by Fields, MJ
I want to stretch out my arms and tell him to come inside with me. I want to feel him, his body, and his stability.
Instead, I gingerly lower the first leg and raise the second. Some of the bubbles part as I lean my head back, reveling in the warmth. My nipples peek out from the water, but he doesn’t stop to stare. Swallowing, he adjusts his seat and continues his task of cleaning me.
“Let’s do the arm that’s bothering you.”
I shake my head. “No. It’ll hurt.”
“Come on, Lauren.” He’s so gentle. “Trust me, okay?”
Shakily, I lift it. Lathering soap on his own hands, he then touches my skin. His motions are whisper soft. All I can do is watch in amazement.
“All right. You ready to come out now? If you want to hang out here longer, that’s fine. Just call me when you’re ready.”
“No, I’m ready now. Exhausted really.” I swallow.
Pulling out another large towel from the pile, he raises it like a shield in front of his eyes.
Taking his hand again, I rise and step out of the tub, straight into the towel.
“You’re very lucky, you know.” He tightly wraps me before his eyes reach mine.
“I know.”
Following him into the bedroom, he lifts his white shirt from the bed. Handing it to me, he steps to the air-conditioning unit, pressing buttons on the keypad. The sound of blowing air stops.
“The bed looks good.” I longingly stare at it. A huge, fluffy white comforter and too many soft pillows make it look almost cloud-like.
“Can you get yourself inside?”
I nod.
“I’m just going to wash myself up then.”
After he leaves, I gingerly slip his shirt over my head, taking care not to move my arm too much. It takes a few moments, but I manage. I can already see a bruise starting to form on the top of my bicep. Climbing into the bed, it’s thankfully as soft as it looks. I curl up under the cold sheets, waiting for him. I shouldn’t wait. I should just sleep and have this night of terror be over. But I can’t. I’m scared to be without him. A chill slides through my body. I’m freezing, my wet hair chilling the back of my neck.
Slade steps back into the room in nothing but a pair of beaten-up jeans. My eyes scan him from his bare feet up to his wet hair. I’ve never liked tattoos, but his are so passionately drawn, as though every piece of ink is there for a reason. I shiver.
“I like your tattoos.”
His body language somehow hardens with my comment, and I bring the sheets higher up on my body, needing more warmth.
As he waits at the foot of the bed, we’re at an awkward standstill. His eyes look reddish and glossy.
“I’ve got a good artist,” he replies curtly.
We were so open with each other, and now, it’s as though our energy is no longer in sync. What happened? He’s thrown down an emotional curtain, and I’ve been shut out.
I’m unsure what the protocol is for a situation like this one. “A-are you coming to sleep?” My voice is hesitant as I slowly sit upright.
Maybe he isn’t planning on staying. Maybe he’s going to crash in his friend’s room and leave me alone in here.
He steps to the small desk at the edge of the room and lifts up a white room-service menu. “Are you hungry?”
“No, not really.”
“I think you ought to eat. Stress is amplified if your stomach is empty.” With his back turned, he calls and orders what sounds like half the menu. After hanging up, he lifts the remote. “TV okay with you?”
I shrug. “Yeah, sure.” My voice comes out small.
He moves into the bed. We’re both sitting up, but my legs are tucked under the covers while his are over them. He’s purposely keeping his distance.
“You’re still in your jeans.” The words crack as they leave my mouth.
“Yep,” he states quickly, changing the channels. He stops at Forrest Gump.
I look at his legs. “You don’t have to keep them on if they aren’t comfortable.” I move an errant hair behind my ear.
“Yeah?” He stares at me as though he’s making extra sure it really is all right with me.
“Mmhmm.” I pray my hum comes off relaxed because, in reality, I’m anything but.
Swiftly hopping off the bed, he unbuttons his jeans. I want to shut my eyes from embarrassment because he’s just so crazy hot. But, when a man like Slade undresses and the lights are on, it’s a sin not to look. The last time we hooked up, it was so dark. Too dark.
He drops his pants like he’s just getting into his comfort zone, not like he’s trying to be sexy.
I want to ask, Who the hell has a body like this?
I have seen all sorts of good-looking men who are in shape. But, with Slade, it’s more than muscles. He’s strong because he protected our country. He didn’t lift weights to look good at the beach. His body is corded because it’s who he is as a man—his strength representing abilities that almost no one else on earth has. The man is a true hero. And, holy shit, does it bring his sex appeal up ten thousand notches. Maybe he is strong enough to avert his eyes while I’m nude. But I’m not.
I’m shaking, staring at him in a pair of boxer briefs as he moves to his duffel to grab his phone. I should turn around because I might pass out from this visual.
Oh, who am I kidding? I’m human.
My eyes? They’re peeled. The V—oh my God—those cut muscles in his abdomen pointing down into his underwear. The eight pack above it. The perfect smattering of chest hair. The riotous tattoos in all sorts of colors. The bone frog on his chest, signifying his Navy SEAL status. If I wasn’t already in a bed, I’d be searching for one.
He moves close to me and lifts my chin up, so our eyes connect. “You all right?” He looks like he wants to laugh out loud, but his eyes are still distant.
I want to retort. I want to say … something. Anything. But I can’t because I’m stunned. He smells unbelievably good, too. Dark but slightly lemony. The idea of speech right now is laughable. I just want him to lie on top of me so I can breathe him in.
“Slade,” I manage to stutter, my voice scratchy. I need him—so badly. My core pulses.
“Lauren, we’re not doing this tonight.”
“Yes. We should.” I nod my head because this is a great idea. I need to forget.
“Look, I know tonight was intense. You’re going to have a lot of emotions. But this”—he gestures between us—“isn’t happening.”
His face is completely relaxed, as though his mind is totally made. I search his eyes to see if there’s more behind his words. But he’s unreadable; I can’t tell.
I feel as though I’d been slapped. My fragile ego trembles. But, considering what I’ve been through, I decide I’ve got nothing to lose.
“I’m an adult. And I know what I want and what I need. Right now, after what I’ve been through, I’d like nothing more than to lose myself in you. We’re good together. You turn me on like no one else.”
I pull his shirt off of my body, trying not to wince, and touch my breasts, warm and full. I tweak my nipples, and they immediately harden. I know from the night of Vincent and Eve’s wedding that he’s a boob guy. Throwing myself at a man is completely out of character for me, but my body has a mind of its own right now.
He lets out a hard breath with no words, and it spurs me on.
“Don’t deny this. If tonight’s events … if they hadn’t happened, we’d be in this room anyway.” I barely sound like myself, but I can’t stop.
His eyes flicker, roving across my body. He wants this. Wants me. I crawl to the side of the bed. At this point, I’m not above begging.
He raises his hand up, stopping me in my sex-crazed tracks. “I’m no saint.” He takes the shirt from the top of the pillow and slides it back over my head. “But you aren’t the type of girl to fuck after an attack of that magnitude. If we had sex, you’d wake up upset tomorrow. Plus, your arm is hurting. So, let’s not do this.” His face is se
t to marble.
I swallow hard. “Well, can you at least hold me?” A shiver runs through my body. I need touch. I want someone to remind me that I’m alive. I need—
“Yeah,” he sighs, sternly pressing his lips together. “I can do that. But first, clothes.”
I feel like crying again as I slip my arms through the shirt’s sleeves. I lie down on my side, facing away from him when he turns off the TV and then the lights. He moves behind me. Even though he’s huge, he repositions himself with so much agility that he barely shakes the mattress. My back sets against his warm front, and my entire body feels safety, security, and all good things.
For a few moments, we’re silent. But then the tears come.
He presses his lips over my damp hair. “Don’t be upset, Lauren.” His heavy body moves against mine.
“Did all of that really happen?” I sniffle.
“It did. Don’t hide the truth or pretend it wasn’t so. It happened. Know that and deal with it.”
“Do you believe in love?” The question leaves my mouth before thought can intervene.
“What do you mean?” He places a hand on my leg. It isn’t sexual, but it’s so comforting.
“Do you believe that, regardless of who you marry, your problems will be the same? And you might as well marry for reasons like money or looks? Or is there more?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because Sanam said, no matter who I marry, he’ll cheat and lie. I might as well go for someone who can give me a life full of material things.” I listen to his paused breath. “Slade, are you asleep?”
“No.”
“I thought of you a lot. After the wedding. Is that okay to say?”
He shifts, holding me closer. “I thought of you, too. More than I have any right to.”
“But why didn’t you ca—”
“Shh,” he murmurs, wrapping my hair in his hands.
Maybe I should press, but I don’t have the energy.
“I want to thank you. For saving me tonight. And for taking care of me.”
He remains silent as I stare at the inky darkness, trying to imagine my life back in LA. All I can see in my mind’s eye is his strong body behind mine.
His hand moves up and down against my leg. It’s a move meant to soothe. “My parents were in love. We didn’t have too much as far as material things, but life was real good, growing up.”
“Are they still in Virginia?” I recall him telling me about it in his truck at the wedding.
“Actually, they all died. My brother, Aaron, too.” His words come out matter-of-fact.
I’m stunned, remembering the funny stories he told me about himself and his brother and the drama they’d stir when they were together. “I’m sorry.”
“No need to be. Life is full of events we have no control over. We’re all just breakable things. I wake up every morning, work out, shower, and remind myself that I’m just a man and that men die. It keeps my expectations on par.”
I feel his breaths, steady against the back of my neck.
“As for love?” he continues. “I’d categorize love with allegiance and brotherhood. Those bonds aren’t breakable—in theory. In reality, no matter how hard we try, I think we’ll all be let down eventually. And we all let others down, too. Nothing good can ever stay.”
I turn around, so our lips are only centimeters apart. My hands move to his angular face. “True love is flexible and forgiving. Even if your lover lets you down, the love won’t break because it will bend for the other person.”
“That sounds about right. But still, almost impossible to find. So impossible that you might as well say it doesn’t exist.” His hands move behind my neck.
I close my eyes, breathing him in. “Maybe you’re right.”
I press my forehead to his, and he doesn’t back away.
“Hey.” I can feel the brush of his lashes against my nose.
“Yeah?”
“You should keep looking, Lauren. Don’t stop until you find it. You’re a great girl, and you deserve to find love. Don’t sell out.”
“What about you?”
He exhales, and I part my lips, wanting to breathe him in.
“Nah. I’m on my own.”
“But your parents had it?”
I lift my hand, letting my fingers graze against the tips of his clean, buzzed hair. He leans into my touch.
“They did. But I’ve seen enough to know we all have a different lot. That was theirs. This is mine.”
“But why?” I exclaim. “You’re—”
“Don’t push.” He rears his head back. “You don’t know me, Lauren.” His terse reply doesn’t invite a response. He averts his eyes to face the ceiling.
“Okay, maybe not that well. But I know enough. I mean, we had so much fun at the wedding. You told me you saw yourself having a family one day.”
“You’re great. And I know you’re looking for love. But I’m not the one. Please don’t try to tell yourself that I am or that I could be. I’m not.”
For a few beats, we’re quiet. His words burn.
“Look,” he starts again, moving his face back to mine, “now isn’t the time to think about such things. You’ve been through tremendous stress. Just promise me that what happened tonight won’t make you go from the funny, cool, sweet girl I know to someone more anxious. Find a way to let it go. Remind yourself that you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, but by the grace of God, you escaped harm. Don’t let what happened drag you low.”
My eyes water as I stare at him. Because, even though his words and actions are incredibly kind, his eyes are so sad. Tortured even.
“What’s your story, Slade?”
He lets out a dark, contrived laugh. “My story? I went off to fight for our country. Saw lots of crazy shit. And came back.”
“Is that all you’re going to give me?”
“Yep,” he says, the word clipped. “So, why were you looking so upset tonight?”
“And how do you know how I looked?” I questioningly lift my brows.
“I saw you. Watched you with your friends.”
I sigh before swallowing hard. “I just don’t fit in anymore. We used to all be on the same page when it came to having fun and going to great dinners and meeting guys. But, now, they’re all getting married and moving on. And the trouble is, they’re choosing a type of man who isn’t for me. Sanam wants me to marry one of her fiancé’s friends, of course, but I don’t want that. And so, I’m just in the same spot while everybody else is changing.”
“What do you think you’re going to do? Just turn your back on them and go your own way?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know. The thing about my friends is, you’ve got to stay in the same phase of life together; otherwise, the relationship will end. At the same time, I can’t just get married to stay within my social group. I guess our priorities have changed. Vacations and clothes are enough to satisfy them but not me.”
He nods solemnly. “Those don’t sound like good friends. And, the way you make them sound, I want to tell you to lose them. You’re more than they are. Actually, you’re more, period.”
My heart pauses. No man has ever said that to me. I’ve always been the hot girlfriend or the arm piece as a date to whatever gala. Never the more. He makes me want to be.
“Learn to stop hanging on to things that aren’t working. Life will be much simpler. You’re better than those girls.”
With his words, a strange feeling comes over me, like a warm hum. His thumb rubs the center of my lips. For Slade, they part.
“You’ll find it.” He pushes my hair back away from my face. “Just make some new friends. For a woman like you, it’s easy, right?”
I choke up as my mind roves in hundreds of directions. The shooting. This man. My life as it currently stands. All the friends, all the bullshit.
“I guess I’m not too good at change or falling behind.”
He smiles, his straight white teeth glimmering in th
e dark. “You aren’t behind. You aren’t lagging either. You’re at a crossroads. Gotta use more mental strength, babe.”
“Is that Navy SEAL talk?” I smile.
“You know it.”
“Is it true that they tie your hands behind your back and bind your feet together and then dump you in a pool to swim?”
He smiles. “Sure is.” A hint of a Southern accent peeks through.
I feel absolute wonderment. “But how?”
He laughs. “You’ve gotta get mind and body on the same page.”
“Right now, my mind and body are scattered.”
“I know. Just sleep.”
I press my lips to his. At first, he doesn’t move. But, when he opens his mouth, I have the strangest feeling. A sense that I’m meant to be in this exact moment in time. My hands grip the back of his head because I don’t want to let him go. With Slade, I feel so alive. Our kiss deepens as he takes control, but then he pulls back.
Breathing heavy, he turns me around so that he’s spooning me again. He puts his head into the back of my neck, inhaling. I shudder.
We might not be having sex, but still, he holds me. The heat from his body transfers into mine, the connection soothing and perfect.
I fall asleep with his mouth on my mind, and blessedly, my dreams are nothing but static.
I wake up with a start. It’s 6:03 a.m. The events of the night before come tumbling back. The club shooting. The dead girl, blood drenching her clothes. All of the screaming. Slade washing the blood from my thighs.
I turn to my right. He isn’t here. The pillow doesn’t even have an indent. I sit up, spotting him on the floor on the left side of the bed. He’s lying without a blanket or pillow, head directly on the carpet.
I gasp. Am I that bad? I threw myself at him, and he denied me. And, once I fell asleep, he ran away.
The room service that I never ate sits untouched on a folding table at the foot of the bed. Slade must have stayed up. The smell of cooked burgers and fries makes my eyes burn.
I look down at my wrist, stamped with the club’s insignia. Hopping out of the plush white bed, I make a run for the toilet where I drop to the cold marble floor and throw up bile. When I’m finished, I lean my sweaty head against the tiled wall, knowing that I’ve got to figure out what I’m supposed to do. What if the police are looking for me? Would they do that—have questions or something? What if Slade wakes up, and things are crazy awkward? Actually, considering the fact that he’d rather sleep on a carpeted floor—in a Vegas hotel room, no less—instead of sleeping next to me, I’d say that’s a sign he’s completely uninterested or borderline disgusted.
