Chapter 7
Marina
As soon as Jeremiah left, I sank down onto the couch again and drew a deep breath.
He still makes my heart race and I can’t have that. I don’t need it or want it.
I need to get out of this situation with my heart and my pride intact. Other than that, I just need to figure out how to deal with all these roiling feelings.
My eyes drift around the room and land on a shadowy bookshelf in the corner under the steps that lead upstairs. I stand up and walk over, my fingers drifting lightly over the bindings. Studying the titles.
They’re an eclectic bunch.
Science fiction thrillers written by one of my favorite authors who puts just enough steam in her books to really help me make it through my dateless existence right now.
Nonfiction war books, with their diagnosis of battle. And nonfiction books on PTSD and damage to your psyche from war and trauma. How to deal with loss.
My heart clambers up into my throat and I reach up, my fingers dancing along the slim column.
I’m still dealing with my own demons as far as Jeremiah goes. He’s been a thorn in my side.
And then of course there’s the absolute insanity of my brother’s injuries. And the loss of the man that I trusted over all other’s except for my brother. His best friend and the love of my life.
I pick up one of the books and my eyes drift.
“I’m telling you, Marina. I need you to go. I can’t be what you need.”
“How do you know what I need?” I argue, tears in my eyes.
“You’re meant for bigger things and I’m just a fuck-up! Look what I did to your brother? To our whole unit!” He screams, his face red and tortured. The scars on his throat run down his arms and across his chest, the burn marks ragged and pink.
“You didn’t do that!” I scream back, the tears coursing down my face now. Sobs wrack my body. “I love you! I’ve always loved you! I will always love you, no matter what happens.”
He freezes, his chest barely rising. He won’t look at me and my heart seizes up.
It’s like he’s already left me. Like he can’t bear to look at me anymore.
“Look at me, Jeremiah!” I sob, tears mixing with other things as my nose runs and I blow into a tissue. “Don’t turn away from me. Whatever’s going on with you, I swear none of it changes how I feel about you.”
He finally looks up at me and the cold darkness in his usually warm hazel eyes makes me flinch. It’s like I don’t know this man at all.
“I’m begging you, Jeremiah. Don’t do this,” I whimper, my voice strained as I fight to keep more sobs from wracking my body and breaking down into even uglier sobs.
His full lips twist. “It’s already done, baby. I’ve got my things moved out and I’m leaving since I can’t seem to convince you to leave.”
Throwing myself in his arms, I wait for them to wrap around me, needing his solid warmth to hold me up. Keep me strong.
My brother’s injuries are more severe and they’re going to take a lot of time to work out.
He’s going to need to work with a therapist to learn how to do things with no sight.
My brother’s blind. I still can’t believe it. The hollow ache in my chest rips at my control.
The only thing that’s kept me going all this time is knowing that I have my rock, my Jeremiah.
But he backs away, those loving arms cold, held stiff at his sides. “You’ll find someone that’s worthy of you, Mari. You’ll find the right man for you and then you’ll have a family together and you’ll forget all about me,” he whispers roughly. “I’m not worth your tears. Not worth your time.”
“But…I love you,” I whisper to him, my tears blurring his big body as he turns to walk away.
I swear the last thing I hear him say is, “Sometimes love isn’t enough and sometimes it’s not right. You have to know when to move on,” he whispers.
And that right there breaks me. I know he loves me and I know that he wants me.
But he won’t let himself be happy. He blames himself and no matter what I say or do, I can’t seem to change his mind.
Can’t seem to make him realize that he’s wrong. The only thing that will help me through all these terrible things is him.
The door slams open and I jump, screaming.
“Jesus Christ, baby. It’s just me.”
With those harsh words, he walks in and drops more of my boxes, the dog leaping to me and begging for pats.
I bend down and gently stroke his smooth head, laughing as he laps it up like the good dog he is.
“Hello, Linc. It’s so nice to meet you. I bet you’re the best boy ever.”
“He’s not. And if you think that you’re a born sucker.”
Huffing, I glare at him. “Maybe you should be a bit nicer to him. One of these days, this dog might be all that stands between you and a bear or something.”
“I’ve got a gun and I know how to use it. That dog would be useless in a fight. He’d probably stop to cuddle with a bear or something equally stupid.”
He strides down the hall and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
When he comes back out, there’s a towel wrapped around his wet torso and his shirt is missing.
My mouth goes dry, my eyes sliding slowly down his chest, barely noticing the scars that trail down his pectoral muscle and his ribs. Nothing can mar the beauty of him. He’s a work of art, a beautiful thing like David in the museum.
He has another white towel draped over the top of his head and his arm is raised, rubbing his wet hair harshly, until it’s standing on end.
His bicep flexes and heat curls in my belly. I swear I can feel his fingers running deftly along my body, the callouses rough on my skin. His warm breath kisses my ear, those soft lips mouthing my lobe as his teeth nip.
I can’t breathe, can’t think. All I can see is his body. I can smell his warm scent from here. Something masculine and wild. Like leather and pine had a baby. So sexy and manly that my whole body clenches, needing to feel him hovering over me, sliding inside me.
I can feel him inside me. Feel him push inside me over and over again, thrusting like a wild animal as he ruts into me, using me for his pleasure and yet taking my body to heights of passion I’ve never felt before.
He looks up and his golden-brown gaze locks on mine, passion and lust coiling in it, holding me in place. I can’t look away.
He paces towards me and I barely notice that his jeans are undone, his black boxer briefs barely visible. His dusting of dart chest hair curls damply on his skin and arrows down the hard planes of his belly straight towards where his jeans lie open.
I can’t breathe. My head is swimming and it’s not a concussion messing with it.
It’s pheromones. It’s love and lust and the wild, insane need for him that I’ve never gotten over.
His fingers reach out slowly, leaving time for me to back away.
But I don’t. And as soon as his finger trace my forearm, I move closer to him, whimpering softly, my own hands reaching blindly for what I can’t resist.
Him.