“You don’t know that, Jen. You’re a nurse, you’re not a patient. You’re not a platoon sergeant who left his entire platoon in the middle of a firefight.”
She shook her head and removed her fingers from his. “You’re not just a soldier to your men. Carponti isn’t just a squad leader, is he?”
“No, he’s a pain in the ass.” But there was no vehemence in Shane’s voice.
“Don’t you think you should give yourself a bit of a break?”
Shane snorted. “I’m divorced, in a wheelchair, and homeless. I can’t do a fucking thing to help my guys when they’re hurting the most. I don’t need a break, I need to get back to my men. Until then, I’m just another statistic.”
“What you need to do is take some time to heal. And you’re more than just a number.” She tipped her head at him, breathing deeply to gather the courage she needed. He was in deep, so far down the hole he’d fallen into he couldn’t see any way out. “If you believe that, then maybe you need a different perspective on things.”
She reached for the top buttons of her blouse and flicked them open rapidly before she lost her nerve. She kept one side of her clothes pressed to her torso and lowered the other, holding the shell of her bra and the form in one hand. She knew what he saw when he looked at her.
A half-inch-thick scar crossed her chest where her left breast used to be. Red and puckered, it stood out starkly against the white of her skin.
“Being hurt only defines you if you let it. You’re more than just a wounded GI, Shane. You need to get over it and start focusing on getting better.”
Shane dragged his gaze from that jagged scar to her face. She met his gaze and dared him to pity her. She didn’t see the slightest trace of that emotion. What she saw, instead, stunned her. Awe. Yes. Amazement. Yes. But not pity. He sat speechless as she turned her back to him and readjusted her clothing. She didn’t know what to expect when she turned back to face him.
“I know a little bit about learning to live again. I know about being so weak and helpless you want to die. I know what it’s like to look in the mirror and hear that little voice that whispers you’ll never be whole again.”
“Then maybe it’s time you heard something else.” He tugged on her hand until she moved closer. His fingers hovered over her shoulder. The hard planes of his cheeks were shadowed, his eyes hidden in the darkness now. “You are absolutely amazing.”
“Thanks, Shane. That’s really nice of you to say.”
“Screw nice.” His voice was a low growl in the darkness as he reached for her. Before she could react, he’d half dragged her across the handles of the chair.
His bare chest was hot and hard beneath her fingers as she gripped on to him for balance. Then nothing else mattered as his mouth claimed hers. He stroked her lips apart with his tongue, demanding. Taking. She knew in the space of a single second that she would never again feel this potent intensity that pulsed into her with a single kiss. Her fingers curled into his flesh, above the black lines swirling around his shoulders, and she lost herself in his taste, his touch.
She shifted and opened for him, taking him inside her mouth. He groaned and heat bloomed inside of her, trailing down her belly and throbbing at her center.
She traced her fingers over the tattoos covering his heart, down his massive arms as desire ached inside her. He went completely still as her fingers trailed over his skin, and then she felt his heartbeat. A subtle vibration beneath her touch. He tightened his fingers in her hair and angled her mouth to take her deeper, filling her. His touch chased away the darkness of her own doubt. In that moment, she felt whole and beautiful and fully alive.
“You don’t know how bad I’ve wanted to do this again,” he whispered raggedly against her lips.
* * *
Shane could not remember ever feeling so completely aroused in his entire life. She was the sweetest pleasure he’d ever tasted. Her fingers explored his chest and no single touch had aroused him so completely. He slipped one arm around her waist and tried to drag her farther into his lap. God but he wanted her. Just her. Naked. He wanted to bury himself inside of her, to lose himself in her soft warm depths.
Her hips bumped into one of the pins sticking out of his thigh and brilliant pain exploded. He swore before he could stop himself, and Jen froze. She traced small kisses over his jaw, his neck, his ear, and the pain slowly receded. He skimmed his fingers over her face, easing her back.
Her eyes were dark, her lips a swollen shadow against her pale skin. His hands found hers, stopping her explorations.
“Jen, you make me crazy,” he whispered against her lips. So damn beautiful she hurt his heart.
Her breath brushed against his cheek as she pressed her lips to his ear. “So why did you stop?”
“Really?”
“No, I was kidding.”
He hesitated for a moment before he reached for her again, angling his mouth to taste all of her before she could change her mind.
He tipped his face up before he cupped hers with his fingertips. He kissed her, wanting so badly to take her inside and make love to her. A distant ring shattered the moment. He closed his eyes and she rested her forehead against his. “I don’t suppose you can ignore that?” he murmured.
“Not really.”
She extracted herself from his lap and walked into the house, leaving him aching and hard. The moment was gone now, but it left a promise of something more in its wake. Seconds later, Jen slipped back onto the porch. Her movements were quick, controlled, her lips pressed into a thin line. It was her eyes, though, that gave her away. Still, he never imagined her next words would steal the breath from his lungs.
“Carponti’s in the hospital.”
Chapter 18
Shane dragged his hand over his face and closed his eyes. He didn’t say anything as she drove them to the hospital as fast as her small car could take them. He wasn’t allowed in the back where the emergency room team was working on Carponti. Jen could have joined them, but she opted to stay with Shane.
“Too many people just get in the way.”
He would have paced if he thought it would do anything to unleash the rage churning inside of him. He would have torn the pictures from the walls. Instead, he sat, the bitter feeling of absolute uselessness churning inside of him.
It might have been hours or minutes before Nicole came out. Shane had never seen her with a hair out of place, without perfectly colored lips or an outfit straight out of Vanity Fair. He’d never thought she looked like a CID agent, but that’s what made her effective. No one saw her coming.
Tonight the cool, composed special investigator was gone and in her place was a scared-to-death wife, wearing blood- and vomit-stained pajamas. There were dark streaks beneath her puffy eyes. She sucked in a huge deep breath in an effort to gain control of her words before she spoke.
“He overdosed.” She wiped her palms on her pants.
There was no mistaking Nicole’s sadness and hurt. “I’m going to kill him,” she said. “I swear, if he survives this, I’m going to kill him.” She ran her fingers through her hair, pushing it away from her face. She turned and screamed at the ER doors where a medical team was still working to clear the poison from Carponti’s system. Jen wrapped her arms around Nicole’s shoulders as her friend collapsed against her.
Finally two doctors pushed into the waiting room and walked up to them.
“Mrs. Carponti? Will you come with me?” the shorter one said. “He’s okay. But I need to talk with you.”
Silently, Nicole left, leaving Shane alone with Jen and the taller doc, a colonel according to the ID badge hanging from the pocket of his lab coat.
“He’s okay?” Goose bumps crawled over Shane’s skin, and he was grateful when Jen rested her hand on his shoulder.
“He’s fine. We were able to pump his stomach and get most of the alcohol and pills out of him. It was close. If his wife hadn’t found him when she did, we might have lost him.” The doctor wi
ped his glasses on the fabric of his shirt.
“Can I see him?”
The doctor shook his head and set his glasses on the top of his salt-and-pepper buzz cut. “He’s sleeping. The unit’s sending in the guards we’ll need for the night.”
Shane swallowed the bile in his throat. Attempted suicide. Of course. Carponti was going to be under constant supervision to ensure he didn’t get belligerent with the medical staff.
And tomorrow, he would face the psych eval.
Goddamn it.
Jen squeezed his shoulder. The wooden arm of the waiting room couch jutted between them. Shane sat perfectly still, unable to move. Relief and reality paralyzed him, like a weighted stone crushing his lungs.
Carponti had taken a Jimi Hendrix tonic of narcotics and alcohol and had almost died on his bathroom floor. And Shane hadn’t done a damn thing to prevent it. The guilt crept in as the doctor walked away. He’d seen the warning signs, but he’d let his friend convince him he was fine. He’d been wrong.
So goddamned fucking wrong.
Shane covered his eyes with his hands, pressing hard against them. His throat was tight. He ground his teeth, trying to focus on anything but the pain aching in his chest.
A light touch fluttered across his upper arm. So light he almost missed it. Then Jen’s hand came to rest on his upper back. Her touch wasn’t nearly enough to stop the violent emotions thrashing inside him like a wild thing trapped in a cage, but it soothed part of the ache in his heart.
“I’ll take you home.”
* * *
Shane hadn’t spoken at all on the ride home. She hadn’t expected that he would. He worked so damn hard at hiding every even remotely painful emotion. He didn’t get it. He couldn’t be all things to all people. Would it kill him just once to be human and let himself feel?
He’d pushed himself into his bedroom as soon as they walked in the door, closing himself in with a quiet click. It felt like a slap when she realized he wanted nothing more than to be alone.
Jen stood in the kitchen, staring at his door. She wasn’t going to let him do this. Not now. She couldn’t leave him alone. Not tonight.
When she opened the door, she saw that he’d pulled himself onto the bed. Uncovered for once, he simply stared at the metal pins and frames holding the wreckage of his legs together. The muscles in his jaw jumped in a rapid, angry rhythm. He wouldn’t look at her. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that he didn’t want her there. She ignored his unspoken demand for solitude and approached the bed. His room was dim. A sliver of moonlight slithered in across the floor between the drawn drapes.
One hand covered his mouth and he stared bleakly at some far off point only he could see. She reached for him, pulling his hand away from his mouth.
Still, he didn’t speak. Just looked at her with those deep grey eyes, filled with rage and guilt.
“He’s going to be okay.” He swallowed and looked away. “This isn’t your fault, Shane.”
The silence wrapped around them in the predawn darkness, then everything exploded all at once.
He slammed the lamp off the nightstand as his rage finally broke free. “Bullshit. I fucking knew and I didn’t call him out on it.”
She didn’t flinch as the bulb shattered, but it was a close thing. “You knew?” She stepped over the mangled lamp and slapped her palms against his chest, forcing him back. It wasn’t the lamp she was worried about. It was him.
She hated that he almost instantly retreated into the sullen silence of a moment before. “I suspected.”
“And we’re right back where we’ve always been. You. Are. Not. God. You didn’t know.”
“I should have.”
“How, Shane? How should you have known? Your mystical sergeant powers? Did you monitor his meds? Did you go to his house and force-feed him alcohol? Stop blaming yourself for everything bad that happens!”
He looked so lost. Her heart broke for him. She fidgeted with the buttons of her blouse as she leaned against the bed, trying to think of anything to say that would make this better.
“Shane.” She cupped his face in her hands. “This isn’t your fault.”
He was still for an eternity.
And then he reached for her.
* * *
She was close enough that he could smell her shampoo—the familiar scent of strawberries and vanilla.
Shane threaded his fingers through her hair and pulled her to him, clinging to her like she was a lifeline. The cool satin strands of her hair caressed his hands as he simply held her. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He sat for a long moment, just breathing her in. Taking her strength and using it to rebuild the foundation beneath him.
Then Shane pulled her down until her lips met his in the darkness. She was soft and warm and wet and her tongue slid against him with a desperation born of mutual pain and need. Jen’s fingers curled into his cheeks as she met his need with her own.
Jen. She was beauty and strength and life and everything that was still good in the world. Desire surged inside of him and he dragged her against him, giving in to it.
He traced one hand down her throat, her pulse beating erratically beneath his thumb. His hand ran down her back to cup her backside and with a quick jerk, he dragged her on top of him. She caught her foot against one of the external fixators and white hot pain exploded. He groaned and she froze immediately. “This is an omen,” he said when he could speak.
“No, it’s not.”
She pressed her hips against his still-clothed erection. That simple erotic contact nearly sent him over the edge. The one thing that mattered was Jen. Her taste, her touch. His lips traced down her throat as the pain receded. She arched her neck and he dragged his teeth over her pulse until she gasped.
He slipped his hand beneath her pants and her skin was satin and heat. His need nearly overwhelmed him, and he yanked it back.
This was Jen rocking against him, releasing soft gasps in his ear as his hands played over her body. He would never hurt her. Not in this lifetime would he ever use her for a simple physical release.
He wanted to lay her on her back and thrust inside of her, leaving the pain, the heartache, and the despair behind as he lost himself in her. He needed her, not just another warm body.
Slowly, so slowly, he slid his hand over her belly, inching her blouse up.
She gripped his wrists. “Don’t.”
Reality crashed over him.
“No one has touched you there.” It wasn’t a question.
She pulled away. Not physically, but she might as well have. The juncture of her hips lifted away from his fading erection, her hands braced against his chest instead of curling into him like they had a moment ago.
She started to move away, but he held her to him gently, his thumbs stroking her lower back.
He couldn’t let her go. Not now, when he’d fucked up so badly. He would get this one thing right.
“Don’t pull away.” His whisper was the only sound above their still ragged breaths. “Please don’t.”
She stilled above him, and then nuzzled his palm with her cheek. “I didn’t mean to freak you out.”
He tugged her down so he could nibble on her lips. “You didn’t.”
She sighed as his tongue flicked over the corner of her lips. “You stopped.”
He stroked her lower back and pleasure spiked through him as she began to respond to his touch. “You were surprised.”
“You’re right.” She arched against him. Her breath warmed his neck as her fingers curled into the base of his neck and shoulder. “I … I just haven’t been touched there …” Her words brushed against his skin and he shivered, wanting so badly to fix this.
The silky fabric of her blouse caressed his skin and he loved the fullness of her breasts—breast—against his chest. He wanted to touch her there, to tease that nipple to a hard peak. He wanted to look up into her eyes as he suckled her. But tonight, he would find another way.
> He stroked her skin, slowly, his fingers trailing lower.
He’d never felt such arousal, such a need to claim. To give. He’d never felt the desire for this slow build. He wanted to take his time with Jen, to watch her eyes darken, her lips part. Her breath hitched as he drifted lower still, her body frozen in anticipation of his touch. She bit her lip and let him explore. Watching. Waiting.
He slipped his hand under her pants and her underwear and cupped her sweetness, his palm absorbing her heat. Her hips jerked and a low gasp escaped her. He kept his hand still, cupping her heat. So slowly, he parted her and slick, hot moisture covered his finger.
She trembled beneath his touch, and her hips rocked against his hand. She gasped his name into his ear as her orgasm burst through her, an intense explosion riding over both of them in waves.
Her gaze darted between his face and his shorts and realization dawned on him like hot pinpricks racing across his skin.
“We need to get these off of you.” She reached for the snaps on the athletic shorts he’d worn since they’d taken the catheter out, the only article of clothing other than a man-dress that he could get on and off easily over the pins.
“Are you sure?”
She kissed him and he prayed that meant yes.
Thank you, Jesus.
She quickly shimmied out of her own pants then flicked off the overhead light before climbing back into the bed. She’d clean the lamp up later. His breath caught at the sight of her kneeling over him, exposing the glorious blond hair between her thighs. He wanted to lift her hips and drive into her until they both exploded. He yanked back the fierce arousal. He wasn’t going to screw this up.
He closed his eyes as her fingers slithered down his chest. Over the tattoos and the scars. Her fingers lingered over the tiny scar on the right side of his stomach and the more recent ones that were still healing, including one of the two that had almost kept him home from the war. Then she drifted lower again with aching slowness. She paused at the top of his penis and he waited for her to go just a little lower.
A smile crept over her lips. He scowled. “What’s so funny?”
Because of You: A Loveswept Contemporary Military Romance Page 18
