by Billi Jean
She blinked and lifted her eyebrows at his behaviour. It sounded like he wanted to say someone else was irritating him, but hadn’t.
He looked angry, but he was hurting. But wow, he’d just landed back in her life and thought he could growl at her?
“Look, I’m trying to help,” she said, trying to ease him. “I’m not a doctor. I barely know where to start to even find those bullets, let alone pull them free.”
He raised his hands again and spread them, letting them drop right after in a show of muscle she was sure was meant to be more a show of frustration but no way was she able to keep up when he was half naked.
“Kris,” he grumbled, dragging her eyes back up off his stomach muscles. “Just start, that’s all I’m asking. Do you think this, what happened to me, is done? Think. The men that did this want something I have and they’re not stopping until they get it or I kill them first!” he yelled. “I’ve got no time to baby you, just get the bullets out.”
She put the table between them while his voice rose, but stopped, realising what she was doing. Her heart beat so fast and hard it hurt, but it also filled her with indignation. How dare he yell at her? One minute she was ogling him, the next she was shaking from nervous fear. She was over being scared of men, and she especially wasn’t going to be scared of this one.
“Get the bullets out and I’ll be gone. It’s the only answer. My recovery isn’t important.” He slammed his hand down on the table, making it shake. “What they fed me will fix that quicker than it’s taking you to just do it,” he said, slashing his hand through the air.
First, she’d come too far, survived, but she had, to be yelled at by any man. She’d never let another man treat her as less than him. Never allow another to hurt her with his words or his fists. Especially not the angry man standing in her cabin, relying on her goodwill, and her woodstove, food, and shelter to survive. “Did you just raise your voice to me?”
He blinked and stepped backwards, the frown she guessed he wore more than he used to. His face drained of the red angry colour and he looked at her like he’d just been slapped instead of asked a simple question. “I—”
“Because, I think I should warn you, I don’t allow anyone to yell at me, Robert. Not any longer. If you have something to say to me, you say it but if I even think you’re yelling at me again while you’re here, in my home, depending on me to keep you alive, I’ll shove you out in the snow so fast you won’t even realise it until the ice registers in that busted up body of yours.”
He nodded but quickly lifted both hands at her glare. “I didn’t, I mean, of course I wouldn’t yell at you. I was just telling you that they’ve fed me some drugs that make the recovery time quicker,” he said ending so suddenly she frowned over at him, thinking he’d continue.
“And? So you can heal quickly and this gives you the right to raise your voice to me?”
He snapped his eyebrows down and shook his head. “No, no, I did—”
“Oh, please, you did.”
He opened his mouth, shut it, raised his hand and rubbed his head and finally nodded. “I did. I have a temper sometimes, I guess.”
She snorted. “Excuses. That’s lame, Robert. Two minutes, ten tops back in my company and you’re already losing points.”
“Hell, I don’t want to earn points, Kristen. I am pumped full of shit that makes me volatile, and if you—”
“Pumped full of shit? Look, I guess you’ve changed, okay? So have I,” she said, pointing to her chest and proud of how her voice didn’t wobble. “I don’t tolerate bullshit. I don’t have to. I can pull those bullets out, though. If that’s what will get you out of here,” she whispered, so choked up she could barely get the words out, “then let’s do it.”
She spun away from the sight of him and angrily pulled her jacket off, fighting with the material because her hands shook too badly for her to remove it quickly enough. She had no idea why her heart hurt at his words and behaviour. He’d done nothing more than gripe at her, really. His voice had risen yes, but he was hurting and that had to be part of it. After Daniel he’d really not been more than rude. He’d sounded more frustrated with the situation—men after him—than her. Men who wanted to kill him.
Maybe it hurt because you never expected Robert McNeil to do anything even remotely like Daniel. And he had—even the excuses were familiar, but then he had a whole lot more of them and much, much more dangerous ones.
She got her boots off and turned to see his head down, his hand fisted on his lean hips, so obviously still struggling with what she’d said. She left him alone. She’d said her peace, stood up to him, and now she would do what he wanted. Then she could go on with her life without him messing with her head.
“If I do this, you have to be drunk.”
He looked up and met her eyes, wincing a little, but he nodded. “I can see why you’d need that.”
She snorted and grabbed the bottle of Jack from her kitchen cabinet. “I won’t need it until after,” she said, handing it to him. “You will need it before I start hunting around in that wound—correction, wounds of yours.”
“True. I just might. Jack, huh?”
He grabbed the bottle with a quizzical look, but at least he took it.
“It works.” Way too well at times, but it worked.
Robert watched her with a cautious expression, but he followed her into her bedroom quietly enough. Rowdy was a step behind.
After this, she was getting Robert McNeil as far away from her as she could manage.
“Okay, I guess lie down and let’s see about the shoulder first.” She could do this. She had got herself here, survived two winters, and the loss of the only person she’d ever truly loved, so she could dig bullets out of a man if it meant she could have her life, or lack of it, back again.
Something had changed in Kristen. Something Robert guessed she hid from the world, maybe even herself. She walked a razor’s edge, though, he could see that now.
He’d raised his voice. He’d lost his temper with her because when he’d finally been able to haul his ass out of her bed, and found her gone, all he could see was her silent body, dead in the snow. It would take one shot. He knew it, and that had fed his need to get out of here, whipping his frustration to anger.
But hell if she wasn’t magic. She’d looked him straight in the eye and told him off.
And just like magic, his anger had sizzled out and died. Only he guessed she wouldn’t have been able to do that before.
Before her life was ripped from her.
He was used to death. At times, it felt like death was a part of almost every day of his life. Friends passed away in action, enemies dragged in their last breath facing him, but outside of combat and missions, he’d only lost one person he’d cared about in his life. His mom.
Her death had torn a hole in his soul and left him reeling, unable to comprehend that the one person in the world that had loved him completely was gone. Then he’d turned to his baby sister, her big trusting eyes and that pure love only a child could possess filling the empty wound left by his mom’s death. She had soothed that part of him he’d thought only Mandy could ease.
Now Mandy was out of his life and had been because of his ‘death’ for far too long. He ached to hug his sister. At times it felt almost physical the pain of their separation.
He couldn’t imagine bringing a child into this world and holding his child’s lifeless body in his arms.
But that’s just what Kristen had done.
Her pain had to be enormous. She’d been one of those women that hadn’t had an easy life. He’d heard hints of things about her, about why she stayed with Daniel that fit the kind, giving person aiming to please people she was. In too many ways, she reminded him of Mandy. And he knew why Mandy was the way she was, or had been—shy, kind, with never a bad word to say about anyone for fear of their reaction.
Kristen had been like that.
Not now. Now she was a powder keg, ready to ignite hot
enough to burn the place down. Not with passion, but pain. Tears were in her eyes. So far as he could tell, they shimmered constantly below the surface. From him showing up, or from what she had endured, he wasn’t certain.
Either way, Kristen was breaking his heart. She wanted him gone with a desperation that radiated off her like a homing beacon. If she had her way, he’d be gone before morning.
Why?
He could only guess and his guesses pissed him off. She hadn’t survived, had she? The death of her baby daughter had broken her. He could see the shattered remains and how she pretended that she was okay. But he could tell she was dying inside, maybe outside too if the bottles of Jack meant anything.
He’d been down that road, drowned everything in the bottom of a bottle more than a few times not to recognise the same in someone else. She’d had more than one bottle in that cabinet and if he’d had to guess, more around the house.
She shifted her stockinged feet then looked at him again quickly before she avoided his eyes again. “So, drink up, I’ll go boil some water and sterilize my knife. If we’re lucky, I have something to get the bullet out besides a cleaver.”
He nodded, not sure what to say that wouldn’t tip the scale on the inner battle she waged on getting under control again. It was him, he guessed. Showing up here, like this, that brought the tears closer to the surface.
For the millionth time, he wished he could change his past and remake hers. But he couldn’t and nothing but time would ease her pain. He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a long, hard pull on the liquor. The burn from the alcohol cut through the pain in his throat. He took another hard swallow right after the first.
Before he had the bottle half gone, she walked back in, a bowl, medical supplies and towels in her arms. “I’ll need to lay these down first,” she murmured, so quietly he could just make out her words but he noticed the thick checkered blanket and the towels she carried to sop up his bloody mess, he assumed.
He stood and helped her strip the bed and laid down the blanket she handed him, then the towels. When he had it over the entire mattress, he turned and faced her again.
“That’s fine, just drink more of that and lie down for me.” She moved to the side table and he watched her carefully arrange medical equipment, some of it even looking familiar. The forceps and surgical needle in particular brought back memories of too many wounds dealt with by doctors.
“That’s not vet equipment.”
“No, it belonged to my uncle. This is his cabin. He was a doctor. Finish that if you can and lie down.”
She kept her face away from him and her sentences short, her tone so low he didn’t know if the alcohol was messing with his hearing or if she was whispering. He took another long pull, surprised he’d reached the bottom.
The room spun slowly and he registered even slower that she’d moved to sit beside where he’d parked himself. With a light pressure on his unhurt shoulder she indicated for him to lie down and he went easily. She bent over him to dab at his wound with antiseptic by the smell of it, but he wasn’t sure.
Suddenly he didn’t care what she did. Her loose sweater top gaped open and gave him a view of her he’d ached to see for as long as he’d known her. He’d suffer ten more bullet wounds too, just to witness the perfection of her golden skin. Her breasts were small but on her petite frame they looked rounded and full. They bulged over the pink lacy bra she wore into two ripe globes he’d dreamed of exploring. They even jiggled a little as she worked and he barely stopped himself from sighing in admiration.
Kristen was slim, petite really, and built more like a lean Scandinavian than a Latin pin-up girl.
He wouldn’t have her any other way.
She straightened and took his view away but replaced it with her sweet face. She had eyes he could get lost in. They were dark, so dark he had always wanted the chance to get close enough to see if there was any difference between her irises and her pupils. Now he noticed she had lighter striations, like chips of mocha mixed with the nearly black cocoa of her irises.
Her lips were always so naturally pink against her golden complexion that the contrast entranced him now with ideas of kissing her until her lips glistened. He liked that she never wore much more than lip gloss, or once, he’d seen her wear a light pink that reminded him of cotton candy. Her dark lashes dropped and hid her eyes then she moved back with a soft sigh and sat next to him again. Some of her hair wasn’t black he noticed, frowning at the realisation.
He’d never spent any amount of time close to her before, but he thought he knew everything there was to know about her beautiful body. But clearly he spotted warmer tones of red and brown mixed in with the darker jet black silky curtain of her long hair.
“Are you ready?”
Ready? He was primed, so hard he had to bend a leg to give his overeager erection room. What kind of man was he that as soon as he got near the one woman he’d always wanted, he couldn’t control his body or mind? But hell, Kristen would be wild. She used to smile so easily, so sweetly at anyone and anything. She found pleasure in life, and he knew that, on top of her Latin blood, would make sex with her into something he wouldn’t be able to live without. What would it be like to help her get the sparkle back in her dark eyes?
If he slowed down, got his head on straight, he could show her there was a way to live beyond the pain. Couldn’t I?
“Robert?”
He blinked and stopped the direction of his thoughts. Dreams, more like it. What do I know about living?
“Robert, here. Drink this,” she handed him another whisky, this time from a glass. He took it, tipping his head back to swallow it all at once. His brain burned, but so did his body, a body that had gone too long without a woman for fear of what he might do.
Hell, I’m a coward. I’ve lived in fear of damn near everything, haven’t I? Making love to a woman, starting a life, ending the old one… While this woman lived through hell with a man, kicked him to the kerb then survived losing something I can’t imagine.
Kristen shifted on the bed next to him and he focused on her. Had he ever made love to a woman before? When he’d asked his buddy Dare the same question just a few short days ago, he’d been thinking of Kristen and how he ached at times to hold her while she slept, just to feel her warm and safe up against him while he tried his best to soothe her loss. Now she was here and he was too cowardly to reach out and pull her into his arms and finally sample her sweet lips.
He laughed at the idea, but damn it was true. Him, a former Navy SEAL, now a top agent in an agency so secret he’d signed his life away when he’d joined, and he was a coward.
“What’s true?” Kristen asked coming back into focus.
Had he said that aloud? “I’m a damn coward, that’s what’s true.”
Was that his voice slurring out words he’d never said aloud to anyone before?
She frowned and came back into his space, her sweater doing that dip and reveal again for him. “You’re not a coward, Robert McNeil, don’t say such things. You might be crazy.”
For you, he wanted to say, but what came out didn’t even pause for him to review it first. “I’m sorry.”
He swallowed, finding himself suddenly scared to continue with what he’d been about to say. He was sorry. Sorry for so damn much. “I should—”
She stopped him with a shake of her head. “Not now, not when you’re half soused. Let me get these out, then I guess we can talk for as long as you’d like since it looks like, whether you like it or not, we’re snowed in together,” she said.
Like it or not? Hell, the idea had his body relaxing back into the bed, feeling like she’d just told him she was going down and not coming up until he’d come a dozen times from her lips alone.
She reached out and brushed her hand along his jaw, tilting her head when she did with a serious expression like she could see beyond his face to his soul but he hoped not his thoughts.
Did she see how much he’d wanted her? Not ju
st for the relief of finally feeling something other than his own hand rubbing his erection raw when the drugs made him too horny not to jack off, but how much he wanted her, her attention, that love and thoughtfulness he’d seen her give another? Did she know how he’d watched her, hoping for a chance with her when she finally left her husband?
“Here, one more and I think I can bear it,” she whispered, leaning closer to him. He obediently downed the new glass she pressed to his lips. The liquor rushed down his throat, making the room spin a little before it straightened out.
“It is better this way,” he told her.
“What is?” she asked, frowning at him so adorably his heart stuttered in his chest. She was beautiful, so damn delicate and pretty.
“Robert, what is better this way?” she asked again.
It. It was better this way, he wanted to tell her but his mouth wasn’t working. If she thought Daniel was bad, she’d never be happy with him. And he’d not chance finding out if his temper matched Sarge when it came to women. At least with Daniel, she’d never been harmed physically. Now that he had the time to reflect back on the mistakes of his past, he recognised his biggest fear, and the real reason he’d run from her, was that he feared he’d be worse than Sarge ever dreamed of being. Especially now, with the drug amplifying his temper to a degree that frightened even him.
Kristen was better off without him. He’d just have to get her to dig the bullets out so he could heal, then leave before he grew too attached to the one woman he’d ever considered having a life with.
“Okay, I think that means you’re ready,” he heard her whisper right when she dabbed his shoulder with something cool. He found her hand by feel and took it in his.
Words, explanations that he wanted to tell her, everything stalled in his throat. All he managed to do was squeeze her hand silently for a moment before he could begin. “I’m sorry, Kris. If I could have stopped it, I would have. I would have done anything to save you this pain.”