by Snow Novels
Her voice was so soft yet so hard at the same time. "If you really want to help me," he said. "You'll stop playing games with me."
"What do you mean?" she asked, her eyes wide.
"I want to kiss you. To touch you. You're the only thing in this goddamn world that doesn't make me feel like shit. But you won't let me have you."
Brooke stared, unable to believe the pounding of her heart and the strength of his conviction. She wanted him too. Why was she still denying it? Dean watched her, wanting to grab her and pull her close but afraid he'd scare her. She moved towards him, her waist a life preserver waiting for him to grab a hold of. When she finally pulled her shirt over her head, Dean thought he'd found heaven.
The night outside the pool hall had been but a pale comparison to the moment approaching them. Her skin was milk and honey, something he hadn't truly appreciated in the dim lights of the parking lot. Her eyes swam in the shadows of his apartment, drawing him in. He went to her and put his arms around her. Finally, she didn't push away.
"I've been craving this moment," he whispered to her.
Her answer was a soft kiss that sent sparks of heat up his spine. He kissed her back, harder, pulling her tight against him. Her breasts squeezed against his chest, her body pulsing with sexual energy that made his lower body feel an urgent pressure it had been dying to release since seeing her in her office.
He reached under her and scooped her into his arms, carrying her into his bedroom. Her breasts jiggled as he walked and he felt the compelling need to release them from their bra, which seemed to him like a prison. She giggled as he carried her, which made him smile. The sound of her was musical and he smelled her hair as he placed her gently in his bed. He couldn't remember the last time he'd let a woman so close to him.
Reading his mind, Brooke reached behind her back and the straps of her bra fell off her shoulders and to the bed. She pushed it aside and laid back so he could get a good view. Her perfect pink nipples stood ready and waiting for him. Surrounded by untarnished snow white skin, her body seemed like a canvas, waiting for him to paint it. He climbed over her and she almost purred as his heat melded with hers. If she was his canvas, he was going to deliver a Picasso.
Chapter 10
Brooke's heart hammered in her chest. She didn't know how she could have resisted Dean for so long. He ran his hands over her skin, her breasts rising to meet him. His own chest was a hard plane of muscles and tattoos. She reached up with her neck and kissed each one. His body shuddered under her lips and she stretched her hands down towards his belt buckle.
He beat her to it though, his own hands pulling her skirt down and kicking it aside. She thrust her hips towards him and he smiled down at her. His pants came off and the intensity of their passion magnified. He wasn't just kissing her now, he was trying to get inside her. His body moved against hers, trying to claw its way in. Brooke loved that she bought out such a fever in him. His skin was a magnet for her, and the harder she pressed herself to him the more their bodies seemed glued together.
Dean reached down with his head, letting his tongue work around her nipples. She clenched his bed sheets in her fists, her back rising as his face sank against her chest. She pressed her core to him and his head moved down to her legs. His tongue slid up her thigh. She spread herself for him and he found that special spot between her legs that made her shake uncontrollably the second his tongue extended out and touched her.
"Dean," she murmured. He was so in tune with her desires that she didn't have to direct him. Her soft mound was his to play with, and he knew exactly the way to activate her. When she didn't think she could take it any longer, she reached her hands down and pulled his head up. Her sex ached for the return of his tongue, but the manhood that pressed against her was sure to make up for it.
She tightened her grip on his ass and he leaned over her, his mass tickling her, almost licking her opening, before he finally pressed himself into her. Her eyes went back in her head and he leaned down and kissed her roughly as his body began to pulse. Brooke's heart raced. Her body tensed with each movement deeper into her. She wrapped her legs around Dean's back and held him to her like a puzzle piece. He smiled and rocked back, moving faster as she began to writhe under him.
Her skin buzzed with energy and she knew she couldn't contain herself much longer. Dean turned into a jackhammer, pulsing and driving himself deeper with the passion they shared. When his head snapped back and Brooke saw the whites of his eyes, her own body responded with a quaking fury that forced her back up so quickly it almost snapped in half. Dean held her, waiting for the shared moment to complete itself, then fell on top of her breathing hard.
"Remember," she giggled, "I'm still your doctor."
***
A while later, Brooke awoke to Dean's deep breath in her ear. She was thirsty, so climbed out his bed to get some water. She should really get home soon anyhow. She couldn't believe she'd broken her rule and slept with Dean again, but she was glad she did. She could smell him on her even now.
The glass she was using slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor. Brooke cursed and bent over to pick up the shards; one of them cut her finger. Her blood dripped onto the floor, mixing with the water and creating a puddle of red. "Shit."
She looked up to grab some paper towels and saw Dean standing there, his face pale.
"Dean," she said, rising. "Are you okay?" But it was like he couldn't hear her. His eyes were transfixed on the floor. Brooke followed his gaze to the puddle of red. "It's okay," she said. "I just cut my finger. I'll clean it up." But it was too late. She saw something in his eyes click over.
Dean sank to the floor, sobbing. It was so unexpected... this tough man she'd just gone to bed with, a Green Beret, crying like he was in physical pain.
"Ssh," she said, wrapping her arms around him, trying to comfort him.
"It's all my fault," he mumbled. "I killed him."
She thought of the rumors his captain had told her about. This might be her only chance to discover the truth. "Tell me what happened."
He shuddered and for a minute she thought he wouldn't say another word, but then he started talking and wouldn't stop till his story was done.
"We were ambushed. They were all around us. Shooting us. Danny got hit, but he was still alive. It wasn't bad, just a flesh wound. We were able to take them out. We were done. Then..." He gulped for air like a fish out of water. "Then Mike went nuts. He thought," fresh sobs started. "He thought we were the enemy. He shot Danny. I watched him crumple to the ground like a leaf. And Mike kept going. I screamed at him to stop, but I don't think he even heard me. He tried to shoot me too. Me... his best friend. I had no choice. I had to..."
All her years of psychiatric training flew out the window as she held this man close to her, wanting nothing more than to take away his pain. She said the worst thing she could have: "It's okay."
He pushed her away so quickly her butt sank into her spilled, bloodied water.
"What do you mean it's okay?" he yelled. "It will never be okay again."
"I just mean," but she was stammering now. "It will get better. I'll help you. Let me help you." But he was shaking his head, looking at her with crazed eyes. "I won't tell anyone about Mike," she said. "I'll never reveal what happened, I promise."
He covered his face with his hands for a second before screaming, "Get out! Get out!" He picked up a toaster and threw it against the wall.
Brooke, naked and wet, dressed as quickly as possible and fled, cursing herself for pushing too hard. Now it was too late.
Chapter 11
Dean felt horrible. He'd finally gotten Brooke back in his arms and he'd blown it. She would never talk to him again, not even as his doctor. He was sure of it. He threw back the shot that sat on the bar in front of him. A man took the stool next to his. He was big and burly, dressed in leather with a shaved head and a lot of tattoos, not military ones. A biker. Dean smiled. Perfect.
"Hey fatso," Dean said.
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The biker stared at him. "I know you're not talking to me."
Dean shrugged. "You're the only fatso I see here."
It was stupid and immature, but it had the reaction he was hoping for. The guy stood up. He towered over Dean and was twice as wide. Dean reached out and poked him in the chest. The biker responded by grabbing Dean's arm and snapping it like a twig. It happened so fast, Dean didn't even have time to react.
He fell to the floor, screaming in pain. What the hell had he been thinking? If he hadn't been drunk, he could have taken this guy down in a second. It didn't matter how big he was, Dean was a Green Beret for crying out loud. He'd fought the toughest enemies out there. And now, here he was, taken down by a biker in a bar. He crawled along the floor till he got to the door, then managed to stand up.
"Want me to call the cops?" the bartender shouted, but Dean just pushed the door open and left. He'd asked for it. He deserved what he got.
***
Dean hated having his arm in a cast. It was true what they said about your skin itching. It was driving him crazy. Plus, it was strangely claustrophobic. This sense that he couldn't get his arm out of it when he wanted to. Even after this last experience though, Dean wasn't sure he'd learned his lesson. He just couldn't stop the nagging feeling that he had to go out and find someone to hurt him, to punish him for killing Mike.
He could hear Brooke's voice in his head, telling him it wasn't his fault. It was almost comforting. Almost. He opened the hall closet, looking for his gun, thinking he'd go down to the range and try his luck at one handed shooting. It should prove entertaining, at the very least. The box that Sara had dropped off sat on the floor in the closet. He'd forgotten all about it. After she'd given it to him, he'd simply stuck it where he wouldn't have to see it all the time.
He pulled it out now, curious what was in it. The box wasn't too heavy. He lifted it easily with his good arm and placed it on the kitchen table. He started pulling out each piece, each new item a reminder of his lifetime of friendship with Mike. A photo of them at their high school graduation. A birthday card Dean had sent Mike when he'd turned twenty-five. A collage of photos: Dean and Mike smiling for the camera when they passed boot camp; Dean holding Mike's first child; Mike's wedding, Dean standing beside him, his best man. Each item was like a dagger in his side. There was one more thing in the box. Mike's purple heart. Dean felt the life drain out of him and sat in a chair before he could fall. Sara was giving him Mike's purple heart? He didn't deserve that. Dean wasn't used to crying. The tears that came were fast and hard. It was like some internal clog had just dissolved inside him.
He started to put everything back into the box, then stopped. He went to his tool box and pulled out a hammer and some nails, trying to hang up the pictures with his one good arm. It was more difficult than you might think. He set the hammer down and settled for placing the pictures on his kitchen table instead.
The sun was shining into his apartment, and for the first time in months, Dean felt its warmth and embraced it. He decided that right here, right now, he would start embracing the things that still mattered. What mattered most was not the way Mike died, it was the way that he had lived. It was over twenty years of friendship. That was what he had to keep alive.
He grabbed his keys, then remembered that he only had one good arm. How was he supposed to ride his Harley anywhere? He went to his phone and dialed Brooke's number. He was surprised to find that she answered herself, not her secretary. He was even more surprised when she didn't hang up on him.
"Brooke," he said. "I'm sorry." It wasn't the best apology ever, but it was a start. "Can you come over?" he asked. "I need a favor."
Chapter 12
Brooke was shocked when Dean called her. She was even more shocked when he answered the door with his arm in a cast.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi." She stood outside his door, no idea what she should expect. His eyes were bright and clear. He was sober, and he was looking at her like she was birthday cake.
"Please come in," he said. It was more of a plea than a question. Brooke's brain told herself she should leave, but her heart wouldn't let her. She was smitten with Dean, and it wasn't gonna go away just because he was broken.
Inside his apartment, she realized how clean it was. How bright. The difference was striking.
"So what happened to you?" She noted the fresh bruises on his cheek and thought she had a pretty good idea.
"First," he said, walking slowly towards her with his hands up. "I want to say... I accept."
She raised her eyebrows. "Accept what?"
He sighed and dropped his hands. "Your offer for help. You're right. I need it. And... I want it."
Brooke couldn't stop her mouth from dropping open. "You mean it?" she asked, trying to hold her growing elation at bay. She didn't want to get her hopes up only to have them crashed into a brick wall.
"I mean it," he said. "If the offer is still good, I'll take it. Provided it doesn't mean I have to stop sleeping with my doctor." He smiled and held out his hand, like they were shaking on a deal. Brooke took it and shook. His hand was so strong in hers, and she felt his skin tingle when they touched. He pulled her to him and brushed his lips over hers. She didn't stop him.
"Also," he said, leading her to the kitchen now. "Can you help me hang these? It's harder than you might think to drive a nail into the wall with one hand."
Brooke laughed. "Actually, I'd think it was pretty near impossible. Only stubborn military men would think it wasn't." A smile broke across his face and Brooke's own mood soared.
"I'm afraid I have another favor to ask, after this." She pretended to scowl. "You're full of favors today, aren't you? Brooke help me. Brooke kiss me. Brooke hang these photos for me. What next?"
The smile stayed on his face but it faltered slightly. He took a deep breath. "I need to see Sara."
Brooke started. "Sara as in..."
He nodded. "As in Mike's wife."
"Are you gonna tell her...?"
"No. She doesn't need to remember Mike that way. That's not who he was. That's what the war did to him. She just needs to know that he loved her and their kids. That he died fighting for his country. I can't face her alone just yet."
"Of course I'll go with you," she said, throwing her arms around him and holding him tight. She'd never let go again.
***
Brooke hung back with the kids as Sara and Dean walked ahead, talking. She couldn't imagine raising three kids alone, and thought Sara must be an incredibly strong woman. Bits and pieces of their conversation drifted back to her. Mostly Dean offered a lot of "I'm sorries" and Sara offered a lot of "I understands."
The youngest kid, Brian, licked his ice cream cone as it dripped onto the sidewalk. "Uh oh," she said. "It's melting."
Brian smiled. "Ice cream's best when it's melty," then took another big lick off the top.
Dean caught her off guard and grabbed her hand, twirling her around with his good arm while she tried to stop her ice cream from falling to the ground.
"Ooooohhh," the kids all cried when Dean kissed her. His lips formed a great big smile, and for the first time since meeting him, his eyes matched it. The darkness was still there, it probably always would be, but it was tempered back now. As long as Dean continued with his therapy, there was no reason for it to surface again.
"I'm gonna let your commanders know you're fit for action again. As soon as your arm heals, that is." Her eyes shifted away from his ever so slightly. She didn't want to hold him back, but she didn't want him to go away either.
"Hey," he said, kissing her again to the wild cooing sound of the kids. Sara scolded them, but it was filled with laughter. "I'm not going anywhere without you. You're my fucking rock now. What would I do without you? I feel like we've been through thick and thin together."
Brooke's heart soared. "Besides," he said. "Sara thinks you're a keeper." Brooke looked back at Sara, her face bright and smiling. Sara tossed her a wink then ra
n after one of her kids who'd stolen her ice cream cone and was proceeding to chase his brother with it.
"I think I love you," she said to Dean.
"Well what do you know?" he said. "I think I love you too. Isn't that a coincidence?" He drew her to him and kissed her one last time before part of an ice cream cone landed on his head. Brooke fell into hysterics, and Dean chased Brian around trying to get him back.
THE END
BONUS STORY 2
CAGED: WILD TALES OF A SILVERBACK SHIFTER
Chapter 1
My face hurt. Not bad enough to make me open my eyes, just bad enough to wake me up. When I finally did lift one eyelid, I realized that it was raining pellets of cat food. One of them hit my mouth just as I opened it to breathe; the taste of dried chicken and brewer's yeast permeated my mouth. Both my eyes flew open and I saw Emma sitting on the chair across from me, Fluffy in her lap, a bowl of Fluffy's preferred cat food sitting between them.
Emma picked up another piece and flung it at me. Fluffy sat by, watching, interested in her bowl of food, but not very much in me. She looked amused as Emma continued to pelt me with her breakfast. Fluffy had never liked me either.
"Hey!" I shouted as Emma hit my eyeball with what felt like an extra big piece of Friskies. I felt my face turning red.
"Oh," Emma quipped. "Sorry, did I wake you?"
Until Emma had come along, I'd thought those stories about evil, hateful stepsisters had all been a bunch of crap. When my mom remarried a few years ago, I'd been thrilled to gain a sister. Then, of course, Emma had decided I was too fat, too ugly, and too boring to be worthy of her friendship.
It had taken every ounce of parental pull my mom and stepdad had to get Emma to agree to let me move in with her in New York. Her apartment had two bedrooms, they'd argued, why couldn't I use just one? That was five months ago. I don't know what I'd been thinking. Clearly I'd been under the wrong impression—that this experience would somehow bring us closer together. Instead, Emma was now attacking me with Fluffy's breakfast food.