AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Warm… welcoming,” Lauren admitted. Aching for his nearness, she wished mightily she could lean into Alex and really be held. Damn her healing ribs.
“Would you like a tour? Or would you like to go lay down, Lauren?”
“I need to sleep, Alex…”
“I thought so. Come, down this hall,” and he gestured toward it. “I am giving you the master bedroom,” he added.
“I don’t need it,” she protested, giving him a stricken look. “I don’t want to kick you out of your own bed, Alex.”
He gave her a very male smile. “Malen ‘kaya, I will be sharing that bedroom with you. Unless, of course you do not want me there?” he teased, kissing her brow.
“But… my ribs… you said I wouldn’t be able to sleep next to you for three weeks.”
“I lied.”
She grinned and shook her head, seeing merriment dancing in his eyes. “Don’t you feel bad?”
“No.” And then, as they continued their slow walk toward his bedroom, Alex said seriously, “we can try it tonight. Some people’s ribs heal faster than others. If you are not wrapped in pain when I dip the mattress to come and lay a foot away from you, then you know it will be okay. It is a king-sized bed, plenty of room for both of us. I can be nearby.”
Lauren felt a little of her inner tension begin to dissolve. “Let’s try it. I’m ready.”
So was he.
It was nearly eight p.m. when Lauren awoke from her nap in Alex’s bed. He had lain beside her, but at a distance, so as not to curve the mattress and put pressure on her healing ribs. Lauren felt more rested than she could ever remember. She heard soft classical music drifting down the hallway through the partially-open door. Inhaling, she swore she smelled baking bread. The hint of cinnamon was in the air, too. It all smelled so good. Peace. That is what she felt here, in his home, in his bed. She closed her eyes, her heart blossoming and a desperate ache filling her. What would it be like to be really held by Alex? She heard him padding down the hallway. When he poked his head around the door, she muttered, “I’m awake.”
“I thought so,” he said. “May I come in?”
“Sure,” she murmured sleepily. Lauren had found ways to push herself up into a sitting position. Her ribs were cranky, but the jagged pain was no longer there. This aggravation she could bear without a problem. She watched as Alex entered. He had a plate in one hand and was smiling.
“What’s that?” Lauren asked, watching him come around the huge bed.
“Cinnamon rolls.” He carefully sat down, far enough away from her that the bed wouldn’t suddenly dip precariously. Holding the plate out to her, he said, “I like to bake and cook. Have one. My Grandmother taught me how to make them. There are walnuts, raisins and bits of orange peel in them.”
They smelled heavenly, those four huge cinnamon rolls slathered with white sour cream frosting, steam rising from them. “Mmmm, they do smell good,” Lauren agreed.
“Fork?”
She took it. “Thanks.”
Alex watched Lauren’s thick hair move beneath the low light from the hall. It was dusk, the last of a pink and lavender-tinged sunset visible through the large window at one end of the room. He watched her pick delicately at the roll with the fork. Her right hand was now without the cast, but her healing fingers were still stiff and not always working as well as she wanted. She would be going to physical therapy shortly, to help regain full use of them once again. The physician at the Naval hospital in San Diego had confirmed that she had had a pistol shot out of her right hand, and that had caused all the damage and fractures. He had told her that she was lucky that some of her fingers hadn’t been shot off in the melee… that she was very lucky. Lauren still couldn’t recall the firefight in its entirety, but Nik had told the doctor that she’d had her pistol in her right hand when one of the Russians had shot at her, striking her gun.
“Here,” Alex murmured, tearing off a small bit from another roll. He blew on it for a moment and then placed it near her lips. “Try this?”
Lauren opened her mouth and took the warm morsel. She closed her eyes, savoring the spices and the sweetness. “Mmmmm, you are hired,” she whispered, chewing and swallowing it.
“More?”
She nodded, placing the fork on the plate. “I like you feeding me.” She saw tenderness come into his gaze as he placed a second bit of roll between her lips. “There are many ways to love your woman,” he told her thickly. “It is not always about sex. It is about cherishing her in many ways, small ways, every day…”
A keen desire to be held by him moved through her. Lauren knew then that she was still alive. That nearly dying hadn’t deadened her everywhere else. It was a sudden revelation and an utter relief. “I’d like some more. Please?” She saw his eyes glint with happiness. Lauren’s heart expanded wildly with love for Alex. He held her gaze, so calm, strong and quiet. She accepted the tidbit. Swallowing it, she whispered, “When I opened my eyes and saw you after… after… I almost died out there in the jungle…”
Alex hesitated. He knew survivors of trauma could suddenly drop into a past recall like this, the polite and previous topics of conversation erased. She was back in the firefight. This was one of those times.
The silence filled the space between them, but it wasn’t awkward, just searching. He saw the struggle in her expression, the anxiety and terror come to her eyes. “What are you feeling,malen ‘kaya?”
“I don’t know how to say this, Alex,” she began haltingly. “I’ve just realized how much of life I have missed… I’ve been living in a very small space within it. I laid out there on the ground after being shot… gasping for air, knowing that I was going to die… that I’ve never known love… but, whatever these feelings are in my heart for you, they’re real and they’re new to me.” She barely had the courage to look up at him, afraid of what he might say, how he might react or judge her.
He gave her a tender look. “Sometimes,” he sighed quietly, reaching out and touching her left hand, “it takes a trauma to break an older, usually worse trauma. Or, as my wise mother told me, a person had to have a breakdown so that they could have a breakthrough and get on with healing themself from the inside out. She called them inner wounds, and she was right.”
