Callie sat on her loveseat opposite the television. The sound was muted, something on the Weather Channel about tornadoes and survival. She was staring at the screen, not really paying attention but wanting to feel as if she had some company. It was amazing really that even working two jobs, interacting with others on a daily basis, she still felt so lonely. So isolated and alone. Maybe she should move. No. If she did, she would lose the last connection she had with David. And Grady.

She tried not to go there, really she did, but she couldn’t help it. She knew that Grady had been surreptitiously keeping an eye on her for months now, just checking to make sure she was okay. She appreciated it, but what good did it do either one of them? She’d always been fond of Grady, not just because he was her husband’s best friend, but because he was a good guy. Dedicated and loyal, he had sacrificed so much, given so much to the army, not out of a sense of obligation as much as a sense of duty. He had taken an enormous amount of pride in his military career, until it all came crashing down around him.

Poor Grady. Thoughts of him filled her with a warm sense of familiarity and tender heartache. Grady triggered images of David and vice versa. She couldn’t think of one without the other. Now that David was gone, she yearned for Grady’s comfort, but he’d kept his distance. Why? He was as attracted to her as much as she was physically attracted to him. That much had been obvious. While David had been alive, neither of them had acted on that attraction. Both their loyalty and love for David would never have allowed such a thing.

And now? If Grady made an advance, would she accept or deny? She didn’t know. She was vulnerable, she knew that. She struggled through every day, waiting for the gut-wrenching grief and sudden bouts of tears to fade, but they never did. Was this what grief was like? Taking pot shots at you out of nowhere? When did it stop? When would her world stop spinning, leaving her off balance, frozen in time, defenseless against her grief and depression?

Callie sighed. Why the hell was she watching the guy on the Weather Channel silently explain the safest areas of the home in case of a tornado? Like nobody in Oklahoma knew this. Why she had been feeling even more dissatisfied with her life than usual? She liked her job as a certified nursing assistant. She loved working with the elderly. She also loved working as a police dispatcher. That required dedicated focus, the only time she really felt on top of things, focused on helping others, but something was missing, something huge, something that she couldn’t—

A rumble sounded from outside, down the street. Grady! The sound of his motorcycle was unmistakable. Her heart skipped a beat and then thumped with a nameless feeling. She lunged from the couch. She needed to talk to him, but every time she went outside, tried to wave him in, he turned around and drove away. She didn’t know what was worse. Carrying the grief of a loved one lost or the burden that Grady carried on his shoulders, the burden of grief, guilt, and remorse. As usual, the rumbling stopped, but the sound was closer to the house this time than it usually was. Not halfway down the block this time, but closer to her front yard. She stepped toward the front door and flipped on the porch light, a wordless invitation. If he came to the door, what could she say? What would she say? That enough was enough? She could tell him—

The knock on the door interrupted her, and she stood frozen in dismay for several moments. He’d actually come to the house? Was it really Grady? Something was wrong. She quickly stepped to the door and opened it, barely stifling a startled scream with a hand when she looked at him.

“Grady!”

He leaned against the door jamb, a stupid grin on his face, eyes glazed and pupils dilated. Well on his way to being drunk, she supposed, but what alarmed her the most was his bruised, battered, and swollen face. A cut coagulated with dried blood just above his right eyebrow, and more dried blood had streamed down the side of his cheek to land on the collar of his leather jacket. His bottom lip was split, his left eye half swollen shut. Dark bruises bloomed under both eyes. Raccoon eyes, a typical indication of a broken nose. She glanced down. His knuckles were bloodied, those big, strong hands of his hanging loosely . . .

She stepped back. “Get your ass in here, Grady.” It wasn’t a request but an order. To her surprise, he obeyed with a muttered apology. He stumbled, and she quickly grabbed his arms, her arm brushing against his right side. He winced, and she glared up at him, but his gaze was focused on the loveseat she had just vacated. “Sit down,” she said softly. He did, carefully, leaning carefully against the back, his head also tilted back, eyes half closed.

She wasn’t a nurse, but she was skilled enough to know that any injury to the head had the potential to cause concussion or subdural hematoma. He’d taken a beating, and a good one at that. His left arm cradled his ribs. Did he have a broken rib? Or more?

“Let me take you to the hospital, Grady. I—”

“No hospital.”

“You need to get checked. I can clean you up, but if you’ve gotten busted ribs, they could poke through your lung, or you could be bleeding on your brain, and that could—”

He lifted his hand, lowered his head, and stared at her, a small smile twitching the corners of his lips. That hand reached for her, index finger extended, pressing softly against her lips.

“Grady—”

He moved and leaned forward. “I should go.”

“You stay right there,” she ordered. “Let me at least get you cleaned up, see if you need stitches, okay?” He grumbled something in reply but didn’t move. She rose and quickly headed into the kitchen, opened a cabinet from underneath the sink, and withdrew a plastic bowl. She grabbed a clean dishcloth from another drawer, filled the bowl with warm water, and returned to the living room. Her heart clenched. Just seeing Grady reminded her so much of David and all she had lost. And yet . . . her heart ached with pain and blossomed with affection at the same time.

She sat down on the couch next to him, placed the bowl on the floor by his booted foot, dipped cloth into the water, then lifted it and wrung it out. “What happened?”

He turned toward her, his gaze skimming over her face, that fake smile still on his lips. “Got into a fight at the Field Artillery Bar and Grill.”

His words sounded a bit slurred, but whether from drink or his cut lip, she couldn’t tell.

She frowned as she dabbed the cloth against the cut over his eye. “What were you doing over there?” David and Grady had often gone to that bar after work or on a weekend to have a beer and shoot some pool. As far as she knew, Grady hadn’t been anywhere near the base since his discharge. Too busy hanging around with his motorcycle gang or club or whatever they called it these days. What the hell was he doing with his life? Why was he throwing everything away? He could start over if he wanted to. Then again, who was she to question? She hadn’t moved on either.

“I don’t know, Callie, just thinking about David I suppose . . .” Before she could answer, he continued. “Guess who I ran into over there?”

She paused, dipped the towel into the water again, wrung it out, and dabbed gently at his lip, not really caring. Had it only been a year? “Who?”

“Good old Captain Mark Andrews,” he said in a singsong voice. “Imagine that.”

Her hand froze. Shit. Should she tell him?

“You know what else he told me, other than a couple other things that I won’t mention in front of a lady?” Again he paused, trying to grin, wincing as the cut in his bottom lip opened again, dribbling fresh blood. “Lieutenant Gerard died in a car accident six months ago.”

Callie frowned as she recalled the name. Both Grady and David had a great deal of respect for the lieutenant. Not so much for Captain Andrews. She didn’t know the story and wasn’t sure where their resentment came from and had never asked.

“That’s too bad,” she finally said, reaching down once more to rinse out the towel. “I know that you and David admired Lieutenant Gerard.”

She wanted to ask Grady so many questions. Why was he avoiding her? Why hadn’t he come to visit her? “Grady, what don’t you ever come in? I know you watch out for me.” She offered a small laugh and gestured outside. “I think everybody in the neighborhood knows that you keep an eye out for me. I can hear your motorcycle from a long way off. I appreciate it because you help me feel safe. But why don’t you ever knock on my door and come in? Are you angry with me? Is it something that I’ve done?”

He jolted upright, wincing in pain as he frowned down at her. “I could never be mad at you, Callie. For anything. What made you think that?”

She held the damp towel in one hand, her other hand braced against the back of the sofa. “But you never come in . . .”

He gave that some thought, then offered a small, careful shrug. “Hard to explain, but it’s nothing you did. I just don’t think . . . it wouldn’t be a good idea . . . your neighbors . . .”

She placed a hand on his shoulder. “You know me, Grady. So you know I don’t give a hoot what the neighbors think. You were David’s best friend. I thought you were my friend, too.”

The look in his eyes accelerated her heartbeat and prompted a surge of warmth, and perhaps something else deep inside her, filling her with a sense of . . . of what? Security? Affection? Or was it . . . was it desire? A hot flush burned her cheeks as the myriad of emotions swept through her. Attraction countered by guilt. Desire, countered by a sense of betrayal. He offered a small smile, his hand now cupping the side of her face, the pad of his thumb stroking her cheekbone.

Her emotions churned. “Grady, what are you doing?”

He looked at her. “What do you mean?”

“Joining a motorcycle club . . . why? Are you mixed up in some bad stuff? Are you in trouble?”

He sighed, thought of his answer before he spoke. “I’m not in trouble.”

“Then why? You don’t belong—”

“Just where do I belong, Callie? Don’t get me wrong. I’m not feeling sorry for myself, but realistic.” Another small shrug. “You tell me.”

Callie felt bad for even bringing it up. The dishonorable discharge haunted Grady; she knew that. He’d object, but she knew it, because David would have felt the same. David and Grady had been good soldiers. Then, in one night, it had all gone to hell. She and Grady had survived that first hell, but this one, this living hell, they lived it every day.

Neither spoke for several moments, and then she gestured toward his ribs. “Take off your jacket and let me look.”

“They’re not broken,” he sighed.

“How do you know?”

“Because I’ve had a broken rib before, and I know what it feels like.” Looking at her, he finally sighed and leaned forward to ever so carefully remove his leather jacket.

Callie helped him. The heavy, thick feel of the leather beneath her fingers, the emblem of the Steel King’s emblazoned across the back in orange and black lettering, the silhouette of a skull wrapped in chrome, surrounded in flames . . . it seemed so permanent, so . . .

“Are they your family now, Grady? Do they treat you well?” He displayed no emotion for her comment but gave her a short nod.

Who was she to judge? She could never pretend to understand the depth of Grady’s emotions, but she knew what it felt like to belong. She missed that. She had belonged to David and now she didn’t belong to anybody. Her family was gone. Why she stayed in Oklahoma was beyond her.

Grady leaned forward, then gingerly pulled his bloodied T-shirt up so she could see his ribs. Warmth emanated from his skin, and she winced at the dark purple and red bruises on his lower right rib cage. His skin glistened, his broad chest rising and falling as she stared at those ribs, trying not to let her gaze wander up to his massive pecs, nor his six-pack abs, that narrow waist. He smelled of manly sweat, oil and gasoline, and leather. She looked up at him and again a surge of heat rose into her cheeks. They stared at one another, and she knew instantly exactly what was about to happen. The way he looked at her, with such longing, a longing that she felt herself. She should stop it. She wanted to stop it, but then again, she didn’t.

Grady lifted a hand again, cupped her neck, and gently pulled her closer. She leaned against him as their lips hovered a mere breath away, and then, with a low growl, he closed the distance.

Once it started, she couldn’t stop it, even if she’d wanted to. She took his hand and led him to the bedroom. Keeping the light turned off, just the dull glow from the nightlight in the bathroom casting the room in a soft glow, she paused in front of the bed, lifting her top over her head. Her heartrate accelerated as heat blossomed deep in her belly and rose higher. Her hands shook as she lifted her top over her head, telling herself that she should stop this, that she’d regret it later, but she ignored her conscience. She heard the rustle of clothing, a pained grunt and turned to find Grady divesting himself of his T-shirt and then reaching for his belt buckle.

In seconds, she stood in front of him, completely naked except for a barely-there thong, resisting the urge to cover her breasts as he shrugged out of his pants. Her eyes widened, surprised that he had gone commando underneath. His gaze lingered on her breasts and prompted her nipples to harden. She swept her gaze over his body, his bruised torso, frowning, second-guessing until her gaze lowered and she spied his erection, huge and hard, his cock aimed directly at her. Wetness surged in her pussy as she stared. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, bringing his face down again toward hers. Gently, they kissed, she mindful of his split lip, he likely worried that she’d bolt any second.

She should have.

Callie’s knees touched the mattress, and she sat down on the edge of it. He knelt as well, arms skimming over her shoulders, his hands rough against her smooth skin. She relished the sensations and then gasped as his mouth found her nipple and suckled. She felt the jolt through her body, the desire surging, the nearly overwhelming need to be loved and held taking her breath away. He suckled and swirled his warm tongue over her nipple, and her chest pushed outward, inviting more. He released his grip on that nipple, prompting a moan of disappointment, before he gave the other the same attention. She dug her fingers into his shoulders and cradled the back of his head with one hand, her fingers clutching at his hair, searching the thick muscles of his shoulders.

Her body on fire, she lay back on the bed, taking him with her. She shivered at the sensation of his heat, the feeling of his muscles against her. As he returned his attention to her breasts, she skimmed her own hands along his torso, marveling at his musculature, his aroma . . . everything else, every thought pushed from her mind as she closed her eyes and memorized his every muscle, every bone, every dip and curve of his body with her fingers. She found his cock and wrapped her palm around it. It was thick and engorged, pulsing with a desire of its own. Without a sound, he shifted his position, and she realized what he wanted. His groin near her face, his cock angled toward her, she smiled and clasped it again and took his head into her mouth. She didn’t wonder at her brazenness but reveled in the sensation of his cock in one hand, her other reaching down to cup his balls.

Her forehead rested against his abdomen, and she felt his abs tighten as her lips formed around him, her hand skimming over his cock, so velvety smooth on its surface, the skin sliding easily over the incredibly hard flesh beneath. Her tongue swirled around his head much as his tongue had on her breasts and elicited a groan from deep in his chest. She gently squeezed his balls as she sucked him for several blissful seconds.

Abruptly, he pulled himself from her mouth and flipped her onto her back, legs bent at the knee. They lay there like that for what seemed forever, both looking into each other’s eyes, not moving.

Had he changed his mind? Was he the one now having second thoughts? Did they feel the same thing, a desire to feel a connection to what they had both lost? Did he feel the pull like she felt for him? Unstoppable? The moment was more than just sex, she knew it and yet pushed the thought to the recesses of her mind. She felt like she was drowning and Grady was her life preserver. Was she his rescuer also?

He closed his eyes and began to suckle her breasts again, him now nestled between her thighs, his chest rubbing against her clitoris. How could she not respond? His mouth retreated only to be replaced by a palm that cupped her now-heavy breast, his thumb

slowly circling her nipples while his tongue traced the bottom of her breast, then ventured lower, leaving a trail of heat behind him as he slowed himself even more. Instinctively, her legs parted, giving him even more room as he explored, her pussy thrumming with desire and anticipation. Grady’s fingers grabbed the lace of her thong and dragged it over her legs, disappearing it in a matter of seconds. Her hands curled in his hair, she moaned as his mouth hovered over her clitoris, his breath warm, as was his tongue as he swirled it over her clit and teased her nub, prompting waves of heat to roll over her body.

She only lasted a few seconds, couldn’t hold back her desire. Her hips rocked as his fingers and his tongue inflamed her need and prompted her hips to thrust upward, seeking more. She clenched her teeth and writhed against his mouth, her head sinking into the pillow as she exploded in a white-hot rush of sensations, that rhythmic pulsing of deep pleasure and satisfaction that rolled through her body, leaving her gasping for breath and her pussy throbbing with strong, rhythmic pulses. Before she caught her breath, before he could move, she clutched at his shoulders, wrapped her legs around the back of his thighs, and pulled him inside.

He obliged and slid in easily. Filling her deep, he paused, eyes closed, jaw clenched tightly. She waited for what was only seconds but felt like years, as the tension eased from his features, prompting an unconscious smile as he slowly began to rock his hips, sliding out, almost disengaging before surging deep again in slow, sensuous strokes. Her hips lifted to meet every one of those strokes, her hands now cupping his rock-hard ass, compelling him to dive deeper. Soon, his hips moved faster, the strokes growing harder. In the silence of the room, she heard his balls slapping against her ass, his grunts as the bed shook beneath their passion. She released all her doubts, all her fears, and just relished this moment, this contact.

Faster. Harder, every thrust tightening his ass beneath her hands. He lifted himself upward, and though she saw his wince of pain, he didn’t slow down, didn’t stop the increasing momentum of his thrusts. Her internal muscles contracted firmly around his cock, wishing to hold him inside her forever. Her own hips rose to meet his as her second orgasm built, tying her body up in impossible knots. Her breasts jiggled with every thrust, and soon her breath came in harsh gasps as she tipped over the edge again, ecstasy surging upward from the burning heat in her pussy. Her pussy contracted hard, squeezing his cock, and mere seconds later, Grady froze. His hot semen shot inside her, the pulsing rhythmic release of his own orgasm. She’d forgotten to use any protection. She looked at his face then, head thrown back in ecstasy, neck exposed. Fuck it. She would worry about that tomorrow. Maybe.

He sank down and briefly collapsed on top of her before rolled over onto his back. She figured that was it, was already missing the feel of his body enveloping hers, but she was wrong. He grasped her arm and tugged her closer, until her head rested on his shoulder. They lay still like that for a while, her body and thoughts slowly coming down from the rush of physical and emotional sensations, her head nestled into the crook of his neck as her breathing slowly returned to normal.

She’d not felt like this, so satiated . . . so . . . wishful in a very long time.

She felt an odd catch in her chest and frowned, realizing it but not wanting to admit it; neither her attraction or fondness. Was it more than that? Was she projecting her neediness, her loneliness into this moment? Callie pushed the thoughts from her mind as she lay next to him. She liked the feeling of his heat and his strength beside her. He had fallen asleep, and she closed her eyes and tried to do the same. He wasn’t just a warm body or a receptacle for her long-buried desires, her needs, her lust, but was more than that. He was a friend, perhaps something even more—

No, don’t go there. Grady wasn’t . . . he didn’t . . . she couldn’t allow herself to become emotionally attached to him. No. Absolutely not. They’d had sex. That’s all. It didn’t mean anything. Except that she couldn’t deny that Grady had touched a part of her that she’d closed off so long ago. She looked up at his face, but deep shadows prevented her from seeing more than the outline of his jaw. She turned to look back up at the ceiling again, the image of what they had just done . . . and then, expected but not quite so soon, came the rush of emotions and the guilt, even as lethargy took over and the heaviness of sleep dragged at her eyelids, pulling her into sleep, her dreams of David and Grady becoming fuzzy and intertwined.