Honor Reclaimed

by Tonya Burrows

  “Hey,” Jesse said and eyed her as she passed. “You okay, darlin’?”

  She smiled at him. “That charming drawl won’t work on me, cowpoke. I’m a city girl.”

  He grinned. “Da-yam.”

  Ian merely grunted. He looked like he’d rather have his teeth dug out with a spoon than be anywhere in the same vicinity as the medic, and really, Jesse didn’t appear all that thrilled with his patient either. Amazing they hadn’t taken the other’s head off yet, and she suspected they were tolerating each other only because Gabe had ordered Ian to get patched up. Definitely some history between them and more than a little bad blood. Maybe Seth knew why they hated each other.

  Then again, Ian seemed to be an equal opportunity hater. She really didn’t like the man all that much.

  “Seriously, though,” Jesse said, sobering. “Are you okay? No injuries?”

  “I’m good.” Thanks to Seth, she added silently. He had amazed her today. He spent so much time warring against his inner demons that, like the rest of the team, she’d feared how he’d react when faced with an actual enemy. But today, he proved they had nothing to worry about. In the heat of battle, he’d been more comfortable in his own skin than she’d ever seen him.

  Which, honestly, was kind of terrifying.

  “Have you see Seth?” she asked the two men and, to her surprise, Ian responded.

  “Saw him go into one of the bedrooms. Said he needed space.”

  “Please tell me you didn’t give him shit about it.” One room was hers and by tacit agreement among the men, Gabe got another—probably because of the injury that forced him to use a cane most of the time. She’d heard the men good-naturedly arguing over the third and final bed, but Ian didn’t have a good-natured bone in his body.

  Ian’s jaw tightened. “He pulled me outta the kill zone. Man wants space, he gets space.” With that, he shoved Jesse away, grabbed his shirt, and stalked over to an empty bedroll already laid out on the floor.

  Okay. Not the response she’d expected. Was it possible she had completely misjudged the cantankerous Ian Reinhardt?

  Jesse huffed out a breath in exasperation and started packing up his medical kit. “Will you let me know if Seth needs any treatment? He wouldn’t let me look at him.”

  Heat flooded Phoebe’s cheeks. Was he insinuating she’d get close enough to Seth to see any injuries? Well, it was a nice thought. Not the possible injuries, of course. But as far as getting closer to Seth? Oh boy, did she want it. Despite her better judgment, the very idea of skin-to-skin contact with him filled her with the kind of feminine yearning she hadn’t felt in years.

  She promised Jesse she’d report any injuries and checked the rooms one at a time. Gabe was in the first one, the wooden door open to the hallway. He sat on the bed with his bad leg elevated and the photo of his wife in his hand. She decided not to disturb him and slipped past his door to the next, which proved to be an empty room. At the last room, the ill-fitting wood door sat slightly ajar and she peeked through the crack. Not to spy or anything, but if he seemed to really need space, she’d leave him to it.

  Seth knelt by a shallow bowl on the floor, splashing water on his face, and she’d never in her life seen any man look so alone.

  “Seth?”

  At her voice and soft knock, his bare shoulders tightened and he straightened away from the bowl. “What do you want?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were getting cleaned up. I’ll come back.” Okay it was a little fib, but she didn’t want him to know she’d been watching. She paused halfway out the door and glanced back. “But for the record, when someone knocks on the door, you say ‘come in,’ not ‘what do you want?’”

  He sighed and ran his hand over his head, wiping away the excess water that dampened his short hair. “Wait. You’re right. I’m being an ass.”

  As he climbed to his feet, she faced him again and got an eyeful of nearly naked male. He wore only a pair of boxer shorts and he was…

  Scarred.

  Holy shit. She took several steps toward him before she realized what she was doing. Reached out, but thought better of touching him when he flinched. Battling a fierce rush of anger that brought tears to her eyes, she fisted her hands at her sides. Of course, she’d known some of the details of what had been done to him, but having it all laid out like a map of torture in front of her? Damn. She didn’t even have half a clue of what he’d endured.

  “Seth,” she breathed. “I’m so sorry for what they did to you.”

  “Please don’t.” He turned away and reached for the clean shirt folded on the bed. “I don’t—want you looking at me like that. I get enough pity at home. I don’t need yours, too.”

  “I don’t pity you.” To prove it, she lifted her hands to his shoulders, let her palms slide down over the rough skin of his arms. “I’m amazed by you. Look at what you survived and yet here you are, back in the place it happened? I can’t even begin to fathom the courage it must have taken to come here.”

  “It had to be done.”

  “No. It didn’t.” But that he thought so made him one of the most honorable men she’d ever met. She traced a raised C-shaped scar on his biceps. “Do they still hurt?”

  He shook his head. “Not really. Sometimes it feels like my skin isn’t big enough for my body, but it’s more an annoying discomfort than pain.”

  “Do you see a specialist about it?”

  “Not anymore. Nothing else for the doctors to do.” He shrugged. “I’m healed up as good as I’m going to get. Just gotta live with it now.”

  But living with it shouldn’t cause him discomfort. And now that she thought of it, she might even have something to help. “Lie down. I’ll be right back.”

  Without waiting for a response, she hurried from the room and grabbed her pack from the spot she’d left it in the main portion of the house. She got a raised eyebrow from Jesse, and said, “He’s not injured,” before returning to find Seth hadn’t moved. He still stood next to the bed, hands at his sides.

  She pointed to the mattress. “Go on. Lie down.”

  The thin white scar across his forehead puckered as his brows drew together. “I’m sorry?”

  “On the bed. On your stomach.” She swung her bag off her shoulder and dug around inside for— Aha. There it was. She brought out the bottle of lotion her mother had given her before she left for Afghanistan.

  His mouth opened then closed. Opened again. Closed. He cleared his throat and very casually fisted his hands together in front of his shorts, assuming a kind of parade rest stance as if protecting his goods.

  “Uh, Phoebe, I’m not sure where you’re going with this but—”

  “Stop.” She rolled her eyes at him. “I’m not going to jump you or anything.” Not unless you ask, she added silently and immediately cursed herself for it. So much for keeping her distance. She motioned him toward the bed. “Go on. My mom’s a massage therapist and I’ve picked up some tricks over the years. Plus, she gave me this really great lotion”—she wiggled the bottle back and forth—“that softens skin like you wouldn’t believe. It might be able to help with that tightness you were talking about.”

  His expression eased, but he still didn’t move. “You don’t have to help me.”

  “I want to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you need it.”

  Again, his brows furrowed. “Is this some sort of compulsion of yours?”

  “I just want you to feel better.” She planted her hands on her hips and scowled at him. “Is that a crime? What’s with the third degree?”

  “I don’t understand you,” he muttered.

  She flopped her arms in exasperation. “What’s there to understand? I’m offering to give you a massage.”

  He said nothing more, but he didn’t have to. That guarded look in his eyes said everything. Had he been so damaged by his captivity that simple kindness escaped his understanding?

  God.

  Her throat ti
ghtened. She’d show him kindness existed.

  Starting with a massage.

  Chapter Twenty

  She crossed to him, grasped his hand, and led him the few steps to the narrow bed. His lips flattened into a grim line, but he sat where she indicated and stiffly swung his legs up to the mattress. When he stretched out on his stomach, his feet hung over the end of the bed by several inches. He turned his head on the flat pillow to watch as she slid off her shoes and discarded her jacket and sweater. Unlike Kabul, where it was only in the forties, or up in the mountains, where it was even colder, this town sat low enough in altitude and far enough south that the temperature still hovered in the mid to high seventies. She’d been sweltering since they’d arrived here and it felt amazing to lose a few layers.

  She knelt on the edge of the mattress and hesitated. God, his back. Even his scars had scars. “Will it hurt you if I sit on you?”

  He lifted his head and…was that a twinkle of humor in his blue eyes? “Yeah, because you’re a regular elephant.”

  Her heart did a happy little jig at his sarcasm, but as much as she loved that he’d finally relaxed enough to joke, she couldn’t let him get away with that one. She whacked his hip with the back of her hand. “You wanted me to tell you when you’re being an asshole? Well, there you go. Exhibit A.”

  Something that might have been a smile twitched at the corner of his lips. “Of course you’re not going to hurt me, Phoebe. You’re, what? Five three, one-ten, fifteen? What can a little thing like you do to me that hasn’t already been done?”

  Annnd there went the moment of levity.

  “We need to work on your sense of humor.” She swung a leg over his waist and straddled his back, sitting down hard because—well, damaged or not, he deserved it for the elephant remark.

  He huffed out a breath, then sent her a scowl over his shoulder. “Easy.”

  She used her arm like a trunk and trumpeted.

  “Smart-ass,” he muttered and stuffed his face in the pillow. She suspected to hide a smile. Someday soon, she’d see his smile. And maybe he’d even give it freely, without feeling like he had to smother it. But for now, she’d mark that hidden smile as a point in the win column. It was progress.

  Phoebe squirted some of the lotion into her palm, cupped her hands together, and blew on it to warm it up. She started at his neck and worked her way down his spine. Under the scars, he was all lean muscle, built like a runner. He used to be bulkier, she knew. She’d seen photos of him from high school, when he’d been offered a full ride to Notre Dame on a football scholarship. She’d also seen photos of him and his ill-fated team directly before they left for their last mission. And honestly, she liked his body better now, scars and all. Liked the way his muscles felt under her fingertips as she worked his skin.

  Wait. No. She shouldn’t be liking his body at all.

  Except, dammit, she did. And in response, her body was heating up in all the right places and the groan of pure masculine pleasure that rumbled from his throat did not help. Her breathing shallowed until she was almost panting.

  She was already wet for him, which was kind of embarrassing because she knew for a fact sex was the absolute last thing on his mind. At least he couldn’t feel her arousal through her jeans.

  Focus.

  She simply had to focus, like when she did a nude portrait shoot. Only the subject was important. Their pose, the way the light played off their skin. Everything else was just background noise and she had to blur it out and focus.

  On Seth.

  Right. Focusing on him really hadn’t been the problem since he barreled into her life. Focusing on anything but him, on the other hand? He’d gotten under her skin, invaded her every thought, and she couldn’t shake him loose.

  She traced the indent of his spine, fanned her hands out at the small of his back. Oh, but he had a beautiful body, even with the scars. Would she ever love to get him into her studio back home. He was determination and loyalty personified and would make an amazing addition to the Naked Emotion collection she’d been working on for the past few years.

  Then again, she didn’t want the world to see him naked. She wanted to see him naked.

  No, no, no. Focus.

  Needing a moment’s distraction, she leaned over and reached for the bottle of lotion she’d leaned against the wall next to his head. His hand shot out, long fingers closing around her wrist. For a solid five seconds, he didn’t move, didn’t say anything, merely held on to her wrist, and she held her breath. Then, slowly, he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm.

  Heat sizzled up her arm from the contact of his lips and she exhaled shakily. “Seth?”

  His lips grazed her inner wrist and she gasped, her thighs involuntarily clenching around his waist. Who knew wrists were so sensitive? She certainly hadn’t, but when he opened his mouth and added an experimental flick of his tongue, the caress rocketed straight to her sex.

  As she swam in the heady, lust-drunk sensation, Seth changed their positions, and she suddenly found herself tucked underneath his body. She opened her thighs to cradle his hips, welcoming his weight and the growing bulge at the front of his shorts pressing against her core.

  Was this really happening?

  He answered her thought by lifting her up and yanking off her tank top. He made short work of her bra clasp and tossed the garment aside, then dipped his head to her breast like a man starving for intimacy and teased her nipple with his tongue. It was almost an assault—in the best possible way, with all of her senses humming from the bombardment. He was rough and impatient and she loved every second, moaning her encouragement to take what he needed from her.

  And he did need it, same as he’d needed the massage. He was hyped up, tense, still high on the adrenaline rush of their close call in the valley. She had no illusions that this was anything other than an act of release and she was okay with that. More than okay if he kept using his teeth to tug at her nipple like he was right now.

  “Seth!” She gasped his name, clutched his head to her chest, and arched toward him, riding the waves of heat pouring off him and into her.

  He released her breast and pushed himself up to his knees. Blue eyes burning hot with unfulfilled lust raked down her body, but he didn’t touch her again.

  With a vicious curse, he jumped off the bed and paced by the foot. He made an impressive sight with his muscles and scars and the erection jutting from his hips, covered by only a thin layer of cotton. She watched him for several beats, dazed, still expecting him to return to her and send her flying with his mouth and hands. And more. Oh, yes, please more. Maybe he was looking for a stash of condoms, because they would definitely need those before things went any further.

  The sheen of sweat on her skin started to cool and the haze of lust cleared from her mind. He wasn’t coming back to bed.

  She sat up. “What’s wrong?”

  He stopped pacing and stared down at his feet. “I’ve only ever been with one other woman.” The back of his neck reddened at the admission and he wouldn’t look at her.

  “Um…” She struggled to wrap her mind around why that was a problem. “It’s okay. I’ve only ever been with my ex-husband and one college boyfriend. So if you’re nervous about—”

  “No.” If his neck got any redder it’d catch fire. “Jesus, no. That’s not— I’m not a novice,” he said roughly. “I know what I’m doing. Even used to be good at it.”

  Yes, she absolutely believed that. Just with his hands and lips, he’d brought her closer to climax than she’d ever been without the help of a vibrator. “I guess I don’t understand what you’re getting at.” But as soon as the words left her tongue, his meaning became painfully clear: he was talking about his ex-fiancée. The woman whose picture he still carried around.

  Yeah. That snuffed out any remaining spark of lust.

  Phoebe found the edge of the blanket and drew it up over her naked breasts.

  “This, uh, isn’t going to happen betwee
n us, is it?” Resigned, she sat up on the edge of the bed and held the blanket to her front. She could still feel the lingering heat of his mouth on her nipple and her body hummed with anticipation, but she could also see the writing on the wall. He wasn’t ready for intimacy yet. Had to wonder if he ever would be.

  “No,” he said and his shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, Phoebe. I never should have started it in the first place, but I haven’t…since before. The massage felt so good and the urge to—” He paused, cleared his throat. “Honestly, I don’t even know if everything still works like it should.”

  A lump rose in her throat, but she swallowed it back and drummed up a smile. “It looks to me everything’s working just fine.”

  He gripped his erection through his shorts like he wanted to hide it from her. “I’m disfigured. Scarred.”

  “I don’t care,” she whispered.

  He stared at her in silence for so long, embarrassment warmed her cheeks.

  “You’re…” He seemed to search for the right word, but came up empty and shook his head. “How can you have so much compassion? Isn’t it exhausting caring so much?”

  “Not as exhausting as pretending not to care about anything.”

  Haunted blue eyes dropped to her mouth. A second later, he was leaning down, closing the distance between their lips. He kissed her reverently, like a man cherishing something priceless. And she couldn’t help it—her heart melted into a puddle.

  This man. What was it about him that made her go weak?

  She shouldn’t want him. Shouldn’t allow herself to want him. Not with everything…

  Seth cupped the back of her neck and tilted her head with the pressure of his thumb against her jaw, angling her mouth toward his to deepen the kiss. His tongue swept over her lower lip, asking gentle permission, and she opened to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders. Kissing him was…

  God, she couldn’t even find the words to describe the sensations he ignited with only a touch of his lips. All she knew in that second was the burning need to get closer to him. Feel more of his mouth and hands. Join with him.