Broken. Rebecca Zanetti

that, Dana’s orange blossom scent was too tempting in the small kitchen. “Okay. I need some alone time, and then we can argue about where you’re staying the night tonight.” Without waiting for a response, he strode into his office and shut the door, facing his whiteboard.

      The dead stared back at him.

      Chapter Ten

      Dana finished typing more notes, sitting at Wolfe’s kitchen table and purposely ignoring the email from her cousin about the wedding. Why did the bridesmaids have to be ready for pictures five hours before the wedding? She looked, once again, toward the closed door of Wolfe’s office. He’d disappeared inside hours ago, obviously needing some time by himself, but darkness was beginning to fall, and she was hungry for dinner.

      Should she just rummage in the fridge? After being ignored all day, searching through Wolfe’s stuff held little appeal.

      He’d almost been shot—again. She’d been kidnapped, cut, and then right when life had started to normalize, she’d been shot at and chased by guys in a truck who’d wanted to hurt her. Life was too short to wait on the sidelines. She was done waiting.

      Enough of this. Shutting her laptop, she stood and stretched her back, gathering her courage. Then she walked past the sofa. Kat looked up, blinked his eyes, and meowed softly as if in warning.

      She frowned. That was odd. “I’m talking to him,” she said to the cat, feeling only a little silly as she moved forward and reached the office door. Her knock was more forceful than she’d intended, and she winced.

      Nothing.

      She pressed her ear to the door.

      No sound.

      Huh. Had Wolfe somehow left when she had been in the bathroom earlier? She twisted the knob and stepped inside, her steps faltering on the soft carpet.

      Wolfe sat with his back to her, facing the whiteboard, his gaze seemingly directed at the photograph of the smiling young soldiers. His shoulders were rigid and his body unmoving. Tension cloaked him, erecting an invisible barrier that electrified the air around him.

      Her mouth opened and closed. A chill slid down her back, and she hunched a little, her instincts blaring for her to run.

      How long had he sat in that position? All day?

      That couldn’t be healthy. She swallowed over a lump in her throat and edged closer to him, reaching out with one shaking hand.

      “Don’t.” His gravelly voice was a stark warning.

      She paused and her lip trembled. Her lungs filled with something other than air, something akin to panic, and she breathed shallowly. Too shallowly.

      “Go, Dana.” His stillness was nearly preternatural.

      She should go. Run and leave him to this . . . whatever this was. But she couldn’t. Why, she’d figure out later. “Clarence.” Fighting every biological survival instinct stamped into her DNA, she reached out and set a hand on his rigid shoulder.

      When he didn’t jump and bite off her arm, she settled closer, everything inside her wanting to comfort him. A hint of the wild emanated from him—primitive and dangerous. There was no doubt Wolfe was as dangerous as a man got, but he was hurting, and she’d never been able to turn away from an animal in pain.

      Especially this one.

      Her other hand settled on his other shoulder, and she bit back a grimace at the hard knots against her palms. His head had to be killing him. If there were words for her to offer, she couldn’t think of them. Instead, she began to knead the roped muscles beneath her palms, digging deep with her thumbs, finally giving herself permission to touch him.

      She worked some of the tension out of his neck, her own body aching in response. He held perfectly still, his hands on his jean-clad legs, the arm bandage stark against his tanned skin. For one fraction of a second, his shoulders relaxed. “What are you doing?” he rumbled.

      “Providing comfort.”

      He stiffened again and, without warning, planted a hand over hers, drawing her in front of him.

      She reluctantly released his shoulders and stood between his legs, looking into his hard face, feeling unbalanced and warm. Intimacy surrounded them. “Wolfe?”

      “I don’t want comfort.” He tipped his head back, his eyes a tumultuous brown.

      She’d never seen anybody more in need of comfort than Clarence Wolfe. “Why not? Everyone needs comfort.”

      “Don’t want it and don’t need it,” he said, the sides of his thighs bracketing hers, giving her a feeling of being trapped. The look on his face and the tone of his voice were all the more frightening for the lack of feeling in them.

      She couldn’t reach him. This was something new, something scary, and she didn’t know what to do. So she grasped the sides of his shoulders and leaned in to press a kiss to his nose, just like her dad had always done for her when she’d felt lost.

      Wolfe sucked in a breath, his eyes narrowing and finally focusing on her. He was back. Temptation lurked there and something darker . . . something deeper. A glint—raw and male—zeroing in on just her. All of her.

      Words died in her throat. She couldn’t move, held in place by that look and his hard body.

      His gaze dropped to her breasts.

      Honest to God, they started to tingle. She still couldn’t breathe, and her adrenaline was flowing as if she’d run ten miles being chased by a grizzly bear.

      His hands, rough and calloused, warm and firm, slid up her arms.

      This was wrong. Not fair. He’d been in a bad place, he’d been vulnerable, and she would be taking advantage if she let this go where it was headed. Well, where she kind of hoped it was headed. She couldn’t do that to him. So she started to step back.

      And was shocked when his thighs clamped against hers, easily holding her in place. His hands slid to her wrists and tugged her down, flattening her palms on his incredibly hard legs, partially bending her toward him. “Wh-what are you doing?” she whispered.

      For answer, his gaze lifted to her lips and then her eyes. His hands flattened over hers and slid them up his thighs. “You are not listening to me, Dana.”

      “I think you’re wrong,” she said quietly, keeping her balance while she bent toward him. “You do need comfort, and sitting here all day staring at these pictures is not good for you. I might not be a shrink, but even I know that much about the demons that haunt people.”

      “You have no idea.”

      “Oh yeah?” There was no denying the attraction she felt toward him, and she was tired of trying. She leaned closer, gratified by the way his eyelids lowered to hide his surprise. Oh, she could read him, whether he liked it or not. “I’m tired of the friend zone, Wolfe. I’m breaking the caution tape.” As she said the words, they felt right. Finally.

      His shoulder jerked. “Excuse me?”

      “I want you.” There was no reason to lie, considering she was having trouble breathing and her hardened nipples were clearly outlined beneath her shirt.

      The hardness of his face contrasted with the hot liquid glide of lust that darkened his deep eyes. “I’m not just trying to keep you safe. Some of it, maybe most of it, is that I can’t be distracted from what I have to do and who I have to be to take Rock on. I’m all in on this fight, and there can’t be anything else in my life right now. Anybody else.”

      Honesty was sometimes a pain in the butt. “So I’m a distraction?” The idea warmed her even more.

      “Hell, yes.” Frustration coated his words.

      Good enough. She leaned even closer, until her nose almost touched his. “I don’t want forever, and I don’t want a white picket fence.” Not