Available July 1, 2015
After surviving horrors lesser men wouldn’t have, Blake’s home on leave and run down by a car while out for a morning run. The angel standing over him when he wakes up from surgery is his assailant, and then his caretaker. She’s hot as hell with a “No Sailors” policy, and she’s all he’s ever dreamed of in a woman.
Rachel can’t live with the guilt of the accident, so she plants herself in his home until he’s well enough to care for himself. But when he shows up on her doorstep a couple of weeks later, offering her everything she’s ever wanted from a man—respect and tenderness—she has to decide if her aversion to military men includes him.
Pinned down with nothing but a boulder between him and the bullets. Rock chips shattered and rained down over him with each strike. Dear God, this was it.
Cramer lay on his right, his body limp, a hole in his forehead oozing blood. Byron on his left, gasping in pain as he applied pressure to his own shoulder wound.
There wasn’t anything he could do right now but hold position. “Hang in there, Byron,” he said just loud enough to be heard. He wasn’t sure where the rest of his men were. The rescue mission had gone from bad to worse, and now at least one of his men was dead, probably more.
He gripped his rifle and prayed the air support would come soon. The call had gone out, but there’d been no response.
He looked up at the bright blue sky, still hours from night.
And then all hell broke loose…
“Blake. Blake! Wake up!”
He came awake with a gasp, his body tense, shaking, the sound of mortar shells exploding in his mind.
“Blake. Hey. You’re okay.”
Cold sweat coated his skin, and he tried desperately to ground himself, to focus on the woman leaning over him, pinning him to the bed by the shoulders.
“Rachel,” he said, finally remembering who the beautiful mocha-skinned angel was. “Rachel.”
“That’s right. You’re okay.” She let go of his shoulders and sat on the edge of the bed.
“You ran me over.”
Her brow furrowed. “Is that what you were dreaming about?”
His heart rate gradually slowed, and he released the grip he had on the sheet beside him. His other arm was propped on a pillow on his chest, fingers gripped around the cast, aching. “No. Why are you still here?” He deliberately opened his hand, spreading his fingers. Pain shot up his arm.
She’d picked up dinner from a diner near the hospital, and they’d come back to his place where he’d taken a pain killer, ate his food while they watched the evening news, then dragged his drugged butt off to bed, telling her to lock up when she left.
The bedside clock said it was five in the morning.
“I didn’t think you should be left alone your first night. Those are some pretty heavy drugs. How’s your pain level? I’m surprised you didn’t wake up before now.”
His whole body ached like a bitch. “I’m fine. You can go.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “I have your permission?”
The motherly, scolding tone she used made him glare at her. If she’d leave, he could take another pill and maybe sleep until the pain went away. God damned embarrassing is what it was, being seen so weak and helpless and waking in a cold sweat from nightmares of things that happened almost a year ago.
She chuckled and got to her feet. She was wearing one of his T-shirts, and he wasn’t sure there was anything on underneath. The shirt fell to her thighs, loose around the middle but snug against her breasts and hips.
Son of a bitch. His cock twitched beneath the blankets, and he willed it not to stiffen. That didn’t work at all when she turned away and bent over to pick up another pillow off the floor. Oh, she had underwear on all right. Something lacy and black that barely covered anything. Her ass cheeks were round and firm and made his mouth water to take a bite.