Delta: Retribution by Cristin Harber Read Free Book Online Page A

cotton T-shirt and flannel pants with little water skiing panda bears in Santa hats. If outside in the dark, she’d been sexy, inside… this whole look… it was cute.
    She caught him looking. “What’s that half-smile, half-frown thing? If you don’t like my jammies, too bad.” She twirled in a circle. “I’m—hey, are you watching one of those Bourne movies?” And just that fast, she plopped on his couch, tucking her legs under her butt.
    The girl liked thriller spy flicks. Add another point in the cool-chick column. Nothing she did was expected. “Want a beer?”
    “It might put me to sleep.”
    He tilted his head. “You’re dressed for it.”
    Her eyes raked over his bare chest. “I…”
    “I’ll get you that beer.” Because for once it felt like he should think of someone besides himself for a change. The woman could barely stand. The clothes she wore served as a sign to stay away. But he just couldn’t. He needed a freakin’ barrier. “A beer and a blanket.”
    A minute later, he had a cold one in her hand and a blanket over her legs. He sat in the middle of the couch and pulled her close to him. She smelled like sugar, and it might’ve been his death sentence, sitting there with her all cute and smelling like the first time he’d had her. Mouth watering, he closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on Matt Damon blowing shit up. It didn’t work. Instead, he heard the IED blasts that stole his brother away from him. A growl roared up; his eyes shot open. He was ready to tear the walls down and—Marlena was asleep, nestled between the arm of his couch and his bare chest. Her just-opened beer was balanced loosely in her hand. God, she was beautiful.
    Trace set her beer on the coffee table and scooped her up in the blanket. Without thinking, he headed toward the bedroom and laid her in his bed, crawling next to her. Marlena sighed softly but didn’t wake. “I don’t know what to think about you, Cinderella.”
    He curled around her sleep-lax body and kissed her sugar-scented hair. If he were ever to be normal, if he didn’t have a wicked fight brewing deep in his chest to retaliate for Michael’s death, then that moment might have been his heaven.
    ***
    Marlena woke surrounded by hard warmth. She wasn’t in Mr. Romatar’s compound, this wasn’t her bed… The night before flashed in her memory. The last thing she remembered was sipping a beer and snuggling next to Trace. Slowly, she turned over, and there he was—rugged, and inches away from her. In his bed. Her stomach surged into her throat.
    “Morning,” he whispered.
    Unsure of the right thing to say, she sat up. “I should go.”
    The heavy weight of his arm flopped over her and pulled her tight. “You should not.”
    He couldn’t possibly want her to stay. Right? Instead of voicing that, she lay straight as a spike and stared at his ceiling.
    “Marlena.”
    “Hmm?”
    “Go back to sleep.” His morning, gritty voice raked over her senses.
    “I’m really okay. I should get—”
    Trace took her face in his hands and leveled her with the softest kiss she could imagine. His full lips brushed over hers; his tongue teased. She melted against him, needing that reassurance and hating that one kiss, and she was a mess.
    “Now can we go back to sleep?” His phone rang. “What the fuck now?”
    Hand slapping all around his nightstand, he finally found it and answered. The alarm clock read six in the morning. Who would call so early?
    “Got it,” he said to the caller after a few seconds. He rubbed his face and sat up. The blanket slipped off him, and even through his jeans, she could see that he had a hard-on. “Don’t mind me.”
    Trace stretched and crawled out of bed. Every muscle in the man’s body was carved. Corded. Holy moly, she might pass out. Had she ever seen something so ruggedly handsome? And the tattoos… A work of art. That was the only way to describe him.
    “We’ve got a job, and I’ve got to run.” He