“I don’t want you to feel …” he begins but breaks off, setting the book down while he runs his other hand over his jaw, “obligated.”
Oh, wow. Foster thinks I’d actually feel as though I should repay him in sexual favors for all of his help the past few weeks? Huh. Not sure if I should feel insulted or endeared he’s holding himself back.
Pulling my legs back, I sit up, moving closer to him before settling into a seated position with my legs beneath me. “Hey,” I speak softly.
His eyes hold mine for a beat. “Hey.”
“I’m pretty sure I’ve never felt the least bit obligated to do anything with you, least of all sexually.”
Foster’s eyes drift over my face as if trying to determine whether I’m telling the truth. When he finally speaks, his voice is husky and subdued, a crease between his brows. “I was so damn worried about you.” He trails an index finger along my cheekbone. The way he’s looking at me makes my breath catch in my throat.
Grasping his hand, I slide it over to my lips, pressing a soft kiss to his palm. “No need to worry about me anymore.”
Something flickers across his face. “I need to worry about you more than you think.”
Before I can ask him what he means by that, his thumb brushes over my bottom lip, the calloused pad a contrast to the softness of my lip. The heat of his gaze and the indecipherable look in his eyes sets me into motion. Sliding a leg over to straddle him, I rest my hands on his broad shoulders.
Everything that has happened has made me realize that life is too short; it’s never guaranteed. That much was confirmed when Brad showed up at my house with a gun in hand, intent on doing hell knows what. It’s time I start being an active participant in life instead of a bystander. Even though I’m nearly one hundred percent certain I’ll end up getting hurt, I don’t want to try and suppress what I feel for Foster.
Leaning in, I dust my lips across his. “I need you, Foster.”
His eyes hold mine for a millisecond before his hand cups the nape of my neck and he presses his lips to mine in a slow, soft kiss.
In the far recesses of my mind, I can hear his mysterious words replay. I need to worry about you more than you think. And I realize the same can be said for me. I need to worry about him more than I think.
I need to worry about him stealing my heart.
Chapter Forty-Five
Foster
Heading back to the office after spending most of the day at one of our contracted sites, I’m relieved to find Doc’s truck parked in front. Noelle had taken off early for a dental appointment and the others were still working out at their designated sites. Earlier, I had briefly spoken with Doc on the phone during lunch and he’d confirmed he had some information for me. Which meant Mercer had gotten in touch with him.
Walking through the door of the office, I slide my sunglasses on top of my head, and sink into the chair at my desk. Tossing my keys and wallet onto my desk with a clang, I lean back into my chair, fixing my eyes on Doc.
“What’s the verdict?”
“Well,” he starts, leaning forward and propping his forearms on his desk, “Mercer had some interesting finds.” With a meaningful pause, he tips his head to the side. “That law office you got the call from actually exists. But after doing some digging, he found someone was spoofing the calls to make it look like it came from that law office when, in fact, the call originated outside of Baghran.”
He pauses to let that sink in and, damn, does it sink in. Hard. Because Baghran is right smack dab in the Helmand Province, where Hendy was last known to be; where terrorist activity was ridiculously high year-round.
I’ve been caught up in trying to keep Noelle safe—not that I regret any of it one bit—and if I’m being completely honest, it’s been a good thing because it’s helped to take my mind off of Hendy no longer being … around. Now, in light of this news, it’s screwing with me. Why would someone be trying to contact me all the way from Baghran? And disguising themselves as an employee at a law office near where Hendy lived?
It reeked. Bad.
“I don’t like it, Fos.” Doc’s green gaze is locked on mine. “Nothing about this feels legit.”
Running a hand over my face wearily, I blow out a long breath. “So what do I do now?” I feel like my damn hands are tied and I don’t like it one bit.
“Well.” Doc leans back in his chair, stretching his arms back, fingers linked behind his head, looking away in thought. “There are some possibilities here. One, we dig deeper and accidentally trip something, inadvertently letting them know we’re on to them. Then the trail goes cold.”
“Or?”
“Or we tread carefully and bide our time, letting them come to us. They obviously want something. Unfortunately, right now we don’t know what that is. But they want something.”
“What the hell do they want with me?” Grinding the heels of my palms into my eyes, I let out a groan of frustration. “My fucking friend is dead.”