by Cindy Skaggs
She frowned. The entire time she’d dated Barry, she’d been forbidden to wear heels that made her taller than him. Now all bets were off. She wore them whenever and wherever. They were a piece of her daily armor. “I don’t think so, Rosie. I don’t own anything but heels.”
“You own Goofy slippers—”
“Not a chance.” The day she left the house in slippers and a housecoat was the day she went for a psych eval.
“I brought your gym shoes.”
She owned gym shoes? “I appreciate it, but—”
“Doctor’s orders.”
She released his arm and leaned heavily against the bathroom’s doorframe. “Doctor or medic?”
“Right now, they’re the same thing. Besides, I didn’t bring any other shoes for you.”
“I was wearing boots when it happened.” Threatening Rose if he cut off her boots was one of the last solid memories before waking up.
“I took them off, left them behind.”
An ache formed at the loss. The heels were a little thing, comparatively, but they were a defensive weapon, much like Rose carrying a gun. “You are a cruel, cruel man.”
He reached in to flip the bathroom light on for her. “How do you feel?
“Like I’ve been shot.”
“You have been shot.”
The light stabbed her eyeballs. “Thanks for the reminder.”
He leaned against the opposite jam. The light from the bathroom showed eyes rimmed with an exhaustion that went deeper than the dark circles.
“When’s the last time you slept a full night?”
“The night before Mad Dog took his life.”
PFC Madigan had killed himself because Team Echo dosed him with something and then convinced him that he’d killed his wife. The rest of the team had believed the lie, when in reality, Echo had killed Madigan’s family and let him take the blame. “Call me crazy, but not sleeping doesn’t sound healthy.”
“We’re trained to fight on very little sleep.”
They’d been used and abused and spit out, and yet all the Team Fear men held on to their time in the service. “You’re not in the Army anymore.”
“Thanks for the reminder,” he said, mirroring her earlier response, but no emotion crossed his features.
“But you’re still a warrior.” Only an idiot would think otherwise.
He stretched his spine along the doorjamb and grabbed the top of the trim, the move drawing attention to his height. He absolutely filled the doorway. His biceps flexed, or maybe they were always so defined. Debi swallowed. Her inappropriate libido was working overtime, but Rose was tired, she was still drugged up, so now was not the time. And wasn’t that a sad state of affairs? She turned and presented him her back. “Would you untie the sling?”
“Leave it.”
“I don’t think you want me showering with this thing on.”
“Wait on the shower for a few days.”
She snorted. “Not a chance.” She felt like the bottom of the bar’s dumpster. “Undo the sling.”
“No.”
“This isn’t a power struggle.” Although, crud, it probably was, and right now, she didn’t have any power. “The shower will help clear my head.”
“You need sleep.”
“I’ll sleep better after a shower. Plus I’m betting you don’t want me tearing things apart if I try to do it myself.”
“No.” If anything, his tone grew more uncompromising.
She turned to try to gauge his mood by his expression, but his hard features were unreadable. “Don’t bet against me, soldier boy.”
The vibration of his sigh ruffled the hair on the back of her neck. “Women,” he mumbled under his breath, and then he undid the sling and removed it from around her right shoulder. “Do not use your right side until the doctor looks at it tomorrow, and keep it dry.”
“That defeats the purpose of a shower.” Her injured arm was against her skin rather than through the armhole. It probably was too hard to dress an unconscious woman without aggravating the injury. The yellow wash they used to clean the wound was visible through the neck of the shirt.
“I’ll cover the stitches so they don’t get wet.” The air of resigned acceptance was in every syllable he spoke. “Take off your shirt.”
She choked on her own spit, and sputtered and coughed like an empty water line.
“I’ve already seen you shirtless, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
It wasn’t her bare breasts so much as the reality that she looked like death warmed over. The idea of Sergeant Sexy checking out her assets while she was literally at her worst didn’t go over well.
“Relax.” With the one word, he left the doorway, which gave her space to breathe. She really wanted a shower and a chance to brush her teeth. His warmth hit before she heard him return. The silent moves from such a big man were hard to get used to. He lifted the back of the shirt. “I can cover it from the back.” He lifted the side of the t-shirt over the wound, and taped something around the wound. “I’ve got pain pills if you need them.”
Need was relative. “No thanks.”
“You’re a terrible patient.”
“What can I say? I don’t have experience getting shot.” This was the first she’d ever needed a caregiver.
“I can give you a few pointers.”
“You’ve been shot?” That surprised her. The soldier seemed bulletproof.
“Even the best quarterback gets sacked sometimes. All of us have had our share of injuries. First rule of wound care, listen to the medic.”
Right. If and when he got shot, she’d bet good money that he went right on working. “I’ll take a pill when I get out. I don’t want to get woozy in the shower.”
“Getting behind the pain is a bad plan. Once you get out of the shower, you’ll wish you took one before.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“Your choice.”
The acceptance gave her pause. He had the power to force her to do things his way, but he presented his side of the argument and let her make the choice because he was a good guy and not just a sexy one, which made it that much harder to keep her emotions out of it.
With an offer to help when she needed it, he stepped from the room, closing the door behind him.
Debi took the first full breath since she’d woken. The intensity he exuded dissipated once he’d gone, leaving her feeling deflated and strangely alone. Her shoulder started throbbing the instant he’d taken off the sling. Pulling the t-shirt off the rest of the way, she avoided the reflection in the mirror. The shower was quick, because he was right. It hurt like hell without the sling or a pain pill. She combed her wet hair one handed, and then stared with distaste at the clothes she’d shed. They were dirty and smelled like antiseptic.
“Debi?” Rose knocked lightly.
Her pulse spiked. The door separated them, yet his voice rumbled through the wood like an audio aphrodisiac. He was big, bad, tall, and gorgeous. He had a tattoo—and she still wanted a good look at that—his voice got her worked up, and he was the most considerate man she’d ever met. All that goodness wrapped up inside a soldier. The attraction made sense, but the slow roll of her heart had her leaning weakly against the sink. Too much. He was too much and she was too vulnerable right now.
“Clean clothes.”
“Oh.” Relief washed away the fear that started inside, the kind she didn’t want to examine. It wasn’t the panicky kind. It was more like a big freaking warning label that should be tattooed across his chest: Proceed with caution. The towel wrapped around her didn’t feel thick enough to buffer against the feelings running through her. The hollow door wasn’t enough to protect her from the temptation, yet she shielded behind it as she opened it a few inches to take the clothes.
“Don’t try to put your arm into the shirt. Leave it off that side and I’ll put on a fresh bandage.
She nodded, the movement pulling her neck muscle and stretching the stitches. “T
hank you.”
The one-armed thing made it hard to dress, and she had to yank and pull with her non-dominant hand to get the sleep shorts from twisting at her waist. The shirt was three sizes too big, and had a strong, masculine scent, the kind that promised life-altering sex. After sharing a motel room for days on end, she’d recognize his scent anywhere. Dropping the shirt over her head, she left the injured arm under so she didn’t have to fidget with it too much. When she finished, she stepped from the room, feeling unusually shy. She’d been alone in a motel with him for a week or more, but the wound put her on the defensive. She didn’t want a man to take care of her. Yet here she was, taking his help because she didn’t have a choice.
“Don’t argue.” Rose held out a pill the size of a quarter. “Take the medicine.”
“Wasn’t going to argue.” Their fingers brushed as she took the pill. The burn of attraction was instant, and completely unnecessary. As long as she needed him to take care of her, she wouldn’t make a move. Not until they were back on even footing. Even then, there was something about him that made anything more than friendship a gamble. Debi had walked away from Barry with everything but her pride intact. Rose had the ability to turn her inside out until there was nothing left.
He handed her the water with the straw. “Turn around. I’ll put on a clean bandage.” The slow and economical movements he used were clinical, impersonal yet gentle as he tucked the soft cotton of the shirt between her side and her arm so she didn’t flash him. He didn’t rush, nor did his fingers touch anything inappropriate. She was relieved and a little disappointed. Debi focused across the room on the bed that was all but calling her name.
“I think I’ll...” She nodded at the bed.
“Wait.” He slid the sling over her shoulder and made a few adjustments. “You should eat.”
The last thing on her mind was food. “I’m pretty sure this motel doesn’t have room service.”
“No, but I made you a sandwich.” He gestured to the table under a weak overhead light. “We got groceries and a cooler, so we’re not dependent on fast food.”
She followed him to the table, feeling petite next to his massive presence, and overwhelmed by his continued generosity. It had been too long since anyone had done for her. The seat opposite—the size of doll furniture in comparison to him—groaned when he sat down to his plate of food. A thick sandwich filled with meat, cheese, and sliced tomatoes was cut into identical wedges on her plate. She couldn’t remember a time when someone had cooked for her, and the simple sandwich was more than that. It was one more thing this sweet man did without being asked. “You’ll make someone a good wife someday.”
“I’m not getting married,” he said around a bite.
“Really?” A man like him with six sisters and a caregiving soul? Oh, he’d get married as soon as some smart woman figured out how to rope him. “Why’s that?”
He shrugged. “Don’t plan to live that long.”
A pang hit her chest more painful than the gunshot wound. “Ryder isn’t convinced that this fearless thing is a death sentence.”
“He’s seeing things through the eyes of a husband. He wants to believe he’ll be around for Lauren.” Rose grabbed a chip and chewed on it thoughtfully. “I hope he’s right, but I’m not banking on it.”
“You don’t strike me as a pessimist.”
“Vegas odds are about five to one against us living to see next year.”
That kind of realism hurt as bad as getting shot. “I’ll take that bet. If you die, I owe you twenty bucks, but if you’re around to see the ball drop New Years Eve, you pay me one hundred.”
“Must be new math. Don’t you mean twenty?”
“Nope. You said five to one odds.”
“If I lose the bet, I won’t be around to collect. Seems win-win for you.”
Nothing about this was a winning situation. Water and pain pill swished in her agitated gut. “Guess you’ll have to stick around.”
He finished his sandwich before he spoke again. “Eat up.”
She shoved the plate halfway across the table. The talk of death and dying didn’t do much for her appetite. “I’m really not hungry.”
“Eat half. You need something in your stomach with the pain pill I gave you.”
Her stomach was pitchy, but that had more to do with the topic of conversation than the medicine. Still, she didn’t argue. She put her half on a napkin. “You can have the rest.”
He reached across the table as she pushed the sandwich toward him, and their hands brushed. An instant flare of feel-good nerves shot up her arm. A chemical reaction, the right compounds in the petri dish of their tiny motel room. Add time, plus the catalyst of that one brief touch. Boom. The result was combustible. Neither controlled the reaction, but neither had to act on it. Better for both if they kept that mess of hormones locked up.
She stared at the Formica tabletop and chewed her sandwich in silence. When her eyes drifted closed, she placed the last few bites on her plate. She didn’t say a word as she climbed into bed, but she couldn’t prevent the sense of loss eating her stomach lining. She’d never had Rose, but the thought of losing him left her empty inside. She’d find a way to cheat death and the men hunting Team Fear.
Chapter Nine
A lump the size of a super soldier lay prone on the bed nearest the door. Unable to sleep, Debi stared at his profile in the dark. The ache in her heart matched the constant throbbing in her shoulder. She tried to adjust the pillow, but the sling kept her arm immobile.
“Get some sleep.” Rose didn’t move, but he didn’t drift to sleep either.
A sliver of light filtered in from the bathroom, but otherwise the room was dark. “You on guard duty or medic duty?” When he didn’t answer, she punched her pillow. There was no position that was remotely comfortable. “How long have I been out?”
“No time at all.” Rose cleared his throat. “It’s the middle of the night, and you need rest. Take another pain pill or I’ll give you a shot.”
She was set to argue on principle. The injury wasn’t what kept her awake. Plus, obedience wasn’t her thing. Until she remembered how he’d taken care of her, and not just during the shooting. He had talked her down from the panic attack rather than do his job. Tonight was the first night he’d had a chance to sleep. She owed him, for far more than the last few days.
She opened the bottle using her good hand and swallowed a pill with the last of the water. Before he’d gone to bed, he had made sure everything was on the nightstand where she’d need it. Who was this guy? He was supposed to be a big, badass soldier, but he had an unexpected depth. He was selfless and kind and... That was the pain medicine talking.
She glanced at the other bed. He lay facing her, his jaw lined with whiskers, and his eyes closed as if his order should have been followed already.
Let him sleep.
“Fine,” she whispered to herself, but when they were both back to full speed, the soldier needed to learn a lesson about women and the tragically overused word obey.
“What’s the problem?”
Debi was startled to realize he’d opened his eyes and was staring at her. “A minute ago, I took a horse tranquilizer. I’ll be fine. Get some sleep.”
“Six sisters, remember? Fine has many definitions, and not one of them means everything is okay.” He sat up and dropped his legs over the side showing too much bare skin. He’d stripped down to boxers again. A fine mat of hair covered legs corded like tree trunks. The ball of muscle at his calf looked stronger than all the muscles in her body combined. He scrubbed hands through his short hair, making it stand on end. “Having a hard time getting comfortable?”
He was up now and digging in. Telling him she was fine wouldn’t cut it, so she went with honesty. “I can’t sleep on my back, but when I lay on my good side...”
“The injury feels unsupported?”
“Exactly.” Every time she had a nap jerk on the way to sleep, her shoulder twitched, pain zipped,
and she was awake again.
The dim light didn’t show his features, but he stood with fluid efficiency. He brushed a hand over her temple. “No fever.”
“Opposite actually. My toes are freezing.”
He pulled something from his bag and shifted the blankets off her legs. The warmth was instant when he slipped oversized socks on her feet. The shivers were already fading when he pulled the sheet and comforter back over her. He grabbed both pillows from his bed. “We can prop the arm for you. Scoot back.” When she complied, he dropped the pillows in front of her body, and then gently lifted her arm to rest on the pillows.
The absence of stretching pain was instant. “But I don’t want to steal your pillows.”
“You won’t.” He walked around the bed, pulled back the covers, and climbed into bed with her. The bed dipped with his weight and she started rolling back until he braced his body behind hers. “Now you won’t roll back and your arm is supported. Better?”
Better was subjective. “The shoulder feels much better.” But now she had a whole new reason not to sleep. She was in bed with Rose, a man she’d spent the last week fantasizing about in graphic detail, but none of it compared to the solid wall of muscle at her back. The man was seriously hot, and he was draped over her like a blanket. If she had a free hand, she’d push back the bedspread and let some cool air in.
He punched the pillow under his head into a ball. One hand slid under her neck while the other draped lightly over her waist. “This okay?”
Okay? Her heart about jumped out of her chest. The strength of his arms was nirvana. The gears in her head turned overtime, and she still couldn’t process a proper response. The timing of their little snuggle fest couldn’t be worse. “Perfect.” She cringed. Being in his arms was perfect, but did she have to blurt it out?
He didn’t move. “Go to sleep.”
“Is that an order?”
He tucked himself tighter around her.
“If I could stay awake just to spite you, I would.”
Rose chuckled. “Try it, sweetheart, and I’ll have a shot in you faster than an undergrad on spring break.”