Building Ties (Military Romantic Suspense) (SEAL Team Heartbreakers Book 4)

by Teresa Reasor

  *

  She’d been shy about letting him see her without her clothes because of the bruises, scratches and scrapes. But now, with him lying there naked, vulnerable, so completely aroused, all that dissolved. The tenderness and love she read in his face brought a knot of emotion to her throat and a wave of guilt. She needed to tell him about the job offer. But not now.

  As he shifted above her and his lips found hers, her heart lifted to meet the soft, brief touch of his kiss. She reached for him, eager for his body to rest atop hers, and to experience the slow slide and friction of him moving inside her.

  He rested his hand between her breasts, his touch warm through the gauze. He grazed her nipples with his fingertips while he skimmed his lips across her cheek. “We have to be careful of your back, but I want to be on top this first time.”

  He positioned himself between her legs. His arousal pushed against her, but the barrier of her panties blocked his entry. She dragged air into lungs suddenly starved for oxygen and bit back a groan.

  Though he avoided the bandages, Brett pressed warm, moist kisses along the edge of the gauze while he kneaded and caressed her breasts.

  Then he went on to taste and touch his way down her stomach, almost tripping her over the edge before he ever reached the apex of her thighs. She caught her breath as his thumbs slipped under the crotch of her panties to part her nether lips. He blew against the fabric, his breath tickling, warming, arousing, making it impossible for her to stay still. She clutched the comforter beneath her. “Brett.” Had she ever been this aroused?

  She hauled in a ragged breath of relief when he tugged her panties down and off. When he rubbed the head of his penis against her, she tilted her hips to urge him inside.

  “God, Tess, I’m not going to last a nanosecond,” he breathed.

  “I’m not either, come inside me.” She rotated her hips, forcing him deeper.

  He sank into her with a sigh.

  Tess caught her breath. The sensation of him filling her, sharing her body, was like finally being complete. It happened every time.

  “God, honey. You feel so good.” His mouth caught hers for long, slow kisses. She caressed his back and curved her hands over his shoulders, holding him close.

  The need to move captured them both. All the hunger of separation overwhelmed them. Tess forgot about her back, forgot everything but him. She cupped his hips and matched his rhythm. The harder he thrust, the wider she opened herself to him, taking him as deep as she could, until they were rocking against each other, fused as tightly together as they could get.

  As he swelled and hardened even more, nearing his release, her own climax tumbled over her, projecting a wave of sensation out to her fingertips and toes.

  Sensual tingles still lingered when she opened her eyes to look up at him. A slow, satisfied smile crossed his face. Still poised above her, he dropped his head to rest in the bend of her neck.

  “Do you know how sexy the sounds you make are when we’re making love?” he asked. His lips caressed the soft spot behind her ear.

  Heat flared in her face. “I don’t make any sounds, I’m too busy trying to catch my breath.” She ran a caressing hand over his bare, muscular buttocks. “You’re the noisy one.”

  He laughed and started to ease away.

  “Not yet.” Her arms tightened around him.

  Tess ran her palms up his back and over the back of his head, feeling the texture of his close-cropped hair, then paused to knead the back of his neck.

  “I’ll give you fifty years to stop that.” He groaned when her fingers discovered a particularly knotted muscle.

  Tess smiled and kissed his cheek. A few minutes later, Brett eased out of her, and she sighed with regret as their bodies parted. She tugged the sheet up over them both. He lay behind her and pulled her in to spoon with him. Wrapped in his arms, she found security, completion, and so much more.

  “It’s so good to be home,” Brett murmured, and within a few minutes, his breathing leveled out and he dozed off.

  Tess turned to study his features in the light from the bedside lamp. The dark circles beneath his eyes had lightened some since he’d had enough sleep the night before, but lines still bracketed his mouth. He’d just come off a mission when he rushed home to be with her. Though he couldn’t tell her about any of the things he did, she knew his specialty as a sniper put a great deal of pressure on him.

  But he loved what he did. Felt compelled to serve. His father’s service as a Marine had impressed him and encouraged him to enlist after college.

  Tess pulled the sheet up over his bare shoulder and turned to nestle back against him. She had to make a decision. She either had to talk to him about the Washington job, or set it aside completely and let it go.

  Brett’s reaction to her mentioning the freelance idea… He would sacrifice his needs for hers. She knew he would. If she wanted to take the job he’d encourage her. But the chances their marriage would survive with him on one coast and her on the other were slim. She knew that.

  If she took the job, there would be no need for a wedding.

  There. She’d put it out there so she could face it. As much as they loved one another, this would tear them apart. Because as little as they got to see each other now, it would be worse with him in California and her in Washington.

  What did it say about her that she was struggling with this decision?

  Why was she even tempted?

  She’d have to move all the way across the country, to a city she’d visited as a tourist but knew nothing about as a resident. She’d have no contacts to call on when something important happened.

  Was she still so hung up on following in her father’s footsteps she’d risk her future with Brett? And more important…did her love for him lack some crucial element?

  When she thought of how he made her feel when they made love, no, there was nothing that could be better than when they were together. But coming off a ten-month separation, she needed to give them some time to settle back in.

  It was the way of it each time he was gone.

  “What are you thinking about so intently?” Brett asked, his voice thick with sleep.

  She turned to look over her shoulder at him. “A little bit of everything. My mind won’t quiet down.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “No. I just need to relax.” She turned the bedside lamp off. The soft nightlight in the bathroom cast a dim glow, but not enough to disturb them.

  “You’ve had a rough week, Tess. You need to cut yourself some slack.” He ran a caressing hand down her lower abdomen and slid her back against his erection, his lips sliding along the crest of her shoulder. “I could help you relax,” Brett breathed against her ear, sending shivers down her entire body.

  She moved his hand up to her gauze covered breast and pressed her ass back against him. He was a good man, a wonderful lover, and he loved her. Those things were more important than a job.

  She kept reminding herself of that while he made slow, thorough love to her.

  Chapter Eleven

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  Interviews like this were so hard to do. Had she known Lisa Gooding had been moved from the nursing home to her home, she may have tried to come up with a different idea to talk to her mother. Tess’s heart broke for the young woman and her mother. Lisa lay on her side, knees bent, her thin limbs folded into a fetal position. When Shelly Gooding spoke to her, she smiled, as infants do. On occasion her legs jerked, or one of her arms, but beyond that she was trapped in the bed, held hostage by her damaged brain.

  After the accident, her physical and mental capabilities had regressed to those of a twelve-month-old baby, no, actually younger, since she was unable to crawl and had to be turned and cared for constantly. The trauma to her body must have stunted her growth as well, for the girl in the bed couldn’t have been more than four feet tall or weigh more than eighty pounds.

  Shelly Gooding wiped her daughter’s cheek where a thin stream
of saliva ran to her neck. “She’s a good girl. No trouble at all. She loves music, and I play CD’s for her all the time. I do PT with her every day to try and stretch her muscles and keep her joints limber. And we take a walk every day.” Shelly brushed away a strand of her medium brown hair with the back of her hand and tossed the Kleenex into the garbage can next to the bed. She was an attractive woman of forty-five, but her daughter’s tragedy had aged her in ways that were visible, not so much on the outside, but beneath the skin. Her hazel eyes held a look of love and resignation. “Well, she sits in her stroller and enjoys the ride while I push it, of course. I think the fresh air is good for her.”

  “I’m sure it is, Mrs. Gooding. She’s beautiful,” Tess said, her voice husky with emotion. Lisa Gooding was beautiful. She had large, hazel eyes, and thick black hair tied back in a braid. Her small, oval face had a Madonna-like innocence that scored Tess’s throat with raw compassion.

  Tess scanned the room, taking in its neutral simplicity. It was a hospital room for all intents and purposes, with all the paraphernalia that went with long-term care. A large machine of some kind sat in one corner. A butterfly mobile hung over the bed and occasionally Lisa’s attention snagged on it. There was a picture of her mother and father taped to the railing of her hospital bed within her visual range.

  Tess swallowed against another rush of emotion. She had to get on with the interview. “I read back issues of the news coverage about the accident and, of course, the criminal trial of Alan Osborne, as well as the civil suit.”

  Shelly’s expression went blank. “Brian was determined the man would pay one way or another. He was angry for a long time. He’s still angry.”

  “Could some of that come from feelings of guilt that he wasn’t hurt but she was?”

  “I’m sure it does. He felt so helpless to do anything about it, or for her.”

  “As I told you, I’m writing this article to document what happens to a family when they’re faced with a catastrophic loss. Your family won’t be the only one I interview.” There was truth in that. Although she’d settled on this subterfuge to interview Shelly Gooding, she intended to write a piece concentrating on the repercussions of drunk drivers. If her editor didn’t want to print it, she’d shop it around.

  “That will be a good thing. If people can learn they aren’t alone it sometimes helps.”

  “Did you and your husband do any kind of therapy to help you deal with things? Join any kind of support groups?”

  “I did. Brian wouldn’t go. He was busy trying to get back to work. His therapy was to find ways to make Osborne pay.”

  “I can understand that. The man was drunk, and he destroyed your daughter’s future.”

  “I understood it. Agreed with it to a certain extent.” Shelly touched Lisa’s hair. “But he became obsessed. He’s better now.”

  “Now that the object of his rage is out of reach?”

  “I guess you could put it that way. When we found out Osborne had died it was like he was relieved it was finally over.” A frown furrowed her brow. “I hope they’re both at peace finally.”

  “What does your husband do for a living?”

  “He works construction. He’s worked for Chanter Construction for fifteen years. Would you like to go into the kitchen and sit down, maybe have some coffee or some iced tea?

  Guilt pricked Tess. There was something underhanded about breaking bread with this nice woman, even if it was just a glass of tea, while she dug around in her ex-husband’s life. But if she was going to write about what had happened to Lisa, their family, and rule Brian Gooding out of any involvement with the Brittain Development Groups accident, she had to ask questions. “Iced tea would be nice.”

  They settled in the small kitchen at an oak table just big enough for two. French doors led out onto a back patio and a small yard with a six-foot privacy fence. Well-placed patches of lilies bloomed around the edge of mulched sections of carefully tended landscaping.

  Shelly followed Tess’s gaze to the patio and smiled. “Brian did that for Lisa. She seems to like the bright colors. He’s placed bulbs so there’s always something blooming for her. And he bought the lounge so she could lie out there for a few minutes each day during summer months.”

  “May I take a picture? Tess asked, because she just had to step away to get a grip on her composure.

  “Certainly.”

  Leaving her shoulder bag hanging on her chair, Tess stepped outside, blinking hard and breathing deeply. The sky was a clear blue, without a cloud in sight. The sun had burned off the chill breeze lingering from the night before and the temperature was climbing to seventy. The yard had a peaceful feel to it. Bird feeders stood in the center of an open patch of yard where the birds’ activity could easily be seen from the patio lounges. Tess stepped outside and snapped a couple of pictures with her phone.

  Though they were divorced, Shelly and Brian Gooding obviously cared a great deal about each other and their daughter. They had gone through hell together. It had torn their marriage apart, but their solidarity in caring for their child was everywhere she looked, here and inside the house.

  “It’s wonderful out here.”

  “Yes, it is,” Shelly agreed.

  “He did a beautiful job, Mrs. Gooding,” Tess said.

  “Please call me Shelly. And yes, Brian’s good at building things, doing landscaping and repair work. He should have been an architect or a landscape artist.” She led the way back into the house and busied herself pouring glasses of iced tea while Tess took a seat at the kitchen table.

  “May I take notes?” Tess asked and, at Shelly’s nod, took out a small notebook. When Shelly sat across from her she began with a question. “You’re both so completely invested in Shelly’s care…”

  “Why aren’t we together?” Shelly finished for her.

  Tess nodded.

  “I had to move on from the accident and Brian couldn’t. I had to find a place where I could face the everyday reality that was going to be my life and Lisa’s. Brian couldn’t do that, either. He was still stuck at that moment when Osborne’s car slammed into ours.”

  “Do you think now that the man is gone, you might find each other again?”

  Shelly gripped her glass more tightly but didn’t drink. “I’d like to say we will. We’ve never stopped loving one another. He stops by every day. He’s not like some fathers would be. Once the marriage ends, the child is pushed aside or replaced with one from the next marriage.” She took a deep breath. “We’ve both dated other people. But it hasn’t taken for either of us. It’s also still very difficult for him to see her, accept that she’ll never walk or talk again. Never be married and have a husband and children of her own. The pain may never ease enough for him to come back to us.”

  Tess was amazed at how candid the woman was about her personal life. How horrible for her and Brian Gooding to still love one another and be separated by such a chasm of pain and guilt. It put them both in limbo. Clearly Shelly would take him back, if he could just accept living with his daughter every day.

  “Do you think the time Osborne spent in prison was enough?”

  “No. If our justice system set up penalties that fit the crime it might be more healing and beneficial for the victims. I wanted Alan Osborne to live. I wanted him to pay for Lisa’s care for the rest of his and her lives. I wanted him to have to see her at least once a week and think about her and acknowledge what he had done. But justice isn’t really in any lawyer’s vocabulary—or the judges’, either. They’re all about the money and a quick fix. That quick fix ran out a year ago, before Osborne got out of prison.”

  “What did you do before you had to bring her home?” Tess asked.

  “I was a paralegal. I made good money, but I was never going to be a millionaire. As long as the settlement money lasted and her Medicare paid for some of it, we could reach the sixty-five hundred a month necessary to keep her in the nursing home. I was there every day, as was Brian. I was still ab
le to work. But now that the settlement money is gone…” she shrugged. “Private care costs thirty-two thousand a year, which was more than I was making. So I work from home four days a week, doing research, and care for her myself. We’re okay.”

  “Did you like your job?”

  “I loved it.”

  “And your husband? What changed in his life?”

  “Brian subsidizes my income and makes the payments on this house. He lives in a small, one-room apartment close by. We live month to month. Lisa gets a small Social Security check, and that helps with her diapers and similar, smaller things.”

  “What does Brian actually do in his position at Chanter?”

  “He’s the construction manager. He goes from job to job.”

  “How supportive where they when this happened?”

  “Very supportive. He put in a lot of extra hours after court dates and that kind of thing at first. And now he still does. It takes a lot to keep two households running.”

  “I imagine his job is high-stress too, dealing with problems on the site.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “What did he think about the recent accident on the Brittain Development Group site?”

  “He was upset. He said it was a company’s and a manager’s worst nightmare when something like that happens.”

  Would Brian Gooding even make a comment to his wife about it if he was involved? And did he have anything to do with Alan Osborne’s death? The death had been ruled an accident, and it was even speculated that it had been a suicide. But Osborne had been sober for the seven years in jail as well as for the one year he had been out of prison. Why would he suddenly fall off the wagon? She’d have to look into whether Gooding had contact with Osborne after he’d gotten out of jail.

  After a few more minutes and a few more questions about Brian, Tess asked about Lisa’s long-term prognosis. “Her kidneys are failing, and because of her condition, they won’t put her on a transplant list. We do dialysis here at home, but eventually it will kill her.”