AS LUKE’S BREATHING finally slowed, languor set in, changing his muscles to lead and weighing down his eyelids. With Kristen’s warm, soft skin against his, all he wanted to do was keep her in his arms and sleep for a dozen years. He hadn’t felt such contentment, such peace since he was a kid. He’d found the cure for his insomnia.
But only a jerk would fall asleep right after sex. Especially after what he’d discovered. “How long has it been since the mastectomy?”
He felt her tense. “Almost two years.” Kristen’s voice was soft and her breath warm against his chest. “The summer before my junior year in college I was going to spend the day diving with my dad. Except when I was putting on my wet suit I felt a lump.”
Filled with awe for her, he held her a bit tighter. “How many centimeters?”
“Two-point-one.”
He whistled his amazement. “How old were you? Twenty? Twenty-one?”
“Yes. The reconstruction was only nine months ago.”
“Well, I’m no plastic surgeon, but I’d say they did a heck of a job.”
She lifted up on her forearms, her brows drawn together. “You really weren’t turned off by the scarring?”
“Do I seem that shallow to you?”
She blinked and shook her head. “No, it’s just that, I hadn’t…” She closed her eyes. “You’re my first since…everything.”
His throat tightened. “I’m…honored you decided to trust me.”
“I just…worried it would feel weird. To a guy, I mean.”
He frowned. “Maybe I should double-check.” His hand slid around to cup her left breast.
She raised a dubious brow. “Wrong side, Einstein.”
“Aah, my mistake.” He cupped her right breast, but didn’t let go of her left and assumed a thoughtful expression. “Hmm.” He proceeded to gently knead them both, rubbing his thumbs over the tips. “Hmm.”
She laughed and then moaned and Luke relished the sound. “Ms. Turner, I stand by my original assessment.” He caught her gaze and held it. “You have great tits.”
The smile she flashed seemed to light up the room. Then she kissed him, short, sweet little smooches on the lips. He touched her face and turned a short kiss into a long one, coaxing her mouth to open and accept just a hint of his tongue. She moaned and dug her fingers into his scalp, taking everything he offered. After moments of unhurried kissing, she pulled away, pressed lingering kisses down his jaw and then nuzzled into his neck.
He used her distraction to take care of the condom and then roll her beneath him. “However, this may take extensive research.” Cupping her breasts, he lowered his head and took one tight nipple into his mouth. While she gasped, he teased the other between his thumb and finger and then kissed all over both breasts.
Once he’d given thorough attention to both, and she was panting, he moved over her, spread her thighs with his knees and kissed his way down to her stomach and lower. He may not be “up” to the entire battery of tests, but he could run a simple diagnostic on her.
He enjoyed the cute little landing strip of blond curls and her smoothly shaved folds below. The better to lick, and nibble, and…
When Kristen stiffened and cried out a while later, Luke suppressed a self-satisfied grin and crawled up beside her. With a sigh that turned into a moan, she nuzzled into his chest. “It’s always the quiet ones…”
He didn’t bother suppressing his grin this time and even chuckled as she kissed her way down to his navel. “I love how this thin line of hair—” she used one finger to trace the line as she spoke “—leads right to here.” Her fingers burrowed down and then clasped around his cock. He closed his eyes and whispered her name.
“And…I may talk a lot, but I can do other things with my mouth.” He lifted his head and opened his eyes in time to see his cock slide between her pretty lips. It was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen. Incredibly, he hardened. Physiologically improbable given the recovery time his body’d had. “Kristen.”
She moaned in return and licked his length lovingly. Beginning with just the head, she sucked him into her mouth, then deeper, and deeper still. Instinctively, he held her head and raised his hips.
Lifting her mouth away, she moved one hand to cup his sack and the other to pump him. “Luke?”
“Yes, Kristen?” he groaned, and twitched as she licked the tip.
“Thank you for…” She closed her eyes and kissed down the length of him. “For being so…” Her voice wobbled.
“Hey.” He sat up, quickly captured her in his arms and kissed away the tears on her cheeks. “You’re beautiful.”
She sniffed and gave him a shaky smile. “You’re sweet.”
“Sweet? Next you’ll be calling me nice.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” She giggled.
“I’m not a hero, Kristen.” He pressed her onto her back and came down on top of her. He kissed her deeply, gently biting her lower lip. She whimpered into his mouth as he fingered her thighs apart and entered her. Kristen’s eyes flared with heat and her mouth turned up in approval. She seemed as turned-on by his show of dominance now as she had been by his tenderness before.
So, he let go.
Clenching his teeth, he unleashed a power behind his thrusts, where he’d held back before. She gasped and met his every move. He gripped her thigh and lifted her knee up beside her head and drove deep into her core. With a cry she bucked beneath him as he pumped faster. He felt her muscles tighten around him and barely managed to hold back a roar as he came long and hard.
Holding himself above her on one forearm, his breathing stuttered. She was still gulping in air as he slowly lowered himself to her side, his nose buried in her neck. A tender feeling swept over him, a wave of emotion so strong Luke forced himself to roll away from Kristen’s soft body. As her hands slid from his back, she drew in a deep breath and let it out on a sigh.
He’d made a huge mistake.
Lying on his back, he ran his hands through his hair and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. What the hell was he doing? He didn’t know the exact statistics, but the chances of cancer recurring in a woman who’d had breast cancer so young… His throat tightened up. He couldn’t lie here anymore. He had to get up. He didn’t want to get involved with a woman like this. She’d just be one more person he couldn’t save.
He eased away and she moaned, rolled over and curled up. Asleep. He watched her for a few seconds. God, she looked so young and vulnerable with her face relaxed in slumber. And yet she was a fighter. She had to be, after what she’d gone through. Some of the things she’d said to him came rushing back and made more sense now. About enjoying life, and daring to dream.
Climbing off the bed, he pulled the covers up and over her and then cleaned up in the bathroom, leaving the light on in case she woke up in the dark in a strange bed. Then he stalked out to the balcony to gulp in some much-needed fresh air.
He’d never get to sleep now. He paced the length of the balcony and realized he was rubbing his stomach. Maybe he needed to lay off the leftover Chinese.
Damn it. He’d felt so peaceful a mere half hour ago. And it wasn’t just because it’d been a while since he’d had sex. There was something between them—him and Kristen. Something he might ordinarily have wanted to explore.
He stopped pacing to look out at the ocean. His fists clenched around the railing. It seemed as if death was mocking him. He’d flown halfway around the world to escape it, only to have a beautiful woman prod her way into his life. Make him feel something. Make him…care for her.
Before he let loose a primal yell, he pushed off the railing and went inside the condo. Could he convince himself this was just amazingly good sex influencing his thoughts? After all, he barely knew the girl. In another week or so she’d be on a plane back to California and he’d be back in Texas.
At his bedroom door, he stared at her, still curled up sweetly in his bed. The longing to climb in beside her and pull her into his arms and ma
ke love to her again was so strong he dug his nails into the door frame. If he did that, he might not be able to convince himself not to care for a girl whose life expectancy was about the same as a soldier’s in Kabul right now.
Backing up slowly, he turned and strode to the recliner. He grabbed the remote, plopped down and clicked on the television. Nothing like late-night reruns to take one’s mind off death, and women, and Chinese food gone bad.
8
KRISTEN WOKE UP SLOWLY, her dream, and the feelings it evoked, lingering as she rolled to her back. She’d dreamed she was diving, but without a mask or regulator or any other equipment. She was naked in warm, clear water. And Luke was naked, too, swimming with her, swirling around her and nudging her with his head like a male humpback courting a female.
She blinked and came fully awake, remembering where she was and what she’d done. A quick check of the king-size bed told her she was alone in it. The room was still dark, so it couldn’t be morning yet. But the bathroom light was on.
Light flickered outside the hall doorway. The television? She slid out of bed, wrapping the comforter around her and dragging it with her as she peeked into the bathroom—empty—and then padded into the living room.
Luke was asleep in the recliner, wearing only a pair of black boxer briefs. His head slanted at that angle was sure to give him a crick in his neck in the morning. His hands hung off the armrests and his right hand twitched. As Kristen moved closer his body jerked, and he mumbled something, but she couldn’t make out the words.
Why was he out here? Could he not stand to sleep beside her in the bed? Had his tender acceptance of her scars only been an act? She couldn’t believe he was that good an actor. Or maybe she wasn’t that great a lover. She thought she’d felt something special between them as they made love. Geez. How naive was that?
Still, she’d rather have everything out in the open and know where she stood with him. Tentatively, she reached a hand toward him, and then drew it back. He’d told her he had trouble sleeping. She shouldn’t wake him. But did that mean she should leave? Crawl back in his bed? Help herself to his shower? She’d never done this before and she wasn’t sure about the protocol.
As she contemplated her situation, Luke grew increasingly agitated. He turned his head and his hand twitched again. Suddenly he jolted forward in the chair, gasping in air, his eyes wide-open, full of anguish.
Breathing harshly, he looked at her, but she could tell he didn’t really see her. Then he blinked and he was back.
She closed the distance between them and touched his shoulder. “Luke?”
He glanced up and his expression drained of emotion. “Kristen.” He tried to smile but it was a fairly dismal attempt. He reached for the remote and switched off the TV, throwing the room into darkness. The only light came from the bathroom down the hall.
“You had another nightmare.”
Getting to his feet, he scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Yes.”
Her throat felt tight as she tried to push words through it. “They must be really bad.”
He shrugged. “Just another perk of the job.”
She put her hands on his shoulders—which meant letting go of the comforter. “Don’t do that. Talk to me.”
His gaze dropped to her body, then darted away. “You’re one to accuse me.” Without facing her, he bent to retrieve the comforter, draped it around her and stalked to the bedroom.
Pain smacked her in the chest so hard her eyes watered. He couldn’t stand to look at her body? Even in semidarkness? And what did he mean? What was she doing? She followed him into the bedroom. “What are you talking about?”
He was pulling on his jeans, but swung to face her, still unzipped. “I’m sure your doctor gave you the statistics. What are your chances, twenty-five percent? Thirty?” His words weren’t thrown in anger, but more like tinged with anguish.
Still, Kristen flinched. He was talking about her chances for having a recurrence of cancer. “Something like that.”
He glanced down to zip and button his jeans, and when he looked up, he wouldn’t meet her gaze. “It’s been a helluva night. Don’t you have to be up early?”
His dismissive tone caused ice to seep into her bloodstream. “You’re throwing me out? Just because my cancer might return someday? Why would that matter to you? You’ll be long gone, halfway around the world.”
“Exactly. What does any of it matter?”
She tried to swallow, but a lump had lodged itself in her throat. “Right. It doesn’t. You scored some booty and now you’re done. Whoo-hoo. Carve another notch in your bedpost, cowboy. Well, guess what? I got what I came for, too.”
His jaw hitched and his eyes narrowed, but he didn’t deny her words.
Flinging the comforter on the floor, she grabbed up her shirt and bra, her panties and grass skirt. He dropped his hands on his hips, turned his back and studied some spot on the wall.
He couldn’t even look at her? Fine. She slammed into the bathroom and yanked her clothes on as fast as she could, muttering curse words as she dressed. She called him every bad name she could think of, wrapping herself in the protective cloak of indignation and anger.
When she stepped out he was sitting on the bed, still half-dressed, his expression unreadable. For once she had nothing to say. Couldn’t have spoken if she had. Her chest felt as if she were a hundred feet under water.
She headed to the door, reached for the handle and turned it slowly, still hoping he might stop her from leaving, call her back, anything but the silence. After a moment, she looked down the hall. Then opened the door and left.
The anger calcified with every step to her own apartment until Kristen felt nothing. In this numb state, she texted Kekoa and canceled their diving for the day and showered in hot water until her skin was the color of a ripe tomato. Then she crawled between the sheets in her favorite old sweatshirt and curled up to ignore the world.
Gradually the numbness wore off and she started shivering. Luke was right. Her chances sucked. She’d been kidding herself. Fallen for the hype. She was probably going to die young. Why would any man take a chance on a future with someone who probably wouldn’t be around?
And even if she beat it again, what man would want to have to nurse a bald, scarred woman? Luke sure as hell didn’t.
She thought she’d been to the lowest, darkest place and come out the other side already, but this felt just as bad.
And what did she do the last time she’d felt like this? Ellen. Her support group back home. It always helped to talk to someone who’d been exactly where she was. She snatched up her phone and almost hit Ellen’s speed dial number. Wait. What time was it? 3:00 a.m. would be…6:00 a.m. back home. She couldn’t call that early.
Putting the phone down, she lay back on the bed and imagined what Ellen would say. There are more and more survivors every year who live full lives. Attitude was the key. Kristen took a deep breath, inhaling positive energy and blowing out negative feelings. She didn’t know if it really worked, but it sure as heck felt good. And proactive.
She was going to be a survivor for as long as she could. And she’d live a fulfilling and happy life with or without a man. Most of the women in her support group were married. Of course, most of those women had husbands who loved them before they got cancer.
And some had divorced, too.
Some spouses just couldn’t hack it.
But Luke was a doctor. Not that he was anywhere near being a spouse, but somehow, subconsciously or not, his being a doctor had made her feel more comfortable exposing herself to him.
In her gut, she knew he wasn’t the type of guy who kept score of his conquests with notches on a bedpost. If he was, he’d have never agreed to just being friends. He’d have dropped her and had some other woman lined up the minute she bailed on the lovemaking the first time. Heck, he’d turned her down for dinner when they initially met. The exact opposite of a player. And he’d been so sweet once he’d discovered her scars.
/>
A sob broke and Kristen buried her face in a pillow.
No, she’d understood his problem correctly the first time. It’d just been easier to leave him while feeling a dose of righteous anger. But he’d said it himself. Her chances of cancer returning were high. And he couldn’t deal with that. So, before they got any closer, he was backing out.
She couldn’t blame him. She’d learned to live with the very real possibility of recurrence two years ago. But it wasn’t fair to expect him to.
He couldn’t even deal with the deaths in his hospital in Afghanistan. What had he said that day he took the sleeping pills? He couldn’t save them. As if he expected to never lose a patient. He wasn’t a superhero who could save the world.
But even a superhero could be haunted by the violent deaths of so many soldiers.
AMY SAT INSIDE THE COFFEE shop a couple of blocks from Tradewinds, swinging her crossed leg while she waited for Kekoa to show up. She checked the time on her cell phone again and then scanned the sidewalk outside. Her shift started in an hour. How had Kekoa even gotten her cell-phone number to ask her to meet him here?
She heard him before she saw him. The deep rumbling of his motorcycle stopped and Kekoa set the kickstand down, swung his leg over the seat and took off his helmet.
The door to the coffee shop opened and he walked in, moving with the lithe grace of a panther. His dark, penetrating gaze landed on her in the crowd and his nostrils flared as if he’d spotted his prey. He wore a tight-fitting black T-shirt that only made his dark native skin look darker. It hugged every contour of every muscle in his chest and abdomen. And his biceps? How was it legal to be packing those kinds of guns without a permit?
Okay, cool it with the mental drooling, girl. He’s just a man.
He sat at her table without taking his eyes off her. Why was she drinking a hot cappuccino when the room was already so hot? And crowded. Too many customers were sucking all the oxygen from the shop. She grabbed a napkin, patted the back of her neck and tried to catch a breath.
Once a Hero... Page 9