Here Comes The Groom: Special Forces #1

by Karina Bliss

  “That’s after five years, remember. And it’s not just about recurrence.” Jo swallowed. “Chemo may have affected my fertility and I know you eventually want kids.”

  He took a step toward her. “I want you more.”

  She backed away. “Even if I could conceive, I don’t know if I want to have children with this hanging over me…. It wouldn’t be fair.”

  “Fair. Since when is life fair?” The porch light went off. He pulled off one work boot and threw it at the motion sensor. The light flicked on. “Don’t you know I’m here for you no matter what?”

  But she was already shaking her head. “I won’t let you make that sacrifice.”

  “It’s not a sacrifice, it’s a choice and I’ve made it.” Again Dan closed the gap. “I choose you.”

  “Stop and think about this, Dan,” she challenged him. “You really want to marry a woman who might die? You’ve already lost Steve and Lee this year. You think I don’t see how much you’re suffering? It’s eating you up.”

  “All the more reason to make every day count.”

  “No.” Turning, Jo strode toward her vehicle. “I’m not dragging you into my waiting game.”

  Wearing one work boot, Dan followed her. “What you’re really saying is that I don’t have the cojones to marry a woman living with cancer.”

  That stopped her. Their eyes locked. In the near dark he couldn’t make out her expression. “Nice try,” she said and opened the car door.

  “I didn’t get the chance to fight alongside them,” he said quietly. “Don’t deny me the chance to fight alongside you.”

  Jo leaned her forehead on the edge of the open door. Dan waited. The interior car light illuminated her face as she turned, using the door as a barrier. “I’ll accept your support, but only as a friend.”

  Dan remembered her expression last night when he’d told her he loved her. He would never let her shut him out again.

  Pulling the door out of her hands, he nudged her against the car, holding her there with his body. “I love you,” he said. “That’s nonnegotiable. How do you feel about me?”

  “Under the circumstances, having a relationship would be selfish and irrespon—”

  He kissed her. With so much yearning, so much need and persuasion that she had no choice but to kiss him back. With a groan, Jo wrenched her mouth away. “The fear’s always going to be there,” she warned.

  “In the SAS they teach you that it’s how you dance with it that makes the difference.”

  She closed her eyes.

  Sliding one hand behind her nape, Dan nuzzled her neck. “Dance with me,” he murmured against her skin, felt her responsive shiver.

  “I don’t—”

  He kissed her again, taking his time, doing it right. “Yes,” he insisted. “You do.” He saw with satisfaction that, cheeks flushed and heavy-lidded, she wasn’t thinking very clearly anymore.

  “Damn you,” she said then kissed him without reservations.

  “We need to talk about how this is going to work,” she managed when they broke apart.

  “Later.” Tugging her into the house, he pushed open the door to his bedroom. “First I owe you a night.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Jo grabbed the doorjamb. “Dan, I’m not ready.”

  “You’ll never be ready.” Shifting his hold, he gently pried her hand free and turned on the light. “And the longer we leave this, the harder it will be for you.”

  Anger threaded through her panic. “You asshole, I need you to be sensitive about this.”

  He sat on the bed, holding her easily on his lap. “Tell me this,” he said, “if I had testicular cancer and lost one of my balls would it make a difference in your wanting me?”

  “No, but this is different.”

  “Why, because a breast is bigger? Okay, what if I’d lost an arm or a leg…. I’m trying to figure out, Jo, which missing body part would make me unlovable.”

  She laughed, half in despair. “It’s not about love, it’s about desire. You’ve always been a breast man.” She’d postponed reconstructive surgery in favor of making the quickest recovery possible. At the time she hadn’t seen sex in her immediate future, let alone falling for her best friend.

  He tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “One will do.”

  “I can’t believe you’re trying to make a joke out of this.” She scrambled off his lap. “You know this is difficult.”

  “Yeah, but we’re not going to make it tragic.” He held out his hand. “Nothing could stop you being the sexiest woman on the planet to me, Jo,” he said. “Nothing.”

  Her heart was so high in her throat she could hardly breathe but she took his hand. He was right. Sooner or later they had to deal with this. Lightly, he drew her down beside him. “Show me.”

  Jo hesitated, then, fingers trembling, she undid her shirt and shrugged it off. Reaching for the snap, her courage deserted her. It had taken her a long time to make peace with her lopsided chest, to look in the mirror without flinching. “I can’t…please. At least let our first time be with the bra on.”

  Instantly, she was engulfed in his comforting arms. “If that’s you want.”

  What she wanted was her missing breast. Even if it didn’t matter to Dan, it mattered to her. Deal with it.

  Feeling ugly, unsexy and sad, Jo tried to relax into Dan’s embrace. She nestled against his body, hard with muscle. He was so beautiful, this man…perfect.

  And though she was no longer perfect, she let the hot, insistent pressure of his mouth cloud her mind with lust until she could pretend they were still in her Auckland hotel room.

  There was no doubt he wanted her, the denim straining over his erection proved that. His rippled abdomen tightened when she unzipped his jeans, slid her hand lower. His cock was hard, and hot and smooth.

  He hauled her closer, his lower body trapping her hand, and began his own exploration, unzipping her trousers, caressing her through her panties. “How many months I’ve wanted to do this,” he rasped between long slow kisses while Jo moved restlessly under his skillful fingers. Yes, she wanted this, wanted him. But she would set the ground rules.

  Jo rolled free. “Take off your clothes.”

  He chuckled. “If you do, too.”

  They kicked off their pants together and she helped him remove his shirt, comfortable in her prosthesis bra. It was full cupped with a pocket for a silicon insert, complete with nipple. He would never know the difference even by touching—except perhaps by comparing the warmth to her real flesh?

  Jo stalled.

  Dan slid down the bed, gently pressing her knees apart, shocking her into paying attention. Was he…?

  She gasped as he licked her inner thigh, then moved higher, sending her arching off the bed, all nerve endings and sensation. And, as with everything he did, he was so wickedly competent she climaxed within minutes.

  Slowly, Dan kissed his way up her body. She opened her mouth to protest weakly and he cut her off, his tongue demanding and passionate.

  She had to take charge of this while she still could. Threading her hands through his thick hair, Jo tugged to make him shift his weight. Rolling him onto his back, she straddled him, pressing his fingers to her remaining breast, needing his touch.

  Because she was a breast person, too.

  Instinctively his other hand went to the prosthesis cup and she intercepted it, lacing their fingers together and hiding her sadness under lowered lashes. Then she smiled, because his erection was hard and hot against her.

  Delaying the moment, she slid against him, tormenting them both. “Patience,” she teased and he growled. She kissed that fierce mouth, nipping his lower lip, before sitting upright. His fingers tightened on her breast. Every time she became aware of the covering bra, Jo remembered she was disfigured.

  This time Dan saw her frustration. “Take the bra off, Jo.”

  “No.” It shouldn’t matter to her and yet it did. Angry, she climbed off him. He’s not the one r
epulsed, you are. “Let’s wait until I’ve had reconstructive surgery.” Months, that meant months of sexual frustration. Why was she punishing herself? Punishing them?

  He was watching her carefully. “Okay.”

  God, she hated sympathy. “Don’t worry,” she snapped. “I can give you blow jobs in the meantime.”

  He had her on her back so quickly she didn’t have time to do more than give a startled yelp. “Yeah, because that’s all this is about.”

  “You should have accepted my offer in Auckland—” her voice broke “—when I was perfect.”

  “I didn’t love that Jo,” he said gently, “I love this one. And I don’t care about perfect. I just care that you’re here.” She pressed her palms against his chest, and he moved to let her sit up. Without giving herself time to think, Jo unfastened her bra and pulled it off. Fighting the urge to close her eyes, she watched as Dan’s gaze went to her scar, a ten-centimeter line across where her left breast should have been.

  Just over a year after surgery, it was still a welt of angry red, in and of itself nothing to shock the squeamish. It was the position that unsettled Jo. Instead of a curve there was flatness, no nipple. Beside it, the lushness of her right breast only seemed to highlight the oddness, the sense of something missing.

  Dan’s chest expanded in a silent, careful breath and Jo died inside. Impossible not to notice his erection had subsided, not fully enough to make her feel…ugly. Rejected.

  “I should have been there for you,” he said, his voice ragged.

  She’d never thought that he might feel excluded. Jo pulled him close and buried her face in his neck. The muscles were corded, tense. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, pressing her lips against them. “Dan, I’m sorry. I did what I thought was best at the time.”

  Grabbing her shoulders, he forced her to look at him. “Don’t you ever shut me out again, you hear me?” He was crying. She had never seen him cry.

  Shocked, Jo shook her head.

  “Promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  He dropped his hands. One cupped her right breast, the other traced the scar. The pad of his thumb moved gently over the puckered flesh.

  Because tears rolled down his cheeks, Jo suffered the touch. But when he lowered his head to kiss her there she pushed him away. Dan caught her hands and laid his lips to her surgical scar. “Don’t you know war wounds are a badge of pride?” he said gruffly. “Besides, this one’s a baby.”

  Of course, he’d seen worse. There was no shock. Still, she was horrified, watching him touch it. On a practical level she might have made peace with her physical loss but not her loss of sensuality. What was a woman’s femininity without her breasts?

  “What do you feel when I do this?” he asked. Only traces of tears remained on his lean cheeks.

  “I’m still numb.” Inside and out.

  “Will you feel more with reconstruction?”

  “No.” Her throat hurt. “All the benefits are psychological.”

  He stroked the scar again. “You know what I feel?”

  “Horror?” She couldn’t quite make that a joke. “Compassion?” Almost worse.

  He spread his fingers wide over the scar, over her heart. “Gratitude. If it wasn’t for this, you might not be here.”

  “See,” she said, blinking hard. “You’re being kind. But kind isn’t sexy, is it?”

  “You want sexy, Jo?” His voice grew husky, and she noticed he’d become hard again. Lifting her gaze to his, her stomach dropped. Naked, Dan rose from the bed and went to the closet, his movements strong and graceful. Tanned everywhere but his buttocks. He opened the wardrobe door wide and she saw a reflection of the bed, then her surprised face.

  “God bless Mom’s vanity,” he said. “Full-length mirrors everywhere.” He sat on the edge of the bed and positioned her between his legs so they were both facing the mirror. Jo stared at the scar cutting across the right side of her chest and her excitement dissipated. She focused on Dan instead.

  His body was a warm wall behind her, his erection solid against the small of her back. Strong male legs, bracketed her smooth, pale ones; his shoulders and biceps dwarfed hers. In comparison she looked fragile, pale and utterly feminine.

  Except for that scar.

  He trailed her neck with lazy nibbles and the woman in the mirror grew heavy-lidded. Her remaining breast with its peaked nipple lifted as she tangled her fingers in his tawny hair and tilted her head to give him better access.

  Dan lifted his head; over her shoulder his eyes burned. She remembered that intent look from when he’d come to her house with the lilies…like she was prey and he was a hunter. Jo swallowed and gripped his iron-hard thighs.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his breath sending a shiver down her spine. “I knew you’d be beautiful naked.”

  One callused hand cupped her pale breast, the thumb circling and sensitizing the pink nipple. The other moved delicately over the scar, fanning out to cover her heart. The contrast in sensations made her squirm.

  “You like that?”

  “What else you got?” she panted.

  With a chuckle, Dan spread her legs with those strong hands.

  “Oh,” Jo said weakly.

  “Like you said up by the trough,” he teased, starting another conversation with his fingers, “I’m more than capable.” Minutes passed. In a darker tone, he said, “Feeling sexy yet?”

  Jo watched herself writhe in the mirror. “That woman is a total slut,” she managed. With an effort of will, she turned in his arms and pushed him down on the bed. “You’re not going to have this all your own way, mister.”

  Dan spread his arms wide in surrender. His voice was as smoky as his eyes. “Don’t you know I’m all yours yet?”

  Her vision blurred and she blinked. She wanted every second of this to be sharp and clear. She eased herself onto him.

  For an infinite moment they paused like that, gazes locked, bodies joined. Outside a defiant warbler trilled a rising crescendo of notes…the sound like joy skipping and tripping over itself.

  Then one of them moved, and every sound faded.

  And Jo discovered some things could be perfect after all.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Deeply asleep, Jo rolled onto her side, taking the blankets with her. It wasn’t the first time. Smiling, Dan tugged at the blankets until she rolled over with a murmured protest, settling against his chest like she belonged there.

  It felt good. It felt right.

  All his life Dan had resisted the passionate, lifelong kind of love because his parents made it look like hard labor. Maybe that’s why he’d been blind to Jo as more than a friend. Still, his bride needed some serious training in sharing a bed. He figured fifty years should do it.

  Cupping his hand over her hair, Dan steeled himself to consider the implications of her cancer. He still couldn’t deal with the fact that she’d kept him out of her treatment, so he pushed it aside. Jo could still die. The thought didn’t evoke any kind of visceral reaction. Why?

  Because I don’t believe it.

  And it wasn’t just because she lay soft and warm in his arms and he felt more optimistic than he had for the first time in months. Whether the cancer returned or not, Jo was a fighter. And to his last breath, Dan would fight alongside her.

  “Your heartbeat has sped up,” Jo said softly. “It woke me up.”

  “Go to sleep.”

  “What were you thinking about?”

  She knew. He could tell by the way her body had tensed.

  “That we’ve just given this memory foam mattress something to remember.”

  He felt her smile against his heart. “I don’t think that’s how they work.”

  “You’re right, it probably takes a few times to imprint.” She gave a cry of surprise as he flipped her off him and rolled on top. “Better get onto that….”

  * * *

  The phone ringing dragged Dan to consciousness. For a moment he blin
ked in the late-morning light. What the hell was he doing in bed so late? Then he remembered.

  Over the sound of the phone, he could hear the shower running in the bathroom down the hall. Smiling, he rolled over the indent from her body to reach for the phone. “Isn’t life wonderful?” he greeted his caller.

  “Dan…hi,” said his cousin’s widow.

  Pulling up the sheet, Dan swung his feet to the floor. “Claire.” He cursed himself for his insensitivity. “I’ve been meaning to phone and check on you and Lewis.”

  “Hey, I can just as easily phone you.” Except she never did. “Anyway, I’m RSVPing to your wedding invitation.”

  “Look, I understand if you don’t want to come—”

  “Don’t be silly, we wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Her tone rang too bright. “Steve and I always thought you and Jo belonged together…but you guys could never see it.”

  He scratched his head. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

  “Because you both would have run a mile.”

  Dan chuckled. “It’ll be good to see you,” he said gruffly.

  “I’m looking forward to catching up with everyone.” She hesitated. “So who’s the best man, Ross or Nate?”

  The familiar band of grief tightened around Dan’s chest. They both knew who it should have been. “Ross. Nate can’t make it home.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  Dan understood Claire’s shock. A former foster kid, Nate had adopted his SAS brothers as his own. He was the one who organized social get-togethers and remembered birthdays. Hell, he even made them celebrate the anniversary of their first deployment as a troop. This year it had come and gone unmarked.

  “I guess we just have to give him some time,” she said.

  If time could really heal. Nate had been the last man standing, fighting alone to defend his wounded and dead comrades. Dan’s jaw ached; he unclenched his teeth. He had no right to suffer like this—not compared to Nate or Ross, not compared to Claire and Lewis or Lee’s bereaved family and fiancée, Julia.