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Monk kissed her forehead, and in the stillness of the night, Saylor slept.
—:—
Monk waited until Saylor’s breathing evened out before he let himself close his eyes. He tightened his hold so her body was as close to his as he could get it.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d fallen asleep with a woman in his bed, and he didn’t bother trying to recall it. No woman he’d slept with came close to comparing with Saylor. Being with her was so easy that sometimes he felt as though she could read his mind.
When his thoughts drifted to her ex, Monk pushed them away. How a man could strike any woman was unfathomable to him, but to strike Saylor? It was incomprehensible. Her spirit was so pure, flawless like her skin. He’d seen enough of her to know that the way she was with him, was the way she was with everyone.
Saylor didn’t judge. She accepted. She smiled easily, was very intelligent, and was physically exquisite.
He pushed the thoughts of their lovemaking away too. If he didn’t, he’d never let her sleep, and they both needed to.
The events of the last couple of days plagued him. At the end of every mission, the team held a hotwash. The immediate after-action discussions and evaluations every member of the team participated in allowed Monk to let go of everything that had happened over the course of the op, whether it had been a matter of days or months. His guess was that many of the other partners felt the same way he did. However, with Razor being shot and almost dying, the hotwash hadn’t happened.
On this particular mission, the op involved rescuing Ava from the kidnappers that had knocked Monk out at the fishing cabin, and then assassinating the ringleader.
While Ava had been successfully extracted, along with the three other girls who were being held, Makar Petrov, the assassination target, had gotten away. That meant the threat against Ava hadn’t been neutralized; it had been fueled.
Sometime in the next few days, he anticipated a meeting being called during which the team would reconvene to take Petrov down.
With that thought, Monk let his eyes drift closed.
WHEN THE SUN CAME UP, he woke Saylor with his body.
“Am I dreaming?” she asked between sweet mewls of pleasure.
He took her
softly, knowing she’d be sore from the night before. She accepted it and let his body love hers.
He held her afterwards, and she drifted back to sleep. When he heard room service knock, he eased her off of him, pulled on his jeans, and padded to the door.
When he wheeled the cart next to where she lay, Saylor stretched her arms over her head and smiled. “Breakfast in bed? I like it.”
“You’ll want to get back to the hospital. This will make it easier.”
“You’re very considerate, Monk.”
He smiled and handed her a fork.
“What?” she asked.
“I’ve been accused of being pragmatic more than considerate.”
Saylor took a bite of fruit. “You’re both.”
6
“They’re moving you to a regular room, Bro,” said Saylor, happy to find Razor sitting up and looking more like himself. “The doc said you’re a damn superhero.”
“I’ve been telling you that since we were kids.”
Saylor slugged him and then sat in the chair by his bed. “How’s Ava?”
“Fragile.”
“Understandably.”
