Ricochet (Renegades #3)(86)
Author: Skye Jordan

She threaded her fingers into his hair, and that familiar need coupled with true desire made his mind haze. Exactly what he wanted. What he needed. Ryker stroked his hands up her back, then down again, squeezing her ass again and pulling her close. He clutched her waist, his mind already on the idea of dragging the shirt off over her head and watching her ride him the way she had that first night.

But her hand tightened in his hair. “How do you deal, Nathan?” Her voice remained soft and serious. “I know you’ve seen a lot of tragedy. And you’ve stayed sixteen years. You must have some way of coping.”

He clenched his teeth. Frustration dimmed the delicious desire flooding him. “Rach,” he said, trying to sound patient but not feeling it. “I already told you I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I’m not talking about any one incident,” she said. “I’m talking about you, Nathan. I’m talking about how you get yourself past the pain and move forward. You can’t go back to duty like this.”

Fuck. He had a crazy urge to jump to his feet and demand, “Like what?”

Instead he covered one of her hands with his and pressed it between their bodies, between his legs. He rubbed her palm over his erection. Electric fire erupted in his groin, spreading pleasure through his cock.

“You’re right, baby,” he said, voice rough with lust. “I can’t go back to duty with this.” He slipped his other hand beneath the shirt and stroked her soft curves. Christ, he’d never felt anything so beautiful. He realized what a ludicrous thought that was considering how many women he’d been with, but she felt far more perfect in far more ways. “Why don’t you help me with that?”

He gripped her waist and lifted her to his lap, then scooted back on the bed. She braced her hands on his chest and looked down at him, all that long dark hair falling forward. He stretched one arm toward the nightstand, pulling the drawer open and grabbing a condom.

“Nathan, you can’t keep avoiding this. You can’t go back to the men who count on you unless you’re one hundred percent there for them.”

He bent his knees and purposely dug his fingers into her waist too hard. “Baby,” he said, warning flaring in his voice, “leave it alone. The only kind of therapy I want from you is sexual therapy.” He slid his hand up to her breast, cupped, and squeezed. To soften the bite of his tone, he added, “Definitely your area of expertise.”

He ripped the condom open with his teeth, wanting to get inside her fast so he could divert her attention from this topic.

But she covered the hand holding the condom and pressed it to the bed. Leaning over him, she looked directly into his eyes. “Nathan, I’m serious. You have less than two weeks before you go back. That’s not much time. You need to call someone and make an appointment.”

He gritted his teeth, and his exhale sounded as a hiss. “What is your deal?” He pulled his hand from hers, sat up, and lifted her from his lap, setting her aside. “Why can’t you just drop it? You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Rachel wasn’t the first woman who wanted to talk about his work. In the past, the slightest show of anger had immediately deterred most of his one-night flings from the subject. A few had persisted, but every one of those had relented when he’d shown any sign of walking out on them.

He should have known that tactic wouldn’t work with Rachel. Her gaze remained serious but caring. Her expression determined yet open.

Something inside urged him to confide in her. Something whispered she would understand. She would be strong enough to deal. A little spark of maybe she would believe, maybe she could really love him, despite how fucked up he was.

“I may not know what you’ve been through,” she said, “I may not ever be able to understand the depth or extremity of the suffering you’ve seen or done, but I can see an open wound, and yours is as visible now as Ray’s was a few hours ago.”

He pushed to his feet, planted one hand on his hip, and raked one through his hair. He was fucking sick of all this hair. He was never letting it grow this long again.

She rose from the bed, facing him. Something about the sight of her in his shirt twisted the same elemental place inside him it had that very first night. “Nathan, I care about you. I just want—”

“There’s the problem.” He couldn’t do this. She was too close. Too sweet. Too strong. Too everything. “We agreed this would be about sex, nothing more.”

“Really.” Her brows fell, and she propped her hands at her hips. “So that whole “‘What if I came home between tours—’”

“Was just a what if,” he lied, his stomach clenching. “Hell, the sex is good. Why wouldn’t I want more if I came back to town?”

She crossed her arms and pursed her lips. Her jaw shifted to the side. And her gaze gleamed with a familiar determination. One he couldn’t face, because she wouldn’t let up. Wouldn’t relent.

“Look,” he said, using a careless tone. “If you don’t want to fuck, then leave.”

Her lids lowered. “I expected a lot of things from you, but I never expected you to be a coward.”

He laughed, the sound sharp and cynical as he turned and dragged a pair of pants from the dresser. He jerked them on and zipped up, then headed for the door. “Good to know where we stand.” He swung it open and looked back at her. “We’re done.”

He slammed the door behind him and started walking. A sick kind of fury propelled him toward the path leading to the bridge, and he climbed halfway before his mind cleared. Then it tortured him the rest of the way. And when he reached the roadway, he was sweating again, panting, and his gut felt like he’d been stabbed with a commando knife.

Ryker planted his hands on his hips and paced, catching his breath. A little voice kept asking, What did I just do? Regret swamped him. He should never have started anything with her. He should have listened to that whisper at the bar. Fuck, he should have told Troy no when he’d asked Ryker to take this fucking job.

He was so seriously fucked up. He’d never know how he’d even entertained that “what if” he’d offered. Who the fuck did he think he was, believing he could be normal? Believing he could offer her even a fraction of what she deserved in a man?

Ryker walked to the railing and braced both palms on the metal. Dropping his head, he stared down at the dark water running beneath the bridge, the moonlight shining off the rippled surface. “Such a fucking loser.”