And yeah, who was he kidding? His gaze would head south and he’d let himself drink in the sight of her breasts.
He closed his eyes. He’d spent two long deployments hoping for an email, a letter—something from her. He’d wanted confirmation that she was all right. But she never wrote. Not once. She’d reduced him to begging for tidbits from Dominic. Not that her brother had volunteered much more than a She’s fine. Stay the hell away from her.
But she wasn’t fine.
He opened his eyes.
“You needed help and you sent a pigeon?” He released his grip on the door and rested his forearm against it. “You could have called.”
“I thought it would be better to apply for a job in person,” she said, her voice low and so damn sultry that his dick was on the verge of responding.
Not going to happen.
There were a helluva lot of things beyond his control. His dad’s declining health. His grandmother’s heart failure while he was stationed in Bumblefuck, Afghanistan, fighting two enemies—and one of them should have been on his side. And the fact that the only time he felt calm, in control, and something bordering on happiness, was at the damn shooting range.
Still, he could control his own dick.
But why the hell should I?
He let his gaze drift to her chest, down her hips and down her slim legs. He’d wanted her for five long years and here she was on his doorstep. What was stopping him from pulling her close and starting where they’d left off five years ago? He wasn’t the good guy worried about her big brother’s reactions or her reputation. Not anymore. Nothing he’d done in the past five years had left him feeling heroic. So why start now?
She crossed her arms in front of her chest. And while he appreciated the way her breasts lifted, he raised his gaze to meet hers.
“I’m not hiring,” he lied. Big Buck’s needed a waitress or two, another bartender, and a dishwasher to keep up with the crowds pouring in from the nearby university, desperate to bump and grind to house music. But if she worked here, well hell, then he’d have another reason he shouldn’t touch her. He had a rule about messing around with his female employees. It was bad business. He’d worked too hard to turn Big Buck’s into something to fool around with a waitress or a bartender.
She raised an eyebrow and nodded to the Help Wanted sign he’d put up in the window. “Someone put that up without asking you?”
Shit.
“I recently filled the position,” he said, searching for an excuse that didn’t touch on the truth.
“I’m too late.” She shook her head. “Perfect. I guess I should have gotten up the nerve to come home a few days ago.”
He glanced over her shoulder and saw a red Mini parked beside his truck. It looked like a toy next to his F-250. And apart from the driver’s side, every cubic inch appeared stuffed with bags.
“I thought you liked Portland. Greg from the station said you haven’t been back here in a few years,” he said, knowing he should close the door and end the conversation. If he let her in, if he handed her an application followed by a Big Buck’s apron, he couldn’t touch her. That wasn’t much different from the past five years, or the ones before the going away party, but she hadn’t spent the past decade or so within arm’s reach.
“It didn’t work out,” she said.
“They don’t have jobs up there for someone with a fancy degree? I bet you could do a lot better than serving drinks.”
She blinked and for a second he thought she might turn around and walk away, abandoning her plea for help. “I took a break from school, lost my scholarship, and then dropped out,” she said.
“What?” He stared at her. “Dominic never said—”
“My dad didn’t know I’d quit school until recently. And I don’t think he told Dom,” she said quickly. “My brother has enough to worry about over there. Like not getting killed or . . .”
“Worse,” he supplied. Like losing a limb or a fellow soldier. Yeah, Noah knew plenty of guys who’d lost both. But he’d worried about losing respect for the band of brothers serving with him because they flat out refused to treat the woman busting her ass alongside them with an ounce of decency . . .
Except Dominic would probably have stepped in and saved the woman before she was attacked. Josie’s brother wouldn’t let the situation get beyond his control and then try to pick up the pieces.
“There are worse things than dying out there,” he added, trying to focus on the here and now, not the past he couldn’t change.
“Yes.”
He kept his gaze locked on her face as he stepped back and placed his hand on the door again. He was ready and willing to slam it closed. She could tempt and tease him, but he refused to take his eyes off her face. Hell, he knew better than to play chicken with her breasts. Right now, with the way he wanted her, he’d lose that game.
First, he needed some time to process. He wanted space to think about the fact that things hadn’t worked out for her in Portland. He needed her to leave before he pulled her close, wrapped his arms around her, and offered comfort. Before he begged to know every damn detail about what had happened.