Navy Seal's Match

A hand closed around his elbow. He threw it off to dislodge the hold, poised for attack.

Mavis’s features struck him, freckles dark, eyes round.

He let the fight go out of him when the shock painted her. He stepped away, seeing the others casting looks in their direction.

She shook her head and spoke first. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” He shot it off like a curse. He forced his feet into backward motion, winding away from her and the rest.

“Are you okay?” She reached out.

“Fine,” he said, still verbally swinging. She needed to go. He needed to get away from her before she found out how cold and vast the dark side of the moon really was. He moved in the direction of the house...or what he hoped was the right direction.

She came after him. “Gavin...”

He pointed at her. “Stay. I mean it,” he added in resignation before lengthening his stride.

CHAPTER FIVE (#u514e0885-1c55-5ee9-8f7c-0b87ffc70d05)

“WHERE IS HE?” Mavis asked. She’d changed from the work wardrobe she’d dirtied up into black jeggings and a tank. After checking on Cole and Briar to see that Gavin’s father had recovered from the heat, she’d hunted Gavin through Olivia and Gerald’s homey abode.

Harmony came down the stairs. “He’s taking a shower.”

Mavis could tell by her expression that she’d seen him. “How is he?”

“I don’t know.” Harmony shrugged. “He won’t talk. Not that he ever has about how he’s feeling.”

Because it’s weakness, Mavis knew. Gavin didn’t accept weakness. Most men like him, soldiers, didn’t. “Where is he, exactly?”

“Liv told him to use William’s room,” Harmony said. She grabbed the stair rail to stop Mavis from climbing up. “Whoa. Where’re you going?”

She’d promised not to let him drown alone. “I’m going up.”

“Mavis.” Harmony grabbed her hand to stop her from passing. “I’m not sure you should. Not right now.”

“Look,” Mavis said shortly, “you’re trying. Cole’s trying, Briar’s trying. No approach seems to be working. The other day at the inn, he was having flashbacks and...and I helped him.”

Harmony’s wide-arched brows lifted. “How?”

Mavis forced an exhale. She couldn’t tell her friend everything that had happened with her brother in the bougainvillea. And not because she didn’t know why, precisely, Gavin had responded to her touch. She couldn’t tell Harmony because of what Mavis had felt the moment she’d sensed Gavin’s walls trembling...when she’d thought maybe she had done the impossible. “All I really know is that for a few moments he felt safe enough with me—he trusted me—to help him out of it, and it worked, if only temporarily.”

Harmony searched Mavis’s face. She stepped aside. “I can’t stand to see him like this. I’m scared of what’s on this path if he keeps going down it alone. Do what you can for him.”

“Okay.” Mavis climbed the rest of the stairs. Glancing back briefly, she said, “Thank you.” For trusting me, too, she added, silently.

When Harmony nodded in answer, Mavis moved from the landing. The Leighton house was laid out with rooms tightly knit. An ideal nest that kept its inhabitants close. The master suite was on one side of the hall and William’s and Finnian’s rooms were on the other, connected by a Jack-and-Jill bathroom. Mavis had been there once. She’d gone from one boy’s room through the bathroom to the other so she could climb out the back window and escape without Olivia and Gerald’s notice.

It felt odd choosing the first door on the left. She’d dated William in secret so their families wouldn’t find out and make noise about the two making things more permanent. It was strange seeking another man through the same door, intruding on the space of her ex.

Gavin’s shirt she found hung at the foot of the full bed, and his shoes near the bathroom door. She heard the shower running.

She bypassed the shirt, stepped over the shoes and came to the door. Raising her fist, she quelled hesitation and rapped her knuckles against it.

She heard a curse. The door was snatched from the jamb. Gavin filled the space of the frame.

Mavis blinked. He was a mountain. Like Prometheus, he was a fricking beast. Toned. Muscled out—definition on top of definition.

There were ribs, however. Enough of a hint that on anyone else might’ve looked ordinary. On him, they smacked of self-neglect. His rib cage as a whole should’ve been lost to the ripple of abs and the scintillating muscles that honed his waistline to perfection. Behind the eyes, she saw truth. There, he looked gaunt. As if the sharp bones of his honest self peered through the coat of naked flesh.

She caught the moment...the very brief moment that his honest self reached for her. She nearly reached back.

Then he blinked. Resignation resumed. Annoyance followed. “What do you want?” he asked.

“No questions.” Placing her hand on the deep-inked, red-eyed wolf as black and forbidding as the storm he held inside him, she moved him back into the bathroom, stepping in, too, until she could shut them both in.

His expression turned puzzled as she shut off the tap in the shower stall. “What’re you up to now?”

“This is me pouring water over the fire,” she told him.

He stared. Shook his head. “No. No, this is you dressing up as a can of lighter fluid and throwing yourself at it.”

“Give me your thumb,” she said, extending her hand.

He held it back. “I’m fine.”

“You let me in the other day,” she reminded him. “Why?”

“I thought we weren’t asking questions.”

“Gavin. Why?”

“Maybe I was desperate.”

“Maybe you do need someone.”

“This is hell. I’m not dragging you into it.”

“I do what I want. And what Iwant is to help you. So stop being a man—a big stubborn man—and let me help you!”

The staring didn’t cease. She wondered how much he could see in the closeness of the whitewashed room, under the single bright vanity bulb. Not her pulse tripping against her throat. Not the frisson of nerves in her wrists and knees. Hopefully not the desperation pressed between her lips.

He brought his hand up to meet hers.

She fought a tumultuous sigh. There was dirt on his fingertips still. There was dirt on hers, too, despite several scrubbings in the powder room downstairs. It was caked red under both their nails. The scent of it, of their work together, came between them. She hoped he found it as grounding as she did. Gripping him lightly, she extended his thumb toward her. She moved her shoulders back, trying to grind the edginess out of her joints. She started to press her thumb and forefinger against the web between his. Then she stopped and bent her head, releasing a long breath that streamed cool over his thumb.

The shower steam, fine and damp, was suspended around them. Silence closed them in. She saw his lungs expand against his ribs and noticed his pulse trip against the base of his throat. His breath moved over the center part of her hair, at the apex of her brow.