take over your living room, but there wasn’t really a good space for the mat in my bedroom. You should try it some time. Very relaxing.” Several beats passed before he said, “How about now?”
“What?” She turned fast to find him now in a tree pose, looking totally serene while she felt like a complete mess inside. “Uh, no. I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
Clint cracked one eye open, his hands folded in front of his chest like he was praying. “Why not?”
Because all I can think about is ripping those shorts off and licking you all over. Instead of saying that, she gulped more wine and did some praying of her own—mainly for the strength to resist her carnal urges. “I can’t,” she said, trying to come up with some excuse that wouldn’t sound lame. Her arm still itched like hell under those damned bandages and she seized on the opportunity. “The, uh, the doctor said I shouldn’t do anything strenuous while my bullet wound is still healing. All those yoga moves, stretching and stuff—especially when I’m not used to it. Yeah, no.”
If she’d stopped there, things would have been fine. But the wine seemed to have loosened her tongue because to her horror, she kept babbling on. Or maybe it was the fact she had six and a half feet of gorgeous half-naked man standing in her living room inviting her closer to him that had her ruffled six ways from Sunday. Whatever it was, she couldn’t seem to shut up. “It’s so frustrating, really,” she said, carrying her glass and the wine bottle out of the kitchen and into the living room, knowing she was courting danger and not able to stop herself. “I hate having limited mobility, especially at my job. But I still get it all done, because that’s what I do. But I’d really like them to let me off my leash once in a while.”
She flopped down on the end of the sofa farthest away from him and kicked her stockinged feet up onto the cushions, grateful for her comfy PJs as she chugged more wine.
He switched positions again, looking over his shoulder at her with those pretty blue eyes, his full lips quirked into half smile. “I know a thing or two about bullet wounds.”
Tara bet he did as she studied his torso over the rim of her glass. From down here, she could see his smooth, tanned skin was marked in places with paler, shinier scars. There were several on his back and sides. Before she could stop herself, she asked, “Where’d you get those from?”
As he moved from pose to pose, he told her about how he’d been a sharpshooter in the SEALs and how getting shot came with the territory. “I earned my position.”
“Hmm.” Part of her felt honored he’d share all that with her. But the other part just wanted to feel those scars under her fingers. Tara was on her feet before she could rethink her actions and walked up beside Clint as he performed a Namaste and bowed slightly. When he straightened, she reached out and traced her finger along a scar on his side. He moved into her touch, so her hand ended up on his back, directly behind his heart.
“That scar is the worst of them,” he said, his voice so low and quiet, it held her hypnotized. “My team came under attack. We weren’t expecting it and I ran into the situation without thinking. The bullet missed my heart by millimeters. I almost died that day.”
“Oh God,” she gasped, unable to pull away as he slowly turned around to face her, so close his heat wrapped around her, penetrating the thin cotton of her PJs. So close she could smell the soap on his skin, see a tiny drop of sweat run down from his cheek to his neck, hear the softness of his breathing. Her tongue longed to catch that drop, see if it tasted as salty as she expected. She bit her lip to keep from doing it. Flustered, she murmured, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he said, leaning down so his breath stirred the hair near her temple. “All these scars remind me of all the future opportunities I’ll miss if I’m not careful.”
She was staring at his chest when Clint reached up and grasped her chin gently, tipping her face upward so her gaze met his, the pad of his thumb tracing her jaw. “Have you thought about