Page 4 of Knot Innocent

I tuck the phone in my pocket and take another swig of beer, confident I’ve called his bluff. There’s no way Bennet is dumb enough to line up a date for me. That was him desperately grasping at straws. Idiot.

Women. Another area where I don’t trust myself. If I ever caused a woman to look at me for one second the way my mother looked at my father, I’d throw myself off the nearest bridge.

For that reason, any woman I’ve hooked up with over the years has been a one-and-done deal. I don’t want to chance going further. Unbidden, an image comes to mind, one that I’ve been fighting off for the last four weeks. Birdie Crenshaw. Pistol-fast. Brilliant. And on my mind way too much since our chance meeting in the woods on an early Wednesday morning.

I’d had a dream during the night about my father cheering me on as I beat the shit out of that Naval officer. When I woke, I was haunted by the image of his satisfied grin. I got up immediately and went to the Knot compound gym.

After an hour of lifting weights, the rage hadn’t receded. Spatch arrived to prepare for the day’s training, but I feared what might happen if he or someone else said the wrong thing to me. That’s when I ran outside to spend some time on the woods trail.

I took the track at a full run but only made it halfway around before hearing my father’s taunting voice in my head. Like father, like son. My feet froze, and I launched my fist into the nearest tree. Thankfully, it was barely more than a sapling, big enough to take the blows but resilient, so it didn’t break my hands.

Once I’d worn myself out, I rested my head above the bloody, abused bark to catch my breath. That’s how Birdie found me. I didn’t know it then, but Birdie runs the track several mornings a week.

She called my name when she saw me propped against the tree, unmoving. Blood dripped from my fingers to the small white stones paving the track, the contrast visible even in the low morning light. “Oh my god, Bash. What happened?”

I turned slowly toward her, and her eyes widened in shock once she noticed the blood on the tree. Birdie rushed over and took one of my hands in hers, gently cradling my wounded paw.

I’d never been that close to her before. I’d noticed her, for sure, as have many of the other operatives. I had my reasons for staying away, but the others avoided talking her up because of her special relationship with the CEO.

Alone in those woods, with her holding my hand, I had no excuse to escape. Birdie was flushed and sweaty from her run, but the intel genius still smelled of vanilla and chocolate. Her intoxicating scent took me back to one of the few times my life wasn’t so shitty, times spent watching my mom baking traditional French pastries while she told me fables from her childhood.

The next thought to hit me that morning was how soft Birdie’s skin was. And as many times as I’d listened to her give intel and logistics reports, I’d never noticed how smooth and soothing her voice was. Her soft crooning enveloped me like a warm blanket, so comforting that I no longer felt the ache in my hands.

For a moment, just a moment, Birdie made me forget. I couldn’t say what it was about her, but for a short time, I knew peace. Knowing the reprieve wouldn’t last long, I closed my eyes and drank it in.

Birdie didn’t ask what happened to set me off. She didn’t scold me for acting like a barbarian and hurting myself. After her initial inspection, she held my hands and silently walked me the one mile back out of the woods and toward the trailhead. Surprisingly, I let her.

At the boundary of the natural, wooded area, Birdie led me to sit on a bench and trotted over to a little white SUV, where she opened the back and began rummaging around in a first aid kit.

As her delicate scent faded, the trance that held me captive released my mind. What the hell am I doing? The thought played on repeat in my head as I watched her gather supplies. I had to remind myself that with my fucked-up lineage, I needed to stay as far away from Birdie Crenshaw as possible, no matter how much I wanted to get closer.

I stood up from the bench to return to the gym, but Birdie’s sharp command froze me mid-rise. “Sit. Your. Ass. Down.”

Shock, more than anything, had me obeying the shy intelligence analyst. Birdie collected her selections, holding all of them tightly against her ample chest to keep from dropping anything. She returned to my side quickly, her scent once again filling my lungs.

Birdie picked up my left hand and a pair of tweezers. “This probably won’t feel great, but it will hurt less than that tree.”

Her hands were just as silky as her voice, calming the beast inside. Intrigued, I studied my nurse as she picked bits of bark from my chewed-up knuckles, still unsure why I was letting her do it. I was plenty capable of treating myself just as effectively. I couldn’t, however, deny that Birdie made for a better-looking nurse than I would have.

Birdie’s dark blond hair was tied up in a complicated knot, and her fresh face made her look impossibly younger than she was. Her eyes, the color of faded blue jeans, were framed by tight brows as she concentrated on her task.

“What are you wearing?” slipped out before I could stop myself from asking.

Birdie’s eyes cut to my face as if she thought me crazy. “Workout clothes?”

She couldn’t hold my intense gaze and darted her eyes away. “No. Perfume, lotion, or something,” I pressed.

“Just some lotion. Does it bother you?”

I clamped my mouth shut to keep from commenting, and Birdie returned to her work. Before long, both hands were cleaned, ointment applied, and bandages wrapped tight. Birdie gathered the leftover supplies and stood, disregarding our failed conversation. “You’ll want to change those dressings in a few hours.”

She rushed back to her car, the sway of her curvy ass sending a punch of heat straight to my groin. Exactly what I didn’t need. Thankfully, my spaced-out psycho behavior seemed to intimidate her, meaning that’ll be the last of our close encounters. I just wish my body could come to grips with the notion.

Groaning at the memory of her soft figure in those leggings and tank, I pay my tab and leave the bar with the Braves leading the Nats by two.

Birdie

With moves that would put Houdini to shame, my bra is off in under three seconds after walking through my door. Ahhh. I toss the offending garment into the laundry room, wishing the girls were small enough that I could wear a bra without wires. When you’re armed with knockers like this, they need an undercarriage. My shoes come off next, and I visit the kitchen for a glass of water and a fork.