Chapter 8
Nora
Sitting in Jordan and Josie’s apartment on their new-to-them loveseat, I sip my coffee and watch Jordan sleep. He’s always been a peaceful dreamer. Soft breathing. Languid muscles. Limbs that never fidget or jolt.
Many mornings after spending the night together, his warm body and pine scent would register before the sound of his near inaudible inhales and exhales. But this morning, our first morning together without Josie, he’s restless. Maybe it’s from his medication wearing off and pain re-surging. Maybe it’s a nightmare or vision from his past.
We’ve spent no time together since his first seizure several days ago, and he didn’t contact me yesterday. Not one text or call. Under the circumstances, avoiding conversation makes things easier on me, but I grew concerned when Josie left this morning without waking him to say goodbye. She opted to leave him a note and her introspective mood put me in one, too. My thoughts are all over the place, and I’m not thrilled with being left here alone with no idea what to expect when he wakes up.
A quick glance at my phone tells me it’s nearing the hour. His body may no longer be operating on a military schedule thanks to his three-week hospital stay, but Josie said he starts every day at six o’clock.
I watch the seconds tick by, and his eyes flutter open at 6:03. They land on me first, and there’s bewilderment behind his stare that rattles my system.
“Hi,” I say, needing to break the hold he has over me. “I brought muffins and bagels if you’re hungry. Got strawberry cream cheese just for you.”
He tries to push up onto his free elbow, but the loose bed sheet shifts, making him fall back on his pillow. Fingers pinch the space between his eyes as he takes deep breaths through the pain. This is only the third time I’ve seen his sunny temperament clouded with an emotion. He doesn’t upset easily, but this morning, he is a lit match hovering under dynamite.
Unable to decipher what he’s experiencing, I drop to the floor beside him. “What can I do?”
“Nothing.”
“How about breakfast in bed?”
He doesn’t grace me with a response.
“Okay. I’ll pack it up, and we can go do something.”
His hand drops, and his head rolls to face me, his brow still pinched. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. What would you like to do?”
Rolling to the other side, he gazes out the window and ignores me.
“Do you still have that bucket list in your wallet?” I ask to get him talking.
“Yeah, but what good is it in my condition?”
“Plenty. Now, get up. I have an idea.”
He turns back to me as I stand, prepared to make him listen.
“Why?”
“Come on. Let’s get you out of your grouchy pants and into something a little more chipper.”
His eyes narrow before the scowl is replaced by a playful smirk. “There’s only one thing that could make me happy.” He reaches for my leg, but I dance around it. “I’ll lose my grouchy pants if you lose yours.”
“But I’m not grumpy.”
“You’re always grumpy,” he argues, and I take minor offense. So, I’m not the bubbly type like other happyish people I know, but that doesn’t mean I’m grumpy.
“Fine. If I agree with you, will you attempt to get off this mattress?”
“Not until you tell me what we’re doing.”
“You’re infuriating.”
“No. It’s called gathering intelligence. How else am I going to know how to dress for our date?”
“It’s not a date,” I contradict all too quickly, and he studies me with suspicion. It is how I would have reacted before we started officially dating, and it strikes an old wound. “I meant, it’s nothing that requires special attire. Just bring a sweatshirt in case it cools down.”
“Sorry, N.J., but you’re going to have to grab it. Moving isn’t my specialty these days.”
“Right.” I turn to head to his plastic bin of clothes, then turn back. “N.J.? That’s new.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah. You’ve never called me by my initials before.”
“Oh. Well, maybe my brain is having a private seizure or something.”
“Not funny.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t move. I’ll grab you something to wear, then we’ll get you dressed together.”
“Nice. But you’ll have to keep your hands off me. I’m in no condition to satisfy your cravings. Although, I’d love to try.” He winks at me, and I storm off before he sees the battle I’m waging with my needy body.
It’s been almost a year since we last gave into each other, and I haven’t been with anyone since. He ruined me for all other men. After five years, he knows my every need before I do. He’s discovered my weaknesses and learned how to best exploit them. He’s given me years of incredible sex, and there’s no coming back from that. I haven’t even wanted to try.
Without giving it much consideration, I grab a pair of black shorts and a red T-shirt from the bin. I’ve always loved the way red looks on him. Reconnecting to the present, I return to the mattress and find him sitting up—his casted leg laid out in front of him, and his right arm perched on his other knee. How could I not hear him moving? Oh yeah, unfulfilled cravings can cloud the senses.
“Didn’t I tell you not to move?”
“I’m stubborn,” he says slightly breathless from the work but sounding more like himself.
“You don’t have to tell me.” Kneeling between his legs, I set down the clothes and dial up my resolve. “Walk me through this. How do we get you dressed without too much pain?”
“First and most importantly…” His serious tone grabs my full attention. “You kiss me right here.” A finger taps against his lips. “To activate the endorphins and numb any pain that may come after.”
“Right,” I deadpan with an exaggerated eye roll, but find myself playing along without much consideration otherwise. Leaning forward, I give him a peck.
“That’s not enough to numb a pinky finger.”
“Well, it’s all you—”
Before I can finish the sentence, his hand braces the back of my head and connects our lips. He’s rough, greedy, and giving me exactly what I like. Desire heats my core, and God help me, I want what my body begs me to take.
But it would be wrong. This is wrong.
I drop back on my heels, adding some much-needed reason and space to the moment.
“Should we start with…um…your shirt?” I ask, trying to think of anything but the rock-hard body he gained over the last year.
Work emails. Insurance. Taxes. Puppies frolicking in wildflowers. Anything innocent, boring, and the exact opposite of this gorgeous man I’m about to strip down to his skin. Just the thought of seeing him shirtless is making me second-guess my self-imposed chastity belt. It’s feeling more like a noose the longer his navy eyes sink into mine. Desire snaps into the air and sweat beads on my back. It’s more intense than I anticipated, and for the first time in my adult life, I don’t know what to do.
He smells amazing. And if he doesn’t stop looking at me like he wants to rip off my clothes and make me scream in surrender, this week will either break me or my vibrator.
I’m frozen to my spot when his hand takes mine and wakes me from my stupor. His eyes never leave my face as he presses my fingers to the hem of the shirt he’s wearing. More than anything, I want to look away, yet I don’t. Can’t.
I grip his shirt because I desperately need something to ground me. Something to help me feel like I’m not drowning in him. Careful not to touch his smooth skin, I pull up the fabric, slowly exposing two sharply defined abs at a time. I swallow—my mouth suddenly as dry as paper.
He pulls his right arm through the sleeve, and I push the shirt over his uninjured shoulder, admiring the solid frame. His chest rises and falls at the same rapid pace as my pulse. Freeing the shirt from around his neck finally breaks the hold his gaze has over me. Every smoldering nerve ending poking at me to act on impulse fizzles while I concentrate on unhooking the sling around his left arm. As I carefully slide his tender arm through the shirt, his body tenses from the movement, but he doesn’t make a sound.
Instead, eyes dulled with desire continue watching my every move. Since I’m the only one who knows this is a temporary arrangement, I stay on task, determined to be the rational one.
Setting aside the discarded shirt, I rise to my knees to pull the new one over his head. Ten months of celibacy has me pausing and garnering a glance at the man before me. He’s thick with muscle and broader than the last time I saw him like this. A thin layer of light hair glistens on his chest in the early sunlight. My fingers itch to touch it and feel the swell of his pecs underneath.
Squashing the thought because it has no business entering my brain, my eyes trail up to his strong jawline. The morning stubble gives him a different look than I’m used to—like he’s thrown the military rule book out the window. Coupled with his new muscle and longer hair, this rugged rebellious style looks damn good on him.
His jaw clenches, a distracting motion while his hand wanders to my lower back. A subtle reminder to exercise control before we do something we can’t take back. But that control wavers when I pull the shirt over his head, and his warm palm slips under my cropped sweatshirt. He cups my waist, his thumb gliding over my skin in long, languid strokes.
Blood momentarily stops in my veins and the rest of me freezes. I shiver in response to his hand trailing upward. He’s always had the power to reduce me to a bumbling mess with one touch, one kiss, one glorious orgasm at a time. It’s why, despite my aversion to commitment, I kept coming back for more. Why I could never tell him no when he asked to see me before deploying or while on leave. It’s why no matter how I felt about relationships, I had to have him. He was and still is my greatest weakness.
His dark blond hair springs through the opening before his forehead. I drag the shirt down over his eyes, regretting it the moment they reopen and find mine. The deep color captivates me. How have I never noticed the specs of copper in his irises, floating like fall leaves on the darkest, purest oceans? And why did it take almost losing him forever to appreciate the qualities that make him special? Not just his handsome appearance, but his heart, his compassion, and the way he accepts everyone for who they are. Me, in particular, flaws and all.
Not that it changes anything. I still can’t give him what he wants, and soon he’ll remember how he feels about me. My only job is to not make it worse in the meantime.
I do what I can to get his arms inside the shirt without causing too much discomfort. He grimaces only a few times, and I call that a win as I pull it down over his torso.
This is torture. How am I going to dress and undress him daily and survive it?
My heart revs at the thought of our next task—removing his shorts. He must sense my unease, interpreting it as caged lust, and locks me in a one-arm embrace. He isn’t entirely wrong. The man is sexy as hell, and I wish I could enjoy this. I wish the feel of his arm wrapped lovingly around me didn’t feel like betrayal.
“You’re going to have to wear the shorts you have on,” I say to break the tension, my voice sounding airier than intended.
“Can’t control yourself around me, can you?”
“No,” I answer honestly and stand to escape this little entrapment before he can advance it further. “Let’s get you to the bathroom, and while you finish getting ready, I’ll pack breakfast.”
I insert his arm into the sling and get him to his feet, but once he’s upright, his eyes glass over. Panic engulfs me when he wobbles. He’ll be too heavy to hold if he passes out.
I frame his face with my hands. “Jordan, look at me.”
His eyes roll back as his eyelids flutter closed. The one good leg holding him up trembles, flaring my fear.
“Jordan,” I try louder, and he responds, except his gaze is distant. “Focus on my voice. I won’t let you go. I’ve got you.”
Tears spring to the corner of his eyes, but don’t fall.
“I know, babe. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you’ll get a little better every day. Every activity will make you stronger. Think about the fun adventure we’re taking today.”
He blinks hard and his hand balls into a fist.
“That’s it. Come back to me. We’ll use that list of yours and find something to take your mind off this.”
His hand presses into my hip—the crutch he needs while his energy surges. When he leans over and rests his forehead on mine, relief pours over my body like water, and I give into it.
“You’re the best distraction I could ever ask for,” he whispers, his voice thick and raspy. “I need to kiss you again.”
“Jordan.” I breathe in, unable to find the words to deny him. How could I when he needs me? When that’s what his girlfriend would do? When my body longs to feel him?
His head tilts and his lips take mine before I have a chance to pull away. Not that I could when he’s melting every ounce of control I thought I had. My heart aches for the fear he must experience every time his healing takes a step backward. My body yearns to feel him again. My brain sends conflicting messages the more we’re together.
Giving in to any of what I’m feeling seems too dangerous for us both. I draw back before my hands go rogue and drop his shorts, after all.
“Wow. For someone who almost passed out, you seem plenty alert,” I tease, trying to settle my pulse and reset my thoughts on the task instead of my urges.
“That’s what your body and scent do to me.”
“My scent?”
He leans closer to sniff my hair. “Vanilla and honey. It makes me very hor…hungry,” he corrects, making me grin. Join the club.
“Well, the bagel and cream cheese will take care of that problem. The rest is impossible.”
“I thoroughly disagree. Sex with my gorgeous girlfriend might surcharge my recovery.”
“Or make it worse.” I’m thinking about his fragile heart when I say it. Giving in to our urges will only hurt him more when he discovers the lies. “Come on. Let’s get you ready.”
Thankfully, the one and only bathroom is a few wobbles away.
“I’ll wait out here in case you need me.” I grab the doorknob, but before I can close it, his hand covers mine.
“I will always need you with or without injuries.”
All I can do is flash a grin, hoping it looks more like a gesture of appreciation than guilt, and shut him inside. After retrieving the wheelchair, I wait and listen outside the bathroom. As long as I hear movement—a flush, running water, toothbrush over teeth—there’s no need to worry about his safety. Everything else is a different story, but I’ll have plenty of time to fret over it all later.
Soon, he reappears in the doorway with a broad smile. “I’m ready for that adventure you promised me.”
I motion a hand over the wheelchair. “Your chariot awaits, sir.”