“That sounds really nice, actually,” Gillian told him. “Honestly, I have a slight headache from being out in the sun all day today.”
Trigger fought an internal war with himself. He wanted to take Gillian to his home. Wanted to see her on his couch, relaxed and happy. But he knew if they went back there, it would be extremely difficult to keep his hands—and lips—off of her. He’d never had a problem controlling himself around women before, but something about Gillian pushed all his buttons. “You’re safe with me,” he told her.
She looked surprised, but said, “I know. I wouldn’t have agreed to let you drive me up here to Killeen if I didn’t think I was safe.”
“We’re taking things slow,” he added, a little harsher than he’d meant to.
“I know that too,” she agreed.
“Me taking you to my apartment isn’t a ploy to get you into my bed.” Trigger didn’t know why he wasn’t letting this go. Probably because a part of him hoped she might push back and tell him it was all right. That she didn’t want to go slow anymore.
She shifted in her seat and reached over to put her hand on his arm. “If you need to take me home, it’s okay,” she said quietly.
“No!” he blurted.
After a beat, they both chuckled softly.
“I’m fucking this up—again,” Trigger told her, kinda glad he was driving and didn’t have to look her in the eyes. “I’ve enjoyed being with you tonight. There’s just something about you that makes me happy. You take such joy in the littlest things, and you don’t get all freaked out by a little barbeque sauce on your chin or at having to meet my friends and acquaintances. The more time I spend with you, the more time I want to spend with you.”
“I feel the same way. I feel comfortable around you, Walker. I don’t feel as if I need to pretend to be someone I’m not. And you have no idea how amazing that is. I don’t want to go home yet, but if it’s going to stress you out to have me come over, then you can take me home.”
“How about this,” Trigger said. “We go to my place and watch one movie. It’ll be after midnight by then, and I’ll take you home and we’ll figure out when to see each other again.”
“Deal,” Gillian said immediately. “But I get to pick the movie.”
Trigger grinned. “Okay, but you should know I don’t have any romantic comedies.”
“I’m sure you’ve got something I’ll like.”
Trigger wanted to retort that he definitely had something she’d like, but he kept the comment to himself.
Relieved that he didn’t have to say goodbye to her just yet, Trigger drove the rest of the way to his apartment with a huge grin on his face.
Two and a half hours later, Trigger lay on his couch with a comatose Gillian in his arms. She’d discarded her boots and had taken her hair out of its braids. It was extremely wavy and fell around her shoulders in disarray. Trigger had wanted to run his hands through it, but refrained.
Gillian had picked Die Hard for them to watch, a movie he’d seen countless times. They’d argued about whether it was a Christmas movie or not and within twenty minutes of the first shot being fired on screen, Gillian was sound asleep.
She’d been sitting next to him on the couch and her neck had been leaning sideways at an awkward angle, and Trigger knew it couldn’t be comfortable. So he’d pulled her into him and shifted so his head was resting on the armrest, and she was snuggled between him and the back of the couch.
She’d wiggled a bit, then settled. Her cheek was resting on his chest over his heart, an arm and leg slung over his body. She was holding him as tightly as he was holding her.
Trigger was tired—it had been a long day filled with the anticipation of seeing her again—but he couldn’t sleep. He’d turned off the DVD and the only sounds in the apartment were Gillian’s deep breaths and the occasional shout or car engine revving from outside.
He knew he should wake her up and get her home, but Trigger couldn’t bring himself to move. Holding Gillian felt right. It soothed him in a way he’d never experienced before. He wasn’t aroused, didn’t feel the need to fuck. He was content to simply hold her while she slept.
Shifting so he could put a hand on the back of Gillian’s head, Trigger inhaled deeply. The scent of honeysuckle surrounded him as if he were standing in a field of flowers. He’d never be able to smell it again and not think of this moment.
Deciding he’d just close his eyes for a second, then he’d get them both up so he could take her home, Trigger relaxed into the cushions even farther.
He fell into a sleep so deep, so content and comfortable with the woman in his arms, he wouldn’t wake up until the sun was breaking over the horizon.
Chapter Nine
Gillian woke feeling more rested than she had in what seemed like ages. She hadn’t had any bad dreams, that she could remember, and actually felt pretty good.
Shifting, she realized immediately that she wasn’t alone. Her eyes popped open and she saw she was still on Walker’s couch. Was, in fact, sleeping in his arms. Her back was to the cushions and her front was plastered against Walker’s side.
When she lifted her head, she found herself staring into Walker’s gray eyes. He had a five o’clock shadow, which reminded her of how he’d looked in Venezuela. Except now his guard was down and he seemed somewhat vulnerable.
“Morning,” he said softly.
“I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you,” she said.
“And I didn’t mean to fall asleep at all,” he returned. “I meant to only close my eyes for a second, then wake you up and take you home.”
Gillian gave him a small smile. “I’m glad you didn’t. I slept better last night than I have for the last month.”
He frowned. “You’re not sleeping well?”
Realizing her mistake, Gillian tried to brush off the comment. “I just meant in general.”
“No, don’t do that. You’re not sleeping well?” he repeated.
Gillian pressed her lips together and shook her head slightly.
“Nightmares?”
“Sometimes.”
“Flashbacks?”
She nodded.
“You need the lights on?”
Gillian nodded again. “How’d you know?”
“I’ve been there, Gilly. PTSD isn’t fun.”
“Oh, this isn’t that,” she protested. “I’m just having a hard time acclimating back to life from before.”
“Which is PTSD,” Walker said firmly.
Then he moved so quickly, Gillian didn’t have a chance to protest or to do anything except squeak. He was sitting upright and had her straddling his lap before she could think. His hands pushed into her hair on either side of her head and he held her firmly. She should’ve been concerned over how easily he maneuvered her. How he was holding her and not letting her go…but she wasn’t.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. What you went through was awful, Di. You’re strong as hell, but even though I’ve nicknamed you after Wonder Woman, you aren’t her. You need to talk to someone, I’ll get you some names. It’s fine if you need the light on; some of the strongest men I know have nightlights all over their houses. You do what you need to do to cope. Period.”