Not yet anyway.
“Do you mind a lift back to the shower to save some time?” Zach itched to get his hands on her, to hold her. Stripping her down for the shower would be torture, but the kind of torture he relished. He wanted a good look at the damage.
She hesitated briefly and finally nodded. “Probably not a bad idea. Not sure the wheels will like the carpet.”
He winced inwardly. They needed to get some plastic desk mats and lay them down to create a better surface for the wheels. He shared a look with Logan. They’d get it taken care of. With as much care as he could manage, Zach scooped her out of the chair and cradled her close. The antiseptic smell of the hospital didn’t disguise the distinctly feminine scent of her—it wasn’t perfume or lotion, just Jazz. Her arms wrapped around his neck. Relief suckerpunched him. She was in his arms.
Finally.
All Marine. All woman. All theirs.
***
The rich patchouli she associated with Zach filled her nose as he lifted her from the chair. He’d been so damn stingy with his touches, holding her hand or caressing her cheek, but refusing to touch her otherwise. Resentment flared when he made the offer to carry her to the shower, but the fact that he had to touch her to carry her beat back the annoyance.
Logan waved them off. “Ten minutes and we’ll have burgers ready to go.”
“Got it!” Zach pivoted and marched down the hallway. They passed two open doors—the guy’s bedrooms, which on passing glance seemed to be carbon copies of each other right down to the made beds with their tight folds and tucked in sheets. The last door at the end of the hallway opened into a larger room. Like the two they passed, it was decorated with minimal frill.
But the bed was larger.
A lot larger.
A thrill skated from her belly up to her nipples and down again. Zach didn’t even look at the bed, unfortunately. He carried her through into the bathroom and settled her down on the closed toilet lid. “Need the facilities before we start?”
“No, I don’t want to—” The sentence cut off as she stared at the mirror over the sink on the opposite wall. Her heart sank. The woman staring back at her wasn’t her. It couldn’t be. Her face was nearly ashen, the tan buried under paleness. Her eyes were too large for her face, smudged with black shadows beneath them. Her hair was gone, replaced by the white bandages like a skullcap.
The room shrank around her and as hard as she tried to peel her attention away from the mirror, she couldn’t help staring. She hadn’t seen herself, not in all the weeks in the hospital. She’d been limited to bed pans and sponge baths with the occasional trip to the bathroom. The tiny mirror in that room was never her focus.
“Hey.” Zach squatted down in front of her. He caught her face in his hands and turned her to face him. “Look at me.”
“Who is that?” She tugged her gaze away, she didn’t want to see herself in the mirror, but it was as though she couldn’t stop.
“That’s my beautiful Marine who walked into hell and back out again. Show her some respect.” His hands tightened on her cheeks, and she obeyed him this time. His bright blue eyes shone with conviction.
“Zach, I’m not beautiful. Not even close.” She’d never really given a damn about being beautiful or even being girly. She was a damn good Marine—or she had been. Before. What the hell am I now?
“Yes, you are.” He punctuated the sentence by slanting his mouth over hers. She froze under the kiss, but he didn’t let her pull away. He teased the seam of her lips with his tongue until they parted. The slow, sweet invasion derailed her self-pity. The taste of him rolled over her. The gentle caress of his fingers against her face sent electricity zinging through her. She gripped his shirt, half to push him away, half to pull him closer and slid forward on the seat.
He nibbled at her lower lip, grazing it with his teeth and slowly broke the contact. Forehead resting lightly against his, she stared into his eyes. He was so damn pretty it hurt to look at him. The blond hair, tan skin, chiseled features, and sexy-as-sin grin belonged on a magazine cover or a surfer, not a Marine. He was almost too good-looking to be a Marine.
He was kind, generous to a fault, and funny as hell. Her heart squeezed.
“We’re getting naked and we’re taking a shower now. You okay with that?”
No, she wasn’t okay with that. She didn’t want him to look at the horror show that made up the stranger-in-the-mirror’s body. She didn’t want to shower. She wanted to go back to Las Vegas—to be the woman strutting down the hallway and into the hotel room with the sexiest pair of Marines she’d ever had the pleasure to meet.