Explosive - Page 51

And Thomas couldn’t tell her at the moment. His psyche was fighting like mad to make him not remember whatever had blasted into his consciousness like a lethal bullet, altering his entire world. She suspected he was doing everything in his power not to acknowledge that wound.

Her anxiety ratcheted up when she considered Andy’s advice to subtly get him to talk about the trauma. The idea of temporarily increasing Thomas’s discomfort and emotional pain was a little intimidating, mostly because she was afraid he would leave again.

The thought of confronting Thomas didn’t make her nervous, however, despite Andy’s warning that Thomas might be dangerous. No. She refused to believe that, Sophie told herself even as she once again recalled what Andy had said.

Sophie, listen to me. We’re talking about a man who served in a crack military unit. Do you know how much psychological testing is required for a person to even qualify for the EOD? Those people stare right into the face of death again and again, and they can’t fight it with fists and guns. They have to keep ultimate control while dismantling a bomb. Nicasio served and excelled in a unit like that, even becoming a decorated officer. If he could keep his head under those conditions, just consider what kind of stress he must be experiencing at the moment to make him respond in this way. Nicasio is no stranger to violent situations. I want you to remember that, Sophie. I don’t know what he’s reacting to, precisely. Maybe Rick’s and his nephew’s deaths were just the final straw that broke the camel’s back after so many years of living under frequent threat of death. Either way, it’s possible he’s dangerous. Soldiers suffering from acute or posttraumatic stress disorders have been known to attack their spouses during flashbacks and nightmares. And that’s not the only potential threat, Sophie. If it’s true what you suspect about Nicasio—that something so painful happened that it made him amnesic for a short period of time—then he might resort to the defense mechanism of projection to deal with it. He might unconsciously start to blame the only other person in his vicinity. He might start to project his growing anguish and aggression onto you.

Sophie clamped her eyes shut tightly. It hurt her to think of Thomas suffering so acutely—like a wounded animal that felt pain, but had no understanding of why or how to make it stop.

But she didn’t believe for a second that Thomas would ever harm her.

She started and choked on an inhale when a drawer suddenly opened behind her. She spun around and stared at Thomas, who stood in profile next to the opened drawer, a knife in his hand.

“Thomas? You startled me. What are you doing?”

He set the carving knife down and picked up a large silicone spatula and then tossed that aside, as well. “Sorry. I’m looking for some tongs for the chicken.”

“Oh,” she exhaled shakily and hurried across the kitchen. “In here,” she said as she opened another drawer.

“Thanks,” he murmured when she handed him the tongs. She noticed the way his dark brows pulled together slightly as he examined her before he turned and left the kitchen. Was he wondering about her edginess?

She shut her eyes again once he’d disappeared down the hallway, willing her heart to calm.

After she’d put the water on to boil for the green beans, Sophie walked out the side entrance of the house with a glass of wine in each hand. She’d already known Thomas was on the front porch, sitting on the old, cushioned gliding bench that faced the lake. She’d watched him from her cooking post in the kitchen as he’d settled there a minute ago.

They’d taken another swim after they’d made love in the hammock. Afterwards, they’d showered again. This time when Thomas had left the bathroom, he wore another pair of cargo shorts and a simple white T-shirt that highlighted his lean, muscular torso and deepening tan. Sophie noticed he hadn’t shaved again, and a scruff darkened his jaw and upper lip. He looked so different than his polished city-self, but Sophie thought he had never looked more real, more savagely intense than he appeared here at Haven Lake. He may be a whirlwind of grief, but she’d never known a more vibrant man in her life.

He glanced up, seeming preoccupied, when she approached and handed him a glass of wine.

“Thanks,” he said quietly as she sat next to him.

She inhaled the fragrance of soap and clean male skin, the scent causing an unstoppable cascade of awareness and arousal in her body. They watched the sun starting to make its descent over the lake and sipped their wine.

“Looks like we may get some more rain tonight,” Thomas said, nodding toward the southwest where dark clouds hovered on the far horizon.

“I turned on the radio in the kitchen while I was cooking. We’re actually going to get a lot of rain—the remnants of that tropical storm that hit the Gulf Coast so hard.”

He met her eyes. “You were listening to the news?”

She nodded.

“Did you hear anything else?”

She studied him closely before she replied, but as usual, gleaned little from his stoic expression. “I was listening to a Chicago news station. They mentioned the destruction of the Mannero warehouse.”

He shifted on the bench. “Was anyone hurt?”

“No,” Sophie said.

“Did they mention anything else? Did they say what caused the fire?”

“No,” Sophie replied honestly. “Thomas ...”

“Yes?” he asked. She couldn’t help but notice that his glance was wary.

“That e

xplosion last night . . . do you think it was caused by a ... by a bomb?”

Tags: Beth Kery Erotic
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