“You go. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Okay,” she said, but she didn’t move. Couldn’t move. She had a memory of watching him stare out the window, of feeling his inner turmoil well in the air around him.
Only this was worse. More acute. Something was very wrong.
“Blake, you must be tired after that drive. Go back to the apartment and sleep.”
He shook his head. “No, I’m fine. I want to be here for you.”
Though he must be tired, she doubted that was the real problem. She stepped closer, noticing the light sheen of sweat on his forehead. The stubble on his jaw simply made him more handsome, but the shadows under his eyes gave him a vaguely haunted look.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered.
He waved dismissively. “It’s nothing. Just…hospitals. They have this effect on me. I’ll get over it in a minute. You can go in to your mother. I’ll join you soon.”
Her heart sank. He must have had horrible memories from hospitals.
Once, very briefly, he’d explained some of the treatment he’d gone through after the explosion. The skin grafts and reconstruction. Weeks in an enemy torture chamber and then months under a doctor’s scalpel. God.
Grief squeezed her lungs. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry you even had to see me like this. That’s why I came out here. It doesn’t mean anything. It will be over soon.”
“You shouldn’t have to go through it alone,” she said softly. She couldn’t take away his waking nightmares, but she could hold his hand.
Turning away, he muttered, “Go.”
“I can’t do that.”
Taking his hand, she led him into the small linen closet and shut the door.
“We shouldn’t be here,” he said as he leaned against the wall.
Clearly he’d been holding it together for her sake, and for the sake of anyone watching. Even she felt relieved to see him relaxed, so she could only imagine his discomfort. Easing him, even for a moment, was well worth the risk of discovery.
He stared at her through lowered lids. “What now?”
The challenge in his voice raised her chin.
He wanted to push her away, she could tell, but he wouldn’t. He was incapable of leaving her any more than she could leave him. She brushed his lips with hers, enjoying the way he released a pent-up breath. The way she absorbed even small fractions of his stress into her body, giving him relief, easing him in the only way she could.
She feathered light kisses from one corner of his mouth to the other before he caught her bottom lip between his teeth. He tugged her, tilting her off-balance. She fell into him, but he was prepared; he caught her. He slipped his tongue into her mouth and took over the kiss, deepening it, alighting her with dormant arousal.
The thickness against her belly reminded her that it had been weeks since they’d made love. They would have today, if this hadn’t happened. No doubt they would have been ensconced in his bedroom, lounging on his bed, starving but with no desire to make the trek downstairs for food.
She put her hand to the ridge in his jeans, rubbing firmly. He sucked in a breath.
“What are you doing?”
She smiled against his mouth. “Giving you a new memory in a hospital.”
With long, even strokes, she worked him through the denim. A slight flush of arousal crept up his neck. Between the time apart and his emotional upheaval a few minutes ago, he was already at the edge, releasing soft grunts on every slide of her palm.
She squeezed softly, enjoying the way his eyes had gone from tormented to a very different sort of anguish. Her hand sped up until he was panting against her collarbone, his hips rocking gently into her hand.
“Erin, baby. You have to stop.”
“I know. You’re right.”