Page 25 of Beckett (Warrior Security #2)

Beckett

Two weeks. That was how long Audra had been in my life, turning everything sideways with those hazel eyes that held too many secrets and a gentleness with animals that made my chest do things I didn’t want to examine. Two weeks, and I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

And who could blame me when yesterday morning she’d woken me with her mouth, working her way down my chest with lazy kisses until she’d taken me deep in her throat.

I’d barely been conscious when she’d started, but by the time she’d hollowed her cheeks and hummed around my cock, I was gripping the sheets hard enough to tear them.

She’d kept me on edge forever, pulling back every time I got close, those hazel eyes wicked as she watched me fall apart.

When she’d finally let me come, swallowing everything while her hand squeezed my thigh, I’d seen stars.

That hadn’t been the only time either. Three days ago, I’d taken a break from ranch work and had been going over security protocols in the guest house’s makeshift office when she’d brought me lunch.

Leftover pot roast she’d reheated, with carrots and potatoes still swimming in gravy.

The domestic gesture had meant something.

Or would’ve meant something if one minute we weren’t talking about Jet’s progress, and the next I somehow had her bent over the desk, her jeans around her ankles while I took her from behind.

She’d had to bite her hand to keep quiet, the dogs just outside in their kennels.

The image of her like that—back arched, fingers gripping the desk edge, trying so hard to stay silent while I drove into her—was permanently burned into my brain.

Every night since that first one, we’d slept all night together—once at her cabin, but usually at the guest house since my bed was bigger.

We hadn’t talked about it, hadn’t defined it.

She just showed up after evening chores, Jet at her heels, and I let her in.

We’d fall asleep tangled together, her back against my chest, my arm around her waist like I could protect her from whatever haunted her dreams.

She still hadn’t told me what she was running from.

Hadn’t explained the nightmares that sometimes had her crying out in her sleep, or why she still checked exits everywhere we went.

Part of me wanted to push, to demand answers.

The security specialist in me needed to know what threat we were facing.

But the man in me—the one who was falling for her harder than I wanted to admit—knew she’d tell me when she was ready.

Until then, it was enough that she was here.

That she was getting healthier, filling out those sharp edges on her body with regular meals and proper sleep.

That she smiled now, real smiles that reached her eyes when Jet did something ridiculous or when she successfully got Duke to heel on command.

“Focus up,” I told Atlas, who’d gotten distracted by a bird. The Belgian Malinois immediately snapped back to attention, waiting for the next command.

We were in the middle of defensive positioning drills, the kind that would make or break a security dog. Atlas had it down perfect—controlled aggression, precise movements, absolute focus. Duke and Rosie were getting there, each session showing improvement.

From the barn, I could see Audra working with Jet on basic obedience.

She’d taken to the training naturally, picking up techniques I’d shown her and adapting them with an instinct that couldn’t be taught.

Her movements were confident now, sure. She held herself differently than she had two weeks ago—spine straighter, shoulders back.

Still alert, still watchful, but not hunched like she expected a blow.

“Good boy, Jet! Yes!” Her praise carried across the yard, warm with genuine delight. The German shepherd had just held a stay for a full thirty seconds, which for him was practically a miracle.

She had a gift for this. A natural feel for reading dogs, for knowing when to push and when to ease off.

In just a few days of working together on training, she’d gotten more out of Jet than I had in three months.

Maybe because she saw him differently—not as a failed security dog but as something else entirely.

Something that didn’t need to be dangerous to have value.

The thought hit me then, watching her reward Jet with enthusiastic scratches behind his ears; she could do this professionally.

Not security training work—that required a different temperament—but companion training, therapy dogs, service animals.

The gentler side of what Pawsitive Connections offered.

She had the patience, the instinct, the ability to connect.

Warrior Security kept me busy enough that I couldn’t take on all the training Lark needed. Sometimes a protection detail would keep me away for days, leaving the training schedule backed up. If Audra stayed—and God, I wanted her to stay—she could fill that gap perfectly.

If she stayed.

“Atlas, Duke, Rosie—break,” I commanded, releasing the dogs from their positions. They immediately headed for the water bowls, tongues lolling.

I walked toward where Audra was practicing recalls with Jet, the shepherd actually coming when called three times out of five. Progress.

“He’s getting it,” I said, stopping a few feet away. Close enough to catch the lavender scent of the shampoo she’d started using, far enough to keep my hands to myself. Barely.

“He wants to please so badly.” She scratched under Jet’s chin, earning a look of pure adoration. “He just gets distracted by, well, everything.”

“Some dogs are like that. They’ve got good hearts but scattered focus. Doesn’t make them less valuable, just means they need different jobs.”

She glanced up at me, something flickering in her eyes. “Different from what they were supposed to be?”

“Different from what someone else expected,” I corrected. “Sometimes the best thing a dog can be is exactly what they are.”

She bent to clip Jet’s leash, and I heard the unmistakable sound of fabric tearing. She froze, then straightened slowly, her hand going to the back of her jeans where a rip now exposed a strip of skin just above her knee.

“Damn it,” she muttered.

“We can head to town, get you some new ones.”

She shrugged. “No need for new ones. It’s nothing that can’t be patched. Is there some sort of general store in town?”

I wanted to argue about just getting new jeans, but I needed to pick my battles. If she didn’t want to spend money on clothes, that was her choice.

“How could you miss the Markman’s General Store sign? That obnoxious thing could probably be seen from space. Remember?”

She chuckled. “I think I was so nervous when we went to the grocery store that I wasn’t paying attention.”

I stared as the truth hit me. “The only time you’ve been into Garnet Bend was when we went grocery shopping?”

Her shoulders tensed slightly. “I’ve been busy.”

Surely I was misunderstanding. “Two weeks since Lark left and you haven’t talked to anyone except me and the animals?”

She shrugged. “Coop came by that one time. Plus, I like the quiet. I like it here.”

But I remembered Todd talking about what a social butterfly Audra was. Always trying different classes or planning dinner parties for her neighborhood. She did volunteer work.

She was staying here at Pawsitive because it was safe. And while there was nothing wrong with that, I was sure some part of her—the social part of her—wasn’t being fulfilled by being around animals and a surly former soldier all the time.

“We’re cutting work early today,” I decided. “I’m taking you to dinner.”

Her eyes widened. “Beckett, that’s not necessary.”

“It’s Draper’s Tavern, not the Ritz. Just a meal somewhere that isn’t here. Give you a chance to see more of the town than the grocery aisles.”

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

“It’s just dinner,” I said gently. “We’ll sit in the back corner if you want.”

She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, a gesture that made me want to kiss her until she forgot whatever had her so scared. “Just dinner?”

“Just dinner. Unless they have pie, then it’s dinner and dessert. So what do you say?”

Jet chose that moment to shove his head under her hand, demanding attention. She absently scratched his ears while considering, and I could see the war playing out behind her eyes. Safety versus living. Fear versus trust.

“Okay,” she said finally, so quiet I almost missed it. “Dinner.”

I smiled. “Let’s get cleaned up and head out.”

She looked down at her work clothes—now-ripped jeans dusty from the barn, T-shirt that had seen better days. “I don’t have anything nice to wear.”

“It’s Draper’s. Jeans and a shirt that doesn’t smell like horse is formal enough. Hell, they won’t care even if you do smell like horse. I’ll come by your cabin and pick you up.”

“Okay.” She got Jet into her car and drove to her cabin, while I hit the shower in the guest house. I pulled on my least worn jeans and a flannel that my mom had bought me last Christmas, claiming I needed at least one shirt that didn’t look like I’d found it at a military surplus store.

I drove the few minutes over to the cabin.

Audra emerged, and my brain briefly short-circuited.

She’d changed into dark jeans that actually fit her now that she’d gained some weight back, and a soft blue sweater that brought out the gold flecks in her eyes.

Her hair was down, brushed until it shone, falling in waves past her shoulders.

“Too much?” she asked, tugging at the sweater’s hem. “It’s my only non-work clothes.”

“Perfect.” The word came out rougher than intended.