Exposed

by JC Harroway

  She pushed away from the door, shunting him off balance and backwards towards the bed.

  She deftly worked his fly open with one hand, her gorgeous face a picture of concentration that punched his groin with a flood of heat. When she lifted her wide eyes back to his, lust and a hint of uncertainty swilling in the dark depths, he took her hand, pulling her down onto the bed beside him. ‘Let’s slow this down. There’s no rush.’

  He gave her no time to object, cupping her face once more for another round of her delicious, breathy kisses. He lost himself—the taste of her, the bold swipes of her tongue, the way she scraped her teeth across his lower lip. He could kiss her for hours. Days.

  But she grew restless, tugging once more at his shirt until he relented, helping her to remove the garment. It snagged on his chin, and when he finally grappled himself free, they both laughed, breaking the awkwardness of the moment, he suspected, for both of them.

  Eden scanned his naked torso, her fingers tracing a path from the smattering of hair covering his pecs to the ridges of his abdomen. Her tentative touch held a reverence, a softness that surprised him, as if she enjoyed touching him as much as he enjoyed her touch.

  When her knuckles dragged at the waistband of his cotton boxers, he groaned, standing abruptly to shuck his trousers, socks and boots. His body ran from hot to cold and back again, the urge to go slow and savour every second of this moment warring with the primal needs of his testosterone-laden body. His teeth scraped at the inside of his cheek, the twinge of pain grounding him, forcing him to breathe deeply.

  Her eyes scanned the rest of him, growing impossibly rounder. But as he leant over her, she gripped his arm, pulling him back down so their mouths met.

  ‘Kiss me.’ Her words gusted over his tingling lips between kisses, and he pushed her back, joining her on the bed until they lay side by side, him on her left.

  Her short nails raked his shoulder as he deepened the kiss and slid his hand from her still-clothed shoulder to cup her breast through the thin fabric.

  She was small, pert, perfect, filling his hand, responsive and needy. She arched off the bed and he wondered if it had been as long for her as it had for him. Her fingers flexed, digging into him to the point of pain, but he didn’t complain. She was lost and he’d taken her there.

  Her whimpers encouraged him and he slid his hand south, skimming her belly and settling between her legs. He cupped her through her trousers and she spread her legs.

  ‘Touch me, Dan.’

  He’d take those kind of orders from Captain Archer anytime. He worked the button and zip with one hand, his mouth trailing over her jaw and the sensitive softness of her elegant neck.

  She helped him, and soon she was naked from the waist down. ‘That’s all.’ A flash of hesitation, but her meaning clear. She wasn’t ready to fully trust him, to be naked with him. But he’d take what she could give. He’d never been ruled by his ego.

  He gave a quick nod, letting her know he understood before perusing the view of her bottom half with unapologetic candour. She was beautiful, her slim shapely legs, her delicate feet with pink painted toes and the perfect little triangle of dark curls at the apex of her thighs. He could stare for hours, his legendary patience a blessing, but she wasn’t having that.

  With an impatient little mewl, she tugged on his shoulders, bringing his mouth back down to hers, then repositioned his hand from her ribs, guiding it straight to her sex. ‘Touch me.’

  Oh he would. But he wanted to savour. To take his time. To enjoy this softer side of her. She knew what she wanted and was totally in control of her life. But she’d left her attitude at the bedroom door and that had thrown him, knocking down his preconceived judgements and notching up his attraction to her, tenfold.

  She writhed under his touch, her hips lifting to meet the tease and slide of his fingers against her creamy folds. Her breath gusted against his face in rapid little pants and her mewling grew louder as she abandoned herself to the pleasure. Uninhibited. Demanding. Perfect. And so responsive.

  He longed to taste the hard little nipple he’d felt earlier through her clothing. He’d bet his last breath she could come just from having her breasts sucked and teased. But he shelved his urges, respectful of her boundaries. They had time.

  With two more swipes, she was there, her climax a loud wail that tore her mouth from his as her fingers clawed at his shoulder. He dragged it out, lessening the pressure of his fingertips’ rapid swirling as he gazed down at her face, which was contorted in rapture, eyes scrunched close.

  Heat blossomed inside his chest. Heat that had nothing to do with his painfully throbbing arousal or his body’s needs raging through his bloodstream.

  She’d opened herself to him, believing hateful things about herself. Things she’d perhaps learned the hard way.

  Dark thoughts shifted something cold and hard in his chest. If he ever saw that ex of hers again …

  Her smile distracted him from the dark path his thoughts had taken.

  ‘Mmm …’ She writhed like a cat, slowly opening her eyes to floor him with her honest and open beauty. ‘Thanks.’ She unfurled her fingers from his shoulder, which was, no doubt, marked with indentations from her nails, and slipped her hand between their bodies to caress him through his boxers.

  Instead of the surge of lust he’d been expecting, the heaviness in his groin recoiled as if she’d dropped a bucket of ice in his lap. Fuck …

  Eden shimmied out from under him, the wicked gleam of her stare raking down his torso to the point where her hand stroked his erection.

  He slammed his eyes shut. Her intention was clear, confirmed by the first brush of her lips on his spasming abdomen. Focus. Fuck, not now.

  He tensed his thighs, trying to keep the blood pooled in his groin as her mouth glided south to meet up with her working hand.

  His brain, freefalling into panic alley, stalled and he sucked air through his nostrils. It’s been over two years. Fuck man, get a grip. You want this. Open your eyes. Watch her.

  His lamentations grew increasingly frantic as he tried to talk himself back from the ledge. But as the shock of cold air heralded the removal of his boxers and Eden’s fingers curled around his bare cock, he feared the worst.

  She kissed him then, the press of her soft swollen lips to the sensitive head of his cock so unexpected, he felt a surge of renewed hope. ‘Eden …’ He cupped her head, pushing the hair back from her pleasure-softened face, and she smiled up at him, the tip of her tongue peeking out to replace her lips. Her playful grin turned wicked and she twisted her head, her lips puckering and her kiss grazing his palm. Grazing his ring finger. Grazing his wedding band.

  Fuck.

  ‘Stop.’ It came out way harsher than he wanted, him more startled than her, although perhaps not, judging by the expression on her face. Ice replaced his blood, settling in his chest like a frozen brick.

  What had he done? What a mess.

  The shutters fell, closing her down as her expression hardened.

  Dan shifted, righting his boxers to cover his diminishing hard-on, the heat of earlier now rushing to his neck and throat. ‘No. Look—’

  ‘It’s okay.’ She scrambled off the bed, her face hidden behind the tangled curtains of her hair, and reached for her discarded panties.

  His gaze dipped to the perfectly rounded curves of her gorgeous arse and he swallowed bile. Too late now, fuckwit.

  ‘Fuck, Eden,’ Dan grabbed her wrist, stilling her movements. ‘It’s … It’s not you, okay?’ Even to his own ears it sounded lame. How had he made such a monumental mess of this? What was wrong with him? He’d made things between them, things for her, ten times worse. And why? Because he was an arsehole. Because he’d wallowed in self-pity so long, he’d forgotten how to do anything else. Because out of habit he’d continued to wear a symbol of his past life. A life that was long gone. He’d hurt her, someone at the very limits of vulnerable. Someone who’d been hurt enough. His throat burned, nausea close
behind.

  ‘It’s okay.’ She yanked on the panties, her shining eyes scanning the floor for her trousers.

  He stood, the still present, albeit small, bulge in his boxers, mocking him. Mocking them both. A sigh built beneath his ribs, one so big, he was scared to set it free.

  Releasing her wrist, he slid his fingers down to hers, squeezing. ‘Please listen.’ His throat dried. He was as exposed as a man could be. Stood before a fucking wet dream of a woman, naked but for his failing hard-on.

  For a moment she wavered, her gaze flicking to the door. But then she swallowed, her shoulders squaring and her chin jutting forward.

  Her shield was back. He deserved that. ‘I’m sorry.’ He cleared his throat, willing his saliva to return and make this speech a little easier. ‘It’s been a long time for me. You’re a beautiful woman.’ He snorted, his head shaking. ‘A fucking goddess.’

  She gave nothing away, and if it wasn’t for the continued presence of her warm but still fingers in his hand, he’d have thought it was all over.

  Dan glanced down at their entwined hands, his left and her right, his worn wedding band glinting in the room’s dim lighting like a beacon pinpointing his failure. ‘There’s been no one since Megan, and she died two years ago. Cancer.’

  She nodded. This wasn’t all new information to her. He’d have to dig a little deeper. ‘I want you, Archer.’ He emphasised the bite of his words with the squeeze of his fingers around hers. ‘I haven’t wanted anyone else since.’ He snorted out a humourless laugh. ‘I guess my body didn’t get the memo that I’m ready.’ He shrugged, his smile feeling alien on his face.

  ‘It’s okay, Dan. Really.’ She backed away a half-pace, her voice quiet as if speaking to a child or an injured animal. ‘I’m gonna go.’

  ‘No. Please stay.’ Fuck, could he sound more needy? ‘I want you to stay.’ He glanced at the bed, the rumpled sheets fanfaring his immense, emasculating failure.

  She hesitated, her eyes caressing the door and escape. He should let her go. But he wouldn’t have her believe this had anything to do with her. Anything to do with her injuries. Anything to do with anything, other than his messed-up, fucking brain.

  He tugged her forward until their chests crashed. His mouth had been away from hers for far too long. She softened, the fight in her draining away with each swipe of his lips. ‘Please stay. I’ll feel like a total dick if you leave now. Excuse the pun.’

  She lifted her chocolate-brown eyes to him, seeing him far too clearly for his liking, and nodded.

  One small, decisive nod.

  But he’d take it.

  * * *

  He shot awake, a bolus of adrenaline slamming through his body, working his muscles reflexively to jerk him into a sitting position. Expecting the shrill wake-up call of a pager, his eyes darted around the pitch-black room as his brain fought to play catch-up.

  Again. The movement that had awakened him. Eden lay beside him in the unfamiliar bed, her face buried in the pillow and the sheets and duvet a tangled mass around her lower half. Her body jerked, her hand shooting out to connect with his leg, and she emitted a low-pitched, muffled groan. A dream?

  Now fully awake, he took in her sleeping form. She’d fallen asleep still wearing her top and panties, having removed only her bra. As she stilled, his gaze followed the triangle of moonlight slanting in from the chink in the curtain, projecting onto her smooth back where her top had ridden up in the night.

  He curled his fingers into the bedding to stop himself tracing her skin with an inquisitive fingertip. She was restless enough—he didn’t want to wake her. His stare drifted, following the arch of her spine and the curve of her flank. The skin here was scarred—pink, gnarled bumps he’d seen enough times to know they were burns. What had happened to her? He could guess. He could have snooped in her medical file. Could probably even do an internet search on her. But he’d prefer it if she confided in him. After all, he’d made a complete idiot of himself tonight. And everyone had a past they’d rather didn’t exist.

  The mattress juddered and Eden began to thrash in earnest, her legs and arms flailing like she was struck by an epileptic seizure. But it was the animalistic wailing in her throat that launched him from the bed to fumble with the bedside light, before reaching out a hand to gently shake her awake.

  She emerged from the nightmare, sweat-soaked and dazed, her huge dark eyes wildly scanning the room and pants gusting in and out of her flared nostrils.

  ‘It’s okay. Eden, it’s Dan. It’s okay. You were dreaming.’ He gingerly extended his hand, slowly brushing the damp hair from her face so as not to startle her with any sudden movements.

  Her composure returned quickly, her mouth pinching and the muscles of her jaw bunching. ‘I’m okay.’ She battled free of the tangled covers and stumbled to the room’s ensuite bathroom.

  She spent an age in there, and Dan righted the bedding, turning down the sheets and clicking off the bedside lamp. He fully expected her to leave when she emerged, but she joined him once more in the bed, her body rigid beside his, not touching.

  Their joint breaths composed a rhythmic lullaby, neither of then succumbing quickly to sleep. ‘Want to talk about it?’ he whispered, his palm twitching to reach for her hand beneath the covers. To offer what comfort he could. The memory of his own sleepless nights following Megan’s death all too fresh in his consciousness.

  ‘No.’ She sighed, a tidal wave of frustrated air. ‘Do me a favour, Dr Dan. Have a night off.’ The mattress shifted, bringing her back in to view. Impotence clawed at him. She owed him nothing. She’d made it clear she despised his profession. And after his performance tonight, or lack of one, he had enough of his own demons to explain without prodding at hers.

  When he woke with the dawn, she was gone.

  Chapter 7

  Eden snatched up her phone, connecting her daily call from Sam.

  ‘Hey, how are the “little darlings”?’ Sam taught six-year-olds. The thought alone made Eden’s head pound.

  ‘Divine. How’s your day going?’ Eden heard the slurp, imagining her oldest friend snatching a coffee on her break and, of course, checking in on her injured friend. As if Sam wasn’t busy enough.

  ‘Oh, you know, keeping busy.’ Sadly, not busy enough. She flopped onto the sofa, her feet propped on the coffee table and her stare finding that small bubble in the wallpaper, which was shaped like an egg. Unbidden, Dan’s image movie-reeled on her retinas. His wide-eyed concern, the humiliation of his sympathetic glances, the vision of him asleep—warm, sexy and totally relaxed.

  ‘How was the weekend?’ said Sam.

  Confusing. Humiliating. Spectacular in places. ‘Okay. They’re a really cool group of guys.’ Her fellow challenge participants put her to shame, many of them operating with severe physical limitations. Somehow, they managed everything with a smile, a joke and clenched-teeth determination. Why couldn’t she do that?

  ‘Yeah? Anyone cute?’ Sam’s expectant silence weighed heavily on Eden’s shoulders.

  ‘Not really. Why, you looking?’ Good distraction technique, Archer.

  ‘C’mon, Eden. All those hot fit servicemen …’ As if sensing the conversation’s dead-end looming, Sam changed tack. ‘Does the colonel know you’re doing this challenge?’

  Eden sighed, thinking of her beloved father, who had retired to Spain where he lived most of the year round with her stepmother, Maggie. Not that she really thought of the older woman as her stepmother, as the couple had only met five years ago.

  The ‘no’ hovered on the tip of her tongue, stubbornly refusing to emerge. Like everyone close to her, the colonel worried.

  ‘Tom?’ Sam continued, managing to convey a wealth of disapproval in one simple word.

  Eden sighed, her gaze returning to the bubble in the wallpaper. ‘He knows. I’m missing the twin’s fourth birthday party this weekend.’ The pinch of guilt nipped at her heels. ‘He said I’m the crappiest auntie in the world, despite the size of my gift
s.’ But the last thing she needed at the moment was a day spent at her brother’s home, constantly comparing herself to her older, higher ranked and perfect sibling.

  Two years her senior, Tom had it all—the career, the doting military wife and two adorable well-adjusted daughters. Even before her accident she’d struggled to play happy families. But since? Her saliva turned to grit in her throat. All she had to show for her life so far was failure.

  Failed career.

  Failed relationship.

  Failed body.

  She stuck her burned hand beyond the confines of her sleeve, the perpetually curled fingers gnarled with irregular pink scars.

  Tom. The only person she really truly confided in. She’d always idolised her brother. A reluctant smile tugged at her cheeks as happy childhood memories flooded her mind. Colonel John Archer’s military career meant they’d grown up on military bases all over the world, the small but tight-knit community of other military families replacing Eden and Tom’s mother, who’d died from cancer when Eden was just eighteen months old. Tom had been her best friend and her hero worship had never really abated. Following the strong men in her life into a military career had been second nature—an easy choice she’d never regretted.

  ‘Eden, are you sleeping?’ Sam’s concern pulsed from the phone, blurring the boundaries of their friendship, the balance of which had changed since the accident. Since Eden developed limitations, forcing her to accept help.

  ‘I’m okay.’ The dreams and flashbacks had been receding in recent months. In fact, before waking up sweat-drenched and terrified in Dan’s bed, it had been weeks since the last one. Not long enough.

  PTSD. An insidious bitch who crept up on you when you were least expecting her. Her doctor assured her the nightmares would pass with time and the antidepressants seemed to be working to reduce their frequency, but it couldn’t happen quickly enough for Eden. Every time she relived the horror of her accident, another fragment of her old self disintegrated.