Lyrics from the songs: Call it what you want, cowboy like me, and peace by Taylor Swift.
We ate dinner in silence, which was nothing new for us, but the tension that hung in the air was, and it was almost unbearable. Since the end of the agreement, awkwardness had been a constant whenever we were together—when we weren't screaming at each other or our mouths weren't busy doing something else, that is. As much as I hated the awkwardness, it was preferable to this. I kept replaying our fight, my words, his words, over and over again in my mind. I wasn't sure how we moved on from this. Part of me wondered if it was possible. While licking my wounds, I tried to remind myself, this wasn't all about me. Ranger was struggling with his own set of issues, not only in regards to our relationship but now he was also wrestling with a ghost from his past, one I'd invited in. There was clearly something bigger going on, someone out there who set this in motion, someone with an agenda, and I didn't think getting justice for Sophia was their objective. Ranger's words and accusations had hurt me, and someone else using me to hurt him pissed me off.
As soon as we finished eating, I cleared our plates. Ranger offered to help, but I declined, desperate to escape the suffocating silence. I hoped that having something to do with my hands might help with my racing thoughts. I may have banged the dishes around a bit more than necessary, partly because I was angry and partly to fill the deafening void. I stood at the sink, my back to Ranger, and rinsed our plates and the dishes I'd used to prepare dinner, packing up the leftovers and stowing them in the fridge. I emptied my lunch bag in a desperate bid to escape into routine chores for a little while longer, adding the containers to the load already in the dishwasher, and took the time to add the detergent and start it, one less thing for my Saturday to-do list. After I wiped down the counters, I picked up the half-empty bottle of wine. Topping off my glass, and turning to offer the rest to Ranger, I found him gone.
I panicked for a minute, wondering if he could've made it out the door without me hearing him, and if he had, would I ever see him again? My heart raced as I rounded the corner, expecting to find that both he and his things would be gone. Relief flooded me as I took in his jacket, bag, and briefcase still by the door. I continued in my search, stopping dead in my tracks as I found him in the living room. Ranger sat, shoulders slumped, head in hands, hunched over in the chair. I'd never seen him look so defeated. It unnerved me. Whatever he'd found out on his phone calls, or more likely what he hadn't, was obviously frustrating. I was still angry with him. The way he'd spoken to me, and the awful things he said were inexcusable, but my heart went out to him still. He looked like he was fighting to hold it together in a way that I'd never seen from him before, and it frightened me.
I crossed the room, drawn to him, wanting to give him comfort, despite how much I was hurting myself. Coming to a stop in front of him, I put my hand on his shoulder. My voice was soft as I spoke, "Ranger." I didn't know what else to say. It would be okay? I didn't know that. We'll figure it out? I didn't know that, either. My brain whirred, trying to find words to comfort him. Turns out I didn't have to say anything, as soon as I'd spoken, he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me to him, burying his head in my stomach. Momentarily shocked, I stood frozen before him, not knowing what to do. While he'd comforted me countless times, I could count on one hand the number of times he let me do the same for him, and each time had been a result of some bone-chilling, near-death experience. This was different. Instinct took over, and I wrapped my arms around him, and held him to me as I smoothed his hair back away from his face, rubbed his shoulders, and his back, allowing him to take what he needed from me. While he'd sought comfort in my body before, it was never like this. This seemed so innocent in comparison to him burying himself inside me, seeking a connection, absolution, and reassurance. At the same time, this struck me as much more intimate.
He wasn't crying, but I could feel his breathing, at first strained and erratic, as he once again fought to find control, drawing on his years of military training and sheer force of will to wrestle his body back into submission. For the first time, I allowed myself to recognize how truly tumultuous his day had been, and I felt selfish yet again. Fuck. He'd told me how shocked he'd been at getting my text, and I realized how ominous it must have sounded. It concerned him enough that he got on a plane and flew six hours to get to me. He'd been in meetings. Had he left them early? For me? He'd spent the entire day trying to figure out why I'd contacted him after so long, finally settling on pregnancy, a baby. He'd thought I was pregnant, that we were having a baby. Not only that, he'd seemingly come to terms with it, embraced it. Dealt with his own shock and apprehension over the whole thing and came here, ready to support me. Knowing him, he'd probably also put in an offer on a family home and gotten an estimate for renovating the seventh-floor penthouse to accommodate the new addition.
Fuck, I was such a bitch. I used my own insecurities and deep-seated fears to torture him, rather than set him straight as soon as he revealed his suspicions. On top of it, I plowed on head first into the real reason I called, heedless of his feelings, not giving him a chance to come to terms with reality first. Before he could get his bearings I sprung on him my suspicions about a long-buried, and clearly difficult time from his past. One he'd most likely compartmentalized and thought he'd never be forced to revisit. He had to be shocked at my knowledge of the case, of his alter ego from long ago, and again, rather than give him time to accept it, I attacked him, allowing my hurt and resentment to override everything else. I knew we needed to talk. We both needed to apologize, a feat not easy for either of us, but right now I was exhausted and all I wanted to do was sleep, and not think about this or anything else for a while.
When Ranger's breathing finally returned to normal, he slowly released me, sitting back in the chair, then tipping his head back, eyes closed. As much as I wanted to see his deep brown eyes, and reassure myself that he was going to be fine, he was probably more than a little raw and needed some time to collect himself. The way he always held himself in check, separate from his emotions was a product of his years of training, so losing his grip on that, much less in front of someone else, couldn't be easy for him to deal with. He was a man who prided himself on his control, and his restraint. Allowing anyone to witness a lapse in that might be even more jarring than losing command of it in the first place.
A thought struck me, and I wondered if that's why he always left my apartment early in the morning, before dawn. I'd always chalked it up to not wanting to do the morning after routine, or deal with me and my emotions, but could it be, at least in part, due to not wanting me to see him in the aftermath? Not just the night of the shooting, when I found him in a state of shock, nearly catatonic in a chair in my room, but those other nights as well, where I pushed at him until I broke his iron will, allowing all of his hurt and anger to be set free? Was he uncomfortable? Embarrassed? Ashamed? Looking down at him now, I could see that it was still requiring a great effort for him to keep his breathing even and his body still. As much as I wanted to draw him back into my arms again, I resisted the urge, wanting to give him the space he needed.
Rounding the chair, I stood behind him, squeezing his shoulders before leaning down to kiss him on the forehead. "I'll be right back," I whispered, and made my way to the bedroom. Grabbing some pajamas from the dresser, I moved into the attached bathroom. Knowing I was probably a disaster, I avoided looking in the mirror as I undressed, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and slipped into my pj top and shorts. It was only as I was trying to wrangle my hair into a bun did I take a good look at myself. My eyes were a little puffy, my nose slightly red, but all things considered, not too bad. Hair finally tamed, I stepped back, taking in the rest of me. I looked good, I had to admit. The changes I'd made over the last year had been hard, leaving somewhere I'd lived my whole life to start over, but I was doing better than I ever was. I hadn't completely rebuilt myself, but I was getting there. The biggest difference was that here, I was the one deciding things, from the small things about what I was having for dinner and what brand of peanut butter I was going to buy, to the bigger things like where I was going to live, and what I was going to do about solving my case. I decided. New Stephanie wasn't allowing someone else to take control.
Control. That word made me think back to my session with Handsome Handsome Nick earlier; was that what my dreams were about? Taking control, making choices when it came to Ranger, not simply allowing him to dictate the terms of our relationship? While standing there, I let my eyes drift down to my midsection. I lifted my top and studied my stomach, then turned to the side, checking out my profile, looking for any hint of a swell, a bump. I ran my hand over it, no. It was ridiculous, I couldn't be. I felt a little flutter when I remembered the look on Ranger's face, his words, and how much he seemed to want it to be true. I shook my head, dropped my shirt, and promised myself I'd stop thinking about it.
Picking up my dirty clothes, I dropped them in the laundry basket in my closet and made my way back to the living room. No Ranger. I swallowed the panic that threatened to reappear. Trying to remain calm, I continued towards the kitchen and found him standing near the entryway, shoes on and suit jacket in hand. I stopped short, my heart sinking. His eyes met mine, while the tension around them had lessened, I recognized the wariness and exhaustion showing.
"You're leaving?" I asked, taken aback, although I knew I shouldn't have been. It was his standard operating procedure. I thought of all the times it had been me, running from him when things got to be too much, too intense, too raw. Maybe we were more alike in that way than I'd thought.
He only gave me a tip of the head in response, a nod. "Back to Trenton?" I pressed. A brief look of surprise crossed his face before he shook his head no. Now it was my turn to look surprised.
He hesitated a beat before explaining, "I can't go back, not yet, not until I figure out what's going on. Who's fucking with me. Who's behind this, and the other things that have been happening."
"Other things?" What other things, I wondered.
He nodded, "There've been little things, at Rangeman, with the military," he paused for a minute. "With my government work. On their own, each of them could have been explained, but with this…" He didn't have to say what this was; he meant my case, Sophia, Marco. "I think they're all connected, and until I can figure out how, and where the threat is coming from, I'm offline."
Two emotions warred within me, relief that he wasn't running away, leaving me, going back to Trenton, the other was fear, at what he'd told me. Ranger had said before he had some powerful enemies and now it seemed like someone was coming for him. "So where are you going?" I probably should've been more worried about whoever was plotting against him, but I wasn't. I didn't want him to leave me. Again.
He wasn't acting like himself, the confident, self-possessed badass I knew him to be. The man before me seemed, lost, unsure. Looking at his shoes, he answered. "I was going to a hotel."
I looked at the clock on the wall. "At 1:00 in the morning?"
His eyes came up to meet mine. "I didn't think you'd want me here." He looked ashamed as he continued. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable in your own home."
I sighed. "Ranger, you've made me feel a lot of different things tonight, but uncomfortable wasn't one of them." Horny, angry, heartbroken, yes. Uncomfortable, no. I thought for a moment and added, "Even dinner." It had been tense, and awkward, yes, but even during the times I wanted to throttle him or when I didn't know what to say, I always found comfort in having him near, although I sometimes wished I hadn't. The part of my brain or my heart that decided such things was often in conflict with the rest of me.
Regret crossed his face. Deciding I needed to take a cue from my subconscious, I told him, "Stay." He just looked at me, wary. I told him again, a little more forcefully. "Stay." It wasn't a request, yet not quite a command. He could still deny me, and it would hurt, but I was tired of having regrets. "I want you to stay. Please stay."
He studied me for a minute before nodding. He toed off his shoes and rehung his suit jacket. Pausing, he warned me, "If I stay, I'm not sure I can keep my promise." When he read the confusion on my face he clarified, "If I stay, I can't promise I'll be on my best behavior." I'd forgotten our hallway exchange from earlier, so much had happened since.
I nodded. "That's okay," I told him.
He was still unsure. "You know what's going to happen if I stay?" I nodded again, keeping my eyes on his. "After everything that's happened tonight, I can't, I mean I'd never, but I need you tonight." He paused. "I always want you. I need you, always, but tonight, it's bigger, greater." He looked away for a minute, then back. "So if you don't want me, I need to go. I don't want to hurt you anymore." He'd never said those words before, never admitted them to me, not in the light of day, not when he wasn't already inside me, and never in English. It gave me chills, it gave me hope.
"I know," I said simply. I was making the decision, I wasn't just allowing myself to be swept up, carried away. I was choosing this, choosing him.
He still looked wary. My voice was clear and strong, the emotion evident. "I want you to stay." His look of uncertainty changed to one of relief and he crossed to me, taking me into his arms, covering my mouth with his own. His hands roamed my body as his mouth left mine, moving to my neck, his passion and need evident. I brought my hands to his hair, threading my fingers through it, holding him to me. Sliding his hands under my ass, he lifted me and I wrapped my legs around his waist as he strode towards the bedroom.
Inspired by what I thought my dreams were telling me, I was determined to take charge, take control, and ensure that he knew this was my choice, he was my choice, what I wanted. When he reached the edge of the bed, I unwrapped my legs and slid them down until I was standing solidly in front of him. Moving my hands down his chest, to his waist, I pulled on his shirt tails, until they were freed from the waistband of his pants. Starting at the bottom, I worked all of the buttons open, sliding my hands inside to caress the warm skin, skimming over the hard planes of tight muscles. I kept my touch light as my fingers glided up, over his chest to his shoulders, pushing the shirt off his arms. Rather than falling to the floor, it got hung up at his wrists, where the cuffs were still buttoned. He moved to undo them, but I stopped him. "Let me," I ordered, my voice deeper, husky. Releasing the button on his left, I brought his hand to my mouth, placing a kiss on the soft skin on the inside of his wrist before moving my mouth toward his palm, kissing him there, before following suit with each of his fingertips. I marveled at the strength in his hands, knowing he'd used them not only to take a life but knew there were many more times he used them to save one, including my own, more times than I could count. I moved on to his right, giving it the same treatment. I could feel his eyes on me and I turned my gaze toward his as I released his hand, and slid my own down his forearms, pushing the fabric away, releasing him.
Taking a step closer, I cupped his jaw, placing a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth before nipping at his full lower lip, then fitting my mouth over his, sliding my tongue into his mouth when he opened for me. His arms came around me, clutching me to him before sliding them under the hem of my shirt and shifting the fabric up. I stopped him and took a step back, shaking my head. I wanted to be the one to do it, to reveal myself to him. Looking into his eyes, I crossed my arms and gripped the fabric, pulling it up and over my head, only breaking eye contact when necessary. Keeping my eyes on his, I reached up to release my hair, letting it fall loosely over my shoulders. I slid my hands down my torso and into the waistband of my tiny sleep shorts, pushing them down my legs, not having bothered to put anything on under them. I held his gaze as I stood before him, completely bared to him, in more ways than one. His eyes left mine and I felt them on my body, like a physical touch as he took in every inch of me. There was the hint of a question in his eyes as they returned to mine, wondering where my boldness had come from. Rather than tell him, I continued letting my actions speak for themselves.
Stepping back into his arms, I kissed him again, a small moan escaping me as my breasts pressed into his chest. Moving my lips away from his mouth, they moved down his jaw, and throat, ghosting across his collarbone before moving lower. Stopping only briefly to place small kisses, licks, and bites, I moved south, slowly dropping to my knees in front of him. I turned my face to the side, brushing my cheek against the small patch of hair that started just below his belly button and trailed downward, disappearing below his waistband. My hands trembled slightly as I unbuckled his belt before working the button and zipper on his pants. Turning my eyes upward, I found him watching me intently, studying my movements, searching for the deeper meaning behind them. Returning to the task at hand, I slid my hands inside, and into the waistband of the boxer briefs that only made an appearance when he wore dress pants and needed to appear civilized, never bothering when wearing cargos or jeans. I slid my hands around his back, unable to resist briefly squeezing his fine ass before returning to my original task of getting him naked. In one push I had both boxers and pants pooled at his ankles then gently removed his socks as he lifted each foot for me before I pushed all the fabric to the side.
Sitting back on my haunches, I allowed my eyes to travel upward, over all the beauty I'd uncovered. I took in his strong, powerful body, knowing there were scars and imperfections, both inside and out, caused by the battles he'd fought, and the life he'd lived. I knew while the visible scars had healed, it was the ones I couldn't see, the damage done to his heart, his mind, and his soul that still caused him pain. I prayed and hoped against hope that he'd let me in, let me help him heal. I knew it was what he wanted, but not what he thought he deserved and I wondered if it was something he'd ever allow himself to do. Meeting his eyes, I didn't hold back, trying to assure him I'd always be there for him, protect him, and keep him safe, though not in the same way he did for me, physically shielding me from harm. While I'd always try to do the same for him, that's not what he needed from me. I silently vowed that I'd forever be willing to take him into my arms, into my bed, into my body. Offer him comfort, absolution, and connection in any way he needed me to. I could be his home, if only he'd allow me to do so.
Rising up on my knees, I focused my eyes on the part of him that was directly in front of me as I ran my hands up his powerful thighs, sliding one hand up to his hip to steady myself as I used the other to grasp the base of his cock as I licked the head before sliding it into my mouth, twirling my tongue around it before sucking hard. He groaned and his hands fisted in my hair in response. Encouraged, I began to work more of him into my mouth, caressing him with my tongue, alternating taking him deep in my throat and pulling back until it was just the head and increasing the suction, teasing the slit with my tongue. His groaning turned to growls and then a mix of Spanish and English was interspersed among the sounds he made, a combination of praises and curses as he tried to hold on to some semblance of control. That's not what I wanted, I wanted him to know that with me, he didn't need to maintain the tight leash. I'd accept him as he was; with me, he could be the wild, broken animal he saw himself as, or the damaged, imperfect, mere mortal he tried to hide from the world. He tried to pull away, collect himself, wanting to get himself in check, take care of me, of my needs, before he'd succumb to his own. When he moved a hand from my hair and down to my upper arm, I knew what he wanted. It wasn't what I wanted, so I tried to shake off his grip. His voice changed, now he was begging me, pleading, his words a mix of languages, some I didn't even recognize.
I refused him, sliding my hand that was around his shaft lower to cup and roll his balls before moving further back to the sensitive skin behind, my hand on his hip sliding around to his ass, pulling him closer, letting my nails bite into his skin. It wasn't until I used my teeth, scraping them against the sensitive skin of his cock as I slid my mouth up until they rested just below the head and I pressed a little harder, letting him know this was not his show, he was not in charge. I felt a shudder run through him and he swore, "Fuck," loud and clear after all the muddled nonsense. Releasing my bicep, his hand once again tightened around a fistful of my hair and I knew I'd won. I flexed my hand on his ass, urging him on as his hips started to flex and he gave in, let go, and started thrusting his cock in and out of my mouth. I would have grinned at finally having won if I could've, my mouth full, I settled for letting out a low moan, feeling a rush at being able to do this to him, for him.
He started to lose his rhythm and I knew he was close. I used the hand between his legs to send him over the edge, sliding it further back to press against his asshole before slipping a finger inside. His whole body jerked and he let out a roar as he came and I stayed with him, sucking and swallowing until he was completely spent. Only then did I release him and his knees buckled as he collapsed backwards onto the bed. I crawled up and lay next to him, wrapping an arm around his middle and resting my cheek on his chest. I snuggled in and smiled, feeling incredibly pleased with myself. Once his breathing returned to normal, he gathered me into his arms which still trembled just a bit. He used one finger to tip my chin up so he could look into my eyes, studying me intently. I didn't know what exactly he was searching for, but I refused to shy away or show any embarrassment. He must have found what he was looking for because he brought his forehead to mine and held it there for a long moment before giving me the softest, most tender kiss. He pulled back again, rolling me under him, and I could see that he was back in control once again, still himself, yet different somehow, more centered, more grounded, and more focused.
A slow smile graced his beautiful face, starting out almost joyful, but as he rolled his hips, it changed into something entirely different. I tried, but couldn't put a name to it before his mouth was on mine and he chased every thought I ever had from my head. He spent the next few hours entirely focused on my needs, either punishing me or thanking me for what I'd done, I wasn't sure which. When I pleaded with him that I couldn't take any more, he assured me I could, pushing me over the edge one last time before coming deep inside me. Rolling our bodies until mine was draped over his, we finally let the exhaustion take us and both fell into a deep sleep.
I woke Saturday morning, comfy, warm, and nearly boneless. As fierce as our fighting had been last night, instead of the sex following suit, it had been, while no less passionate, a slow burn, the need, and desire tempered by comfort. I was now wrapped in Ranger, laying on my side with him at my back, my head pillowed on his arm, his other wrapped around me, his hand low on my belly, holding me to him. I tried to suppress the flutter I felt at seeing his hand splayed so possessively, as if his subconscious hadn't caught up with its counterpart, thinking there was still a wee one to protect. Again, my doubts surfaced, about what he truly wanted, questions about why he'd reacted the way he had, as well as my certainty over whether or not I was pregnant. Deciding I'd pick up a test later just to be sure, I let the train of thought go for now. I hadn't heard my alarm, but I could tell from the small amount of light that filtered in around the edges of my blinds that it was after eight o'clock. While Old Stephanie would sleep until noon, it was something I didn't do anymore. After getting into the routine of waking early for work, the habit carried over to the weekend. I usually let myself have an extra hour, but any more than that and it made for a horrible Monday morning. I looked at the nightstand for my phone, wondering why I hadn't heard my alarm. When I didn't see it, I realized it was most likely still in the living room.
I considered my options. I could snuggle in and go back to sleep, enjoying the warmth and security that was an added benefit to sharing a bed with Ranger. I could also snuggle in a little more aggressively, pressing my ass back into his groin. While I could hear and feel his steady breathing which signaled he was still sleeping, a certain part of Ranger was up, fully awake, and promised an exceptional wake-up call. Normally, he'd be awake before me and I'd be the one on the receiving end of that very good morning, and there was no better way to greet the day than feeling him slide into me from behind or his face buried between my thighs. Or he'd be long gone, my brain whispered. I pushed that solemn thought away, choosing to focus on the fact that he was still here, a warm solid presence in my bed. The fact that I'd woken first told me he was completely exhausted. Not only had he been through the same horrendous and draining fight I had last night, but he'd had the additional stress of worrying about an unplanned pregnancy, a cross-country flight, and a three-hour time difference. Not to mention, neither of us had gotten much sleep. It had been late when we made it to the bedroom, and a long while after that we finally slept.
I was just debating if I could get into position to wake Ranger in a very pleasant way when I heard a knock on my front door. Guessing it was my neighbor Liv who sometimes stopped by on the weekend to see if I wanted to have breakfast and walk down to the vendors on the pier, I carefully untangled our legs and slid out of Ranger's arms. Finding my pajamas on the floor beside the bed, I shoved myself into them and hurried out of the bedroom, quietly closing the door behind me. I grinned, knowing I could quickly tell Liv that I'd need to take a raincheck and return to bed and be able to get in a few good licks, if not get Ranger's cock halfway down my throat before he woke up. I'd enjoyed emulating Dream Stephanie last night and spent the wee hours of the morning showing Ranger exactly how I felt about him, that I could and would be there when he needed me, that he was my choice. No matter what he decided to do about it, I wasn't hiding or shying away from what I wanted anymore.
I padded to the door just as the second knock sounded, a little more insistent than I was used to for Liv, and skipped checking the peephole, worried something was wrong. I quickly unlocked the deadbolt before hurriedly opening the door to find Michael Vaughn in a tight t-shirt and well-worn jeans, standing in the hallway, holding a bakery bag and drink carrier from The Black Dog, a slightly annoyed look on his gorgeous face. Once his eyes scanned up and down my body, taking in my messy hair, knit jammie short set, and hard nipples, which were clearly visible through my thin top, having perked up as I plotted my plan to wake Ranger.
"Shit!" was the first word out of my mouth, a greeting my mother would have scolded me for.
"Good morning to you too." Vaughn smiled widely, his dimples appearing on both cheeks. He hadn't shaved this morning, and the stubble added to his appeal, lending roughness to his boy-next-door appeal. "I was going to bitch at you for standing me up, but seeing as the view here is much better than the coffee shop, I'll let it pass." Before I could blink, he pushed past me and into the kitchen, taking my coffee and what I hoped was my breakfast with him. I shook myself out of my stupor, and quickly shut and locked the door. Making a quick detour to the living room, I grabbed the fuzzy throw blanket off the couch to drape over myself like a shawl, before I joined him. I thought briefly about getting dressed instead, but didn't want to wake Ranger. I just wanted to hurry Vaughn out of here before that happened.
Upon entering the kitchen, I found him leaning up against the breakfast bar, his coffee in hand, and Jessica Fletcher doing her thing at his feet. He looked on, nonplussed but turned to me as I entered. Disappointment crossed his face, taking in my new fashion accessory. Since my nipples were no longer on display, he scanned down, finding plenty of leg to look at, my tiny pj shorts not intended for greeting company.
I told him, "Eyes up here buddy." He let out a laugh and handed me my coffee. I used one hand to clutch my blanket and took the cup in the other, taking a long drink, closing my eyes, and letting out a little moan as the coffee hit my bloodstream. He cleared his throat and my eyes snapped open and I blushed, the look on his face causing my grip on the throw to tighten.
He raised an eyebrow. "You must've had a pretty good offer to skip out on a breakfast date with me."
I blushed harder and protested, "I just overslept." Then I added, "And it wasn't a date."
"Uh-huh." He smiled. "Could the men's suit coat, travel bag, and briefcase by the door belong to the reason you overslept?" Shit.
I ignored his question and apologized. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stand you up." It probably wasn't a great idea to piss off a CIA agent. "The past twenty-four hours have been a bit much. I'm sorry, I should have texted you to cancel." I really did feel bad about it.
His eyebrow rose in surprise. "Cancel?"
I nodded, setting my coffee down, holding the throw together now with both hands. "Yes. I don't need the information I asked you for." Last night I'd been so pissed off and hurt by Ranger's harsh attack, I'd planned on getting the intelligence I needed from Michael and solving the case on my own, with my team. While Marco Ruiz was a person of interest in the case, I had been certain he wasn't the murderer. Then I remembered Ranger's reaction when he heard Sophia's name. What if something had happened? What if he'd been undercover, and she found out? They got into a fight, she fell, it had been an accident. No, that didn't happen. It had clearly been a violent death, an attempted sexual assault. While he had a dark and violent side, Ranger or Marco Ruiz, whoever he had been then, that was something he wasn't capable of. I was sure of that. So if he had to answer questions about knowing her, and what he remembered, so be it. I'd hand over whatever I learned to Kat and Handsome Nick and let them deal with it and him.
But, after his breakdown and realizing it was my actions that were responsible for a large part of the disastrous evening, I'd changed my mind. I was going to tell Vaughn never mind, I didn't need to know any more about Marco Ruiz, or the man behind the persona, and move on. I'd find another way; maybe there were other avenues I'd overlooked since I'd been so focused on Ranger and my Spidey Sense. After that, I spent most of the night reenacting my dreams of late and overslept. Now I had an extremely sexy CIA agent in my kitchen and a very dangerous Ranger Manoso in my bed.
"Yes, cancel. I don't need to know. We got another lead that took the case in a different direction," I lied and hoped to hell I could make it true very soon. Vaughn looked skeptical; I guess CIA agents probably weren't the most trusting individuals. I stuck with my fib. "Yeah, sorry I bothered you, but I don't need to know." He just looked at me blandly, clearly not believing me.
I tried again. "I'm sorry for standing you up. I really appreciate you looking into it for me though." I picked up my coffee and took another drink, needing the caffeine boost, noticing he'd gotten my exact order, twenty-four ounce, iced caramel macchiato, skim milk, extra shot. Either he was incredibly observant, or the CIA was very thorough. I set it back down again, appreciating his effort, adding, "And thank you for the coffee." I was extremely grateful for the coffee.
"You forgot the coffee cake," he told me.
My eyebrows scrunched in confusion. "What?"
"I also brought you coffee cake." He nodded to the bag on the counter. "It's your favorite, rhubarb." My mouth watered; it was my favorite. I nodded like a dumbass, wondering how fast I could get rid of him and tear into the coffee cake. It would take more than one hand and I didn't feel like flashing my nipples at him again. He nudged the bag towards me and rather than walk out the door like I'd hoped, he took a seat on one of the bar stools. Jessica Fletcher, finished with her inspection of him and finding him worthy, hopped up onto the other stool, and headbutted his elbow, meowing, asking for pets. He began to scratch her behind the ears as he added, "I should at least get to have breakfast with you for all the work I did on your behalf, and you can tell me about your new lead." Fuck. I knew he didn't believe me. Now what? If it were someone else, I could tell them it was an ongoing case and confidential. But Michael Vaughn was a CIA agent. I was pretty sure he had clearance to know anything he damn well pleased.
Before I could come up with a believable lie, he interjected, "I'm glad you found a new direction to go with the case." Now it was my turn to look surprised. He continued to pet my traitorous cat, who had now climbed into this lap and was purring for all she was worth.
I knew I was probably going to regret it, but I couldn't help myself. "Why?" I asked.
"I pulled the file you asked for, Marco Ruiz." He was very nonchalant, informing me, "You were right; he was an asset, placed in Maywood to try and ingrain himself with the Mendes brothers and their drug trafficking business." I wanted to tell him to stop, to stick my fingers in my ears and yell, la, la, la, I can't hear you, I can't hear you. I also wanted to pull up a chair, satisfy my nosy nature, and hear every last detail about Ranger's involvement with the case, with Sophia. No, I wasn't going to do that. As much as it killed me, I wasn't going to pry into Ranger's past, into his relationship with a woman more than five years before we even met. He had a past, I had a past. If he wanted me to know about his, he could tell me himself. If it wouldn't have dislodged the blanket, I'd have put my hand in the air, reached down, and pat myself on the back for displaying such maturity.
With more surety than I felt, I repeated, "That's okay, I don't need to know; like I said, our case is going in a different direction." The words came out a little hurried; I was afraid I was going to change my mind. I needed to get this man off this topic and out of my apartment before the whole situation blew up in my face.
Looking down at the cat who had squirmed in his lap, Vaughn let out a little sigh. "Okay, if that's what you want." Jessica had rolled so she was halfway turned onto her back, exposing her tummy for him to pet. Whore, I thought to myself, you just met him! He rubbed her belly and looked up at me. "I'm a little surprised though. You're infamous for being nosy, like a dog with a bone. I can't believe you don't want to know more, even just to satisfy your own curiosity."
I scowled at him. While I couldn't argue with his characterization, I didn't particularly like being compared to a dog, and I wanted to tell him in great detail where he could shove his bone. "I. Don't. Want. To. Know," I told him again, enunciating every word. I did want to know, desperately, but not like this, and not from him. If I was going to find out about Marco Ruiz, I wanted it to be from the man himself.
I was so caught up in being offended I didn't recognize the sensation until it was too late. All at once I felt a familiar tingling sensation on the back of my neck, and Ranger's big warm body at my back, close enough that I could feel the material of his pants brush against the back of my legs, I could also tell he hadn't bothered with a shirt, as he slipped a bare arm around my waist. Fuck.
"Are you sure, Babe?" he murmured in my ear, drawing me even closer. While his voice sounded normal, casual even, I could feel the tension in his body.
Vaughn looked over my shoulder, not appearing to be surprised in the least. He most likely recognized Ranger's name in the file I'd asked him for and made the connection. The first time we'd met, he mentioned my work at Rangeman. I knew Ranger tried to keep a low profile with the general public, but with his skills, I was sure he was well-known, at least by reputation, within all the alphabet agencies. I wanted to turn, to look at Ranger, convince him of my resolve, to tell him the whole thing had been a mistake, I'd changed my mind. Instead, I kept my eyes on Vaughn and, nodded, repeating, "I'm sure."
Keeping his eyes on Ranger, but speaking to me he responded, "Maybe I should tell you just a little. From what I saw in his file, this guy is pretty dangerous." He shrugged. "You might want to know some of it, just in case your investigation changes again. I want you to be aware of what, or who, you'd be getting involved with." What the fuck was he doing? Why was he poking the bear? Was he genuinely worried about me, or just fucking around, getting a thrill from some macho alpha male bullshit? While he appeared relaxed, I was sure Vaughn was on alert, with at least one weapon within reach.
Ranger's hold on me had tightened at Vaughn's warning, and even though he was only wearing a pair of dress pants, I had no doubt he was armed. I was just grateful he didn't come out of the bedroom naked, gun in hand. Jesus, I got a hot flash at the thought and the image it brought to mind. I shook my head to clear it. "I'm sure," I told him, and he slid his eyes back to me. I let go of the throw, trusting the pressure of Ranger at my back to keep it in place. Putting my hand on top of his, I gave it what I hoped was a reassuring squeeze. My old apartment had seen enough violence to last a lifetime. I didn't want a shootout in my new one.
I felt Ranger relax just a little. I wasn't sure of Michael's motive. Maybe he thought he was protecting me, but if he was, it wasn't necessary. "I'm sure," I told him again, "That guy may be dangerous, but I can hold my own."
Vaughn looked back and forth between Ranger and me. Not taking the hint, he pressed, "I'd think you'd want the whole story, so you could be sure. Guys like that can have a lot of secrets." His statement hit on a long-held fear of mine. If Ranger and I finally got our shit together, would the skeletons in both our closets plot hard to fuck it up?
Ranger grunted, like he thought that was an interesting comment coming from a G-Man. I guess it takes one to know one.
I was getting annoyed. It was obvious to everyone in the room, except my attention-whore of a cat, that we weren't talking about a mystery man anymore. Vaughn knew full well who Marco Ruiz was when he came here. Had he come to warn me off? I was trying to figure out his angle.
Whatever it was, he wasn't done pressing the issue. "That's weird. If you were so sure, I don't think you'd have reached out to me looking for information on him."
I glared back at him. "It was a mistake." I desperately wanted to look at Ranger and beg him to believe me. I felt like maybe, just maybe, last night had changed something between us, that maybe we could have a future together. Had my nosy nature fucked it up before I could find out?
"Was it?" Vaughn quirked an eyebrow, his attention focused on me.
I nodded, sure of my answer, and hoped to hell Ranger could hear the conviction in my voice. "Yes. When I contacted you, I was trying to confirm a hunch. Then I thought better of it and decided to go straight to the source." It was the truth.
He studied me for a minute, scanning my body again, from head to toe, ignoring the dangerous man behind me with an arm wrapped possessively around my waist. Probably able to read my post-orgasm glow like everyone else I'd ever met, he asked, "And did you get what you needed?" His smile and double entendre reminded me of Lester.
Before I could speak Ranger answered the question. I felt his chest rumble against my back, his voice still rough and sexy from sleep. "Not yet. She got some of what she needed last night, but she'll get more today." He nuzzled my neck and moved his hand from my hip to a position dangerously low on my belly, fingers splayed open, pressing my ass into his very obvious erection. I pinked and my body warmed in all the right places at the gesture and his words. The double meaning was not lost on me, nor our guest.
Vaughn kept at it. "You sure she's going to get everything she needs from you? It wouldn't be better coming from someone else?"
Ranger growled in response, and I interjected, hoping to diffuse the situation. "Hello? She's right here!" The whole back and forth between them was giving me flashbacks to Ranger and Joe, and the weird triangular relationship that had existed between us. I was not interested in doing that again.
Vaughn was acting strangely possessive. He'd been flirty the first time we met, but nothing like this. I hadn't heard from him since, and he clearly knew where to find me. Was he interested? He was handsome, and maybe in another life, if I wasn't hopelessly in love with another man, I might have been interested. Said man was currently molded to my back, his cock nestled between my ass cheeks and I wondered what the hell was going on with him too. What the hell was he thinking? Well, at least one thing he was thinking was obvious, and quite inappropriate while entertaining a guest for breakfast. Was it simply a reaction to someone he perceived as a threat? To what? His woman? His claim? While I hoped something had changed, I might have been fooling myself. Was it just Alpha male crap? Rather than pee a circle around me, was he planning on bending me over the kitchen counter and fucking me in front of Vaughn to warn him off, protect what he considered his? The thought sent a rush through me, but I quickly squashed it, a parking lot was one thing, putting on a private show for a CIA agent was another.
Besides all that, I didn't know what was Ranger talking about. What was I getting more of today, more information, more orgasms? I hoped both. He hadn't mentioned anything beyond the weekend, had anything changed for him? When he thought I was pregnant, he wanted us to be together. Did he still mean that without a baby entering the picture? Did the fight we had afterward, or the revelation that I'd gone to the CIA looking for information on him change that? He still wanted and needed me, I knew that much. I knew he loved me, but his accusations last night made me wonder if he still liked me. He knew he'd always have a friend in me, but would it be enough? He had to know that if we were together, I could never give him peace. I didn't have it in me.
My head was spinning while the two of them were glaring at each other. Well, Vaughn was glaring at Ranger. Even though he was behind me, I thought I could feel Ranger's glare focused in his direction. I turned my head to look—yup, glaring.
I'd had quite enough and wriggled out of Ranger's grasp. My irritation was clear, and I told them, "Okay. Before I choke on all of the testosterone in the air, I'm going to go put some clothes on." Neither of them acknowledged my words, too caught up in their standoff, like two rams bashing their horns together, locked in a battle for the most desirable female. Ugh. Turning towards the bedroom, I dropped the blanket on the chair in the living room as I called over my shoulder, annoyed. "If you two insist on having a dick-measuring contest, there's a tape measure in my sewing basket on the coffee table. Just be sure to wash it when you're done."