Regan smiled, but couldn’t take her gaze off the windshield. It was so dark. The sky was overcast from an earlier rain shower. There were no streetlights, no illuminated house windows to indicate life existed outside the vehicle.
Regan’s hands started to sweat. The utter darkness outside threatened to close in on her.
Where were they?
Her senses heightened to every sound, every smell. Alec maneuvered the rutty road like a pro, but Regan felt every shift and bump in the pit of her stomach.
Afghanistan had changed her. The way she flinched sometimes at loud noises, fireworks being the worst, was one of the more obvious results of her time in the desert. The fear of the dark was one of the less obvious. As was the fear of getting blown to bits every time she traveled down a dirt road. Which was ridiculous and irrational, she knew. She was safe. There were no I.E.D.’s buried on this lonely stretch of Texas landscape.
Focus, Regan. You know what to do.
Regan began to count.
1…2…3…
Alec’s muscular forearm rested on the console between them. The glow of the dashboard showed a slight upward curve on his lips, confirming he was unaware of her distress. The engine hummed quietly and a tune played on the radio, the volume so low she couldn’t make out the song. Country, she mused. She wouldn’t have guessed that about Alec. He seemed more the hard rock kind of guy with his vintage T-shirt and the variety of leather and chain bracelets wrapped around his wrist.
We are safe.
Regan drew in a slow, steady breath.
4…5…6…
Alec slowed the vehicle, made another turn.
7…8…9…
And suddenly, Regan could breathe again. Several cars came into view with the help of Alec’s headlights. Cars and a god-awful looking cottage. Inside, her friend and his medical emergency would be waiting.
Alec parked alongside the other vehicles and turned off the engine.
10.
“Go on ahead. Brandon is waiting. I’ll bring in the…” Alec hesitated. “You okay there, doc?”
Regan wiped her hands on her scrub pants, then bunched her long hair at the back of her head and secured it with the band she kept around her wrist.
“Yes,” she said, a little surprised to realize she was telling the truth. She was more than okay, actually. She’d tried the slow-breathing, taking-several-minutes-to-count-to-ten bit before, but it had never worked. The fact that she had effectively managed an oncoming anxiety attack was a small win, but she’d take it. “I would thank you for the ride, but since I wasn’t given a choice it seems irrelevant,” she joked.
Regan shouldered the door open and got out.
Alec’s chuckle followed as he did the same. “Just the messenger, doc. Or chauffeur, as the case may be.”
She left him to gather whatever supplies he’d brought and hightailed it toward the cottage. She jogged up the steps, went to the door, and knocked twice. Not waiting for Brandon to answer, she turned the knob and went inside. He had summoned her, after all.
Regan stepped into the kitchen and stopped short, a surprised gasp on her lips.
Good lord. “What are you all doing here?”
The kitchen went quiet. All eyes turned to her.
Roman Powers, Booker Maldano, Sullivan Walsh, Adam Casey, and Noah Summers sat around the kitchen table. The table would easily seat five regular-sized people, but the hulking men made the thing appear pathetically small. Papers were spread between them. As usual, Noah’s fingers worked over a laptop keyboard.
She glanced to the right where Brandon leaned against the refrigerator. A woman Regan didn’t know sat on the counter next to him.
With the exception of Brandon, Regan hadn’t seen these men since the day she left Afghanistan.
The deadly seven, as Regan called them. Seven of the toughest Marines she’d ever met had invited her to share their table for a meal one blessedly quiet night in the desert. She had seen them around camp, knew they were a tight-knit group. She’d even patched up a few of their minor wounds, but if there was one thing Regan had learned, it was that Marines didn’t care for medical personnel. Most resented the fact that they needed her—a Navy doctor—around.
Their invitation had surprised her, but Regan had been desperate for companionship that didn’t involve blood and bandages. Trusting her instinct that they meant her no ill-will, Regan had sat down. The rest, as they say, was history. That night, those men had become her brothers well beyond the call of duty.
All except one.
Regan scanned the living room and came up empty, her heart thumping loudly in her ears. The man who seemed to be missing from their little reunion party hadn’t treated her like a sister at all.
“Thanks for coming,” Brandon said.
“You didn’t give me much of a choice.”
“Then we are in a similar position, since calling you into this wouldn’t have been my preference, either.” Brandon waved the other men back when they made to stand. “There will be time for hello’s later. He’s back here.”
Regan followed, wishing she had some idea of what the hell was going on. “Bringing me into what? Who is here, Brandon?”
Brandon stopped when he reached a closed door. He rested his hand on the knob and turned back to her. “It’s…” Brandon looked decidedly uncomfortable. “It’s Ketcher, doc. He needs your help.”
Ketcher Novak.
The man who had arranged for her favorite cookies to be delivered to Afghanistan from a bakery in Virginia. The man who had cheated at their private games of strip poker because he couldn’t wait to get her out of her clothes. The man who had spent six months mastering her body, wringing every ounce of pleasure she had to give and leaving the well dry for all other men.
She had been in love with Ketcher. He hadn’t returned her affection. Instead, he had kissed her lips, told her to take care of herself, and then left her without a backward glance.
Okay, technically, she had been the one to leave when she’d boarded the air transport back to the States, but Ketcher had made it clear he was through with her.
Regan’s heart beat wildly now, threatening to vacate her chest. Seemed the man wasn’t missing from the reunion after all. He was hurt. Ketcher was hurt.
Regan shoved past Brandon and entered the room.
And there he was.
Ketcher was stretched out on a bed too small for his frame. He was shirtless, shoeless, and breathing as though he had just finished running a marathon.
Digging deeper than she ever had before, Regan found the strength to compartmentalize the emotions swirling in her gut and focus on what she did best.
She went to the bed and placed her hand against his forehead. He was warm with fever, but not alarmingly so. And damn him, even with his skin flushed and glistening with sweat, he still managed to be the most devastatingly handsome man she’d ever seen. His brown hair was cropped short. The neatly trimmed facial hair was new and entirely too sexy. She didn’t allow herself the time to dwell, since the blood-soaked bandage took priority over her womanly observations.
“Start talking,” she demanded as Brandon followed her into the room. “What happened?”
“Near as I can tell, he busted open his stitches.”
“I need gloves.” She glanced around. “Do you have…”
“Here you go, doc,” Alec said as he walked through the door. He tossed her a box of medical exam gloves.
Regan caught the box and set it on the bed. She pulled her stethoscope from her pocket and looped it around her neck for easier access.
Alec dropped a duffel bag onto the floor next to her feet. “Anything else you need, let me know.”
“Blood pressure cuff?” she asked and kneeled to pulled the zipper open.
“It’s in there.”
Regan found what she needed and pulled it from the bag before donning gloves. As she started to run through Ketcher’s vitals, she addressed Brandon again. “What happened to him?”
/> “He had surgery to repair the damage from a stab wound.”
“Alec told me as much. And even if he hadn’t, I have eyes.” Irritation made her tone hard. “Anything else you want to share? Something not quite so obvious, maybe?”
Brandon moved to the foot of the bed, watching her as she worked. “From what I’ve been told, no major organs were involved and everything went without a hitch.”
Vitals done, Regan went to her knees beside the bed. She peeled the bandage from Ketcher’s skin and tossed it toward the nearby trash. Her gut clenched when she saw the six-inch incision along his side. The incision had indeed split open. The area was swollen and red.
“This looks like a hitch.”
Brandon grimaced. “What do you need?”
Regan sighed, realizing she wouldn’t get the story right now. “I need to repair the damage he’s caused to the stitches. He’s running a fever and he’s dehydrated. Ideally, I would hook him up to I.V. fluids and pain meds—”
“Everything you should need is in the bag,” Alec told her.
She glanced down at the duffel, wondering what else it contained. “Do you have an I.V. pole in there, too?”
Alec gave her a look at the ridiculous question. “No, but we can improvise.” Alec sprang into action.”
“Bottled water?” she asked.
“In the fridge,” Brandon said.
“I’ll need all of it. And a clean washcloth.”
Regan sorted through the contents of the duffel bag. Impressive. Alec must have raided the triage center that was a part of the Martin family business. She removed everything she would need and placed it on the bed next to Ketcher’s leg.
Brandon returned with the water and cloth at the same time Alec finished with the makeshift hook he’d created by bending a wire hanger and jamming it into the wall.
“That should work for the I.V. bags.” As if to prove his point, Alec tested the sturdiness and it held.
“Great. Now both of you get out of here and let me do my job.” She wanted to be the only conscious person in the room if the tears burning the back of her eyes got the best of her.
Brandon and Alec left the room, closing the door softly behind them. Regan pulled off the gloves and sat back on her haunches. She drew in a breath.
Ketcher.
Unable to stop herself, she leaned up and placed her palm on his forehead. He shifted his head, as if he knew she was there and was trying to press into her touch. A growling noise came from his throat.
“Shh,” she whispered, tracing her finger along the side of his face. “You’re going to be okay.”
Tenderness touched her heart where she should be hard and unyielding. A tear escaped her eyelid and she swiped it away. She couldn’t afford to let her emotions get wrapped up in this man again. What a fool she had been to believe the passion they had found in each other’s arms would survive the hostile environment where they’d met. Her heart had been another casualty of the war she left behind in Afghanistan.
Regan pressed her hand to his chest, just to feel his heart beating. “I’m going to fix the mess you’ve made,” she warned him. “And then let’s see what we can do to get that fever down, shall we?”
Regan went to work. She repaired the stitches without so much as a flinch from him. She set up the fluid drip. As luck would have it, she found a prescription bottle filled with a heavy-duty antibiotic. She lifted his head and somehow coaxed him to swallow the massive pill.
When she’d done all she could do, she sat down on the bed next to him. With a bottle of water and the washcloth she set about cleaning the sweat from his skin with the cool water. His body was the stuff of dreams, all sharp angles and hard muscles. And oh, how she’d dreamed of him.
Regan focused on his face first, then worked her way down his chest, careful to avoid touching anything below his belly button. She spoke to him in hushed tones. She reassured him as to his health; she let him know his friends were there and watching over him. And all the while she silently reminded herself that he didn’t care about her. Four years without a single word.
She absolutely would not fall in love with this man again.
When she caressed the cool cloth over his chest, Ketcher’s hand shot out. His fingers tangled in her hair and pulled her face close to his.
Surprised, Regan breathed the one word she’d vowed never to utter aloud again, breathy or otherwise. “Ketcher.”
And then his mouth was on hers.
Her mouth was the second most delicious treat Ketcher had ever tasted. The most delicious treat was also found on this particular woman’s body, a little farther south.
Regan.
Damn if she wasn’t a sight for sore eyes.
Ketcher grabbed onto the dream and held on tight. It was the wickedest torment, dreaming of her. Having her in sleep only to wake up hard and aching for release.
Regan Daniels was the best lay he’d ever had. Her succulent lips and smooth skin drove him to the brink of insanity. Her body had been ripe for his hands, his mouth, his cock. He’d been able to make her wet with only a look. Wasn’t that some chest-thumping, ego-boosting shit?
Being still while she touched his face and chest had been pure torture. She’d done a thorough job of it, too.
Now he aimed to return the favor.
Ketcher pressed his tongue against her lips, urging her to open for him. He ran his hands over dream Regan’s shoulders and then trailed them down her arms. She felt better than he remembered. Softer. A beautifully curved woman with a heart of gold and a spine of steel.
What a fierce little creature she’d been, patching up the wounded with calm, authoritative grace. In the midst of the horrors of war, she had remained steadfast and strong. Determined to save those she could and honor those she couldn’t.
Only in those stolen moments together would she soften, allow him to comfort and spoil her until their bodies and minds were spent.
Regan was beauty in a place severely lacking, and for a time, she had been his.
Why wouldn’t she let him in?
He shoved his fingers into her long wavy hair when she tried to pull away. “Don’t.” His skin felt hot and tight, his body burning for her. The silky length of her hair felt so soft, so real, that he couldn’t help tightening his grip for fear she would disappear. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered against her mouth. He hadn’t had this dream for months.
“You don’t know what you’re doing.”
The idea made him chuckle, causing a strange twinge in his side. “Oh, sweetheart, I know exactly what I’m doing.” He was about to remind her of that fact.
He had sworn in life that he would never touch her again. In his mind though, all bets were off. In his mind, the only place she would be safe from the dangers of his life, he would touch every fucking inch of her.
Ketcher slipped a hand under her shirt. The silky warmth of her skin made him groan. The scent of soap and something slightly medicinal surrounded her.
She had loved him, damn her. Had made him feel things he had no business feeling. She had turned his structured world upside down. He’d had to let her go. He was a Marine through and through. He wasn’t a forever kind of guy. He’d made enemies. A lot of them. He wouldn’t condemn any woman to a life with him, a life full of uncertainty and danger. No matter how much he might be tempted.
Like the greedy bastard he was, Ketcher spread his hands out, holding her in place while maximizing the amount of skin under his palms, needing to feel as much of her as possible. His cock felt thick and heavy against his stomach, primed and ready for her.
Her breath hitched. “Ketcher.”
“That’s right, baby.” He caressed up her stomach, eager to reacquaint himself with her breasts. “You would know my touch anywhere, wouldn’t you? You said so once. Tell me you remember how good I can make you feel.”
God, she was achingly soft. Too soft for a man like him. But this wasn’t real. She wasn’t real. He d
idn’t care why his mind had conjured her. He only cared that she was with him now.
He rocked his thumb along the underside of her breast, disappointed to discover the fabric of her bra instead of warm flesh. He shifted the angle, dragged his thumb across the front of her bra. Her nipples came alive under his touch, peaking to tight, hard points.
“I need to feel you.” Ketcher slipped his fingertips into the upper curve of her bra with the intention of pulling it down to free her breasts. Something clamped around his wrist, stopping him.
“Ketcher. Stop.”
Ketcher froze. Dream Regan had never stopped him before.
She slipped from his grasp. Something bit his arm and warmth flooded his veins. He tried to reach for her, but his limbs had melted, suddenly boneless and unmoving.
What the hell is happening to me?
“Regan?”
A second later, the dream disappeared.
Chapter Five
“He couldn’t have just disappeared!” Anton Barzaga’s voice boomed through the spacious home office that had once belonged to his brother. The office and everything in it was Anton’s now. Including the man standing in front of him, looking obscenely bored with his outburst.
Anton slapped his palms against the desk and leaned over with what he considered an impressive show of authority. “Find him.” Manuel would’ve been proud.
His beloved brother Manuel. Manuel had looked out for Anton. Kept him safe. First from their alcoholic father who liked to use his boys as punching bags. Their mother, too, God rest her soul. Then from the world at large. No matter what kind of trouble Anton had gotten into over the years, Manuel had been there to get him out.
And now Manuel was gone, his life ended by the motherfucking Omega Team. Ketcher Novak to be exact. Anton wouldn’t allow his brother’s death to go unpunished. He would see them all dead, starting with the man who had pulled the trigger.
Manuel had done business from the sidelines, preferring to oversee, not get his hands dirty. Anton held no such affliction. He couldn’t wait to feel the warmth of Novak’s blood as it coated his fingers.
The thought caused a stir to begin low in Anton’s body, a pleasurable tingling at the base of his spine.
The Omega Team: No Control (Kindle Worlds Novella) (The Martin Family Book 3) Page 3
