“Worried.” As she climbed onto the bed, the towel obeyed his wishes and unknotted.
“About—” she retrieved it, but not before he had a view of that dark strip of heaven, “What?”
“Some women.” He gritted his teeth in frustration about how to explain fetish chicks. “Letters. Pictures. To soldiers.”
“Groupies?” She rubbed his thighs and it didn’t matter if she understood, because he should not under any circumstances distract her from digging into his quads.
“Uh-huh.” Damn, that felt good.
“Why? If they don’t know you?”
“Hero shit.”Holy Moly, Cruz. He could hear Kahananui’s woman advice and feel Wulf knocking knuckles on his skull. Surgeons should have given him a lobotomy along with his legs. After they’d almost banged a mirror off a wall wasn’t the timeto mention skanks with a hero fetish who liked to proposition amps.
Her hands paused. “You don’t think that I…”
“No. No.” He stiffened. That wasn’t what he wanted to express. “You know me.” He’d shared his days with her, how he thought, what he read. She’d seen him cry, then something more embarrassing than crying, and she’d stuck by him. “Friends first.”
“If you mention benefits I will—”
“Spank me?” His parts agreed with that awesomeness, but her eyebrows disappeared to her hairline, which he interpreted asnot.
Until she bent her head to bring her lips a whisper from his. “Will it make you talk?”
Chapter 19
They slept so latethat they were still ten miles east of Rapid City at lunch. Deep cold had settled across South Dakota, but no snow, and Grace made good time on the clear roads. With a thousand miles left, if they drove six more hours today, Cruz calculated they could pull in to Salito as early as tomorrow evening.
He rubbed his thigh, the one closer to the driver’s seat where she couldn’t miss his action, and muffled a grunt. Never let it be said that a Green Beret wasn’t a master of subterfuge.
She took her eyes off the road for an instant to look at him. Target acquired.
He flexed his buttocks and stretched, one hand braced on the dashboard. He pushed a sigh out of his diaphragm and shifted as if the 442’s spacious seat had shrunk. “Need gas?”
“We still have over half a tank. Do you need to stop?”
Yep, he had her. “No. I’m good.” This time he dug four fingers into his thigh and pressed his lips together to appear as if he stifled a groan.
“Don’t be a martyr.” She merged to the exit lane. “If you’re uncomfortable, we’ll stop.”
The satisfaction that came after scoring a direct hit dissipated when she turned right off the exit instead of following the arrows left to a motel. One destination dominated the north side of Interstate 90, and the beds sold there inflated.
“Shop?” Billboards for the outdoor gear emporium had lined the last hundred miles of interstate. “Now?”
“Driving for fifteen hundred miles makes Grace a dull girl. I have a plan.”
So had he, and he’d been out-flanked.
Even the blue-signed spaces were full on shopping-crazed Black Friday, so they parked in the far corner with two football fields to cross merely to enter the massive hunting and fishing gear store. As he fumbled with his seatbelt, Grace asked if he wanted his wheelchair.
“Yes. Please.” He’d move faster and keep his personal space open with his wheels, and his stumps deserved a rest after their stellar performance last night. Talk about the best reason to be chafed.
His balls shrunk to the size of peas on the freezing ride to the entrance, where Grace grabbed a cart. “Fishing gear, aisles six through nine. Get moving.”
“Kidding?” He wrapped his arms around his torso and pretended to shiver. “Crazy cold.”
“Aren’t you the tough guy who trained in Alaska?” She smiled over her shoulder but didn’t stop threading a path through other shoppers. “I promise to keep you warm and happy.”
The store was the most insane normal place he could imagine outside of Vegas. Bartenders and waitresses near Walter Reed were used to wheelchairs and amps, and people along the interstate had been too focused on their own trips, or he’d been wearing legs, so few people had paid attention to him. Here theair was too full of shopping mojo, holiday music, and shrieking for many customers to double-take at a double-amp.
