“I guess I should get out of here,” I say, turning for the door. She follows behind me silently. When I reach for the knob, I hesitate and glance over my shoulder at her. “Take care of yourself, Greer.”
She smiles again, arms wrapped around her stomach. “You do the same.”
One last look, and then I nod. I open the door and step into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind me.
But then I freeze before the latch catches. Were those tears in her eyes? It was a brave face she was putting on, but maybe only until I left. Greer is a proud woman, and after destroying what we had, she’d never, ever seek any sort of help or comfort from me.
Without a doubt, she would have been the last person in the world who would’ve asked me to come rescue her in El Salvador. Greer would believe that’s her penance for breaking things off. She would adamantly refuse anything from me, because she doesn’t believe she’s worth my time or attention.
A few days ago, I would’ve probably agreed.
Now, I don’t know how I fucking feel, other than I’m not sure I can leave her if she’s not okay.
“Fuck it,” I mutter and push the door back open. I step in, and Greer is already in the living room. She whirls around and her face reddens with embarrassment.
I caught her crying.
Rivers of tears pour down her face, and when I close the door, she abandons her pride and walks straight at me. I open my arms to enfold her in a strong embrace.
She buries her face in my chest and cries softly.
I reel from her scent and the memories of how her body fits against mine. I pet her hair and whisper to her that things will be okay.
She’ll be okay.
And fuck me all to hell, I want her to be okay. I don’t want her to hurt.
Not anymore.
CHAPTER 8
Greer
I’m so embarrassed to need Ladd’s arms around me, but right now, I don’t think you could pry me away with the Jaws of Life. And truth be told, it’s all his fault that I need this.
I could have done just fine with the fact that I was captured, nearly gang-raped, faced my own death, and then once I escaped, was disavowed by my agency because of a petty need for retaliation after I chose to do the right thing. Frankly, that’s all in a day’s work.
Granted, the disavowal shook me, but it isn’t the end of my world. Plenty of places I can still do this type of work if I want to.
What has rattled me to the point of tears is Ladd being a part of all this. Swooping in like a white knight to pluck me from death’s grip, and then showing up at my hotel to see if I’m okay.
He has no reason to do these things. He owes me nothing, even though he feels he does since I once saved him. I never wanted payback for that—I always felt that mission had led me to the great love of my life. I got far more out of that than Ladd ever did.
But here he is, knowing in his gut when he walked out the hotel door that I was not okay, despite me saying I was.
He’s the only person I’ve ever let see me vulnerable. With Ladd, I could cry at a sappy movie and not be embarrassed. I could have a nightmare and wake up with his arms around me, gentling me with soft words until I fell back asleep.
I could have him walk back into my life after twelve years with every reason to hate me and allow myself to crumble before him.
“You’re going to be fine, Greer. I promise.”
His words are soft but lined with steel, so sure he is of my abilities. People look at me and think I’m made of that same steel, that I have no insecurities. Ladd knows that’s not true, and it’s one of the reasons we made such a great couple. We lent strength to the other when we needed it, and right now, I need it.
If only for just a minute more. Then I swear I’ll let him go.
Ladd’s arms encircle me with support. His chin is on top of my head, and I rest my cheek against his chest. The sound of his heartbeat calms me, and the tears dry as I knew they would with his offer of solace.
“You’re the strongest woman I know,” Ladd says gruffly, now giving me platitudes to make sure I buck up again.
I smile because it’s classic Ladd—knowing exactly what to say at exactly the right time.
Nodding, I relish the feel of him against me, around me, and then I know it’s time to let go.
I start to pull away from him but only make it a few inches before his arms lock tight and I can’t move any farther. I tip my head to look up at him, my temple grazing his jaw. He dips his head, and then my cheek is against his. I feel his breath on my neck, and I hate that it happens, but my pulse accelerates.
We’re both frozen in time, holding this intimate hug, cheek to cheek, but almost by empathic agreement, we start to pull away from each other. We stop again, though, our mouths almost touching.
My breath rushes out, and I hadn’t realized I’d been holding it. I’m afraid to move, afraid to break what feels like some kind of spell between us.
Whatever this is, though, I can’t take it any further than this hug. I’m the one who hurt Ladd. I’m the one who threw away our relationship. I don’t have the right to anything from him again.
In fact, I shouldn’t even be standing here, putting him in this position to sacrifice his own principles. When I broke it off, and he walked away, I had no right to anything from him anymore. He’s already given me far too much after what he did for me in El Salvador.
I push against him, expecting him to loosen his hold and let me go. He doesn’t, and I’m confused.
And curious.
I tilt back a bit so I can see him—so I can see his eyes, which I’ve always been able to read—and I’m not ready for the intensity that greets me.
So many emotions warring within—desire, anger, sorrow, need.
He wants me, but he doesn’t want to want me.
I need to be strong for him.
Once again, I try to pull free, but his arms are like steel traps. Before I can ask him to let me go, his mouth presses to mine.
Not in a lustful, passionate kiss but one that is whisper-soft and warm. One that doesn’t move deep but doesn’t draw away. A kiss that exists for several heartbeats and is so very quiet. Hesitant… a mere exchange of breath.
For a moment, I sense hesitation, and Ladd goes still. I don’t move a muscle because again, I don’t want to initiate anything. It’s not my right. My eyes are closed, listening for any indication of what he wants, and then he huffs a sound of frustration, as if making a decision that he doesn’t like but has no choice.
His mouth crushes into mine, one hand moving to the back of my head to hold me in place. I sigh into the unexpected depth of the kiss, rife with savagery built upon twelve years of anger and maybe some long-hidden desire.
I don’t know where this is going, only that I’m grateful Ladd is giving me something. When I went to his house ten years ago, it was with the idea that I would beg and grovel for him to take me back. I knew what a colossal mistake I’d made, and I knew that my wishes for a happy life would only ever be fulfilled by Ladd and not my career, which I had placed above him.
But he had moved on, and I was heartbroken all over again. When we broke up, even though it was my call, I was just as destroyed as he was. I didn’t push him away because I didn’t want him. I pushed him away so he could have better than I could ever give him.