Page 54 of Charmed

"Yeah, probably." His grin slipped to a smile, then disappeared altogether. "If only I'd said hello."

Her memory regressed to all the times he'd claimed cowardice, that he'd insisted he hadn't a lick of courage. Looking at him now, learning all she had these past few months, there was zero doubt how wrong he'd been. She was the one who hid behind snark and sarcasm, using attitude as a shield.

"Hey, Riley?" She waited until she had his full attention. "Hello."

Chapter Fifteen

Riley finished the last bite of his chicken salad from their mattress picnic and eyed Fiona across from him. He wore nothing but briefs and she was still in his shirt. Collectively, they didn't have a full wardrobe between them. Yet, they'd eaten in a comfortable silence in his bed, a fact to which he'd never thought he'd live to see the day. The comfortable silence part or having her in his bed.

His body hummed from their epic sex. He kept waiting for the itch to do it again to pass, but it wouldn't. Honestly, he'd always figured one of two things would happen if they ever collided. Either he'd get her out of his system or the opposites attract mantra would prove untrue.

Showed what he knew. And, damn. She just sucked him in more and more by the second. A mystery he'd never solve.

She was a wildcat in the sack. Or, well, on the floor, such as the case had been. He'd known she would be, though. He hadn't been prepared for just how feral. Mercy, it had never been like that for him before. Blind, desperate, and consuming.

Regardless, it was the placid sweetness in the aftermath that blew his mind. He'd seen pieces of it now and then like the night she'd let him in her bedroom, their chat in his pool, and how she chronically defended his honor. Tonight, however? All her walls had come toppling down. She was still her, still the same woman who ensnared him at every pass, but he'd gotten a glimpse of what she didn't readily expose to the world, and his pulse hadn't quit thundering since.

Fiona Galloway had heart. Miles and miles of heart. She'd obviously slaughter anyone who'd claim such a thing, and she had a missile system in place as a backup plan for those who might stumble upon the blueprints. That's who she was, and he'd suspected as much going in. His badass little witch.

But how was he supposed to plow forward after learning the tender part of her DNA was more prevalent than the brass? Wasn't that like saying military intelligence or political integrity in a sentence?

"You know what I just decided?" She held a grape in front of her, head tilted. "I totally prefer my fruit in wine form."

He laughed and swiped a hand over his face. And then there was that right there.

If someone had told him two months ago he'd find a woman's sense of humor or her mind more attractive than her body, he would've put the straightjacket on himself. Possibly passed out little yellow pills to boot. Fi was gorgeous. As in, fallen out of the heavens, forget what day it was kind of gorgeous. Yet, her appearance didn't equate to a quarter of her appeal.

He took a sip of water and set it aside. "Want me to hunt up a bottle of wine?"

"Nah. Just stating my random fact for the day." She popped the grape in her mouth and spoke around it. "You mentioned your dad earlier. What was he like? I never got the opportunity to meet him."

The amount of time he'd spent with her attested to why the abrupt change in topic didn't phase him. He supposed he was just getting used to it.

"We were young when he died. I don't remember a lot." His gaze wandered as he thought it over. "He was part of the island's fifty percent who didn't have a craggy Boston accent."

She smiled, encouraging him to continue.

"Though our family had money, he chose to work. He must've loved being a crab fisherman because all my memories are of him smiling. Wind and saltwater made his cheeks ruddy. He used a liniment on his hands that smelled like spearmint. To this day, I think of him when I chew gum."

She brushed a strand of hair off her shoulder. "Scent is the strongest tie to memory."

He nodded. "It's his hands I remember most. They were big, the skin rough. Like sandpaper, except..." He frowned, trying to think of the right word. "They were kind, if that makes sense. His touch was kind."

"Makes perfect sense."

There was her heart again, right in her eyes. "What about your parents? I don't know anything about your recent family tree."

Her lips pursed, an adorable quirk. "Ceara had a different father than me and Kaida. I know squat about him. Mine was a fisherman, too. He ditched us for Alaska before Mom learned she was pregnant with Kaida. Haven't heard from him since."

"Asshole. Good riddance."

"Amen. I was barely two when Mom died of an aneurism. Ceara swears it was from a broken heart, though. She had blue eyes like us, but Kaida got her blonde hair. Aunt Mara used to tell us stories about Mom sowing her wild oats and her free spirit. Guess none of us inherited that trait."

She'd be surprised, but he kept mum. "Must've been difficult not having her around."

"Sometimes, but it's hard to miss what you've never had." She offered him a sympathetic smile. "Unlike with you."

Ever intuitive, his Fiona. Again, her sense of understanding nailed him in the breastbone.

---