“Gabe! Gabe! Stop it. Oh, my gosh, you’re hurting yourself.”
A woman? Here? No way.
A man needs air to speak. To scream. His lungs tried to suck in a breath. They wheezed, shutting down even as he needed them to open up wide and let him live.
The shoulder pounding shifted to his chest. Dead center. Like the bloody body shots to Alex. And Darrell.
Outright fear cranked up the noise inside his head. He kicked, writhing away to escape the stranglehold at his neck and the deadening touch of that little boy’s hand. Always the same damned question. Why look for him? The little guy always shows up and it never ends well when he does. He’s the bringer of death. Every. Damned. Time!
Adrenaline swamped what was left of Gabe’s thin control. Get off me, you sonofabitch! Let me go!
“Gabe. I’m here. Stop it.” The voice reached into the murk and pulled him apart, unraveling the nightmare strand by freaking strand. The grip at his windpipe lessened.
“You’re hurting yourself. Stop it.”
At last! Air. He sucked in one long pull of it. Oxygen flooded his head. Another life-saving gulp replaced the last. He stilled, letting it fill and replenish until his mind cleared. The little boy had vanished.
“Where’s... where’s... the kid?” Thank God, he’s gone, but where’d he go?
“What kid?” A shadowy figure loomed overhead but... he... she... wasn’t... them.
The black smoke of the Afghanistan battlefield evaporated into the soft light of Kelsey’s front room. Someone peeled his fingers from their death grip at his throat.
Damn. It was... me. I was choking myself. Shit.
He fingered the oxygen mask that had suddenly appeared on his nose, pulling in more of the sweet, soft air. Good. I can... breathe... again. Good. I’m not... there.
His vision cleared. Damn it. He’d backed himself into the corner by Kelsey’s brick fireplace. He’d torn his polo shirt in the struggle, the buttons scattered to who knew where. A lamp lay on the floor beside him, its light bulb still on, but somehow, unbroken. Some magazines. His bedroll, upside down and kicked to hell.
The shadowy figure emerged while he sucked in gulps of oxygen, trying to clear his head and still his quaking body. A medic? Zack? Bright inquisitive eyes peered down at him behind horn-rimmed men’s glasses. God. Not Shelby.
Yes. Shelby.
He closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at her. The ostrich in the sand routine didn’t work. Her fingers remained light on his forehead. “Gabe? Can you hear me now? Are you okay?”
Tenderness. Not what he needed. Hell, no.
Her voice sounded frightened, kind of squeaky and tight. He must’ve scared her. Hell, yeah. He’d scared himself, too, more than he could ever explain.
The kid seemed so real. The kid with the grenade launcher. That damned kid. The one his subconscious soul kept trying to save...
Hyper-vigilance. There was no understanding it until a person lived it.
“I’m fine.” Sweat trickled down his neck and belly. Damn. I need more air.
With one big grunt, he pushed himself out of the corner and flat to his back. He needed lung space now, room to breathe and time to get back to normal, whatever the hell that was. God, this panic attack was worse than most, probably because he was sick, but shit. Not in front of Shelby. Go away. Please, just pretend none of this happened and go away.
She readjusted her position. Her hands moved to the center of his heaving chest and he honestly didn’t care. He covered his eyes with his arm and inhaled steady, slow breaths to prevent hyperventilating any worse. That much he knew for sure. He had to regain control while he could. He set to counting deliberately and slowly.
One. Shelby could wait.
Damn it, she did.
Two. She removed the oxygen mask from his face, and like it or not, he was glad she was there. Waking up alone after an attack sucked big time. He covered his eyes again once the mask was gone.
Three. Damn, she was quiet. She must’ve gone to the kitchen or bathroom, because all of a sudden, she came back and knelt at his side again. A damp washcloth skimmed over his brow.
Four. Stinking panic attacks. They wreaked havoc on his lips. He ran his tongue over his bottom one, mostly checking for blood or bitten flesh. Parched or chewed, he never knew how they’d end up. Damn. Fat lip again.
Five. Shelby eased one hand under the back of his neck, lifting his head enough to place a glass to his lips. “Drink this and breathe easy. I’m here and you’re safe now.”
Six. He gulped in one long swallow and quit counting. Yeah, right. Safe. Bullshit. A guy’s never safe from his nightmares.
Funny thing. Panic attacks used up every last ounce of strength. Dainty little Shelby could’ve had her way with him right then and there if she’d wanted to. He wouldn’t have been able to fight her off. Wouldn’t have mattered in the long run, though. He had nothing to give her, not physically spent like he was. Wrecked. Wasted.
He heard the glass bump the end table. At least he hadn’t knocked that over.
Her hand came right back to his chest, her fingers splayed as if counting his heartbeats—not like it was hard to do. They still sounded plenty loud to him, but her touch helped.
It had been months since a woman had touched him as gently. It probably meant nothing to her, but those slender fingers moving in small, slow circles over his pecs soothed him in ways he couldn’t explain.
She didn’t know it, but that simple contact went a long way to holding him together. God, he craved it down to the deepest recesses of his soul. Stupid tears welled up in his eyes, and he was damned if they’d well up and drip over the sides of his head. A woman’s touch. Nothing like it in the world.
“It’s just thunder and lightning,” she said. “You aren’t in battle and those weren’t bombs. There is no little boy to save. You’re in Kelsey’s home. It’s okay.”
He squeezed his already closed eyes tighter, wishing he could do the same for his ears. Not bombs, Shelby. Rocket-launched grenades. That’s what took my foot. And that boy? A little brown-eyed kid with a worried smile and no shoes. A kid who had no business toting that heavy grenade launcher on his skinny shoulder. A kid I didn’t want to have to kill. But I did.
Gabe pushed the ghost away. How embarrassing, a full-blown panic-attack in front of Attila the Hun. Shelby sounded really kind, but he knew better. She could change on a dime. Any second now that gentle hand would lift off, and she’d revert back to herself. Besides, he didn’t want her seeing him like this.
“I’m fine,” he croaked, rolling to his side, away from her.
She stayed with him, her hand soft on his bicep, squeezing just enough so he’d know she hadn’t left.
“I’m fine,” he insisted again, wishing she’d take the hint and leave. He knew how it worked. Date once or twice, but in the long run, this close encounter would end like all the rest. He’d wind up alone. And he just plain didn’t want to risk what was left of his heart one more time.
“You are fine, Gabe,” she stated gently. “And you didn’t let your boss die, either. That Sam Becker guy is an ass. He said a lot of mean things.”
Yep. Still staying. Damn it.
Shelby had just stepped over the line, though. Gabe had no intention of talking about Alex’s death with her, or what happened in country. His head knew better, but that old rascal guilt still poked its head up now and then. She needed to stop helping.
“It’ll soon be over. It’s just a panic attack, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” he admitted. Just a freaking full-blown, green Hulk, rip-your-clothes-off kind of attack. The thunder and lightning must’ve triggered it. Stinking fever, too. Here he sat in his underwear and a half-ripped off shirt, sweating like a pig. Could this night get any more embarrassing?
Yes. It could. He wiped the drool off his chin. Great. I look like an ass.
“I get them, too. Only no one knows. Well, not until now. You’re the only one I’ve e
ver told.”
He cocked his head to face her and finally opened his eyes. That was a revelation he hadn’t expected. “You?”
Something sad flitted behind those geeky glasses she kept pushing up her nose.
“Umm, why? How come?”
“I’ll tell you about it sometime. Not now.”
“Okay,” he whispered back. “I’ll hold you to that. You tell me about yours and maybe I’ll tell you about... mine.” Then again, maybe not. Marines didn’t share that kind of crap. War stories were a definite downer. Not meant for civilian consumption. Especially not women. Ever.
“You were injured over there.”
“Lots of us were. No big deal.”
“A transtibial amputation is tough.”
“Nah.” He sucked in another slow breath, clenching his fists over his stomach and biding his time. She really needed to leave. “There’s guys lots worse off than me.”
Like Darrell. Like Maverick. Like everyone who came home in a box.
“There’s always someone worse, but every loss of a limb is still difficult,” she said more firmly. “It’s the same as a death. You need to grieve for the loss of a limb as much as the loss of someone you loved. And I’m... I’m sure sorry, Agent Cartwright. I mean, Gabe. I’ve been, umm, kind of oblivious to a lot of things since I’ve been here. I was so focused on Kelsey and protecting her. Then she went missing. I never should’ve let her out of my sight, and—”
“Settle down. It wasn’t your fault,” he corrected, thankful for the diversion. “She’s not a little girl. You can’t make her behave.”
“I know, but she would’ve been satisfied with toast and jelly that morning, but no. I had to make her my special omelet. That’s why everything went wrong. I had to have everything my way.”
Gabe mustered a small smile. “Like the boot trays?”
“Yes, okay, like the boot trays, but—”
“And the menu schedule?” Focusing on her drew the attention off him. Good thinking, Cartwright. Keep her talking.
Shelby pushed her glasses back up her nose again. “See what I mean? I lost control the second you and Zack arrived, and every time I turn around, things fall apart a little more. How am I going to keep her safe and healthy when you guys are always in my way?”
She asked that more as if she were perplexed instead of angry. Was this the real Shelby finally peeking through? Was she trying to figure him out as much as he tried to understand what made her tick?
Gabe breathed deeply. The more he listened, the more he relaxed until one thing got through his embarrassment. Her hot damned elegant black nightie. Spaghetti straps. Silky thin material that showed her thighs and a hint of her ass. The pink bow curled between very perky breasts. Ribbons trailing down her front.
He shifted onto one elbow to see better. And more.
The skimpy nightie he could’ve dealt with and possibly ignored, but the jiggle beneath it was deliciously distracting. So were the two hardened nubs of her nipples beneath the thin material, all perked up and begging to be touched. Fondled. Licked.
Now she’d done it. He pulled the corner of his bedroll up from behind him to cover his, umm, lap. Running his tongue over his fat lip, his mind shifting to other ways he knew to make a woman happy. This woman.
She lowered her head, peering deeper into his eyes. Closer. Maybe too close for her own good. He didn’t mean to look down her cleavage. But he did. Luscious did not begin to describe the fruit hanging nearly within reach, nor the tender valley between.
“Are you even listening to me?”
Busted. He jerked his gaze back to her eyes. “Yes. Sure, you’re worried about keeping Kelsey safe and, umm...” Damn. What was she saying?
“So? How are we going to work together? I’d like to think we still could. I know I’ve been unreasonable. All I saw at first was two guys in my way. I didn’t realize how much you really cared for Kelsey, both you and Zack. I get it now.”
For the first time, she actually smiled. Damn, her smile lit up the night. Shelby meant well. He’d seen her in action on the riverbank when she’d all but accused the sheriff of not initiating a search fast enough. And her outspoken rebuke of Becker? Ballsy.
He captured her hand on his chest. “Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?”
“You’re changing the subject,” she murmured, her eyes averted, her lashes fluttering against the soft swell of her cheeks. “And I’m, umm, not exactly dressed appropriately. I got up so fast when I heard you out here that I, umm, gosh. I need my robe. I should go.”
“No. Stay.” He tugged her closer. “Talking to someone after an attack always helps.”
Especially—you. Feelings he didn’t want to admit surfaced with a rush. He lifted the glasses off her nose and set them on the carpet, craving more of her touch.
Shelby’s breath caught. She didn’t remove her hand from his, and she didn’t leave. Instead, she leaned into him. Over him. Closer. Loose chunks of blonde fell over her face as she edged downward.
He shifted his left hand to her waist, then to the small of her back to hold her in place. Easing to the carpet again, he cupped her jaw, his fingers splayed at her neck, the pad of his thumb on her chin. Tremors shivered through her the nearer she came, exciting every last male nerve in his body. A tiny whimper lifted from the back of her throat.
“May I?” he asked, because that was what he’d been taught. Never assume. Always be sure you’re on a two-way street before you rev those engines, son. Once you’re off the line, there’s no going back.
“Yes,” she breathed, her eyes wide and the sultry color of lavender fields on a dark spring night. She fell those last few inches between them.
And that was enough for him. He cradled her face between his hands, drinking in the delicious scent of vanilla and rose petals. God, she smelled like spring combined with that distinctly feminine fragrance of a woman who wanted a man.
He paused, a breath away from daring to hope again. A woman hadn’t been in his life before. Shouldn’t have been. Military careers were tough on relationships, so he’d purposefully avoided the complication before he’d been deployed. Then came Afghanistan. Then his injury. After that and one too many rejections, he’d quit looking.
Shelby was right. It was damned tough losing a limb, and a damned tough man gets lonely enough to buy a home all by himself.
But this was no experienced woman in his hands, no Sex in the City bed jumper who traded men like the latest fashion heels. This woman was different. Bossy as hell maybe, but rare, and if he was right—pure. That’s the impression he got from their bathroom encounter. She’d been so flustered. Curious, but genuinely embarrassed.
She’d closed her eyes. The hole in his chest opened up, that one deep inside the heart he’d closed off years ago. He pressed his lips to hers. She stilled the moment he touched her mouth with his. Her hair fluttered over his cheek as her breathing quickened.
He took time, letting his tongue trace the seam of her closed lips, tasting and teaching, offering sensations just in case she wanted more. His instincts told him this woman hadn’t been here before, which meant this might be her first kiss, or at least one of few.
Was it possible?
The notion that she might be a virgin let loose a firestorm Gabe hadn’t expected. A groan crawled up from his heart. He’d done what most guys did with girls and girlfriends. He was no saint, but here he was holding something unusual, maybe even endangered.
At last, she relaxed with a sigh onto his chest, her hands soft and warm on his shoulders. And then it happened. She let him ease between her lips, so tentatively, as if she wasn’t sure if she should.
He took it slow. Her breath filled him with hunger that he forced himself to control. But God, offering manna to a starving guy in the middle of his own self-made desert was a difficult temptation to refuse. Every last molecule in his awakening male body craved her.
She didn’t seem to want to take it slow, either, her lusciou
s curves pressed against his thighs, her round plump breasts planted against his pecs like two clusters of delectable grapes on a platter, as if they were meant to be right damned there.
Blood thrummed through his body. She was small enough. With one good heft, he could have her straddling his hips. Hell, he could have his hands all over her, and he wanted to. God, how he wanted to.
It took what resolve he had left to allow common sense to rule. He and she were both on duty. Kelsey deserved the best they had to give. Now was not the time, and this floor sure wasn’t the place. Their risky adventure into heaven had to end before Zack returned and interrupted them.
“Shelby,” Gabe growled, his mouth still full of her lips, his hands still cupping her head. Even his fingers were big and ugly in her hair. He opened his eyes to take in the view.
“Uh-huh,” she answered, her eyes still closed and the sweetest expression on her face.
He couldn’t help smiling. This woman glowed with pure unadulterated pleasure, and he’d put that glow there. He’d given her something that, hopefully, no other guy had before.
“You’re something else, you know that?” He concluded their close encounter before Zack spoiled it.
Steamy violet-blues poured heat and desire onto him, and damn it. Gabe wanted his own bed in his own room. Now.
He nibbled her lower lip despite the need to release her. Innocent, that was what she was. The oddest mix of innocence and belligerence and compassion, rolled up in a five-foot tall goddess with a major dash of sass. Did she have any idea how close he was to ignition and red lighting on the line?
He smoothed his right hand over her head, lifting her golden locks away from her face. With one last kiss to her forehead, he eased her off his chest and back onto her butt.
“I should go, huh?” she asked, shy again. Her gaze drifted to her clenched fingers.
“No.” His fingers lingered in her hair, wanting to pull her back to his mouth for another go around. “You should stay, but not like this.”
Zack’s hand hit the back doorknob.
Shelby dropped to Gabe’s surprised mouth, planted one last wet kiss on his lips, grabbed her glasses and bolted down the hall.
Gabe (In the Company of Snipers Book 8) Page 22