Were you just going to announce to him that you were waiting for him to be your first?
“You look really serious right now. Too serious for my first night of leave,” Zeke said.
She had to actually think for a second to focus on what day of the week it was. Thursday. She was pretty sure of that. “Sorry. I guess I’m just tired,” she said. “Too many of you guys to patch up.”
He touched the butterfly bandage on his forehead. “I promise to try to be more careful.”
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
Zeke smiled. He was trying so hard, and he was handsome and nice, but her heart wasn’t in this at all. “This is a new band—it’s supposed to be great,” he said.
She nodded and took a small sip of her beer. She didn’t feel much like drinking, really had wanted to stay home and pull the covers up over her head. But that’s what Uncle Cal and her mother wanted. Uncle Cal had even tried to give her some kind of curfew.
She’d waited until he’d gone to bed and then she’d snuck down the back stairs and met Zeke at the end of the block. She was more than prepared to run away from all of this. She’d never felt so lost in her life.
No, she wasn’t holding it together as well as she’d thought. And she’d forgotten her wallet back at the house, so if she was really going to run away, she’d have to borrow money to do it.
Zeke was saying something to her, but she’d stopped paying attention, because Jake was walking toward her. Looking right at her.
She swallowed hard, steeled herself for what might well be another argument, although she didn’t think so.
He was nearly to her when some guy—a bodybuilder type—grabbed Jake’s shoulder from behind, for absolutely no reason at all that she could see, and yanked him back toward the middle of the room.
She watched as Jake turned, attempted to shrug it off and walk away, but the man had other ideas, this time grabbing the front of Jake’s shirt.
Jake looked calm enough. He even smiled. And, within seconds, he held the guy by the throat.
“Oh, man, this is going to be good,” Zeke was saying. “Just check this out.”
She watched as a tall man with different-colored eyes stepped in between the burly man and Jake—recognized him as one of the SEALs in Africa who’d taken care of her on what seemed like the longest ten-mile ride ever, to reach the helicopter.
She recognized a third SEAL, the one who’d been with Jake when she’d been found. He seemed more interested in keeping the fight brewing than stopping it. And sure enough, within minutes a melee broke out, moving closer to the raised stage as more and more men got involved.
“Get back, Isabelle,” Zeke told her, and she moved to a corner of the bar. The bartender motioned for her to come stand near him, behind the bar area, and she didn’t argue.
Zeke flung himself into the crowd and for a few minutes she lost sight of both him and Jake—chairs and fists flew, bottles smashed and it seemed the entire bar, save for the women, were involved.
Except for the band, who never stopped playing. Even when people were actually rolling on the stage around them.
And then Jake managed to materialize right by her side, his shirt ripped at the collar, his hair messed and falling across his forehead.
“I was out of line,” he said as soon as she made eye contact. “I didn’t mean to belittle your rescue. But it’s the way I deal with things, the way I have to handle things if I want to do my job well. And I do my job well.”
He was standing so close, mainly, she figured, so he could be heard over the raucous music and the fight that continued behind him. “Can you understand that? I’ve never had this happen before.”
Am I in this alone, Isabelle?
“Yeah, well, me neither,” she said, and the corner of his mouth pulled slightly up.
“You still think I’m an asshole.”
She shrugged. “What do you care what I think?” she asked, right before the mirror behind the bar shattered. Jake grabbed her, shielded her body with his and pulled her toward the door of the bar.
“I’m taking you home now,” he said, after he’d given her a once-over to make sure she was okay.
“But I’m here with someone …” she protested, although she didn’t fight being in Jake’s arms.
“I don’t care who you came here with, you’re going home with me,” he growled.
He took her by the arm and walked her past the crowd, past Zeke, who didn’t even protest, and into the cool night air. He’d marked her as surely as if he’d tattooed his name across her forehead. “Let’s get out of here before the police come.”
“Do a lot of people try to pick fights with you?”
“Only the stupid ones,” he said. “I’m not supposed to fight back. I’m just allowed to use minimal force to defend myself.”
She nodded, because she got it. Jake’s hands were officially deadly weapons. And then she noticed the dark stain spreading on his T-shirt. “You’re bleeding.”
“Shit. My stitches must’ve ripped.” He yanked up his T-shirt and she saw the bloodstained gauze bandage.
“When did this happen?”
“Recently.”
“Was it a gunshot?” she asked, but got no answer. “Okay, I get it—all that information is classified. I’ll just take you to the nearest emergency room.”
“I’m not going to the hospital.” He looked at her as if she’d suggested they go to the ballet.
“That’s what people do when they’re bleeding, Jake.”
“Not me. Especially not when I have an expert right here.”
“You expect me to do this?”
“What? You haven’t forgiven me yet?”
“It has nothing to do with that.”
“Then you’re going to let me bleed to death for no good reason?” he asked.
“You’re not bleeding to death,” she muttered. He cocked his head and looked at her, and her insides got all quivery. The way the girls she used to make fun of in college said theirs did when a cute guy talked to them at a party. “Okay, fine. Where am I supposed to do this? I can’t take you back to Uncle Cal’s house.”
“You’re staying with your uncle?” Jake said, trying unsuccessfully to hold back a grin.
“Yes. For now. Until I find a place of my own,” she said defensively. “He and my mother are slightly overprotective, in case you haven’t noticed. Of course, it backfired a bit.”
“Hey,” he said, touched her shoulder. “Protection isn’t always a bad thing.”
“So I’ve noticed,” she said. He still had a hand on her arm and she liked it. “Where are we going?”
“My place. You’d better drive,” he said, handed her the keys and helped her into an ancient Chevy Blazer that looked as if it had recently been dragged through a swamp. “Storm’s rolling in fast, but we’ll beat it home.”
The familiar burning smell that she always associated with snow was heavy on the air. “Just for the record, I haven’t completely forgiven you,” she said, when he got into the passenger side. The inside of the car was much cleaner than the outside, and the engine started up immediately with a purr she hadn’t expected.
“Yeah, I know,” he said. “But I hope you’re not expecting me to apologize again, because what you got was pretty much it. And be careful, because she’s fast.” He patted the dashboard.
“I’m stitching you without any pain meds,” she told him.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Doc.” He settled back against the seat as she pulled out of the lot seconds before she caught sight of the flashing lights of the police in the rearview mirror.
The house Jake directed her to was huge—a big white clapboard with at least four floors and set back from the other houses by a large acreage of land.
“This place is great,” she said, after she parked and she and Jake headed up the main walk. The door was unlocked, and when he pushed it open she found herself in a spacious entranceway that was the size
of a nice studio apartment. “Better than great.”
“This is actually my father’s house,” he said.
“You live with your father?” Now it was her turn to smirk. “How old are you?”
“He doesn’t live here anymore. His main residence is in L.A. This was a summer house and my brothers and I took over. And I’m old enough,” he said. “Let’s do this in my room—I don’t need everyone coming home and fussing over me.”
He started up the stairs, grabbing the medic kit he told her belonged to Chris, and she followed him.
His set of rooms took up nearly the entire second floor of the sprawling house.
The staircase opened up onto the main room, which had two couches—one leather and one cloth—surrounding a large entertainment center, magazines and books scattered all around. Jeans on the floor. And a pair of handcuffs.
“Is it easier if I lay on the couch or the bed?” he asked.
She tore her eyes away from the cuffs and glanced through the opened door of the bedroom to the rumpled king-sized bed. “The bed’s higher.”
“Come on.” He walked into the bedroom and she followed. He pulled a chair up to the bed for her. “Will this work?” he asked.
“You’re bleeding here too,” she said, reached up to check a cut above his eyebrow. “I didn’t notice that before. Must’ve happened when the mirror shattered. Are you cut anywhere else?”
“I’m fine. Don’t worry about it. I’ll just put a Band-Aid on it.”
“Now you’re going to tell me how to do my job?” she asked, and he sighed and mumbled under his breath as she started going through Chris’s bag for supplies. It was impressively stocked, and she realized that Chris was probably responsible for most of Jake’s medical care. “Get on the bed.”
He sat on the edge and pulled his T-shirt off, and through the bandage she got a glimpse of corrugated abs and a chest so hard she had a tough time tearing her eyes away.
He smiled, put his phone and beeper on the nightstand and lay on his back on the gray comforter.
“I’ll do the small one first,” she said as she sat in the chair next to the bed and pushed some hair off his forehead. It was an automatic gesture, one she did all the time with patients, but her hand lingered a bit too long on his hair.
They’d shared an intimacy most people never did with anyone—a life or death situation that brought them so close to the edge, and yet there was so very little she actually knew about him.
Her stomach started up with those stupid butterflies, especially because he was watching her carefully.
He doesn’t like doctors. Or questions.
“How long have you been in the Navy?” she asked as she swiped the cut with Betadine.
“Are you going to ask me everything you would’ve found in my file?” he asked.
“Are you really going to go there again, especially now?” she asked as she held up the needle filled with local anesthetic, because even though he deserved it, she wasn’t about to cause him any more pain. Well, physical pain. She was sure the questions pained him a great deal, but he wasn’t getting out of that.
“I’ve been in long enough.”
“That’s the same thing Uncle Cal says when anyone asks him.”
“Yeah, well, the admiral’s been in a lot longer than I plan to be,” he said.
“You’re not career military?” She’d leaned over him now, began to work on the gash just above the dark blond of his eyebrow. He’d closed his eyes, but she didn’t kid herself for a moment that he’d relaxed.
“I can’t see myself staying on if I can’t be in the middle of things.”
“No interest in training?”
“And listen to guys whine about how tough it is to pass muster?”
“You never complained?”
“Not to anyone who mattered,” he said.
Her fingers moved fast; she was in the zone, that place she knew well where she could help and heal. “From what I hear, you never complained at all.”
“You’ve heard the rumors,” he said. “That legend bullshit.”
“There’s usually some truth to rumor.” She pulled the thread tight and snipped the end. “This one’s done.”
He opened his eyes. “You’re going to spoil me, Doc. I’m not used to getting stitched by a plastic surgeon.”
“From what I hear, you’re not used to getting stitched by doctors at all. And this one shouldn’t leave a scar.”
“They all leave scars,” he said, and when she looked at him, he was staring up at the ceiling.
She began to peel off the layers of bandages on his side. Once she got to the actual wound, she was pleased to see most of the old stitches had stayed in place.
His cell phone rang and he grabbed it and spoke while she got to work.
“Yeah? No, that’s not a problem. I received that package already,” he said. “I won’t be sending it back.”
He listened intently for a few more seconds before he hung up. “You’re going to keep asking me questions, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
He groaned and she ignored him.
“Were you ever married?” she asked, because the thought of sharing Jake with anyone, even in the past tense, did not sit well with her. She took his snort as a resounding no.
“What about you?” he asked.
“I was engaged. But it wasn’t going to work out. We’d drifted apart before my last tour with Doctors Without Borders. We were never really all that together, I guess. Good on paper, though.”
“Another doctor?”
“Yes. Nice guy, but he never did understand what I was doing in Africa. He never would’ve understood me working for the Navy.” She finished her work, rubbed some wet gauze over the wound, to clean up some of the blood and Betadine, and sat back in her chair.
“I’m sure a lot of people won’t get the appeal. I mean, you’re sure not going to make the money you’d make on the outside,” he said.
“It’s not about that. Even though Uncle Cal had to spend a little time talking me into it, in the end, the decision was easy. I feel like it’s in my blood. My father was career Navy. KIA. I mean, I was little when it happened, but I still remember.” She stopped for a breath. “That probably sounds really stupid and idealistic.”
He paused for a second, then he ran his own fingers through his hair. He was still staring at the ceiling. “My stepfather was a Marine for a while. Tried out for the frogmen twice but never made it, so when it was my turn, I made sure that I did.”
She opened her mouth to say, He must be proud of you, but nothing came out. Because she knew it wouldn’t be true.
The pause on her end went on a little too long. Jake turned to look at her, his eyes the color of a dark storm cloud and she had a strong feeling he’d gone down this road on purpose.
His lips pressed into a thin, grim line, his eyes locked on hers, but he didn’t make a move to get up off the bed. “You remember everything about the night of the rescue, don’t you?”
“Jake, if I could just—”
“Answer me.” The inherent command in his tone couldn’t be ignored.
“Yes,” she said. “Just let me explain.”
“I don’t want explanations. And I don’t want to have to explain anything to anyone.”
“I didn’t realize that I was just anyone,” she said angrily, moved forward to finish bandaging up his side so she could get out of this room and this house.
But Jake had other plans. He leaned up on one elbow, put his other hand on the back of her neck and pulled her mouth to his. He kissed her—hard—and she let him, because he was kissing her as if both their lives depended on it, like he wasn’t mad at her anymore. Like somehow there was another apology in this kiss, and so much more.
He tasted like chocolate and mint and whiskey, and she put her hands on the mattress, next to him, because she was nearly off her chair and within a minute would be on top of him. Her body pulsed, her nipples puckered tigh
tly until they were nearly painful against the lace fabric of her bra and longing for his touch.
As much as she wanted that, dreamed of that, as much as her body seemed to suddenly demand it, she still pulled away from his mouth.
“Jake,” she whispered against his cheek, even as his hands stroked her lower back. “I’m not …”
“Ready for this. I know,” he said. His voice was ragged, and he continued to hold her for a few seconds before pulling it together and taking his hands completely off of her.
Her own hands shook slightly as she sat back down and finished fixing the bandage. “You need to stay on the antibiotics,” she said, as though her body wasn’t aching for his.
“I will.” He sat up facing her and pulled his T-shirt on quickly. “You’ll stay here tonight. I’ll have you back before the admiral realizes you snuck out.”
“I never said I snuck out.”
“You didn’t have to. T-shirts and shorts are in the dresser. Help yourself. I’ll just be out here on the couch if you need anything.” He started out the door.
Her heart beat impossibly fast and she rubbed her mouth with her fingers. Her lips felt full, tingling. The way he’d kissed her, like he wasn’t afraid she’d break if he’d really touched her, had nearly broken her.
But she hadn’t. There was something between them—she hadn’t imagined it. And in his room, she was more at home than she’d been in a long time.
“Isabelle?”
She turned to see him standing in the doorway. “Yes?”
“Lock the door,” he said, before closing it.
She hesitated for only a moment before doing what he told her, although she realized that it was merely a formality. A lock wasn’t going to keep Jake Hansen out of her bed or out of her life.
At least not for long.
CHAPTER
4
The lock wouldn’t keep Jake out at all, mainly because it hadn’t worked for years. But Isabelle didn’t know that, and he knew it would make her feel safe—and keep him honest.
Hard to Hold Page 5