Bad Boy Soldier (Bad Boy 3)

Then I left and took the service elevator to the loading dock where James waited, the rear passenger door open.

I had a nice visit with Graham, and got an update on how his physio was going, how long he might have to stay in rehab.

He was now on the rehab ward and was getting help from

occupational therapists with looking after himself, doing basic things like going to the toilet himself and brushing his teeth.

Everything was hard for him, and I felt sick watching how much his independence had been reduced. The doctor said he would be like that for weeks until they could get him walking again when the cast was off his leg and the broken bone had healed.

"I talked to Mom," he said and then filled me in on his call with her. "They'll be home tomorrow," he said and handed me his cell, which was open to an email from Spencer.

"I was enjoying his absence," I said ruefully. "I hope Mom had a good time."

"She sounded good," Graham said. "Refreshed. The trip was on her bucket list, so she's really happy they went."

I checked my watch. "Well, I have to go," I said and leaned over to kiss Graham's cheek and give his good arm a squeeze. "I'll be back tomorrow for another visit."

"Bring your lunch or stay and have dinner with me," he said hopefully. "I get pretty damn lonely."

"I will," I said.

I left him, walking through the maze of hallways to the front entrance where James waited with the SUV. As we drove through the darkened streets of Boston, I stared numbly out the window at the passing city lights, wondering what Hunter would make me do to service his needs.

I hated myself for being so aroused at the thought of servicing his needs…

Once back at the safe house, I entered the apartment and removed my coat. Hunter was sprawling on one of the sofas watching news, remote in hand.

I went over to the kitchen, feeling suddenly awkward, and saw that, as he promised, Hunter had removed our glasses and plates and had put them into the dishwasher. I stood at the island counter and watched the city lights outside the huge window, wondering what Hunter would do and when he would make his move.

"There you are," Hunter said and came into the kitchen. He stood directly behind me, his body touching mine. There was no doubt what he had in mind when he corralled me against the counter, one arm on either side of me.

He pulled my hair to one side and kissed my neck, his lips warm against my skin. He moved his mouth higher, pressing it against my jaw and then my cheek when I turned my head to the side. His hands gripped my shoulders, pulling me against him so I could feel his erection pressing against my butt.

My body responded but my mind was surprisingly resistant. I could have just melted into his arms, because there was no doubt I was aroused. For some reason—maybe having to do with self-esteem—I couldn't allow myself to just go along with him. I couldn’t allow myself to respond even though I could feel my flesh throb in response to his touch.

I stiffened, turning my head the other way, running the water in the island sink and making a show of washing a pot off before sliding beside Hunter and placing it in the dishwasher.

Hunter didn't say anything, but he did stand back a few feet and watched me. I kept up the façade of cleaning up and he watched.

"So that's how it's going to be, is it?" he said, his voice low.

"Isn't this my job?" I said a bit too tartly. "I clean up, run your bath, wash your back, take care of your needs? You own me, after all."

When he didn't respond, I turned to see his expression and found him leaning against the counter, his arms crossed. He was wearing a black cashmere sweater with a V-neck, the fabric molding to his body, showing his very well-developed muscles, his wide bulky shoulders and his bulging biceps. His black jeans hung low on his narrow hips, a thick black belt with a big buckle over a nicely bulging package. He was watching me from under a frown, his head bowed, his blue blue eyes intense, his longish hair falling on his cheeks in a very sexy way.

What was wrong with me? Why was I resisting?

The man was gorgeous. He was also clearly not happy with my lack of response to him.

"What?" I said, seeing his disapproving expression. "You're not happy that I'm cleaning your kitchen? You want me down on my knees?"

He glanced away and I saw a muscle twitch in his too-square jaw, which was covered with just the right amount of scruff.

Damn him! Why did I still want him so much despite everything?

"You know what?" he said finally, his voice sounding weary. "Fuck it." He left the kitchen area and started walking to the door. I kicked myself mentally. I didn’t necessarily want him to leave, but I also didn't want this arrangement to keep on the way it was.

Then he turned suddenly and came back, pressing me against the island before I could respond. He kissed me, one hand behind my head so I couldn't escape. The kiss was passionate, rough, his mouth devouring mine, his tongue finding mine. With the other hand, he squeezed my breast, his thumb unerringly finding my nipple through the fabric of my t-shirt.