Olivia
The churning of my stomach wakes me. I know, that’s as nuts as it sounds, but I am not a girl accustomed to not eating. I need three square meals a day and usually a cookie or two before bed. It really is a wonder I’m not the size of a house. That’s not to say I don’t have days where I wish the docs from Botched would come perform their magic on my ass with their lipo wand thingy, but for the most part, I’m comfortable in my own skin. It’s the only one I got. I have curves, but I’m not … fluffy, so to speak. Then again, I’ll likely never make the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue, either.
I blink at the God-awful light coming from the sheer lace—I forgot to close the actual curtains over the French doors last night—and I climb out of bed, wrap a nude-pink silk robe over the top of my Carine Gilson chemise and hop across the room. I’m terrified I’m going to pee my pants. I fling wide my door and skip across the hall to the bathroom, where I bust in on August with his sweatpants hung low on his hips and his hand fisting his hard cock. I stagger back, trip over the doorjamb and land smack-bang on my ass. My robe and chemise are pushed up around my middle, and for the second time in as many days, my panties are on display for a man I hardly know. And even worse than that, I’m still staring, slack-jawed and wide-eyed at the erect penis in my face.
“Holy hot co … Lord, is that … um,” I say. It just slips out. I have no control over my mouth right now. Heat rushes up my neck, over my chest like a wave spreading across my skin and leaving behind a tide of blotchy ugliness. That’s when I notice the twisted flesh of his abdomen and hip.
“You don’t knock?” August sneers, tucking himself back into his pants.
“I’m sorry,” I say, attempting to get to my feet, but slipping on the smooth tiles. In the end, I decide it’s best just to stay where I am. It seems the safest bet with an angry Marine bearing down on me. I do rearrange my robe, though. “I just … I needed to pee. I didn’t know you were in here. Besides, you didn’t lock the door.”
“There are no locks.”
“What?” I glance in horror at the door in question. I can’t have someone barging in on me while I’m in the bath, or worse, on the commode. What kind of bed and breakfast is this?
August eyes me suspiciously as if I meant to walk in on him. “You didn’t notice that last night?”
“I used the bathroom down stairs last night. I didn’t think you were going to use this bathroom anymore.”
“Well, by all means, allow me to get out of your way, princess.”
I huff, exasperated. “Princess?”
“It’s what you look like in your lacey little rich girl panties down on your knees, just willing to make everything better. You wanna know how to make it all better? Stay the fuck outta my way.”
Lordy, were my first instincts right. August Cotton is a big jerk. I slowly stand up in front of him. “You know what? I’ll make things better when you can start acting like you deserve it.”
“You don’t think I deserve better than this?”
“That depends on what you’re referring to, now, doesn’t it? I know you fought for our country; I know you lost something there, but at least you came home.”
“To what?”
“Auggie?” Bettina’s little voice comes from the end of the hall, and we both glance down at her. I hadn’t realized my chest was pressed against his and though my face is red with anger and frustration, I’m practically panting. His breaths are even and not labored in the slightest, and I curse his stupid Marine training for helping him be so calm in the face of conflict. Though I’m sure with where he’s been, I seem like an angry gnat in comparison.
He brushes past me, and I grab his arm to stop him from walking. It’s a reflex, and a stupid one, because in a heartbeat I’m thrust up against the wall with his hand at my throat. His eyes are completely vacant as he glares at my face without appearing to even see it. I scrabble for purchase, clawing at his thick fingers. I can’t breathe, his grip on me is too tight, and I can feel how easy it would be for him to end my life right now, right here in front of his little sister.
Bettina screams, and then he blinks as if he can’t figure out what the hell he’s doing here with his hand at my throat. He lets me go, and I drop to the floor, my own hands flying to my bruised flesh as I cough and struggle to suck in a breath. But when I glance up at him, the horror in his eyes damn near breaks my heart. It outweighs my fear. Call me stupid, but it’s always been that way. I’d go through hell and back just to save a life—it’s the least I could do for the torture my veterans endure every day, and that look in his eyes tells me there’s something here worth saving. August Cotton hasn’t given up his humanity yet.
“Don’t touch me,” he says, and by the way his jaw ticks, I know I’m not the only one who noticed how his voice trembled. “Don’t ever fucking touch me.”
He storms down the hall and slams his door, and then I collapse against the wall and cough, breathing heavily as I try to get my heart to return to normal. A sob draws my attention. Bettina stands in her doorway at the end of the hall, holding a stuffed piglet as she cries. I slowly rise and take a step toward her, but she squeals and slams her bedroom door. I let out a heavy breath and sag against the wall, wondering for the first time in my career if I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. The Cottons need me, I’ve never been surer of anything in my whole life, and this is exactly what I came here to do. I just hope it doesn’t kill me first.