted to let her go.
And that was awful. The absolute worst thing he could’ve done. Because he had a case to solve, his beloved sister to find, and a life to get on with. He’d gotten yet another text from his CO on his phone this morning, reminding him of his impending decision to re-up for another stint in the SEALs. The deadline loomed large over him now, as did his recent shitty behavior toward Shayma.
She slid onto the stool beside him and placed her napkin on her lap, not once looking at him as she ate. Even with the ill-fitting jeans and sweatshirt that all but swallowed her whole, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen—all smooth, rosy cheeks and raven black hair. His fingertips itched to touch her again, but he grabbed his fork instead and shoved food into his mouth without tasting it.
They chewed in silence for several minutes, each second that ticked by making the apology he owed her stick that much worse in his throat. He couldn’t tell her the real reason for his abominable rudeness this morning, but he could hopefully at least get them back on more amicable ground.
He swallowed a bite of sweet, maple-syrup coated pancake, then cleared his throat. “I’m sorry.”
The only sign she gave that she’d heard him was a slight hesitation in the movement of her fork to her mouth. A tiny crumb clung to one side of her full, pink lips and he had the insane urge to lean over and lick it off. Instead, he sat like a lump on his stool and continued to inhale the
food she’d made for him without much pleasure. Not that it wasn’t delicious. It was. There just seemed to be a light out in his universe since the moment she’d basically told him he was nothing but her boy-toy, an evening of wicked fun to be left behind the next day.
And honestly, how could he blame her? She was almost frigging royalty, like Daveed. Hell, her dad would probably start an international incident if Shayma brought a guy like him home to meet them. He came from simple folk, hard-working people. His dad had always called them “salt of the earth,” which in Murphy’s mind had always equated to lower middle class—not white trash, but hardly Rockefellers either. After his mom left, of course, that didn’t improve their family image. Two kids being raised by a single dad wasn’t exactly the norm and his dad never did date again either. Said he never wanted to go through the heartbreak he had when Murphy’s mom disappeared. Another lesson young Murph had learned from his dear old dad: steer clear of relationships.
Which was why this whole thing with Shayma made no sense at all.
He should be thrilled she wanted no strings attached. Except he… wasn’t.
As if reading his thoughts, Shayma finally glanced over at him, her expression bland as a fresh fallen snow drift. “Tell me about her.”
“Who?” Murphy frowned.
“Your mother.”
And there was sucker punch number two. He never discussed his mom with anyone. Let alone the woman who’d rocked his world in more ways than one last night. He should get up and get to work. He should walk out of the apartment and not come back until she’d gone back to her fancy suite at the Plaza Hotel. But he stayed where he was and shoved his plate away, words tumbling out before he even realized he was speaking.
“I don’t remember a lot about her now, to be honest.” He shrugged. “She walked out when I was only six. My dad got rid of most of her pictures, so I can’t really even recall what she looked like back then. Brown hair, I think, short, usually serious. Never remember her laughing. My dad though? He had a great laugh—deep and loud and contagious. If he was laughing, I dare you to try and not join in.”
“He sounds fun.”
“He was. He died ten years ago of lung cancer. Life-long smoker.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
One side of Shayma’s mouth tipped downward and she swiveled to face him, her hands clasped in her lap. “That must’ve been hard for you, not having a mother growing up. And your poor sister.”
“Yeah. It wasn’t easy. My dad was gone a lot too, on missions for the Rangers, which left the two of us alone much of the time. Thankfully, some of the other ladies on the military base would stop by and bring us food and stuff when he was gone. I practically raised Aileen by myself. She turned out okay, I think.”
“That was very brave of you.” Shayma tilted her head to the side, her dark gaze narrowed. “And it explains a lot.”
“About what?”
“About you, about why you make the choices you do.”
The collapsed walls around his heart sprang back up. “What’s wrong with my choices?”
She raised a dark brow at him. “You’re thirty-two and alone. I’d say that indicates some trust issues. Not without foundation, given your background, but—”
“Hang on a minute and put away that psychology degree of yours. I’m not some lab experiment for you to analyze, okay?” He pushed away from the breakfast bar and stalked over to the desk to boot up his sister’s laptop. It was only seven-thirty. EnKor didn’t open until nine, so he still had some time to figure out who this senator was. Besides, it gave him something to do besides answer all her uncomfortable questions. The fact she’d nailed his biggest issue without even trying set him on edge again. Was he that easy to read? Or were they just that in sync that she could read him so well?
Neither answer was comforting.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said from behind him, the sound of dishes being cleared away filling the air. “I just wondered why you seem so commitment phobic.”
He gave a derisive snort. “Says the woman who only wants a fling.”
Shayma glanced back at him over her shoulder as she stood at the sink. “That’s what you wanted too, isn’t it?”
