Page 42 of How Much For A Broken Heart?

Still, I wanted to kiss and bite my way along his tattoos.

The fuck??!?? Where did that come from?

August’s hair was dark, not buzzed like in the photo with his fake husband and kid, more a tangle of messy locks and curls that seemed to have a life of their own, and that he’d grown as part of his Aubrey Mitchell persona. It gave him an unruly, but cute look, one at odds with the hard man I’d witnessed at the compound.

Undercover tangles for the win because I’d love to…

No. Not going there.

I was losing my shit and seeing attraction where there was none.

I really need to get laid.

Only… his eyes were the darkest shade of gray, deep and intense, like storm clouds fading to silver on the outside, and they held a world of thoughts and emotions. Those eyes had probably seen things most people couldn’t fathom and had witnessed the best and worst of humanity. They’d been hard as flint when he’d been in SEAL mode at the compound, but I’d also seen them soften on a couple of occasions.

And then, there were his dimples, an unexpected thing I’d found after he’d won his first game of Sorry.!. It was as if he had nowhere to put his glee in beating me, and it had forced a slow grin. This rare smile transformed his entire face, and yep, dimples popped, and I was feeling all attracted to him, and that was shit.

And off-limits.

And fuck, just because he’d been fake-married to a guy, didn’t mean he was interested in guys or searching for anything with someone else.

As he stared far into the distance, I felt as if I could see beyond the SEAL, beyond the scars and the stern exterior, to the man underneath.

“What are you staring at, freak?” he asked and snapped me out of my daydream.

“I was staring at you, staring,” I said.

He muttered something, and turned up a Sorry! card, knocking one of my pieces back to home. Fucker.

By the time we were nearing the end of our third game, it was clear that August was the undisputed champion. He moved his final piece into the safe zone with a triumphant grin.

“And that’s three for three,” he declared, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied expression. “What did you say in that panic room about Army beating Navy?”

“We beat them where it matters.”

August fake-gasped, and I saw something in his expression—somehow, he’d forgotten where he was and the weight of everything.

“You mean you don’t think this was serious?” he teased.

“You’re ruthless, you know that?” I said with a mock scowl, but I couldn’t help smiling. It was good to see him like this.

August raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sorry at all,” he joked, enjoying his victory.

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Yeah, I can tell. Remind me never to play board games with you for money. Best of seven?”

As we played game four, it became a backdrop to our conversation. “Is there any word on Amos?” he asked, all kinds of casual, as if he hadn’t been waiting to ask me all along. I took a moment to count, moving my piece along the board, sliding on one of his colors and taking out one of his pieces.

“Doesn’t Ethan brief you daily?”

“Yeah, but is he telling me everything?”

“You’re my team, and Ethan wouldn’t keep you out of the loop. You have access to the files, all of our data.” I gestured at the tablet by the side of the bed. “same as I do.”

He sighed, a mixture of frustration and regret, his gaze shifting from the board to the window. “I lost that fucker. All that work, and it ended in a gunfight.”

I made my next move on the board. “Yeah, about that.” I paused as he picked up his card.

He glanced at me. “About what?”

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