Resisting Her Commander Hero

by Lucy Ryder

“Look,” she huffed out irritably. “If I need help, I’ll call Paige.” Which was a total lie. No way was she bothering anyone with something as simple as showering.

  “It’s no bother,” he said mildly, his sideways glance casual and more than a little amused as he reached into the shower stall and turned on the water. As though he knew she was lying to get rid of him.

  It was the amusement that finally got to her. She stood and shoved him out the door. “Go. Away.”

  He took a couple of beats to study her before snagging the bag of medical supplies out of her bandaged hands. He nodded at the shower. “Call if you need anything.”

  Her answer was to slam the door and then curse the fact that there hadn’t been a lock on it for about twenty-five years. Not since she’d locked herself in the bathroom when she was five and her grandfather had had to take the door off its hinges to get her out. Frankie felt tears prick her eyes and ruthlessly suppressed them. She wasn’t crying because she missed Nanna and Gramps and she wasn’t crying because Nate had left without a fight. She was…she was…well, a girl didn’t need to have a reason.

  Especially when her life was unraveling faster than ribbon at Christmas. Maybe…maybe she was just emotional because of the stress of the past twenty-four hours.

  But Frankie knew it wasn’t that. Her throat hurt, her back hurt from last night’s scrapes and bruises and now, along with random patches of blistered skin, her hair looked like she’d crawled through the furnaces of hell.

  She was a mess.

  Her life was a mess.

  And now…and now she’d chased away the last person alive that she really trusted.

  More tired and miserable than she’d ever been in her life, Frankie stripped out of the borrowed scrubs and stepped into the shower.

  The hot water hit her abused flesh and she quickly adjusted the heat to accommodate her scorched skin. After a minute, she planted her blistered palms flat against the tiles, closed her eyes and let the water wash away the soot and the memories of the past two days.

  She hadn’t realized she was crying until she heard a knock on the bathroom door and Nate’s deep voice said, “Frankie…you okay in there?”

  She had to swallow a couple of times before she managed a hoarse “I’m fine…go away,” thankful that she would be able to blame the smoke for her red eyes and tight throat.

  But the interruption had reminded her that crying never solved anything and she reached for the shampoo, determined to at least not look like a survivor of the Great Fire of London.

  It took three washes to get the stench out of her hair and by the time she finally felt clean she noticed blood washing down the drain along with shampoo suds and shower cream.

  She looked down at her feet and realized that the dressings had come loose. Oh, yeah, and she’d popped a few blisters on her right palm. Before she could start crying again, she reminded herself that it was okay, that these were things she could fix. Dressing a couple of cuts was basic stuff.

  Everything else in her life? Well, that was another matter altogether.

  She turned off the water and opened the shower door, reaching out to grab one of the thick fluffy towels that usually hung on the rail. When her hand grabbed air, she recalled that she’d left a pile of damp towels on her bedroom floor when she’d fallen into bed last night.

  Great.

  Huffing out an aggravated breath, she shoved dripping hair off her face and grabbed a hand towel, drying her hair as best she could before reaching for the hair towel—which of course wasn’t large enough to adequately cover anything.

  By the time she was reasonably dry, more blood stained the bathroom floor. But other than her towels, the only thing she had that would staunch the flow was her emergency stash of sanitary towels.

  Shrugging, she reached into the cupboard under the basin. If football and hockey players could use tampons for nosebleeds, then there was nothing stopping her from using sanitary towels as makeshift pressure bandages.

  Suitably padded up, Frankie covered the bare essentials with the tiny towel and hobbled painfully to the door. She pulled it open and stumbled back with a shocked squeak when she caught sight of a huge figure standing outside the door.

  “What…what the…?” she rasped furiously, slapping one hand against her chest to keep her heart from making a break for it and the other on the wall, before recalling that her tiny towel needed help against the force of gravity.

  Her shock turned to a panicked squawk as the towel slid silently southward. She made a frantic grab for it and caught sight of a wide, white grin at her futile efforts. The only course left to her was—

  She grabbed for the door as a fiery blush covered every inch of exposed skin—of which there was a whole heap. For several seconds Frankie huddled behind the door, breathing like a racehorse after a two-mile gallop and coughing from all the smoke she’d inhaled that afternoon.

  Finally, she caught her breath and peered around the door, half expecting to see Nate standing there, enjoying her discomfort. All she saw was a tanned muscular arm attached to a large hand holding out a pair of summer jammies.

  She stared at the skimpy tank top and minuscule boy shorts for a couple of beats like they might bite her because this was a winter jammies kind of moment. The kind where a girl needed the comfort—and full-body concealment—of baggy flannel.

  Considering it was either the towel or… With a muttered oath she reached out and snatched the tank and teeny shorts. She slammed the door to the sound of deep chuckles—the jerk—and hastily wrestled her PJs on, cursing herself for the way her body responded to the sound of that deep masculine sound.

  Oh, yeah. And the fact that the man she’d once loved with every fiber of her eighteen-year-old being had just seen her naked.

  In response, her skin was tight and sensitive, her breasts heavy and achy and…and the hot and heavy sensations turning her belly into a seething mess of dread, anticipation and nerves ratcheted her irritation up a couple gazillion notches.

  She yanked open the door with a fierce scowl, only to find the passageway…empty.

  “Seriously?” she muttered, before hightailing it to her bedroom for a sweatshirt because no way was she going down there looking like some sad attempt at a sex kitten. She heard a sound behind her and turned in time to see Nate standing on the top step, staring at her butt.

  Resisting the urge to squirm or cover her bottom with both hands—heck, she wasn’t that lame—Frankie cleared her ravaged throat and rasped in as cool a tone as she could manage, “Ex-cu-se me?”

  Nate’s gaze finally rose—crinkled at the corners as though he’d enjoyed running his eyes over her bottom and bare legs—and arched his brow at her tone. His eyes were unreadable, but with the knowledge that a minute ago he’d seen her au naturel—full frontal—Frankie felt her neck heat.

  His amusement was soon replaced with a concerned frown as he stared at her feet.

  “Your dressings came off.”

  Frankie shrugged and opened her mouth to say that it had been bound to happen, only to be interrupted by his curious “Are those…are those sanitary pads?” as he came closer. For some reason her blush deepened and she quickly turned away to hobble into her bedroom.

  “They were handy,” she called over her shoulder, heading to her closet for a zip-up sweater, which she hastily pulled on. Feeling a little more armed against his disturbingly intense gaze, she turned to find him filling the doorway, his hands shoved into his pockets.

  Her heart leapt and then lodged in her throat because he looked like he was getting comfortable. And that meant—that meant her attempts to get rid of him had failed.

  A shiver of something that couldn’t possibly be pleasure, excitement and relief warred with irritation at his arrogance.

  She scowled to cover her reaction. “What?”

  “Lucky for you I’m handy too.”

  Her brow wrinkled. “If that is some sad attempt at seduction then you can just—”


  He actually had the gall to laugh. “Relax, princess. I’ve had some training in field trauma so I’m sure I can handle a couple of bandages and burn gel.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m an EMT. I can do it myself.”

  “Lucky for you, you don’t have to,” he countered mildly, stepping into the room. When she stubbornly glared at him, he murmured, “Either you go willingly or I sling you over my shoulder.” His brow rose in challenge. “Your choice.”

  For a couple of beats Frankie considered defying him but the look in his eyes told her he wasn’t kidding around. She uttered a growl of frustration and stomped toward him, hiding a wince at the pain in her feet.

  “When did you get to be such a jerk?”

  The question seemed to surprise him but he gave a soft snort before saying in a challenging voice, “When did I stop being a dupe, you mean?” His tone was wry. “You don’t survive basic underwater demolition SEAL training by being a pushover, princess. Besides, what kind of friend would I be if I left you to fend for yourself?”

  “The kind of friend who knows when I want to be alone,” she said, trying not to show how much he was affecting her.

  Nate made an exasperated sound in the back of his throat and before she could respond in kind, he’d lifted her off her feet and swung her into his arms.

  She gave a growl of protest and tried to wriggle free but his curt “Be still before you break both our necks,” had her stiffening in his arms.

  He carried her down the stairs as if she weighed no more than a child, muscles bunching beneath his warm, taut skin.

  To cover the shiver that started at the base of her spine and shimmied up to the back of her neck…then spread everywhere else, she growled, “Drop me and you’re dead meat.”

  His answer was an exasperated snort. “Please. I’ve carried twice your weight up a mountain pass that was more of a goat trail in a snowstorm.” He briefly dropped his gaze. “But keep squirming like that and there’s no telling what might happen.”

  Conscious of the arm beneath her butt and the press of her breasts against his hard chest, Frankie stopped squirming and tried to hang onto her bad mood.

  “I see your arrogance hasn’t improved,” she muttered, chagrined when amusement flashed in his gaze.

  “No more than your reckless streak,” he replied casually, but instead of getting annoyed she had to wonder if that was how people still saw her. And while it was true that she no longer did crazy things, she had to wonder if Nate truly believed Jack’s death hadn’t changed her.

  Before she could ask, he placed her down on the kitchen counter and shoved a mug into her hands. “Drink,” he ordered, turning away to look through her refrigerator. He made a sound of disgust and sent her a resigned look as he pulled his cellphone from his pocket. “When last did you go shopping?”

  She thought about that a moment but couldn’t remember.

  He sighed. “Okay. Next question. When last did you eat?”

  “Um…lemme see… This morning? Yep, this morning. I got breakfast delivered from Sid’s. The delivery boy was rude and annoying.”

  “You probably forgot to tip him,” he said.

  “You can have the chocolate brownie,” Frankie said magnanimously. “As much as I love Sid’s brownies, they’re bad for my thighs.”

  She wanted to kick herself for mentioning her thighs when his gaze took a leisurely journey over them, his mouth kicking up at one corner as though recalling what she’d looked like standing in the bathroom doorway with her towel sliding to the floor. Or maybe when he’d checked out her legs in her pj shorts.

  Hiding her embarrassment behind the mug in her hands, Frankie took a sip and grimaced at the taste. “What the heck is this? Are you trying to poison me?”

  “SEAL remedy for whatever ails you. Drink up. By tomorrow you’ll be as good as new.” His look said she’d better do as he said. He turned away to concentrate on ordering takeout and Frankie waited until he disconnected to ask curiously, “Do you miss it? Being a SEAL, I mean.”

  His eyes instantly became hooded and just when she thought he didn’t intend to answer, he said neutrally, “Not as much as I thought.”

  “What do you mean?”

  His expression told Frankie he did miss it. She knew because Jack had once told her that military brotherhood was something that couldn’t be explained. She knew it had something to do with having to trust and rely on each other in dangerous situations and that it made for very close ties.

  His jaw bunched and his eyes turned flat. “I got tired of losing friends.”

  Recognizing his pain, she casually changed the subject, “So, do SEALs have magic secret remedies for everything?” wanting to breach the wall he’d abruptly erected between them.

  He wrapped his warm hand around her left ankle and lifted her foot, studying her makeshift bandages. “We don’t have one for stupidity.” She went to jerk her foot away because it was clear he was done sharing, but Nate tightened his grip and removed the “bandage.”

  “Whoa,” he said, when he saw the condition of her foot. “Don’t you have any sense?”

  “Apparently not,” she muttered, finally noticing the medical supplies he’d set out on the kitchen table. “Or I’d have done a better job running you off my property.”

  “Not with these feet.” He chuckled, shaking his head when she stuck her tongue out at him.

  He hooked a chair with his boot and pulled it closer, sitting so he could better see the bottom of her foot. She was tempted to plant her foot in his face and shove but he began to apply antiseptic cream and adhesive bandages with such gentleness that she was momentarily distracted.

  “So…” she said casually, ignoring the tingles his long-fingered touch sent arrowing up her legs. “What’s in this toxic beverage, anyway?”

  His look was brief and amused. “If I told you I’d have to kill you.”

  Wrinkling her nose at him, she again considered kicking him but he was big and tough and her feet had been through enough. “You’re a regular riot,” she slurred, wondering why her tongue felt a little thick. The room spun lazily and she stared suspiciously at the mug. “Wha’ ha’ ’oo done?”

  He rose fluidly and removed the mug from her nerveless fingers, catching her as she listed drunkenly. “Just a little herbal remedy, Red,” he murmured, planting his wide shoulder against her midsection and lifting her as he rose to his full height. “Believe me, tomorrow you’ll feel great.”

  Dizziness assailed her and she clutched at his back, fisting strangely lethargic hands in his shirt as he left the kitchen, walked down the passage and into the sitting room. He placed her carefully onto the couch, slid a couple of pillows beneath her head and pulled a blanket over her.

  Frankie was already sliding into the comforting blackness when she remembered something she needed to say. “Nate?”

  The air shifted and she cracked her eyes open to see that he’d dropped to his haunches beside her. “What is it, princess?”

  For a long moment she stared into his familiar face and wondered at the strange emotions roiling inside her. He lifted a hand and carefully brushed her damp hair off her face, the gesture tender and full of familiarity and affection.

  Despite the tears pricking the backs of her eyes, she felt her mouth curve and allowed her weighted eyelids to fall. “I’m glad you’re home,” she slurred sleepily. “I missed you, even if you did just slip me a mickey.”

  “You sure?” he teased softly. “Because it seems like you think I’m a pain in the butt.”

  “I don’t mean it, Nate,” she murmured, so softly he had to bend down to hear her. “It’s just…” She gave a huge sigh that told him she was slipping into slumber. “’S just that you’re a sexy BAB…and those’re the ones a girl’s gotta watch…or she’s toast.”

  He grinned. “Don’t you mean babe? As in sexy babe?”

  “BAB,” she slurred softly. “Badass boy. And you’re pretty bad…ass.”

  Nate couldn�
�t prevent a soft chuckle from escaping. “You’re no slouch yourself, Red,” he murmured, staring down into Frankie’s face feeling a confusing mix of annoyance and affection that squeezed his chest and lodged right beside his heart.

  He’d never met a more aggravating female—no, make that person—but Frankie had always had a soul-deep reservoir of sweetness that emerged at the oddest times.

  And in a blinding moment of clarity he realized that, no matter what he’d done over the past fifteen years, or where he’d gone, she’d stayed with him. Their…connection had stayed with him.

  And it scared him, because the people he was most attached to…had a habit of dying on him.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  BY THE END of the week Frankie was tired of staying home, and because she was ready to climb the walls with frustration, she’d snapped at everyone who’d dropped in to visit. Everyone except Nate, that is. And that was only because he’d been conspicuously absent.

  Bored out of her mind, she did a couple of loads of washing, vacuumed the downstairs, and discovered her phone—which she’d thought she’d lost the night of the storm—in a container of basmati rice in her pantry.

  With a confused frown, she reached for it and decided she must have been really spaced out on meds to put it there.

  It wasn’t until she’d charged the battery and accessed her messages—all one hundred and forty-three of them—that seeds of suspicion began to grow. Then she read Terri’s message:

  Frankie, you gotta see this. It’s awesome. Thanks for saving the big oaf. I owe you.

  The instant she clicked on the link, she knew with certainty that someone had deliberately hidden her phone to keep her from seeing it. And she had a sneaking suspicion it was the one person who’d been conspicuously absent since the night he’d seen her naked and then drugged her with some funky-tasting SEAL potion.

  Nate. The man featured in the video titled “Daring leap saves coastguard commander from certain death.”

  The instant the grainy images began playing, Frankie’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. Chills snaked up her spine as she watched herself leap for Nate the instant he’d gone over and she felt sick once more at the thought of what could have happened.