“Can I have this?”
“We’re supposed to have lunch in a few minutes.” He wondered what Noel asked Santa for—maybe he should have gone with her so he could hear the request.
“So?” Chrissy giggled.
“True.” Sliding a look at her, he grinned. “Go ahead.”
“Do you wanna know what I asked for?” She made short work of the plastic wrap and stuck the green lollipop in her mouth.
“Isn’t it a secret? You know if you tell, then it won’t come true?”
“Nah.” She shrugged. “That’s birthday wishes. Asking Santa isn’t a wish—well, it is kinda—but I’ll tell you if you want.”
Noel laughed at the Santa and when the photographer went to take her picture, her gaze latched onto Rebel’s and her electric smile sent a jolt right to his heart. He might have to frame that picture of her. Chrissy tugged on his arm.
“Can I tell you, Sergeant?”
Yeah, he really couldn’t tell her no. “If you want.”
She tugged his arm and he braced a hand on the rail so he could crouch down. Chrissy whispered, “I asked him for a letter from my dad for my mom. Mommy misses him, but we’re reading and she still has trouble saying words, so I asked him for a letter from my daddy so I can read her the letter on Christmas.”
Aw, hell. Rebel swallowed the hard lump in his throat. “That’s a great idea, Chrissy.”
She beamed under the praise and when Noel joined them, she gave him a questioning look, but he shook his head. He was already trying to figure out how the hell he could make Chrissy’s request come true.
***
Rebel had been a trouper all day, and when they returned Chrissy to the group at lunch, he hadn’t complained about eating with them. In fact, Noel noted with amusement, he’d abandoned her to chat with Mike’s Place founder Luke, and the facility’s lead psychologist, James, for nearly twenty minutes. When she and Rebel set out again, they ended up with another group of kids—all of whom wanted to do pictures with Santa and shopping.
Thankfully, Logan and Zach corralled a group of twelve-year-olds to round up the purchased bags, including hers, and carried their haul out to free them up for more shopping. A fresh surprise came in the form of Rebel inviting more kids to tag along with their shopping—and taking lead in directing the rest of their expedition. Noel hadn’t minded the pair of brothers he’d semi-adopted. She’d already found a half-dozen gifts for her cousins and younger siblings—and she still needed to find something for Joseph and his new wife, as well as her parents.
But Rebel tackled it all systematically, getting lists from all of them, consulting the mall map and then they went to it. By four, they’d found nearly everything they’d been looking for—and she noticed his limp. They’d been on the go and on their feet most of the day. Once they’d loaded the last of the bags into her car and settled in the front seat, she turned to him.
“How bad?”
Thankfully, Rebel didn’t pretend to misunderstand the question. “I may have overdone—my right is a hell of a lot more sore than my left.” He rubbed his thigh. “But I can deal.” When she scowled, he stretched toward her and delivered a sweet kiss. “I had fun.”
The three words melted her ire. “Really?”
“Yes.” He chuckled and teased her with another kiss. If the first brush of his lips had been electric, the second cocooned her in a lazy heat she wanted to snuggle deeper in. “Hmm…come to my place tonight?”
Her stomach bottomed out. “We just started dating….” It didn’t mean she wasn’t interested, but weren’t they rushing things?
“I meant to help with me with my legs if I really did overdo it, you dirty, dirty girl. Promise me you’ll be just as dirty when we’re in private?” His playful leer made her laugh, but it also gave her ideas.
“Depends….” she whispered and braced her palm against the passenger seat while she twisted to look behind the car and back out.
He pounced. “On?”
“I have to be up early tomorrow.”
“I have an alarm clock.” Undeterred, he ticked off the item on his index finger.
Still laughing, she concentrated on navigating through the heavy traffic exiting the mall. “I’m starving.”
“I actually have groceries.” He mimed a check mark in the air. “And I can make spaghetti.” Her stomach growled agreeably at the suggestion and it was his turn to laugh. “Anything else?”
Her chest locked up and a fresh set of butterflies went crazy in her gut. “I have to make some phone calls.”
“Okay, that’s just boring.” Rebel’s unswerving gaze rubbed along her like a physical caress. The setting sun gave way to evening dark and lights flashing their holiday cheer decorated the landscape.
Fixing her attention ahead, she blew out a long breath and said, “One of the calls is to your mother.”
Silence fell like an icy blanket, extinguishing all the playfulness. She let him chew on the thought—she’d done a hell of a lot of pushing today. While she hadn’t planned for Chrissy to ambush him there at the mall, the little girl’s influence couldn’t be discounted. He’d gone out of his way to make her smile, including standing in the line for Santa and nudging Noel up there, too. She hadn’t missed him slipping one of the wallet photographs into his pocket.
“Why do you have to call Mom?” His question pulled her back to the present. He was quiet, intense, and reflective.
True-confession time. “I talk to her every week. I have since you were admitted to Mike’s Place. It’s standard procedure—particularly when families aren’t able to be here. Everyone is included in the recovery process.”
“I didn’t realize that.” He sighed. “I mean, I know you spoke to her a couple of times in the beginning, but….”
“You wouldn’t talk to her. And yes, I know you called and you gave her progress reports, but they were perfunctory—her words, not mine. She was worried about her baby, so I kept calling her, and I guess we kind of became friends.” It may have sounded odd to Rebel, but Noel developed a fondness for many of the families of her patients. She was often their lifeline to what was happening with their loved ones—especially those too far away to be a part of the day-to-day recovery process. Frustration, desperation, and apathy—she’d seen it all in the families—but she’d also seen determination, hope, and unreserved support.
Sometimes, James had told her once, it was their job to be the bridge between those disparate reactions and help everyone find a happy medium—especially their patients.
“I didn’t mean to not talk to her.”
Thoughtful and self-reflective were both good reactions, but she didn’t want him to beat himself up. “She knows that. But she’s still your mom and she worries. When I talk to her, I can tell her stories—give her a taste of how your days go, what accomplishments you’ve made, and your mood. I like to think it does help her not to worry too much.” Noel laughed a little. “Your mom adores you and she respects your space, which I think is awesome. Mostly because my mom…you’d need a crowbar to remove her, and she’d drive me out of my mind.”
“I know she was there when I woke up.” He drummed his fingers on one leg. “Did you meet her then?”
“Yes.”
Rebel had undergone at least two surgeries and been in and out of consciousness. During his admission to Mike’s Place, he’d been on high doses of painkillers and not always coherent. She had met both he and his mother during his first few days on campus, and one of Noel’s first jobs with him had been to get him to eat.
“A lot of that time is pretty fuzzy.”
“Probably for the best.” Giving into the impulsive urge to hold his hand, she took a longer route home. They’d passed a lot of lit up buildings and residences during the drive and he hadn’t had any negative reactions. Maybe he was too distracted to notice them, or maybe they weren’t as big of a trigger as they had been. Sometimes—changes in environment helped.
“I kind of wish I r
emember what our first meeting….”
As if conjured by his wistfulness, she remembered him clearly. Pale and gaunt, with deep shadows cutting grooves beneath his eyes, he’d been so still in his bed. Even with firm muscle tone and determination, he’d seemed so utterly vulnerable then. She’d taken his stats, checked his bandages, then sat down with his mother and held her while she cried.
Nearly three days later, he’d opened his eyes for the first time when she’d been in the room and he’d given her the sweetest look. And said I looked like a dream….
“You’re smiling,” Reb murmured.
“I was thinking about the first time I met you and the first time you woke up.”
“I’ll tell you mine if you’ll tell me yours….” Sensuality drowned out the traces of melancholy in his tone. Desire bloomed hot and fierce, and she blew out another breath.
Keep it together…. “It was your first week at Mike’s Place, but you were asleep—probably the sweetest you’ve ever been.” His bark of laughter was reward enough. She found a spot to park and slanted a look at him. “Well? I told you mine.”
“I don’t know what day it was, but I said you looked like a dream, you told me to go to sleep, and then I asked you for your number.” The admission kicked her in the heart.
“You remember that?”
“Yeah.” His slow smile turned her inside out. “I remember because you said it was 555-BABE.”
Noel covered her mouth. “Oh, my God—”
“But my favorite part is what BABE stands for.” The smolder in his grin lit another match under her resistance. Give this man an inch and he’d take her all the way to home plate.
“You can’t remember that, you were really medicated….”
“If I remember it—you come inside and spend the night.” He traced a finger down her arm.
“Rebel—” Damn if she didn’t want to, but were they really ready for that?
“I don’t care if you sleep on top of the covers or under them with me—you can even sleep on the sofa, but I’d prefer the bed. Just—stay.”
Moistening her lips, she nodded slowly. “Okay, if you have my number, then.”
“Oh, I have it.” He caught her hand and tugged it away from her mouth and punctuated his response with a kiss to each of her fingertips. “Balanced. Authentic. Bold—and my personal favorite—erotic.”
Oh, yeah. He has my number….
Chapter Five
Walking from the car to the apartment proved more of a challenge than talking Noel into staying. What had been a nagging ache at the mall turned into raw skin and a blister—damn it. Thank God for her though. She made soothing noises as she helped remove the prosthetics, cleaned up his stumps, and rewrapped them until the burn alleviated. Only then did she torture him with a massage.
A puddle of warmed muscles and half-asleep on the sofa, Rebel dozed while she made her phone calls. He loved the way she spoke to people on the phone, no matter whether she was brisk and factual about a medical status, or offered emotional support as she explained why some patients were less enthusiastic about their family involvement, she never failed to be kind.
“When you get to my mom, let me know,” he said when she hung up from the most recent call. “I want to talk to her.”
“Yeah?” She stroked her fingers through his hair.
“Yeah.” His scalp tingled with every gentle caress. “I need a haircut, too.”
“Hmm, I kind of like it a little longer. It’s soft.”
The compliment rolled over him. “Yeah?” Peeking up at her, he grinned. “Maybe I’ll keep it a little beyond regulation for you, then.”
“Tease.” She winked.
Chuckling softly, he cupped her nape and she accepted the invitation. The sweet hesitation in her gentle nuzzle at the corner of his mouth tormented the hell out of him. He shifted and dragged his tongue across the seam of her lips, and she opened to him. Claiming her mouth, he delved inside and her soft moan was all the encouragement he needed.
She tasted so familiar, but exotic in the same breath. Deepening the kiss, he kneaded her tight muscles, skating his thumb over her soft, silky skin and her pulse beat madly—or maybe it was his. Her second breathy, low moan went straight to his cock and he wanted her in a bed, below him, and crying out his name.
The intoxicating scent of her—peppermint with hints of vanilla, sexy, sweet, and fresh, wrapped around him. A man could drown in her scent. Dark, hot arousal burned in him and he lost himself in her. When she shuddered, he slid his free hand to her breast. Brushing a thumb over her nipple, he delighted in the pebbling of the tip beneath the fabric.
Noel dug her fingers into his shoulder and his control began to slip. He craved the feel of her nails raking down his back, and the idea of her hair fanned over a pillow, hearing the long, low, sultry cries as he discovered every glorious inch of her body. Holding her was a revelation, but he needed to make it as special for her as he knew it would be for him—and special meant that he carried her into the bedroom, not the other way around.
With regret, he pulled away. The fever in her eyes threatened to drag him under once more, but he adjusted his hold on her and caressed her lower lip. “You have more phone calls to make.”
Her slow blink of confusion fed his ego. “I’m sorry.” She licked her lips and he imagined repeating the action—in slow motion. “Who am I again?”
A burst of laughter rocked through him, puncturing the raw heat. “My lady.” He’d staked his claim. His woman. His funny, sassy, and oftentimes obstinate and determined woman.
All that mattered—she was his.
“I’m going to call your mom now, smartass.” She pressed a kiss to his finger as he traced the line of her mouth. “You still want to speak to her?”
Right then, he felt like he could fly. “Yes ma’am, I do.” The conversation was stilted at first. He didn’t know exactly what to say to her when she answered the phone. Stretched out on the sofa with his head in Noel’s lap, he found the words came easier and easier.
He skirted the issue of where Noel would sleep until she declared it was time for bed. Emotionally exhausted, but exhilarated at the same time, he didn’t argue. He kept a wheelchair in the house and he headed in to wash his face and brush his teeth while she got the coffeemaker ready for the next morning.
“What time do you have to be up?” He’d changed into shorts for sleeping and eyed the clock on the nightstand. Noel had borrowed his bathroom as soon as he’d finished.
“Seven,” she answered, the partially closed door muffling her voice. The sound of water running interrupted them, and he imagined her washing her face, brushing her teeth—getting turned on by such mundane activities didn’t prepare him for when the water cut off and she opened the door.
“Hey….” she said.
All he saw was her long legs. She’d borrowed one of his T-shirts and it hit her at mid-thigh. Her long, wavy brown hair flowed around her shoulders and seemed to shine in the warm lamplight. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and his brain stuttered. “Hey.”
Pushing away from the door, she strolled toward him. “So I was thinking….”
“Yeah?” He couldn’t stop staring at her. She teased him with her gaze, and he’d been shirtless around her any number of times—hell, he’d been naked. She’d touched him everywhere, eased cramps in his thighs, rubbed his shoulders, massaged his arms—but this was different.
There was nothing clinical in the way she watched him or the heat licking over his skin in response. Stopping right in front of him, she kept her hands loose at her sides and he had to angle his head to meet her gaze. He waited, unable to do anything else.
“Do you have any idea what it does to me when you look at me like that?” she asked.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re a starving man and I’m the first meal you’ve seen in a long time.” The minute she’d said the words, she swallowed hard.
Hard.
The
air between them thickened, and his heart slowed. The whole world narrowed down to that moment, and he studied her.
She was nervous. His beautiful, vibrant, wildly strong woman was anxious. The revelation took the edginess off.
“C’mere,” he invited and she closed the distance between them. Trailing his fingers up the backs of her thighs, he cupped her ass—her deliciously bare ass under the cotton of his shirt and lifted her until she straddled his lap. The silky dampness of her heat tormented the hell out of him, but he settled her in place and held completely still.
“I like looking at you,” he whispered half-to-her and half-to-himself. “I keep telling myself we have to take it slow, but it feels good to look at you—to want you—to touch you. And I like how you look at me, too.”
She shuddered and the action stroked him through the fabric of his shorts. The liquid heat beckoned, but he kept his grip on her gentle. Right then, it wasn’t about him, but about her. She balanced, resting her hands on his shoulders, but she made no move to pull away or to take control of her weight.
The trust speared him.
“I’m scared,” she admitted, and since he’d suspected as much—he only nodded.
“Of what?” He ordered his body to behave itself. Months of grueling therapy had given him a rigid sense of self-control. Noel needed him and by God, he would be exactly what she needed. “You know you can tell me anything,” he soothed when she continued to hesitate. If she retreated, it would hurt—but he would accept it.
Salter kissing her lit something in him, and he’d pushed hard all week. Pushed to keep her close and gotten drunk off her kisses. He could afford to be patient.
Her lashes lowered, shielding her eyes and when she raised them again, desire and worry flickered in their depths. “Worried that you’re attached to me because of your recovery.”
Have Yourself a Marine Christmas (Always a Marine) Page 6