Out of the Ashes Read online

  Just as I moan against his lips, I’m abruptly lifted and placed back on my side of the bed. Our mingled heavy breathing fills the bedroom as we stare at one another for a beat before he lays back on his side of the bed, peering up at the ceiling.

  “Pres.” His voice is gravelly, and it’s thrilling to think I had something to do with throwing him a bit off-balance. “You and I both know you drank quite a bit tonight. But not only that…” He trails off as I allow my eyes to take in his profile, watching as he swallows hard. “I don’t want you to do something you will regret.” Slowly, he turns his head on the pillow to look at me. “I don’t want to be your regret in the morning.”

  Searching his face, I recognize his seriousness, and that he’s totally stonewalling me.

  Baby steps, Presley. Baby steps.

  Inhaling deeply, I offer a small smile. “Bedtime story then?”

  Slowly, he curves his lips up, and the corners of his eyes crinkle. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

  Once I get situated beneath the covers, lying here on my side facing him, I close my eyes and listen to his deep, sexy voice.

  “Once upon a time, there was a…”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Hendy

  Presley Cole might just bring me to my knees.

  That’s the main thought running through my mind as I watch her sleep in my bed, a faint smile playing on her lips. She’s shifted and shoved the covers down a bit, offering me a view I’ll definitely recall later. My shirt has ridden up on her, resting on her hips, and my fingers itch to raise it up even more.

  Even worse is the urge—the desire—to slide my hand between her thighs, slip beneath her panties, and see if she’s still wet. From when she’d rocked herself over me. Shit, the heat emanating from her pussy and the dampness I could feel nearly made me shoot my load then and there.

  Fuck. Scrubbing a hand down my face, I will my hard-on to subside, but it’s impossible. She was so damn hot when she was on top of me that it took every ounce of restraint I had not to flip her over on her back and slide my cock so deep inside her that she’d forget all about that ex-fiancé of hers, let alone she was engaged in the first place.

  She’s the only woman I’ve denied—the only woman I’ve held myself back from. The old Hendy wouldn’t have hesitated to shove her back on the bed, tug aside those panties, and bury his cock inside her sweet pussy.

  But I can’t do that. Presley’s got a heart of gold, and she sure as hell deserves better than a quick fuck from a beat-up former SEAL who looks like the stuff horror movies are made of.

  Huffing out a sigh when sleep begins to tug at me, I quietly ease from the bed and carefully tuck the covers over Presley more securely. As I gaze down at her sleeping form, I feel an odd sensation roll over me. After leaning down to dust a soft kiss on her forehead, I turn and leave the room before I give in to the temptation to sleep there beside her.

  That would be far too dangerous.

  Slipping out of the bedroom, I find Izzy lying right outside, and I quietly close the door behind me. Izzy sticks close by as I pad across the cool hardwood floor to the door leading to the back deck facing the Atlantic Ocean and head outside. I settle into the comfortable cushions of one of the deck chairs, pat the large padded chaise beside me, and she jumps up, relaxing onto it.

  A weary sigh blows past my lips while I stare up at the sky. Tonight is clear, appearing as though someone took handfuls of glitter and tossed them into the darkness.

  At times like this, I’m bombarded with memories. Memories of one of my last conversations with Foster before he left the teams. He was ready to go but had been struggling with the decision.

  “What about you? When do you think your time will be?” he asked me as we sat outside on base one night, the stars sparkling bright above us.

  At first, I offered a casual shrug, but then realized I couldn’t—wouldn’t—bullshit one of my best friends.

  “A few times, I wondered if it was already time. We all know I don’t have any family, and I’ll be honest, the more I’m here, the more missions we go on, the more I think I’ll find my time ending here.” My throat grew thick at voicing that. “I’m okay with it, though,” I added softly. “Because I know I won’t be going out in anything less than a blaze of gunfire and glory.” I turned to him with a slight wry grin on my face, cocky even then.

  Because I know I won’t be going out in anything less than a blaze of gunfire and glory.

  Hell if my words didn’t come true a mere few years later.

  Without warning, I’m instantly bombarded with the images from that fateful night. The night when I was certain I would, in fact, depart this world in a blaze of gunfire and glory.

  Leaning my head back against the chair and allowing my eyes to fall closed, I swear I can see everything as if it were only yesterday, the memories so vivid.

  A recon mission in the mountains of Afghanistan assigned to us, we had no choice but to fast-rope from the helicopter on the side of the mountain range due to the surrounding tree heights.

  Shaw nudged me as we rode in that helo. Leaning toward me, he covered up the mic to his headset so the others wouldn’t hear as he spoke in my ear. “You got a feeling?”

  My eyes met his in the darkened interior, and I knew what he was asking. I’d often had that freaky sixth sense about things over the years. They were always spot-on, so when I got one of those feelings, I’d learned not to ignore them.

  And tonight, my senses were screaming.

  Covering my own mic, I answered him. “We need to be on it, man. This could turn into a colossal clusterfuck.”

  Shaw merely nodded, that crease between his brows the only indication of his concern at my foreboding response. We had no idea we were walking right into a fucking ambush of epic proportions.

  Fast-roping down, we made it what seemed to be only a handful of yards away from the helo before the RPG—rocket-propelled grenade—hit. The explosion had been so great we could immediately feel the scorching heat from it. The intense glare of the fiery crash, which had left only some rotor blades, caused me to flip up my night vision goggles.

  Calling over our comms, I prayed I’d get a response from our pilots.

  “Fuck!” I swore under my breath, scrambling with my guys to take cover. Which was a fucking joke since we were now in a damn valley.

  Sitting ducks—illuminated by the massive bonfire. So much for us operating under the cover of darkness.

  The ping of gunfire hitting the rocky terrain nearby was the next clue that my feeling was spot-on.

  In the worst way possible.

  Attempting to find a better spot to shield me from the flying bullets, at least for long enough to make the radio call for reinforcements, I watched as the others laid down cover fire.

  “…repeat, requesting air support…”

  I never got a chance to find out whether the call was heard amidst the crackly connection. I never got a chance to hear if anyone ever responded with the air support I requested. Because in the next moment, the world was fucking rocked off its axis.

  The thing about an RPG is when it hits anywhere near you, it’s utterly deafening. And then everything gets eerily quiet, and it’s as if time slows. The impact of the RPG had thrown me back against the rocky earth, my head snapping back so abruptly it felt as though my brain literally rattled in my head. Amidst dust clouding from the explosion, I heard cussing in my comm. How that shit was still working was a miracle to me.

  “Goddamn goatfuckers!” I heard Marty “McFly” McPherson groan.

  Coughing to clear my throat of the nasty ass dust, I caught sight of Marty. And that would be the first time my heart would plummet to my stomach.

  Though certainly not the last.

  Crawling over to him, I reached for the tourniquets to help him prevent any more blood loss. Both of his arms had been blown off from around the elbow, and his right leg was shredded just below the knee. Always the smartass, he looked at me, a
s calm as ever, and said, “Hey, man. Give me a hand, will ya?”

  I did what I could to try to get his tourniquets as tight as possible, telling him to hang tight. The explosion did us a small favor by blasting into the side of the mountain and creating a makeshift alcove which would help to keep Marty safe.

  For now.

  “Go.”

  My eyes flew to his in alarm.

  He merely shook his head. “I don’t need more help than this. I’m good, man. Go find the others.”

  Just then, another enormous explosion rocked the earth. Another fucking RPG hit.

  Hand on his shoulder, I held his gaze. “We’re getting the fuck out of here. In a few minutes.” I hoped.

  A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as if he heard my inner thoughts. But the look in his eyes at that moment would haunt me for years to come. Resignation. “See you in a few.”

  That would be the last time I saw Marty.

  Making my way in search of the others while returning fire, I barely felt the impact of a few stray bullets hitting my body armor because my adrenaline was so high. I found Shaw Dempsey within a few feet of Danny Tyson. Shaw’s legs were both blown off, and a pool of blood surrounded his body. Even though I saw the hole where the bullet had entered through the corner of his eye and exited clean out the back, I still confirmed he had no pulse.

  Dragging Shaw and Danny, I situated them closer to the side of the mountain where an outcropping might—and I hoped to hell it would—provide some protection. I realized Danny’s helmet had been blown off in the blast. As I was trying to staunch the blood pouring from a nasty wound near his temple before I assessed the rest of his injuries, I noted his flesh appeared as though someone had ripped it off from the hairline near his temple and back. He’d grabbed my wrist suddenly, drawing my attention.

  “Fucking leg,” he breathed out.

  Shit. Looking down, I noticed a large shard of rock sticking out from his upper thigh; blood soaked his uniform pants.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck!

  “If we get a tourniquet on it quick enough, I might have about an hour to help you lay down fire.”

  I didn’t meet his eyes, so intent on getting that tourniquet wrapped around his thigh. I didn’t want him to see that I recognized his lie.

  We both knew he was bullshitting me about having an hour because if his femoral artery was nicked bad enough—and I had the feeling that it was, judging from the amount of blood soaking his pants and pooling beneath him—this tourniquet would only do so much.

  After I’d doctored Danny up as much as I could, I knew I had to find our pilots. Danny reached over to grab Shaw’s extra ammo and sidearm for me. As I was readying to step back out in the gunfight, Danny’s words carried over to me.

  “See you later.”

  I knew what he was telling me. Without saying it, we both knew. This would be the last time we’d see one another. My brother was saying goodbye.

  I nodded. “Later.” Love you, man.

  As I stepped into what I expected to be my final gunfight, my last attempt at fighting against evil, I was ready. My veins pulsed with the fury at these faceless bastards who so easily took the lives and well-being of some of the best guys I’d ever known. My vessels throbbed with heartache over losing guys who were my only remaining family.

  But I was ready.

  Ready to go out in a blaze of gunfire and glory.

  Izzy nudges me, and I open my eyes, reaching out. “Hey, girl. I’m okay.” I pet her, trying to communicate that I’m all right, that she doesn’t have to worry about me. Her eyes watch me unnervingly.

  With a heavy sigh, I lean my head back against the chair.

  Because, much like Foster, she sees right through my bullshit, too.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Presley

  I’ve never done the walk of shame before.

  Lame, yes, I know, but when you’ve only been with one guy, and even that relationship wasn’t exactly thrilling by anyone’s standards, that’s what happens.

  There’s something about waking up in a guy’s shirt—which smells so freaking awesome—and having to put on your dress from the night before when you prepare to leave. It feels illicit. Exciting. Naughty.

  Part of me wishes I could keep Hendy’s shirt, but that would be more than a little weird. Tiptoeing across the hall to the bathroom with my clothing in hand, the door is ajar and I push it open, praying I make it undetected because my hair is a certifiable, ungodly mess. I breathe a small sigh of relief after closing myself in the bathroom and lean back against the door.

  “Trying to escape from someone?”

  I jerk, my eyes flying open to see Hendy standing outside the open shower door. He’s getting dressed with one arm through a T-shirt and a towel securely wrapped around his waist. He eyes me with amusement. Clearly, in my haste to make it to the safety of the bathroom, I had thought the light had been left on, forgotten.

  Not once did I check to see if a gorgeous, half-naked man was inside toweling off after his shower—drying his hard-muscled body wearing nothing but terry cloth, hiding that delicious cock I shamelessly tried to dry hump last night.

  God, I sound like a horny teenager. I’ve never dry-humped anyone before—never even tried. Even the tiny snippet of what I experienced last night communicated how much I’d been missing. Because it had been über hot.

  I’d also thrown caution to the wind, dismissing the fact he’s my patient. I’d given in to my desires. Unprofessional, yes. But I don’t regret it. Not only that, but I’m completely sober now, so that eliminates another one of Hendy’s excuses from last night.

  My arms tighten over the folded dress I’m holding against my chest as I take in the sight of the freshly showered man before me. It should be against the law for a man to be this gorgeous. His lightly bronzed skin is still slightly damp. A few droplets of water cling to his upper torso, scattered with scars, and it’s right then that I wish I had the nerve to—

  Wait a minute. That needs to change. Starting now. I’ve had a dull, lame existence up to this point. I’ve been a doormat—one seemingly specifically designed for Dylan. That needs to end, stat. It’s time for Presley to get her groove back. Like in the movie, How Stella Got Her Groove Back. Except, in this case, I’m not sure I ever had a groove to begin with.

  Nor do I have a hot Jamaican man interested in me. A Latino one, though, will definitely do. Meow.

  I just meowed in my head. Oh, boy. Apparently, getting my groove back has some serious side effects I’m not entirely sure I approve of. Regardless, I need to act. I am not letting this moment get past me.

  Stepping forward, I let my dress and bra drop to the bathroom floor as I cross the distance until I’m in front of him. He’s slid his other arm through the shirt, about to pull it down over those few beads of water clinging for dear life on his impressively broad chest where my eyes fixate. Part of me recognizes the fact he’s turned a bit to ensure his right side is facing me. Because that’s what he considers his “better view.”

  “Presley.” My name sounds like a husky caress, falling from his lips.

  Placing one hand to stop the shirt from dropping to completely cover up his torso, I lean forward, sipping a droplet of water just to the side of one nipple. His sharp intake of breath spurs me on, and my tongue darts out to trace over the same spot.

  Tipping my head back to gaze up at him, I note his heavy gaze resting on me before my eyes are drawn to that thin trail of hair beginning at the bottom of his belly button and disappearing beneath the towel. My index finger circles his belly button, noting the contracting of his abdominal muscles before tracing it down over that trail leading to the promised land.

  What kind of promises do you have for me? I think to myself naughtily.

  Hendy lets out a choked laugh, drawing my surprised attention. Meeting his dark eyes, I see they are sparkling with humor as he raises his eyebrows at me.

  “What kind of promises do I have for you?”
he asks with that lopsided smile of his.

  Hell. Again, I clearly need to work on keeping my internal thoughts from being voiced while around him. Before I can offer a response, a knock sounds on the door.

  “Hey, sweet darlin’. You want some coffee?” Kane asks from outside the bathroom door.

  My eyes dart to Hendy, silently questioning who Kane’s talking to. His lips quirk slightly before he answers.

  “Yes, sir,” he answers, winking at me.

  “I was actually asking the lovely doctor, but I’ll take your order, too.” I can hear the humor in Kane’s voice. “How about you, darlin’?”

  Blushing, I let my forehead rest against Hendy’s chest. “Yes, please,” I say weakly.

  “Whenever you two lovebirds finish frolicking in there, I’ll have it ready.” Kane’s voice trails off as he presumably heads back toward the kitchen.

  Hendy’s hand runs over my hair in a caress. “You’ve got to have the sexiest case of bed head I’ve ever seen.” His voice is low, husky, sending shivers through me, and my nipples instantly perk up.

  He’s clearly trying to be kind because everyone knows there is no such thing as a good case of bed head. Especially for me. I always end up with what appears to be a cowlick or something crazy. Mumbling against his chest, I say, “Stop lying to me.”

  Leaning closer, his lips brushing against my temple as he speaks. “If I were lying, I sure as hell wouldn’t be as hard as I am right now.”

  How? How am I supposed to maintain control around him when he says things like this? He’s the only man who’s made me feel this way, made me dismiss the proverbial line drawn between myself and my patient.

  “You really shouldn’t say things like that to me,” I continue to mumble, still refusing to show my face, “when it’s taking all my willpower to remain as un-slutty as possible.”

  A huff of warm breath washes over my face, and I realize he’s laughing at me. “Presley Cole.” The humor in his tone is apparent. “Don’t you realize it’s taking all my willpower not to guide your hand beneath this towel?” His lips dust against my skin in a soft caress as he speaks. “To show you how I want you to stroke me. To let you feel how much you turn me on.”