Hot Alpha SEALs: Military Romance Megaset

by Sharon Hamilton

  Forcing himself to back away, he gave her a mock salute. “Have a nice night, Angel.”

  He was almost to the door when she called his name. Unable to deny one last glance of her he turned…and caught her in his arms as she pressed up against his body. Strong arms wrapped around his neck, then her lips found his. Shock held him immobile for several long seconds, then he let himself sink into the heat of her mouth. She tasted of hope and sex, two things his life had been completely bereft of for too long. Unable to do otherwise, he took everything she had to give. Cupping her jaw, he tilted his head for a better angle.

  Max lost all sense of time and space as he cradled her to him, basking in the warmth she poured into his soul. It burned away the fogginess he walked through every day and sharpened the need he’d felt, but tried not to acknowledge. He hardened against her lush belly. Flexing into her softness, he let his hands drift south to cup her hips.

  Lacey cried out against his mouth and rocked her pelvis into his erection. Max could have easily dropped to the floor and satisfied them both, but some niggling sense of chivalry made him hesitate. What right did he have to take advantage of her kindness that way?

  Max shuddered as he slowed his movements and prayed he had the strength to actually let her go. Lacey tugged herself out of his arms though, leaving him feeling more bereft than before. Her bright eyes were languid with desire and her cheeks were flushed with arousal. The lips he’d feasted at were puffy from his attention.

  Max had never seen anything more beautiful.

  Lacey rubbed her face with her hands and folded her arms beneath her sharp-nippled breasts. “I didn’t mean for it to go that far. I’m sorry I attacked you that way.”

  Chuckling, he stroked a finger down her cheek. “It was definitely unexpected.” He paused, knowing he had to create some distance. “I don’t know if we should do it again, though. You’re a nice lady, Lacey, but I’m not a good bet.”

  Her eyes narrowed on his and he could almost feel the ire building. “You damn well could be, if you gave yourself a chance. You need help, Max, to see what I see.”

  Turning away, she crossed to a small desk and grabbed a pen and paper. His eyes traced down her narrow back as she scribbled something down, then added another line of script. For some reason his throat was tight, as if he’d just missed his boat.

  Lacey returned and held the paper out to him. Max took it reluctantly, reading the neat lettering on the page. Eric O’Hanrahan. There was a string of letters after his name Max assumed meant he had a lot of schooling.

  “I don’t need this.”

  He tried to hand the paper back but she held her hands up defensively. “You need it. Your doctors are trying to medicate the problem away and you’re not dealing with the underlying issue. I’ve seen it before when I worked at Walter Reed. And it’s not something you can kick on your own.”

  Max’s eyes narrowed on her and her assertions suddenly took on weight. If she’d worked at Walter Reed, maybe she was seeing something he didn’t. Without saying anything more, he took the paper from her hand and folded it away, then walked out the door.

  Chapter Five

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  Lacey forced the tears back as she watched his strong back disappear through her door. Dragging in gulps of oxygen, she tried to make sense of what she’d just done.

  Hopefully enough to get him to seek help.

  Technically he wasn’t a patient, but her professional demeanor had completely gone out the window with Maxwell Tate. What the hell had she been thinking, kissing him like that?

  Pushing the door shut, she leaned her back against it, praying that he would use the information she’d given him. He was seriously overmedicated and those medications were making him suicidal. Was that the complete answer? Probably not. But the pills concerned her the most.

  No matter what he’d done he deserved to be treated with the utmost care by the medical community he depended upon, and it wasn’t happening. She had a feeling they were all trying to medicate the problem away.

  She’d seen it before.

  Max put the paper on the fridge door, though he doubted he would use it. He’d already been to so many doctors and counselors it wasn’t even funny. They couldn’t make him feel better about getting his team killed. Only the pills dulled the pain enough to make him forget. Yes, he knew he probably took too many, but he didn’t know any other way to deal.

  Over the next few days, every time he went to the fridge for a beer, the swirly, feminine writing on the butterfly paper caught his gaze, silently demanding attention. At the bottom she’d written her name and her phone number. He’d long ago memorized it. In frustration one night he crumpled the paper and tossed it in the trashcan. When he reached inside the fridge for a beer, he realized he’d already emptied it.

  Cursing roundly, he went to the bedroom for his pants and wallet. His bike was still in the shop, so at the base of the stairs he turned for the street. The closest gas station was only a couple blocks away. He could walk to it.

  He trudged toward the lit corner, falling into a mindless rhythm. When the attack came from behind, he didn’t even have the chance to defend himself. Fists pummeled him from every direction, stealing his air and sight almost immediately. When he hit the ground, kicks started flying his way. He felt something snap and assumed he’d just lost a couple of ribs. When a boot sailed toward his head, he was too slow to protect himself. His world went dark.

  Lacey rolled over in bed, reaching blindly for her phone. Carrie Underwood’s Blown Away blared. As she fumbled it to her ear, she had a flashback of receiving calls from Walter Reed.

  It wasn’t Walter Reed on the other end of the line. It was the local hospital. The woman on the other end described a man they had in their ER that sounded like Max.

  “Yes,” she confirmed, “that sounds like my upstairs neighbor.”

  She listened to the nurse on the other end of the line for several long seconds, then told her that she would be there in a few minutes.

  As she pressed the screen to end the call, she wondered what on earth had happened to her mundane life.

  The ER was fairly quiet when she walked in. An aide led her to a curtained off area, and when she pulled back the curtain, she found Max sprawled on a gurney, apparently asleep. The nurse escorting her smiled gently. “We gave him a sedative because he was agitated, but as soon as we told him you were coming he calmed. The police haven’t found who mugged him.”

  Lacey gave her a weak smile and stepped to the side of the bed. Max had a new bandage on his forehead, the corner of his mouth was swollen and there were other scattered bruises and scrapes down his body. His right eye was purple. All of the bandages she’d put on him hours before had been replaced.

  “He has three cracked ribs and a bump on his head, but no concussion. Looks like he was recently in a crash or something.”

  Nodding, she took the pill pack of pain pills the nurse handed her but dropped them in her purse. “Wrecked his bike last night.”

  The woman nodded with a knowing shake of her head.

  “Everything else looked okay. Keep him quiet and make him take deep breaths occasionally, even though it hurts.”

  Lacey nodded, familiar with the routine. Reaching out, she ran her hand through his thick, dark hair. Lion gold eyes popped open and stared straight at her, as if he’d known where she would be standing.

  Lacey forced a smile. “Hey, big man. You wanna blow this pop-sicle stand?”

  Without a word Max sat up with a surge, but he couldn’t contain the wince and gasp. He leaned on an arm, favoring his injured left side. Lacey held a hand out, but he ignored it and slid off the gurney. When the release nurse pushed a wheelchair forward, he dropped into it, again without a word.

  Max situated himself down into her car carefully, one broad hand clutching the doorframe. Once inside he rested his head on the headrest, eyes closed. When she parked the car, he climbed out to limp beside her. It wasn’t until Lacey let th
em into her apartment that he spoke.

  “I’m sorry they had to call you,” he told her. “Your number was the only one I could think of. They took my wallet and my bike’s still in the shop. The cops didn’t find my keys.”

  Lacey tried not to wince. In other words, if he’d had anybody else in the world to call, he would have. At the last minute, she’d written her number below Eric’s on that paper she’d handed him days ago. Apparently he’d memorized it. She wondered if he’d called the other number.

  “You’re fine, Max. I’m glad they called me. We’ll get in touch with maintenance tomorrow to get you new keys for your apartment.”

  He nodded and looked a little lost, standing in her living room.

  “Please, make yourself at home. Can I get you anything to eat or drink?”

  Shaking his head from side to side, he sank down onto the edge of the couch. Lacey turned on the TV and handed him the remote control, then walked down the hallway to put fresh sheets on her bed. She’d changed them just the other day, but Max sleeping in the same sheets she had seemed way too intimate. If he took the bed, she could sleep on the couch. Like she did every night before the infomercials woke her up.

  When she returned to the living room the screen had gone dark. Max was propped in the corner of the couch, body tilted at a strange angle to accommodate his sore side. He looked up when she stepped into the room.

  “Come on. I’ve made you a bed.”

  He pushed to his feet without a word and followed her down the hallway, hand across his midsection. When she led him into the master bedroom, he paused. “I don’t want to take your bed. I’ve already inconvenienced you enough.”

  Lacey shook her head. “You’re not inconveniencing me. I sleep on the couch a lot anyway.”

  Without arguing further he sat, then lay down, moving slowly to not jar himself.

  “If you lay on your hurt side it usually feels better,” she murmured, dragging the sheet over top of him.

  Max rolled onto his left side and sighed. “You’re right,” he whispered.

  Then, between one breath and the next, he was asleep, snuffling softly. Lacey stared down at him, once again wondering what the hell she was supposed to do with him. He was a borderline suicidal prescription drug addict who refused to get help. And he tied her heart in knots. After years of nursing experience, she had no way to distance herself from him.

  She went back out to the living room and lay down on the couch, pulling a quilt over top of herself.

  But, seemingly minutes later, something roused her. She padded to the bedroom door and peered in.

  Max had pushed the covers away and lay on his back, brow furrowed in pain. His fists were raised as if he planned to fight phantoms. Lacey called his name and he startled, but his head rocked toward her. For several seconds he blinked, obviously trying to right his reality. His fists released and he raised one hand to his head. “I can’t make sense of anything right now,” he whispered.

  And with those few words, her heart ached for him even more. She crossed to the bed and sank to the edge, her hip resting against his. “I know, Max. Just know that you’re in a safe place right now, okay? I can stay right here with you if you’d like.”

  Without a word he curled onto his left side again, but this time he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face into her thigh. Lacey wrapped her arm around his shoulders and tried to fight back tears. All her life she’d helped people, but she’d never been so affected by a tortured soul. What was it about this man, right now, that wouldn’t let her let go?

  She sat on the side of the bed like that for a long time, dozing off a few times. At some point, Max shifted back and she lay down beside him, pulling the sheet over them both. He wrapped his heavy arms around her and spooned her from behind. Lacey was a little worried when he wrapped his arms around her so tightly, but her body seemed to know everything was cool. Within seconds they were both asleep.

  Max opened his eyes then slammed them shut again. The damn window shades were open. He moved to roll over and realized his left arm was trapped. Panic gripped him until he realized that he wasn’t exactly being held down—there was just something on his arm. Slitting his eyes against the brightness, he opened them.

  An angel lay facing him, dark curly hair fluffed around her face, her full lips parted to breathe. Lacey. He remembered calling her to the hospital after he got mugged, but not much after that.

  Humiliation choked the air in his throat. He was a goddamned Navy SEAL, and he’d been mugged like a common citizen. He’d been so out of his head for a beer that he’d walked into an area muddle-headed from pills. Disgust coated his tongue and made his stomach twist. Thirty-two fucking years old and he was being mugged by kids and relying on women to come to his rescue.

  He was sick of this. Waking up wondering what the hell he’d done the night before. Losing time. Existing in limbo. Not being the man he remembered striving to be.

  Lacey raised her head, allowing him to pull his arm out from beneath her. He moved to sit up and was suddenly reminded he had broken ribs. And a knock on his skull. Along with five million other aches and pains. His skin burned form the road rash as the bandages chafed against it. Oh, yeah. “Fuck,” he breathed.

  Lacey sat up beside him and rested a hand on his back. “Can I get you some ibuprofen?”

  He nodded, holding his body as still as he could. He’d had a broken rib before, but not three. When Lacey returned with four small brown pills in her hand, he took them quickly. Then didn’t know what to do. Glancing at the clock on the bedside table, he saw it was too early to call the apartment management for keys. Easing back down against the mattress, he took a careful breath.

  “Dude, you’ve got the biggest black rain cloud following you right now,” Lacey told him. “Is your life always like this? One calamity after another?”

  He rolled his head to look at her and sighed. Damn, she was something. Mussed and her eyes a little swollen from sleep, but still incredibly beautiful.

  “No,” he answered finally. “At least not up until a few months ago. Then things truly went to hell. I will admit that the past two days have been spectacular.”

  She laughed a little, then laid back down beside him, her eyes drifting to a slit. “If you want to talk about it, I’m willing to listen.”

  Did he want to talk about it? He never had, other than detailed debriefs after the mission. Max blinked and looked up at the ceiling. He’d never had anybody interested enough to ask. “I lost men and my career when I took a bullet to the back. I have no air to do anything. I get winded running up the stairs.”

  “Wow,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

  Emotion suddenly tightened the grip on his throat and he had to blink repeatedly. She didn’t say anything, just lay with him as he remembered his men and tried to control his emotions.

  “I wondered about the scar on your back,” she whispered. “I’ve seen enough gunshot wounds to recognize them when I see them.”

  He rolled his head to look at her. “I bet you’ve seen bad stuff at Walter Reed.”

  “Mm,” she agreed. Her eyes drifted shut and he realized she was suddenly the one fighting not to lose it in front of the other.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  Lacey’s eyes opened and she gave him a weary smile. “That’s okay, Max. I think we’ve both seen more than we should have in our lives. But I’ve seen truly miraculous things as well.” Reaching over, she gave him a half hug but pulled away entirely too soon. She gave his undamaged arm a pat and stood up from the bed. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to take a quick shower. Then I’ll make us some breakfast.”

  He nodded, watching as she dug clothes from a bureau. There was a flash of red panties before she buried them in the pile. As she disappeared into the bathroom, his senses sharpened and he listened to her movements inside. The shower came on, then there was rustling as things dropped to the floor. During a quiet pause, he imagined he
r standing naked in front of the shower, waiting for the stream to warm. Then came the sound of splashing water as she stepped inside.

  Arousal flowed through his body, in spite of the innumerable aches and pains he was dealing with and he took a minute to wrap his hand around his dick. It had been a long time since he’d been interested in anything, so he allowed himself to enjoy the feeling for a moment. In another life he’d have joined her in that shower without hesitation.

  He must have dozed off listening to the water fall and his hand on his dick, because when he next opened his eyes, Lacey stood at the side of the bed. Her damp, dark hair was pulled to the side of her neck and her face was clear of makeup. She smiled at him and held out a steaming cup. “Thought you might like a cup of tea. Sorry it’s not coffee.”

  Max pushed himself upright in the bed as carefully as he could and leaned back against the headboard, taking the mug in his hands. He had to smirk when he read, Yes, I’m your nurse. What stupid fucking thing did you do? on the side of the cup, but decided it was very appropriate. What stupid thing hadn’t he done recently?

  Lacey disappeared down the hallway, returning a few seconds later with a plate of food. Max stared at it for several moments before taking it from her hands. It was more food than he’d eaten in the last week. Definitely healthier than the microwave shit he usually subsisted on. He set the tea on the bedside table and dug into the scrambled eggs and potatoes.

  His stomach didn’t know what to do at first; it went into shock. Once it realized real food was being supplied, it began to growl. And it didn’t stop until his plate was clean.

  Lacey smiled when she took it. “Looks like you were hungry,” she commented.

  Max choked out a short laugh, holding his ribs. “You have no idea.”

  Now that the food was gone though, his eyes began to get heavy.

  “You should take a nap,” Lacey told him.