6

      “CAN’T YOU TAKE A HINT?” he asked gruffly, turning around in time to see her set the cookies on a small table by the door. “Even when the hint is spelled out in short, simple words.”

      “I’ll go in a minute. Right after I pass on the messages I’m supposed to.” She put on that obstinate look he remembered so well, chin high and arms crossed over her chest. Fine. She wanted to see stubborn, he’d show her a thing or two.

      He didn’t say a word. Instead he crossed the room—what should be a quick task given that it was the size of his footlocker but was instead a study in pain. Genna’s eyes got wider with every step closer he took.

      Unfortunately, his body got harder with each step, too.

      By the time he was standing next to her, his head was filled with her scent. Sweet spice, it wrapped around him like a warm hug that quickly turned hot.

      He was trained to control his body. To ignore pain, to push through discomfort. He’d endured Hell Week. He’d trekked eight miles through a jungle in Bolivia once with a broken ankle. He’d won five hundred bucks once betting that he could sit through three hours of Farrelly brothers without cracking a smile.

      But the scent of Genna’s hair made him quiver. Sent his head into a tailspin and his body into overdrive.

      He told himself to resist. Warned his body not to engage.

      His body ignored the warning. It was as if she was jamming his radar and manipulating the signals.

      He didn’t like it.

      “What do you really want, Genna?” he asked, furious at the frustration coursing through his system. Frustration that was all her fault, dammit. He’d been fine holed up here, ignoring the world and reliving every miserable detail of the end of his last mission. The explosion. The helplessness.

      The memories gripped him with inky black fingers, trying to pull him down. But Genna’s big eyes, sexy mouth and intoxicating scent held his attention, forcing him to stay in the here and now.

      “I told you, the mayor asked me to stop by.” She bit her lip, studying his face as if she were gauging just how much to share of the rest of the mayor’s wants. “He wanted to extend his appreciation for your service.”

      Smart girl, she’d realized it was pointless to repeat the stupid luncheon idea. Brody narrowed his gaze when Genna looked away, her fingers twining together before she tucked them into the front pockets of her jeans. Clearly there was something else she hadn’t mentioned. Whatever it was, he didn’t care. The idea of him and the mayor having lunch was ridiculous. Ten years ago, Tucker had been just starting out as the county’s assistant D.A., with a lot of ambition and an oft-shared goal of getting losers like Brody off the streets.

      “I don’t serve for appreciation,” he said, his tone gruffer than he’d intended.

      Genna opened her mouth, that full lower lip glistening with temptation. Then she snapped it shut and shrugged. He’d like to think that meant she was done and would leave, but he was starting to realize that she had a stubborn streak wider than his own.

      “Your grandmother is worried about you. If you don’t want to meet with the mayor and discuss getting a little of the recognition you deserve, fine. But at least talk to your gramma.” She lifted both hands in the air, the gesture matching the exasperation on her face. “Why did you come home if you were only going to hide out?”

      Good question.

      Brody’s scowl deepened when he couldn’t come up with an answer.

      “Time to go.” He reached out, wrapping his hand around her arm to turn her in the direction of the door. But the move put pressure on his bad leg so he had to shift his weight to compensate. And ended up way too close to Genna.

      Close enough to feel her body heat.

      Close enough that her scent, teasing before, grabbed him in a choke hold, not letting go.

      Close enough that he could see the darker rings of blue around her pupils, could see the individual lashes that made up the lush fringe around her eyes.

      He yanked his hand away.

      “If you wanted, maybe we could go to lunch instead.” Her words were low and husky with curiosity, her eyes hinting at nerves and something more. Something that grabbed at Brody, made him want the impossible. “If you just needed someone to talk to, someone to help you deal with all the emotional stuff you’re facing, I’m a good listener.”

      “You want to have lunch and talk?” he asked, sure he’d heard her wrong. “About my emotions?”

      “If that’s what you wanted.”

      Hell, no. He didn’t talk missions, he didn’t talk about the military. And he sure as hell didn’t talk about emotions.

      Brody pressed his fingers against his temple, trying to rub away the tangle she was making of his thoughts.

      “You should talk to someone, Brody. Your gramma, me, anyone. You’re hurt and you’re back in Bedford for the first time since you left. That has to mean something.” She paused, taking a deep breath that made him want to slide his lips along her collarbone, then she reached out. Her fingers came within millimeters of touching his arm, but didn’t make contact. It was as if she was testing the electrical charge between them, seeing how potent it was.

      The hairs on his arm stood up, his entire body reacting as if she’d slid those fingers over him. Touching, soft and gentle, everywhere.

      “I don’t talk,” he said, irritated that the words were mellow, not abrupt.

      “Not even about our night?” She gave a tiny wince, as if she knew she’d crossed a line. Then, typical of the Genna he remembered, now that she’d crossed it, she danced all over the other side. “I never forgot it.”

      “You need to leave.” He’d said the words to her so many times, they were like a catchphrase now.

      “Brody—”

      No. He couldn’t deal with this now. Not her, not the memories. Not the feelings she was stirring up.

      “Don’t make me do something you’ll regret,” he warned quietly.

      For a second, Genna stilled.