He came toward her and lifted her into his arms again. After setting her on the bed, he rolled on a condom and then covered her body with his. All she could think of was how lucky she was that he was hers. Never in her life had someone touched her heart, mind and soul the way Mano did. She couldn’t think of another person who could be her other half, her soul mate. As he slipped into her body and sent her over the edge of orgasm, her mind thought of nothing but this man, her love.
The End
About the Author:
Born to an Air Force family at an Army hospital, Melissa has always been a little screwy. She was further warped by her years of watching Monty Python movies and her strange family.
From the time she read To Kill a Mockingbird in the seventh grade, she dreamed of being a writer. After years of struggling, trying to write short stories filled with angst, she finally listened to her college writing instructor, and allowed her natural comedic voice to shine through.
She is a military wife and mother to two military brats and an adopted dog daughter, and lives wherever the military sticks them. Which, she is sure, will involve heat and bugs only seen on the Animal Discovery Channel. In her spare time, she reads, cooks, reads, travels, reads some more, and dreams of living somewhere the bugs die in the winter.
She LOVES hearing from her readers.
Book 3
Wounded Hearts
Karen Monroe
Dedication
This book is absolutely and positively dedicated to my best friend in the whole wide world, Elizabeth. Without you man!!! This might not have happened.
Also very big thanks to my good friends Dee S. Knight, Jane R. and the members of Critique-Corner. All you folks are wonderful people.
And last, but certainly not least, kudos and great job to Alyssa Brooks and Melissa Schroeder. We did it!!!
Foreword
As member of the United States Navy, my goal was to make Wounded Hearts as accurate in tone as possible. Though for the average civilian some of the terms and acronyms used maybe a bit confusing. So, to further your reading pleasure, I’ve added a glossary and some various links to sites that you may find helpful.
Happy Reading!
Karen Monroe
Chapter One
“Ma’am your two o’clock is here.”
“Thanks HM2. Show the patient to my room. I’ll be there in a moment.”
Holly listened absently as the door shut with a resounding click before taking a moment to remove the reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose.
Clutching her forehead in weariness, she inhaled and exhaled quickly.
God. I’m tired.
Today was supposed to have been an early day. She should have been outside enjoying the crisp Virginia winter. There’d been no rain or snow whatsoever and the sun had shone brightly while she was driving in this morning. But instead, one of the other doctors had called in sick at the last moment and suddenly her schedule became overbooked. Thankfully though, her two o’clock was the last appointment she had to meet with.
Squinting her eyes, Holly glanced at the front of the folder detailing the service member’s name and social security number. “Let’s see,” she murmured, flicking the file open so the pages smacked against one another. “Jeffrey Scott Gilcrist. DOB January 31, 1970. Wounded in Fallujah, Iraq. Complications with shrapnel, no infection detected.” Holly paused in the reading, paying particular attention to the next sentence. “Recommended for immediate review by MHS.”
MHS. Mental Health Services.
She laughed to herself. Such a nice, but determined, way of saying the man needed to see a psychiatrist.
Flicking through the rest of the red medical folder, she silently absorbed the contents. Aside from a host of injuries, in the last year alone he’d cracked three ribs, had his left shoulder grazed by the bullet of an M-16 and broken the metacarpal bone in his right hand.
Holly chuckled. She knew of one sure-fire way to break that bone and it usually involved a closed fist hitting something hard.
Definitely a hell-raiser.
It was obvious this particular sailor had been kicking up dust most of his life, since there was not one year in the folder, dating all the way back from his acceptance to the Naval Academy seventeen years ago, when he hadn’t been admitted for one or more medical problems. Now, he was here to see Mental Health.
“Well, that’s certainly one for the books. I’m surprised he hasn’t been here sooner,” she muttered to herself.
Special Ops forces like the SEALs were usually required to make frequent visits, especially those directly engaged in battle. Judging from the type and nature of his injuries received over the years, this sailor had to be a warrior. And, from the looks of it, the Commander had seen a lot of action.
Holly’s mind conjured up a picture of a gnarly-looking, tough-as-nails sailor, whose face was weathered and lined from many years of hard drinking. The “Right Spirit” campaign had been in effect for a few years, but Holly sincerely doubted the Navy’s effort to decrease alcohol abuse in the ranks had reached this man. From all appearances, the Commander lived dangerously, and probably enjoyed it more than he should.
Curiosity beckoned, and she turned toward her computer. Accessing BUPERS, the Navy’s answer to corporate HR, she logged into the confidential section. A few clicks and ticks later and Holly had all the answers she needed.
The first rule of a psychiatrist is never to meet with a patient unprepared. And, judging from what she’d just read, she would definitely need all her ducks in a row.
The man was a warrior, through and through. She’d met a lot Vietnam veterans suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder during her residency, and the one thing she’d learned was preparation was the key to success. She would have a fight on her hands if she approached him in the wrong way. Certainly, the last thing she needed was an altercation, physical or otherwise.
Shaking her head, she rose from her desk with quick fluidity, making sure to grab the medical folder along with a pen and writing pad.
“Okay. Well it’s time to take the bull by the horns. Especially if I ever want to go home.”
* * * *
“Here we are, sir. If you would just have a seat, Lieutenant Burton will be with you in a moment.”
Scott Gilcrist frowned before rolling his gaze around the elegant, obviously female office, taking in the understated pastel paintings lining the wall. “I thought I was meeting with Lieutenant Richard Carson.” He made sure to stress the male name.
“I’m sorry sir, but he’s SIQ today.”
“Then I’ll go ahead and reschedule.”
The Petty Officer smiled, flashing two deep dimples. “That’s not necessary, sir. Lieutenant Burton is already on her way. Just have a seat and make yourself comfortable.”
Scott opened his mouth to protest, but shut it when he glimpsed the look in the Corpsman’s eyes. He knew determination when he saw it, and he had a better chance of flying to the moon than he had of rescheduling this appointment.
Peering at the young woman, he retreated for the moment. “Anyone ever tell you that you’d make a great officer, HM2.”
“I’ve already put in my package, sir.”
“Good deal. I’m sure the next time we meet, I’ll be saluting you.”
“One can always dream,” she responded laughingly. “Just have a seat and relax, sir. You’re in good hands with the LT. She’s one of the best.”
Scott flicked his eyes around the room, declining to sit. “How long do these … things usually last?”
“It depends really. But you’re the Doc’s last appointment and she’s been here since 0500.”
“So, I might be in and out?”
“One can always dream,” she repeated her words from earlier, before turning to exit the room, leaving him alone.
Scott growled deep in his throat, dreading the seconds ticking loudly from the nearby wall clock. Resisting the urge to pace, he clenched his fists a
nd again allowed his gaze to wander.
An expensive Gem globe in the corner seemingly stood sentry over a pair of thick, plush blue cotton chairs angled at each end of a low-sitting mahogany-stained coffee table.
“At least it’s not a couch,” he mumbled.
He’d expected there to be a couch.
Don’t all shrinks have couches in their offices?
He lifted his shoulders slightly, refocusing his thoughts. Well, his first plan of attack had been not to lie down on a couch of any kind. He would have sat on the floor. Now that he knew he didn’t have to worry about carpet burn, he moved on to his next course of action: immediate removal from the hostile area.
Scott rolled his eyes again, frowning at the delicate female touches to the office. His nostrils flared and the faint, lingering scent of perfume teased his senses.
Okay, so most folks wouldn’t classify this as a hostile area, but then again most people weren’t like him.
Most people hadn’t seen what he’d seen.
He’d been briefed by several of his men as to what to expect from these … sessions. The thought of some person, a woman no less, trying to get inside his brain to determine what made him tick had a definite air of aggression about it. He would rather have single-handedly stormed Fidel Castro’s compound. Anything, absolutely anything, was preferable to this. It was just too bad he didn’t have a choice. Captain Martin, the Commanding Officer of his unit, had made that very clear when they’d spoken last week. He’d been compelled in the worst way to keep this appointment.
In other words, an order was an order.
Scott flicked his wrist, looking down at his watch. He’d only been here five minutes, but anxiety had stretched the time and his nerves. Breathing deeply, he reined in his emotions, blacking out the insidious feelings, so his mind went blank. It was a technique he often used before a battle.
The muscles in his face tightened and his jaw went rigid with tension. All of his senses came to life. Ambient sounds and smells careened around him. He could make out the voices coming from just outside the door. He could smell the brewing coffee from the lobby.
Primal.
That’s how he felt. Probably not the best way to greet a Navy doctor and a fellow officer but he couldn’t stop it. He was a caged animal—an angry caged animal.
Footsteps, delicate tapping from small feet clad in heeled shoes, echoed in the hallway. Scott narrowed his eyes, tuning in the sound so all the other noise faded away. He waited, breathing silently, and he wasn’t in the least surprised when a soft knock rapped against the door.
Was he supposed to say something? He figured he wasn’t, so he kept silent.
Another moment passed before the knob turned and the door opened slowly, bringing in a cool draft of air along with the strong smell of flowers.
“Commander Gilcrist?”
The Lieutenant had a voice like Lauren Bacall, husky and deep while being feminine and arousing at the same time. In his hyper state of awareness, he sensed things about the woman immediately without even turning around to face her.
She was of medium height, judging by the pitch and direction of her voice. The slow, assured way she spoke his name told him she was confident in her job and abilities. And, the fact that she remained poised in the doorway, waiting for his confirmation before making a move, told him she wasn’t stupid.
Good! He hoped she was scared enough to sign the forms needed to release him back into combat. He didn’t need therapy and she didn’t need the headache of him. If they could agree on that basic premise then this whole charade could be ended ASAP.
The seconds ticked by. Scott kept count by using the skills of his training. Part of him remained focused on the woman, while the rest of his functions focused on the surroundings.
“Commander Gilcrist?” the beautiful voice asked again, this time with a note of hesitancy. “You are Commander Jeffrey Scott Gilcrist, right?”
Smiling to himself, he answered slowly. “No one calls me Jeffrey, or Jeff. That’s my father.”
“Yes, your father…” the slight sounds of paper rustling against paper punctuated the silence, “…Admiral Jeffrey Bartholomew Gilcrist. He’s a member of the JC. Is that correct?”
Stunned, more so by the fact that she had accessed his service record than by the subtle sense of defiance in her tone, Scott regrouped as quickly as he could.
The woman had no idea who she was tangling with. “That information is classified,” he growled, hoping to infect the silly chit with a healthy dose of fear.
“I have a level-four clearance.”
Which meant she could only access his service record. His missions were off limits. “Good for you.”
A long pause sliced through the room after his flippant response, and Scott found it strange how the quick of quiet always sounded more fatal than the most notorious clamor. During a battle, the hushed calm was the most dreaded noise. The haunting silence meant death was approaching.
Something or someone lay in wait.
Gunshots, deathly screams, the sickening sound of gurgling blood in the throat—anything was preferable to nothing.
Right now though, something different than death and destruction invaded his mind. Thoughts much more pleasurable than the lingering screams of dying women and children.
Distantly, he remembered how long it had been since he’d last felt the slick heat of a clenching, tight pussy. Fifty-seven days, nearly to the hour, since a woman had screamed out his name in ecstasy.
His cock hardened in distinct response to the yet unseen woman standing in the doorway. If she could challenge him and he hadn’t even seen her, what would she be like in bed with her legs spread wide?
Interesting notion.
The very thought spurred Scott to turn around and face his therapist.
Chapter Two
The cobalt blue eyes gazing intently in her direction made Holly realize three things immediately.
First, she had assumed wrong about Commander Gilcrist. He wasn’t gnarly looking. In fact, he was one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen in her life. Second, though he probably was tough as nails, there was an air of civility that coated his surface. It was a thin layer, but it was there nonetheless. Last, she was going to be in serious trouble if she didn’t stop staring at him. The man reeked of dangerous, compelling sex appeal.
Clearing her throat, Holly made sure to keep her gaze on the painting behind him while in turn keeping her knees from knocking as she entered the room.
Absently, she closed the door.
The important thing here is to keep your cool.
The thought bolstered her flagging esteem, and she smiled, hoping a friendly gesture would ease the tension. Walking toward him, she drew her shoulders back and kept her spine ramrod straight. Clipping the pen to the breast pocket of her khakis and holding her notebook and his file in one hand, she extended her right in the universal sign of greeting.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you Commander Gilcrist. I’m Lieutenant Holly Burton.”
A person could only wait for a handshake for so long. The silent Commander obviously didn’t have time for pleasantries, and neither did she. Motioning toward the desk, she dropped the corner of her lips, frowning. “I know you were expecting to meet with Richard Carson, but he caught a touch of the bug that’s been going around.”
Holly waited impatiently for him to respond. She’d given him two good opening lines for communication, but still he stood as quiet as a Greek statue. The man unnerved her, which was why she felt the need to place the desk between them instead of leading him toward the chairs where she normally conducted her sessions. Shaking her head, she sat down. If the fool wanted to stand there, then he could. Going home early was now a distant memory. She would wait him out.
Shuffling some papers, Holly did her level best to ignore the stoic stranger standing in the middle of the room.
“Are you afraid of me?”
Unsure if she heard the deep,
soft-spoken voice correctly, she intoned, “Excuse me?”
“You’re not hard of hearing are you? I asked if you were afraid of me.”
Insufferable didn’t come close to describing him. “No, Commander. I’m not afraid of you. I was concerned that you might be hard of hearing and I was wondering how you got into the Navy,” she taunted.
He laughed richly. “Cute. Yet, I would think that a psychologist would have a better comeback than that.”
“Sir. I’m a psychiatrist. There’s a difference.”
“Pageantry and insults at the same time. I don’t think I’ve had that before.”
Holly exhaled slowly. This guy was rubbing her the wrong way. And, to make matters worse he was doing it on purpose. Sighing, she wished she could release the bun securing her hair. Already she could feel a headache of the worst sort coming on. This dude was absolutely the last thing she needed.
“Sir, if you would prefer to meet with Lieutenant Carson then I’ll be happy to reschedule your appointment. Though, I’ll have to report your … uncooperative behavior to Captain Martin.” She paused before her coup de grace. “I’m sure your CO will understand.”
Cobalt slits of fire glared at her and if looks could kill then she’d have been incinerated on the spot. Luckily, harmful glances were benign.
“Touché, Lieutenant.”
“I’m glad you think so, Commander. Now if you would like to get started then please have a seat.” She gestured toward the chair near him. “If not, then let me know a good time for you and I’ll set up another appointment with Rich.”
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