Guard of Honor by Tracie Delaney

Chapter Ten

Honor appearedas the sun dipped down below the houses to the rear of her property. She tugged out a chair at the kitchen table and flopped into it.

“You look much better,” Mack said. “Get some sleep?”

“Yeah. I crashed. I feel exhausted, though.”

“That often happens when you’re sleep-deprived. A few more good nights’ sleep, and you’ll feel a lot better.”

She nibbled on her thumbnail, went to say something, and then hesitated.

“Spit it out,” Mack said, grinning to take the edge off his words.

She rubbed her eyes, then furiously blinked. “You still don’t believe me, do you? About the pebbles and the tapping?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure what to believe. What I know with absolute certainty, though, is that you believe it. And that’s all that counts for me.”

Her gaze cut to the window, and her shoulders drooped. “I’m scared, Mack. What if I am the one responsible for all this weird stuff? What if I am going crazy?”

“You’re not crazy, Honor. But you have been through more trauma than most people ever will. Your brain is trying to figure all this shit out. That’s all. That’s why talking helps. It somehow rewires the brain, helps it find a way of dealing with what happened.”

She shifted her focus to him instead of the sunny garden. “How long were you in therapy?”

“I was in rehab for six months, where I had some kind of therapy every day for both the PTSD and the alcohol abuse. When I got out, I still went to three outpatient sessions a week for another six months.”

“Wow.” She shook her head. “That’s a heck of a long time.”

“Not in the grand scheme of things. Committing to that year helped me move on, gave me back the life I’d lost.” Almost.

She fell silent, her eyes fixed on a spot over his left shoulder. And then she stood. “I want to do it, Mack.”

He frowned, trying to catch up with her chaotic thought process. “Do what? Therapy?”

“Maybe that. I need to think about it a bit more. But no. I’m talking about walking to the bottom of the steps. To stand on the sidewalk and look up and down the street like a normal person.” She gave him a wavering smile. “I can do it.”

He rose to his feet, a grin edging across his face. “Hell yeah, you can.”

“Let’s go. Before I lose my nerve.”

She strode off with him following, but as they approached the front door, Honor slowed, waited for him to draw alongside her, and then gripped his hand.

“For luck,” she said, giving him a soft smile that flipped his stomach.

Fuck, he wanted her. After Clara, he’d doubted he’d ever feel that intense pull for a woman again, and not just physically but also emotionally and mentally. Whether his and Honor’s common experiences were the things that connected them, he wasn’t sure, but his hard dick and pounding heart were evidence enough that his body knew exactly what it needed.

He reached for the deadbolt, but Honor stopped him.

“Can I do it?”

He chuckled. “It’s your house, Red.”

She narrowed her eyes, tilted her head to one side, and then laughed. “When you first called me that, I almost nailed you in the balls. Now, I kind of like it.”

“You attempting to nail me in the balls? Now that would’ve been something to see.”

His teasing took the edge off her nerves, but as her hand gripped the bolt, her chin wobbled. Sucking in a deep breath, she pulled it to the left, twisted the lock on the door, and then opened it. Noise from the street flooded into the house, and it wasn’t only Honor’s chin trembling now, but her entire body.

“Hey, you’re fine. I’m right here.”

Mack let go of her hand and curled his fingers around the back of her neck. He squeezed in encouragement and applied pressure, urging her forward. She remained in place, knees locked, feet refusing to budge.

“Okay, how about we do it like last time?” Mack shifted in front of her, his wide shoulders and broad chest cutting off the view of the outside. He held out his hands, and she placed her tiny ones inside. He stepped backward, his arms stretching out in front. “Come on, Honor. You’ve totally got this.”

She shuffled forward, her breathing so rapid that she was virtually panting. It took several attempts to encourage her, but eventually, she stood on the other side of the door.

“Good girl. Now, we’re going to start going down.”

Mack stepped on the first stone stair that led up to Honor’s townhouse. Vaguely conscious of a couple of passers-by rubbernecking, he shot them a fearsome glare. They scuttled off, muttering between themselves.

Walk a fucking mile in her shoes before you judge. Arseholes.

Fortunately, Honor didn’t notice them, her attention far too fixed on controlling her riotous emotions and trembling thighs.

It took ten minutes for her to make it down the six steps, her eyes darting from left to right as she kept watch, but as her feet planted on the cracked pavement, she let out a whoop of excitement.

“Mack, I did it. I did it!”

She threw herself into his arms and hooked her legs over his hips.

Fuck me.

Her jean-clad pussy rubbed against his dick, and he’d only just managed to get the damn thing to deflate. It sprang to attention at exactly the wrong moment, and her eyes flared as she leaned away to peer up at him. Mack tried to set her down. She clung on tighter with those fucking thighs of steel she owned. A groan fell from his lips.

“I need you to get down, Honor.”

For a split second, he thought she’d refuse. And then she slid down his body, but not before too many inches of her chafed against him. Another groan spilled out, giving her far more information about his attraction toward her than he’d have liked.

Mack cleared his throat. “Let’s get you inside. No point in pushing it.”

He motioned for her to take the first step. She stayed exactly where she was. Her arms came over her chest, underneath her tits, thrusting them up and out.

Jesus Christ. She’s trying to fucking kill me.

“I’m not a virgin, Mack.”

He blinked rapidly, her bald and unexpected statement giving him pause. “What?”

“I’m not a virgin. I’ve had sex. Before all this, I had sex, like a normal person. I know what a hard penis feels like. I know how to recognize attraction. You want me.”

It crossed his mind to deny it, but the physical evidence meant he’d come across as disingenuous at best, a liar at worst. And he wasn’t either of those things.

“It doesn’t matter what I want. You’re a client.”

“I thought my father was the client? After all, I didn’t hire you. I didn’t invite you here. I had no say in the matter. What’s the matter, Mack—you chicken? Can’t deal with a real woman?”

He ground his teeth. Fuck’s sake. Were difficult women the order of the day? First Crew’s assignment was behaving like a spoiled little brat, and now Mack’s had joined the party. He glared at her with barely veiled annoyance.

“Inside, Honor. Now. I am not having this conversation on the fucking street.”

Her arms unfolded, and she fisted her hands on her hips. “No.”

“Inside or I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” She snorted a laugh.

He closed his eyes and counted to ten. When he opened them, she hadn’t moved.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Have it your way.”

Bending at the knees, he hoisted her over his shoulder, fireman-style. She squealed and pummeled his back.

“Put me down!”

Mack launched up the steps and into the house, kicking the door closed behind him. But rather than put her down in the hallway, he marched through to the living room and unceremoniously dropped her on the couch. She scrambled to right herself.

“How dare you!”

“Oh, I dare, Red. And just so you know, your spoiled-brat routine won’t wash with me. Let’s clear a few things up, shall we? So we both know where we stand. Yes, I find you attractive. No, I’m not going to do anything about it. No, I am not fucking chicken, about this or anything else. And yes, I know how to deal with a real woman. And if you carry on with this ridiculous and petulant behavior, you’ll find out just how I do that.” He breathed out noisily through his nose. “Got it?”

Tears pooled in her eyes at his harsh rebuke, but he refused to feel sorry for her. She had it coming. Throwing a fit because he wouldn’t fuck her? Give me fucking strength.

“Yes,” she said quietly.

“Good.”

He stomped across the room, secured the front door, and took off upstairs. Probably best if they kept their distance from each other for an hour or two. If she turned those big green eyes on him, so filled with need and reckless abandon, he wouldn’t be held accountable for what happened next. She thought she could handle him, but she was wrong.

Dead fucking wrong.

Honor Reid deserved a nice young man from a good family. A doctor or an architect or some such shit. Not a former Bootneck who had fucked up his marriage when, in the middle of a PTSD episode, he’d almost killed his ex-wife.

He squeezed his eyes closed as memories he’d worked hard to keep at bay flooded in, emerging from the darkest corners of his mind and threatening to consume him in a blazing inferno. Fighting for his sanity, he sat in the middle of the bedroom and practiced the breathing techniques he’d learned during his therapy sessions. At first, he’d scoffed at the idea. How fucking ridiculous that simply breathing in and out in a controlled manner could send his demons into retreat. But he’d been proved wrong. In the end, simply taking in oxygen in a disciplined way had helped him cope with the realities of how close he’d come to spending the rest of his life branded as a murderer. He’d never told a soul what had happened, not even Loris or his therapist. And Clara hadn’t either. No one had been that surprised when she’d walked out on him. Very few relationships survived when one party had been subjected to incarceration and torture like Mack had.

But he knew the truth. He and Clara. And it didn’t matter how many months or years passed; he’d never forgive himself.