The Dangerous Jacob Wilde

Slowly, with what he hoped was an elaborate show of disinterest, he glanced over his shoulder.

His pulse jumped.

She was. Watching him. Not with curiosity. Not with disgust.

With interest.

And she was alone.

Not in the sense that she was here by herself, though he was sure she was. What man would bring a woman who looked like this to a party and walk away from her?

What he meant was that she was alone in the full sense of the word, separate and apart from everyone and everything….

Except him.

He felt the sudden leap of his blood. And, once again, that urgent pull of desire.

Which was crazy.

Now? he thought. In a room full of people? His long-dormant libido was going to kick in and—holy hell—kick in and add a boner to the fright mask that already made him a standout in the crowd?

God knew, he’d tried to get a rise out of himself—no pun intended—once his wounds had healed.

And fright mask or not, there’d been women who’d made it clear they’d have enjoyed his attention. Nurses. Therapists. A couple of pretty MDs. He had no idea whether it was out of pity or curiosity, or if, as one woman had whispered, that eye patch made him look hot….

The thing was, women had shown interest.

His reaction?

Nothing.

He might as well have been a monk. No erections, no steamy thoughts, not even an X-rated dream.

A few weeks ago, one of his doctors—the Shrink of the Month, was how Jake thought of it—had apparently figured out that he wasn’t fully back in the land of the living.

“So, how’s sex?” the shrink had suddenly asked.

Jake had given the kind of answer he’d hoped would end the discussion.

“Hey, Doc,” he’d said with what he’d hoped was a careless grin, “you’re over twenty-one. Find out for yourself.”

His pathetic attempt at humor hadn’t worked.

“Takes time for everything to function again,” the doc had said. “Not just physically. Emotionally. Trauma takes a toll, Captain, but you’re young. You’re healthy. Give yourself time and, you’ll see, your sex drive will return.”

“Sure,” Jake had said.

But it hadn’t.

Maybe he’d had too many other things to think about. What to do about his future. What to do about his past. How to get through the long days and longer nights.

Whatever the reason, sex—for a man who’d always had his pick of beautiful women—had suddenly become unimportant.

Desire, lust, call it what you liked, had not returned. He hadn’t been with a woman since he’d been wounded, hadn’t wanted to be with one….

Until now.

He took a deep breath. Told himself to look away from the brunette with the silver eyes, but he couldn’t.