No, Shane’s silence convinced Jen that she’d made a horrible mistake that had nothing to do with physical medicine. Maybe bringing Carponti hadn’t been the right decision after all. Since he’d shown up several days before, Shane hadn’t said a word—to anyone. Hadn’t thrown her out of the room. Hadn’t tried to rip his IV out. He’d sat and watched her, intently. She left like a rabbit entering a wolf’s den every time she went in to check his vitals and to make sure the infection hadn’t spread to the fixators holding his legs together.
It made it worse that she’d been working the night shift this past week. She was alone, or mostly alone, with him on the floor. The other patients weren’t any more mobile than he was. And so she sat at the nurses’ station and studied his chart, wondering if the risk she’d taken had been worth it.
His vital signs were stable. So far, there were no signs of further infection, but that didn’t mean anything. One wrong move in caring for his injuries and they might find themselves fighting a drug-resistant staph.
Shane still had miles to go before he was out of the bed and moving around on his own. One leg was less damaged than the other, but that didn’t mean that he’d be walking on it anytime soon. He needed time, the one thing he wasn’t willing to accept he needed. She glanced toward the door of his room from her seat at the nurses’ station. He was awake. She could hear him flipping through the channels on his TV from down the hall. He didn’t sleep much. She wondered if that was something new or if he’d always had insomnia. She looked down at his chart again. Time to take his vitals once more.
She couldn’t take back her decision to bring Carponti to see him. She’d been so wrong it wasn’t even funny. She’d have to apologize. It wouldn’t make it right, but she needed to do it all the same. She took a deep breath and held it, waiting until her lungs burned to release it. Then, she walked into the darkness.
Gunshots reverberated off the walls, echoing in the dim light. Brilliant explosions pierced the darkness and for a brief moment she thought he was playing a video game. It only took a moment before she realized he was watching the History Channel.
“Not very comforting late-night viewing,” she remarked from the doorway.
He turned and looked at her, his expression dark and unreadable in the dim light. The shadows cut across his cheeks, giving him a harsh look. “Interesting though. For my line of work.”
She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. He clicked the remote and turned down the sounds of battle. “Look, Shane, I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For Carponti. I thought bringing him here would help you realize that being hurt wasn’t the end of the world. I didn’t mean to upset you or make you worry more.”
He shook his head slowly. “You didn’t. You did exactly the right thing.”
“Then why have you been so quiet since he was here? You haven’t said two words to—” She was going to say to me, but she stopped herself. “To anyone.”
The muscle in his jaw worked for a long moment. The silence broken only by the occasional round of gunfire from the television. “I hate it here. I hate being broken and useless and dependent on everyone.” Finally he looked at her. “I need to get back to my team.”
What could she say to that? She stopped at the edge of his bed. The rails were up, his legs concealed as always by a blanket. She could see the outlines of the fixators that held his bones together. But it was his eyes that held her. Dark and shadowed, the torment there not masked by the drugs that kept his pain at bay.
“Some of your team is here. They need you, too.” She didn’t know if it was the right thing to say. She searched the depths of his soul in those dark grey eyes, looking for the man who’d pulled her out of the middle of a bar fight. Who’d kissed her and made her feel like a real and sensual woman if only for a moment.
“I don’t know where to start.” The confession ripped from his throat.
“Start by giving yourself time to heal,” she said quietly. “Then you can get back in the fight.” He looked at her sharply and she smiled. “I’m trying to learn to speak your language.”
A faint smile broke the edge of his lips. “That’s not infantry. But it’s a start.”
* * *
Shane watched as Jen scribbled on his chart and he braced himself as she prepared to clean the fixator pins on his legs. He watched her move, trying to find a way to bridge the chasm that stood between them. He missed the easy connection they’d had on that night before he’d deployed. And at the medical processing the next morning, she’d been so strict and so completely sexy. She’d told him to sit that day and he’d sat. Being on the receiving end of her directives had been one hell of a turn-on. He’d never been one to entertain fantasies but he knew he would never look at a nurse’s scrubs the same way.
He’d been entranced when she’d run her fingers over his stomach, changing the bandages on his appendectomy incisions. Watching her now, she was a study of quick efficiency and professional distance. She was also sexy as hell. That much hadn’t changed.
Then there was nothing but pain. It felt like she was pouring molten lava on open wounds. The fire spread from his flesh into his bones, and traveled through his veins. It was as close to physical hell as he could imagine getting without actually being dead.
He gripped the bed rail with his one good hand and ground his teeth to bite back a groan. It might have been a scream. It was the second time the pins had been cleaned that day and it made him seriously reconsider his stance on pain medication. A good dose of morphine straight into his vein would work wonders right now. Hell, he’d take a shot in the ass at the moment. His jaw popped and he was sure he’d snapped bone. If this was what it took to keep infection at bay, amputation might not have been such a bad idea. It probably would have hurt less.
“Almost done,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. He latched on to her voice like a dying man following a white light.
Maybe if he hadn’t been such a dickhead, he could have asked her to flash him before she started. Or give him a kiss. Yeah, one kiss from Jen would make everything better. He sucked in a hard breath as she adjusted one of the pins.
He’d had a brigade commander once who said hope was a weak word.
Shane could relate to weak right about now. And hope, fragile though it was, was all he had. The hell retreated in waves as the pain rolled back, slowly lessening. He’d have to find a way to ask her about that kiss. Maybe after the fire stopped burning and he could see straight again.
“You can breathe.”
He forced out an exhale. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath in until Jen had pointed it out. He rubbed his hand over his chin again and tried to focus on anything other than the pounding echo of pain running through his veins.
He stopped when he noticed the stillness in the room.
Jen looked up at him as she gathered her supplies, a quiet calm in her light eyes. “I could shave you, if you want.”
The hesitation he heard in her words nearly broke him. He’d done that. Damn it. He had to fix this.
But the offer was too good to pass up. No matter how tentative the olive branch, he was going to take it. Now he just needed to find a way to make up for being a complete douche bag.
He swallowed and nodded and took one more thing from her even though he’d given nothing in return.
She disappeared into the bathroom, and when she came out a moment later, she was carrying a steaming towel folded in a basin of equally hot water, a can of shaving cream, and a razor. She adjusted his bed so that he reclined almost flat and arranged the towel over his jaw and cheeks. He tried to take a deep breath and failed. Every time he inhaled, all he smelled was vanilla and strawberries.
“I don’t have any clippers. This might pull on your beard a little.”
After a moment, she pulled the towel off his face. She palmed the can and squirted shaving cream into the center of her hand. She stroked her palms over his face, rubbing
the heavy cream into the crisp hair along his jaw. The tips of her fingers ran down his neck, spreading the blanket of foam. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him with such gentleness. Warmth bloomed inside him, cracking the hard shell around his heart. She tugged at him. He wasn’t used to that. People in his life left. But not Jen. She was here. Day in and day out.
The silence was absolute, except for the faint crackle of shaving cream swelling across his cheeks. She scraped the razor over his skin, removing his beard, one slow, short stroke at a time.
He couldn’t breathe. He tried to swallow but his mouth was filled with dust. He stifled a groan, the pleasure at simply being touched nearly unbearable.
“Did I hurt you?” Her voice was barely a whisper in the silence.
He closed his eyes and shook his head, wishing he didn’t feel such an intense need for her to put her hands on him again.
He wouldn’t betray the simple intimacy between them by making this more than it was.
But it didn’t stop the want. In his mind, he let the fantasy take over. He would slide his hand up her waist, slowly, feeling that cool blouse beneath her scrubs crinkle under his touch. He’d rest his hands against her ribs and feel the rise and fall of her breath beneath his touch. In his fantasy, she wouldn’t stiffen or pull away; she’d allow his hands to stroke over her skin. He wanted to hear her quick intake of breath and to know that he was the one who made her gasp.
Their eyes would meet. That perfect mouth would part just a little. He’d give her a little tug. His hand would rest just at the bottom swell of her breast as her lips opened against his. He’d nibble on that plump bottom lip like he’d seen her do so many times, and his tongue would stroke over her bottom lip and slip into her mouth. She’d be soft and warm and wet and she’d taste of mint, like she had that night at Ropers. Her tongue would dip out to touch his and he’d groan at the sensation.
“Shane?”
He opened his eyes. His heart pounded in his throat. Her face was a breath above his. She wiped the last of the shaving cream from his cheek. He licked his lips and swallowed, unable to moisten his mouth.
His fingers curled around her forearm, catching her hand and holding it to his cheek. Her fingertips rested at the edge of his still damp jaw. He stared up at her, time suspended. Her eyes darkened in the low light. Her pulse throbbed visibly in her throat. And in the stillness, she moved. A simple caress. Her thumb slid against the edge of his cheek.
Her lips curved with a hesitant smile. But beneath it was an edge of sadness that touched his soul. She pulled away, leaving him alone. And in the empty room, Shane ached and wanted more. She’d cracked something open, this beautiful nurse who touched his heart with her kindness, and he didn’t know what to do with what she stirred in him.
* * *
Jen sighed heavily and rested her head against her steering wheel. She wanted to hide from what she’d done. And worse, what she wanted to do. The emotions inside of her were no longer limited to worry about Shane’s wounds. Now a warm desire wrapped itself around her like a satin ribbon and drew her closer to what was sure to be a mistake of epic proportions.
He would have kissed her. And heaven help her, she’d have kissed him back, and allowed herself to pretend for a brief, intense moment that she was capable of feeling for this man. In that moment, she hadn’t cared about the bright pink scar on her breast. She hadn’t heard her own voice in her head, calling herself a freak. And she hadn’t let herself think of all the reasons why this wasn’t right—that he was her patient, and she was the one who had let him deploy. She’d simply felt his hand, and craved his touch like a starving woman.
She felt edgy. A need pulsed within her, threading through her veins like raw heat. His quiet groan whispered through her memory. She walked into her house, exhausted from her shift, but alive with energy from the way he’d looked at her. She’d felt desired. Needed.
Jen covered her face with one hand. Why had she let things go this far? She was his nurse. Not that that particular detail had kept her professional with him so far. It was all rapidly spiraling out of control. And what was worse was that she wanted it to. She was so unbelievably out of practice in this arena, it was pathetic.
What was she going to do? She was still responsible for his medical care.
She needed to try to get her feelings back into the little box where they belonged instead of twisting inside of her all day. She longed to talk to Laura about all of it, but she was determined to deal with her issues by herself for once. Jen smiled. And, knowing Laura, she would’ve probably just given Jen hell for not taking the lead and kissing him.
She rolled her shoulders, wincing as she hit a stiff muscle. A hot bath would end her night on the right note.
She opened a bottle of water and rested it on the black granite countertop in her kitchen. She pulled a breakfast burrito out of the freezer and popped it into the microwave, unable to keep her mind from drifting back down the road to the hospital. To Shane.
She’d really never been objective with him. It was time, at least, to stop deluding herself about that. She’d tried to see him as a patient when she’d checked his stitches at the SRP, but she’d failed then, too. Had he been just another soldier, she would have red-stamped his file and sent him to the head doc. Instead, she’d let his impassioned plea sway her.
Just like today. She hadn’t stopped him from reaching for her. She’d let the heat from his simple touch soak through her skin and touch her heart.
She left her shoes by the fridge and padded up the carpeted stairs into the bathroom, enjoying the soft fabric beneath her feet after a night treading on the hospital’s hard tile floors. She started filling the old-fashioned claw-foot tub. Steam filled the room as she dropped her clothes into the hamper. She turned her back to the mirror and began unbuttoning her blouse.
For a brief moment, she imagined Shane’s fingers on her blouse, plucking the buttons free. His knuckles would brush against the curve of her breast. She stopped that fantasy before it got past the first button. She wasn’t getting naked with him. She knew what he would see … How could he get past the scar blazing across her chest?
Jen paused and looked down at her hands, frozen on the tiny white buttons. She glanced over her shoulder at her reflection, at the blond curls sticking to her cheeks in the steam. Her fingers trembled as she turned, slowly, facing herself in the mirror. One by one, she pushed the rest of the buttons open, revealing the sensible cotton bra she wore.
She swallowed and reached behind her to unfasten the hooks. She deliberately kept her gaze on her chest, on the bra.
Shane kept his legs covered. Since he’d been admitted, she hadn’t once caught him looking at his own injuries. She wondered if he’d ever looked at them. She had her doubts. She knew how hard it was to look at her own missing pieces. After all this time, her hand was still shaking at the thought of what she was about to see. She braced herself and pulled her bra away. The silicone form flopped to the floor with a splat, but she didn’t bend to pick it up.
This. This was what she avoided.
The scar had long ago faded from angry red, but it still held her gaze. The raised pink scar and the indent in her skin where her nipple had once been cut across her chest like a jagged ravine through a field. The stark contrast between the swell of her right breast and the jagged, hollow left. Her other breast, still full and round, still with a perfect pink nipple, stood in the shadow of that scar and the missing flesh.
How long had she been hiding from what she was? The silicone mound gave the illusion that she was still a whole woman. Who had she been trying to fool?
No one but herself.
She pressed her lips together as she stared, her arms at her sides. Tears burned behind her eyes, but she blinked them away. She had convinced herself that she was fine. That focusing on everyone else’s problems would make her own disappear.
She turned away from her image in the mirror and stepped into the thick bub
bles in the tub, relieved when the scar sank beneath the vanilla-scented foam. She closed her eyes and rested her head back against the cool, hard edge, letting the heat work itself into her tired muscles.
Maybe it was time for her to stop kidding herself. If she couldn’t see past the ragged scar running across her chest, how could she expect anyone else to? She closed her eyes, releasing the hard knot surrounding her heart. She was alone, and the scar bothered her. But when Shane had touched her today, when his rough hand had pressed against her skin and his eyes had held her captive, she hadn’t felt the burn. She’d felt nothing but desirable. She felt his skin beneath her fingertips again. The clean, crisp scent of the shaving cream mingled with his skin. His touch had been rough and strong but gentle. It was the gentleness that had surprised her.
Yes, she’d told herself he was just another patient, but she’d been deluding herself. And the truth was, a tiny seed of hope dared to believe that Shane might really be different. That she might be able to set aside her own inhibitions with him and simply be.
She hadn’t dared to feel anything for anyone since she’d gotten sick.
With Shane, all she did was feel.
And it hurt like hell to know that he might reject the real her.
Chapter 9
Her back was to him. Jen’s pale skin glowed in the candlelight and he wanted so badly to stroke his hand over the soft curve of her hips.
He wanted to savor this. This first touch. This first caress. He couldn’t believe she was really here. That she was naked and glorious and all he had to do was reach out and touch her.
His hands embarrassed him when they shook as they hovered over her shoulders. She shifted and tipped her head to one side, exposing her neck. He glanced over her shoulder to the mirror in front of them. Her arms were crossed over her chest. He closed his hands over her forearms, enveloping her. It was her eyes that caught him, huge and dark in the velvety blackness. They captured him.
Because of You: A Loveswept Contemporary Military Romance Page 10