Reckless Endangerment

by Amber Lea Easton

  “You were pretty confident I would come to my senses, weren’t you?” he asked. “It’s almost exactly like we talked about all those months ago. You paid attention to the details.”

  She leaned her hip against the large window overlooking the river, the amusement park and the mountains in the distance. Profile to him, she folded her arms over chest. How to act, what to say, what to expect, what not to expect. She wanted them back—the ease that they had once had—the trust—the unity.

  “I felt insane buying all of this stuff when you wouldn’t even see me,” she whispered. “I don’t know anything about kids…so…this is the bare minimum. I know Dalton has his own things, probably wants to pick out some new stuff, too, so…I was winging it.”

  “You’ve always been good on the fly.” He looked down at the river. Skateboarders moved past bike riders. A few pedestrians lounged on park benches. “Dalton will love it here.”

  “Will you love it here?”

  Their voices seemed overly loud in the empty room.

  “I’ve got a long way to go,” he said.

  “That’s your theme song, isn’t it? Long way to go…don’t we all?” She walked to the hallway. She rubbed the back of her neck and waited at the doorway to the master bedroom.

  The king size bed rested beneath a skylight. Windows lined the south wall that overlooked the river and the rest of the city. On a clear day, they could see Pikes Peak from this view. Two night tables, a dresser and a leather chair were the only other furniture in the room. Another flat screen took up the opposite wall above a dresser. Sparse for the big space, but she hadn’t wanted to fill it with furniture without his input.

  “I have some of your clothes here,” she said after finding her voice. “It’s all in the closet. It’s what you left in my hotel room. I also bought some things Monday night after seeing you in those ridiculous blue sweatpants, nothing fancy just some stuff I picked up at Target.”

  She opened the doors to the large walk-in closet and pointed toward his side. Feeling like the puppet master again, she sidestepped around him as he entered the space.

  He looked at her, brown eyes soft with emotion. “I never expected any of this. My side of the office. My side of the closet. You even have the perfect room for my son. You’ve been making plans. Do you ever stop thinking, moving and planning?”

  Self-conscious and unsure if he was happy or mad, she left the closet and walked toward the master bathroom. “And, um, the bathroom. I had bars installed and, um, a bench for the shower.” She waited for him to join her before grabbing the special showerhead that all the websites and books had recommended. “This should make things easy for you and I can…I will help, you know…I mean, it’s not like we haven’t showered together a hundred or so times.”

  “At least a hundred times.” He stared at the showerhead with a frown.

  She’d never been so uncertain about anything in her life as she was about him at this moment. Him showing up here had thrown off her plans. She had wanted to welcome him home with a big event of some kind, instead their friends were expected back at any moment, she was dirty, bruised and battered, he was on the lam from New Horizons and FBI agents lurked outside. Not exactly the perfect homecoming. Then again, nothing in their relationship had been ideal.

  Without saying a word, he backed from the bathroom and moved toward the closet. She sat on the edge of the bed and watched him look through his clothes. Memories bound them as he looked from one item to another taken from her dusty hotel room a world away. His hand lingered on the white shirt he had worn on their wedding day—a simple white button down shirt that held enough significance to weigh down the room.

  “Does that door lock?” he asked after a long few minutes.

  She smiled at the look he gave her. My God, he wanted to fool around in this big king sized bed she had bought for them to share. “McGee, Devon and Marshall will be back any minute.”

  “So?” His slow smile sent her heart to the moon. “They’ll figure it out.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.” God help her, she blushed. How can a grown woman blush? She shook her head in self-disgust.

  He moved toward her, their roles reversed from a few days ago. He was in all out predator-mode. “C’mon, babe. Welcome me home.”

  Chapter Twelve

  He laughed at the absurdity of their situation. Never alone, not entirely. Always someone outside the door, someone waiting, limited time.

  She locked the bedroom door before turning slowly around. Her smile disappeared as they looked at each other across the small space.

  “Are you going to change your mind tomorrow?” she asked without moving from where she stood. “Push me away again? I don’t want to go all in here...believe in happily ever after only to be shut out at the end of the day.”

  He sobered. He deserved that question after all the months of treating her like an afterthought. He looked away from her and rubbed his hands over his thighs. His life plan hadn’t included all of these complications or hesitations. But, if he’d learned anything as a soldier, it was to adapt to circumstances. He exhaled a long breath and wondered when he’d forgotten that.

  He looked at her—his wife—really looked. Damn, she took his breath away. He felt certain that she always would, even when they were ninety year olds looking back on their life together, he felt certain she’d make his heart stop with a smile. He knew, too, that he wanted to be that guy sitting across from her when she was old...not someone else.

  “Are you absolutely sure you want to deal with me like this? You’ve seen how I am now. I get these moods…I’m a challenge, to put it mildly. Are you absolutely sure, no looking back, having everyone know about us, dealing with—”

  “Absolutely sure.” Her smile warmed his heart like a fire on a winter’s night. “Like I said the other night, I’ve been a little bored. You’ll liven up the place.”

  “Bored, hm?” He matched her smile with his own. “Then I’m really home?”

  “Yeah, you’re home.”

  She pulled the T-shirt over her head and tossed it away. As she walked toward him, she undid her bra and let it fall to her side.

  He bit his lip at the sight of the black bruises tinged with yellow that lined the side of her ribcage. Another bruise marred the top of her left breast, just above the bra line. Her left hip was purple and her knees were skinned raw.

  Some asshole had hurt his wife, touched her, kicked her. Helplessness warred with anger at the unknown assailant. He gripped the arms of his chair as she turned slowly in a circle, arms in the air. More scars. Older. From shrapnel, he assumed, when she’d ran back into the line of fire for him.

  “See? I have scars, too.” She looked at him over her shoulder. “Do you still want me, Michael? Scars and all?”

  “God, yes. How badly hurt were you in Afghanistan?” he asked. “No one told me.”

  She walked to the edge of the bed and pulled back the covers. “None of it matters now.”

  “It matters.” He grabbed her hips from behind and rested his head against the curve of her butt. “And Tuesday night?” His fingers stroked the outline of one of the fresh bruises. “How badly did these guys hurt you? Tell me.”

  “I’m fine, don’t worry about me. I’ve got it handled.” She turned in the circle of his arms, her fingers clasped in his hair. “Let’s figure out how to get you into this bed.”

  He smiled against her abdomen. For someone who had been confined to a bed for months, he couldn’t believe how badly he wanted to get back in one.

  “I hate that someone else touched you like this.” His fingers caressed the bruises from her hips to the rib cage and over her breast. “I want to hurt someone.”

  “Did you cheat on me?” She pulled his hair, forcing him to look at her. “Tell me the truth.”

  He laughed then at the absurdity of her question. He had been a mess of surgeries, depression and failed physical therapy. He hadn’t exactly been on the market.


  “Don’t laugh. I’m serious.” She bent over him, a veil of her hair framing his face. “I had all these ideas of you falling in love with some nurse who doted on you.”

  “My nurses hated me.” He caressed her back.

  “Nurses hated you, huh? Well, I guess I can believe that.” She pressed her lips against his neck before sliding down him to lock the brakes of his chair. Chin on his knee, she looked up at him with a grin that reminded him of sex and secrets and whispers in the night. “I don’t want any more accidents.”

  He grabbed her hair and pulled until her face was an inch from his. He took his time watching her green eyes snap with desire and darken to a deep emerald shade. He felt his erection stir to life and grinned. Maybe his life plan could still turn out to be spectacular.

  “Would you marry me again, Hope Shane?” he asked without looking away from her eyes. “If I could get down on one knee and ask you to do it all over again, what would you say?”

  “I’d say hell ya.” She kissed him with the slowness of someone who wanted to savor every taste.

  He wanted more. He wanted her naked and on top of him. Skin on skin. Whatever happened, happened.

  “Bed,” he whispered against her lips. “Now.”

  “I love it when you order me around.” She caught his lower lip lightly between her teeth before standing.

  “This could get awkward,” he admitted as he reached for the side of the large bed. No hospital rails. No nurse. Just her. Just them alone for the first time in far too long.

  “Between us? Never.” She moved onto the bed and allowed him to pull himself up without her.

  Eyes locked on hers, he almost forgot about the chair, the injuries, all of it. None of it seemed to matter with her looking at him like he was the most loved person on earth. When she crawled on top of him, he enjoyed the view.

  And then he kissed her, feeling as if he had truly come home. Not to a house, but to a life. God, she felt good. Too good. Too much like a dream.

  “On the helicopter, I prayed for the first time in years.” Her hands curled into the hair at his temple. “On my knees next to you, I prayed that you’d live and I didn’t give a damn how many of your friends heard me, I didn’t give a damn if I made a fool of myself. And I prayed and I prayed and I prayed for one more time, one more day with you.”

  “But I’m not—”

  “Do not ever tell me again what you are not.” Fingers pulled at his hair. “I know what you are.”

  “I don’t want to disappoint you anymore.” The words scraped like fishhooks pulling on the inside of his throat.

  “We can be whatever we want, do whatever we want, however we want.” She kissed him then as if the world were ending around them, as if the bombs were exploding again and they were hiding in the back of Marishka’s house shrouded in darkness and surrounded by chaos.

  His hands curved over her ass with a will of their own and pressed her close. He deepened the kiss, needing her warmth and passion more than he had needed any therapy—physical or otherwise.

  “I feel like we’re breaking all the rules,” she whispered into his open mouth.

  “What rules?” His tongue flicked over her lips. “We’re just making this up as we go.”

  “Can you feel it, Michael? Can you feel that heat?”

  Oh, he could feel the heat.

  “Touch me,” she said into his mouth.

  His fingers slid beneath the flimsy panties before sliding inside her. Her warmth and wetness welcomed his touch. He hadn’t felt so much sensation in months and it overwhelmed him now. God, if only…he banished the thought as he felt her muscles contract around his fingers, her tongue in his mouth and her breast filling his hand.

  She wanted him. Like this. Here in this bed, in the moment, she wanted him.

  “I need you so badly.” She moved against his hand, her breath hot against his skin.

  Her low laugh made him grin. He’d missed that laugh of hers that he only heard when he had her in bed.

  “Michael.” Her hands were everywhere, moving over his hair, his shoulders, his chest. She yanked the sweatshirt from over his head before maneuvering him onto his back. “I missed making love with you, wrapping myself around you, having you deep inside me. I missed you so much.”

  “We’re getting carried away,” he muttered against the top of her head as she bent over this chest. Not that he cared much about getting carried away. It had been too long since he’d gotten carried away.

  She kissed the center of his chest, licked him. Her hands pulled the sweatpants from his legs. “I never want to see you in those damn blue sweatpants again. Here me?”

  “Never again. I promise.” He laughed at the ceiling and let her strip him naked.

  Her hands moved over the width of his hips, the length of his legs, the hardness of his ass. Her fingers traced the outline of his death before dishonor tattoo centered over his chest. Her hair brushed over his skin as she kissed the tattoo with as much reverence as she did the first time she saw it.

  His hands were in her hair, pulling her up. “Kiss me, Hope.”

  She straddled him, mouths merged with an urgency neither cared to control.

  His hands moved from her breasts to her butt while his mouth worked magic on her neck. He touched her like an explorer staking claim on new territory. She grabbed the headboard with one hand while her other held his head to her breast. His fingers were inside her, moving with expert rhythm. Teeth grazed her nipple.

  She surrendered completely, allowed him to taste where he needed, touch where he desired, and move her where he wanted.

  And when he guided her hips toward his face, she moaned aloud with wanting and need. His mouth found what he craved. He licked her while plunging his fingers inside her. He needed the taste of her on his tongue, needed her body moving over him, needed the feel of her wetness on his hand.

  “Michael, please,” she begged. “Please.” Both hands flat against the wall, she dropped her head back and shuddered with ecstasy.

  He slid her body down his until they were face-to-face, both panting and wet. They kissed as if they’d never been apart, as if time had never separated them, as if they were still locked behind the closed doors of a hotel while war raged outside.

  “I missed you so much,” she said against his face. Fingers laced with his against the pillow.

  His lips slid over hers. “We need to do that more often.”

  “As often as possible, I agree.”

  “I have craved you,” he whispered against her ear. “Didn’t imagine…”

  “You still turn me into a puddle, you know.”

  “A puddle, hmm?”

  “I missed the way you order me around in bed. Get naked, up here, down there,” she laughed against his neck.

  “I don’t order you around.”

  “You do, too.” She propped up on her elbows and looked into his eyes. “I’m surprised you don’t want me to call you sir.”

  He laughed again, the entire bed vibrating. “Like you would, if I asked.”

  “Sir,” she teased. “What position would you like me in, sir? Or do you prefer Colonel Cedars?” She rose up slowly, dragging her hands down his arms. “What are your orders, Colonel Cedars?”

  He snagged her wrist. “Careful, I’m actually enjoying that.”

  “I knew you would.” She lowered her head and kissed his neck.

  His hands tangled in her hair. “Touch me.”

  “I am touching you.”

  He moved her hand down to his penis. “Hurts like hell but you have no idea how thrilled I am to see it. I can’t actually move, though, so…if you want…you need to do the work.”

  “You feel me?” Her fingers curved over him. “You can feel this?”

  “I feel something, yes, not like it used to be, though, but something, yeah.”

  And they laughed together with sheets twisted around them and her hand over him.

  “I know I said it wasn’t all about the sex
but…” she let her words trail off as she lowered her head to taste him. Even if he couldn’t feel her exactly, he could see her, see how she wanted, see how she accepted.

  Agony ripped up his back. Muscles contorted. He squeezed the back of her head. Damn it. Not now.

  “I broke you,” she said.

  “Don’t move. Spasm.” He stared into her eyes as the pain ripped up his back. His back arched against her bare chest.

  “Every time I touch you, I hurt you.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I’m pushing you too hard, too fast.”

  “No.” He shook his head and held her as tightly as he could without hurting her. Mouths touching but not kissing. Eyes a fraction from one another. “Not you.”

  “Remember Tuesday? Now here we are again. I—”

  “Every day.” He managed between clenched teeth, willing her to understand that it wasn’t her that caused his pain. She made him feel normal, feel invincible again.

  “I should call McGee.”

  Unbelievably, he laughed through the pain. The idea of McGee coming to his rescue as they both lay naked in bed was too much. She laughed, too, with tears in her eyes.

  “Bad idea?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” He nodded. Stabs of pain jolted down his neck with the movement. “Give me a minute. Don’t move.”

  But she did move. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her forehead against his until the spasms ceased. All the while she whispered against his skin about how much she loved him, how he was home now, how she would try hard not to break him, how much she’d missed holding him.

  When the pain subsided, he flattened his palms against her back and breathed in the essence of her. “It’s not you. It’s not what we were doing that causes the pain.”

  She propped herself up on her elbows, a skeptical smile on her face. “You just don’t want me to stop getting naked around you.”

  “True.” He shoved the hair away from her face and held her close to him. “But after a physical therapy session like I had today…like I have every day…I have these spasms. You’re right. I do have medication, none of which is with me. I didn’t even bring my wallet. I didn’t plan ahead.”