Page 37 of Striker
He settled onto his back. He wanted to pull her closer, but hell, he wanted to stare at her beautiful face, too.
“Well, I guess we’ve got time to kill then.”
She settled back down to lie next to him, her hand pillowed under her cheek. “Can I ask you a question?”
He dragged his fingers in a slow circle over her shoulder. He didn’t normally engage in much small talk when women were in his bed. Usually, they were there for one thing only, and so was he.
With Molly . . . it was different.
“Shoot.”
“When your shirt was off this morning, I saw a scar on your chest.” She hovered her fingers over his gunshot wound.
He covered her hand and brought it down on his chest. “I got shot.”
“When?” She tilted her head back to gaze at him.
Hell, he didn’t want to talk about that night. He’d revisited it countless times in his head, hating himself more with the memory. Last thing he wanted was for Molly to see him as weak. Injured. A victim.
“You don’t have to tell me. I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s fine.” If talking about that night made her forget what had happened to her earlier, he’d relive the event over and over.
“I was watching over Rogue’s girlfriend and her daughter one night. They were a target and I was the one stationed with them while Rogue went in search of their attacker.”
His insides twisted. He’d almost died, and Laine and Emmy had been taken. Had almost been killed.
It was a memory that weighed heavily on his conscience. Stole his dignity. Every fucking time his chest ached or pain shot down his thigh.
“I was sleeping on the couch. Thought I heard something and stood, then someone shot at me through the living room window. Hit me in the chest, just missing my lung. The other bullet got my leg.” He gestured to his left thigh. “Didn’t hit any bone at least.”
“Ohmigod,” she wheezed, rising back onto her elbow. “That’s terrible. It’s a miracle you’re alive.”
He grunted. “Rogue and Wraith kept me breathing until the paramedics got there. Which is icing on a shit cake because I know Rogue just wanted to go after Laine and Emmy and felt he couldn’t until I was taken care of.”
Her lips turned down at the corners. “I hope you don’t blame yourself. How could you possibly anticipate they were going to shoot through the window?”
“That’s just it, honey. In this world, I’ve got to anticipate everything or face the consequences. Which usually means death for me or someone else.”
She stroked his cheek. Her touch was so soft, so damn sweet.
He caught her hand and kissed her palm, tasting the vanilla flavor of her skin. He smoothed his thumb over the bandage still on her wrist.
Her eyes locked on his, drilling him to the spot. Desire rushed through him faster than a flashfire. He twined his fingers into the strands at the back of her head and brought her face closer to his. Her pouty lips quivered, tempting him.
He wanted to kiss every inch of her, erase every bruise and bad memory. But she’d been through so much.
Her fingers wrapped around his wrist, and her nails lightly bit into his muscle. Her breasts were pressed to his chest. Seconds suspended them in limbo while he fought a battle he didn’t want to fight.
“Atlas,” she whispered, almost pleadingly.
“Goddammit, Molly.”
She blinked, drawing back an inch. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No. Christ, no.” He let loose a breath and stroked his thumb along her jaw. “You’re so perfect, Molly.”
She lowered her dark lashes. “You don’t need to sweet-talk me. I already want you.”
