Page 27 of Code Name: Atticus

“It’s the same thing I’ve wanted since that night on your parents’ back porch. I want your hands on me and mine on you. I want to hear the sounds you’d make when I’m inside you and see what you’d look like the morning after I’ve spent all night making you come.”

“Don’t do this.” Her voice was breathless.

“Want me to prove it?”

She searched my face for a long moment, and I could see the exact instant she made her decision. Her walls went up, and she shut me out as if she’d slammed a door.

“No. Because then what? Then we sleep together and complicate everything even more? Then we have to pretend to be married while dealing with whatever mess we’ve made?”

“It doesn’t have to be a mess.”

“Yes, it does. Because I’m not someone who can separate feelings from sex, Atticus. And you’re not someone who sticks around.”

“A person can change.”

“Maybe so, but your job won’t. You’ll still disappear for months at a time on assignments you can’t talk about. I get that part of it. It’s the rest I can’t deal with.”

I rested my head against hers. “What do you mean?”

“The revolving door of women. The ‘no strings attached’ philosophy you apparently share with them upfront. Luke jokes about it, but I know he’s warning me. ‘Perry’s not the settling-down type, Bug. Never has been.’”

“That’s not fair?—”

She wriggled from my arms, and I let her get up. “It doesn’t matter what’s fair. I don’t want this, Atticus. I’m saying no.”

And that, I couldn’t argue with. But I could defend myself. “You think this is just some kind of conquest for me?”

“Isn’t it?” The vulnerability in her voice stopped me cold.

This brilliant, fierce woman who could take down white-collar criminals was looking at me like she expected to be hurt.

“Jesus, no.” I forced myself to step back, to give her the space she needed. “Brenna, despite wanting you more than I’ve wanted anyone else in a long time, maybe ever, I won’t force you. If you don’t want this, want me, I’ll back off.”

She stepped farther away, until she was close enough to rest against the wall behind her. She folded her arms, and tears spilled onto her cheeks.

“Hey.” I stepped forward, wanting to comfort her, but she held up a hand to stop me.

“Don’t.”

I raised both my hands. “I’m sorry. From now on, I’ll keep it professional.”

She nodded and wiped at her tears.

“I’ll find somewhere else to sleep tonight. Give you some space.”

“The couch isn’t exactly built for comfort. You don’t have to?—”

“Trust me, I’ve slept in worse places. This’ll be luxury compared to some of them. Afghanistan teaches you to appreciate any surface that isn’t sand.”

She looked like she wanted to argue, but nodded. “Okay.”

“Get some sleep.” I went downstairs, cursing myself for handling the situation so badly. I’d pushed too hard, too fast, and now, she was crying and I was sleeping on the floor. Real smooth, Finch. Maybe I should add relationship destroyer to my resume right after expert marksman and professional disaster magnet.

I grabbed a pillow and throw from the sofa and spread them out on the area rug. The throw was more decorative than functional, barely big enough to cover my chest, and the pillow felt stuffed with concrete.

I’d just shut my eyes when my phone chimed.

For a split second, hope flared that it might be Brenna. Maybe she’d changed her mind, maybe she wanted to talk.