Anything.
Everything.
“Well, that looks good too,” she quips, then coughs. “I mean it’s healing nicely.” She blushes and tries to pull away, to straighten, but my fingers in her hair hold her still. She looks at me again and, dammit, licks her lips. Then her hand covers mine. “Let me go.”
I’m not sure how many seconds tick past until I open my fist and she pulls away. Then she turns and picks the sheet up off the floor and tosses it over my middle before bending over her notepad to scribble additional notes. That ass. I swear she did that deliberately.
“I need to look at your stump,” she says, her voice stiff and almost formal. She takes off the nut gloves and pulls on a fresh pair.
Fury slides back into my brain. “Don’t call it a fucking stump,” I growl at her. “It makes me feel like I’m one of the seven dwarfs.”
“Stumpy?” Her eyes grow wide and horror crosses her face. It’s clear she hadn’t intended to let the word fly out of her mouth. She recovers quickly and goes on, smiling tightly. “No worries. No one would ever confuse you as anyone but Grumpy.”
I can’t help it, I laugh. Not a big laugh, more of a puff of air with the tiniest bit of humor. She ignores me and keeps unwrapping the … hell, what do you call it? End of my frickin’ leg?
It’s like she’s reading my mind when she asks, “What would you like me to call it then? Residual limb?”
“George,” I blurt out. “Call it George.”
Her lips twist as she finishes with the elastic and begins taking off the gauze. “Well, George. Let’s see how you’re faring,” she says when everything is removed. Gentle fingers test for edema, feel for heat, do all the things I’ve learned nurses and therapists do.
“Well?” I ask her when I think she’s had enough time to make an assessment.
She sits up and gives me a wide smile that does something deep in my stomach. “Congratulations, Mr. Grumpy. Looks like George is almost ready for a shiny new prosthetic.”
I sag back on the padded table.
“Almost?”
“I’m betting two more days. I’ll call the prosthetic company and then schedule you for a laser scanning session which will measure the stum…” Her eyes grow big and she gives me an ‘oops’ look, “…uh, George to create a closer fit. That prosthetic is the one we’ll use for rehab. As George shrinks, we’ll make adjustments as well as get you a diverse set of bionics that will allow you to get your life back to as normal as possible.”
Normal.
Okay, yeah. Whatever.
Nothing will ever be normal again.
But I’m one step closer to being on my feet. One step closer to vengeance.
Chapter 8 – Grace
Oh. Good. Gracious.
I take my breakfast out on the cliffside patio and find a seat on one of the chairs. I haven’t even been on the job for more than two hours and my emotions are torn in a dozen directions.
One … Link Duffy is absolutely gorgeous and sexy as all hell. He makes my insides do funny things that I don’t want my insides to do.
Two … I feel drawn to him. Pulled so strongly it’s like invisible strings are holding us together. I think he feels it too.
Three … I want to punch him in the face he makes me so mad. I need to check to see if he’s bipolar or something.
Four … He nearly brings me to tears. Remembering him right after his nightmare. His openness and vulnerability nearly rips me apart.
Five … He does scare me a little bit. My nose still hurts and my shoulder is sore. I need to remember to send Paul a thank you letter. Only because of his training was I able to defend myself.
Six … I, heaven help me, desperately wanted his cock in my mouth. I wanted to feel it grow there. Feel the weight of it on my tongue.
Seven … I can’t have a patient’s cock in my mouth! How horrible am I as a person? It’s unethical and a serious breach of my patient/healthcare provider commitment. I should go ahead and turn my license in just for thinking about it.
Eight … With him, I think I’d seriously throw caution to the wind for just one night.
Nine … I’m an idiot. No man is worth risking all I’ve worked for. No man! Not one.
Ten … But when he looks at me. Even when he’s angry. There’s something so beautifully raw in his eyes. So real. So poignantly sad. And brave.
Eleven …
“Hey! You going to eat that bite?”
I jump and twist in my chair to see Camille coming up the flagstone path. Then I look at the spoon I’m holding just a few inches from my mouth. How long had I been holding it that way? I quickly lower it to the bowl of oatmeal and greet her back. “How was your meeting?”
Her smile blooms on her face. “Terrific. It was with the children’s wing of the local hospital and I’m gifting them sixteen of my photos from Africa to hang in their halls. I’m having them enlarged and placed on canvas. I think they will really brighten up the place.”
“Wow, you’ve been to Africa? I can’t even imagine. I’d barely been out of Tennessee until a couple months ago.”
She winks at me. “Bet they need nurses in the Congo.”
I laugh. “I’m sure they do. Maybe someday I might do that.”
Camille reaches over and snags a strawberry from my plate. I blush at my thoughtlessness and offer her more. She snags a few blueberries and several chunks of pineapple. “Thanks. I’m starving. This is the first time I’ve felt hungry in over a week.”
“Please, eat all you want. I’d offer you my oatmeal, but it’s turned rather nasty.”
She grins as she reaches for more blueberries. “I noticed that. Seemed like you were lost deep in thought. Everything okay?”
“Oh yes,” I fib. “It’s going well. I finished my initial assessment and Link’s eating a big enough breakfast for three people. Then, I want him to work on his core balance. With the loss of his leg, everything’s off kilter. I want him to be able to function and move without the prosthesis if needed.”
“Your work sounds really interesting.”
“It is to me. I love it.”
“I can tell. The way you handled everything this morning. I just stood there screaming like an idiot, and you were able to not only defend yourself, but make him feel safe too.”
“I took some self-defense courses in Oklahoma. I learned so much from my trainer.”
She looks over at me. “I need his name and number.”
I nod. “Everybody does.”
I watch a cloud puff its way across the sky. It looks like an alligator with its mouth open, chasing a smaller cloud that looks to be a fish.
“It’s so peaceful here. A different kind of beautiful from where I grew up.”
Crash!
I sit up, swinging my legs around the chair and am standing before the next crash is heard. I run and open the door to a litany of curses. Then a plate crashes into a wall.
Rounding the sofa, I find Link on the floor, picking up a glass to throw too. I nearly giggle. He looks like a little boy throwing a tantrum. But I don’t dare. He’s seriously pissed off.
“Link, stop!” Cami yells from behind me. “Don’t—”
Crash!
I drop to my knees and pick up the coffee cup that’s survived, and grab the fork and the butter knife just in case. “Are you hurt?” I ask him, pulling a spoon from his hand. “Talk to me. What happened?”
Blue eyes flashing, he turns on me. “Do you know how much I hate this? I can’t do shit anymore. Not shit. I can’t sleep right. I can’t eat right. I can’t think right. I’m sitting here having breakfast and I realize how unfair it is. It’s so unfair that I can eat breakfast and others are starving.” He reaches out and places a hand on my shoulder. “Children. Do you know there are little kids digging through dumpsters to feed their little sisters?” He lets me go and points out the window. “Out there. In this world. Children are starving, and they’re being held as human shields and dying. And there’s n
ot a fucking thing I can do about it, but sit here and eat bacon and eggs!”
I don’t try to talk him down. I don’t try to give false reassurances and I motion to Camille to be quiet too. I let him get it out. Rage and roar at the injustices in the world and make sure he is safe as he does it.
Minutes pass and he either mumbles or yells. Some things I understand, some things I don’t. I just sit there and try to hold back my tears. What has he been through? What has he seen? And why? He owns a construction business, and has worked all over the world. Something isn’t adding up.
But right now isn’t the time to ask questions.
Now is just the time to give a damn.
When the rage seems to subside, I stand and hold out a hand. He frowns, reaches out and our palms clasp together. I pull him up and he’s in front of me looking a tad ashamed by his outburst.
“Now that you’ve practiced throwing, ready for something else?”
He calms. I think he was expecting a pep talk or a reprimand.
I feel him relax. Physically. Mentally. Spiritually. And he grins, transforming his face so completely.
I reach for his crutches and place them in his hands. “Terrific. Time for a little yoga.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Yoga?”
I lift an eyebrow right back at him. “Yoga. It’s time for us to work on your core.”
“Ha ha, very funny. I don’t think so.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Scared?”
He pulls up his shirt and I can’t help it, my eyes flick down to his abs. Even scarred as they are, they are perfect hills and valleys that descend into his elastic waist shorts in a way I’ve only seen in movies or magazines. “What’s wrong with my core anyway?”
I reach out and take his crutches, leaving him standing on his one good leg. He totters sideways and rights himself before tottering to the other side. He grits his teeth and finds his center before slowly leaning to the left. He windmills his arms to stay balanced.
I hand his crutches back to him and give a little smirk of my own. “Yoga.”
Camille giggles and we both turn to her. I’d completely forgotten she was in the room. She lifts a hand and wiggles her fingers, telling us goodbye.
“You can stay and practice with us,” I say quickly. Too quickly. I like having her here to neutralize this … attraction … pull … whatever … I’m feeling for Link.
“Maybe another day. I’m going to begin the selection process for the children’s wing prints.” She walks over and gives Link a kiss. “I’ll come back in a couple of hours and I’ll send someone over to clean up.”
“Thanks, sis.”
When the door closes behind her, the silence between us fills the room.
I break it, trying to be lighthearted and fun. “As you appear to be a yoga virgin, I promise to go easy on you. I need to get into stretchy clothes because these scrubs don’t give enough to be comfortable.” I walk into the training room and come back out with a couple of mats. “How about we go outside for this? Get some sun?”
He scowls at me, but follows and I find us a beautiful spot behind a hedge of some kind of flowering shrub. He refuses my help to get down on the mat and I promise to be back in a few minutes, instructing him to stretch until I return.
Rushing into my room, I slip out of my scrubs and into yoga pants and a sleeveless tank, thankful that I remembered to shave under my arms. I twist my hair into a knot on top of my head and slide some balm over my lips. In the kitchen, I grab two bottles of water then hunt down two small towels.
Stepping back outside, I see him. Wow, do I see him. Shirtless now, I watch him stretch one arm over his head, facing the sea. He’s holding onto a crutch for balance, but as I walk toward him, he drops it to the ground and attempts to find his center on his own.
Broad shoulders taper to a narrow waist, the muscles rippling as he fights for balance. He leans and I rush to him, gently pressing my fingers into his sides. Not much. Not enough to startle him or even secure him. Just enough to give him counterbalance.
I drop my hands and he’s steady for about a minute before he begins to lean again, getting frustrated at himself. “Fuck it. I can run forty miles with fifty pounds on my back. I can bench press hundreds of pounds all day long. Why can’t I do this?”
“Because there’s a million ways to be strong,” I tell him, guiding my fingers back to his sides. “You just haven’t mastered this way yet.”
I wait, watching as he battles the balance. He’s trying too hard. Over thinking. “Imagine there’s a root running from the top of your head, down your spine, down your leg and into the ground.” I trace a finger from the nape of his neck and down each vertebra. His skin erupts in goosebumps. “That root grows deep into the soil, expanding all around you. It’s committed to making you strong. It’s committed to supporting you fully. It’s just waiting for you to trust it.”
He straightens and brings his arms to his side. Steadier now. Solid. But his breathing is still too quick. I move around him. In front of him. Close enough to catch him if he falls. He looks at me, and he drags in a breath before sliding his eyes down my body. I feel my nipples grow hard when his eyes, once again, meet mine.
When he begins to lean to the left, we reach for each other, our hands touching palm to palm.
“Concentrate,” I tell him gently, finding it very hard to breathe.
He stares at me. “I am.” Then he curls his fingers, clasping our hands together and gives a little tug.
I resist the movement. I resist being pulled closer. But, oh, it’s shameful how badly I want to take that step. When he’s in this mood. This vulnerable space, it’s nearly impossible to resist him. I feel like we’re the only two people in the world.
With more willpower than I thought I possessed, I pulled my hand back to my side, letting him go. “Trust yourself,” I tell him. “Trust this new arrangement of your body. Know that you are fully capable of finding your new center.”
Minutes pass and he smiles at me. “I’m doing it.”
My face grows hot and I feel tears prick the back of my eyes. This is what I love. That moment when a patient accepts him or herself. Is even a little proud. It’s beautiful to watch. So beautiful to be a part of.
He reaches out, reaches toward me and his thumb swipes across my cheek, wiping away a tear. I didn’t realize one had escaped. “Sorry. You’ll have to get used to me. I always cry when something moves me.”
He wipes at my cheek again. “And I move you?”
“Yes.” Oh, that pull is back. So strong. This connection is so strong.
His eyebrows furrow. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I don’t think I could handle your pity.”
Another tear falls and he captures it with his thumb. Then I grin at him. “I’m a southern girl. Trust me, if I was feeling sorry for you, I’d be blessing your heart.”
He grins back, then grows serious again. “Your eyes are different almost every time I look at you. They’re greener now with a ring of yellow that’s almost orange.”
“My daddy says they change more often than the Tennessee weather.”
His hand drifts down the side of my face until his thumb traces the outline of my lips. “I wonder what color they’ll be when I fuck you.”
I gasp, a little inhale that causes me to open my mouth. He slides his thumb between my lips. “Suck,” he instructs and I automatically close my lips over his skin.
It’s just him and me. Me and him. I run my tongue along the ridges of his thumbprint and watch his pupils dilate, eclipsing the blue.
“Suck,” he says again and I have to, need to, do as he says.
“What are you doing to my son?” a sharp, female voice asks.
I jump, nearly scream and pull away while Link waves his arms for balance. I reach for him, taking his weight as he goes down and we end up on the ground in a tangle of limbs.
He curses, wincing in pain and I feel his erection pressing into my thigh.
Oh
shit!
I’d been so engrossed with his eyes that I hadn’t looked lower than his nose.
“Are you hurt?” I ask as I help him get off me and settle in a sitting position on his mat.
“I said, what are you doing to my son?
I reach for the bottle of water and a towel, tossing it over his lap. Finally, I look up at Mrs. Duffy who is, not surprising, glaring down her nose at me. “Link is practicing balancing techniques,” I finally have the breath to say.
“Is that so? Well, he’ll need to practice them with someone else because you are fired.”
Chapter 9 – Duffy
I wait until Grace is safely in the house before I turn to my mother, but I can still see the stricken look on Grace’s face.
This is my fault, and I have to make it right.
Reaching for the crutches, I get turned into a push-up position and am able to get to my feet. I refuse to be at a disadvantage to this woman. Absolutely refuse.
And I absolutely refuse to let Grace go. Even though I should. For her sake if not mine.
“What are you doing, Lincoln?” Mother asks, her voice still arctic.
“I’m re-hiring my nurse and physical therapist.”
She steps in front of me, blocking the way. “You most certainly will not.”
I side step her. “I most certainly will.”
She lifts her chin. “I will not have that woman on my property for another minute.”
“Fine. I’ll move us both to my cabin in Colorado.”
I take another step when, to my surprise, Mother grabs at my crutch. “Don’t you think I have eyes?” She says, trying to pull the crutch away from me. “Don’t you think I know what was happening just now? That tomboy hillbilly was … seducing you. Your nurse and caregiver was trying to latch her claws into you, and it appears you don’t have the sense to realize it.” She yanks the crutch again. “For goodness sakes, Lincoln, she’s not even been here longer than a few hours.”
Mother nearly falls on her Chanel clad ass when I jerk the crutch from her hands. But I don’t try to walk away; I face her and take a deep breath.
Badass - The Complete Series: A Billionaire Military Romance Page 19
