His knees bounced nervously as his feet jiggled against the cold tile floor. His face was pale, his lips blue, his breathing uneven. She was afraid he was going into shock. She grabbed his free hand and wrapped it around the bloodied cloth, squeezing his grip to hold it tight. She pulled a couple of thick towels from the shelf and covered his shoulders and legs with them. She flipped on the hot water tap in the shower, thinking that would heat the little room quickly-unless he’d already emptied the hot water in the tank. Fortunately, he hadn’t. Steam began to fill the room.
Finally, she turned her attention back to him, easing his hand away, murmuring low, soothing words as she would to a spooked horse. “Okay. You’re okay. I’m going to take a look. Turn your head away. I don’t want you to see this.”
He looked at one arm, then the other. “I know it isn’t there.” She straightened the towel over his shoulders. His eyes were still dilated.
“What isn’t there?”
“The black flesh. It sticks to me. I see it. I can feel it. I can smell it. But I know it isn’t there.”
Mandy couldn’t make any sense of that at all, so she didn’t respond. She needed to see how bad his wound was before she could begin processing his strange words. She peeled the washcloth away. He’d rubbed his skin raw on both sides of his left forearm. It bled freely but wasn’t deep.
“It’s going to be fine, Rocco. It’s only a scratch. You’re going to be fine.”
“No, I’m not. I’m too goddamned fucked up to be fine.”
She brushed a thick, wet lock of hair from his face, then pulled his forehead down for a kiss and held him against her mouth. “I’m not lying. You’re going to be fine. Don’t get up. I’m going to grab some Neosporin spray and bandages. Close your eyes. Focus on breathing.”
She hurried to the medicine cabinet and took out the items she needed. She gave his scrapes a quick spritz of the Neosporin, opened a couple of packages of gauze pads, then covered them with a sticky wrap that would keep the whole works in place on his arm.
Still kneeling on the hard tiles, Mandy smiled up at him. “All done.” The room was feeling comfortably steamy. Her gorgeous babydoll clung to her like a second skin, limp and dull. “What happened here?”
He shrugged. “This is why they kicked me out of the Army.”
She let out a short huff of air. “Hallucinations have a funny way of freaking people out. Suppose you tell me why you’re having them?”
“If I fucking knew, I could get it to stop.”
She stroked a hand over his chest, beneath the edge of the towel. “Do you see the flesh now?”
He looked at himself. “No.”
“Do you smell it or feel it?”
“No.”
“That’s good. Neither do I.” She rubbed her hand up his uninjured arm and back down. “You know, I don’t scare very easily. Maybe you could trust my eyes, for now, just until you can trust your own again. If I see flesh sticking to you that isn’t yours, I’ll tell you. And unless I do, you can know that it really isn’t there, that you don’t need to get it off of you, okay?”
He didn’t answer, but he didn’t refuse either. Tears welled in his eyes. She felt them pool in her own eyes as she stroked her hands up and down his arms. “When did this start happening?”
He shrugged. “Landstuhl-the hospital in Germany. I was out of my head. I had to be restrained. I’d been speaking Pashto for so long, I forgot to speak English. No one understood me.”
“Were you injured in Afghanistan?”
He nodded. “Remember that explosion I told you about?”
It all clicked for her. “Ohhh. That makes sense.”
“Does it? Because it fucking doesn’t to me.”
The long hours he worked would leave him little time for sleep. She remembered none of the beds had been slept in, and the armchair was in an odd place in the living room with the shotgun and box of shells close at hand. “You aren’t sleeping, are you?”
He shook his head. “Not much.”
Kit said he’d been having nightmares, but these hallucinations were day terrors. “After my parents’ death, when I first moved in with my grandparents, I had a lot of nightmares. My grandfather said my mind was trying to tell me something, a message that I was not allowing myself to hear when I was awake. He said we have nightmares because there’s something going on inside of us that we don’t want to face so we close ourselves off from it-but when we do, it stalks us in our sleep. Were you given sleep meds at the hospital?”
“I was, but I quit taking them when they discharged me. Left me too hung-over to function in the morning.”
“And then these hallucinations kicked in when you quit sleeping?” Again, he nodded. “Rocco, it’s your same nightmare, but now it’s a waking one. You’re trying to tell yourself something, but you’re not listening.” He looked at the wall behind her. “What happened in that explosion?”
“I don’t remember.”
Mandy studied him. “How were you injured in the explosion?”
“I don’t know. I blacked out.”
“You have to try to remember that day, remember the explosion.”
“No.”
“This won’t stop until you do.”
He looked down at her. Tension distorted his face, like a cable drawn too tight. “I’m going back to Cheyenne. You don’t need to deal with this crap.”
She sat back on her haunches. Her hands were still on his knees. He’d stopped jiggling his legs, and his breathing had calmed, but his eyes were still wild.
“Good,” she agreed with his decision. “Do that. Because this war injury is shameful and should be hidden. You should have to deal with it alone.”
Anger flashed across his eyes at her sarcasm. He stood and lifted her in one smooth movement, pinning her against the wall, his hands under her armpits. She could barely touch the floor with her toes.
“I’m out of my fucking mind. What if I hurt you? What if I black out, mistake you for the enemy?”
Mandy set her palms against his cheeks, willing him to look at her. “Have you ever mistaken a friendly for an enemy?”
No, he hadn’t. But he’d mistaken an enemy for a friendly, an error that had cost his second child’s life and had put Zaviyar in so much danger. “When I flashback, I lose track of myself. I’m not aware of what I do.”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“I’m afraid of me. I’m afraid for you.”
“Rocco, I don’t want you to go. I think this is where you need to be.”
He stared at her. He looked at the hold he had her in-if he needed more proof, he had it right there. Shaking his head, he eased her to her feet and pressed his hands flat against the wall on either side of her head. His towels had dropped away when he stood up. His penis leaned against her belly, a hard rod throbbing to life. The feel of her body against the head of his cock sent a shiver through him.
She lowered her hands from his face to his chest and rubbed in small circles. “Please. Stay. Strangers won’t understand you. They will make things worse. And Kit will be here soon, I know it. He’ll be able to help, too. And you said Ty’s coming home. This is where you need to be.”
He sighed and slowly lowered his forehead to hers. His nose was next to hers. She could feel his breath on her mouth. “I’ll stay. For a while. Unless this gets worse.” He pulled back to look at her. His face was shuttered. He wasn’t letting her in and he wasn’t letting himself out. It was her luck, Mandy thought, to have a man she could be crazy about walk into her life, only to have him walk right back out again. She lowered her gaze to stare blindly at the light furring of dark hairs on his chest. Tears spilled down her face. She didn’t want him to leave. Ever. But it didn’t matter. Clearly, she wasn’t enough of a reason for him to stay.
Rocco swiped his thumbs across her cheeks. Her tears robbed him of words. He pulled her against his chest, holding his arms loosely around her. Her arms wrapped about his ribs, her hands flat on his b
ack, her face pressed into his chest. He tightened his hold about her. He could feel the slippery moisture of her tears on his skin, feel the cool pull of her breath.
His dick was throbbing, alive, aware of her in a way he tried futilely to ignore. He tried to calm the deep breaths he drew, but every slight movement he made brought his body in contact with Mandy’s in new and exciting ways.
If he didn’t pull away now, he would be lost. There was nothing gentle in the way he desired her.
Mandy’s hands eased around his sides, moved up over his chest. Her tears had stopped-for that, he was grateful. Her lips pressed against his sternum. Her tongue, hot and moist, tracked up, then across his collarbone. She lifted her face to his neck. He kissed her temple, drew the sweet scent of her hair into his lungs. She smelled like Mandy, not Kadisha. His relief was intense. Grounding.
His hands cupped her shoulder blades as he drew her up against himself. He kissed her cheek, followed the line of her jaw to her lips, and there he paused. “Tell me you want this as much as I do. I want you to be sure about this. Very shortly, I won’t be able to stop.”
She smiled against his lips, and breathed, “I want this.”
He nodded. “Good.” He felt a wave of possessiveness-something he had no right to feel. She was not his forever, only his for now, this moment. He eased her down to her feet and stepped back. Fishing through his shaving kit, he found a couple packs of rubbers. He ripped one open and slipped it down over his cock, which helpfully, was standing at a rigid right angle to his body.
Mandy watched him. She licked her lower lip. Her eyes met his, green eyes gone black with desire. He reached into the shower and shut off the water, which had long since turned cold. He pulled the shower door shut. Lifting her hands, he pressed one to the grip on the shower door, the other to the towel bar on her other side. “For support,” he said, grinning.
He parted the damp sheath of her babydoll top. His fingers stroked the velvety softness of her belly, his hands dark against the paleness of her skin. “You are beautiful.” And she was-amazingly, breathtakingly beautiful. He traced the top edges of her bodice. Satiny cups covered her breasts. He ached to pull them down, to reveal what they covered. He pushed his dick downward, between her tight thighs, rubbing himself between her legs, against her panties.
He kissed her neck, moving down to the curve of her shoulder and slowly back up. His lips paused over the pulsing vein in her neck, feeling her frenetic heartbeat. His mouth touched hers, hovering briefly, lips to lips, letting her acclimate to him before he moved across her lips, drawing her mouth open with his. His tongue slipped into the sweet darkness of her mouth even as his dick pressed between her legs.
She moaned. Her tongue touched his, rubbing, pressing. He drew the backs of his fingers down her shoulders, over the upward swell of her breasts, then eased the fabric of her bodice down, dragging it beneath her breasts. Pulling back, he looked at her bared skin. Her dusky nipples were puckered. He rubbed his open palms against the sensitive nubs. Around. Up and down. She held tightly to the bars where he’d placed her hands as he cupped a breast and suckled on the peaked nipple. She gasped, arching into him. His cock jerked in response. Christ. He could come just sucking on her. He rolled her wet nipple between his thumb and forefinger as he moved to her other breast.
He felt the ragged breath she drew, responded by drawing a long draw of air through his teeth as his tongue flicked her tight nipple.
“Please-” she begged.
“Please what?”
“Please end this.”
He grinned. His fingers left her nipples, easing down to her hips. He went to his knees, hooked his thumbs in her panties, and drew them slowly down her lean legs. He kissed her belly button, her hipbone. “Lean back against the wall.” He lifted one leg and laid it over his shoulder. She had shaved all but a band of red-gold hair over her mound. He nuzzled it, hungry for a taste of her.
“You might want to keep holding on,” he supplied helpfully as he drew her other leg over his other shoulder, opening her sex to him. Supporting her with a hand beneath her bottom, he leaned forward to stroke her with his tongue. He swept across the sensitive folds, circling her clitoris, pressing against it, starting a rhythm her body instinctively responded to. He rubbed his free hand over his dick. He was hot, hard, his cock standing upright, waiting. He shoved his tongue into her opening, tasting her sweetness.
There was nothing conservative about her response to him. Her chest and neck were flushed with passion. Short, breathy gasps escaped her parted lips. Her hips bucked against his mouth. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the bars.
He turned his attention to her sensitive nub, laving, pressing, sucking. He speared her with two fingers. In and out, until he felt the first convulsions of her orgasm take her. He pulled back before the waves of pleasure could fully engulf her. She cried out a protest, tightening her legs around his head.
He grinned up at her, offering a last sweep of his tongue before he cupped his hands under her buttocks. He drew her legs off his shoulders, lowering her onto his erect cock, fast, hard, seating himself to his balls in her wet sheath.
She threw her head back and screamed. Her inner walls pulsed over him, pulling him with her into an explosion of ecstasy. He gripped her hips, lifting and slamming her down on top of him, spearing her until he found his release.
When they both returned to reality, Mandy felt limp, drained. Completed in a way that she’d never known was possible. He was breathing as hard as she was. There was an edge in his lean face as he watched her, his big hands still on her hips.
It was sex, pure and simple. There was nothing more to what they had shared, she knew that. But it had never been like this for her. She wanted him again. She wanted him to take her all night long. He left her feeling dazed. Drugged with desire.
She had no business yearning for more. He’d given her what he could. She shouldn’t ask for more. She rose and straightened her bodice, then pulled her panties back on. He turned and removed the rubber.
She opened the hall door, felt the cool air clash with the heated, steamy air from the bathroom. She moved down the hall, feeling adrift, without an oar. Without a compass. Without any means of finding her way back to who she was before Rocco.
She retrieved her coat and was tying the sash when Rocco joined her in the front room. He’d drawn a pair of jeans on. They were zipped but unbuttoned and rode low over his bare hips. He leaned against the opening of the hallway, his hands in his pockets.
“You don’t have to go.” Please, don’t go.
She stepped into her flip-flops. Decision made.
“Right. Then I’ll walk you back up to the house.” He lifted his jacket off the pegs by the door and slipped into it.
They walked from the bunkhouse to her home in silence. Outside her porch, he caught her hand, twined his fingers with hers.
“Thank you for patching me up.” He looked down into her eyes. A lazy breeze blew a bit of hair over her eyes. He moved it back. He wished he understood her silence, the things her big eyes were saying. “You are an angel, the only light in my very dark life.” She blinked. He thought the dim porch light revealed a pool of moisture in her eyes, but he couldn’t be sure. “Did I hurt you tonight?”
He hadn’t imagined it. A tear slipped down a cheek when she looked down and shook her head. He pulled her into a hug, feeling an impossible sense of rightness standing there, holding her, having nothing to offer her but himself.
Perhaps he could convince her to wait for him. As soon as he found Zaviyar, or his grave, he would come back. He would begin again-with her, if she would let him.
* * *
Sun beat down on the fields the next day, baking the ground, the air, and Rocco. Even the barbed wire he was taking down was hot to the touch. He wore his hat and T-shirt, but had removed his long-sleeved shirt midmorning. His white bandage was smudged and torn in places. He lifted his hat and wiped his forehead on his shoulder. He’d be gla
d to see the last of the wire. His hands and arms were filled with dozens of nicks from the little metal prickers. Tiny tears with frayed edges dotted the thighs of his jeans.
He took a wheelbarrow full of the discarded wire up to the pile he was building by the toolshed. His stomach reminded him that he’d heard Mandy ring the chow bell a while earlier. When she’d talked him into taking suppers with her, he hadn’t planned to eat three squares. Now he looked forward to each and every meal. He washed up at the utility sink and pulled on his shirt.
Mandy was talking to someone as he came even with the porch of the main house. A man. Rocco started up the steps. Bobby, the rodeo king, sat across from Mandy at a table set for two. Either he’d taken Rocco’s spot, or Rocco was a third wheel at their lunch.
Mandy looked up and smiled. “Rocco, you remember Bobby,” she said.
“Rodeo.” Rocco nodded at the interloper.
“Rocco.” Bobby nodded back.
Rocco swept the table with a glance. “Am I interrupting? Thought I heard the chow bell, but I could have been mistaken.”
“No-you’re fine! Sit down. I saved you some. Bobby came over for a visit, and I asked him to stay for lunch.” Mandy handed Rocco a plate and silverware from a stack of items on the far side of the table. “Hope you don’t mind a cold pasta chicken salad?”
“Looks great,” Rocco said as she passed the serving bowl. “Taking a break from the circuit?” he asked Bobby as he filled his plate.
Rodeo nodded. “Last night was my first one back in town. Thought I’d swing by and visit my gal.”
Rocco arched a brow. “Your gal?” He looked at Bobby, then at Mandy. “Didn’t know you were seeing anyone.” Was it his imagination or did her expression tighten?
Before she could answer, Rodeo spoke for her. “We’ve got an on-again off-again kind of thing.”
“That a fact?” Rocco asked, sending Mandy an angry look.
“And right now, we’re off again,” Mandy said, shooting a dark look at Rodeo.
“I told you I’d overlook what happened last night. I get that he came back not quite right and needed your attention.”
The Edge Of Courage Page 10
