Trevor was right when he’d said Trace had risked his life twice to protect her. First after the explosion, and then yesterday, in her apartment.
And you got pissy with him because he said he was doing his job.
Deciding to apologize first thing in the morning, she turned to go back to bed.
“Leaving so soon?”
Emma gasped, her heart flying into her throat as she spun back around so fast, some of the water in her glass flew over its rim and onto the couch...and the man lying on it.
“Shit!” She exclaimed as he jumped to his feet. “I’m so sorry.”
“Jesus, that’s cold!”
Wiping a hand down his dripping six-pack, Trace’s stomach muscles clenched as he worked to dry himself off.
“I’m sorry.” A snicker bubbled up her throat.
“Oh, you think that’s funny?” His narrowed gaze met hers.
When she realized his words held no real heat, she started to laugh. “Yeah.” Emma’s shoulders shook. “I kinda do.”
Picking up his shirt from the floor, Trace dried himself off some more before wiping down the couch and tossing the garment onto the coffee table nearby.
“What time is it?” He tapped his watch. The face lit up with the displayed time. “It’s almost one.” He looked back at her. “What are you doing up? Did you have a bad dream?”
“Headache.” She lifted the half-empty glass. “I needed some ibuprofen, and then I decided to look around for a bit. I didn’t realize you were out here.” Emma frowned. “Wait. Why are you out here when there’s a perfectly good bed in the other room?”
“I was watching some TV earlier. Got tired and turned it off with full intentions of going to bed. Guess I fell asleep here, instead.”
“I’m sorry I woke you. I’ll let you get back to sleep.”
“Or we could talk.”
“About?”
Trace shrugged. “Whatever you want.”
For the next two hours, they talked about everything under the sun.
Emma told him about life on the farm with a preacher father and schoolteacher mom. She told him stories of how Sean would torment her and Alyssa when they were younger, and all the ways she and her sister would get him back.
He asked about the tattoo he’d never seen before, the one on her left bicep that drove her parents mad. It was a stormy sky with a touch of light at the edge of the clouds. A reminder that every storm eventually passes, and the sun will shine again.
She also showed him the small Eiffel Tower she had on the back of her right shoulder, and how she’d gotten it when she lived in Paris for a year...for no other reason than she’d wanted to experience the city and culture there.
Trace shared stories of his childhood, too, although his were much different than hers. His stories were filled with big homes and fancy cars. A nanny who was more of a mother to him than his actual mom, and how his father would cheat on his mother, and she’d go about her life pretending not to know.
Emma had sat quietly, her heart breaking for the little boy he’d once been, never knowing what true love really looked like or how it felt.
Trace told her he’d initially joined the military as a way out of the smothering life. But then he talked about honor and discipline, the love for his country and desire to help make the world a safer place for all.
The longer they talked, the more she got to know the real Trace Winters. And the more she got to know him, the more she began to care.
Yawning, Emma realized that, despite the hours of sleep she’d already had, she still needed more.
Pushing herself to her feet, she said, “About earlier. I’m sorry I was so short with you.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.”