the seams when she orders Scout to sit, shake, switch paws, and then bark before rewarding him with a taste of whatever she’s cooking. The Australian shepherd looks like he has a smile on his face as she scrubs his head with both hands before placing a kiss between his mismatched eyes and then dances away to whatever music she’s playing over my system today.
I pull up my app, seeing it’s Timbaland and Katy Perry singing “If We Ever Meet Again,” and I glance up to match her lips to the lyrics. I could sit here and watch her forever. It’s the only time I see her truly relaxed, not a care in the world unless she does something she deems “wrong” in the kitchen.
Like the time she browned the grilled cheeses darker on one side than the other.
And could barely look me in the eye the entire time we ate.
She flinched when I went to run a soothing hand up and down her arm, telling her it was okay, that she didn’t need to cook dinner for me every night anyway—like I have for the past year.
A year of pure torture in which I wouldn’t let her leave—not that she fought me much.
A year ago, Astrid’s abusive ex found her, several months after she and her sister landed here in our small town outside Ft. Vanter. I’d hidden her away while my security team took care of him, and after everything was said and done, I couldn’t let her leave. At first, it was because everything was up in the air with Brandon, her ex. We didn’t know what his sentencing would be, so she stayed while we awaited his trial. At the same time, her sister, Twyla, moved in with Seth, the technological genius behind Imperium Security—the cover for our mercenary operations—and co-owner of Club Alias, our BDSM club.
There was no way in hell I was going to let her live alone for the first time in her entire life when she was so very clearly suffering from PTSD thanks to her decade-long relationship with the worst kind of human being.
And I say it’s been a year of pure torture, because for the first time in over two decades, I want a woman. I want this woman more than I want my next breath. And not just in the physical sense. From the moment I first saw her, the image of her had been branded on my mind, to the point I see her beautiful face every time I close my eyes, every time I blink. She’s a constant in my subconscious, never allowing me to fully concentrate a hundred percent on anything or anyone else, because there’s always this shadow of her perched in the corner of my mind. Which isn’t good, since I’m a well-respected psychologist.
I realize I’ve been sitting here a little longer than I should, as I see Astrid glancing at her watch and biting her lip, probably wondering what’s taking me so long to get out of my car. She knows I’m here. All sorts of bells and whistles go off inside the house when I open and close the gate, and she can see my car outside the window. But she believes I always have an appointment with a patient over the phone that I finish before I come inside, or that I’m wrapping up things with security cases with one of the guys. She doesn’t know I just sit and watch her for a little while, enjoying her relaxed expression, seeing the real Astrid, before I come in and she’s back to her usual tense and overly careful state.
I put in the code at the door and it unlocks, allowing me inside, and I barely have it closed before the locks reset and Scout is barreling into me. He may be a trained military police dog, but being retired, he now knows he’s free to just be a well-loved and spoiled pet. I stoop down and bury my hands and face in his thick gray, white, and black swirled fur, giving him a minute of my attention, all while I feel Astrid’s eyes on me from the kitchen. The open concept of my house allows me to peek up over Scout’s head just enough to catch the small smile on her pillowy lips before she spins away, opening a drawer quickly to act like she wasn’t just watching me.
I stand, strolling up to the huge island separating the kitchen from the