Her stomach dropped and she took a deep breath. Unthinkingly, she drew her fingers through the wetness on her belly and noticed his eyes flash to the movement. She did it again, on purpose this time, wanting to distract both of them from the awaiting reality. She smeared the liquid over the curved line of the guitar body still drawn on her side.
“That’s so fucking sexy, Becca.” He grabbed her hand, pulled it to his mouth, and kissed her knuckles. “But stop before I end up hard again and have a case of blue balls for the rest of the night. Stay right there.” He winked and swung off the bed. A moment later he returned with a warm washcloth, and he bathed her stomach. It was the sweetest thing.
The pressure of emotion for him made it hard to breathe. She had to tell him. Who knew what the night would bring? And no way she could let him go out there without knowing he mattered to her. Not just a lot. But as much as anyone ever could. “Nick?”
His dimple came out as he looked at her. “Yeah?” He tossed the cloth to the nightstand.
Nerves almost making her light-headed, she forced herself to sit up. When he settled next to her, she stroked her fingers over him, his shoulders, his chest, his sides, and met those beautiful eyes. “I love you,” she whispered, her breath catching. “I just need you to know. I’m completely in love with you. And I—”
“God, Becca.” He cupped her face in his big hands. “I love you so fucking much I can barely breathe.” He kissed her, a consuming, devouring physical connection that wrapped them up in a moment in time that was just for them, into which nothing could intrude. She’d remember it for the rest of her life.
The kiss gentled, and then they were embracing. Just holding one another. “I love you,” she said. “I want you to remember my voice saying this while you’re out there tonight. I love you.”
He stroked her hair and kissed her temple. “I could never forget.”
Finally, they had to get up. Dress. Her, in a pair of yoga pants and a sweatshirt, him, in black jeans, a T-shirt, his gun holster—a double one, this time, and a sports coat that covered it. He looked so freaking hot, and it nearly brought tears to her eyes because— No. She wasn’t even thinking it.
He knelt at a safe in the closet and loaded up on weapons—two handguns, various knives, extra clips of ammunition. Each addition ratcheted up her anxiety because it meant he was expecting a fight.
Nick held her hand as they walked out to the kitchen and met up with Shane and Easy, sitting at the bar eating leftovers. Jeremy leaned on the other side of the counter and nursed a beer.
“Beckett’s over with Marz,” Shane said. “We should run through an equipment and weapons check.”
“Agreed,” Nick said. “Gimme five to choke something down.”
“Take six,” Easy said with a smart-ass smile.
“Want me to make you something?” Becca asked. He shook his head and gave her a quick kiss. No way she could eat right now, so she settled against the bar next to Jeremy and bumped his shoulder. “Hey.”
“Hey,” he said, his gaze heavy with concern. Jeremy was upset he couldn’t participate in the assault, but he’d only handled a gun a few times in his life, and the guys had reluctantly voiced concerns about his readiness for what they might be walking into.
“I’ll sit on your lap later if you want,” she said, referring to his T-shirt: I’m not Santa, but you can still sit on my lap . . .
That quirked a grin out of him. “My lap is open to you any time, babe. Ow.” Nick cuffed him on the back of the head and he flinched. “Santa.” Jer pointed to himself. “The Grinch.” He pointed to Nick. “You choose.”
Becca laughed and the guys joined in. Nick shoveled some pork fried rice down his throat and tried to pretend it wasn’t funny. But she could see the truth in his gorgeous eyes.
Fifteen minutes later, they were back in the gym again. Her eyes widened at the arsenal getting pulled from duffel bags and cases. Handguns. Rifles. Tasers. Ammunition. Headsets. Radios. Other things she couldn’t identify and honestly didn’t want to. Turned out each of the guys who’d driven here—Shane, Beckett, and Easy—had come prepared for the worst.
And now here they were.
“Why do you all have all this?” she asked.
Beckett looked over his shoulder. “Security is my line of work. But ever since I got back from Afghanistan, I’ve been preparing for the day the shit rained down again. Had to come sooner or later.”
“I’ve always been a collector,” Shane said. His gaze dropped to a duffel. “After last year, it became more than a hobby. It seemed smart to be prepared for whatever had come at me before to take another swipe.”
Easy nodded. “What they said. In a nutshell.”