THE HEALING HEART: Military and Pregnancy Romance

by Zelda Clemens

  With their foreheads resting on one another’s, they breathed each other in, unspoken promises and declarations flowing back and forth. Wade’s growl rumbled in his stomach before traveling to his chest, an animalistic lust in his eyes.

  She dug her nails into his back, doing her best to hang on to reality. The familiar stars flitted across her vision, almost fooling her to think she was looking at the night sky. Her hips bucked with anticipation, her muscles tensing in preparation for her release. Her skin stuck to his as a result of the combination of her sweat and previous orgasm.

  Wade closed his eyes to deepen his concentration. As he drew closer to climax, beams of white shot through the darkness. Soon, he began to lose control of his limbs, his toes and fingers curling to the point of cramping. He grits his teeth, yanking the sheets from the corners of the bed. The moans grew louder in his ears, the nails in his back causing him to thrust harder. When he opened his eyes, Roslyn had a pillow over her face. He snatched it away and flung it to the other side of the room. Her walls quivered around him, her breath warming his face. “I love you, Rosie. I love you so much.”

  “I love you too Wade. I’m, I’m, I’m…”

  Their screams were enough to startle the sleeping birds. Wade collapsed on top of her, exhausted and out of breath. Only after she complained of his weight crushing her, did her roll over. He kicked away the comforter, not wanting to feel an ounce of its heat.

  Roslyn used his arm to pull herself to his chest, the bottom half of her face hanging in the air.

  “That was amazing.” After several seconds passed without an answer, he tapped her. “Are you still alive?”

  She threw a lazy thumb into the air, her hair resembling a mop, covering her face. “I have to ask you another question,” she muttered.

  “I won’t be able to go again for at least a couple of hours.”

  Her hand plopped on his chest. “Not that pervert.”

  “Oh well, then shoot.”

  “Is that what you did to that girl you took to our fort.” This time, she shook him. “You better not be dead, I just made you prince.”

  “If I answer, you have to promise not to get mad.”

  “No can do.”

  “Well, I can’t answer then.”

  It took the remainder of her strength to prop herself up. “Okay, I won’t get mad.”

  “Promise?” he asked, raising his head.

  “Cross my heart, hope to die.”

  Wade tucked his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling as he spoke. “There was no girl.”

  “Huh?”

  “I never took a girl back to the fort. I said that to make you jealous.”

  The slap she gave him had much more force than the previous one. “Asshole.” After a lazy attack, she retrieved the comforter and snuggled next to him as close as she could. She relaxed into his arms and listened to the thump inside his chest. She repeatedly traced her name in his sweat as they indulged in a game of 21 questions.

  “Your turn Rosie.”

  “Did you ever think we would end up like this?”

  “I didn’t think we would be laying in a hand crafted bed in the King’s castle,” he chuckled. He combed his fingers through her hair as he pondered the rest of his answer. “I knew we would always end up together. I knew you would be mine.”

  “How could you have possibly known that?”

  “Because I’m handsome and irresistible.” He tightened his grip around her to prevent her from rolling away. He craned his neck to place a kiss on her forehead. “I wouldn’t have let fear stop me for too much longer.”

  “Promise me something,” she asked.

  “Anything my love.”

  “Promise me that we’ll never change, that you will be my best forever.”

  Wade kissed her fingertips and placed her hand over his heart. “Is that all?”

  “Yes my King, that is all.”

  “Consider it done, my queen.”

  Together they laughed at the silly titles. They knew they weren’t suited for the royal life. They were commoners, the voice of the people; but until the morning sun greeted them they could pretend.

  Roslyn watched as Wade’s eyes fought a valiant battle against exhaustion, losing to the powerful force in a matter of minutes. Sure he wouldn’t wake up; she wrapped the sheet around herself and made her way to the window. The stone cooled her warm skin, the moon and stars sending her best wishes. She looked back at her sleeping lover and smiled at the village below. She couldn’t have dreamed of a better view.

  THE END

  Another bonus story is on the next page.

  Bonus Story 4 of 44

  Strange Seduction

  Description

  When a random act of violence wracks her city, Samantha Penn finds her life changed in ways she could never imagine. The man whose life she saves turns out to be a wealthy financier who courts her over elegant luncheons on their hospital balcony. The mysterious bald-headed bearded man who save her life is wanted by the United States Air Force Office of Special Investigations, and the handsome young major interested in the man also has interests in Samantha. And when she finds herself with the officer and the billionaire, at the same time, the young actress wonders how strangely delightful life can be.

  But while reveling on the French Riviera, Samantha is kidnapped. And what she hopes will be a simple case of ransom becomes a strange supernatural seduction as she is forced to prepare for the role of her life in order to save a dying princess.

  *****

  The very last thing that Samantha Penn had even thought to expect lovely that morning was a bomb.

  She rode through the city in the back of an old, boxy yellow taxi flushed with all the hope and expectation that spring could bring. Her strawberry-blonde hair was done to perfection, and her newly manicured nails sparkled in the warm sunshine. Her pretty pink business suit had cost her dearly but she thought that it was well worth it. She had stood out from the other women during the whole audition process, and on this final reading she wanted to stand out further with clothes tailored to the role. The jacket snugged her with modest allure while the pencil skirt hugged her shapely hips; the high-low vee hem framed her toned legs so nicely.

  She tried not to think. She tried not to go over her lines again. She tried to relax. She stared blankly out the window watching the city parade by when all hell broke loose.

  The blast in the heart of the city that tore through the middle of a building a half-block ahead, and brought the old tenement crumbling.

  Her cab was upended in the shock-wave. The windows exploded and Samantha was covered in diamonds of glass shards. Bricks collapsed and crumbled from the building while pipes were torn, taking electrical wires sparking and waving in the empty air. Masonry dust clouded the sun.

  The cab fell back and Samantha was jolted to the reality.

  She reached to the cabby, but the partition held firm.

  The man had been impaled by the steering wheel.

  She screamed.

  She found a door. It opened. She staggered out onto the street. Dust was everywhere. She stood in a mist of an acrid haze. People were panicking. She didn’t know what to do. She stumbled. Her leg hurt. And then the mist opened and she saw a big black car upside-down. A hand was clawing the street. She ran to the hand. The hand was attached to an arm that was attached to a man who was wailing in pain.

  “I got you,” she said clutching his arm. “I’m here.”

  She pulled and dragged and dragged and pulled until the man was out of the long limo. His face was cut and his arms were bleeding. Then she saw the ugly red trail. One of the man’s legs was torn just above his knee and his blood was flowing.

  ‘Holy shit,’ she thought as she tried to remembered her girl-scout merit badge.

  She whipped off her belt and tightened a tourniquet around the man’s thigh. The blood didn't stop, but it oozed less. She held the belt for an eternity, her fingers and new skirt soaked in
the man’s blood.

  Then she felt a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

  “We got him,” the EMT said. “Lady, you’re hurt too.”

  “I got her,” someone said in a strange accent.

  She felt herself swept up into the arms of a strong and confident man. He was big and bald and he had a beard that wrapped his chin from ear to ear. He carried her away from the ugliness for blocks until they met a triage station.

  “Hey big-guy,” someone said. “We got her.”

  “I need to take her to my-”

  “The other stations are swamped,” the woman said. “We can take – shit! Look at her leg! I need surgery prep stat!”

  Her world spun. But as she watched the nurses and aids whirl, she looked to the bearded bald man.

  “Thank you,” she said as she passed out.

  ****

  When she woke up, Samantha felt that she lay on most comfortable bed. She felt the small twin tubes delivering oxygen up her nose and she breathed that happily.

  She felt okay.

  She tested her fingers and toes, and they were good.

  She tightened her chest and looked. She was fine.

  She felt a bandage on her forehead and her knee was stiff. There was a tube in her arm. But she breathed free and for that she was happy. And the bed was so comfy.

  “My angel is awake?” someone said.

  There was a man in a wheelchair at her bedside. He was dressed in a maroon satiny robe and one leg was held straight out by the chair.

  He was middle-aged, but so very stern and proud. He looked as if he could rise from the chair and run a marathon. His dark hair had small waves of grey at the temples. He had steely eyes and those eyes looked at her with a soft smile.

  “Where am I?” she asked.

  “You,” the man said, “and I, are in the Ocean View Hospital, the finest that I can offer.”

  “My insurance gonna pay for this?”

  “No,” he said, “but I will.”

  “Um, who are you?”

  “I am the recipient of your angelic assistance,” he said. Samantha detected a trace of British in his voice. My name is Reese, John Reese.”

  “You’re the guy,” she said remembering. “The guy in the upside down car.”

  “C’est moi,” he said bowing his head. “And you are Samantha Penn, and I owe you my leg, nay my very life. Mere words cannot express my eternal gratitude.”

  “Thank Ms. Cheever.”

  “Who?”

  “My girl scout leader. She coached me through my first-aid merit badge.”

  “Then Ms. Cheever shall be showered with all manner of girl-scouting equipment and accessories, and you, my dear Ms. Penn still have my unending thanks. I have had you brought to the finest private hospital in the city where you be tended to by the most brilliant medical personnel money can acquire, and that my dear is just the beginning of my humble appreciation.”

  “You rich or something?”

  “Yes, Ms. Penn,” he said nodding and grinning. “Or something.”

  “Call me Sam.”

  *****

  As the sedatives worked their way through Sam’s system and her brain cleared, the reality of her surroundings began to dawn on her. The rich, it seemed didn’t have hospitals; they had five star hotels with a medical staff. Her room was a virtual suite. Her bed was a queen-size, but beyond the IV drip in her arm there was nothing there that was remotely medical. French doors opened to a lovely balcony with a magnificent view of the ocean. There was a vanity with a huge round mirror and an assortment of cosmetics. There was a stereo, an assortment of books and even a small fireplace. And that was the bedroom. There was an adjoining sitting room, and a very elegantly appointed bathroom.

  But as the reality of her luxury sank in, so did the gravity of the situation. There had been a terrorist bomb. People had died. People were in hospitals all over the city, and most were not in the comfort that she was. She didn’t know who had been responsible, and she didn’t want to know. The politics didn’t matter; all that mattered was the callous disregard for life. All life. Because when someone is murdered or maimed, they are not the only ones to suffer. People have families.

  “But you don’t?” the psychologist asked her.

  It was her third day at Ocean View. The surgeons assured her that her knee would heal just fine. The trauma-specialist saw her every day.

  “I have an aunt,” she said. “She’s in a home. She doesn’t even know who I am anymore. Alzheimer’s.”

  They talked, and he felt good about her outlook.

  The police came the second day. They questioned her. She told them all she knew, but she didn’t know much.

  And John visited her every day. He was funny and he was charming. They would take lunch on her balcony overlooking the sea, both in their wheelchairs. The food was fabulous, but when she mentioned her love of Joey Garlic’s Pizza, they dined that evening on the sumptuous pie. Once, when the water was choppy and rough, he told her stories about sailing and scuba diving in the Bahamas or the Mediterranean. She was fascinated. And so when he offered to take her to Cannes for the film festival, she was both delighted and elated because she realized that he wasn’t just being gracious, he was flirting. She spent that evening with the laptop drooling over images of the French Riviera.

  She was finishing her physical therapy on her fifth day of that luxurious captivity when an aid told her that there was a man in a uniform waiting for her in her sitting room. She shrugged, thinking it was just another cop. It wasn’t.

  When he stood to greet her he was a good head above her despite her crutches. He wore a crisp blue uniform with a lot of decorations and eagles. His face was almost chiseled with such clean lines. He had a slight brow ridge but his eyebrows were brown and soft and just slightly narrowed. His eyes were dark and round, and while they seemed set and serious they looked as if they could burst out with joy at the slightest provocation. His nose was noble, almost prominent and for some reason his face and dark complexion made Sam think of an Aztec warrior or god.

  “Ms. Penn,” he said offering a hand that was iron and butter at the same time, “I am Major Marc Coronus of the Air Force Office of Special Investigation.”

  “Air Force?” she said floating to a chair.

  “I’m currently attached to the Department of Homeland Security. I hope that you don’t mind my intrusion. I just need to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

  “Oh,” she said almost disappointed. “You’re here about the bomb too?”

  “No ma’am,” he said.

  He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a photograph of a man with a bald head and ear-to-ear beard. It wasn’t a very good photo. It looked like it was taken at a beach. There were people lounging in swimwear behind him and he was squinting in the sunlight.

  “Recognize this man?” Marc asked.

  She studied it. Then it hit her.

  “He’s the one,” she said remembering. “He’s the one who brought me to the triage station that day.”

  “That’s what I read in the police report,” he said nodding. “I don’t suppose that you know him?”

  “No. I just – he just carried me that day. That’s all.”

  “Can you tell me anything about him?”

  “He was strong,” she said with a shrug. “Carried me like I was nothing.”

  But even as she spoke, she saw Marc slyly check her out.

  “Why do you ask?” she said. “Has he done something wrong? Was he – oh no, was he the bomber?”

  “No, no, no,” he said, “nothing like that. I’m looking into something else entirely.”

  He asked her more questions. He was like the police. He asked her things that she might never have thought of, and in the end she realized that she knew more about the man from that brief encounter than she realized – like that the bearded bald man had a slight limp.

  But Sam was captivated by the Air Force officer, and when his
inquiry was over he lingered, asking her about her injury and progress, while she asked him about life as a special investigator. The time went by and they smiled at one another a lot. When a knock came at her door she was somewhat startled. It was John. It was lunchtime. Samantha made introductions and John picked up the phone to order a third plate, insisting that Marc join them. And then he looked down at the photo.

  “Good lord,” he said. “That’s Adolpho el Magnifico.”

  “You know him?” Marc asked.

  “Not personally,” John said, “though I did dine with his party at A Travessa in Lisbon. Charming fellow, splendid conversationalist, remarkable act. He’s the strongman you know, with--”

  “O Circo Real,” Marc said nodding. “I know.”

  *****

  Sam cared little for Adolpho el Magnifico. He had been an angel of mercy lost amid a hundred such angels, and if he had appeared in her doorway she would have happily asked him to lunch. But here she was at lunch with two other men, happily enjoying their attention. And their attentions were so cute.

  John felt at home and so was polite and gracious with his guest. Marc seemed to understand the turf thing and so treated the man as the kindly old uncle. But both men were constant with their focus on her, yet in that focus they found their only common ground, and that was the bombing. John told the story of his rescue and Marc was indeed impressed. The officer asked many questions to which the rich man seemed to have many answers.

  As the two spoke back and forth neither noticed Sam set down her fork and gaze out to sea. The water was blue and calm with ten thousand, thousand little ripples dappling in the sunshine. The sea was hypnotic. Like staring into the heart of a soothing campfire, the little waves drew her as if they were calling to her. And beyond the drone of the men chatting, she almost heard her name from the far ocean.

  “Samantha Pennopeai,” sang the waters of spring.

  The little swells seemed to gather. Their eternal lines leading to the land swayed, and then eddied and gathered. They drew away from the shore and in a strange water dance they began to flow out and away as if forming themselves in a straight and steady stream that led out and away to some far distant point in the east. And all the while she could hear her name.