Fully Engaged (Wingmen Warriors 12)

Rick tucked her head against his chest, under his chin and held her tight. “Can do.”

Her arms slid around his waist and held so tight it damn near broke his heart. “I had stage two cancer. It hadn’t moved to the lymph nodes, which was a blessing, but the tumor was so large and aggressive I needed both radiation and chemotherapy.”

Nola plucked at one of the curls teasing around her ear. “The curls are new. They came when my hair grew back.”

The thought of her going through all of that alone was more than he could take. He smoothed a hand over those new curls of hers and wished he could have cupped her head when she’d lost her straighter hair and told her she was beautiful then, too.

“Rick, if we’re still going to get n**ed together, I should probably prepare you. The doctors did reconstruction called a tram flap where they take tissue from my stomach to rebuild the breast. They also rebuilt the nipple and tattooed a simulated areola, but it doesn’t look the same. There are scars that run—”

He tipped her face up to his and brushed her mouth with his. “Nola.”

“Yes?”

“You’re not going to scare me off.”

“What makes you think I’m—” Her voice faltered. “Damn, you’re too smart. Yeah, if I frighten you away then I don’t have to do this thing that’s scaring me.”

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, but I promise you, you could never be anything but beautiful to me. I have many flaws, but I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

And he would make sure he gave her everything he could. He needed to be that man for her tonight. Because all doubts aside, they were going to make love.

Rick hefted her off his lap and set her beside him. He reached over to click on the bedside lamp, the light casting a hazy, but unmistakable glow over the room. Then he swept aside the covers, his running shorts leaving his ankle on display. His scars on display. A crisscross of red, corded lines from when he’d first stepped through the soggy, rotten wood.

“So, lady, what do ya say—I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours?”

Show hers?

Nola struggled not to bolt off the bed at Rick’s proposition. The words most definitely would have sent her running for the hills just yesterday. But somehow, Rick had injected just the right amount of humor blended with the reality and yes, even his own vulnerability by showing his scarred leg first.

She’d been so certain five years ago she needed health and vitality and yet he seemed no less vital now. In fact, seemed stronger somehow for having overcome so much.

And hey, wasn’t that a revelation for herself?

If she believed that for him, then she deserved to take ownership of the same for herself. Strength from survival.

Her chin went up as her hands traveled to the hem of her tank top, peeling it over her head until she wore only her second tank with spaghetti straps and a built-in bra.

She’d opted for smaller br**sts during the reconstruction, easier to feel for recurring lumps. That involved reduction on her unaffected breast. And yes, maybe she’d also wanted to make sure any future guy who expressed a physical interest wasn’t a “breast man.” Lord, she was a mess.

Just get it over with. Her trembling hands went back to the hem…

Rick’s hands covered hers. “Hold on. This isn’t a race.”

“Okay. I understand. All right.” She exhaled a mega sigh of relief. “Wait. No, I don’t get it.”

“We forgot something important here in the need to put the cards on the table, so to speak.”

She waited, fingers twisting in the hem of her pink ribbed tank, nerves making her even edgier than the bout of lust she’d been battling all evening. “What might that be?”

“Foreplay.”

“Foreplay.” She shivered in anticipation—and remembrance of their last time together. The fella was good at the foreplay. Lucky her. Lucky them. “I guess it’s been so long I forgot about that.”

“I never forget about that.”

“Oh.” She grinned weakly. Trust was more difficult that she’d expected.

“Yeah. Oh. Hopefully there will be some ohs, too.”