Badass - The Complete Series: A Billionaire Military Romance

by Leslie Johnson

  After Dad leaves, Grace stares at me. “Well, bet that didn’t go like you planned.”

  Humor. Thank Christ she still has humor.

  But I’m serious when I say, “I’d do it again.”

  Her eyes cloud. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

  She points to the table and I walk over, sitting down while she sits on a rolling stool. She detaches the prosthetic and checks my leg, carefully seeking out any injury.

  “Why don’t you take your shower, then I’ll bandage you back up?” She stands and walks over to the crutches.

  Ten minutes later, I’m on the table again, watching her slather me with ointments and then tightly wrap my remaining leg with an elastic bandage before sliding on a sock that further aids in my healing.

  When she finishes, she stands up and I reach out to take her hand. “Don’t leave me.”

  Her eyes flick from my face, down to our joined hands, then back up to my nose. “Were you a soldier in that Syria battle?”

  I’m not expecting that, but see the question for what it is. A request for trust.

  Most Delta soldiers are honest with their families. I chose not to be, not even with Cam. I didn’t want her to worry about me or feel she was forced to keep a secret her cheerfully open personality might accidently reveal. So I made up my story. Kept to my story. Lived by my story.

  Until now.

  “Yes.”

  She squeezes my hand. “I won’t leave you, but as long as you’re my patient, that can’t happen again.”

  “What if I fire you?”

  She smiles. “Then I’ll have to leave.”

  “What if we wait until I’m healed?”

  She smiles again. “Then you’ll have to leave.”

  She’s right. We might get one night, but it wouldn’t be enough.

  Better to leave things alone. Better to not let this go any further, whatever this is.

  She pushes my hair back from my forehead. “Our destinies collided for a reason, Link. I was told by a very wise man not to seek out the reason, just to focus on the gift of the lesson.” I lean forward and rest my face against her stomach. “You think I’ve helped you to heal,” she goes on, stroking my hair. “You’ve helped me too. I was bitter about men. I had forgotten how to smile. How to laugh. You’ve given that back to me. I’ll always thank you for that.”

  The doorbell rings and I groan. “Now he uses the doorbell.”

  She laughs and pulls away, picking up my crutches and hands them to me before kneeling to re-roll the cuff of my pants. She picks up my jacket and slides it on my arms and up over my shoulders before facing me and fixing the collar.

  “There, more handsome than any man should be allowed.”

  “You’ll be here when I get back?”

  She nods. “If I’m asleep, wake me up and I’ll help you get to bed.”

  I groan. “If I walk into your bedroom, I’ll never leave.”

  She stops breathing and her fingers touch the side of my face, her thumb tracing the outline of my lips.

  I’m pulled to her. I need to be with her.

  The doorbell rings again.

  Fuck.

  Chapter 12 – Grace

  The next three weeks are the quickest and slowest of my life. It’s hard to believe I’ve been here a little over a month.

  Link’s progress has been remarkable. His dedication to healing, stronger than anyone I’ve ever seen. I have to constantly stop him from doing too much. He pushes himself so hard.

  A couple weeks ago, he went online and discovered an Army Ranger who went back to active duty nine months after having his leg amputated. Link’s determined to beat that time, and if he keeps progressing at this rate, he will. Maybe by a couple of months.

  My biggest worry is his nightmares. As his body heals, they seem to be getting worse. I sleep with my door open now, so I can go to him faster. I don’t touch him, I just sit beside the bed, talking to him, telling him it’s okay. It’s horrible, not being able to help, just trying to keep him safe. He rarely knows I’m there.

  I don’t know who will watch over him when I’m gone. It worries me. Sickens me to think of him going through those all alone.

  I’ve spoken to him about using his sleep aids and seeing a good psychologist. He refuses both. He won’t even talk about it. In his mind, he can push through anything. But he can’t see himself when he’s at his worst.

  There’s a job waiting for me in Los Angeles eleven days from now. I’ll drive there in three days when this assignment is over. I’ll fly home from the LAX airport, visit my family for almost a week.

  I miss the mountains. The clean fresh air.

  And I really need to see my mom.

  Being around Mrs. Duffy has been a valuable lesson, and I’ve learned to never take my loving mother for granted. None of my family, actually. My family is warm. We hug. We say hi to strangers, we help people who need to be helped.

  Aside from Camille and Link’s dad, the rest of his family is like plastic covered icicles. They give me frostbite to be around them.

  And I want to see Natalie and the twins as well as the sweet little girl who’s growing so big. We Skype often, but it’s not enough. Not even close to enough.

  “So, boss. What do you have in store for me today?”

  I suck in a breath at the sight of him. Shirtless, his athletic shorts riding low on his hips. Where he’d lost some muscle tone from lack of activity, he’s rebuilt it and then some. As far as pushups and sit-ups go, he could easily be back in Delta now. It’s the speed of the two-mile run. It’s the long hikes with heavy packs. He has to pass all those requirements again. He will, but not yet.

  I lace up my shoes and stand up. “After our run, I thought you should hit the pool and get in some laps. Then, I have a surprise.”

  He lifts an eyebrow and then hops his way over to the bench. The yoga’s been good for him. He rarely uses crutches anymore when he isn’t wearing a prosthetic. His balance is so good, he can get just about anywhere he chooses. Plus, the big man can even touch his toes, a drastic improvement from before.

  He still flirts with me and I’m still so tempted. So many times when I want to say ‘screw it’ and screw him.

  But I can’t.

  So I don’t.

  But I dream about it. Daydream about it.

  I can tell by the way he looks at me that he does too.

  Watching while he rolls the suction sleeve up his thigh, I make sure he gets out any air so the running blade prosthetic doesn’t slip and burn his skin or cause him to fall. He does it perfectly and then stands.

  “I feel like a badass every time I put this bad boy on. I wish I could wear it all the time.”

  I grin. “You look like a badass, but your back and hips would be completely messed up if you wore it for anything more than running. It’s two inches taller than your biological leg to absorb the impact of your running stride. A normal walking stride doesn’t carry enough force and you’d look like a goober walking around.”

  “Goober Duffy. Sounds like me.”

  “Well, if you ask me, Duffy is kind of a goober name to begin with. It doesn’t sound like a billionaire fancy smancy name at all. You have no idea how close I came to telling your mother that during my interview.”

  He laughs, throwing his head back. “I’m so glad you didn’t, or I would have ended up with Bill.” I cock my head at him, trying to place the name. “You didn’t hear about Bill? He was the top candidate until you pulled ahead of the pack thanks to Camille. From what Mother tells me, he was very refined and highly educated and experienced. I’m sure I’d kicked him off the cliff in about five minutes.”

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  Link freezes, then turns and heads for his bedroom. It’s his Delta pager, I’ve learned. Even though he’s off active duty, he takes it with him almost everywhere. My best guess is that it makes him feel like part of the team. My heart breaks for him. What is left of the team, anyway.

>   He won’t talk about that day. That mission. But pieces of it comes out in his dreams. Names that he cries for. Someone named Julie who he promises to take care of. To my knowledge though, he’s not spoken to anyone. I don’t think he’s ready yet.

  When he steps back into the living room, his face is tight. Oh no. I know that look. I’ve seen it five time since I learned about the pager. Someone else died or else one of the MIA men were discovered, but not in a good way.

  “Let’s go,” he says, not looking at me. “I need to run.”

  Three miles later, I’m urging him to stop. He won’t listen to me. He simply picks up his speed, going faster. I increase my pace, but can barely keep up. My calf cramps up and I stumble, nearly fall. I have to stop and walk it off.

  He doesn’t notice. Just keeps going. It’s like he’s running from a ghost.

  Breathing heavily, I sit on the curb and get the cramp to finally go away. Then I walk back to the house and wait. An hour later, I get in my Rogue and go look for him. I don’t have to go very far.

  Pulling up to the gate of the lot that still haunts him, I’m grateful that I remember the code and get it right on the first try. The gate opens and I drive back to the cliff. I see him. He’s sitting on the edge, his feet dangling off the side.

  My heart hammering in my chest, I park and get out of the car, carefully shutting the door.

  “Link. I’m going to come sit with you. Is that okay?”

  He says nothing, so I step closer to him. I’m barely able to breathe.

  Near the edge, I experience a wild rollercoaster of vertigo. I hate heights—these kinds of heights—and rarely go higher than the loft of my papaw’s barn.

  I can do this.

  I sit down on the ground and crabwalk my way to the very edge, holding onto a rock as I let my legs hang off too. I can’t help but remember that a girl died right below where I’m sitting.

  I push my mind away from that thought. I’m here for the man who is very much alive.

  “You’re scaring me, Link.”

  I’m afraid to touch him. Afraid not to touch him. He tells me all the time my touch brings him peace.

  I wiggle my hand over until our pinkies are touching. He doesn’t seem to notice, just stares out at the sea.

  “I wasn’t honest about why I left Tennessee,” I begin. “It wasn’t to see the country. I was running. I was running from an ex-husband I hated and the ghost of a baby I loved so much.”

  His pinky moves. It covers mine.

  “I was twenty-three weeks pregnant when I found my husband in bed with another woman. In the aftermath, he pushed me and I fell down our steps. I lost the baby. A little boy. I named him Ryland. I also lost the ability to ever have another child.”

  His hand moves again, covering mine and I turn it until our fingers are linked.

  “I’m not telling you that for you to feel sorry for me.”

  He turns his head and looks at me. “I don’t. If I felt sorry for you, I’d be blessing your heart.”

  He remembered.

  Turning back to the sea, I notice the sailboats crashing over the waves. In my month here, I learned we might be getting a storm. I look up at the sky. Some clouds, but not too bad. Then back over to Link. His eyes are still on me.

  “How will I ever live without you?” he says. “I’ve only known you a month, but I’ll spend the rest of my life missing you.”

  His face blurs and my throat clogs with emotion.

  “When you get back to Ft. Bragg next week, you’ll be so busy you won’t even remember my name.”

  “Desk duty,” he scoffs. “Hardly busy. Not the type of busy I’m ready for anyway.”

  I lift his hand to my mouth and kiss his fingers. “You’ll be back out there in no time. Kicking ass and taking names.”

  “I believe that too. That’s my goal anyway.”

  “Just be careful out there.”

  He throws back his head and laughs. “It’s the Army, Grace. There’s no room for careful.”

  I wrinkle my nose at him. “Well, you know what I mean.”

  Thunder rumbles in the distance and I look up again. Wow. The clouds came in really quickly. “Can we go now? I’m not up for electrocution today. And it looks like your swim will need to wait.”

  “So I get my surprise?”

  I nod and start scooting back, away from the edge. Far enough I’m comfortable standing up. To my great relief, he does the same thing. When we get him standing again, I wrap my arms around him, so grateful he’s okay.

  “I like surprises,” he says against my ear. “Do you know what my favorite surprise is?”

  I pull back, looking at him, trying to figure it out. “What’s your favorite?” I ask, giving up.

  “The first time I’m with a woman I try to guess if she’s neatly trimmed, has a landing strip or if she’s completely bare?”

  I feel my eyes widen, then I snicker. “Bare? Women really go bare outside of porn videos?”

  He nods his head up and down, a big grin on his face and reaches up to pull the elastic from my hair. It falls everywhere and he brushes it back, curling some strands around his fingers.

  “I want to know what’s between your legs.”

  I blush and go for honest. “Link, I barely have time to shave my legs. Why do you think I’m always in scrubs or yoga pants?”

  He lifts an eyebrow. “So you’re a natural girl? That might be a first.” He tugs at the waistband of my pants and I push his hands away.

  “Stop. Natural is probably being politically correct. I haven’t checked in a while, if I told the truth.”

  I horse laugh when he starts singing, “Welcome to the Jungle.” His falsetto makes me laugh so hard I get a stitch in my side.

  Taking my hands, he pulls me to his chest. “I could shave you. Would you let me do that?”

  Something deep inside me squeezed and I have to press my thighs together.

  His hands move up my arms and one curls around my neck while the other fists in my hair. He draws my face to his and whispers against my lips. “Do you know how much I want to make love to you?”

  My heart picks up speed and it’s joined by something pulsing deep in a place I didn’t know existed. “How much?”

  “Stay with me tonight. I’ll show you.”

  Would it really be so bad if I said yes?

  Would hell burn hotter? Would the flood grow deeper? Would I be sentencing my soul to total damnation?

  I look in his eyes and say the word my heart is longing to say. “Yes.”

  Chapter 13 – Duffy

  The moment she says ‘yes’, the heavens seem to applaud, booming out their approval.

  “Let’s go,” I say against her mouth, although I’d love to make love to her in the rain.

  No. Fuck her.

  No. It’s absolutely make love.

  Hell. I have her for tonight. We’ll do it all.

  Looking back at the sea. At the cliff. At the place I’d been sitting, thinking about ending it all. I can’t believe that was just a few minutes ago. I was in total despair at the news of losing another of my brothers. Now, I want to live. I want to love her. One night. Just this one night.

  I grin. And maybe tomorrow night too. And the next. The grin fades. Then she’ll be gone.

  Getting into her car, I force that damn thought from my mind as she starts the engine and backs away from the cliffs.

  The now.

  I’ll focus on the now.

  I’ll deal with that alternate reality when I have to.

  Looking at the clock on her dash, I’m shocked to see it’s nearly noon. “Are you hungry?” I ask her.

  On cue, her stomach growls. “I’m starving. You must be too.”

  “There’s a little authentic Mexican hole in the wall down by the beach. Want to try it?”

  She glances down at her running clothes, then over at me. We’re equally dirty and sweaty.

  “You look beautiful,” I tell her and she doe
s. Not classically. Her face is arranged too uniquely to be called classically beautiful. Strong cheekbones, those wide hazel eyes, a nose a little too round at the end, with one nostril a different shape than the other. A chin just a little too long. The wild mess of tri-colored curls.

  But she is striking.

  More than that, she’s beautiful all the way to her soul.

  She lifts her arm and I swear she does a pit sniff. And she’s funny. Real.

  Hmmm … natural.

  I can already imagine spreading her legs and swiping a razor down her lips. I think she’s up for it. She just hasn’t taken care of herself, done anything for herself in a real long time.

  She breaks into my mental picture with, “You don’t think any of your paparazzi pals will show up there, taking pictures of us looking our glorious best, do you?”

  I scowl. She’d gone to the pharmacy to buy gauze and more ointment when she’d been followed and accosted with a camera in her face. The headline the next day said, “Injured Playboy’s Nurse Tells All.”

  She’d been horrified, swearing she hadn’t said a word. And of course, the entire article was all lies. It listed my injury as a broken leg and that half my ear had been cut off. Stupid press.

  “If they’re there, I promise the food will be worth the mental anguish of having to deal with them.”

  Her stomach growls again. “That good, huh?”

  I stroke her cheek with my fingers. “Oh yeah.”

  We eat to the sound of rain ringing on the tin roof and I’d forgotten how good the food really is. By the time we’d finished, we decide to take a walk on the beach since the rain had stopped, although the running blade I’m still wearing is sure to garner a lot of attention.

  I find I simply don’t care.

  Back at the house, she watches me remove the prosthetic and goes over the cleaning instructions again. She checks my leg and declares that George survived the crazy day quite nicely.

  “So, what’s my surprise?”

  Her face falls. “We might have to wait until tomorrow. George might not be up for … dancing!”