by Angel Payne
Enough command underscored the response that Jo knew he was serious too. Yeah, she’d had to go and get real about Valentine’s Day this year. She had to tell him she still wanted him to have glam naked pictures of her as a gift—but that she wanted him to take them.
She had to go and tell him that the idea of him as her photographer made her hot.
And melty.
It’d be fun, she’d told herself.
Probably even arousing, she’d told herself further.
A silly and sexy hour in the barn, she’d reasoned, letting her husband snap some dirty pictures of her with his phone.
Before she’d learned that the man had gone and paid off the boudoir photographer in Des Moines so they could use this studio all afternoon. Before Wyatt had made her change outfits three times—and hairstyles twice that much—before finally getting to the naughty naked pictures she’d wanted to start with.
Now, she’d been totally unclothed for an hour and the man wanted to click off a few more?
But as Wyatt returned to the camera on the tripod and adjusted the aperture settings, a devious idea took hold.
“You…want me to stay on the couch?” she asked him softly. “Right here?”
“Yeah.” Wyatt’s voice was distracted. He fiddled some more with the camera—
All the way to the part where Josie fiddled with herself.
“Errrrmmm…Josephine?” His breath halted as she flung one leg up to the back of the couch, spreading the petals at her center so the camera—and he—had all her actions in focus. As she threw her head back and rolled her hips, wantonly stroking her labia and clit, he demanded, “Josie? What the hell are you…”
“Melting.” She dropped her voice to a husk. “For you, Wyatt Hawkins. Completely. Totally. Always. Forever.”
At last, the man stepped away from the damn camera.
And approached her with dark eyes, a wolfish smile, a surging crotch…and a bursting heart.
“You just said exactly the right thing, glacier girl.”
Moonrise
Tait Bommer, Luna Lawrence, and Kellan Rush
Chapter One
“Hey there, flower.”
Tait Bommer greeted her the same way he always did, following those two words by pressing a single red rosebud into her hand. One day, he vowed, she’d answer him by wrapping her fingers around the flower. After that, she’d open her eyes. And from there, he’d work with the doctors to bring her back to life.
He had no illusions about what kind of a life it would be for a while. Today marked the one hundred and ninetieth day she’d been in this coma, brought on by the trauma when she’d saved the West Coast of the United States from nuclear disaster by disposing of a self-detonating missile launcher by herself. Her body and brain had been resting for over six months. There would be therapy and setbacks, more therapy and then some progress, even more therapy…and then success. President Nichols had told the FBI not to spare any expense on her care.
Tait would spare no energy on loving her through every minute of the journey.
He settled into his typical chair next to her bed, on the side not consumed by the ventilator and other equipment keeping her alive. He left the rose on the mattress next to her hand before placing an iPod next to it, which blasted the newest Imagine Dragons album.
“This is good shit.” He referred to the music as if she sat there actively listening to it with him. He reached and stroked her forearm while adding, “I think you’ll really like it. Hey, I just found out they’ll be coming through Seattle next year on tour. If you wake up today, there’s a chance we can catch them.”
He considered those statements his carrots. He dangled at least a couple of them at her each day he visited, which hadn’t been a lot lately due to the fact that terrorists couldn’t leave the world alone, and he was on a team of special terrorist squashers. But now, she was too. The woman had saved millions of people who’d never know what she did. Who’d never realize that the woman in bed 222 at the SeaTac Special Care Nursing Facility was really the heroine who made it possible for them to be alive today, putting up tinsel and bells, anticipating their holidays…living their lives in joyous oblivion.
A nurse walked by in the hall, humming “The Little Drummer Boy.” Tait swallowed on the heavy ache in his chest and stroked the tips of her motionless fingers. “That kid with the drum was a lot like you, flower. Didn’t have much to give, but he gave his all—and he made a king smile.”
He watched his hand tighten around her frail arm.
He watched his tears spatter on her pale skin.
“Come play your drum for the world again, flower. Come back to us, Luna. Please…come back to me.”
Chapter Two
Fog. Lots of fog. She was used to the stuff, but this was so much thicker, quieter, and calmer than what she was used to. It was nice to simply float in. Really nice. But it wasn’t right. An ache nagged at her brain, telling her that. And so did the voice.
The voice. Yes. His voice.
Whose? Name? Brings music. Yes. Loves me? Yes! Brightens the fog.
Who?
Want…want…need his name.
He knew hers. He called to her all the time. Luna, come back to me. He lifted the fog with it. Lifted the fog and lighted her way…
So she could go back.
Back. Right. Need to push. Need to. But why? Just need to. Keep…pushing.
“Nancy! Come here! Did you see that?”
“Caroline, you’re always seeing things that don’t—oh, my God. Did her eyes just twitch?”
“I think they did.”
“Oh! She just did it again!”
“I’ll page Dr. Henkin.”
“And get Sergeant Bommer, stat. Is he here?”
Bommer. Yes! Bommer. T-Bomb. T for…? Can’t remember. Need to remember. Push…push…
“He’s at the base for his own follow-up from the accident. He said he’d be back in a few hours.”
“Try him on his cell after you talk to Dr. Henkin.”
“Of course.”
Just beyond the fog, lights began to flash. No. Too much. Too bright. Want peace. Want silence. Need to float…please.
She let the dark mist wrap around her once more. Rest. Yes. Nothingness. Nice.
“Luna!”
He was here again. But he didn’t lift the fog this time. He sliced it.
Hurts. Stop.
Don’t stop. Need you.
“Luna, please try!”
I am trying. Shit, Tait. Can’t you see that I—
A blare of understanding. A rip in the fog that would never be fixed.
Tait. His name is Tait, and he loves me.
He loved her. Had believed in her when nobody else did. Had chased her when she had Lor’s exploding smart pad, and she was trying to carry it away so he wouldn’t get hurt, because the world needed him, and because—
Because she loved him too.
“Tay-yay…Tay…Tay…”
Damn, it hurt.
“Yes. Yes! I’m Tait. I’m here, flower. I’m here.”
She hated that nickname. She loved that nickname. She wanted to give him shit about it, but pushing even those few sounds out had drained everything from her.
Hurts. Rest now. Peace now.
He woke her up all too soon.
“Luna! Goddamnit, you have to try harder than that!”
“Sergeant, do you remember what I told you? This is a process. You have to be patient.”
“Doc, it’s been three days.”
“And she’s mumbled full sentences during them. She’s even off the ventilator. Considering how long she was in the coma, I’m close to calling this a miracle.”
Somebody gave a heavy sigh in response to that. Without a doubt, she knew it was Tait’s. Please don’t hurt anymore. Please.
Amazement blasted in when she heard her voice actually sending the words into the air. She didn’t seem to be the only one.
“Wh-What? What’d she say?”
>
There was a man’s laugh. Not Tait this time. “Why don’t you ask her?”
No. That guy definitely wasn’t Tait. He wasn’t bad on the eyes in a Clark Kent kind of way, but—
Wait. Wasn’t bad on the eyes? On her eyes? Wow. She was…awake. Sort of. Maybe more than that, if the dagger driving through her skull carried any weight in the matter. She winced from the invasion on her consciousness, hoping every blink would soon stop feeling like sandpaper on her vision. Still, the fog swathed the back of her consciousness, muffling a lot of the world to her—
Except Tait.
He was a brilliant overlay on top of everything else, with his golden eyes and wind-blown hair. And dear God, his smile… It was still so beautifully disarming because of the tilt to one of his front teeth, seizing her heart so tight one of the bedside monitors started beeping faster. She smiled back, and it made him laugh, exposing the shiny tracks down his cheeks. Shit. There were a lot of them. Despite the joy of seeing him again, she winced at the pull they caused in her chest. This hurt. In bad and good ways.
“Are you…bawling?” Her voice was hoarse. It felt distant too. She realized her brain had sent a thought to form the words, but her senses were snapped off from everything except him. As if she were only awake because of him. After he laughed at her accusation though never answered it, he swept up her hand and crushed his lips to her fingers. She peered in curiosity. How’d those red rose petals make it into the bed with her?
Clark Kent said something. She blinked at him, but he looked and sounded like he was underwater. Blurry. Muted. Tait remained her only clarity.
“Hi,” he finally said. His voice was soft yet deep. And perfect…so perfect. “How are you?”
She studied every inch of him. She didn’t know why it was important, but it was. He was in civilian clothes, a dark-blue sweater and some baggy khaki pants, with his watch on one wrist…and burn scars that ran from beneath it. She didn’t ask where the damage had come from. She simply knew. He’d raced after her that day, was right behind her until Ethan had tried to hold him back. Those seconds had saved his life, but he’d likely gotten close enough to have hands that would look like that forever. She’d managed to throw the thing into a dumpster behind the soundstage before it went off. And then—
Then Mom and Dad had been there—which was really weird since they’d both drowned in a ferry accident on the Puget Sound. How had they traveled over a thousand miles and twenty years to get to her? She’d wanted to ask them. More desperately, she’d wanted to go to them. To feel their embraces again. To tell them she loved them. But the fog had sucked her down instead.
She grimaced against the pain in her heart, which deepened the torture in her head. “I don’t know.” She gave him the answer with bare honesty. “I’m not sure…I’m really here.”
“You are.” Tait leaned closer. He smelled really good, like cedar and spiced apples, but the connection made her ache more. Don’t connect. Don’t attach. But it was too late, wasn’t it? “You’re here. It’s a fucking miracle. And I’m so happy.” He looked up then, through the watery wall between them and Clark Kent, and nodded at something the man said. “Okay, Doc. We understand.”
“We understand what?”
Tait gave her a tolerant smirk. “You heard the man, beautiful. Time to rest.”
That made her clutch him by the sleeves. No. She hadn’t heard. “Tait—”
“Ssshhh, flower. It’ll be okay. Time to rest.”
She curled her fingers in tighter, compelled by the instinct that shot a sudden chill through her. The rest of her monitors started to blare, warbled because of the mental jelly in which she was still encased, but she didn’t let go of him. Her head pounded harder as full understanding glared brighter. Tears began to run down her damn face now.
“Weasley, time has…never exactly been our friend.”
She didn’t try to hide the slow sadness from it. Still Tait retorted, “Well, that fucker’s gonna have to fall in line now. He’s stolen six months from us, and I’m demanding payback with interest.”
She forced her face to rise toward his. Unfurled a hand from one of his sleeves and lifted it to the strong edge of his jaw. The dagger carved its way into new parts of her head. Her chest hurt. Getting breath felt like shoveling boulders with a spoon. Her arms and legs ached from the effort. “We were the ones borrowing it, Tait. I think…even this…is a goodwill loan.”
His gaze left her for one second—a pause that told her everything. Disbelief and anger rolled over his face as her machines broke into full alarms. “What the fuck?”
She cried from the pain as he pulled her into his lap and against his chest. Along the way, she grabbed some rose petals and struggled to smell them to ease her agony. The effort made her even dizzier. Her throat was parched and her lungs struggled to make it from one second to the next. She dropped the petals and gripped his face now, needing his warmth and strength.
Despite her physical torment, her soul was suspended in a soft breeze of peace. Being here, in his arms…it was right. It was perfect. This moment was the reason she’d fought her way back. He was the reason. The fog was gone now, and she saw everything clearly. Felt the perfection of it in the depths of her heart.
Too bad her voice couldn’t sound as sure of itself. “B-Borrowed time,” she got out in a rasp. “It’s—it’s been our b-blessing and our curse, Weasley. Guess we should be g-glad that fate has a soft spot for true love.”
His eyes, which had been liquid with grief, burst into flares of rage as he snarled at someone trying to pull him away from her. An army had invaded the room, racing around, yelling for things “stat” and screaming about a code blue. “Luna.” He swallowed hard. His lips went into bitter twists. “Damn it, what are you talking about?”
She watched her fingers shake against his skin. Salty wetness warmed their tips. “Ssshhh.” It came out in quivering spurts. “Listen to m-me. You—you know I do love you, right?”
“And I love you.” His lips shook as he lowered them to hers. “I’ve loved you more and more every day. Every hour.”
“I know. I heard you. I heard all the music you b-brought in.”
“You did?”
It was torture to meet his stare, but she forced herself to do it. The fog had started to thin. It was burned away by the light. Silver-white and spectral, edging out the sight of him. No. Please. I still have to tell him. It’s why I fought to come back. I need to tell him…
“Tait, y-you have to listen to me. This is imp-p-portant.” She watched him struggle not to negate her, but even then he pushed his fingers against her lips for a second, his grief-filled eyes begging her not to go on…not to seal the truth neither of them could fight now. She weakly swatted his hand away. “We g-got this moment as a g-gift. The Creator d-doesn’t like it when people sh-shit on His gifts.”
He cradled her closer. His twisted face tore at her heart. The capacity he had for love was a rarer gold than that in his eyes, a more beautiful sunshine than his smile. But nobody had ever told him that. He’d spent so much of his life in a lonely, hard place. His ability to see the loneliness in her soul had proven that.
She needed to tell him.
Then she needed to set him free.
“Luna.” His whisper was also a plea. “Oh, God. Luna…”
The light grew stronger. “Not much t-time.” She shook her head when he answered that with a vicious sob. “No. Stop. No more grief, Weasley. You’re g-going to live, and love, and f-fight the b-bad guys, okay? You’re g-going to be the g-good guy for me. You’re g-going to be happy again…for me. Please!”
It was harder to breathe now. The light wanted her. It strengthened, making even Tait start to fade, and because of that, forms sharpened inside of it. In those forms, there were faces. Mommy? Daddy? They nodded and stretched out their arms toward her.
“This isn’t…fucking…fair!”
Tait’s roar whipped her back down into the pain. She untangled her fing
ers from his hair and reached out to her parents. “I’ll b-be there in a m-minute, okay?” She pushed her head against his chest. “I—I love him. This is a little hard.” She gave them a smile of appreciation as they nodded their understanding.
She listened to Tait’s breath, sawing hard in his chest. To his heart, throbbing with all the life and love he had yet to experience before the light beamed on him. When it came time for that, she hoped she’d get to be one of the faces that appeared for him and offer her arms to help him in.
“Who’re you talking to?” he grated. But she felt him answer his own question with another violent sob. He was a member of Special Forces. He’d seen enough buddies go toward the light to recognize what was happening to her.
“Weasley. D-Don’t you d-dare be sad.”
“Then don’t you dare fucking leave me. Luna…please…fight harder. Fight harder!”
“It’s n-not my ch-choice.”
“No. No. No, damn it!”
“I h-have to go. That…was the d-deal.”
“Noooo! Luna!”
She lifted her head and pulled him down for a soft, sweet kiss. His tears soaked her face and hers mingled with them, hot and aching and full of love…taking the last of her life with them.
Chapter Three
Kellan Rush didn’t have a single good feeling about this.
He tried blaming his unease on the sauna-level humidity that the Indonesians fondly called their “dry” season, as well as the three-hour jeep ride to this village that had given “bumper car” a new definition. And oh yeah, there was also the mystery meat he’d eaten for breakfast, which would’ve been bad form to refuse from their Indonesian Spec Ops friends but had made him hurl for an hour. Otherwise, he was just dandy, thank you for asking.
No matter what, his A game was a requirement today. Intel had been received and validated, and they were ready to roll on it. An extremist group had infiltrated the village starting with the police department, who’d been extorting the merchants for protection money. Within the last week, the bastards had instigated phase two of their control, enforcing radical Sharia law to the point that girls were being sent home from school. The main road in town had been transformed into a sea of burkas. According to their partners with the Indonesian Special Forces, this place was a happy and bustling place as little as three months ago. Now, the village’s vibe was subdued and depressed.