Special Ops Rendezvous. Karen Anders
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got to get going. But if you need anything, call me, brother.”
Sam nodded and walked out to the curb with Thad. As he drove away, he was still unsettled about Dr. Owens’s death and its possible connection to him, his family and his mother’s assassination attempt.
Sam looked at his watch. He still had time to make it to his therapeutic massage appointment. Another suggestion Dr. Owens had given him. First, to help with his rehabilitation and second, to reduce stress.
He arrived with about ten minutes to spare and checked in at the front desk. The receptionist smiled flirtatiously at him, but he didn’t respond. She was interested, but his life was such a complete mess right now. He had no intention of trying to carry on any type of relationship. He wasn’t fit for a relationship, even a temporary one, or for duty. Right now he was in limbo until he figured it all out. As soon as he got his head on straight from the damage done by the insurgents, he was shipping out again.
Although it was something he’d thought about often. Maybe he should retire and find something else to do with his time. Serving his country had been a privilege and an honor, but after Mike’s unpredictable and violent behavior, Sam wasn’t sure that returning to active duty was a good idea.
He walked to the locker room, stripped down and stored all his clothes in the locker. Shrugging into the robe, he dropped his wallet into the pocket and tightened the belt. He made his way to the room and went inside. Slipping off the robe, he slid under the sheet facedown.
He’d only lain there for a moment when the therapist entered. “Hello, Helga,” he said. “I’m going to need some work on my shoulder today. It’s been giving me some problems.”
“I’m not Helga, but I’ll be happy to take care of that for you.” Her voice was beautiful, soft and melodious. Perfect for a massage therapist.
He turned his head. The delicious sight of the woman in front of him almost made him want to lick his lips. She had sun-kissed skin, wavy caramel shoulder-length hair, the front pinned up and away from her striking face with high, slashing cheekbones, and a plump bow of a mouth. She was lovely, delicate, feminine, her skin as flawless as fresh cream. She wore no makeup, no jewelry, nothing to enhance or draw the eye. But she drew attention, his very interested attention.
He left her eyes for last because that’s where all the information about a human being was. Right now he was savoring the anticipation of the moment their eyes met.
Hers were dark brown, fringed with thick lashes. They were direct, assessing and...communicated her attraction. He knew most women liked muscles, and he was ripped. As soon as he got out of Walter Reed in D.C. and was cleared, he’d resumed his fitness routine. Being honed both in body and mind was what made a Special Forces commando a lethal son of a bitch. Besides the effects of his injuries, his body was back to normal now, but not yet his mind. He was still working on that.... Regret washed through him as he thought about Dr. Owens’s death.
So he’d seen that shell-shocked look before. It wasn’t the first time the sight of him half-naked, or completely naked, had put that expression on a woman’s face. It happened all the time.
He’d had zero interest in the pretty receptionist, but this woman was a different matter. She certainly wasn’t the middle-aged, somewhat dour Helga with the strong hands that he was used to. No, this woman was hard to look away from and hard to dismiss.
But unfortunately he had the same problem that he’d had with the receptionist. Getting involved with anyone at this point in his life would be a mistake.
But he suddenly wanted to make a lot of mistakes.
“Helga’s out sick. My name’s Olivia Marshall.”
Trying not to show any reaction to the change in his therapist or the affect she had on him, he smiled and nodded. She was dressed in a white cotton T-shirt with the logo of the spa just above her full breasts and a pair of black, stretchy pants that were modest but did nothing to hide her curves.
“Why don’t you tell me what you need taken care of, Captain Winston?”
When she pulled the sheet from his back, she gasped, but she tried to stifle it.
He turned to look at her again. “I should have warned you about that.”
Her gaze was riveted to his back. She was affected by the sight of what the insurgents had done to him, but there was more than just shock in her eyes. Was there...heat, too? “I should have been more professional. I’m sorry.”
“There’s no need to apologize. My back is a mess. I was tortured for three months before I was rescued. As you can see, they weren’t easy on me. My shoulders give me the most problem. They hung me from the ceiling every day.”
Sam met those dark brown eyes and watched her struggle with her compassion and her shock. And something loosened up in him at her look, something that brought with it intense heat. Suddenly he wanted to get close to this woman on more than just a physical level.
“Okay, your shoulders. Anything else?”
“My left hip and quad. I got shot there.”
She nodded. This woman should have come with a warning label, Sam thought. She was much too potent, and he was, lethal son of a bitch or not, feeling just a tad vulnerable.
It had never happened before. Not even when those bastards were pounding on him.
Yet the brown eyes of a beautiful massage therapist seemed to do it without effort.
She dimmed the lights in the room and put on soft, chiming music that was really relaxing.
As the anticipation of her touch built up in him, he sighed softly when her hands started on his upper shoulders. Her touch was sure, gentle, soothing. He tried not to read into it, but her hands just didn’t feel impersonal. He wasn’t sure if that was just his perception.
He didn’t really care. He liked it too much.
He heard her shift her position, felt her move closer, working the big muscles down the length of his back.
The bitch about getting injured was it sapped his energy. He had gotten up early and had worked out hard. The shock and dismay at Dr. Owens’s death had taken a toll, too. He fell asleep.
He drifted, but then flashes of images disturbed the silky, comforting darkness. He blinked and he could see vivid evergreens around him as the sharp scent of pine smoke from the fire drifted across their camp. Flashes of the images lit his brain, powerful and tantalizing. Trey, his big brother, was there and Thad, too. All of them teenagers. He frowned. Was this Yellowstone? Were they camping with their father? How was that possible? Anger against his mother swamped him when he realized she wasn’t there. Why couldn’t she be here, too? He looked at his brother Trey, and his heart lurched.
Darkness swirled around him and his face was blank. There were no eyes, mouth or nose. It was just flesh. Then the scene changed and darkness surrounded Sam. The smell of his own filth and blood disturbed his sleep, and he shifted. He was huddled on the floor, trying to breathe around his agony. He couldn’t find the will to lift his head. But the face of one of his tormenters thrust into his. His eyes widened and his mind reeled. It was Trey.
Foreign voices spun around him. Strong hands pulled at him and he made a sound of anguish, breathing hard and trying to prepare himself for more pain on top of what his aching body had already endured.
Pain exploded in his hip and he jerked away. With a cry of agony he reached for the hand that had touched him. He came fully awake and pushed himself up on the table. In the dim room, Olivia’s startled eyes met his. The memory of that place, his helplessness and the excruciating pain throbbed through him.
And she saw it immediately.
“You fell asleep and must have had a nightmare. It’s okay,” she whispered, her voice so soft and soothing.
Her wrist beneath his hand was delicate, her skin soft and warm. He took a breath and closed