Page 10 of I Dream of Danger (Ghost Ops #2)

Chapter Three

Nick paid for the delivery. Jesus. His heart had clenched when Elle told Jenny to put it on her credit card. If she had any money on her card, he’d eat his shorts. Elle had no money at all.

The Judge’s illness had pared them down to the bone. The happy, luxurious home he’d known was no more. Now it was this cold, empty shell. Most of the furniture and artwork, gone. The once glorious gardens abandoned and full of weeds.

And Elle—Christ. Thin, drawn, dressed in rags.

Still amazingly beautiful.

He remembered her as a beautiful girl who was heading into glorious womanhood.

When he left, he knew that was her trajectory.

She didn’t worry him at all. Pampered daughter of a wealthy, well-respected man, smart as hell, good in school, gorgeous.

He was leaving, but she was moving straight into the best possible life.

Nothing had prepared him for the reality—poor, abandoned.

But still stunning. If anything, she was more appealing now.

The Elle he knew was happy in the way of people whose lives had shown them nothing but the best of the world.

Her looks were spectacular, but on top of that had been all the trappings of coming from a wealthy family.

Healthy diet, lots of tennis, expensive orthodontics, not a care in the world. That Elle had been a magnet.

But this Elle—this tragic waif—she’d grabbed his heart.

His nuts, too, by the look of it.

Because who could resist this girl—no, this woman —whose gaze was deep with the knowledge of pain and suffering.

The fall of the family was all around them, but Elle hadn’t complained once about what had happened.

It was clear that she’d put her life on hold to look after the Judge, but not once had she put it that way.

An A-student all the way, she wasn’t even in college.

From the looks of their finances, college was probably out of the question.

She hadn’t had anything resembling a life, let alone the life she should have had.

She’d been a virgin. That had surprised him more than anything, though if he’d stopped to think about it, there wasn’t any space in her life for play.

He should have stopped when he found out he was her first. Christ, she deserved better than a mongrel dog on his way out the door. What was the matter with him? He’d long ago learned to control his dick, why hadn’t he, just now?

Well, there was the fact that she’d looked like some kind of movie star on the bed—long, pale-blonde hair around her head like a halo, but not an angel.

Not with that look in her gorgeous light blue eyes, not with her arms up to hold him, not with her legs apart in invitation, puffy pink folds of her sex peeping through the ash-brown hair of her mound.

That Elle was pure temptation, impossible to resist. He was no hero. Who was he to turn something like that down?

This Elle was completely different from the girl who visited his dreams. Time and again, he’d had the sense of her being there, with him. Usually at night. More times than he cared to think about while he was fucking.

He’d be with a woman, lost in the sex, and there she was. In his head.

He’d had to learned how to get her out of there, like picking a burr out of your coat. “Nick?” He whirled, saw her in the doorway, and his heart nearly stopped.

Jesus, this double vision he had. The lovely, laughing girl of his memory and this—the stunning woman who’d known tragedy. She’d put on blue sweats—clearly old but clean and ironed. Probably dark blue once, now faded to streaky light blue that matched her eyes.

Nick manfully kept his gaze locked on her face but he was pretty sure she wasn’t wearing a bra. The feel of her under his hands, the taste of her in his mouth—they swamped him.

She walked in, barefoot, and fuck him if her feet weren’t gorgeous too. Slim, high-arched, with very pretty toes. He nearly sighed because he was fully erect again. He had to feed her before he did anything else. He had to keep his mind on that, not on his dick.

Shit.

Everyone in the Rangers and the guys he’d talked to in Delta knew him as serious and utterly focused.

No one would believe he couldn’t control himself, keep his dick down.

But it was already up, very very happy to see her.

Elle smiled. “Did Jenny have you sign? I’ll call her later with my credit card info. ”

Well, that made him angry. It was better being mad at her than unable to resist her. Easier.

“Fuck that,” he said, his voice harsher than he wanted.

“Did you think I’d let you pay for this meal?

” He looked out over the huge dinner table.

She hadn’t managed to sell the table, obviously.

Not too many people nowadays needed tables that could fit dinner parties of eighteen.

The food filled half of it. Jenny had gone overboard, and the bill Nick had paid wouldn’t cover half of it.

Jenny’s way of helping Elle while salvaging her pride.

Elle’s head tilted to the side, pale blonde hair covering one shoulder. She frowned. “Why are you mad? Why shouldn’t I pay for it?”

“Because you don’t have any fucking money, is why!” He had trouble keeping his voice down, keeping his emotions in check. “I’m not going to have you pay for my fucking meal!”

Elle just watched him, head still tilted, as if he were some kind of scientific specimen. Her expression didn’t change at his vehemence. She lifted her hands, patted the air, calming down the lunatic.

“Ok, ok. You probably don’t believe this, but I actually have the money to cover the meal, but I’ll accept your gift. Thank you.”

Well, hell. He was all ready to fight it, fight her , dissipate some of this tension. And then she turned reasonable on him.

Fuck.

He drew in a deep breath. Grabbed for some control. “The food is still warm…we should set the table and eat. Unless you want to just eat out of the containers?”

“No. We’ll eat like normal human beings.

” Elle smiled and walked to a huge glass-fronted cabinet which he remembered from when he lived here.

They hadn’t sold that either. It was enormous and elaborate, and he imagined it wouldn’t fit the life of modern families.

It was the kind of piece of furniture people had a century ago when families were huge.

The breakfront was still filled with the plates he remembered—fine bone china with a rose pattern and gilt edges.

The service was probably not easily saleable either—there were hundreds of pieces.

Elle set the table as the maid used to—with a huge platter serving as a mat, plate, bowl, tons of forks and knives and spoons. Two glasses each. The wine her friend sent went on a silver wine bottle thingie.

She’d grown up with good wines. The Judge had enjoyed his wine and had a famous wine cellar. That would be gone, he imagined.

Elle sighed as she sat down. Nick poured a finger of wine in her crystal glass and some in his. He swirled and smelled and tasted. The Judge had taught him about wine and this one was superb.

“Merlot. French. 2026, which was a very good year.” Elle smiled happily at him as she put down the glass and attacked the food. “ Bon appétit .”

The family equivalent of grace. Elle’s mother had been half French.

“ Bon appetit .” Nick smiled back, his earlier edginess and bad temper gone. It was absolutely impossible not to smile at Elle. From the pale, lost waif he’d seen at the cemetery, she’d changed into a woman with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes.

That was him. It made him uneasy to realize that he was the one who’d made her happy.

Good sex did that, he knew. And though it was her first time, she seemed to have enjoyed it.

It was physiological. Sex raised blood pressure, got the circulation moving.

If nothing else it was a great physical and psychological release.

Sex was good for you, made you smile.

So that was it. That was all it was. Decent sex on a sad day for her. For him, too. The Judge had saved his life. He’d been a good man, and now he was dead.

Elle tackled the food like she’d been starving.

Nick shifted uneasily in his seat. Had she been starving?

The idea made his skin prickle with horror.

Elle not having enough to eat . The very idea was awful.

She said she had the money to pay for this meal but what if that wasn’t true?

He was going to prowl around until he found her bank account and find out what the situation was.

He’d also find out her bank account number.

He had money saved up. He had no expenses in the military.

He was Special Ops and they were either on a mission or on a training cycle, and were fed and lodged.

He’d just applied for Delta, a year or two early.

If he made Delta his pay would go up. What was he going to do with the money?

He didn’t want to buy a house, didn’t even want to buy a car.

The instant he got back on base he was going to transfer everything he had into her account.

“Oh man,” Elle moaned, twirling her fork. “Carbonara. My favorite. Carbs and cream and cheese and bacon. Bliss.”

A huge forkful disappeared into her mouth.

Nick frowned, a horrible thought occurring to him. “You weren’t dieting, were you?” She was way too thin. Christ, if she’d reduced herself to this willingly…

“No, Nick.” Elle shook her head, swallowed, twirled another strand of creamy spaghetti around her fork. “I, um, lost weight because looking after Daddy was hard and I sometimes forgot to eat. I really look forward to putting the weight back on.”

He grunted. “Good.” And attacked the food himself, appeased. The first bite had him narrowing his eyes.

“Fabulous stuff, eh?” She was grinning at him. “And Jenny sent enough for a platoon. I’ll bet you don’t eat like this in the military.”