by Julie Rowe
Suck it up, princess, you’ve had a rest, time to figure your shit out.
After she got in, she let her head fall back against the seat and closed her eyes. “Maybe I should buy an old junker and fix it up.”
He didn’t respond for a few seconds. “Do what makes you happy. If it doesn’t bring you joy, don’t bother.”
She opened her eyes and looked at him. He seemed relaxed, more so than usual. “Is that your secret for success?”
The muscles in his shoulders tensed. Not much, but enough for her to notice. “It’s my secret for staying alive.”
Witnessing horror took a toll on a soul, on one’s emotions and sense of safety. Witnessing and living that horror over and over again would be infinitely worse. Syria, and the war that had been consuming that country for years, was horror of the worst kind.
Maybe balancing that out with new, happy experiences was the best way to go. Or maybe it was the only way to keep going.
“What makes me happy?” she asked out loud. Unfortunately, a definitive answer outside the military didn’t miraculously pop into her head.
“What was the first thing you thought of when you asked that question?” Gunner asked.
“You’re going to laugh.”
“No, I’m not, now answer the question.”
“My job. In the Army.”
“Why?”
“Well…” She had to think about it. “It was structured and had rules. I knew what to expect and could count on my fellow soldiers to do their jobs to the best of their ability.”
“The CDC should provide the same things.”
“It doesn’t, not in the same way.”
“Then you need to go deeper. Why did being in the Army make you happy?”
She wasn’t sure she had enough brainpower for this kind of deep discussion, but his face told her he wasn’t going to let this slide. “People depended on me to do my job, and that job was clearly defined. I always knew what I was supposed to do and when to do it. I was able to complete the job and see that it was done well.” Her voice had risen, but she didn’t care. She was tired in mind, body, and heart, and he pushed her over a cliff she hadn’t known was there.
He grinned at her, and it made her so irritated she nearly hit him. “That’s it. That’s the real issue.”
Did he know he sounded like a crazy man? “What?”
“We’ve been investigating possible disease hotspots and outbreaks, but we only got as far as the initial assessment of the situation and collection of samples. We never finished those cases, never saw the results, didn’t render a decision, and didn’t offer treatment to those affected.”
Every word he said was a bomb dropped on her head. It sounded right. It felt right, but she wouldn’t know until she actually did take charge of a case and ran with it to its conclusion, whatever that might be.
“So, this change in our role…”
“Might be exactly what you need,” he finished for her.
Could it be that simple?
Gunner pulled his jeep into his parking lot at the apartment building they both lived in. Its close location to the CDC offices meant quite a few people who worked for the CDC rented apartments in the building. Joy’s apartment was on the second floor, while his was on the third.
He paused as they reached the second floor. “You need anything?”
How about another kiss?
She managed to keep that question to herself and answered with a smile that felt stiff and tired, “No. Goodnight.”
He stared at her for a moment. “Call or text me if you need anything. See you in the morning.”
“Okay.” If she didn’t get to her place within the next ten seconds she was going to break down into an ugly cry right here.
She didn’t remember the walk to her door, unlocking it, or going inside. The wall was cool and solid against her back as the tears flowed down her face, but they eventually dried, leaving her exhausted.
She stripped off her clothes and crawled into bed, where sleep ambushed her almost immediately. So did her most frequent nightmare.
…
The air was so hot it sucked all the moisture out of anything exposed to it in seconds. She wanted to pant, but opening her mouth meant losing fluids faster. The helicopter she was in raced at top speed, passing over the landscape below fast enough to make her dizzy. She kept her eyes on the horizon.
“Three minutes to target,” the copilot called out over the radio.
Joy and the rest of her combat rescue team got into position to exit the aircraft and sprint to the wounded soldier on the ground.
The bird touched down, and the door at the ass-end of the helicopter opened.
She ran, her attention on the man lying on the ground, two other soldiers hovering over him, using their bodies to shield him from the dust, dirt, and rocks the bird’s blades kicked up. She reached him first.
Her job at the moment was to determine injuries and let everyone know what they were dealing with, what they were going to do, and what equipment was needed.
She took in the situation at a glance and started yelling out information, “Male, IED impact to lower extremities.”
One of the men with the soldier had put tourniquets around both thighs just above the knees, but blood was pouring out of what was left of his legs.
“Partial amputation to both legs,” she shouted. She looked at his face and met an unfocused gaze. Holy shit, he was awake and aware. “Injured is conscious. Blood loss priority one.”
The two medics who’d run with her got the injured on a stretcher and secured a second set of tourniquets around his thighs. They picked him up and rushed him to the waiting aircraft. She brought up the rear. As she got into the bird, something pinged a few inches above her head. It was followed by more. Ping, ping, thunk.
They were under fire.
Joy pulled her sidearm as she turned to face this new danger.
A man’s head popped up over some rocks about thirty feet away. She aimed, fired, and kept firing as the helicopter took off, the rear ramp slowly closing. By the time she had to stop firing or risk hitting the bird, she’d gone through her entire clip of bullets.
Behind her, the medics were motionless. She stared at them, confused.
One of them glanced at her then said, “He took a head shot after we got on board.” The medic pointed at the blood pooling on the floor. “He’s gone.”
Son of a bitch.
She stared at the body, anger, guilt, and loss combining in her gut in a caustic mess, setting off a wave of nausea that had her bending over to retch.
Son of a bitch.
Something pounded on the walls of the aircraft. Something big with King Kong-sized fists.
…
Joy jerked upright in bed and had to take a couple of seconds to look around before remembering when and where she was.
Atlanta, Georgia, USA.
She wasn’t in Afghanistan, wasn’t trying to save the life of a dead man, wasn’t under fire.
Who was pounding on her apartment door at—she checked the time—three thirty in the morning?
Chapter Nine
Monday 3:30 a.m.
Gunner slammed his fist against the door three more times. If Joy didn’t answer it soon, he was going back upstairs to his place and grabbing his lock picks.
He’d heard the odd shout from her apartment in the early hours of the morning before, but never the raw-voiced screaming that had woken him out of a sound sleep a minute ago.
Joy’s door opened, revealing a very sleepy and pissed off looking nurse. “What are you doing?” She glanced up and down the hallway. “You’re going to wake everyone in the building.”
He stared at her. “You were screaming.”
That brought her attention back to him in a hurry. “What?”
“You. Were. Screaming,” he repeated slowly. The terror that had shot through his body at the sounds coming from the bedroom one floor beneath his had turned his voi
ce to gravel. “Like someone was torturing you.” When she kept frowning, he added, “My apartment is above yours.”
Irritation slid off her face. “I was screaming?”
“Yes.”
She sagged against the door frame. “Shit, I’m sorry.”
“I assume no one is torturing you?”
“Just myself,” she said then rubbed her face with both hands.
He noted the bags under her eyes and pale complexion, and his worry turned to understanding. “Nightmare?”
“Yeah, mixed up with a really bad memory.” She moved back. “Come in.”
He entered her apartment and took a quick look around, but there wasn’t much to see. She had the bare minimum of furniture—a chair and a couch in the living room with a small coffee table in front of them. On the table was a closed laptop. A TV hung on the wall opposite the couch with a small stand of electronics crouched below it.
No pictures on the walls or knickknacks anywhere, though there were a couple piles of books.
If the rest of the place was as sparsely furnished as this, she could have herself packed and moved in an hour. That didn’t sit well with him. Even he had more than this. No one should live this Spartan.
“Do you sleep on a mat?” Okay, he hadn’t meant that to come out sounding so sharp.
She blinked at him like an owl then looked at her furniture and shook her head. “No, I have a good bed. First thing I bought after I signed the lease on this place.” She yawned, and he finally let himself notice that she was wearing a T-shirt and some short shorts underneath it and not much else.
With her hair mussed, she looked soft and touchable.
Keep your hands to yourself, asshole.
He tried to soften his tone. “You want to talk about it?”
When Joy gave him a pale smile then looked at the carpet under her feet, he figured he hadn’t been as successful at sounding sympathetic as he’d hoped.
“It’s just your typical PTSD stuff,” she said with a shrug.
“Nothing about PTSD is typical,” he said, working to keep his tone non-threatening. “You know that. Response to trauma varies from person to person.”
She raised an eyebrow. “So, you quote the textbook when you get an answer you don’t like?”
“When it agrees with my opinion,” he said without hesitation. “You agree with it, too, or you wouldn’t be trying to pretend otherwise.”
Her shoulders drooped. “Fine. I’m having trouble sleeping, getting to sleep, and staying asleep.” She paused, but he didn’t say anything, only waited for her to finish. “When I do stay asleep, I’m plagued by nightmares.”
“I’ve heard…the occasional shouted order.” He smiled to show her it didn’t bother him. “But never screaming like tonight.”
“Damn it,” she whispered, hunching in on herself. “I’m sorry.”
“Are all your dreams the same?”
“Yes and no. Yes, they’re all variations of shit that happened during my deployments. No, not everyone died when shit hit the fan, but in my dreams they do, even me.”
“Survivor’s guilt can mess up your head in so many ways.” His own head was an unholy tangle he wasn’t sure would ever get straightened out.
Joy didn’t answer beyond a weak nod of her head.
She looked exhausted, bruised, and alone. No one should have to go through the kind of hell she’d been through. Her brain was making her relive it every night, making herself her own worst enemy. He knew firsthand how difficult it could be to be the one who survived.
He knew what that was like. His mind had done the same often enough to know how demoralizing it was to realize there were memory bombs in your head. Alone, when that was happening, was a bad place to be. A place he couldn’t leave her in.
He opened his arms. “Hug?”
She studied him with an urgency that bordered on desperation then all but dove onto him, wrapping her arms around him tight. She shook, a fine tremor that hadn’t been visible, but it sent a chill through him. He enfolded her in his arms, pulling her even tighter to him, until she was plastered against him from knees to the top of her head.
He’d give her whatever comfort he could. Hell, tomorrow night it might be him reliving one of the horrors he’d survived. He’d never had anyone he could trust that close offer him a hug.
Joy would. She was a badass Army nurse, and she wouldn’t hesitate.
She was warm, and her body curved in all the best places, so he shouldn’t have been surprised when his cock sat up at attention.
Damn it, he didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable in any way, so he shifted his body, hoping she wouldn’t notice. Or tried to. She had a spider monkey’s grip on his torso and followed his movements.
He knew the moment she realized what was going on. Her muscles tensed up, but she didn’t back away.
She rubbed her body against his.
His cock turned to stone, and he tried to convince himself that her movements were an accident.
She did it again, and he had to lock his muscles in place to stop himself from doing anything else that might get him into even hotter water.
Her nose against his chest, she sucked in a deep breath and said in a husky voice, “Wow, you’re huge.”
Gee, thanks?
Now what the fuck was he supposed to do? She’d just awoken from a fucking nightmare triggered by PTSD. Even giving her a hug was stretching the line between acceptable and unacceptable behavior with a coworker.
His cock did not give a single fuck about any of that. When she wiggled again, he all but growled. He wanted her so bad he was the one shaking now. If he didn’t put a stop to this, he was going to do something unforgivable.
“Joy, I’m not a lost cat. If you keep petting me, I’m going to do something really fucking stupid.”
“Ha,” she said, rocking against him. “We did stupid already, and it wasn’t enough.”
“Fine,” he muttered. “A clusterfuck, then.” He threaded a hand through her hair, tugged her head back, and kissed her.
She moaned, her lips parting to let him in.
He wrenched himself away, though he couldn’t make himself let her go. “This is a bad idea.”
“The worst,” she agreed, swallowing hard. “But I think I need it, and right now, you’re the only man I trust enough to…”
“Allow this close?”
“Yeah.” She swallowed hard. “Is that…okay?”
He snorted. “This is about as far from okay as it can get, but I don’t want to walk away from you right now, even though I should.”
She stiffened and frowned. “A pity fuck?”
He took her hand and pressed it against his rigid cock. “Does this feel like pity to you? Goddamn it, woman, I’m about as close to coming in my pants as a man can get.” He lowered his head until they were nose to nose. “Because you push every button I’ve got and then some.” He kissed her again, lingering, savoring the flavor of her lips and mouth. Kissed her until they were both out of breath. “Yes or no?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Oh hell, yes.”
He picked her up, both hands under her amazing ass, and she wrapped her legs around his hips. He ran his mouth over her neck, nipping, sucking, and kissing. The walk to her bedroom was more of a drunken stumble, but he managed to get there without dropping her or falling on his butt.
He kicked the door shut while she nibbled on his neck, and that nearly buckled his knees. He managed to get them to the bed, holding her still for his kiss.
She moaned and slipped her hands under the T-shirt he’d thrown on before he’d left his apartment. Skin to skin, that’s what he needed, what she needed.
He pushed up and grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it up and over her head. She wore no bra.
Holy fuck, no bra and her breasts were full, her nipples pink and tight. He cupped her soft, sensitive flesh in his hands, his thumbs teasing the edges of her. Going around and around.
“Gu
nner,” she whispered, a plea, and arched her back.
He bent down to lick and suck at her. She groaned and shifted restlessly. When he used his teeth, she damn near came off the bed, but not in protest.
“Please, please,” she whimpered. “Don’t tease. I need…”
“What do you need?” he asked, licking a path from one breast to the other.
“Your mouth on me,” she said, her voice strained. “Your cock in me.”
“One thing at a time.” He sucked hard while one hand snagged her shorts and underwear, jerking them down her legs and off.
His own sleep pants were pushed down by both her hands, though she abandoned them as soon as his cock was revealed.
“Oh yeah,” she said, her husky voice sending pleasurable shivers across his skin. “You’re just what the doctor ordered.”
He burst out laughing. “I did not.” Then he choked as she took his cock in one hand and his balls in the other.
“What I need,” she said. “Come here.”
Jesus Christ, with her hands on him she could order him to do anything. What she did was get him between her legs, head of his cock at the entrance to her body.
“Slow down,” he said, panting.
“Why?” she asked, wiggling her hips.
“I dunno, foreplay maybe?”
“We did plenty.” She looked at him, her eyes hazy with pleasure. “I want you.” There was a desperate edge to her voice he couldn’t ignore.
There was a reason why he couldn’t take her yet. A really good reason. What the fuck was it?
Condom.
“Do you have protection?” he managed to ask.
She sucked in a breath. “Shit, yeah.” She yanked open the bedside table, fished around in it for a few seconds, then came out with a small box of condoms.
He reached for it, but she pulled it away. “Nuh-uh. I want to put it on you.”
She did. Slowly, while biting her lip. “You’re good to go,” she whispered when she was done.
“You are a menace to my ability to think.” He pressed inward and groaned at the warm, wet tightness of her body. By the time he got all the way in, they were both shaking. He lifted his head so he could make eye contact. “Okay?”
She snorted and gasped out, “Don’t be ridiculous, outstanding is a much better description.”
