by Cate Dean
“Asleep now. She was a bit hysterical, but I managed to calm her down enough.”
“No surprise there. It’s not every day you walk in and see your patient with a knife sticking out of his chest.”
Shock had her clutching the doorframe. “The knife was—left in his chest?”
Nick led her outside, away from the open door. “I’m thinking the killer was interrupted this time. Probably by your nurse. And speaking of nurses,” he leaned in, his voice lowered enough that only she could hear. “Is there anyone here who might be—affected by all the suffering to do something about it?”
Victoria should have been insulted that he thought one of her nurses was the murderer. But she knew from personal experience, just how this place could drive one to do what they would never dream of doing in polite society.
“I will have to give it some thought. May I give you my answer in the morning?”
“Yeah. We can’t wait much longer than that. Whoever’s doing this is shortening the time between kills.”
“Perhaps we can,” she took a shaky breath, unable to believe what she was about to propose. “Discuss it together.”
Desire flashed in his green eyes. “Is that a thinly veiled proposition, Victoria?”
“I—yes.” She lifted her chin. “I would value your input, Captain Saunders.”
“Give me five minutes, then meet me at your hut.”
She flushed again, her voice low, so only he could hear. “Inside my hut, Captain.”
“As the lady wishes.” He pushed to his feet, his voice louder when he spoke again. “Thank you for your input, Sister. Have a good rest of the night.”
She tried not to watch him stride out of mess, but she found herself looking after him, admiring the line of his shoulders, the way he greeted people as he made his way to the door. He had a way about him that instilled confidence. She was half afraid that she had been drawn in because of that, and not because he cared about her.
“Stop second guessing, Victoria,” she murmured.
Five endless minutes later, she stood, her hands tucked into her coat pockets to hide the fact that they were trembling. She still wore the gown she had foolishly packed three years ago, thinking at the time that she would visit whatever city lay near where she was stationed. It still carried some of the creases from being folded in her suitcase all this time.
She sensed Nick the moment she stepped into her dark hut.
His arm wrapped around her from behind and pulled her against his chest, his lips on her throat.
“I’ve been dying to taste you since I saw you earlier. Take off the coat.”
He let her go, moving to turn on the light. Nervous, and trembling with it, she let the coat slide off, pooling at her feet. The gown was a confection of silk and lace, with short sleeves, a loose waist, and a lace-edged hem more suited for a London tea room than the cold, rough tent they stood in. She knew her lace-up boots looked ridiculous with it.
Nick didn’t seem to care. He stepped forward, took her hands. The cold had seeped into her left hand, and she tried not to flinch when his finger pressed into her scars.
He frowned, which obviously meant she had not done a good job of hiding her pain.
“Your hand?”
“It is nothing, Nick.”
“You showed me the scars, Victoria, so I know it isn’t nothing. Sit down, and let me see your hand.” She lowered herself to the camp bed, surprised when he knelt in front of her. His fingers were gentle as he cradled her hand. “Do you mind if I massage your hand? The nurses at my last hospital swore by it.”
“We do the same. I just—never have the time.” Or the strength. She would not whine to him about her constantly aching hands.
“We have some time now.”
“I—yes,” she said, wanting the relief she knew he offered so freely. “I would like that.”
He gestured to the bed. “May I?”
She nodded, and he let go of her hand long enough to shrug out of his coat. Victoria took the opportunity to unlace her boots and remove them, stretching her toes in the thick wool socks she chose to wear over stockings. Her younger brother, Matthew, had sent over a stash of them, his amusement at her request leaping off the page of his letter. Thankfully, he was stationed in England, due to his health.
Nick settled at her side, his thigh pressed against hers, then took her left hand. “I’ll start with this one, then work on your right hand. I know that one hurts you, too. I can tell by the way you rub at your fingers when you think no one’s watching.”
“Not as clever as I thought.”
“Oh, you’re clever, Victoria Belham.” He leaned over to kiss her temple. “But I’ve learned how to be observant over the years. Assess people quickly.”
Warmth spread through her at the touch of his lips, and the distraction took her a moment to get past. “Have you assessed me, Captain Saunders?”
“I have.” He started to slowly massage her fingers. It felt heavenly, and she bit back a moan at the relief. “You are a strong, whip smart, capable woman, in a gorgeous package.”
She blinked, working her way through what she thought was a compliment. “Thank you. I think.”
Nick laughed, and lifted her hand to his lips. “Yes, it was a compliment.” He closed his eyes briefly, then lowered her hand. “Let’s start on your other hand.” He moved to her right side, so she would not have to stretch over arm across her body, and worked his magic on her fingers. “You have scars on this hand, too.”
“Those are easier to find,” she murmured, leaning against his shoulder, her eyes drifting closed. “I tend to notice any cuts right away, since I am right-handed. Oh, Nick—that is lovely.”
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Glad I could help. I never got to do anything for the nurses who took care of me. It’s nice to be able to give a little back.”
His lips moved down to her temple, warm and soft. Victoria wanted more than his hand on hers. Much more.
“Nick.”
“Yeah?”
“I think you have done more than enough of your giving back.”
“Thank God.” He stood, taking her with him, his hands closing over her bare upper arms. “I need to touch you. So beautiful. God, Victoria—you’re so damn beautiful.”
He yanked her forward, his lips on hers before she could take in a breath.
She leaned into him, needing the support of his strong, muscled chest as her knees threatened to give way under the assault. He slid his left arm around her and molded her to his body, his kiss becoming more urgent.
With a moan, she wrapped her arms around his neck, tilting her head so he could take the kiss deeper. He hauled her off her feet, and she felt the wall at her back, his weight pinning her. She gasped when his hand found her breast, teasing her through the thin silk of her gown.
He rocked into her, his tongue sliding against hers with the same slow, breath-robbing rhythm. She let out a moan of protest when he freed her breast; he smiled against her lips as his hand closed over her other breast. With a gasp, she arched into his touch, desperate to feel him on her bare skin.
As if he read her mind, he eased her away from the wall, and slowly unbuttoned the back of her gown.
“Victoria.” He whispered against her swollen lips. “I won’t go any farther unless you want me to.”
“Yes.” She pushed at his chest until he stepped back, then slipped her arms out of her gown. The thin silk fell away, leaving her breasts bare. She had deliberately not worn a camisole, or her corset, hoping that their date would lead to this. “Please, Nick.”
He fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. Smiling, she took over for him, pulling the tails out of his trousers. He wore no braces, which made it easier to slide the shirt off his shoulders, revealing a powerful, muscled torso. She let out a sigh and ran her hands down his defined abdomen.
Nick took in a sharp breath, shaking against her exploring fingers.
“Victoria—”
“Pl
ease touch me, Nick. I have wanted you to touch me since we first met.”
His smile stole her breath. “My pleasure, beautiful.”
Warmth spread through her, as it did every time he called her beautiful. It spiked to heat as he closed his hand over her bare breast—and all thought flew out of her head when he took her other breast into his mouth.
She clutched his left arm, her knees threatening to give way at the feel of his tongue on her nipple. He backed her against the wall, his right hand sliding down to her hip, around to her bottom, to pull her closer to his arousal.
“Nick—”
He lifted his head, his green eyes dark with need as they met hers. “Do you want me to stop?” His voice was raw, husky.
“No.” She cradled his cheek. “Oh, heavens, no. I want you to—”
A loud pounding on the door froze them.
“Sister Belham!” The masculine voice had her instinctively lifting her arm to cover herself. She ran into Nick’s hand, still curled around her breast. “The Major has a question about your special, Private Copeland, and needs you there.”
“Tell him I am on my way.” She looked at Nick as she said it, the disappointment in his eyes matching her own. She waited until she heard the retreating footsteps before she spoke again. “I am sorry.”
“No apologies, Victoria. Your patients come first, always.” He kissed her, his thumb stroking her nipple, and groaned as he dropped his hand. “I’ll find my way out, after you leave.”
“Yes, right.” She wanted to slap herself, to clear her head. His hands on her left her hazy with desire. Even now, she wanted him to continue, to make love to her. A scandalous thought, but she no longer cared. Life was too precious, and too quickly taken, to care for the strict conventions of a way of life that no longer existed. “Nick.” She swallowed, fighting to speak past the need sweeping through her. “You will have to let go of me first.”
“Yeah.” He gave her his breath-robbing smile, then shocked her by leaning in to kiss each breast, kissing and tasting her skin as he made his way up to her lips. By then, she was breathless, only his body holding her up. After he kissed her senseless, he led her over to the bed and sat her down. “I’ll get your uniform, then get out of your hair. Neither one of us is going to do much if we’re both in the same room.”
“I—yes, you are correct.” She watched him pull on his shirt, compensating for his right shoulder. She would take a closer look, when they were alone again. She had a feeling he was hiding a good deal of his pain. “Nick.”
“I know, beautiful. I have to be discreet.” He leaned down, kissed her one last time, slow and sweet. She cradled his cheek, wanting to hold him there, just a bit longer. “I’m going to leave now. I don’t think I can control myself if I have watch you dress.” He whispered against her lips. “You probably won’t get dressed, if I stay.”
“Oh.” She swallowed, her heart pounding at the implications.
He stepped away from her and shrugged into his coat, then turned back, his eyes troubled. “Is Will okay?”
She blinked at him, thrown by the change in topic. “Sorry?”
“The—special. That’s what the orderly who interrupted us called him, if I remember right.”
“Yes, he is doing well, all things considered.”
A frown darkened Nick’s eyes. “What do you mean, all things considered?”
She sighed, pulling her dress up before she took his hand. “I am sorry, you did not know. The cut you found on the back of Will’s calf had already turned to gangrene, and the doctor had to amputate.”
“Shit.” He let her go and slammed his fist into the wall. “Goddammit.”
“Nick.” She moved to him, shocked by his outburst. “Please, Nick, you need to control yourself. You will injure—”
“Yeah.” He leaned his head against the wall, his back to her. Even through his coat, Victoria could see his stiff shoulders, how he fought to keep calm. “Can I see him?”
“Of course.” She laid her hand on his back, aware that the touch could very well set him off again. “Forgive me. I should have told you before.”
“Right. Because you didn’t have eight hundred other things on your mind.” He pushed off the wall and ran one hand through his hair. “I’m fine, Victoria.” He turned to face her, and her heart ached at the despair on his face. “I’m not mad at you. It’s this damn war—any war, and what we do to each other in the name of our principles.”
“I agree. But my reaction to the helplessness was to do something for the boys caught up in it. You are here for the same reason, Nick.” He frowned at her. “Only a man who needed to do something would take a job as an orderly, when he is clearly used to leading.”
A smile tugged at his lips. “Busted.”
She found herself staring at his lips, wanting him to kiss her. She was hopelessly attracted to him. No—she was hopelessly in love with him.
Nick distracted her by sliding his fingers into her hair and cradling the back of her head. “Go and take care of Will. I can wait—at least until tomorrow. To be continued, beautiful.”
He kissed her one more time, then eased the door open. Too soon, he was gone.
Victoria crossed her arms and took in a shaky breath. Captain Nick Saunders was a dangerous man, in more ways than he seemed.
She was afraid he had already reached in and captured her heart.
Nine
EXHAUSTION AND PAIN conspired, dragging Nick into the dream again.
He recognized the broken down village, surrounded by cracked, mostly barren hills.
His team had been ambushed here.
He screamed a warning at his dream self—but the attack still happened, his men shouting as they ducked behind walls for cover. The bomb still went off.
Pain exploded in his shoulder, knocked him off his feet. Like he did during the actual ambush, he ignored the pain, the blood, dragging his stunned and injured men to safety.
Then the dream twisted, like it always did.
This time, a second bomb exploded, throwing Nick halfway down the crumbling dirt path. By the time he crawled back, his men were dead—all of them this time.
“No—” He lifted Davis, pressed his hand to the gaping wound in his sergeant’s chest. “Come on, man, breathe!”
Davis stared up at him, his blue eyes fixed and unseeing.
“Damn it, Davis—I gave you an order! Breathe!”
His dead sergeant continued to be dead.
Nick moved to Madden, swearing when he turned the corporal over and half his face was gone.
“No, damn it—you survived—you all survived—” He stared at the blood that coated the walls, soaked into the ground, stained his hands. This was his fault—they were here because of his intel—
“No!”
The final shout jerked him out of the dream.
He bolted up, fighting for breath. It took endless seconds to recognize his surroundings, remember where he was.
“Shit.” His left hand shook as he wiped at the sweat stinging his eyes. His right shoulder throbbed, like he’d been actually dragging his men.
“Bad dream?”
Nick leaped out of bed at the voice, his hand at his hip, where his pistol should be. Major Reed leaned against a support post, his arms crossed.
With an effort that left his right arm shaking, Nick straightened his shoulders. “None of your damn business.”
Reed pushed off the post. “Nice reflexes. I would most likely be dead if there had been a pistol at your waist.”
With a sigh, Nick lowered himself back to the camp bed, his legs weak. “Sorry. I don’t normally have a stranger staring at me after I—” He cut himself off.
“From what I could hear, it was more memory than dream.”
“A twisted memory. Being here brought it back.” He’d left the VA hospital early because being there had triggered them, almost every night. “Off duty?”
“For about five minutes.” Reed moved over to hi
s nightstand and splashed some water from the basin on his face. He looked at Nick as he rubbed a towel over his chin. “We were never properly introduced.” He walked over to Nick and held out his hand. “Gavin Reed, doctor and resident pompous ass.” He sounded amused by the title.
“That doesn’t seem to bother you.”
“It would, if this was my permanent hospital.” Reed dropped the towel on the end of his bed and sat. “I’m here to do a job, and no personal connections makes that easier for me.”
Nick understood. Every man found his own coping mechanisms. “Is that the reason for the numbers?”
A wry smile flashed across Reed’s face. “That, and I’m not one for names. I know,” he raised his hand at Nick’s laugh. “I will have to work on that skill when I return home. Bad form, forgetting my own patients. Speaking of patients, I’d ask a favor of you, if you think you might be up for it.”
“A favor.”
“I would owe you. That is not an offer I make easily, or willingly.” He sighed, pushing light brown hair off his face. “But I do, because I think you can help. You know about the latest amputation?”
Nick swallowed. “Will Copeland.”
“He ran into no man’s land, in the middle of a battle, to pull his friends to safety. And he has been having bad dreams because of it. I had him moved to the tent, since he was spooking the other patients.”
“Shell shock?”
“I believe so.” Reed stood, and started pacing. “We thought it was a ruse, at the start of the war. But the last year, I see men emotionally destroyed by their experiences out there.” He turned away from Nick before he spoke again, his shoulders stiff. “I filled in at an Advanced Dressing Station, for the longest and most hellish week of my life. I returned with a different opinion of the existence of shell shock.”
“You want me to talk to Will.”
“His dreams are detrimental to his recovery.” Reed turned around. “Yes, I would like you to talk to him.”
“Okay.” Nick stood, knowing sooner was better. “I can’t guarantee it will help.”
“The boy knowing he is not alone in his fears will be a good start.” Nick nodded, and dressed, grabbing the wool coat as he headed for the door. “Saunders.” Nick turned, saw the familiar, haunted look on Reed’s face. “Thank you.”
