Chapter Ten
As Sam whacked Sheri on the back, trying to get her to stop choking on her wine, it occurred to him he needed to work on his communication skills.
“Sorry,” he said, giving her one more solid thump as she blinked up at him through teary eyes. “I probably could have broached the subject better.”
“You think?” she gasped.
“Just trying to get a handle on the elephant in the room.”
She coughed again and gave him an incredulous look. “By shooting it with a grenade launcher instead of a tranquilizer dart?”
He grinned as he handed her back into her chair and returned to his seat a safe distance away. He shrugged and picked up his fork. “Why use a big gun when a bigger one will do?”
“I really don’t think we should be talking about the size of your gun,” she said, stabbing into her salad with more force than necessary. “The last thing I need right now is a man in my life or in my bed or in my—in my—”
She trailed off, looking flustered as she forked a bite of salad into her mouth and chewed with startling vigor.
He speared a piece of pork and held it thoughtfully for a moment. “Look, we didn’t really talk about what happened last night—what almost happened—and now we’re dancing around each other trying to pretend nothing’s going on between us. I just think we need to get this out in the open.”
She took a sip of wine, regarding him coolly over the rim of her glass. “And what, pray tell, do you think is going on?”
“I’m insanely hot for you. In case that wasn’t painfully obvious.”
“It wasn’t, but thank you for clarifying.” Her cheeks flushed a lovely shade of pink, and he watched as she raised the napkin to her lips.
“And based on the way you were squirming and pressing up against me last night,” he said, “I get the sense you aren’t exactly repulsed by me.”
She shrugged and looked up at the ceiling. “You’re not hideous.”
He speared a piece of tomato and tried not to look at her breasts. “But I think we both know that acting on our urges wouldn’t be smart.”
“Of course.”
“I work for you. Well, I work for Mac, and obviously he makes the rules here. Either way, it’s a conflict of interest. A very clear violation of ethics and laws and codes and—”
“Wait a minute. My brother told you not to sleep with me, didn’t he?” She set her fork down, looking annoyed.
“What?”
“Argh! That is so like him. Dammit, now I want to f*ck you just to get him back.”
This time, it was Sam’s turn to choke on his wine. She started to stand, probably looking to whack him on the back in revenge, but he waved her off. When he stopped coughing, he shook his head.
“That doesn’t seem like the best reason to have sex with someone,” he said stupidly.
“No? Well, how about the fact that I want to jump your bones?”
“That’s a good reason.”
She set down her wineglass. “I’m not saying I’m going to. That would be the dumbest thing ever. I need a nanny, not a gigolo. I’m barely getting my life back together right now with this move and this job and this house. It would be insane to f*ck the person who’s helping me do it all.”
“Well put.” He swallowed, not certain where to go with the conversation from here. “Okay, so we both agree that sleeping together wouldn’t be smart.”
“Agreed.” She frowned. “Wait, are you saying that because you’re not attracted to me, or because—”
“Sheri, Jesus.” He raked his hands through his hair. “Look, I want nothing more than to lift your skirt to palm that incredible ass, bend you over the kitchen counter, and make you scream my name. But I’ve seen your brother double-tap a moving target in high winds from 400 meters while running across cobblestones, and since I value my life—”
“When did you see my brother shoot?”
He froze. He gripped his fork, struggling to regain control of himself and this conversation.
“At a shooting range,” he said. “In college.”
“They have cobblestones at shooting ranges?”
“It was a very specialized shooting range.”
“Whatever,” she said, and speared a piece of avocado with more force than necessary. “I talked with Kelli this afternoon about how close I came to sleeping with you last night, and she said—”
“You told your friend that?”
“Of course. What do you think women talk about, pedicures and feelings?”
He swallowed. “Isn’t Kelli friends with Mac?”
Sheri rolled her eyes as she finished chewing a bite of salad. “No. Kelli wants to jump Mac, but he’s not aware she exists. That’s something I’d like to change in the future, but we’re getting off-topic here. So we’re in agreement about not sleeping together?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Absolutely.”
Sheri lifted her wineglass. “Okay then. Here’s to a platonic, professional, completely sexless working relationship.”
“Cheers,” he said, lifting his glass to hers.
It was the lousiest toast he’d ever made.
…
Sam did his best to avoid Sheri for the rest of the evening. That meant staying out of the kitchen, since she was out there banging pots and pans and doing something involving the blender.
He hid out in his bedroom, thankful he had a private bathroom so he could bathe the twins without running into her in the hallway. If he was going to keep his word—both to her and to Mac—it was wise to minimize temptation.
After bath time, he set the boys on a blanket on his floor and demonstrated a series of low-crawl drills and military push-ups.
“You want your hands shoulder-width apart like this for the push-up,” he said to Jackson, maneuvering the baby into position. Jackson giggled and grabbed hold of Sam’s finger with a surprisingly fierce grip.
“Excellent.” He saluted both boys. “Starting position—hut! I’ll call cadence. Ready? One, two, three.”
Jeffrey rolled over and attempted to stick his own foot in his mouth. Jackson screeched and crawled two feet before flopping on his belly and smacking his hand in a puddle of his own drool.
Sam smiled. “I had a buddy in the Marines who used to do that after a night of bar crawling. Not the sort of crawling you should be doing, incidentally.”
Jackson gave him a drooly grin and farted.
“Atta boy,” Sam said, and patted him on the back. “Probably good we’re hiding out in here if we’re doing guy stuff like that. If you want to scratch yourself inappropriately, now’s the time.”
Jeffrey smacked his pudgy palm on Sam’s pocket, which held his phone, wallet, and a pocketknife. Sam pulled it all out and set everything safely on the dresser, out of the boys’ reach.
“That reminds me, I need to Google culinary knife techniques,” Sam muttered. “I probably shouldn’t have used my dive knife to make salad. Now your mom thinks I look more like I’m prepping for hand-to-hand combat than prepping lettuce.”
Which was pretty much true, but it was bad to be so transparent. Between forgetting the diaper bag, burning the brisket, making the beds with military precision when he knew not to, screwing up the knife thing, and sticking his foot in his mouth over dinner, he wasn’t exactly batting a thousand today.
“Gotta be more careful,” he told the babies. “I owe it to your uncle. And your mom. She made it pretty clear she’s not interested in swapping spit with military guys after what your daddy pulled.”
Especially not one who lied to her the way Sam was doing.
The boys bounced up and down a few times and made some fussy noises he feared could be the start of another crying jag. He stood up and scooped one baby into each arm, savoring the sweet warmth of them cradled against his chest. “Come on. Time for bed.”
He put the boys down quietly, careful to avoid Sheri out in the kitchen. He heard her moving around in the boys’ room several times over the next few minutes, so he knew she was checking on them. At one point, he thought he heard Kelli’s voice down the hall, followed by the whirring of the blender. Margaritas, he thought, and wished he had one. A margarita sounded good, but not good enough to brave a trip down the hall and the temptation of Sheri’s pantyless ass curving beneath her skirt. Better to stay here at the other end of the house with his pants safely zipped.
En route from his bedroom to check on the boys, he spotted Sheri’s iPhone in a basket on the hall table. Glancing around to make sure she wasn’t watching, he flicked the power button and looked down at the screen. A text message flashed up at him.
Why the f*ck aren’t you answering my calls? Don’t make me do something drastic, Sheri.
Sam scowled. The sender was Jonathan Price. How long had he been trying to contact her? What the hell did he want?
He started to scroll for past messages, but footsteps from the kitchen signaled Sheri was on the move. He powered the phone off and put it back, slipping quietly back into his room.
So Limpdick was harassing her. He’d have to check the phone again later. It was Sam’s job to keep him away. To protect this family. To protect her. He needed to check in with Mac, to let him know things were escalating.
Back in his room, Sam fired off an e-mail to Mac and one to his sisters letting them know he was okay. After that, he played a few rounds of darts with the small dartboard he’d tacked to one of the ridiculous apricot walls. His aim was still true, which was a small comfort. Not that he planned to return to his life as a sniper, but at least he still had the skills.
An hour later, Sam stared at his empty water glass. Even with the air-conditioning, it was hot as hell in here. Or maybe that was sexual frustration. He’d already taken a cold shower in hopes of cooling his libido. Now his stupid ice water was empty.
He stepped over to the door, listening for noises from the kitchen. He didn’t hear anything, so maybe she’d gone to bed. Maybe it was safe to brave the journey down the hall.
Since when are you such a chickenshit?
Sam sighed and unlocked his bedroom door. It wasn’t a matter of that. It was about respecting Sheri’s boundaries. It was about honoring his commitment to a friend. About following through on what he said he’d do. About remembering that the last time he’d failed to do something he pledged to do, innocent men had died. Horrible, awful deaths that could have been prevented if only Sam had done what his commanding officer ordered him to.
He gripped his water glass harder, fighting to block the memories as he made his way down the hall. Screams still echoed in his head, and he saw the flash of fire, felt the thunderous blast, felt the wave of scorching heat.
God, would he ever forget?
He shook his head, rounding the corner to the kitchen.
He froze in the doorway, paralyzed by what he saw.
Blood.
Blood everywhere—on the floor, on the counter, Jesus, even on the ceiling. And glass, holy shit, shards of glass everywhere.
And at the center of it all, Sheri.
Sheri with her hands and face and clothes and arms covered in red spatter, and a horrified look on her face.
“No!”