Chapter 50

Dix tried to be as quiet in the bathroom as he could but, damn it, how silent could you be in a shower? He was quick about it, just soaping up and washing off the residue of lake water. He shut the water off as quickly as he could and toweled himself dry. When he looked in the mirror, he grimaced at the scruffy look of his face. He needed a shave but, one, he didn't feel like doing it now and, two, he might not do it at all. A lot of the SEALs grew beards and/or moustaches. So maybe he wouldn't shave while he was here.
He wondered for a moment if Miss Gumdrop Nipples liked beards, but when that idea made his finally relaxed cock attempt to stand up again, he ditched the thoughts and slapped an ice-cold washcloth on his groin. Anyway, he was a gentleman, and Peyton Gerard didn't seem to be the kind of woman men made suggestive remarks about. In fact, there seemed to be a hesitant shyness about her in that area he definitely wasn't used to. Good thing sex wasn't going to be a part of this equation.
He stared in the mirror again, clearly seeing the despair in his eyes. No, no sex this time. He had a load of guilt to deal with and a determination to get in shape so he could redeem himself. He would never forget the bodies of his two teammates they'd hauled out of that jungle in fireman's carries. Good thing they were all in superman shape because they weren't going to leave anyone behind, dead or not.
And dead because, somehow, he had fucked up. It didn't matter what the CO said. He was the leader; he made the calls. Didn't matter he learned the mission had been compromised. It was his job to find a way around it and get his men out safely. And he'd fucked up.
The swim tonight had done his thigh a world of good. All those hours in the truck driving here hadn't helped. He'd had to stop now and then to ease the cramping. In the store, he'd done his best to disguise his limp, but he knew Peyton had noticed. Thank god she was polite enough not to ask any questions. Of course, maybe she just didn't care. No, he got the feeling she cared about things a lot. Maybe too much. Someone who didn't care would not have come down to the dock and waited for him to swim safely back to shore. Especially not for someone who had an unexpected roommate for what was supposed to be a solitary vacation.
Forget about her, he reminded himself again.
He brushed his teeth, pulled on the pair of shorts he'd brought downstairs with him then bundled up his towels, his swim trunks, and his dopp kit and opened the bathroom door. Peyton's door was closed, and no light showed at the bottom. Hopefully, she was asleep. Climbing the open stairway as silently as possible, he then tiptoed across the floor in his bedroom. He hung his towels and swim trunks on hooks on one wall, leaving them to dry for the next day.
When he finished, he climbed into bed and stretched out full length. He had some exercises he did for his thigh from flat on his back, so he went through the routine. After rubbing a special cream into the muscles, he rolled over and punched up the pillow beneath his head. Maybe tonight there wouldn't be any dreams.

*****

Peyton stood on the dock in her bathing suit and a long T-shirt, drinking her second mug of coffee of the morning. The sun was just coming up, a blaze of red and orange reflected on the surface of the lake. Birds rustled the leaves in the trees and, about fifteen feet from the dock, a small fish leaped from the water, twisted, and dove back beneath the surface.
When she'd finally managed to fall asleep last night, it had been fitful and restless. She'd dreamed about a six-foot-four god of the sea with sculpted muscles, stormy grey eyes, and the face of a warrior. One time, when she woke up, she was shocked to find her hand between her thighs, cupping her mound and pressing her fingers into her wet, hot slit. God! Not that she wasn't given to masturbating, especially when her woeful list of lovers had proven to be incredibly selfish in bed.
But having erotic dreams about a man she'd just met? One who was definitely off limits if she had a brain in her head? That was beyond her scope of reality. Besides, she was sure she knew the kind of women he spent time with. They'd be tall, leggy blondes or mysteriously sexy brunettes, experienced in the ways of pleasing a man. Not a chubby little redhead who even now was still a sexual novice and wouldn't turn heads on her best day.
Since the uneasy agreement with Dix yesterday, she'd been on tenterhooks, waiting for an explosion of some kind. They'd been cautiously civil to each other on the trip to the grocery store and mostly silent while fixing their separate dinners. Last night at the dock was probably the easiest exchange they'd had yet.
She couldn't help but wonder about him. It was hard to miss the fact the man was strung tighter than a drum. There had to be a story about it, but she for sure wasn't planning to ask him. Nope, no asking. She'd spend a couple of days just clearing out her brain, avoiding her housemate, and deliberately not thinking about her pitiful love life and Dix Amendola. Then she'd sit down with her laptop and hope her muse had returned full force.
She turned as she heard the door to the cottage close and saw the man himself emerge, dressed in - Holy shit! She nearly swallowed her tongue. He wore nothing except a pair of running shorts. Not even a T-shirt. If he'd looked like a god last night, this morning he looked like the model from which all the others had been created. He gave her a brief wave and took off down the dirt road in a warm-up jog. Then he disappeared around the curve, and she was left with her thoughts.
The lake, which had been empty when she'd first come out, now had a smattering of boats dotting its smooth surface, fishermen out for the early catch. Peyton thought back to all the mornings she'd been out there with her father and her uncles. From the time she was a pesky ten year old until her teenage years, when she had other interests, she had enjoyed the opportunities to bond with her family. Idly, she wondered if Dix fished then gave herself a mental smack. She needed to stop daydreaming about the guy, or she'd be right back in the soup again. Besides, he'd given her no indication he'd even be interested in starting something with her. In fact, she was sure he considered her more of an annoyance than anything, so she had to get him out of her head.
She carried her empty mug into the house, rinsed it at the sink, and set it on the counter. She reached for her cell phone on the counter but, just as she touched it, it rang. Peyton looked at the readout. Grace. Grace? At this hour of the morning? But then she checked the time and realized it was eight o'clock. She must have been standing out there ruminating for longer than she'd thought.
"I'm safe and in one piece," she said when she pressed the Answer button.
"I thought you'd at least call me when you got there," Grace chided. "Just to let me know you were safe."
"I was going to, yesterday, but a funny thing happened on the way to the phone call."