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“And have you hyperventilating while you lie there, staring at your phone in case you get a message that one of your new shiny alarms has gone off? I don’t think so. At least down here, you’ll feel as if you have more control. And if that creep happens to show up and looks through the window, he’ll be less likely to try anything if we’re right here.”
She shook out one of the blankets, glancing at him over her shoulder. “Because that’s what you’re worried about right? Him coming here in the first couple hours that we’re back?”
“Do you read minds on the side or am I just crap at keeping anything hidden?”
“Even I know that if he was going to strike, it’d be pretty quickly. Which means spending at least a few hours down here. So, go change.”
Foster ambled past her, taking a moment to admire the expanse of creamy smooth skin showing beyond the edges of his tee before darting into the bathroom. He tore off his remaining clothes, piling them on the counter to deal with in the morning then slipped on the ones she’d given him. A couple minutes to get everything else done, and he was walking back to the couch. Forcing himself not to launch onto the cushions when he took in the view.
Mackenzie snuggled beneath the blankets, her long brown hair cascading over her shoulders as she fluffed up a pillow. She turned when he got within a few feet, inhaling as she let her gaze drift over the length of him. And if the way her pupils dilated as she drew her tongue across her lower lip was any indication of what she was thinking, the woman would likely give him that stroke he’d mentioned earlier.
He rounded the coffee table then settled in beside her, lifting his arm when she turned and burrowed against him. He was about to ask if she was comfortable, but she was already humming as she drew lazy patterns across his chest before drifting off. Just like that first night.
Only now, it seemed dangerously more intimate. As if those few kisses had shifted the playing field. Made every move a possible game-changer.
He tugged her closer, inhaling the subtle scent of lavender. What he assumed was from a lotion she’d found in the washroom. It soothed some of the rawness still tensing his muscles, allowing him to relax on the sofa as a clock ticked softly in the background. Rain still pelted the windows, the wind rattling the old wood frames.
Foster let himself drift. Not sleeping but not sitting there at attention, either, until his internal clock gave him a nudge. He shifted on the couch, checking his watch. Almost two hours had passed without so much as a hint of incursion, which meant it was probably safe to actually try to get some sleep. While he wanted nothing more than to wake Mac up, hike her over his shoulder and head to bed, watching her sleep — the adorable way she kept snuggling against him as if she couldn’t get close enough — satisfied him in a way he hadn’t experienced before. That seeing to her needs meant as much if not more than tending to his. And if that meant spending the next four or five hours on the couch, he wasn’t going to complain.
Until she twitched, tensing against him as her breathing sped up. She mumbled Josh’s name a couple times, the raspy sound sending shivers down his spine. He rubbed her arms, hoping to ease whatever dreams were playing in her head when she screamed and bolted upright. She fought against the blankets, nearly socking him in the face when he tried to calm her before she seemed to come to her senses — was able to look at him with focused eyes.
Foster gave her a moment, staying close but not to the point he was touching her until she groaned and placed her elbows on her knees, scrubbing her hands down her face.
He eased forward, matching her position as he gave her a gentle nudge. “You okay?”
She pushed out a rough breath. “If I ignore the fact that I seemed destined to embarrass myself in your house, I’m great.”
“Having a nightmare isn’t embarrassing.”
“It is when you nearly punch the guy beside you. And I’m sure I probably said something damning first, right?”
He shrugged. “Just your brother’s name a couple times.”
Mac merely nodded, staring at her hands as she sat there, shaking.
Foster sighed. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She slid her gaze his way. “I think it’s pretty self-explanatory. He’s dead. I’m not.”
“It wasn’t your fault, though.”
She huffed then stood, untangling the blankets as she took a few heavy steps away before spinning. “Hate to break it to you, Beckett, but you don’t hold the monopoly on guilt. Justified or not.”
He rose, eyeing her as she stood there toeing the floor as more shivers raked through her. Though, he was fairly certain she wasn’t cold. “I was sitting in the helicopter beside Sean when he died. You were a few thousand miles away on deployment when Josh was killed. One of those feels remarkably more justified.”
“Why? The end result’s the same. You couldn’t save Sean, and I couldn’t save Josh. Sacrifice doesn’t care whether or not you’re in the room or if they gave their life for yours or for the greater good.” She choked out a laugh. “Trust me, ghosts aren’t that discriminating.”
Foster froze, her words sinking in. He glanced at the window, fully expecting Sean’s apparition to be standing there, openly mocking him. Seeing nothing but the hint of the tree line in the distance was oddly surprising and he did a double take before rounding the table — closing in on her. Mac didn’t move, standing there with her arms wrapped around her, his shirt riding high on her thighs.
He lifted his arm, softly tucking some of her wild hair behind her ear. “I doubt either of them would want us to be stuck treading water.”
“Then they shouldn’t have died.”
“Can’t argue with you there, sweetheart.”
The corner of her mouth quirked at the endearment, and she stared up at him with the same fiery look in her eyes she’d had when he’d had her pressed against the door and she’d dared him to deny the spark between them. That whatever was brewing had been more than chance. More than convenience.
That this really was some sort of cosmic destiny.