Page 52 of Stealthy Seduction
“Stockholm syndrome.” Her words were muffled against Hudson’s muscled chest.
He leaned back to look at her. “What?”
“That’s the only thing that makes sense.”
His brow crinkled in an adorable way that made her hand itch to smooth it. An impulse that made her even more convinced that she was losing her mind.
Over Hudson Steele.
No wonder. Between his hardcore protector big dick energy—and reality too—and this tender, supportive side, the man seemed pretty damn perfect.
Other than the fact that to the world, he didn’t exist.
She sat up and scraped her hair out of her eyes. “There’s nothing logical about you and me.”
As he pushed into a sitting position facing her, the ridges of his abs rippled under the thin cotton of his shirt. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”
She blew out a breath. “In times of great stress, people find someone to cling to.”
“You’re saying that someone is me,” he said slowly.
“Yes.”
“You’re not in captivity, Izzy.”
“I can’t go anywhere, can I? That’s the very definition of captivity. Besides, you’re dead. So this relationship can’t go anywhere. There’s no future.”
He gave her that smoldering look that tore apart every shred of her self-control and made her ovaries burst at the same time. As he ducked his head, she caught the twitch of his lips at one corner.
“All I heard is that you have feelings for me.”
Her jaw dropped. “That’s your takeaway?”
“I mean…I get it.” When he shifted, his biceps bulged even more. Was he flexing, or just that muscled?
“What do you get?”
“If I was stuck with someone as hot as me, I’d fall for me too.”
The one thing she never expected happened—she laughed.
A full, hearty, belly laugh erupted out of nowhere. She threw a punch toward his arm, but he caught it and hauled her into his arms.
The laughter felt foreign after everything that had happened, but also necessary—like her body was finally releasing some of the tension that had been coiled tight since Times Square. She relaxed against his chest, letting herself sink into the solid comfort of Special Operative Hudson Steele.
“That’s better,” Hudson murmured against her hair. “I was starting to worry you’d forgotten how to do that.”
“Laugh at your terrible jokes? Trust me, that is definitely a skill that requires training.” She tilted her head back to look at him. “So what exactly does one do at a secret SEAL base when they’re not, you know, saving the world or fighting masked psychopaths?”
“Well, there’s pizza making, as you’ve discovered. Pool—both the swimming and billiards variety.” His thumb traced lazy circles on her shoulder. “You are already well-versed in hot tub and margaritas with the ladies. Something about girl-talk, I think?”
“Now you’re speaking my language.” The idea was enticing—sitting in warm, bubbling water with Alyssa and the others, talking about normal things like favorite movies and weekend plans instead of terrorist threats and Syria flashbacks.
But so was the thought of staying right here in his arms.
“What about you? What do you do to unwind?”
His hard mouth quirked at the corner. “I play poker with beautiful journalists and let them take my money.”
