by Sandra Owens
He shrugged. “Nothing happened.”
“And why was that?”
“Because when I took off my shirt, she gasped when she saw my arm. Her exact words were, ‘I’m sorry, but I just can’t.’ That was a mood killer if there ever was one.”
Nichole would like to have a few words with the woman. He’d gotten those scars being a hero in the service of his country, but she didn’t think he saw himself as a hero. Probably none of them did, those men and women who put their life on the line to protect and serve.
“Will you do me a favor?”
“What’s that?”
“Take off your shirt.”
He gave her a look that said she was crazy. “No.”
As if sensing her master’s distress, Dakota shifted to face him, peering up at him with worried eyes, and quietly whined. He reached down and scratched her head. “It’s okay, girl.”
“How else are you going to find out if your scars disgust me? Better to know now if I’m like that stupid woman, don’t you think?” He seemed to have forgotten that she’d already seen most of his arm, that she had even touched his wounds without recoiling.
His lips twitched. “She was stupid, eh?”
“That’s my opinion, yes.”
He glanced at his arm, at the scars showing below the sleeve of his shirt. “You haven’t seen the worst of them.”
“Well then. Go for it. I’m totally prepared to be grossed out.”
Another lip twitch. “This is only the second time since getting hurt that I’ve worn a short-sleeve shirt.”
The first time had been the other night at her house. He’d wanted her to see his scars, had expected her to be repulsed like that stupid woman. That he’d worn one today told her that he trusted her or was trying to. She was pretty sure her heart had just melted.
“Quit stalling, Jack.”
Chapter Six
Was he really going to do this? Bare his ugliness to the prettiest girl? How did that even work, ugly with pretty?
As Jack slipped his fingers under the hem of his T-shirt, he didn’t think his heart had ever pounded this hard, even in the middle of a firefight. Maybe Nichole was right, and the woman had been stupid, but her words had been seared into his brain. Thinking about it now, it was surprising that he’d hunted down Nichole when he expected the same reaction from any woman.
From the time he’d heard Nichole’s voice on the phone he’d been drawn to her, forgetting that he was damaged and not once considering that she probably wouldn’t want anything to do with him. But she was full of surprises, good ones so far.
He drew his shirt up and off, dropping it next to him on the rock. Suck it up, SEAL. His stomach lurched as her gaze clinically roamed over him, much like the way his doctors had every time they’d examined him. He watched for that moment when her eyes would prove her disgust. It didn’t come.
Instead. Fuck. Instead, she kissed his arm, from the bottom of the scar that had almost disappeared, up to the top, to the worst ones on his shoulder, where the bomb had done the most damage, and then where the infection had set in. The ugliest part of him. What was he supposed to do with that? With her kissing places he wasn’t even sure he would?
“You called me. Drunk. You drunk dialed me.” Had those words come out of his mouth? They apparently had since she jerked away, making him wish he had a time machine so he could back up a good ten seconds.
She blinked, then narrowed her eyes at the same time as that delicious mouth of hers showed her displeasure by giving him the coldest frown he’d ever seen. Cool trick, all that.
“What?” she said.
That one word was a loaded one. “About three in the morning. You were crying and called me a bunch of names.” He hated how she was looking at him, as if he were something that had crawled out from under a rock. He’d always meant to tell her, but he hadn’t intended to just blurt it out like that. “You said, ‘How could you?’ and I had to know what I’d done to you. I thought maybe it was a wrong number, but I wasn’t sure, so I looked you up.”
“You stalked me?”
“I don’t know if I’d exactly call it stalking.” He sighed when she raised her brows. “Yeah, okay, I stalked you, but only long enough to find out where you worked. I’m an ass.”
“An ass and a toad,” she said as she slid off the rock, landing next to Dakota. “Is he always a toadstool?” she asked his dog. Dakota huffed, sounding way too agreeable. “You’re donkey doo, you know that?”
Jack couldn’t help it. He laughed. That got him a glare from Nichole. Even Dakota, the traitorous thing, gave him a dirty look. “You have a talent for name calling. Donkey doo just replaced doggie doo as my favorite one.”
She pushed up, crossed her arms over her chest, and scowled. He wondered if he should tell her that her attempt to glare him into next week wasn’t working, mostly because her arms were pushing her breasts up. He was a man. Breasts trumped all else, and hers were ten times better than perfect.
“Eyes up here, soldier!”
He could tell her that a SEAL was never referred to as a soldier, but she could call him soldier all night if she let him anywhere near those sweet girls. As difficult as it was, he managed to drag his gaze up to her face.
“Sorry,” he said. Or not. Now that he knew his scars didn’t disgust her, like a broken record, his male brain was stuck on one word. Sex. Now. Okay, that was two words, so he wasn’t as boneheaded as he was acting.
Sex now with her.
There. A complete sentence. He could think again. That was good.
He tried a smile but didn’t get one back. He sighed. It was time to grovel. “You’re right. I’m donkey doo, doggie doo, a toad, and all those other things you called me. I knew it was creepy to stalk you, but—” She narrowed her eyes. “Right, no buts. I’ll take you home, then I’ll disappear from your life.”
“Probably a good idea.”
He was glad she thought so because he sure didn’t. Although it was undoubtedly for the best, considering the way his chest hurt at the thought of never seeing her again. Better to put a stop to those kinds of feelings while he still could.
“I’m sorry, Nichole. Really.” He tugged his shirt back on, then picked up his pack from where he’d dropped it on the rock.
“So that’s it? You’re not going to try to change my mind?”
Was that what she wanted him to do? Women were confusing. He glanced at the dogs. Rambo had woken from his nap and was sitting quietly—a minor miracle that—next to Dakota, both of them staring at him, as if waiting to see if he’d manage to screw this up. He tried to think of the right words, but his mind was a complete blank.
To hell with it. Didn’t actions speak louder than words? He strode to Nichole, cupped her cheeks, lifted her face, and lowered his mouth to hers. When she didn’t slap him, he took that as a positive sign. On a soft sigh, she melted against him.
He raised his head. “This is me doing my best to change your mind. Is it working?”
“Yes, you creepy stalker, it is. Now shut up and kiss me again.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He was trained to follow orders, and this was one he was definitely on board with. Her breath quickened, matching his own as their tongues tangled. Drunk on endorphins, his worries about his arm, his future, about anything melted away. He’d found his oasis, and he never wanted to stop kissing her.
Wild need raged through him, and he wanted to devour her right here. Right now. He wasn’t sure he would ever get enough of her, of her taste, of the feel of her body pressed to his. He wanted to consume her and be consumed by her.
“You taste like cherries,” he murmured against her mouth.
“Lip gloss.”
How could he resist a woman who smelled like vanilla and tasted like cherries? He broke away from her mouth and peppered kisses across her cheek until h
e reached her neck. He pressed his tongue over her pulse point, feeling the rapid beat of her heart. She purred, sounding like a kitten. He smiled against her skin, gave serious consideration to taking her down to the ground with him.
This wasn’t the place—and maybe even not yet the time—for giving free rein to what he wanted, what he was practically dying for. He reluctantly pulled away, then rested his forehead against hers. She scared him. The timing was all wrong for the connection and chemistry they had between them.
Yet he knew he wouldn’t walk away from her, even though he should.
“I’m seconds away from forgetting we’re in a public place,” he said. “If I told you what I’m feeling inside right now, you’d have too much power over me, Nichole.” He leaned back and looked into her eyes. “So I won’t.”
Her gaze fell to the zipper in his jeans, then she lifted mischief-filled eyes to his. “I think I can make an educated guess. But more research might be in order before I’m positive.”
He laughed. “Research is good as long as I’m the subject matter.” He slipped his hand around hers. “You have a grill?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“If not, they should. How would you feel about picking up a couple of steaks for dinner? I’ll cook.” They could go to his house, but he’d never brought a woman there before. It was his sanctuary, and although he liked the idea of seeing Nichole in his home, in his mind that was stepping their relationship up another level. He didn’t think he was ready for that. Wasn’t sure he ever would be.
“Sounds great.”
“You could also show me your studio and teach me how to make a bowl or something.”
“Only if you agree to reenact the scene from Ghost. I’ve always wanted to do that. I just haven’t found the right man before.”
“I have no idea what that is.”
She stared up at him as if he had two heads. “Seriously? That is only one of the most erotic movie scenes ever. I have the DVD. We’ll watch it first so you’ll know what to do.”
“If it involves you and erotic in the same sentence, then I’m your man.”
“We’ll see if you’re up to the challenge.”
“Nichole, a little advice. Never challenge a SEAL unless you’re prepared for the consequences.”
She laughed. “I’m not afraid of you, big guy.”
This girl. How did she do it, make him feel like the luckiest man in the world that she liked him?
* * *
Nichole glanced at the man sitting on her sofa. Her house was small—a two-bedroom, one bath—and with him in it, it seemed as if the place had shrunk. Dakota sat next to his legs, ever watchful.
“Does she even know how to relax?” she asked. The fascinating thing was Rambo. He sat close to her, mimicking her, his eyes alert. Maybe instead of spending the time to teach him to behave, she should just turn him over to Dakota for training.
“At home, after she hears the click of the door lock.”
Nichole marched to her door and turned the lock. Sure enough, at the sound, the dog visibly relaxed. Dakota glanced up at Jack, some kind of message seemed to pass between them, and then she made a few circles before curling up at his feet with her chin on his shoes. Rambo watched with interest, then copied her.
“You two are spooky,” she said. But cool spooky. “It’s like you mind-talk with each other.”
He grinned. “We actually do. She wanted to know if I liked you.”
“Did she? And what did you say?”
His gaze snared hers. “Yes, very much.”
Be still my heart. “Well, it’s only fair since I like you very much, too.” If he had any clue how lethal that smile of his was, he’d keep it on his face at all times. Before she melted into a puddle in the middle of her living room, she grabbed her box of DVDs.
When she found Ghost, she held it up. “Ready?” At his nod, she slid the disk into the slot. “This is a great movie, so pay attention.”
“My eyes are glued to the screen.”
“Ouch. That must hurt.” She laughed when he rolled his eyes.
When she sat on the sofa, he pointedly looked at the foot of space between them, then lifted his gaze to hers and raised his eyebrows. Without a word, he had her moving to him until their bodies were aligned from arms down to legs. It was where she wanted to be.
“Better,” he said, then put his arm around her and pulled her closer, until her shoulder rested against his chest. “Even better. What’s this movie about?”
“Demi Moore is in love with Patrick Swayze, and he’s murdered. He comes back as a ghost. That’s all I’m going to say.”
“Really, Nichole, we’re going to watch a ghost movie?”
“Yes, Jack, really. Now shut up and watch.”
He glanced at her and smirked. “You’re bossy, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Are you this bossy in bed? Because if you are, you should know I’m good with that.” He waggled his eyebrows.
“Maybe you’ll find out someday. Or maybe not.” He totally would.
He leaned over, putting his mouth next to her ear. “Oh, I will, I promise you.”
A delicious shiver raced through her, and he chuckled, letting her know he’d felt it. The opening credits finished, and as the movie began, she blinked. She’d watched this movie many times, and knowing what was coming, tears stung her eyes.
It didn’t take long to learn that Jack liked to make commentary. “Dude, open your eyes. You just walked by a bad guy hiding in the doorway.” Then, “So that’s the answer to life after death. You turn into a lightning bug,” he said when the twinkling white lights swooped toward Patrick Swayze.
And so it went. She tried not to encourage him by laughing, but whenever a laugh or chuckle at one of his asides did escape, his expression was entirely too smug. He was funny, and for her, there was nothing more appealing than a man with a sense of humor. Good looking, a really nice man, a drool-worthy body, and funny meant she was in so much trouble!
But whatever.
There was no way she could resist Jack Daniels. Her salvation was that he’d be leaving in a month or two, and that would be that. All she had to do was program her mind to not fall for the sweetest, hottest man she’d ever met.
“I’d totally do her,” he said when a close-up of fat tears from luminous green eyes meandered down Demi Moore’s cheeks.
Nichole snorted. “I don’t know one straight man who wouldn’t. Heck, I’d almost do her.”
He groaned. “Don’t be putting pictures like that in my mind.”
“Am I torturing you?” She peered up at him. His blue eyes, darker than they had been minutes earlier, answered her question. She hid her smug smile. She’d surprised him with her comment, and she had a feeling he wasn’t a man who surprised easily.
“Yes, but in the best kind of way.”
Before she could think of a response, the scene she especially wanted him to see came on. “Hush. This is where you need to be quiet and pay attention.”
“I’m yours to command.”
That was all he said as he stared at the TV screen. If he had any idea of all the ways she’d like to command him, he’d instantly forget they were watching a movie. Nichole had wanted to recreate the pottery scene since the first time she’d seen it. She just hadn’t had the right man before to do it with, and now she had. When the scene ended, she held her breath, waiting to hear what he would say.
Chapter Seven
Nichole was practically bouncing in her seat, waiting for his reaction, and Jack couldn’t resist teasing her. He wrinkled his nose. “Looked pretty messy to me.” Fact was, it really was a sensual scene, and he was definitely going to reenact it with her.
“Oh. Well, I guess—”
“That we are so going to do that.” He chuckled
at her puzzled expression. “I was messing with you.”
She punched his arm. “Ha-ha. Funny man.”
“That’s me, baby.” He glanced at the TV. “That was one hot scene. Back it up and play it again. I need to memorize it so I’ll get it right when we do it.”
The pleased smile she gave him went straight to his gut. He inwardly snorted. Who was he kidding? That smile was an arrow to his heart, and that he did not want to admit to himself or anyone else. So she had burrowed her way into his head more than any other woman ever had. Didn’t mean anything. Not one damn thing.
“You’re going to have to do it without a shirt on,” she said as they watched the scene a second time.
“Uh-huh. I’ve figured you out. You’re just fishing for an excuse to see my manly chest.” He winked as he rubbed his hand over his T-shirt.
“Maybe, but you’re going up against Patrick Swayze, and those are some big shoes to fill.”
He lifted his leg, putting his foot in her line of sight. “Size thirteen, baby. You know what they say about that.”
She laughed, then slapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that you’re exaggerating the size of your...” She dramatically paused, then said, “Shoes.”
Damn this girl for making him like her so much. “You’re not paying attention to the movie.” He put his hand under her chin and directed her eyes back to the TV. “Does that thing she’s making look like a phallus?”
“Oh my God, it does. I never noticed that before.”
“If we’re going to make one of those, do you think my cock sock will fit it, or do I need to ask Grammie to make a bigger one?”
The girl he wanted out of his head before she took it over completely rolled onto her side, wrapping her arms around her middle as she snorted laughter through her nose.
He grinned. His work here was done.