The Ghost [Marvel | Steve Rogers]

Chapter 71

Upstate New York, USA

Late Summer 2015

Nadine was antsy. Restless. Anxious, even. She'd been spending too much time dwelling on her past. And despite how cathartic dealing with Madame B had been, it had also brought a great deal forward that Nadine would've much preferred to leave buried. And that left her feeling unsettled. Anxious to move, to do something.

And that was even with the tasks at hand to keep her occupied. Her searches into those Madame B had spilled her secrets to and their associates was going well, fuelled by a determination borne of her disquiet. A mercy of her training, really; channelling her frustrations into her mission, whatever that may be. But it wasn't perfect. Especially when her tasks were more sedentary in nature. She had long been conditioned to be active, and sitting in front of computer screens didn't quite mesh well with that.

Especially when she was like this.

So the urge to move was something Nadine was long used to. It was a restlessness she was usually easily able to address with something as simple as a more intensive than usual exercise routine. But as Nadine settled back onto her heels, her breath coming hard and her limbs beginning to ache numbly from the workout she'd just put herself through, she knew she had little choice but to admit it.

This was different.

It crawled and scratched beneath her skin, a sensation like prickling needles skittering up and down her spine. It was a helpless sort of frustration that she couldn't seem to identify. She swore softly under her breath as she irritably brushed back a few escaped strands of her pale hair from where they clung to her sweat-slicked face and neck. It was a frustration that none of her regular outlets could seem to dissipate.

Most of her regular outlets, at least.

Her hands fisted, the wrappings she'd wound around her wrists the only thing keeping her nails from biting into her palms. She shook the thought from her head, not letting herself consider it.

She wasn't in a position to go hunting just now, after all, so that one was off the table...for the time being, at least. Besides, the way she was feeling? There was no guarantee any such undertaking would work anyway. It meant less likely solutions had begun flitting through her brain in effort to find something to ease the feeling.

Getting laid, perhaps? But she immediately shook that option aside as well at the face and accompanying body that slowly tried swimming into focus at the idea. She didn't want to think of the owner of that face that way. He was so much more than just his—admittedly gorgeous; the man was a specimen of the highest degree—appearance. He was good and just and compassionate and he was treating her with far more respect and trust than she knew she deserved.

Not to mention, she figured it was highly unlikely he would want anything of the sort with someone like her...and that wasn't even accounting for her past with his best friend.

No. That would never happen. Nothing with him would, be it sex or something more. So there was no point even letting herself think about it, much less hope. So the little flutter of anticipation deep in her belly could just disappear and leave her in peace. And it could take the mental image of the Captain's warm, ocean-hued eyes and chiselled—and currently shirtless, thanks to her overactive imagination—physique with it.

She wasn't going there.

Besides, the last time she'd tried to let off some steam that way, it hadn't worked. Too many memories. It had only made things worse. And while she suspected partner would be everything, her instincts seemed to want to lead her down paths she was certain were wiser turned away from.