Brothers in Blue: Matt

by Jeanne St. James

  Someone had been in here. He should have padlocked the flap. But he thought everyone in his family would have respected his privacy. They knew how important it was to him.

  Now, he could only think of the chaos that would greet him inside.

  Did they touch things? Go through his locker? Dig through his clothes?

  His chest tightened and his fingers clenched into fists. He blew out a ragged breath and unzipped the flap to step inside.

  He paused, letting his eyes adjust before heading over to one of the handheld lanterns and turning it on. Raising his arm, he swung the light toward the area when his belongings were.

  A noticeable indentation in his sleeping bag where someone had sat made his heart race. His gaze raked the folding tables to see what else appeared disturbed. Whoever had been in the tent had touched his books. He realigned them before inspecting his foot locker. Everything inside remained in place. His boots also remained in order.

  After one more glance around, he shut off the lantern and secured the tent. He headed toward the house with determination.

  Moments later, Matt quietly settled himself into the chair tucked the corner of the master bedroom. Buried under the covers, only part of Carly’s face and mane of blonde hair appeared visible. Her breathing sounded soft and steady.

  He envied how she could sleep like the dead. She probably had dreams of puppy dogs and kittens. Unlike his…

  Explosions. Missing limbs. Dirty children’s faces streaked with muddy tears. Arms reaching out for assistance. Confused expressions, not knowing whether they could trust the men in uniform. The strangers with guns.

  And they thought he was broken. How about all those victims of war? All the innocents getting caught up in greed and political bullshit. How were those young lives supposed to live with the death and destruction they’d seen? They were the true broken. The ones scarred forever.

  He brushed a hand slowly back and forth over his crew cut, watching Carly sleep peacefully. He should be angry with her for violating his privacy, for invading his space. But, surprisingly, he wasn’t. Maybe it was a sign the therapy was working. Though he wondered if he would have reacted any differently if it had been anyone but Carly.

  Possibly.

  His gaze slid along her unmistakable curves covered by the patchwork quilt.

  The pull he felt when he looked at her, or even thought about her, was strong. Scarily so. He didn’t need any attachments. Especially with a woman who wanted to have children.

  He barely gripped sanity by his fingernails now, he didn’t need the complications a relationship would bring. Not that Carly was a—what he considered—typical female. She was tough, demanding. Sexy as fuck. Especially when she barked out orders.

  He sucked in a breath and his cock shifted in his pants.

  If he would be with anyone, it would be someone like her. But without the kid issue.

  Fuck.

  He rubbed his temples. Why the hell was he even thinking like this?

  Carly shifted in her sleep, turning her face toward him and flinging a bare arm over her head. Then her eyes opened slowly. She blinked twice and gasped, sitting straight up in bed. The quilt and sheet fell around her and she was totally, gloriously naked.

  “Matt,” she whispered shakily and quickly gathered the bedding up to her chest.

  “Don’t. Let me see you.”

  She hesitated for only a moment before letting them go, allowing them to pool back around her curvy hips.

  “Where have you been?” she asked, her voice rough from sleep.

  He shook his head. He didn’t want to talk about that.

  “I was worried.”

  “I’m sorry.” And those two words didn’t even cover the half of it.

  “I’m glad you’re okay. I’m sure your family will be relieved.”

  “They were worried?” If so, it surprised him.

  When she hesitated, he realized the truth. No, they weren’t concerned. They were used to his odd behavior. She was only trying to be nice. “You don’t need to

  worry about me. I’ve survived the last thirty-one years. I’m sure I’ll survive at least thirty-one more.”

  “Well, after what happened at the—”

  He interrupted her. “Yeah. I don’t want to talk about that.” He’d already hashed it out over and over with the therapist during the past few days. If he had to talk about that evening one more time, he’d—

  When Carly extended her hand out to him his thoughts disintegrated into thin air. That’s what this woman could do to him. Make him forget. Forget the meltdown at the hospital. Forget the therapy. Forget the war. Forget that she entered his quarters without his permission.

  Now his only mission was to sink deep inside her, bury himself in her wet heat.

  He stood up, methodically stripping himself of his boots and his clothes. He didn’t miss her impatient sigh, but she also didn’t stop him from doing what he needed to do. He didn’t want to be distracted by disorganization, instead he wanted to concentrate on the woman in front of him. And he could only do that if chaos didn’t lurk nearby.

  When his boots were tucked neatly under the chair behind him and his clothes stacked carefully on the seat, he moved to the edge of the bed, his gaze roaming her body. Her full breasts with their hard peaks, her sweetly curved lips, the soft roundness of her hips barely visible under the bedding.

  “Do you want me?” he asked her. He knew the answer. Her parted lips, her pebbled nipples told him so. But he needed to hear it.

  “I not only want you, Matt. I need you.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment and thought about her words. Without opening them, he asked, “Why?”

  “Why not?”

  He opened his eyes to study her face. “You shouldn’t want me or need me, Carly.”

  “And I’ll ask again… Why not?”

  He whispered, “Because I’m no good.”

  Her eyes changed from heated to sad, disappointed. “Untrue.”

  “You haven’t known me long enough to come to that conclusion.”

  “I know it because I feel it…” She placed her palm over her heart. “Here.”

  “Your instinct can be wrong.”

  “A woman’s intuition is never wrong. Sometimes, though, we make the mistake of not listening to it.”

  “Which could be a deadly mistake.”

  “Not in this case.”

  He climbed onto the bed and moved closer. Not quite touching her but close enough to feel the heat radiating from her body, to pick up her scent of arousal.

  She wanted him.

  He straddled her legs while on his hands and knees, coming face to face with her. Her expression no longer appeared sad as they stared at each other, neither wanting to be the first one to break the connection.

  “I’m no good,” he repeated.

  “Bullshit.” The curse was soft, almost a sigh.

  He leaned in until his lips were a hair’s breadth from hers. “I can’t be fixed.”

  “Says who? You are the only one who believes that.”

  As she breathed out, he breathed her in. “It could be dangerous.”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  “You should be.”

  A determined look crossed her face. “I refuse to be.”

  He crushed his mouth to hers, parting her lips with his tongue. He explored inside, along the edges of her teeth, traced her lips, tangled with her tongue. She groaned into his mouth, wrapping her fingers along the sides of his face, pulling him closer.

  He shifted to straddle her lap, digging his hands into her hair, gripping the long strands tightly, taking control. With a tilt of his head, he sealed their mouths together tighter. He invaded her and she accepted him completely. The grip on his face kept him close, even when he broke off the kiss.

  As both of them fought for breath, he tamped down his surprise at the intense emotions running through him. He pushed them aside; he didn’t want to explore what they we
re. Not now.

  However, it wasn’t only he that had to be worried about being dangerous, out of control. She was dangerous too. He feared she could suck him in and he may never be able to escape. Like quicksand.

  “Matt.”

  He opened his eyes, which, until then, he hadn’t realized he closed.

  “Get out of your head.”

  Her command made him smile. With a quick kiss to her lips, he moved off her and pulled the bedding away to expose those long legs of hers. He drew a ragged breath in his impatience to have those limbs wrapped around him.

  “What do you want?” he asked.

  “For you to fuck me.”

  “You gotta be more specific than that,” he said, repeating the same demand as the time he fucked her in the sunroom.

  The corners of her lips curved. “Hard.”

  So did his. “And?”

  “Deep.”

  “How can I fuck you when you’re still sitting up?”

  She quickly slid down the bed onto her back, then turned her head toward him and grinned. “Better?”

  Her sultry smile shot lightning through him. A sharp ache landed in his chest. With flared nostrils, he sucked in badly needed oxygen. He found his control suddenly, but definitely, shaken. The drowning need to protect her, to make her his, became too much.

  As he slid alongside her, he realized his body shook. Would she notice when he touched her? But he needed to touch her.

  If she could feel his trembling, his weakness, she said nothing. He brushed a shaky thumb over her bottom lip, then cupped a breast, capturing a pointed nipple in his mouth. He sucked hard, snagging her other nipple between his thumb and forefinger, twisting, pinching, pulling. Her back arched and she cried out his name.

  Grabbing his shoulders, she dug her nails deep as he worked his tongue over one peak then the other, nipping a path between the two.

  A sound of frustration escaped her. She pulled at him, attempting to move his weight over her. Without releasing a nipple, he did what she wanted until he remained suspended above her on shaky arms, circling the outline of her areolas with his tongue.

  Legs spread wide, she made room for him as he settled between her thighs. He slid a hand between their bodies and discovered her slick flesh, the proof of her need and readiness.

  He thumbed her clit and she squirmed beneath him, pushing her hips up, begging him without words to take her. He brushed the head of his cock against her until he nudged her open and then slowly sank deep into the wet, silky heat, the tightness. The rush of pleasure became heady and he stilled to gather his control. Carly whimpered, digging her nails into his ass, bucking her hips against him as he struggled to remain still.

  The simple act of the tip of her tongue darting out to lick her lower lip caused him to move with sudden desperation. The harder he thrust, the wetter, warmer she became. Her inner walls squeezed his cock like a fist, her muscles rippling up and down his cock, driving him mad. Her thighs squeezed his hips so tightly, they trembled.

  When she came apart beneath him, she drew him deeper, driving him closer to the edge. The sounds of climax escaping her lips made him groan. He tried to resist his release. This needed to last longer. So much longer.

  He wanted to bring her more.

  Closing his eyes, he tried to slow his breathing, however, the tug of arousal made it impossible.

  His need for nothing but her at that moment, that second, this lifetime, made him pound her harder, faster, until his breathing became strained, his body became slick, as he pushed inside her again and again. Her fingers dug deeper into his flesh as she encouraged him to take her harder and faster.

  She cried out once more as another wave of orgasm ran through her and over him, taking him for the final ride as he grunted and released deep inside her. His cock pulsed intensely within her soft, swollen flesh.

  Before the last wave ebbed, he took her mouth and claimed her as his. And only his.

  Then his mind spun out of control. His heart raced. His body broke out in a cold sweat.

  And he couldn’t catch his breath.

  His last thought was… Oh fuck, not again.

  Consciousness bubbled up around him, like diving into a pool and coming back up to break the surface of the water. Even though his ears still rang, he heard her voice. Maybe he had died and gone to heaven.

  Yeah, right.

  “Matt. Matt.”

  He’d blacked out again. Fuck.

  What felt like a cold washcloth laid across his forehead and his head was propped on something soft and warm. He blinked his eyes open.

  Carly’s lap. And she wore that silky robe of hers.

  “Oh, thank goodness,” she said, searching his face and running fingers along his cheek. “I was this—” She pressed her thumb and forefinger together until they were almost touching. “Close to calling an ambulance.”

  He moved to sit up, to gather his wits, but she pushed his shoulders back down. “No, don’t get up.”

  His dictator doctor suddenly inhaled a shaky breath and, when she released it, it came out as a sob. Her body shook as she wept, tears flowing freely down her face. He lifted a hand and brushed them away, though more followed faster than he could keep up with.

  She’s crying over me. Me. Why?

  “At first…I thought…I thought…you were having a fucking…heart attack,” she said between sobs. “Holy crap, Matt…you scared the shit out of me!”

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. He licked his lips and took a deep breath. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know.” She sniffled, rubbing the heel of her palm into her eyes. “You collapsed on top of me, then you were out cold. I think you had a panic attack.”

  A panic attack. Proof he wasn’t getting any better. Proof that going to the therapist was just a waste of time.

  Great. Violent black outs. Trauma-induced OCD. Now panic attacks. Could it get any worse?

  He could lose his job.

  He could hurt someone.

  Yeah, it could get worse. Much worse.

  He pushed himself up and this time Carly let him go. He shifted to a seat next to her, gathered her in his arms, and placed a kiss on her forehead. “Sorry I scared you.”

  She shook her head, the sobbing subsided, but the tears still leaked from the corners of her eyes. At a slower pace, though, thankfully. He thumbed a tear off her cheek.

  “Max said he insisted you go to therapy every day this week. Did you go?”

  Matt sighed and pulled her tighter against his side. “Yeah.”

  “Is it helping?”

  He frowned. “I don’t know.”

  “Have you had a panic attack before?”

  He hesitated. He didn’t think so, but he couldn’t be sure. “No.”

  “Matt…”

  He blew out a breath. “Look, I don’t want to talk about it. Drop it.”

  She nodded and turned her head into his neck, nuzzling him. It felt so good, so right. He curled his fingers around the back of her head and held her there.

  “You’re sleeping with me tonight,” she mumbled into the crook of his neck.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  She pulled back slightly, enough to say, “I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer.” She sighed, her breath tickling along his skin. “Either you sleep here or I’m coming with you into that freaking tent.”

  He pressed his mouth to the top of her head and smiled into her hair. He loved it when she acted bossy.

  But he had to be totally honest with her…

  “I have nightmares sometimes,” he warned.

  “I don’t care.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You won’t.”

  “There’s no guarantee I won’t.” He swallowed hard. He would never want to hurt her, but sometimes he didn’t have control.

  Fuck the therapist. Why wasn’t there a quick fix for people like him? Without being drugged up.

  “
I’ll risk it,” she said.

  “I’m not worth it,” he warned.

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  Chapter 12

  Matt sat at his parents’ dinner table looking across the way at his oldest brother.

  “Are you ready to get back to work?” Max asked.

  “Yes.”

  Max, wearing his boss—not brother—hat, gave him a direct stare and got to the point. “Did you do what I asked?”

  Matt glanced around the table at everyone stuffing their faces. They all seemed to pause with either their fork or glass midway to their mouths, waiting for his answer. All except for his pop, of course. Nothing got in the way of his dinner. He apparently could multi-task—both eat and listen at the same time, unlike everyone else.

  “Is there anyone sitting at this table who doesn’t know what your terms were? I guess I shouldn’t expect a shred of privacy?”

  His father jabbed a fork in the direction of Amanda’s brother, Greg. “Greg probably has no idea. And Hannah, of course, but she’s not officially sitting at the table.”

  Matt’s gaze bounced from Amanda’s special needs brother to baby Hannah, who slept in her carrier on the floor behind Max and Amanda.

  “Great,” he muttered.

  “Honey, everyone here cares about you. We’re family. Nothing to be ashamed about,” his mother stated from the head of the table.

  “I’m not ashamed, Ma,” he told her with a scowl.

  “Yeah, we already all know you’re crazy,” Amanda said, shoveling a forkful of sweet potato casserole into her mouth. “Right, honey?” she asked her husband.

  Max just shot her a look and then turned back to Matt and opened his mouth to say something. Two seconds later, he shut it and shrugged. “Yep.”

  “You need to get back to work, brother,” Marc said next to him. “Leah and I are getting tired of all the overtime. The money is nice, but hell, we hardly get a chance to see each other, much less fu—”

  Leah slammed a palm over her fiancé’s mouth. “You say what I think you’re going to say and you’re in deep shit.”