“One more reason to be glad we made it home alive.”
They’d reached the corn rows. She stopped and reached her hand out, running it along one of the stalks. “We shouldn’t go too far away, not when it’s so late.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“Rules,” she said, and that seemed to be the only reason she needed or planned to give. She cast a look back in the direction of bunkhouses. “I noticed you cleaned the entire truck. Are you going to sell it?”
He’d cleaned it to wash away any lingering blood that would remind Charity of the event. “I’ll keep it for now.”
“Seeing it every day won’t remind you of what happened?”
“When I see it, I’ll remember that there are two fewer raiders around to hurt people. That’s the best way to deal with this trauma: keep telling yourself that the world is safer now. Those men brought their deaths on themselves.”
She was watching him intently again, as though trying to read his expression. “How did you learn how to shoot so well?” She paused. “I just want to know the truth. I won’t think less of you or blame you. Are you ex-military?”
He considered telling her yes, but then he’d have to come up with details about his unit, where they’d been, and why he’d lied about all of it. And if her family thought he was a deserter, they’d make him leave.
Best to give her a reason she wouldn’t pry into. “You asked why I knew about shock. I know because five years ago both my girlfriend and my father were killed by terrorists. After that, learning how to shoot became a priority.”
Charity’s eyes widened in sympathy. “I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah. Me too.” He didn’t have to fake any emotion to make his story convincing. Pain was one of those things like riding a bicycle. You didn’t forget. He let the memory surface for one searing second before pushing it back into the recesses of his mind. He needed to concentrate on the here and now, on the task at hand, on Charity.
She reached out and put her hand on his arm. “I can’t imagine how hard that must have been.”
Most people couldn’t, which was a good thing.
She dropped her hand quickly. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have touched you without your permission.”
“I’m wearing long sleeves,” he pointed out. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It’s the principle.”
He sighed and turned to face her more directly. “I want you to touch me, Charity. You have my permission.”
She didn’t move or answer, just watched him with solemn blue eyes.
He ought to say something teasing to cajole her, or at least point out that he’d saved her life today. That should earnhim something in the affection category. Somehow, he couldn’t muster any of it.
Maybe the events of the day had taken more of a toll on him than he thought. Brushes with death were bound to loosen a person’s tongue. And besides, Charity was the sort of woman who valued vulnerability. “After my girlfriend died … well, for a long time, it’s just been easier to shut myself off. If you don’t let yourself feel anything, then you don’t feel the pain either. But you make me feel things. And some of those feelings, I don’t know what to do with. So I walked away from you last night even though I didn’t want to. I’m sorry.” He held out his arms to her. “Please. I want you to touch me.”
Her eyes softened, and her entire countenance melted with sympathy. She stepped over to him, wound her arms around him in an embrace, and rested her head against his chest.
When he’d held out his arms, he’d hoped for a kiss, but this hug felt better somehow. Felt right. Something in him relaxed, some little bit of pain from the past dissolved.
He pulled her closer and laid his cheek on her hair. She was warm, soft, and smelled of the cinnamon rolls they’d had that night after dinner. He didn’t want to let her go. He could stand like this forever, her body next to his, giving him warmth.
And yet, he didn’t want to stand here like this. He suddenly wanted more. Even wound together the way they were, they had no skin-on-skin contact. He wanted to feel the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips.
He should have that sort of relationship with her for the mission’s sake. It had nothing to do with the cravings that enveloped him. Almost of their own accord, his hands moved across her back, one going down, one going upward to tangle into her hair. He inclined his head toward hers, his gaze on her lips. Right before his fingers reached the skin at the nape of herneck, she stepped away from him, breaking their embrace. Cool night air rushed in and took the place of where she’d been.
He was tempted to pull her back to him. Instead, he thrust his hands into his pockets. Vulnerability hadn’t worked as well as he hoped. He reverted back to teasing. “You still haven’t forgiven me for last night?” He shook his head in mock recrimination. “I knew I should’ve brought the apology chocolate with me.”
She edged farther away. “It’s not that. You were right last night. We should know more about each other before we kiss.”
At least she wasn’t ruling out kissing altogether. “Okay. I can oblige.” He rocked back on his heels, thinking. “My favorite class in school was history. When I was younger, I sprained my ankle after jumping off of a balcony, and cinnamon rolls are my favorite food. At least they are after eating the ones you made tonight.” He moved toward her. “That pretty much sums me up.”
She wasn’t having any of it. “Goodnight, Enzo.” She turned and headed to the bunkhouses.