Page 3 of Brick (Chosen Few #5)

Three and a half years earlier

J esus Christ.

The wind whipped Brick’s face, biting his skin. He tucked his chin into the top of his coat as he strode down the sidewalk. The scent of French fries and greasy meat filled the air as someone exited a storefront.

His stomach growled, rivaling the annoyance growing inside him. Fargo, North Dakota, wouldn’t see him again. His blood was too warm for this shitty weather.

He approached the bar and reached for the door handle. Before his skin could connect with the metal, his feet hit a patch of ice. He flew backward and slammed against the concrete. A cough barked from his chest, and his lungs quickly inhaled the frigid air, making him cough harder.

“Ohmigod, are you okay?” A woman bent over him. Her wavy blond locks dangled around her angelic cheeks. Her eyes were wide with concern.

He groaned. The only thing worse than wiping out was having an audience to it. Jumping to his feet would’ve exposed his embarrassment, so he stayed down and gave her the most devilish smirk he could muster. “I might need CPR.”

She blinked, and a laugh rolled from her pretty lips. “Okay, Scott Hamilton. Let’s get you inside. I think you hit your head pretty hard.”

He rolled into a seated position. A few patrons walked past with barely a glance, as though seeing a guy on his ass outside the bar was nothing new. The woman offered her hand, but if he grabbed it, he’d probably pull her down with him. “I’ve got it.” As he stood, pain shot through his back.

She winced. “Sorry that happened. Hope you feel better.” She reached for the handle to the bar he’d been about to enter.

He caught the door and walked in behind her. “I’d feel a lot better if you’d eat with me.”

She pivoted to face him. In the warm bar lighting, he could see the color of her shining eyes, a deep sapphire.

“Unless you’re meeting someone,” he hedged.

Her tongue swiped her bottom lip. “I’m, uh, just passing through.”

“Me, too. Flight leaves bright and early tomorrow, actually.”

She glanced around as if she wanted to bolt. His gut twisted. Shit. The CPR comment might have been a step too far. Or maybe he was losing his touch. Or maybe he looked as fatigued and crazed as he felt.

A server approached with menus in her hands. “Table for two?”

The loud din of the restaurant amplified Brick’s senses. “Uh, we’re not—”

“Yeah, sure,” the woman said. “For two.”

Okay, then.

“If the offer still stands?” she asked, turning a brilliant smile his way. Her grin accentuated the dimples in her cheeks. Hell. He’d always had a thing for dimples.

Caution clouded her eyes, but her fingers went to the buttons on her peacoat and she slowly began to undo them.

“’Course,” he said, his voice bold.

The server smiled and jerked her head toward the bar. “We’re all out of tables. Are you okay with eating at the bar?”

His new friend looked relieved, as if the bar made things less serious.

He nodded. “Sure, that’s great.”

“Awesome,” the server said, and weaved her way through the tables.

Brick gestured for the woman to precede him, and she turned and followed the server to the long bartop. She hung her coat on the hook near the end of the bar, and he did the same.

He took the stool next to her, then accepted the menus from the server with a thank-you.

“How’s your back?” the woman asked.

“Hurts like a bitch, but I’ll live.” He extended a hand. “I’m Brick Slater, by the way.”

Her bow-shaped pink lips, so plump and pretty, morphed into a tentative smile. She slipped her slim, delicate fingers into his palm. Electricity arced between them. And damn if his heart didn’t stop and restart.

“You sure about that? I still think you hit your head.”

He chuckled. “If I’ve got my name wrong, we have bigger problems.”

Silence stretched.

“You going to tell me yours?”

She pulled her hand away. A haunted look flashed over her face then just as quickly disappeared. “Natasha Smith.”

He turned his attention to the menu. “What can I get you to eat, Natasha?” His intuition told him she didn’t want an abundance of attention right now.

Flirting might make her flee. And while he couldn’t keep the soldier in his pants down, he sure as hell wasn’t going to do anything to startle her more than he had.

“Oh, goodness. You don’t have to buy it for me. This isn’t a date.” She flipped open the menu, her gaze on it intent.

“It could be.” Ah, fuck. So much for not scaring her.

One pretty eyebrow rose, and then her sharp tongue poked and deflated his ego. “You know nothing about me. Why on earth would this be a date?”

“I deserved that,” he countered. “Sorry. I flirt when I’m nervous. Feel free to ignore anything that comes out of my mouth from here on out.”

She pursed her lips as if fighting off a smile. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

He leaned toward her just an inch. “Let me buy you food. It’s the least I can do. If you hadn’t stopped on the sidewalk I might’ve just died.”

She cocked her head, her eyes sparking with tantalizing mischief. “Died from embarrassment.”

He let out a loose laugh. “Exactly. That’s why I need this to be a date. So tomorrow when I can barely move, it won’t be for nothing.”

Her fingers delicately tapped the menu. “All right, Mr. Hamilton. It’s a date.” The warmth radiating from her smile hit his chest. Something told him she needed this date as much as his ego did.

Their server approached, and they both ordered burgers and fries.

Natasha was quiet and seemed pensive while they waited for their food. A band took the stage at the back of the bar, and rock music soon filled the air.

“Where’s home?” he asked, as he reached for his glass of water.

Natasha’s gaze darted away. “Detroit.”

“Nice. What brings you out here?”

“Just a work visit. What do you do?”

He noted how quickly she’d turned the tables but didn’t comment on her hesitancy to share about herself. “Just finished three tours in Afghanistan. Currently I work as a freelance bodyguard.”

Interest lit her face. “Really? What kinds of clients do you take on?”

“I’ve worked with a few politicians and businessmen.

Unfortunately, working solo isn’t making me enough money.

” But things would be changing soon, hopefully.

One of his buddies, Rami, had mentioned he was thinking about starting a private security company.

If all went well, he’d have a permanent, steady job in Seattle, his hometown, within six months.

Natasha grimaced. “That sucks. Especially if it’s what you want to do. I’m sure you’d be good at it.” Her gaze roamed appreciatively over his biceps.

“I’m good at a lot of things. Not all one can make a living from.”

Her cheeks turned pink and she ducked her head.

Before he could say anything else, their food appeared and they ate and talked more.

Meanwhile, his thoughts churned. Most women he met on the fly either put out or weren’t interested at all, though the latter didn’t happen often.

But Natasha appeared to be somewhere in between.

Despite her hesitancy to talk about herself, she seemed interested in him.

And if the leisurely wandering of her eyes meant anything, she was as into him as he was her.

He ate slowly, one small French fry at a time. Because the sooner he finished eating, the sooner she’d leave.

And he didn’t want that.

“You flying back to Michigan tomorrow?”

Her expression went blank. “Uhm. No. I’m driving.”

He bounced his eyebrows and did the math. That was over twelve hours—a lot of driving for one person. “How come? That’s pretty far.”

“Oh, it was cheaper, I guess. I didn’t want to rent a car when I got here.” She shrugged. “Just made sense.”

Doubt flitted through him. He hadn’t spotted a ring on her finger, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t taken. There was no way in hell he’d take this conversation a minute further without some clarity.

“Is there someone waiting at home for you?” The question came out on a low rumble and sounded possessive even to his ears. Not what he was going for right now. He wanted honesty from her, and if she had a dude, he’d take the check right now.

A startled look crossed her face. She compressed her lips and shook her head. “No. But to be completely honest,” she said, shifting uncomfortably in her seat, “I just got out of a rough relationship. I, uh, left him a few days ago.”

Anger fissured through him. The tone of her voice hit him like a sledgehammer to the gut. He was no fucking therapist, but he knew a scared woman when he saw one. “Is there something else you want to tell me?” He leaned closer until their elbows touched. “Did he hurt you?”

Natasha inhaled a shuddering breath. “It’s not what you think, okay? And I’m not comfortable talking about this right now. I’m enjoying our meal together and I’d like to keep it simple.”

He bit his tongue and forced himself to straighten away from her. He reached for his water and, wishing it were a little stronger, took a gulp to stifle the fire inside him.

Natasha wasn’t his girlfriend. He’d known her for barely half an hour. But the military man in him wanted to help her. To make things right. To protect her.

He also had to respect her privacy, though. She didn’t know him from Jack—or Scott—and coming in all hot and bothered would only push her away. “I understand.”

She took a bite of her burger, and a dab of ketchup landed at the corner of her mouth. He immediately wanted to pull her close and lick it clean—and fuck if that wasn’t the kinkiest impulse he’d ever had. Ketchup shouldn’t be a goddamn aphrodisiac, but on her it sure as hell was.

“Why’d you ask if I was flying tomorrow?” She swiped her napkin over her lips, stealing the opportunity from him. Good thing, or he’d have embarrassed himself a second time.

“Well,” he drawled, working to summon a neutral tone. “I was thinking we could grab breakfast at the airport tomorrow morning.”