Second Chance With Her Army Doc. Dianne Drake
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even closer into his arms.
She was always fine when he held her like this. In his arms—that was where she was meant to be.
“Maybe we should leave?”
Maybe they should, but she didn’t want to. Not yet.
These opportunities with Carter were scarce, due to conflicting work schedules, and she wanted every scrap of every minute right where she was, before they had to go back.
“Or, maybe we should stay,” she countered, her body rocking so sensuously against his she knew that even when they got to their room the night would be far from over. “Just for another few minutes.”
Carter chuckled as he pushed the wild copper hair from her face, then bent to kiss her on the neck. “Are you sure?” he whispered, just above a kiss.
The goosebumps started immediately. They always did with Carter. And she shivered...
“See... I knew you were chilly.” He gave her another kiss in the same spot, leaving a trail of butterfly kisses along her neck, ending at her jaw. “But I know where it’s warm...”
In his arms. Anywhere. Anytime.
“Maybe we should go back,” she whispered, a little sad that their dance had ended.
She loved Carter’s spontaneity—loved the way he would simply push everything aside just to spend what little time they could together.
Last weekend a climb in the canyons. Before that scuba diving. Restaurants. Vineyards and wine-tasting. Bicycling at dusk on a coastal boardwalk, then stopping for coffee and watching the sunset.
Their moments together were so few, and yet when they did find those moments nobody else in the world existed. It was just the two of them, making the most of what they had.
“It’s warm right here in your arms,” said Sloane, her voice breathy with desire. She didn’t want to change a moment of this, but she also didn’t want to change a moment of what Carter had planned for the evening. “So one more dance, please?”
“One more,” he said, then bent to her ear. “Then it’s my turn to dance my way.”
More goosebumps. Another shiver.
“Maybe we should save the dance on the beach for another time and go see what your dance is about.”
“You know what my dance is about,” he said as he scooped her up into his arms. “It’s the dance that’s as old as time.”
She loved it when he carried her. While she wasn’t particularly large, he was all muscle. Built ruggedly. Built just to fit her.
“Will there be wine?” she asked.
“If that’s what you want.”
There would also be white rose petals and candles, and strawberries dipped in chocolate. The reason she knew this was that she’d peeked at the bill. She hadn’t meant to, but he’d left it on the dresser when he’d gone out for ice, and she hadn’t been able to help herself.
Carter was always full of so many surprises—all of them for her, even if she did cheat a little in her excitement to find out. But he always made her feel like Christmas—the anticipation, the build-up of excitement, the dreaming of what he would do next.
Yes, even on the few instances she’d taken a peek, like she just had, and like she’d done when she was a little girl. Only then her dad had hidden packages of dolls and games and princess crowns, where Carter hid the little romantic things that caused her heart to beat faster—coupon books redeemable any time for kisses, hugs, making love...poems he’d written—not always good but definitely from his heart—and selfies of the two of them he’d had blown up and framed. There were at least three dozen of them on the hall wall leading to their bedroom.
But tonight there would be no selfies for what he had in store. Or maybe just one, with the two of them cuddled in the sheets. Yes, that would be nice—if she remembered. Because Carter had a way of making her forget everything but the moment.
“Are you going to be a brute and kick the door in?” she asked as they approached their room, she still in his arms.
“Oh, I’m going to be a brute—but it has nothing to do with the door.”
Of course he wasn’t going to be a brute. He was gentle in every way a man could be gentle, and as he lowered her to the bed and she held out her arms to him...
Sloane gasped, and bolted up in bed. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. She was actually crying in her sleep for him. For them. And tonight had been no different from when she’d had the same dream before. Night after night of it, then week after week, in one version or another.
Sometimes they’d make it to their room; sometimes they’d never even get off the beach. But there was never an ending—just the way she and Carter hadn’t had a real ending.
Six years together and all she had left of him was a small jar of shrapnel from his injuries.
Dr. Sloane Manning swiped back angry tears, painful tears, then reached for her phone and punched in a number. “Yes,” she said, when the party on the other end answered. “I’d like to make a reservation for one.”
One. She almost choked on the word. She was going alone to a place she and Carter had always planned to explore together when they had the time. Well, she had the time, and most of that time was about to be invested in moving on.
“I’ll be in sometime tomorrow. Best room you’ve got, please.” Next came her credit card number, then she was set. Maybe a good hike in the desert and some nice, hard rock-climbing would snap her out of her funk.
Or maybe it wouldn’t. In any case, she was going once she’d cleared her schedule with her dad, who would make sure she was covered for the next few days. Or weeks. Either one. Because right now the last thing on her mind was surgery—which wasn’t the best situation for her patients. They deserved all of her, and she wasn’t even sure that if she was put back together she’d all be all there. So maybe going out and trying to find some of those missing pieces of herself was exactly what she needed. Because she couldn’t go on like this: not with the dreams, the tears, the broken heart...
“SO, AFTER YOU left Sloane, then what?” Matt McClain asked his old Army buddy Carter Holmes.
Carter cringed at the memory of how he’d left her. With a text.
Sorry, I can’t do this any longer. I’ve got to go find myself on my own.
Sloane Manning had done everything in her power to help him. She’d come to Germany for his surgeries and stayed at his bedside for days, until he was well enough to be shipped home. Then, at home, she’d put aside practically every aspect of her own life just to help him through.
She’d found different treatment options for PTSD, and she’d stood by him when her father had hired him back at Manning Hospital, even though he clearly hadn’t been ready for the stress. And she’d stood by him again when her father had suspended him for any number of the little infractions he’d incurred in his first six months back.
He’d done nothing to jeopardize a patient. Quite the opposite. He’d done everything to jeopardize his career. Insubordination. Tardiness. Bad attitude all along.
“I