Using the fall of her golden hair to hide his words from any lip readers in the group, Erik spoke plainly. “I’ve been staring at you all day in these poor excuses for shorts, knowing I could have my fingers buried inside you in a heartbeat.” She didn’t say anything, but her fingers spasmed behind his neck and her breath rasped out through parted lips. “I say we let your guests continue to enjoy their evening out here while we go in and start a fire of our own. What do you say?”
“Hmmm…I say…” She screwed up her face into one of deep consideration, pretending to think about his offer. He loved that she felt comfortable enough with him to tease, but teasing or not, that she didn’t answer immediately was a smack upside his inner caveman’s head. There was too much testosterone coursing through him after wanting to fuck her for the last eight hours. If she didn’t answer him correctly—and soon—he’d go into hair-dragging mode.
At last she locked those hypnotic eyes on him, the mischief replaced with desire. “I don’t think I can stand another minute without feeling you inside me,” she whispered.
“That’s the answer I was waiting for, baby.” Erik stood them up and grabbed Olivia’s hand. “We’ll be inside if anyone needs us.” While leading her away from the group, he reconsidered his parting statement and paused just long enough to make himself clear. “Don’t need us for at least two hours.”
“Erik,” Olivia scolded through the giggle she couldn’t help. She dug her heels in and called back over her shoulder. “We’ll be right back.”
“No we won’t.” Dipping his shoulder, he tossed her over as easily as a bag of sand. A very light bag of sand that smelled of rosewater and the slick honey of her arousal. Fucking hell.
“Eventually?” she asked as she held onto his belt to keep from bouncing into his back.
“Not likely.” A smile spread across his face when he heard her sigh of contentment, and her arms came around his waist to embrace him in the only way she could while upside down. Erik couldn’t think of a single woman he knew who’d be okay with what he was doing. Olivia, on the other hand, wasn’t the least bit pissy about being dragged away from her guests to satisfy his sexual hunger. Their sexual hunger.
Fuck me. I’m crazy about this woman.
Once he stepped into the kitchen, he set her on her feet and gave her a quick kiss before heading to the fridge to retrieve the bottle of Merlot he’d brought over. He’d been imagining the two of them in a hot bath and him drinking the red wine from the tips of her pointed nipples. Holding the bottle up, he asked, “Your dad have glasses? If not, I’m perfectly fine licking it from your body.”
Olivia sauntered over to him and dragged a finger down the front of his shirt. “Why choose when we can do both?”
A growl of anticipation and growing impatience rumbled in his chest. She winked and turned to open one of the cabinets. He was considering giving her a warning smack on her perfect ass when the all-too-familiar rapport of a .50 cal going cyclic rent the air.
His world exploded, horrifically underscored by the sound of shattering glass and a woman’s scream. Huge clouds of dust from the explosion hung in the air, making his range of visibility no more than a few meters in any direction. Off to his left, a female civilian stood in shock with blood splattered across her front and the mangled body—or what was left of it—of one of his men at her feet.
“Goddammit, Jazz. Fuck. Preacher, we need a medic! Jazz is down! Preacher, you hear me?” Erik shouted so loud his vocal chords burned, but he needed Preacher for Jazz, even though he knew the man was beyond help. Anguish ripped through him like bullets, shredding his heart as he tried to gather up the gruesome remains of his fallen brother.
The guns kept firing, the sound like thunder raining down from above, and yet the woman didn’t run or take cover. “Get down!” Erik yanked her behind the Humvee with him and pushed her to the ground. Bullets sprayed the dirt-packed route that passed for a street in these parts of the world. Men shouted from every direction, some in English—his men—and some in Arabic—their enemy. But from somewhere in the melee he heard Bowie yell out the status of two more of their team. Smoke was fucked up but alive, which was more than they could say for Harley.
Jazz and Harley had been the ones to hit the door of the compound first, following Erik’s orders based on intel he’d trusted. Their blood was on his hands, the same as if he’d been the one to trigger the bomb that took their lives.
“Fuck!” He banged his head back against the Humvee and squeezed his eyes shut. He had to get his men out of there. Sweat poured from his brow, down the center of his back. His heart slammed so hard and fast he expected to feel the sharp pain of his ribs cracking at any second.
He scrambled to draw his M4, to feel the comfort of the cold, blued steel in his grip, but it wasn’t there. Where the hell was it? Not having his rifle was the same as not having his right arm; it was just as much a part of him as any God-given appendage. Fuck, fuck, fuck!
“Erik, baby, talk to me. What’s going on? What are you seeing?”
The woman he’d dragged to cover pushed herself up from the ground to kneel next to him. She had blood everywhere; he didn’t know if it was all from Jazz or if any of it belonged to her. God, what in the hell was she doing in the middle of a goddamn war zone? He needed to get her to safety and get Preacher to look at her, too. If he could get Dozer and Bowie to lay down some cover, Erik could get her to the RP—
“Baby, please,” she begged, “talk to me.”
“I’m going to get you out of here, but I need you to listen to me and do exactly what I fucking say, when I fucking say it. Got it?” Tears swam in her eyes. He wanted to tell her everything would be all right, but he couldn’t bring himself to make that promise. “Do you understand me?”
Finally, she nodded. “Yes, I understand.”
“Good. Now keep your head down. I’m going to redirect the boys to lay in and provide some covering fire so I can get you to the rally point where you’ll be safe. Then I’m unleashing hell on these motherfuckers.”
…
The kitchen floor was covered in red wine and shattered glass. Most of the shards had scattered away from them, but not all, and when Erik had shoved her to the floor, she’d caught herself with her hands. She spared herself a concussion but now had several cuts staining her hands with blood the way the spray of wine had stained her clothes.
But those details were a mere blip in her mind compared to what mattered most as she knelt next to Erik in the corner of the L-shaped counter, and that was coaxing him out of the nightmarish flashback he was steeped in.
Olivia winced as the sound of fireworks continued to pop from a neighboring yard. She’d considered the possibility that the loud bangs might trigger something for him, even if he’d never had problems on the Fourth of July before, which was the sole purpose for hosting the party at her parents’ house; it was far enough away from any city fireworks display. What she hadn’t thought of was that the sound of the smaller ones—the kind people bought to set off at their own parties—might trigger him as well.
Olivia’s specialty was treating individuals with PTSD. She’d seen many of her clients experience flashbacks, and she knew exactly what to do when they did. How to speak to them, how to guide them through and eventually out of it. She loved her job, and she was damn good at it.
But none of those people had been teasing and flirting with her one second and sinking into a flashback so fast in the next that it took her a full fifteen seconds to get over the shock.
None of them had been her boyfriend, the man she’d fallen for faster than she ever thought humanly possible.
None of them had been Erik.
“Dozerrrrr!”
Olivia jumped at Erik’s sudden shout for his friend. Before she had a chance to react, she heard the French doors to the patio whip open with what sounded like a stampede rushing through. Erik heard them, too, but based on his reaction, his mind told him their friends were members of Al-Qaeda
advancing on their position.
Angling his body to better cover Olivia in the corner he wouldn’t let her out from, Erik snatched up the broken bottleneck and yelled out a warning. “Don’t you fuckers come any closer, or I swear you’ll be eating this grenade as a last meal!”
The action seemed to have stopped on the other side of the breakfast bar with lots of loud whispers and concerned murmuring, but Erik didn’t react to it, making Olivia wonder if he couldn’t hear things that would be abnormal on a battlefield. She could only imagine whatever was going on in his head.
“What the fuck is going on?” That was Dozer’s voice. “Grady, what are you doing, man?”
“D! I have a civilian, possible injuries. Taking her to RP Lone Wolf, but I need some cover, copy?”
She couldn’t see them from her crouched position, but she had no problem hearing the strings of agitated curse words from the guys mixing with the concerned whispers from the women. “Erik,” Olivia said in her calm therapist tone, trying to get his attention. “I need you to listen to me. You’re not in Iraq anymore. You’re home now and it’s safe.”
More fireworks crackled like gunfire, acting like an audible “fuck you” to what she’d just promised. Erik reacted by pulling her to his chest and huddling over her.
“Goddammit, Dozer, do you fucking copy?”
“Dozer,” she interrupted as she eased her way out of his arms, “don’t answer him, and everyone needs to stay out of his line of sight. In fact, you should all go back outside and let me handle this.”
“You’re insane if you think I’m leaving.” The big man’s words sounded like they were being pushed through clenched teeth. “How about you leave, and I’ll handle it. I know him better than anyone.” More fireworks, more shouted orders from Erik to his team. “Smoke, take the guys and make that shit stop. I don’t care if you have to go house to house in a two-block radius and confiscate every last firecracker you see. Everyone else, out.”
“Copy that,” Smoke said. “Let’s go, boys.”
Olivia heard the sounds of people exiting through the back doors, but she wasn’t yet alone with Erik. “You, too, Dozer.”
“No can do, Doc,” Dozer said as he rounded the corner and stood several feet in front of them.
“Dozer, can you see Smoke?” Erik asked, pain clearly etched on his face. “Is Preacher with him? Fuck, D, we lost Harley and Jazz. Motherfucker, we lost them.”
“I know, brother. It was bad intel; there’s nothing we could have done. It happens.”
“It happened because of me. I fucking sent them to die, man. Me. But no one else, do you hear me? No one else fucking dies. We need to get to the RP and pull out now.”
“Erik,” Olivia said, placing her hands on his face, no longer caring if she bled on him. She needed him to focus on her. “Sweetie, what you’re seeing isn’t real. You’re safe, in my parents’ kitchen.” His erratic breaths started to slow down; he braceleted her wrists, holding her hands in place, and his eyes showed faint hints of recognition. “We’re in Cambridge, Massachusetts, because we hosted a party for our friends, remember?”
“Wolf, you need to snap out of it, brother.”
As soon as he heard Dozer’s voice, everything in Erik tensed back up.
“Dozer, you need to leave. Your presence isn’t helping to pull him out; it’s anchoring him there. Please.”
The man was primed to argue, but Angie, who had apparently been standing off to the side, stepped in and slipped an arm through his. “Come on, Gavin,” she said. “Olivia knows what she’s doing. She’ll help him.”
Dozer appeared conflicted, clearly torn between leaving a man he considered his brother and getting a chance to talk with Angie, which Olivia assumed was something Dozer had wanted since that day at the firehouse. But when Angie tugged on his arm, his resolve crumbled, and with a last pleading glance in Olivia’s direction, he followed her out of the house.
Finally.
“Erik, baby, look at me.” His gaze had been darting around the room, seeing things only visible to him. She shuddered to think about what it might be, considering the things he’d been saying about his men dying. Again, she held his blood-streaked face with her hands. His eyes darted to the front of her shirt.
“There’s blood. You’re injured. You need—”
“Baby, no, it’s not blood; it’s red wine. We were about to go take a bath and drink some wine, but you dropped the bottle and some of it sprayed me, that’s all.”
He furrowed his brow as though trying to decipher a foreign language. “Wine?”
“Yes, only wine.” Ducking her head to lock eyes with him, she said, “Look at me, Erik, and focus on my voice. It’s me, Olivia. There’s no battle; you’re having a flashback. We’re in the kitchen and the sounds you heard were fireworks for the Fourth of July, not gunfire.”
“Fourth of July,” he murmured. His whiskey eyes darted back and forth on hers, the struggle to understand the current situation apparent. At last, she saw a flicker of recognition. “Livvie?”
She smiled in relief and drew in a deep breath, the first since hearing the bottle smash to pieces. “Yes, I’m here, baby. You’re okay, I promise.”
Full realization dawned on his face as he looked around and saw the reality of his surroundings as opposed to his hallucination. “Oh God, what the hell just happened? What did I do?”
“Some fireworks triggered a flashback from when you were in Iraq. It’s completely normal, nothing to worry about. You can talk about it with the major next week, or if you’d like, you can call him right now from my father’s office.”
His attention snapped back to her, a mix of horror and outrage hardening his features when he took in her state. He gathered her hands in his and turned them palms up. “You’re bleeding. Oh, Jesus, did I—”
“No,” she answered vehemently. “This is from me falling on the glass. You didn’t hurt me, Erik. You wouldn’t.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, his sharp mind doing double-time to put the missing pieces together. “You didn’t fall, did you? What happened?”
“Erik, it doesn’t matter.”
“Bullshit, it doesn’t matter,” he said, his agitation growing. “If I hurt you—”
“You thought I was a civilian and pushed me down to avoid getting shot. You were trying to save me, not hurt me, and they’re not even deep. A couple of Band-Aids and I’ll be good as new.” Olivia offered him a reassuring smile, but he wasn’t buying it.
“I hurt you. Your hands are bleeding because of something I did. Bottom line.”
She’d been afraid of this. He considered what happened his fault, and it would continue to eat at him if she couldn’t get him to let it go. “We can talk about it later if you want, but right now I think you should go to our room downstairs and take a long, hot shower. I’ll clean up in here and meet you in there when you’re done.”
He pushed up to his feet and pulled her up with him. “No, first we bandage your hands, then I’ll clean the fucking mess I made while you go relax in the tub.”
Ugh, the man was so damn stubborn! She wanted to scold him or swear at him or rail at him or all of the above, but Olivia knew it wouldn’t get her anywhere. All that would do would be to bring out his caveman, and she’d find herself tossed over his shoulder and hauled off to be put through the paces he instructed her to do. No, to make any headway with a wolf, you had to fight dirty.
Stepping in close, she wrapped her arms around his waist and stared up into his eyes. As their bodies connected, he instinctively held her in his warm embrace, offering each other some much-needed affection. “Please, Erik. I know you love taking care of me, and it makes you the greatest guy on the planet, but this time let me do it for you. I know where everything is and it won’t take me long. All I want is for you to go take some time for yourself, decompress. Please, will you do that for me?”
He blew out a sigh of frustration and scrubbed an agitated palm over his head a few times. “F
ine. But only if you promise to call one of the girls in to help you.”
“I will, I promise.”
Nodding once, he kissed her forehead and made his way toward the basement guest room where they’d placed their overnight bags. She needed to recruit Cindi’s help with her hands and the mess on the floor so she could get to the room. He’d have a hard enough time being with his thoughts during the shower; she didn’t want to give him any more time than necessary where he could blame himself or feel as though he’d failed her. The truth couldn’t be more opposite, and she’d do everything in her power to make him see that.
Before they went to sleep tonight, Erik Grady would know exactly where they stood: together, no matter what.
Chapter Fourteen
Dozer followed Angie across the backyard to a small shed at the edge of the property that housed all the gardening and lawn-care tools. He glanced back at the house, hating that his brother was in there suffering. The only reason he agreed to leave was because he knew Erik wasn’t in actual danger and he trusted Olivia to take care of him.
“He’s going to be fine, you know. Olivia’s very good at her job, and she loves him.”
Her voice flowed around him like a caress from a soft breeze. She hadn’t spoken to him like that since before he left for Basic. He’d almost forgotten how melodic and soothing it was, especially when her emotions brought out the lilt of her accent.
“I know.” His words sounded like they’d passed through the shards of glass blanketing the kitchen floor. “But real or not, turning my back on him feels ten kinds of wrong. He’s my brother, and right now, he thinks I abandoned him during a firefight. I’d sooner gut myself with a dull, rusty knife before ever doing that.”
“How long have you been together?”
“First day of Basic.” Dozer swallowed thickly. “Other than my mom and sister, that man’s the most important person in my life. It’s those three, followed by the other three guys on our squad. Then there’s everyone else.”
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