Badass - The Complete Series: A Billionaire Military Romance

by Leslie Johnson

  “My caregiver was helping me to learn how to balance. She began to cry because she was so happy with my progress. I wiped away a tear. That’s what you saw. You saw a therapist so deeply involved with the care of her patient that, even though she has only been here a few hours as you say, she cried that I had done well. I would think, Mother, that you would appreciate that my caregiver gave that much of a shit.”

  Mother winces at the curse word, but doesn’t back down. “Your thumb was in her mouth, Lincoln. I have extraordinarily good eyesight and hearing, by the way. Additionally, I’m not foolish.”

  “Then continue to not be foolish and let me make my own choices.”

  “What’s going on here?”

  Mother throws up her hands in a rare display of emotion as she turns to face my father. “I want that woman gone. Now, Charles. She is clearly not a lesbian and is clearly a money-grubbing opportunist intent on sinking her claws into your son. Taking advantage of his moment of weakness. I told you hiring a woman was a mistake.”

  I’m stuck back on lesbian. What the hell?

  Dad throws me a look and I shake my head. “Grace is staying or I’m leaving. Take your pick.” Then I start crutching my way to the house to talk to her.

  “I shall report her to the board of nursing and the board of physical therapy if there is such a thing.” I glare at her and her lips grow thin. “She will be milking cows back in Tennessee by tomorrow morning, mark my word.”

  I whirl on her. Well, sort of.

  “Do it and I will leak your plastic surgery pictures to the press,” I promise her, even though I’m lying out of my ass. I don’t have pictures. I don’t even have proof that she’s ever had a ‘touch up’. But from the look in her eyes and the way her fingers go to her temple, I know I guessed correctly. I take advantage of the moment. “You will go in there and apologize for jumping to conclusions.”

  “I won’t.”

  “You will.”

  Mother turns to my dad and I feel sorry for him for a minute. “I’ll go with you, dear. If Lincoln is correct and you misjudged the situation, it’s the least you can do.”

  I see the war waging behind Mother’s eyes. I take a step closer to her, my anger washing away. “Mom, it’s okay. She’ll appreciate the gesture and so will I.”

  Her shoulders sag just a little.

  Without a word, she turns on her heel and marches to the house and through the door. I look at Dad and he lifts a shoulder and follows her. I’m right behind him. I can’t miss this epic moment.

  I stop in the doorway. Grace is there, back in her scrubs, a suitcase at her feet. Her face is red, making the light freckles on her nose more pronounced. Her eyes flick to me and back to my mother.

  “I owe you an apology, Ms. Johnson,” Mother begins stiffly. “It appears I made a hasty judgement and wrongly questioned your intentions. I apologize. We would like you to stay and continue to care for our son.”

  Seconds tick past before Grace says, “Thank you, Mrs. Duffy. I appreciate your apology and it’s readily accepted. But it’s best that I go.” She looks at me. “I think it’s better that way.”

  I panic.

  Panic!

  I don’t ever fucking panic. Maybe my concussion ate up some of my brain.

  “No!”

  Grace jumps. Mother jumps. My dad turns to me in surprise.

  “No,” I say less urgently. “I want you to stay.” I target her weak spot. “I need you to help me walk again.”

  Lifting a hand to her mouth, Grace looks at me and I see that I targeted well. Her eyes fall from my face to my stomach and down to my leg. I drop the crutches and stand there, perfectly balanced. Perfectly still.

  “Stay.”

  Our eyes meet again and hers grow wet and shiny. I’ve got her. I know it.

  Then she bends down and takes the handle of her suitcase. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  Chapter 10 – Grace

  I’m doing the right thing.

  I’m doing the right thing.

  I repeat the mantra as I pull my suitcase to my car.

  It will be easy for them to replace me. One phone call and therapists will be jumping for the job. They will teach him to use the prosthetics and he’ll go on with his life.

  I’m doing the right thing.

  Digging out my keys from my purse, I pop the trunk of the graphite blue Nissan Rogue I bought about a month ago, realizing I’d need the extra room. I tossed the heavy suitcase in the back. Then I slide behind the wheel and start the engine.

  I’m doing the right thing.

  Reversing from my parking slot, I navigate my way to the main gate and stop, waiting for it to open.

  And wait.

  And wait.

  A minute passes, then another. Then I yelp when someone taps on the passenger window.

  It’s Link. He’s in the wheelchair he refused to use earlier this morning. Sweat is running down his face like a river.

  He taps again and motions for me to roll down the window. I do.

  “Help me get in your car,” he says, his blue eyes earnest “I need you to take me somewhere.”

  Dropping the transmission into Park, I slowly get out of the car and walk around. “Don’t you have chauffeurs and limos and stuff?” I ask him when I’m standing in front of him again.

  “My parents do. I don’t. So, will you drive me?”

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I ask, “How far?”

  “Less than three minutes away. I want to show you something.”

  In answer, I open my car door and then show him how to leverage himself in and out of the vehicle. Then I fold up the wheelchair and stick it in the back before dropping into the driver seat again.

  “The gate won’t open,” I tell him. “I thought they were automatic.”

  He grins at me. “Try again.”

  I narrow my eyes and pull forward. The gates open immediately.

  “Clever tactic. Encage your victims often?” I quip.

  His smile grows broader. “Turn left at the end of this road.”

  We ride in silence for several minutes before he points. “See that gate? Turn there.”

  I do as he asks and pull up to a keypad. He gives me the code and the gate opens, but I don’t see any houses beyond it.

  “Where are we going?”

  “This is family property too, although there’s nothing here but the gate. There was an … accident … here about ten years ago and my dad had the gate installed afterwards.”

  I follow a little trail that leads to a large clearing with another breathtaking view of the ocean.

  “Pull up there,” he points and instructs. “Farther.” I roll closer to the edge of the cliff, feeling my stomach grow queasy. “A little farther.” I roll another foot and he laughs. “Okay, that’s close enough.”

  That’s a good thing, because I wasn’t moving another inch.

  I roll down the windows, then shut off the engine. The crash of the waves below us draws my attention.

  “Why did you bring me here?” I ask him.

  He says nothing for a really long time. So I just sit and wait. Then he reaches for my hand and turns it over, tracing a finger down my palm.

  I shiver and try to pull my hand back. “I should be getting you home.”

  He doesn’t let me go. His finger traces back and forth on my lifeline.

  “It all started here,” he begins. “High school graduation. Alcohol, drugs and a whole bunch of teenagers drunk off their asses…”

  He tells me about the party, about finally hooking up with the girl of his dreams. About his ex-girlfriend showing up the next morning and causing a scene.

  “We’d planned it for months. Base jumping right there. Sounds stupid now—leaping to freedom.”

  I gasp in horror as he tells me about the accident. Going to jail. The judge showing up at his house.

  “I remember thinking that Anna’s death and my sentence to go into the military was the worst thing that
could ever happen to me. It was the best. I was good at it. Really good. I don’t regret a moment of it.” He looks down at his missing leg. “Even now.”

  “You’re not a contractor, are you?”

  He looks at me, those blue eyes searching my face. “Yes. Officially, I’m a contractor. Unofficially, I’m on a mission. And I need you to help me with that. I don’t know why, but I think you’re the only one who can.”

  I turn back to the ocean, unable to look at him and say what I need to say. “I’m on a mission too, Link. A mission to find myself. To learn and grow in my profession. You’re dangerous to my mission. In the short time I’ve known you, I’ve risked my professional integrity several times. My integrity means everything to me. It’s all I have left.”

  “I’ll stop,” he says, then promptly traces his finger up my forearm. He laughs. “I’ll try to stop.”

  He lets me go when I pull my hand away and grip the steering wheel again. “You have to stop. I don’t know if I have the strength to say no.”

  He drops his hands to his knees and from the corner of my eye, I watch his reaction as the left hand only finds air. He sighs and curses, his hand hovering, unsure where to go. “I hate this,” he says. “I hate being useless, but I hate myself for the self-pity I feel even more.”

  “Link, it’s only been two weeks since the accident. You can’t expect to have it all figured out already. Plus,” I look over at him, “if you are who I think you are, you have a lot of grieving to do too. I bet you haven’t allowed yourself a second for that.”

  He doesn’t react, just stares at the ocean. Then finally nods. “I lost some good friends in the … accident.”

  I give him that. Nothing good will come from pressing for the truth.

  “I’ll stay and, together, we’ll get you on your feet. But I can only be your therapist. Agreed?”

  He holds up a fist and I tap mine to his. Then he takes my hand and curls our fingers together. We sit there for a really long time.

  Chapter 11 – Duffy

  Over the next week, Grace kicks my ass. She’s almost worse than my drill sergeant way back when.

  Strength training. Tons and tons of strength training and more yoga, which is damn harder than it looks. Especially since I’ve always focused on strength and endurance, always striving to go harder and stronger. Now, attempting to gain flexibility makes me feel pretty ridiculous, like a rhinoceros trying to do ballet.

  But the hardest part?

  It isn’t ignoring the pain that wants to smack me in the face.

  It isn’t the phantom pain. The damn prickly reminder of what is gone.

  It isn’t only the feeling of being useless when I needed to be taking action.

  The hardest part happened once a day, usually in the mornings around nine o’clock.

  It’s when Grace is inspecting my ball sack and I’m trying like fuck to keep my dick from inflating like a teenage boy with no control of his sexual drive.

  I’m never successful, but I do try.

  And she tries to ignore it, although she did flip it once ‘accidently’.

  When my temporary prosthetic arrives—a badass looking C-leg—she claps when I stand on both feet for the first time. Cam is here to take pictures, telling me I look bionic and hot. Then she shows me some pictures a famous photographer took of amputees and, for the first time, I see my ‘disability’ with new eyes.

  As far as the prosthetic itself, it’s not as awkward as I thought it would be. It’s actually lighter than the cast I wore when I blew my knee years ago. In fact, it feels like I’m walking in a cast. Grace assures me that the new prosthetics I’m supposed to receive in two weeks will fit and feel even better and I’ll have a varied selection. There will be a walking foot, running blade, a waterproof one made for swimming. Even a wedge foot for climbing. I’m also getting one specifically made with a robotic knee and ankle, which will help me navigate rough terrain more effectively.

  “You’ll just need to change out the battery pack about once a day and your bionic leg will go forever, even when your biological leg is begging for rest.”

  To “celebrate” my new leg, Mother decides to host a dinner in my honor. I groan when I learn my sisters and brother are coming. Groan louder when I find out Cami will be out of town and practically scream when Grace flat-out refuses to go.

  “I don’t know which glass to use. Or fork. I’ll put my elbows on the table. Probably burp. No! I’m not going and you can’t make me.” She’s so wide eyed in panic, I quickly drop the subject.

  Shit. She’s adorable. When she gets excited, her accent gets even more pronounced, her vowels becoming half a mile long.

  I can’t help but smile at her. She’s becoming a wonderful friend.

  Except that I still want to fuck her, and for some reason, I keep reaching for her hand.

  “Okay, that’s enough walking for now,” she tells me after I’ve been on the new leg for over an hour. “That’s three hours today. You’re going to abrade your … George … and bone spurs aren’t a joke. They will require additional surgery. I know you want to rush this, but you have to be smart in the beginning. You want to go forward, not backwards.”

  Although I don’t want to agree with her, I can see how that would happen. The end of my leg is already starting to feel sore and a little raw. I ignore the pain, but I don’t ignore what is causing it. She’s right. The doctor warned me at Walter Reed to not degrade the leg I had left. I need to be smart.

  I make my way to the end of the walking bars, which she’s forcing me to use until I get used to walking on my own.

  “One step,” I say to her. “I’m going to take one step without any assistance.”

  Her eyes grow worried, but she quickly wipes it away and takes a step closer, ready to catch me if I fall.

  I don’t.

  I take that step, then another, then one more. I keep walking toward her until she’s trapped in the corner of the room. Then I trap her further with both hands on the walls, on either side of her shoulders.

  “What are you doing?” she asks, then licks her lips. Her eyes seem to have a little blue in them right now, little flecks that compete with the green.

  “Just once.”

  She licks her lips again and I take that as consent. She’s so tall, I barely have to dip my head to touch my mouth to hers. Then we connect. Dear god, do we connect. I melt into her. She melts into me.

  Then we simultaneously erupt and the kiss turns rough and hungry, filling every empty, aching spot I didn’t even know was there.

  Reaching up, I yank the elastic from her hair and I dig my fingers into her scalp. She groans, pushing into me harder. She’s so sweet. Her mouth. Her tongue. I rake my teeth across her lips and do it again when she whimpers my name.

  “I need you,” I say against her lips, a hand leaving her hair and finding her breast. Perfect. It fits my palm just perfect.

  She whimpers again and sucks my tongue into her mouth.

  Carefully, I take a step back before lowering us to the floor, pulling her on top of me. I ignore the lingering pain in my ribs and pull her tighter, wanting to merge us into one. I feel the heat of her sex against my cock as she straddles her legs on either side of me. The pressure is delicious as she grinds into my hard on.

  I pull her head down, consuming her lips again.

  “Uh-hm.”

  Grace is up and rolling off me, even before I register the sound. She’s on her feet, her hand clamped over her mouth as my dad walks further into the room. She looks down at me, still horrified, as I sit up, trying to cover my raging erection.

  “I came to see your new leg, Lincoln,” he says, not missing a beat. “And drive you to dinner, if you’ll allow.” He smiles pleasantly at Grace. “My dear, are you sure you won’t join us? I’d quite love it if you would.”

  She stares at him. Processing. Or maybe not processing. She looks stunned. I’ve never seen her at a loss for anything.

  I try to get up fro
m the floor, realize it’s not as easy as going down. “Grace,” I say, trying to snap her from her mortification. Her head whips to me, her hair flying in every direction. “Can you give me a hand?”

  Springing into action, she reaches out to me and hauls me up. She’s trembling so hard, I don’t know how she doesn’t break. I take her face in my hand, trying to assure her. She jerks away from me, backing up several steps.

  She turns to my father. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know—” she begins, but stops when he holds up his hand.

  Dad takes a step toward her, then stops when she physically shrinks away. “My dear. I have one thing I wish to say to you. Take a deep breath so you can hear me.”

  He waits and Grace inhales deeply through her nose. When she lets it out, I see that she’s a little bit calmer. I can also see she’s still mortified by her lack of control.

  “The moment I met you, I thought an angel had appeared in my home. I was fighting to hire you when Camille came in and added her two cents, sealing the deal.” He takes a step closer to her and she doesn’t shrink away this time. “Do you know how wonderful it is for me to see my son smile? To see hope in his eyes? Hope, my dear. Not just determination, but true hope.”

  Grace begins to sob. Great heaving sobs that shake her shoulders. Dad steps to her again and pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, pressing it into her hand.

  “Because of all that, I must tell you that I approve of whatever relationship you forge with my son because I believe you to be a sincere and honestly good person.”

  I’ve never been so proud to be my father’s son.

  Dad turns to me. “Your new leg is quite impressive. It’s so good to see you on your feet unassisted.” He looks at his watch. “I’m going to take a walk and come back in, oh let’s see, half an hour. Can you be dressed for dinner by then?”

  I smile at him and nod. “Yes, a half hour is perfect.”

  He turns back to Grace. “And you’re certain you won’t join us?”

  She shakes her head, then strangles out a quick, “No thank you.”

  Dad turns on his heel and walks to the door, then stops and turns back around. “And please don’t worry. Your privacy is safe with me.”