“How badisit?”
As he stares past me, out over the city, he frowns. “Bad enough that I don’t know that we’ll be in business next summer. Not without amiracle.”
In his moment of vulnerability, I realize what I refused to admit before: we’d moved beyond gaming buddies before ever I set foot in that coffee shop. I care for this man—enough to hurt when he hurts and care that he might lose something so importanttohim.
I can’t help him with his customers or his staff, but I can offer him comfort. Sliding my arms around his neck, I use him for leverage so I can brush my lips against his. His short layer of stubble tickles as he pulls me closer and deepens the kiss. When he presses for more, I yield, my knees going weak as he drops his hands to cupmyass.
Too soon, he breaks off the kiss to stare down at me, his eyes shining with flecks of gold amid the blue. “Whathappensnow?”
All night, I’ve been pondering that same question, but I didn’t have ananswer.
Until now. “Sleep is overrated, don’t youthink?”
With his fingers splayed against my back, he claims my mouth, and rational thought flees. His low rumble of agreement accompanies him sweeping me off my feet, and he carries me into the bedroom as if I weigh nothingatall.
Panic sets in after he deposits me on the bed. I push up on an elbow. “West, I’m—” What? Broken? Scarred? Crippled? He’s seen me walk. He knows all of that. The reality of my injuries can’t be ignored, but I shake my head as he pulls off his t-shirt, blinded by the sheer beauty of him. Ink covers his chest, down his right arm, his ribs. Names in a flowing script, the SEAL insignia, and lilies decorate his skin, and I want to trace every line. His jeans fall to the floor, leaving him in a pair of tight red briefs that do little to contain hisarousal.
“What are you, angel? Smart? Sexy? Gorgeous?” He’s next to me before I can answer, brushing the hair away from my neck. Goosebumps prickle along my bare arms as he kisses me again, the heat of him setting me ablaze like I haven’t felt in years. “You have me at a disadvantage,” he says as he slides his hands under my t-shirt to skim mywaist.
“Let no one ever say I don’t fight fair.” I lift my arms as he tugs my shirt over my head, and the catch of his breath gives me a little thrill when he sweeps a hungry gaze over my black lace bra. Yoga pants quickly follow the t-shirt’s path, and I’m already soakedwithneed.
His hand hovers inches from the worst of the scars along my hip. “I won’t hurt you,willI?”
“No.”
The rough pads of his fingers scrape against my sides. “You’rebeautiful,Cam.”
“You’re blind.” Heat rushes to my cheeks—and elsewhere—as he explores my body, teasing kisses along the thin straps of lace at my hips, a lingering touch along my thigh. Then he traps me between his legs so he can stare upatme.
“Tell me about these.” He traces the ink on my arm. The birds soar over my bicep amid the pockmarked divots and ridges from the fire and the shrapnel. Ivy winds around my wrist, all the way up to myelbow.
“Therapy,” I whisper, so desperate for more I don’t want to talk. He won’t let me wriggle free, though, and I sag against the firm hold he has on my hips. “Longstory.”
I’ve said the wrong thing, and he releases me and leans back on the bed. “I meant what I said earlier.” He continues when I raise my brows, “I want to know you.” With a quick glance down at his erection, he chuckles. “Yes, I want more than conversation. It’s taking every ounce of my self-control not to rip those panties off and ravish you right now. If all I wanted was sex, though, I could get that on Tinder. Or hell, go down to any bar in Pioneer Square on a Fridaynight.
“You’re the first person I’ve met in a long time I want to truly know. Everything. How do you like your eggs in themorning?”
Laughing, I start to relax. “I’m more of apancakegirl.”
“Steak? Rare or medium? Please don’t say well done.” West leans back as he waits for my answer, and I feign embarrassment. I can’t hold the ruse, though. “Mediumrare.”
“Oh, thank God. I thought we were going to be doomed before we even got started.” With my injured wrist held lightly in his hands, he kisses the fingers that haven’t felt a damn thing for ten years, accepting a part of me I didn’t know needed acceptance. A single tear burns as he continues to caress the ivy, following the vines withhislips.
“I refused to look in the mirror for six months after the bombs. I wore long sleeves and pants every day, even to bed.” I clear my throat, trying to stay in the moment. West pulls me on top of him, then kisses his way along my jaw, and I take a steady breath. “My therapist lost a leg in Desert Storm. She’d tattooed her stump with this amazing aquatic design. Said every time she saw herself naked now, she saw the tattoo first,thenthe missing limb. She wasright.”
“Smart woman,” he says as he scrapes his teeth along the curve of my neck. “Like that, do you?” he murmurs against my ear as Ishiver.
“Uh-huh.” I arch my back as he teases a finger under the hem of my lacethong.
“Patience,angel.”
West worships me—that’s the only word that fits his slow exploration, the way he appreciates every moan, every gasp. By the time I’m naked, dew glistens over my skin, and I’m close to begging. He’s taken me to the edge time and time again with his tongue, his teeth, and hisfingers.
Lifting his head from between my legs, he licks his lips. “You saidsomething?”
“Bastard,” I pant. “You know damn well whatIsaid.”
“Something about not stopping?” With that, he nibbles my innerthigh.
