Page 46 of Protecting Peyton

His hand roamed up my back to massage the base of my neck. “You don’t have to shoulder it alone, you know?”

I hummed my appreciation as tension gave way under his touch.

He shifted us left and right, causing me to adjust my balance. “Want to know a SEAL secret?”

Right now, in his strong arms, I felt weightless and more serene than I had since leaving Boston. That made me cooperative. “What?”

“We don’t operate alone. We always operate in teams. Our strength is in the way we support each other to accomplish the mission. I can help. You can tell me what it is you’re afraid of and lean on me.”

I snuggled against him, ashamed of how I’d treated him. Finally, Ilooked up. “I’m sorry. It’s not you. It’s me. I will when I can. Can you accept that?” As we swayed, I realized it had become a dance.

He’d coaxed me into slow dancing with him. Everything about the way he held me and the way we moved was intimate. Too intimate, but also too comfortable to pull away. He’d somehow shifted me from my constant fear to a place of comfort I hadn’t known since before I’d run.

I owed this man so much.Fuck it. I can handle this.I looked up into his warm eyes and took the step. “I can’t stand owing you.” I pressed my lips to his.

He kissed me back like a man starving. His tongue demanded entrance to my mouth, and the kiss devolved into the struggle for control I’d expected from a high-testosterone male like him.

I gave myself over, as I’d been afraid I would. His grasp on me tightened, and a hand went to my ass. I took advantage of the support and jumped up to wrap my legs around him.

Every second of the kiss broke a personal record for intensity. He was like the elixir of life I needed to survive.

He walked us over to the wall and pressed me against it. I gyrated my heat against the hardness of his erection, all the while running my fingers through his hair and holding him to me.

A palm to my breast lit the afterburner of my desire. I’d been right—just like my novels, a kiss with this man had ended up much more than a simple meeting of the lips.

His woodsy scent invaded my nostrils. He tasted like pizza and sin with a promise of ecstasy.

“Ruppert?”

March broke the kiss and looked toward the door. “Mom?”

CHAPTER 11

Peyton

Mom?

Pushing away from March, I smoothed my clothes and hair just before she rounded the corner.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” March said, grabbing my hand.

“Why would I have to ring the bell to visit my baby boy? Don’t be silly,” his mother replied. “Something smells good.”

“We have pizza,” I offered. “If you’d like to join us.”

She strode forward with a slight limp. “Love to. You must be the new girlfriend.”

I recoiled. “I’m not. It’s not like?—”

“Peyton, this is my mother, Karla. Mom, Peyton Smith. She works with a woman we’re protecting.”

She rushed me before I could respond. “Karla with a K,” she said brightly. Instead of a handshake, she pulled me into a very tight hug. “Ruppie needs a nice girl like you.” When she backed away, her hands stayed firmly on my hips.

Trapped, I shot a helpless look at March. “Ruppie?”

March pulled me free from her grasp. “Ruppert. It’s my middle name.”

“She’s a keeper,” Karla announced, stepping back. Her eyes swept up and down, giving me a thorough onceover. “Good birthing hips.”