Of one thing he was sure as he looked at Chry, her face pale in sleep—there was no doubt in his mind that he loved her with the same desperation, depth, and soul-deep feeling he had for as long as he could remember.
He’d been with many women, but most of them were unavailable and he’d never pursued a relationship with them. His first sexual encounter had been with a married woman, an unhappy worker on the base. From there he’d gone on to one-night standers, frog hogs, shallow women. His last had been Mad Max’s nurse, Lieutenant Marion Murphy. She had been older, pretty great in bed, and different from the rest of the women he’d had. Of course, it would have been career suicide for her to continue to see him, but the several times he’d been with her made him long for substance. Through all those encounters, he’d always kept Chry close to his heart. Even though he had never been with her, what they had was something special.
He jerked awake. The digital clock on the nightstand read 3:27. He checked Chry and some color had seeped back into her face. He moved the blankets and saw that she had bled through the gauze. He changed both dressings as she stirred briefly, then fell back to sleep.
The shadows chased him, and some of the things he’d been trying to outrun finally caught up with him.
And those things all had to do with his brothers, Riley and Dean, and…Chry. Deep down, he’d directed his bitterness at his brother, wanting someone to blame for not being there for them, for leaving him and Riley at the mercy of their father, Pierce Teller.
It was long past due that he voiced everything he’d felt back then instead of working it into a ball of unpleasantness and burying it deep. Those feelings had festered and poisoned him. The moment he had the time, he would talk to Dean…about everything.
Then there was Chry. She wanted more from him, and truthfully, at the moment, he wasn’t sure he could give it. He didn’t like the nagging feeling he had used her in some way this morning or taken advantage of the situation. He had been torn; he was fully aware of that. But he let it happen anyway.
The minute he’d touched her, it had been like quicksand—once he was in, there was no damned way he could get out. But what made his gut clench even more was knowing that she had every reason to believe what had happened was something special.
And it had been. Very special.
She’d held nothing back, and what she had given him was real—her passion, her need. She had been with him every step of the way; there was no doubt in his mind about that. But it was that look on her face when he’d told her that he couldn’t talk about a future until they got out of this dangerous situation that clawed at him. They had a long way to go before they could have that discussion. But was that hope there inside him that it would happen?
The truth was, he couldn’t talk about a future until he faced the past.
Feeling hollow and aching, he climbed onto the bed and slipped under the covers. Drawing her limp body to his, warmth, while tenderness, and a fierce protectiveness flooded him. He picked up the weapon and kept his hand on the gun’s grip, as he snuggled her and felt instantly better.
When he woke again, it was light outside. He immediately checked her pulse. Still strong and steady.
“What is the prognosis, Doc?” she murmured. She turned her head and smiled.
“You’ll live to kick ass another day,” he said.
She narrowed her eyes at him, a hint of laughter in her expression. “Is that your professional SEAL medic opinion?”
“It’s cold hard facts, flower girl.” He sobered and said, “I should have—”
She shifted, turning to her good side, then covered his mouth, a move that turned into a caress against his lips. “You gave me the best chance to get away by sacrificing yourself.” She held his gaze for a moment, then looked away. “Do you know how hard it was to run away from you when I wanted to stand and fight with you, for you?” she whispered. “I’m so thankful you’re all right.”
He lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. “I almost lost you. It was agonizing.” 2-Stroke looked away, struggling with the tightness in his throat and the burning in his eyes.
Her expression softened, and she almost smiled, her touch feather-light as she traced her fingertips along his collarbone. “Aw, it’s okay,” she said. “Before you know it, I’ll be kicking your ass.”
“Don’t give me a hard time, flower girl.”
“God, you’re so cute when you go all SEAL macho.” She laughed, then clutched her side, her expression contorting into a wince. “Maybe not anytime soon,” she said.
He leaned down and kissed her, then lifted his head, smiling. “You sure liked me armed and dangerous a few hours ago.”
“That is for sure. And can we talk about your body?”
He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. “What about it?”
“Where do I start?” She sighed. “Hmm, those shoulders are so broad, your back muscles like a rock. Nice wide chest tapering down to that six-pack, and your thighs. Wow. Where do I address my thanks to the Navy?”
He chuckled. “How about you give me all the credit. I’m the one working my ass off.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s pretty fine too, not to mention the parts that make you oh-so-male are knee-melting, especially when you’re fully aroused. It was so worth the wait.”
“Are you trying to drive me crazy?” He leaned down and whispered, rubbing his lips against her temple. “My dick is getting impressive even as we speak.”
“Too bad I got shot,” she said.
“Yeah, but we’re here now and it’s only a matter of time before you heal. I waited a long time for you, Chry. We can actually make love in a bed for once.”
She stared up at him, her eyes suddenly clouding. She swallowed hard and shifted her gaze. She swallowed again. “Don’t,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Don’t, okay?”
2-Stroke caught her along the jaw, turning her head so she had to look at him. “Don’t what?” he asked quietly. She hesitated, her expression stark, unhappiness dilating her eyes. He gave her head a small shake, prodding her to answer. “Don’t what?”
She took a deep, unsteady breath, then looked away, her face drawn. “Don’t bring up the past.” She sighed, obviously struggling. There was despair in her eyes when she looked up at him again. “I don’t want to hash that out here. At least for now.” She frowned and looked away again, as if her emotions were too raw to hold his gaze. Finally, she looked up at him, her face drawn and anxious. “We need some time to work through everything before we talk about it.”
He stared at her for a moment, then toyed with the wild tumble of her hair, a cold jolt making his gut knot. He understood what she was saying—perhaps too damned well. There had been some bitter realities that they had simply pretended didn’t exist back then. They had lived in their own isolated little worlds. Only those worlds didn’t exist anymore. And he was just starting to resurrect the past. He had enough reservations about the present.
Brushing back some stray wisps of hair at her temple, he finally met her gaze. “Okay. I am struggling too, but we can shelve it for now.”
Trying very hard to smile, she swallowed hard and stroked his collarbone again. “That’s settled. Can I get something to eat now?”