Murder_ A Sinful Secrets Romance - Ella James Page 0,111

I wish I could put them beside each other and show you.” She holds her arm up by my neck. “Yours looks exactly like mine. Identical. Where’d you get it?”

“Miami.” My throat tightens around the word.

“I got mine in Breckenridge, the year before the wreck. Why’d you get yours? It doesn’t exactly fit your badass special ops theme.”

I blow my breath out, looking at the floor for just a second while I get my shit together. Then I look into her beautiful brown eyes. “I got it to jerk around with my friend Breck. He always wanted it to be colder out there in the middle of the desert. We called him our special snowflake.” I smile a little at the memory, even though the tattoo angle on the story is bullshit.

“Breck…like Breckenridge?”

I only hesitate a moment before I answer. “Yeah. He was from there.”

I see her eyes widen when she hears the word was—and for once, I’m glad she’s scared to pry.

TWENTY

GWENNA

“Can you step into the laundry room and get that giant salad bowl from the shelf over the washer?” I would grab it myself, but I’m grating cheese.

Barrett tilts the skillet against the sink’s ledge, dripping the last streaks of venison grease from the pan into the Tupperware bowl where the browned meat is.

“Sure,” he says quietly.

He sets the skillet in the sink and washes his hands. I watch the way he soaps his arms up to the elbows. I can’t decide what it reminds me of—but something. A moment later I realize: He does it like a doctor. God knows I saw enough of them scrub into and out of my room after the wreck. I think of teasing him about it, but I don’t think he’s close to his doctor father, so he may not appreciate me mentioning him.

He catches my eyes on him as he turns. He smirks.

I grin unabashedly. As he walks into the laundry room, I want to laugh. I’m not sure why. It’s just like…there’s pressure in my chest—old pressure, stuck there for these last few years—and suddenly I need to let it out, so I can breathe and just…be happy again.

I smile as he turns toward the shelves over the washer and dryer. I feel so much lighter when I’m with him.

I let my gaze linger on him, drinking in his masculine beauty. Which is why I notice when he stumbles back, bumping the back of his head into the doorframe. He whirls around and, with wide eyes and a flushed face, staggers back into the kitchen. He stops by the dinner table. His face blanches. His eyes widen, and he just looks…like he’s in trouble.

Shit.

His chest is pumping in and out and he’s still got that look of frozen terror on his face when I get close enough to wrap my arms around him.

The second I lock onto him, a shudder ripples through his body and I feel his chest inflate and hold there as he struggles to breathe deeply. I tug the sides of his shirt.

“Barrett—look at me.” His eyes open and close in that exaggerated way that makes him look like he might pass out. It’s a blink in my direction, then he’s struggling for air again, his big chest heaving as his eyes slip out of focus.

“It’s okay.” I hug him. My heart pounds. “I’ve got you.”

I pull him with me to the counter and fumble for a lunch-size paper bag while he leans over, palms braced on his knees. The gasping sounds he’s making hurt my heart and make me sweat with fear for him, even though the rational part of me knows he’s just having a panic attack.

I grab his forearms—“Let’s sit down, okay?”—and together we sink to the floor. He leans back against my cabinets, his hands grasping weakly for his thighs. I pull the bag open and look into his eyes as I lower it over his mouth.

“It’s okay. You’re here with me, with Gwen.”

His dazed eyes cling to mine, even as his chest pumps and his muscles tremble. With my cheek against his chest and my hand straining to keep the bag over his mouth, I look up at him.

“Barrett, you’re with Gwenna. We’re in my kitchen. Feel my arm around you? You’re okay.”

I squeeze him tightly and a second later, he raises a hand to hold the bag. With my free hand, I stroke his neck.

“You’re here with me, baby. We’re making tacos. After we eat, I want to show you