Their fingers brushed when she slowly took the phone from his large open palm, spying the callouses there, a result of his labors of love in his workshop. She’d swear she could almost feel his pulse against her skin at the quick exchange. His energy felt angry and punishing, and of course, not directed toward her. But he did want to punish someone.
When she took the phone, he quickly pulled his hand away like they’d just completed a dope deal at the “shady corner” back home. Well, it’d been that way up until Beckett posted a sign last year that Ella had first assumed was a joke, which read: “Dope = Dealing with Deb Hawkins, not Jail Time. A fate much worse . . .” He’d even added the ellipsis, maintaining a straight face the whole time while creating the sign too.
And everyone in town said her brother was grumpy and lacked a sense of humor. Ha.
Ella couldn’t help but laugh every time she drove past that corner, but the only weed she’d seen since that sign had been posted were the ones growing from the cracks in the sidewalk.
“Ella?” A.J.’s voice was loud enough for her to hear despite the distance between her ear and the phone in her hand.
Right, he was waiting for her, and she was once again distracted. Maybe she’d rather talk to Beckett, the grump, than the Navy SEAL because she was sure her brother was going to go Tier One operator on her.
“Hi,” she squeaked, sounding like a timid little mouse. How pathetic. “A.J, don’t be . . .” What was the right word? Dot. Dot. Dot. Now she had ellipses on the brain. I’m so deliriously tired I can’t think. Oh, I can also blame jet lag . . .
And if she were losing it, how was Jesse handling all of this since he’d had zero shut-eye? She was mentally cracking jokes, but he’d probably crack someone’s skull.
“I’m on my way to D.C. with Ana and the baby.”
“Yeah, I heard you were worried if they were there, you might be, well, distracted,” Ella softly responded.
Jesse secured his hat back on before flicking the bill a little as if the brim hooded his eyes too much. He stood a good foot away, hands in his pockets. Jaw working overtime as he studied her while she waited for her brother to continue.
“I figured it’d be better if they weren’t in Alabama,” A.J. answered after a quiet moment. “I’m taking them to Adriana’s. Adriana and her baby have Secret Service detail while Knox is overseas on an op, and I need Ana and Mac somewhere White House-safe while I focus on keeping everyone else at the ranch protected from this new threat.” That made sense. Knox was a teammate of A.J.’s, and his dad was the President of the United States.
“Why aren’t Mom and McKenna with you, then?” But Ella already knew the answer.
“Beckett won’t let his daughter out of his sight, you know him. And Mom is . . . Mom. She has her shotgun, the one I gave her. She thinks she’ll protect the ranch. You know how stubborn she can be. Plus, we have Gray’s guys coming for an assist.”
She heard little Mac crying from the back seat, and it was gut-wrenching to think this was happening to her family. That A.J. was having to take Ella’s three-month-old nephew to D.C. for Secret Service-level protection.
Because Jesse didn’t complete one mission. She hated herself for that thought. But it’d popped into her head anyway just before the rest of A.J.’s words had a chance to truly sink in, and now she knew why Jesse looked more than just tired and angry.
“They know,” Ella whispered, drawing her hand to her chest as the room began to spin. My family knows, oh God.
That was why Jesse had remained glued next to her, anticipating the shock that’d hit as soon as A.J. laid the news on her. Jesse had her by the arm a moment later, easing her down on the couch before she whacked the table or something. She didn’t need a concussion.
“Beckett insisted we tell Mom and Dad about the threats. The fake wedding. All of it.” A.J.’s words were a nuclear bomb to her emotional state.
“Dad cried when he heard Jesse and I were getting married. He must be so . . .” Dot. Fucking. Dot. The ellipsis appeared in a dialogue bubble over her head as her voice trailed off, unable to come up with the words.
Jesse wrapped a supportive arm around her back, pinning her to his side as she let it all sink in.
“Dad doesn’t exactly want to talk to Jesse anytime soon. And well, Mom, is—”
“Mom,” she finished for A.J., her heart breaking. This was not how she wanted her parents to learn the truth. And what had to be going through their minds about Jesse? How much did they know? Had A.J. used the word hitman when explaining it all to them?
Yeah, so Ella is fake married to an assassin. No worries, he only killed bad guys. A sarcastic A.J. talking briefly filled her thoughts, and it had her queasy.
“We had to tell Jesse’s parents too, for obvious reasons,” A.J. went on, another twist of the knife in her heart. “His dad was angrier than Beckett, which is shocking. Because Beckett is fuming about The Chechen news.”
She assumed Jesse overheard A.J. just now and probably couldn’t stomach any more. He let go of her and stood.
“Just be careful. And tell everyone I’m sorry,” Ella softly said.
“You have nothing to be sorry about.” A.J.’s clipped tone had her stomach squeezing again, and though Jesse couldn’t have heard him now that he was a few feet away, she assumed A.J. had said as much to him already.
“Let me know when you’re on your way home. Okay?” Ella requested, slowly standing, her legs a bit wobbly.
“Love you, Sis. Stay safe.” A.J. ended the call, and when Ella handed the phone back to Jesse, it was only then that she realized they were alone in the room. Gray must’ve sensed they needed space.
“Are you okay?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest as if trying to stave off the worries pelting her like hail the size of golf balls.
“The question is, are you okay?” He looked exhausted and close to breaking, yet his first concern was for her. Right now, all she wanted was for this man to feel whole and stop regretting his past.
Am I okay? Circling the coffee table, she spotted a Rochella magazine lying among the others there and briefly considered chucking it into the fireplace.
Jesse must have tracked her line of sight because he snatched up the magazine and walked over to the fireplace, crouched in front of the flames, and tossed it in. And in the process exposed the fact he still had a gun tucked at the back of his pants sans holster.
Ha, sans. One of the few French words I know. Annnd I am losing my ever-loving mind again.
Jesse slowly stood and faced her, widened his stance, and planted his hands on his hips like a warrior, the flames behind him a backdrop providing a dramatic effect as he stared at her, a dark gleam in his eyes.
She couldn’t look away if she wanted to. As he studied her, heat rose up the column of her throat and over her face as though she were standing before the fire herself. This was a look she’d seen from Jesse before, but it was levels above in terms of dark intensity.
His gaze moving over her wasn’t a gentle caress of his eyes. More like the rough touch of a sex-starved man. And that man could make out her nipples despite the wall of fabric layered between them. He could see the bare V between her legs regardless of the material becoming damp the longer he stared at her.