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Cliff had no idea why he was talking about love to a woman he’d just met, but he couldn’t stop. “Have you ever considered you haven’t met that person who makes you want to take the time…to make the effort?”
“No,” she said without hesitation.
“You’ve never been in love, have you?” he asked into the night.
For a long moment, silence reigned.
“I love my dog,” she offered. “He doesn’t judge me.”
“You’ve never felt passion so profound you feel like you could spontaneously combust with the amount of joy expanding inside you?” he persisted.
She chuckled. “No. Why would I want to spontaneously combust? Think of the mess I’d leave behind for someone else to clean. And if you’re talking about having an orgasm, I don’t need someone else to give that to me. I have BOB.”
A stab of something resembling jealousy hit him square in the gut. “Who’s Bob?”
Another chuckle warmed the air in the room. “Battery. Operated. Boyfriend. Where have you been?”
“Fighting wars,” he answered, grinning at the thought of her using a sex toy to get off. It was funny and kind of sad. Apparently, she hadn’t been in love and hadn’t had mind-blowing sex.
He wanted to yell, challenge accepted, but had the sense to know she wouldn’t appreciate it and would likely throw up a wall of resistance if she had a clue that a man was willing to push past her don’t-fuck-with-me, hard-core exterior to the soft, squishy, tenderhearted, dog-loving woman beneath. Anyone who wanted to get past her defenses wouldn’t accomplish that goal with a full-frontal attack. He’d have to be more subtle.
“You’re right,” she said. “I haven’t met someone who makes me want to spend more time with him or someone who can do a better job than BOB. I don’t believe he exists.”
He murmured softly, “Until you met me.”
CHAPTER 5
Jenna lay on her side on the window seat, facing her sister’s bed. She could make out her sister’s form beneath the white sheets and blanket. Beyond her, the Navy SEAL half-lounged in the chair on the other side of Brittany’s bed.
She could only see the silhouette of his head and the dark smudge of his black hair. She couldn’t tell if his eyes were opened or closed.
The darkness hid their expressions from each other, making her feel less inhibited. Why else would she have given him her life story? She’d probably bored him to death, or worse, made him pity her pathetic love life.
She hadn’t opened up to anyone, not even Brittany, about her past or the bargain she’d made with Brent to be her gay boyfriend in high school. If she had hoped to impress him with her strength and courage, her admission to dating a gay guy was a one-way train ride to her own pity party. Or more like a train wreck.
Not that she should care what Cliff Cranston thought of her. They barely knew each other. As soon as they found Baby Blakely, Cliff would leave for his next assignment with the Brotherhood Protectors. She’d never see him again.
Jenna strained to hear the sound of movement inside the room and in the hallway on the other side of the door.
She wasn’t sure why she’d allowed Cliff to hang around as long as he had. Then again, any help she could get to find the baby was appreciated.
But that wasn’t the only reason. Something about the man had captivated her and made her want to get to know him. And the more she learned, the more she wanted to know.
Like what had he experienced that was so traumatic it had left a mark on his psyche and cursed him with panic attacks so intense, he felt the need to run into stairwells? Had he run into the stairwell to get away from the demons plaguing him or because he was embarrassed by his inability to control himself?
She couldn’t deny that the tattoo of the bone frog had touched her. Too often, guys got tattoos in honor of their current lady love or their favorite motorcycle. Honoring a fallen comrade was touching and made her heart hurt for his loss. However, the other scars marring his skin were more disturbing. Were they battle scars?
Jenna had fought the urge to reach out and trace them with her fingertips. What did they feel like? How hard were those muscles in his arms and shoulders that rippled with every move? And how the hell did he maintain washboard abs? He wasn’t a young man in his twenties. Taut muscles like his were the product of discipline and self-control.
She worked out every day, if possible. As an FBI agent, she was expected to stay fit.
She sighed. Sleep was elusive. When she wasn’t thinking about Cliff, her mind churned with what little they knew so far and how they’d obtain more information and clues as to who’d stolen the baby.
She must have fallen asleep. A noise jerked her awake. The large swinging door opened, and a woman entered carrying an organizer full of glass tubes. She adjusted the lighting, making it brighter.
Jenna rolled off the window seat and rubbed the sleep from her eyes long enough to check the woman’s badge. The face in the picture matched the woman.
‘I’m here to draw blood,” she whispered.
