So was his, it seemed.
He tried to find anger or irritation, but what the hell, all he felt right now was an odd sense of contentment.
Hard to object to a pretty woman in his home.
Kit’s face was tender as she watched her son.
A while back, Regan had taken a picture of Kit and Aric. Aric had given him a copy, and Hawk had tucked it into his wallet. Because somehow, the girl had captured the soft look of love.
Hawk could vaguely remember his own mother having the same expression…before his father had taken notice of him, and his childhood had gone straight to hell. He and Aric had a lot in common.
He watched the boy for a minute. The kid was recovering.
Hawk had helped with that—and the knowledge was immensely satisfying. Far more than anything he’d felt in the military or the mercenaries.
Being back here with his brothers made him…happy. Having children around? Hell, it was amazing.
That was why he was ignoring the job offers from various merc units, security firms, and even old combat buddies. This was his life now, and he was damned glad of it.
A soft sound of pain drew his attention.
Brace off, Kit was wiggling her fingers
“New exercises?” he asked.
“Yes. I wanted to run through them once to make sure I remember what the therapist said to do.”
“You’re moving better.”
“I am.” She beamed. “As soon as I get a little more flexibility and strength, I can look for a job. Well, a job that isn’t too physical.”
As he watched, she finished the exercise and started to massage her hand, stroking upward. What with only being able to use the one hand, her efforts were ineffectual.
“You’re not getting anywhere.” With a huff, he sat beside her and took over the massage. He tried to apply enough pressure to be therapeutic, but not so much he hurt her. Fuck knew, he had strong hands.
After a minute, the silence registered.
She was staring at him, immobile with terror.
Hell. She’d been in his helicopter. Had lunch with him. Hugged him. He hadn’t thought she was afraid of him any longer.
He stopped. Considered moving away. But no. “I won’t hit you,” he said quietly, returning his attention to the massage. “Or hit on you.”
Her swallow was audible.
“Sorry,” she whispered. A second later, she said in a stronger voice, “I’m sorry. I know that. I just…”
Had a fucking panic attack. Because he was an idiot.
“Want me to stop?”
Her jaw muscles went tight as she fought against her body’s fear. “No. Keep going…please.”
He nodded.
Her fingers were cold. Trembling slightly.
Panic attacks—he’d had his fair share. And he’d just moved right in on her, was treating her the way he would one of his brothers. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have—” And why the fuck had he? He shook his head and glanced at her. “Guess you feel like family.”
Her expression brightened. He wasn’t the only one who valued family, it seemed.
“I’m sorry too. I think I’m doing better and still…this happens.”
“Instincts aren’t in the thinking part of the brain. Makes ’em hard to control.” It’d taken therapy for him to accept that shit.
He concentrated on what he was doing. Her hand was warming up. Relaxing.
“So I’m finding.” The wry humor in her light voice made him look up. Although she was still pale, her lips curled up. A dimple appeared.
Her smiles were coming more often.
As he worked, her hand gradually turned a pretty pink with decreased swelling.
“Done.” He let go, rose, and settled back into his big chair.
Her hand felt better, less like her fingers were fat little sausages, although the massage had made the muscles ache in a different way.
Leaning back, she considered taking Aric home now even if it did mess up his game. But no, if she surrendered to her nerves every time she had a panic attack, she’d turn into a hermit. Or so her counselor had warned.
Fine. Pretending to be comfortable, she glanced around Hawk’s house. And realized she’d never really looked at his place.
Although the structure of the Hermitage houses was identical, each of the brothers had very individual décor.
Bull’s place was warm browns and creams with a massive plushy suede sectional.
A bit starker, Gabe’s house had whiter walls, and the sectional was a chocolate brown. Rather than a woodstove, he had a fireplace.
Caz had gone for luxuriant with dark reds and oriental carpets.
All three were comfortable. Almost cozy.
Hawk’s place was rougher and more rustic. As with the others, the living area was open to the two-story roof. His had dark wood beams like Gabe’s. Only here, the wood appeared as if it’d been cut with a chainsaw and left unfinished.
The big dining table was battered and old, yet still sturdy. The flooring was what she would call filled with character, holding an aged patina. Very distinctive. “Are your floors made from reclaimed wood?”
“Yeah.” The scarred corner of his mouth tilted up. “Good eye. The sarge re-used anything he could; I do the same.”
Interesting. She stroked her hand over the coffee table that was a glossy long slab of wood and raised her brows in inquiry.
“A friend cut down a backyard maple.”
And Hawk had turned it into something lovely. “I love when a house has some history.” Kit tried to spot more. The wood stove sat in a recessed area of stonework with a heavy wood mantel. “The mantle?”
His grin flashed. “Mining camp.”
“That is so cool. You like the history but aren’t fanatic about it. Your furniture is really comfortable.” The two overstuffed chairs were upholstered in a soft brown leather and bracketed a dark blue couch large enough to suit Hawk’s big frame, but not as massive as Bull’s sectional.
Hawk glanced around. “Not as comfortable as Bull’s place.”
She rolled her eyes. “Please. At the PZ compound, I lived in a barracks with an assigned bunk bed and no possessions. This is wonderful.”
“I had help.” He half-smiled. “I had the two chairs and a woodstove. Audrey and JJ decided I needed more.”
“You said no?” When he nodded, Kit bit her lip against a smirk. She could guess who won.
He snorted. “At Christmas, I ended up with a couch, rugs, pillows, and the blanket.”
She considered how stark the room must have looked before, and a bubble of laughter escaped. “Who decided your décor would be brown and blues?”
“That’d be Lillian.” The amusement in his gaze took her breath away.
When his lips tilted up or when the sunlines at the corners of his eyes deepened with his smile, he was as gorgeous as his brothers. Or maybe more so because the change was so marked.
She averted her gaze and swallowed, searching for something else to say. “I, um, ran out of things to read at Bull’s.” Although Audrey had offered to bring her books. “I don’t suppose you have anything?”
He pointed at the shelves adjacent to the woodstove surround. “Help yourself.”
Perfect. She edged forward on the couch and—