Loving the Wounded Warrior

by Adriana Anders

  “Yeah?” His eyes widened. “I’m fucking crazy about you, O’Neal.” Slowly, a smile broke out over his face. It set off a spark of hope deep inside me. “Figured I’d play it slow, though. You know, bring you the story, maybe ask you out or something.”

  “Oh. Yes!” I snapped my mouth shut, my face hot with embarrassment.

  “Yeah?”

  I looked over my shoulder, toward the pit I’d made of my living room. Whatever. “You want to come in?” I’d never said those words to a man before. The worst part was that I wanted him to stay here, not just stop in.

  “Sure.” He reached into his backpack—a brand new daypack this time—and pulled out a bottle of bourbon. He looked a little sheepish when he held it up. “I’d kinda hoped you’d ask.” I could almost taste it on my tongue—taste him, along with the mountain air—when his eyes caught mine.

  “But also, I truly want you to write that story. For me, but also for Sebio.”

  “I don’t—” I laughed. “This is crazy.”

  “What is?”

  “Here you are, trying to give me a story before walking away. That’s pretty much been my male fantasy from day one. I mean…a no-strings fling with the hottest man I’ve ever met, who then hands me the story of a lifetime?” I rolled my eyes.

  “So take it.”

  “You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you?” Frustrated, I reached out and put my hand on his chest, feeling naked—open and raw and aching so hard for him, he was like my missing piece. “I don’t want the story, Kurt. I want you.”

  “I’ve got nothing to give.”

  I shook my head, smiled at him, and let him see the tears in my eyes. “And I do?”

  “You’ve got a house.” He glanced at the hand I'd planted on him, then back up to my face. “You’ve got a career. A life. I’ve got the stuff on my back, a day-old job, and that’s it.”

  We stood there, in limbo, for a good three seconds before I leaned in, inviting him to do the same, and whispered, “You don’t have any idea how hard this is for me, do you?”

  “What?”

  “Letting someone in. Wanting someone as badly as I want you.”

  “Is that what this is?”

  “Yeah.”

  “If I stay, will you take the story?”

  Smiling, I shook my head and stood on tiptoes to nuzzle his ear. “Absolutely not.” After a nip, I went on. “But now that you’ve showered for real, there are a whole lot of other things I’d be willing to do.”

  Under my hand, his heartbeat picked up speed.

  “What’d you have in mind?”

  “Come inside and take a load off, Marine. Maybe we can figure this thing out together.”

  It took only a tug of his elbow to get him to follow.

  “Shouldn’t you be celebrating Thanksgiving somewhere with your family?”

  “I’ve got turkey, with all the fixings, a couple days off, and now the man of my dreams. I can’t imagine a better way to celebrate. Can you?”

  “Absolutely not.” He smiled and huffed out a laugh, shaking his head, then snared my eyes with his. “Hottest guy you’ve ever met?”

  “Did I say that?”

  “You did.” He shut the door with one of his golden boy grins and kissed me breathless. “Happy Thanksgiving to me.”

  “Is this how you celebrate? By showing up with booze and turning a woman’s whole life upside down?”

  “Is that what happened?”

  Serious now, I grabbed his hand and held it hard against my heart. “You have no idea, do you, Kurt?”

  “Oh, baby,” he said, tightening his fingers on mine, his eyes serious. “I guarantee that I do.”

  8

  One Year Later…

  * * *

  “That was amazing.” Kurt sounded as exhausted as I felt, but in the best possible way.

  I put my hand on his where it rested on the gear shift and smiled at him, full of more love and happiness and contentment than I’d even known existed in the world.

  “Wasn’t it? I almost lost it during Dickie’s speech, when he looked like he was gonna cry.”

  Kurt threw me a quick grin. “I noticed.”

  “Hey!” I smacked his thigh playfully, then stroked it to show I didn’t mean it. Within seconds, my touch grew heated, which I should have expected, since I couldn’t put a finger on my man without feeling things.

  “Seriously, though, today was amazing.” I shook my head in wonder. “Best Thanksgiving ever. Hands down.”

  “Better than last year?” he asked, his voice tinged with humor.

  “Tied for first. Just seeing the guys’ faces when we unveiled those designs…” I couldn’t hold back a sniffle at the memory, and maybe a tear or two. But, goddamn, it felt good to give a new chance to these guys. They deserved so much more than the struggle of life on the streets.

  And Kurt… I looked at him, my heart bursting with pride. He’d done it. He’d gone and written his piece and then, when that hadn’t been enough for him, he’d interviewed the men he’d worked with, one vet after another. One story after another. Amelia, a photojournalist I knew, had joined forces with him, and a few months ago, they’d put out a book.

  “I’m so proud of you.” The tears started to come, now that we were on our own.

  “So you’ve said.”

  “I mean it! The book and the money from the sales and now this… Kurt, their faces when they saw those designs today! Those guys are getting homes! A fresh start!” Okay, so this was about to turn into an ugly cry. “I love you. So much.”

  He didn’t answer right away, which was fine, since I was bawling my brains out and probably couldn’t have heard him anyway.

  Kurt pulled over and put the car into park. “O’Neal baby.” He shut off the engine. “O’Neal.”

  With a shuddering breath, I gathered myself and opened my eyes, more than a little embarrassed at my outburst. This wasn’t like me. Nothing I did since Kurt came into my life was like me. I wasn’t sure what I expected when I finally glanced his way, but what I saw…

  “What are you—?”

  He shrugged, all traces of humor gone from his face as he held out the little blue box. He opened it to reveal a ring—simple and square, not too big, but definitely a diamond.

  “Oh my God.” I couldn’t breathe. “You know I’m not the marrying type.”

  “I didn’t plan to do this in the car, but…I can’t wait any longer.” He scooted forward in the seat and lifted his hand to caress my cheek. “O’Neal, baby. You’ve made me the happiest man in the world. You know that?”

  I sniffled. Ever dignified.

  “When I came here and found you, I found home. Anywhere you go, I wanna go with you. Will you be with me?” he asked. “For the rest of our lives?”

  I was nodding before he’d finished, of course, because there was nothing I wanted more than to live alongside this man. At the same time…

  “I want to be with you, but marriage isn’t—”

  “An institution you can get behind. I know. How about we go up to Mount Elias one day, you wear that, and we just… We promise.”

  That sounded beautiful. Amazing. “Yes. I want that.” I could barely catch my breath, much less get the words out.

  He kissed me, hard and quick, before grabbing my left hand and slipping the ring on. Funny how I’d never cared about this kind of commitment until this very moment. Not once had I dreamed of a white dress or a ceremony or any of that stuff, but suddenly, I could picture it, clear as day: a wedding on Mount Elias, our friends, our families, the vets Kurt had spent the last year working with. I wanted this. Him. Babies. All of it.

  “I love you,” he said decisively. “Now let’s go home and make it official.”

  I burst out laughing. “The ring makes it official. And the fact that we’ve agreed to it.”

  “No, the ring’s so that other dudes will keep their hands off you. And you saying yes is…” He kissed me again, then put the car in d
rive. “Amazing.”

  He set off again, driving faster than when we’d left the shelter; a man on a mission.

  “But making love to my woman, with my ring on her finger, in our home, our bed—” He glanced my way with a smirk. “Possibly on our floor—will make it official. For me.”

  Which made sense considering his history. Not that I’d complain either way. I wanted Kurt Anderson no matter what.

  He turned off the main road, onto our wooded drive, leading us deeper into the pines. It wasn’t until we were almost directly in front of the house that I saw the truck parked out back. Who the hell was that? I opened the door and heard the buzzing of a chainsaw.

  Where… I spun around but couldn’t find the source of the sound. When Kurt joined me, he wrapped an arm around my waist and pointed up.

  “Holy shit.” A man was cutting branches off our dead tree. “He’s gonna fall! Why’s he so far up there and…” He only had one leg. How’d he get up there with just the one leg?

  “He’ll be fine.”

  “Who is that?” I asked.

  “Mica Krainik. Tree guy I told you about.”

  “I thought he was one of your vets.”

  “He is. Was. Now he’s got a business as a tree surgeon,” Kurt said.

  The man appeared to catch sight of us.

  Please don’t fall, I begged silently as he dropped the chainsaw, letting it swing from a cord around his waist, and lifted a hand in greeting.

  “Mica! What you doing working on Thanksgiving?”

  The big man lifted his shoulders in what might have been a shrug.

  “Why don’t you call it a day and come inside for a bit?” Kurt bellowed.

  “’m good.” One massive hand grabbed the chainsaw with easy familiarity while the other lifted in a quick salute. He turned his machine back on again, the saw’s roar tearing through our quiet forest.

  I gave Kurt a look, which he responded to with a wink before we headed inside.

  “What’s his deal?” I tipped my head toward the noise.

  Kurt tugged at my coat, pulling one sleeve off and then the other. “Loner. Lives way out. Cabin in the mountains. Works, goes home. Does his thing.” He dropped my jacket on the floor. “Can’t deal with people.”

  “That’s kinda sad. Does he have friends?”

  Kurt shrugged, then went to work on the two little sweater buttons on my shoulder. I didn’t tell him they were just for show.

  He slid the whole thing up and over my head. My heartbeat picked up when I caught sight of the look in his eye—hungry. I could have sworn I caught a whiff of mountain air and pine needles every time he looked at me like that, flashes of memory from that day on Saint Elias.

  “I’m his friend, O’Neal. Now why don’t we—”

  “Kurt, I don’t think he should be working today. Up there on—”

  His body pressed against mine, crowding me until I backed up against our front door, where he caged me with a hand on either side.

  “I know you want his story, babe, but it’s not mine to give. Though I imagine you’ll find a way to get it. But for now… Ignore the big man in the tree. Because…” His teeth grazed my earlobe before he dropped a kiss on my neck. “You…” Kiss. “And I…” Slowly, as if there weren’t a feral beast inside him clawing its way out, he cupped my breast and slid his lips up the side of my throat, over my jaw, and to the corner of my mouth. He delivered his next words in sharp little puffs. “Need to make this thing official.”

  “Yeah.” The word poured out of me like honey, which he took straight from my lips.

  “Good.” His hands worked at my pants and, when I took over for him, moved to his own. Hurriedly, as if we didn’t have all the time in the world, the buzz of the saw nothing but a hum in the distance, my future husband helped me shed the rest of my pesky clothing and pressed inside me.

  And he was right. This, right here, was exactly like coming home.

  THE END

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  Meet Ivan, ex-con blacksmith with a heart of gold in Under Her Skin, book 1 in the gritty, emotional Blank Canvas series, available now!

  Also by Adriana Anders

  The Blank Canvas Series

  Under Her Skin

  By Her Touch

  In His Hands

  * * *

  The Love at Last Series

  Loving the Secret Billionaire

  Loving the Mountain Man

  About the Author

  Adriana Anders is the award-winning author of the Blank Canvas series. Under Her Skin, a Publishers Weekly Best Book of 2017, has been featured in Bustle, USA Today Happy Ever After, and Book Riot. Today, she resides with her tall French husband and two small children in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, where she writes the gritty, emotional love stories of her heart.

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