Chapter Seven

Troy didn’t want to like Stacey sitting next to him.

He’d expected her to be a stuck-up whiny bitch. But she wasn’t. It sure would have made his job easier if she’d played the princess and he could despise her. Instead, she’d used her natural warmth to pry open his cold, dark shell. He didn’t want to let her in, but she was good at chipping away, and he was as brittle as a shard.

Innocent as she was, she wasn’t above using every sexual wile she possessed to break him down.

God, he’d adore fucking her. Some things could be faked, but the sounds she made in the throes of orgasm…they fucking caught his imagination. She wanted his cock inside her, and he wanted to drive it into her tight little cunt. Over and over. His gut told him she’d like it. He definitely would.

And that was what worried him.

Do the trade. Cut loose. Walk away. That was his directive in this thing.

He didn’t do attachment. Of any kind. Of any length.

She settled back onto the bed, cuddling up close. “Troy?”

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you want to fall in love?”

The woman was definitely a mind reader. “What kind of question is that?”

“Just answer it.” She reached out and pulled his arms around her.

He froze, but she smelled nice, and her body was compliant. He just wanted to go to sleep breathing in the scent of her. He was more relaxed than he had a right to be. “I’ll answer if you don’t ask anything else.”

“Okay.”

“Why don’t I trust your complacency?” he muttered.

“Just tell me,” she urged.

He took in a deep breath and sighed. “I do a dangerous job. Twenty percent of the guys who go out on a mission don’t come back.”

He couldn’t tell her about how he and his men had been ordered to get an American civilian out of Damascus. He was shot at the moment he’d approached the house, so he neutralized the threat, only to find the house just held women and children.

He shuddered. Some sins could never be washed clean.

He wrapped his arms around Stacey. Sweet and fresh felt good.

“Troy?”

“I don’t talk about my work.”

“I don’t expect you to,” she persisted. “I want to know if you’ve ever been in love.”

“That’s another question.”

She was stroking her fingers down his chest, her thumb and forefinger playing with his nipples, and the action was going straight to his cock. He took her hand, held it, and closed his eyes. Love? Him? Not likely.