Take (Fury Brothers #4)

Adrenaline shot through me. He wasn’t awake and I could tell he was acting on instinct.

“Reath.” I could barely get the word out. He was so strong.

My instincts took over. I’d trained in judo in high school.

His body wasn’t fully on mine. I reached over and gripped the waistband of his boxer shorts, then planted my feet and lifted my hips. I dislodged him and quickly rolled free. Then, I launched back toward him, got his arm in a hold, and rolled.

I ended up half on top of him, with his arm in a painful position.

His face was inches from mine, and I saw awareness fill his eyes.

A frown creased his brow. “Frankie?”

“You were having a nightmare.”

Something rippled over his face. “Shit. Did I hurt you?”

“Do I seem hurt?”

“No.” He paused. “You going to let go of my arm before you break it?”

I released him and sat up.

He did too, rubbing his shoulder. “What are you trained in?”

“Judo. Brown belt.”

His brows rose. “You’re just full of surprises.”

“Are you okay?”

He sighed. “I think I need a drink.”

13

REATH

In the kitchen, I got busy making hot chocolate. I’d kept the lights on low, just a few lamps filtering gold light into the darkness. I stirred the contents of the pot.

I’d pulled on some black pajama pants, but I’d left my shirt off. I wasn’t sure it was a good idea, because I could see Frankie stealing glances.

I was stealing some of my own. My T-shirt was draped over soft breasts, and left her legs bare. Her dark hair was mussed.

I looked back at the chocolate. I hated that she’d heard my nightmare. I didn’t get them all the time, but often enough. I was used to living alone, so I never talked about them. It was how I preferred it.

After pouring the hot chocolate into two mugs, I then pulled out a bottle of local rye whiskey and splashed some into my mug. I held up the bottle. She nodded. I added a slug to hers and handed it to her.

We walked to the couch, and I was careful not to look at her thighs as she curled up in the corner and sipped her drink.

“Mmm,” she said. “I’m not usually a whiskey drinker.”

“Drinking rye whiskey is a requirement if you live in New Orleans.”

We fell silent as we drank our cocoa.

“You want to talk about the nightmare?” she asked.

“No.” A muscle ticked in my jaw.