Walker (In the Company of Snipers #21) - Irish Winters Page 0,14
in his eyes now wide and deep. His fingers tangled into her hair, still dripping water down her back. “You make me forget who I am.”
To hell with the aloe.
Persia curled her arms around his head and pressed his face to her breasts where this whole thing began. Kissing the top of his wet head, she breathed in the scent of her shampoo in his hair, wishing she knew his real name. What foods he liked. Where home was and the names of his mom and dad, his sisters and brothers. His favorite color. Which department he’d served with. Important details like that.
Damn, she wanted this man to stay. But like the good aunt that she was to her sister’s two boys, she told Hotrod, “It’s time for midnight breakfast, then back to bed with you.”
“Hmmmmm,” he rumbled against her breasts, his scruff inciting tingles over her bare skin. “You might be right.”
“I am right,” she whispered, wishing he was already rested and raring to go. Like she was. “Bacon and eggs, coming right up.”
Those piercing blue eyes stabbed her. “Then sex? Pretty please?” he asked like a naughty little boy she couldn’t resist.
“Yes, sex. For as long as you want,” she promised. Pressing her lips to the middle of his forehead, she breathed him in. Life wasn’t always hard and lonely. Sometimes, it was perfect.
Chapter Five
He didn’t want to leave Persia. Not like this. For the first time in his life, Walker Judge had found something rare and precious—a woman who understood him. Who truly seemed to like him as much as he liked her.
But then he’d failed her when he couldn’t perform. Not cool. Not even the slightest bit funny. Mother Nature was a bitch. Yet Persia acted as if sleep and rest could fix that, so he let her think so. Truth was, he was running on fumes, just like she’d said. Two days of relentless swimming had tapped every last bit of his physical reserves and his nerves. The weeks on the run before that swim hadn’t been any easier. He needed some serious downtime before he attempted seducing her again. Mostly because, after that lackluster performance, he had to prove himself to her. He was not a wimpy lover. He could get it up! Just give him a minute or two. An hour. Maybe three… Or four…
Ha! Who was he kidding? He hadn’t seduced anyone. She’d been the aggressor from the start, yet even that was refreshing. Women who knew what they wanted and needed were a real turn-on. And she’d wanted him, straight out of the ocean when his fingers and toes and—that—were still prunes. Which—that—still was. Yeah. He could get it up, but getting it off the launchpad and into orbit wasn’t working so well. Rest. He needed to eat, load up on carbs, and sleep, preferably with her beneath him.
It was oddly comforting watching Persia work on their midnight breakfast in her kitchen. Almost made him feel like half of a whole. Part of a real couple. Like he belonged. Until he took stock of where he was.
Her bungalow was straight out of Pottery Barn. Clean. Crisp. Too clean.
Everything, from the comfy white cloth couch covered with red, white, and blue pillows, to the just-as-white pedestal bed, white linen comforter, more white and blue pillows, seemed to be in its proper place. The floor throughout was stained gray hardwood, a driftwood kind of gray. And clean. Not an errant flip-flop in sight. No dust. No knick-knacks. Not so much as a loose magazine.
White painted end-tables and a matching coffee table decorated the main room. A white painted bookshelf covered the entire wall behind her couch, and a navy-blue rocking chair sat at a right angle to that pristine couch. But there wasn’t a single personal item anywhere. Not framed pictures of family. Not a swimsuit cover-up tossed carelessly over the rocker. Not even a set of keys, a cell phone, or a phone charger.
Needing to know if she was just OCD, Walker had the urge to check her closets and drawers. The bungalow felt… staged. As if she’d just arrived and didn’t expect to stay long. As if this were a façade. A set-up. The kind federal agents used in a sting.
Yet he’d seen her bedroom, and that bed was certainly mussed now. The head as well. Walker let it go. He wouldn’t be here long. Why ask questions he didn’t want to know the answers to?