Marina walked to the nurses’ station and tried to hold back a yawn, hoping like hell the three cups of coffee she’d already downed this morning kicked in soon. It’d rained in the middle of the night and she’d had to use just about every pot and pan she had in her kitchen to catch the leaks. Not to mention the giant bubble of water that had appeared out of nowhere under the paint on the back wall.

She sighed. The roof was just the most recent issue. She’d really stretched herself to buy that house and it was turning out to be the worst decision she’d ever made. After Stuart, of course. She still didn’t know how she was going to come up with the eight grand for a new roof.

“How’s the hip dislocation?”

She shouldn’t have, but she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. About how his hand had felt wrapped completely around hers, how he’d gripped her, but it hadn’t been crushing, as if he’d been careful of his strength, careful of her.

Nancy gave her a dirty look at the question.

“That good, huh?”

“Let’s see,” Nancy drawled. “He refused all pain meds, took out his own IV and told me he was no longer going to ‘piss in a fucking bottle again’.”

Nancy grabbed her sweater off the back of the chair and stretched after they’d gone through their hand-over. “I left crutches in there for him. He refused all instruction in how to use them.”

She could imagine. “Of course.”

“Well, he’s all yours, chica,” Nancy muttered over her shoulder and gave her a back-handed wave.

It’d been a quiet night and she only had a few patients to look in on. She froze when she got to the doorway of the first room.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed. Someone had brought him clothes because he’d changed into a pair of loose grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt that stretched taut across his chest and around his hard biceps. He sat with his legs spread wide, emphasizing the muscled thickness of his thighs, the bulge between his legs.

She’d seen him shirtless and mostly naked, but somehow the impact of seeing him in regular clothes was so much greater. With the tattoos covering most of his powerful forearms he looked rough and rugged, hardened in a way that had never appealed to her. Before.

He looked up at her even though she swore she hadn’t made a sound. It was with a focus so intense she fought against squirming. He carried a dangerous air around him that should’ve scared her, but the tingle of awareness she felt every time he looked at her wasn’t fear.

She cleared her throat. “I see you made quite an impression on Nancy.”

She caught a brief flare of something in his eyes before he masked it. “Who?”

“Your night nurse. How’s your side?”

His eyes narrowed. “It hurts.”

It was a simple statement of fact. No complaining, no demanding something be done, nothing.

“That’s it?”

One shoulder lifted in a slight shrug. “What else is there?”

“I can give you something for the pain.”

Dark brows shot down low over his eyes. “No.”

“The anesthetic from the block would have worn off, but the steroid should start to take affect soon.”

“Yeah.” He ran a hand over his side, probing. “I hope so.”

“Nancy told me the mother of the boy you saved wants to come in and thank you personally. Maybe bring the boy.”

“No.” He scowled. “Absolutely not.”

She frowned. “Why not?”

He shook his head. “I don’t owe that kid or his mother anything. They want to say thank you so they’ll feel better by showing their gratitude. To ease the guilt and anxiety and whatever the fuck else they feel. I don’t want it and I don’t need it. I did what I did because I could. Because I could see what was going down and I have the training and skills to pull it off.”

“And what training would that be?”

Because really, who learns how to jump in front of a car? And why?

At first she thought he wasn’t going to answer.

“I was Navy,” he bit out. “SEAL.”

The elite of the elite. Best of the best. She could see it now. And God, it explained so much.

She kept her voice soft. “How long?”

“Long enough.”

The words might have been short and harsh, but she felt the emotion that simmered from them all the same. She doubted he’d appreciate the sentiment, but she’d offer it anyway. Because it mattered.

“Thank you for your service.”

His gaze zeroed in on hers then, stark and hard.

“I don’t want thanks. I don’t do anything for thanks. It was nothing. No big deal.”

Marina leaned on the side of the doorway and crossed her arms. “Nothing to see here, huh? Wow. That is such bullshit.”

“What is?”

“All of it.”

One of his eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”

“You did what you did because you knew you could save that child from serious injury, maybe even death.”

He used his arms to ease himself closer to the edge of the bed, wincing with the effort.

“So?” he fired back.

“So, I might even go so far as to say it’s ingrained in your nature.”

“What is?”

“Bravery. Doing what needs to be done, what’s right. Being a hero.”

He snorted. “Now who’s spewing bullshit? What about me could possibly tell you I’m any type of hero?”

She glanced at his chest. The scars might have been covered, but she wasn’t likely to forget what they looked like.

“I stopped counting at ten,” she murmured.

His jaw clenched. A pulse ticked at his temple. “You have no idea how I got them,” he ground out.

“No. But you’re not going to stand by while someone just repeatedly stabs you. There’s a story there.”

“Everyone’s got a fucking story. I’m no different, no special.”

“Yeah, I’m not buying it. You couldn’t have known you wouldn’t be seriously injured, maybe even killed when you saved that boy. Not for sure.”

She’d seen him when he woke up. He’d known he’d saved the child’s life. With absolute certainty.

Because I made damn sure of it.

“Know what I think?” she added.

“Not particularly.”

“I think you couldn’t stop being a hero, even if you wanted to. Even when you try your best to be the biggest asshole you can.”

 

 

Yeah, his fucking hero complex. It’d gotten him into trouble more times than he could count. It’s what had gotten him nineteen fucking stab wounds and six weeks in a hospital, fighting for his life, battling infection after infection. It was why he’d finally quit the Navy. It’s why he preferred a nail gun these days to the multitude of weapons he used to carry and knew how to use with deadly precision.

And why the fuck had he told her about being a SEAL? He could have shrugged it off, deflected, hell, flat-out refused to answer. That’s what he would have done with anyone else. Why did he feel as if he owed her something? Anything?

Didn’t matter. He was out of here and it couldn’t come soon enough.

He reached for the crutches leaning against the bed. He was under strict orders not to put any weight on his leg. Man, it was going to be damn hard using them for a week before he got to see the orthopedic specialist. He might not like being told what to do, but he didn’t fuck around with recovery. That lesson had been drilled into him and he’d learned. The hard way. He’d follow orders. For now.

Marina motioned to the crutches. “I can give you some tips on—”

“Nah. I got it.”

How hard could it be?

He steadied the crutches, gripped the handles and used them to leverage himself off the bed and up in a single move, ignoring the screaming in his side. He tried to balance, position the crutches under his arms, all while keeping his leg off the floor, except the leg of the right crutch slipped and went out from under him. It happened in a fraction of a second, before he could do anything but fall, and he went down—heavy and hard.

Aw, fuck.

The pain was sharp and unforgiving and lashed through him in waves, his stomach churning with it. He glanced up. Marina hadn’t moved.

“Are you just going to stand there and watch?” he managed.

“In full stubborn-mule mode I see?”

He snorted. “Christ, what kind of nurse are you?”

“The kind that expects a decent level of respect, even when you’re having a bad day.”

A bad day? That would have to be the biggest fucking understatement of the century. He laid his forehead against the cool floor, letting the waves of pain wash over him. He focused on keeping his breathing shallow and steady. The last thing he needed was to pass out. At least he couldn’t fall any further.

When the pulses of nausea finally settled, he lifted his head, braced his arms.

She came over and crouched next to him. He could smell whatever she’d used on her hair, her skin, or maybe it was just her—sweet and fresh. It was almost enough to wipe out the smell of whatever chemical they’d used to clean the floor. Almost.

“Grab the crutches, align them upright, put them together and hold the hand grips in one hand.”

It took a second for the calm, even words to register. God, he hadn’t even thought about getting back up.

He sighed, wanting to tell her to go to hell, but he did as she said, wincing at the lance of pain in his side as he reached for the crutches.

“Get up on your knees, but don’t put any weight on your left knee. Keep it all on the right side.”

Right. It sounded so fucking easy.

“Grab the side of the bed with your other hand, anywhere that’s comfortable to use as leverage.”

He clenched his jaw, could already see how he could make this work.

“Okay, show me those big muscles aren’t just for show and pull yourself up. Keep any weight off your left leg.”

He narrowed his eyes on hers, gritted his teeth and used his upper body strength to drag himself up, until he could get his right leg under him. He stood, slow, unsteady and planted his ass back onto the side of the bed.

He let out a rough breath. His arms might have been shaking, but he’d done it. Yeah, maybe the crutches weren’t as easy as they looked.

“Thanks, okay?” he muttered.

She moved to stand in front of him. Sitting as he was, they were almost eye to eye and every muscle in his body stilled.

“I understand needing to be strong and independent, but there’s nothing wrong with asking for temporary help from a professional whose job it is to do just that.”

“Yeah.” He gave a slight nod. “Fair enough.”

She gave him a quick smile. “It’s why I get paid the big bucks after all.”

Christ, did she just wink at him? He let the corner of his mouth lift and wondered if there was a chance his face might crack because he couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

Except with Marina. How could someone be tough as nails but sweet as hell at the same time? And why did that combination turn him the fuck on? Big time.

* * * * *

Marina hid a smile as she watched him maneuver on the crutches with a powerful, predatory grace. It’d taken him about five minutes of trial-and-error before he’d mastered them. Now, he used them with an easy expertise that almost had her jogging just to keep up.

He’d refused the wheelchair ride to the exit. She’d expected nothing else.

She turned to him when they’d cleared the hospital doors and didn’t see anyone waiting.

“Your ride not here?”

“Running late.”

She pulled out the tiny envelope that had been burning a hole in her pocket all morning. She thrust it at him.

“The mother of the boy you saved asked that you get this. He wrote you a note.”

She could almost predict what he was going to say, but she’d promised. He looked at it as if it might bite.

“I already told you,” he bit out. “I don’t need any thanks.”

“Maybe the child—”

“I also don’t owe that kid anything.”

She sighed, slipped it back into her pocket. “You’re a hard-ass, is that it?”

“No. I’m an asshole. Big difference. Known fact. You should probably remind yourself of that. Often.”

“And why should I need to do that?”

He moved a step closer to her, forcing her to tilt her head back to look at him.

“Because there’s something I’ve wanted to do since the first time you swore at me.”

Marina’s throat had gone dry. This close she could feel the heat coming off his big body and her stomach clenched at his nearness.

“And what’s that?” she managed.

“Am I discharged?”

The question caught her off-guard. “What?”

“Am I officially discharged from this…place?”

Yeah, she could imagine what he’d been about to say. She narrowed her eyes on him.

“Am I officially discharged?” he repeated.

“Yes, you signed the papers so—”

“So that means I’m no longer a patient here, right? I’m no longer your patient?”

She frowned. “That’s right.”

“So you don’t have any ethical dilemma.”

“Any what?”

What the hell was he talking about?

“And you won’t get into any kind of trouble?”

“Trouble? For what?”

“This.”

Marina gasped when he curved a rough hand around the back of her neck and pulled her into him. She stumbled a step forward, her body slamming hard against his. She reached out to steady herself and ended up with both hands flat against his lean waist. How could a body by so hard, so unyielding?

He hissed in a breath at the contact and her gaze lifted, locked to his. There was heat there—heat and need, dark and sensual.

It was hard to imagine he’d ever been injured. God, he’d been hit by a car yesterday, yet he exuded a confidence and raw vitality she’d never seen in any other man, hurt or not.

She waited, agonizing seconds, while his gaze traced over her face, stopping on her mouth. Her heart slammed against her chest when he lowered his head and molded those full lips to hers. The move had been slow, deliberate. He’d given her plenty of time to move if she’d wanted to, but God, she hadn’t wanted to. And then she couldn’t.

For a guy so forceful, so aggressive, his lips were soft against hers, almost tender. At first. He licked at her bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth, causing a shaft of heat to explode in her stomach and then lower, between her legs.

She whimpered when he lifted his lips until they barely touched hers. Close, but not close enough.

Marina gulped in air, the blood roaring in her ears, deaf to everything around her. She gasped when his fingers fisted in her hair, sending a tingle of sharp sensation from her scalp through her entire body.

And then his lips were on hers again, his tongue surging into her mouth once, sliding against her own, twice, a third time. The bold, sure movements caused a curl in her stomach she hadn’t experienced in a long time, maybe never like this. The flesh between her legs throbbed, ached.

She whimpered when he pulled back again and put a shaking hand to her lips when he straightened. They felt swollen, wet from his. It’d felt as if he were fucking her mouth with his tongue and God…it’d been so long since she’d had a man inside her, on top of her, holding her down.

When she realized his intention, she’d expected hard and forceful. Not hurtful, just more in the take-no-prisoners realm of kissing. He’d kissed her with a patience that had been honed over time and a gentleness she never would have expected.

She took a deep breath in a futile effort to stem the rapid thud of her heart when his hand slid from the back of her neck.

His eyes dropped to her lips for a second before meeting hers. She’d once thought them cold and hard. Now they blazed with an explicit heat that took her breath away.

“Because only an asshole would kiss you when he has nothing even close to honorable intentions in his head, but he does it anyway.”