21 Marine Salute: 21 Always a Marine Tales (33 page)

His relief at that statement was short-lived.

“Now, that said, do not expect that I will be a stranger or that I won’t be watching the two of you. She needs proper care, rest, and to get out of that wheelchair before it sucks the soul right out of her. You will look after
her
needs and not your own.”

Zach nodded once. He agreed with that assessment. Logan nodded, too. It seemed they were on the same page.

“As far as I know, the doctors have not cleared her for sex. So no taking turns and absolutely no ménage shenanigans until her doctors give the okay.”

Yeah, that’s not uncomfortable
. Zach cleared his throat. From the corner of his vision, he glimpsed Logan’s half-grin. The man possessed a warped sense of humor.

“Are we clear?”

“Crystal.” Zach hoped his face wasn’t as red as it felt. Talking to her mother about sex, much less their
ménage shenanigans
was not high on his list of dinner topics, much less standing in the middle of a hospital hallway conversation.

“Elizabeth, we’re one hundred and ten percent behind her recovery. We won’t do anything to impede that. I give you my word.” Logan extended his right hand and Elizabeth shook it, but Logan didn’t let it go immediately. “You won’t have anything to worry about.”

Mrs. Winters smiled and patted his scarred cheek with maternal affection. “You’re a sweet boy, Logan. But don’t try to shovel horseshit at me. You’re all Marines. My daughter wouldn’t know how to take it easy if it kidnapped her with furred handcuffs and hot chocolate. But I will be watching—both of you.” She glanced from Logan to Zach, including him in the warning. “Don’t screw this up.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Logan released her hand, and Zach fought the urge to salute. Civilian or not, Elizabeth Winters understood a lot more than he’d given her credit for.

“Good luck, boys.” The older woman adjusted the strap of her purse, and as she walked away, Zach swore she added, “You’re going to need it.”

He waited until she was down the hall and out of their direct line of sight. “Wow.”

“No kidding.” Logan laughed and pushed his way into the hospital room, Zach hot on his heels. Jazz stared at them moodily from the wheelchair. “Hey, sweetheart, you ready to get the hell out of here?”

“Yeah.” She reached down and popped the lock on the chair’s wheels. “But maybe my mother’s right, maybe, I shouldn’t impose on the two of you.”

“What?” Zach skidded to a halt. “How are you imposing?”

“You’ve both got lives, jobs, responsibilities, and currently I’m a full-time job.” The depression leaked into the open spaces between the words, no matter how strong her voice sounded.

“Correction, we
all
have lives. You’re the prettiest and most interesting part of ours, so it’s hardly an imposition.” Logan glanced around the room. “Anything we forgot that you’re going to need?”

“No.” The word rode out on a long sigh. “Apparently I didn’t pack much before I came home.” The black humor did little to alleviate the doldrums in her voice. “Roxy boxed up my stuff, but it’s probably headed back to the Navy Yard.” Her home base before she went overseas.

“We can get it.” Zach had connections. Connections he used to get information on her and to smooth the transfer of her care to Mike’s Place rather than Bethesda or any other Naval hospital.

“It’s not important.” She waved off the offer. “Are we driving or walking?”

“Walking.” Logan studied her with a frown. “We thought you’d enjoy being outside for a bit before the apartment.”

“Excellent.” She didn’t wait for either of them before getting her chair going. In the last week, she’d started fighting against anyone pushing her chair. It killed Zach to watch the strain on her face. He stepped forward, but Logan’s warning look stayed his hands. She needed her independence.

They fell into step on either side of her as she worked her way up the long hall toward the doors. The staff lined the hall. One by one they began applauding until the hallway echoed with their cheers. Jazz kept rolling, her attention fixed on the door, but there was the barest smile on her face. Even the patients in the rooms they passed added to the applause.

“Oorah, Gunny!”

Jazz paused to look sideways at the Marine sitting in his own wheelchair inside the room. His right leg was gone from the knee down. “Oorah, Marine. Don’t get lazy because I’m out of here.”

“Yes, sir.” The Marine saluted, a salute she returned. The moodiness evaporated from her expression, replaced by pride.

Sucking in a quiet breath, she got the chair going again. Out in the sunshine, she squinted. “I don’t suppose anyone brought sunglasses this time?”

Zach tugged his own out of his pocket and pressed them into her hands. She slid them into place and then touched the bandages on her head with a grimace.

“I should have my cover.”

“When the bandages come off.” Logan squeezed her shoulder.

“I can be Frankenstein’s Marine.” The humor was more bleak than black.

Zach’s frown deepened. Maybe they should take her over to see James right then rather than head back to the apartment. He cut a look at Logan, but his friend walked with his gaze straight. The stiffness in his gait reminded him of Logan’s own continued recovery.

“The apartment is two klicks.”

“Got it.” Jazz nodded, her expression grim, but determined. Two klicks could be covered in nine minutes at a decent pace.

Zach’s palms itched to take control of the wheelchair, but he fought the urge to reach for it. As though reading his mind, Logan gave him a nod. The hardass may have wanted her to do it, but it wasn’t as easy to watch her exertions, particularly when the path began a slight incline.

Thirty minutes later, they arrived at their second-floor apartment. When Jazz stared at the steps, Logan and Zach each took a side of the chair and hoisted it, carrying it up and into the landing.

“Your first appointment with James is in a little over an hour. Do you want to grab a shower?” Logan unlocked the door and she relinquished control of the wheels long enough to let them guide the wheelchair inside. Maybe they should have requested a ground floor place. But he and Logan both liked the extension that put them on the corner with no one living below.

“Would love one, but I can’t get the bandages wet.” She motioned to the white linen wrapped tightly around her head.

“That’s why God invented the PX and shower caps.” He’d already cleaned the store out so they had plenty for cover along with feminine products and three different kinds of soap. He’d bought shampoo, too, but Logan grabbed it out of the bag and hid it in the kitchen.

Her expression froze. “Seriously?”

Logan picked up her bag from by the door where they’d delivered it earlier. Clean uniforms, workout gear, and some casual items her mom delivered to the hospital. “Yep. You can’t stand, we know that. But one of us can take a shower with you and keep you on your feet. We have to go slow, no more than ten minutes. But that’s long enough to shower. Sponge baths suck.”

“Then, hell yes, I want to shower.” For the first time that day, she sounded like herself.

Zach grinned. He’d fought against the idea, but Logan was right. A shower was a luxury people forgot until they weren’t allowed to take one. Long patrols were like that—spot washes and dry shampoo.

“Who…?” She lifted her gaze, meeting each of theirs for the first time since they arrived at the apartment.

“Zach won that coin toss. I’m getting the grub ready. Shower, some food, and then we’ll head over to see James.” Logan’s easy tone carried no hint of jealousy or envy. Zach wasn’t sure he would have felt the same way. On the other hand, knowing the way Logan liked to push, they’d probably end up having sex in the shower. His cock stirred at the idea, and he tamped down the urge. He’d kept that need under rigid control. She needed his support, his care, and his attention—not his lust.

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.

But that wasn’t happening.

So she nodded and refused to look as he helped her unbutton the uniform.

Zach’s arm locked around her midsection, holding her upright and supported against him. The first spray of the overhead jets striking her skin stung. The warm water didn’t hurt, but it almost seemed her skin was too tight, too new, too unused to the way the water hit it to be comfortable.

“Too hot? Too cold?” His breath tickled her ear and his body pressed intimately against her, her back to his chest, his hips to her bottom. The weight of his cock prodding her lightly surprised her, but she couldn’t quite grasp all the sensory data assaulting her. The water drowned it out—like static noise of the flesh.

“It’s fine.” She raised her hand, forcing it up the shower stream so the water pounded against her hand and washed down her arm. She fumbled for the words to describe it. “I want to put my face in.”

Obeying the request, Zach’s hand flattened against her belly, and he nudged her legs with his. The half-slide, half-pushed step forward shoved her into the waterfall. The water sluiced over her face and she closed her eyes. It reminded her of rain. Lifting her chin, she pushed her face further into the downpour. It stroked her eyelids, smoothed over her cheeks, and trickled down her neck.

Laughter quivered in her belly and rolled up. The elated sound echoed against the tiled walls. Zach eased her backward from the overflow. She wanted to lock her legs, to resist, but her muscles didn’t obey her. The left leg did, but the right leg didn’t. Her knees were rubbery, and the world rolled from side to side as though she rode the tilt-a-whirl.