Taking Heart (11 page)

Gage narrowed his eyes. “Her what?”

“She had PTSD, or
has
it. I guess you never really get rid of it. This guy attacked her.”

“The stalker ex?”

“Yeah.” Dylan shook his head and ran a hand over the top, his short hair rasping in the quiet of the evening. “She has enough to deal with on her own.”

“So, you're going to play hero for her and then, what, abandon her?” Gage crossed his arms and put his feet up on the wicker ottoman. “You're a real knight in shining armor, aren't you?”

“It's not like that, Gage.”

“Then, please, explain it to me, because it looks like she's falling for you and you've already fallen for her—hard—but you're too guilt-ridden to even take a chance that she might
want
someone like you. Did you ever stop to think that maybe she's looking for someone who can understand how she feels? Someone who understands the fear and trials and complications that come with PTSD?”

“Gage,” he began to argue.

“Don't argue, Dylan, because, let's face it, you really can't. You haven't even given her a chance to let you know what she wants. You've barely been here a few days, and you have no idea how much better you seem. You said yourself, you didn't even have an episode last night. You've had one—
one
—episode in three days, and you haven't needed one sleeping pill. No one else has been able to do that for you in the past year.”

Gage rose from the chair and laughed as he looked toward Julia, who stood with the dogs, watching their exchange, her brow creased as if she was concerned for Dylan. “The dog might have helped, but I think it's the other blonde over there who has you improving. Quit wasting the opportunity right in front of you, and be happy.”

J
ULIA LAY IN
her bed, wrapping her arms around her pillow, but it just wasn't the same. She missed Dylan. Telling him about her relationship and the extent of the attack had been emotionally draining, more than any night since she'd rescued Tango from the shelter and brought the mangy beast home, but even cuddling with him didn't compare to being held by Dylan. The heat of his body beneath her cheek, the way his arms broke out in goosebumps when her palms ran over his skin, the way his kiss ignited a fire that started from her cheeks and pooled in every crevice all the way to her toes.

After spending so much time alone, three additional people in the house this evening made for a crowd rather than company. They worked Roscoe in the obstacle course and she'd begun teaching Dylan a few new commands he would need after returning home, but the additional eyes made her nervous. The mere thought of Dylan leaving was enough to freeze the breath in her lungs. She didn't want him to go, but she couldn't ask him to stay. They barely knew each other, yet they seemed to know everything they needed to. He understood her like no one else. Not even her therapist had been able to read her moods the way Dylan did.

Tango nudged her hand for attention and she smiled. Dylan was a lot like the animal she adored—athletic and brutish at times, but tender and protective with her. They had connected on an instinctive level, and while she couldn't explain it, she couldn't ignore the pull. She punched a fist into the pillow and flopped to her other side, staring at the door, willing him to knock, to come inside . . . something. But the house remained quiet.

Dylan and Gage had checked all the doors, windows, and locks before everyone headed to the spare rooms she usually kept for guests. She kicked one foot free of the blankets, trying to get comfortable. Tango sighed and shot her an annoyed glance, one doggy brow lifting.

“What?” she asked the Great Dane. He simply sighed in response. “Oh, fine. I'm sorry I'm disturbing you.”

Julia tossed the blankets back. She might as well get a book or something since she wouldn't be sleeping tonight. She adjusted the waistband of her light flannel pajama bottoms and shook her finger at the dog. “You just remember that the next time I stay up with you when you get a bellyache from sneaking a whole jar of peanut butter.”

Tango sighed again but climbed off the bed, ready to follow her into the living room. Julia opened the door and stopped short as a massive, dark chest blocked her path. She yelped and her gaze locked on pectorals that would make a fitness model jealous and caused her mouth to water. She could see the dark shadows playing over the ridges of his abs and wanted to let her fingers follow her gaze. Instead, she lifted her chin, slowly, enjoying every second, every inch, as she looked him over.

“Julia, did I wake you?”

It was as if her mind had conjured his presence. The sleepy rasp of his voice did her in. She couldn't stop herself if she had wanted to, which she had absolutely no inclination to do. Her hands slid over his shoulders, and she wound her fingers over the back of his head, dragging him down to her. She molded her lips against his. It wasn't the sweet, seductive caresses they had shared up to this point. This kiss was filled with need, hunger, and a desire restrained too long. Dylan's arms circled her waist, lifting her from the floor and carrying her back into her room.

Julia pushed the door shut with her foot just as Roscoe scooted into the room. She let Dylan move her backward toward the bed. It was exactly what she intended, and she was grateful he could read her mind without needing to speak a word. He set her on the bed and reached for her, his massive hands cupped her cheeks gently, and he took a step away from her. She gasped for breath as he withdrew, her fingers clinging to his muscular forearms.

“Dylan?”

He shook his head and avoided looking at her. “This wasn't what I intended, Julia. I was just checking on you.”

She gave him a wicked smile. “You might want to keep checking then.”

He groaned under his breath and slid his hands to her upper arms, putting her a few inches farther from him. “You're killing me.” He stared at the floor.

“Dylan, look at me.”

All jokes were forgotten when he glanced up at her through his thick, dark lashes. His gaze wasn't his usual tender caress, rich and warm. It was hot, hungry, and erotically aroused. A jolt of desire shot to her core, heating her with electric need. She wanted this man, and she wanted him to want her.

Not love. She knew she wasn't ready for that any more than he was. They were both too broken for love. But the need—to touch, to taste, to be filled with something besides the lonely emptiness. She needed to know someone understood.

“I need to go.” Dylan let go of her arms and turned to leave the room.

“Dylan.” She grasped his wrist. She had no idea what she'd been about to say, but it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was that the sudden loneliness she saw in his eyes faded. When he turned back to her, it was replaced by yearning. “Don't go,” she whispered.

“If I don't—” She could hear the agonized restraint in his voice.

“I know.” She moved between him and the door. Her hand slid over his chest to his neck. “I want you to stay.”

“I can't stay.” She could hear the tortured anguish and felt rejection rip into her.

D
EAR
G
OD, DID
she realize what she was doing to him? Every inch of his body seemed engulfed in flames. He clenched his fists at his sides, even as she held his wrist lightly in her fingers. It was taking every bit of self-restraint he had not to throw her onto the bed and ravish her. He'd been fantasizing about this moment since they'd driven up to see her waiting on the porch. But that had been purely physical.

Since then, Julia had reached into his chest and taken hold of his heart. He wanted to protect her, to make her smile, to be the one to show her how a real man loved and not just physically. But, if he let himself open up to her, she was bound to be hurt. He couldn't hold himself together. His episodes would return, and he was bound to fail her the way he had his brothers in Afghanistan. He'd promised her that he wouldn't hurt her, and he meant to keep that promise.

“I can't stay,” he repeated, this time with more resolve behind the words. He wanted to kiss her again but knew if he did, he was lost. “I made you a promise, and the only way for me to keep it is to leave. Now.” He headed for the door. He had to get out as quickly as he could.

He wasn't sure what had even possessed him to go to her door. He'd been lying in bed, unable to sleep because the thoughts of her down the hall had kept him tossing and turning. When he convinced himself he'd heard a noise, he used it as an excuse to walk by her room, listening for any sound to indicate she was awake inside. He'd been about to return to his room when she'd opened the door and run into him.

“You
are
hurting me, Dylan. Can't you see that?” He froze midstep, unable to face her. He heard the catch in her voice and knew if he saw the emotion in her face, he'd be finished. He couldn't tell her no again. He needed her too much. “Every time you pull me close then push me away again hurts. I can't keep doing this. I'm broken enough; I don't need you to crush the shards that are left.”

The torment he heard pricked his conscience. He wanted to be the honorable man he used to be, he wanted to be the impenetrable man he'd once been, but her words sliced into him, cutting him to the core. She was like a drug: from that first kiss, he was addicted. He couldn't get enough of her, and there was no way to work her out of his system.

Dylan turned, burying his hand into her hair, and his lips found hers. “You're not broken. You're perfect and beautiful and flawless.” He thrust his tongue into her mouth, tasting, dancing, teasing, and torturing. She mewled in her throat, clutching at his shoulders, her fingers kneading into the sinewy muscles of his arms.

She tore her mouth from his and reached for the hem of her shirt, but his hands beat her to it, pulling it over her head, her hair falling back over his face like silk as his lips found the curve of her neck. Whether right or wrong, there was no way he could stop himself now, not even if he wanted to. Not from kissing her, not from running his hands over the bared skin of her back, and not from marveling at the way making love to her would feel like summer, and sunshine, and all things good he'd long forgotten. This is what heaven would be like.

Her breasts were crushed against his chest, and her pulse raced against his lips at her throat when his thumb came around to caress the soft curve of one. She sighed at his touch and dropped her head backward, giving him access to every glorious inch of skin.

Walking her toward the bed, Dylan stopped just short of it. “Off,” he commanded Tango. The dog simply stared at him, as if daring him to repeat the command. Dylan looked down at Julia and gave her a lopsided grin. “I have to draw the line at making love to you while the dog watches. At least Roscoe stays on the floor.” He saw Roscoe lift his head at hearing his name before settling again. “A little help?”

“You need to let him know you're in charge. Do it again, but this time make him see you mean business.”

How was he supposed to focus on training the dog when his hands were full with her luscious curves, which had tempted him for what felt like forever? “Get off the bed,” he ordered, his voice conveying every bit of the frustration he felt.

Tango slid off the bed, and Julia smirked at Dylan as he flipped the blanket over the end of the bed. “See? I told you.” She took a step closer to him, closing the distance between them again, and slid her hands around his waist, peering up at him through her lashes innocently. “Where were we?”

Dylan slid his hands up her ribs, barely skimming the curve of her breasts. “I was just admiring.”

His fingertips moved over her collarbone, and he could feel the electric jolt of pleasure shoot through him like white-hot lightning. Her breath caught and came in short puffs against his bare skin, her eyes melting into pools of desire. He dipped his head, his lips nipping at her jaw, the hollow below her ear, the curve of her neck as she arched and whispered his name. His thumb brushed over the taut peak of her breast, and she cried out softly at the pleasurable pain. He felt it with her, and it shocked his senses.

Laying her back on the bed, he leaned over her, staring down into her innocent face. She was so beautiful, so tender, he couldn't imagine a woman like her would ever want a man as ruined, physically and emotionally, as he was. He lay down beside her, content to look at her body, to trace the curves with his fingers. His hands cupped her breasts, and her eyes fell closed as her body arched into his hands. Dylan reveled in the knowledge that she longed for his touch as much as he wanted hers.

His fingers trailed over the flat plane of her belly to her hip and the waistband of her bottoms. His eyes flitted back up to hers. “Are you sure this is what you want?” He prayed she'd say yes, because trying to stop now might kill him.

She traced his jaw with her finger and raised herself up to kiss him. “Yes, Dylan. I want you.” He heard the tentative tremor in her voice belying the bold statement.

Dylan rose and slid her pants from her legs, taking the soft cotton underwear with them. He hovered over her, tracing his finger over the curve of her belly to the seam of her hip and pelvis, pressing a kiss at her waist and making her jump in anticipation. He wound his arms around her waist, drawing her to him, and inhaled the sweet scent of her, sliding up her body, feeling her shiver against him as the scruff on his jaw scraped her skin.

“I should have shaved,” he murmured against her skin.

“Hmm, don't you dare,” she argued, her voice barely a whisper of sound.

Dylan's lips found the curve of her breast as his hand circled the other, fondling, teasing. When his mouth found the peak, she gasped, arching into him and biting her lower lip. It was almost his undoing. But when his hand moved lower, finding the center of her pleasure, stroking her, he was shocked at how she gave in to the ecstasy.

Her hands roamed his body, her lips kissing the scars under the covering of his tattoos and chipping at his heart. This woman drove him mad with desire, making him hungry for a life that should have been, that he could never offer her.

If only
. . . He quickly halted that train of thought. There were no “if onlys” in life. He'd made choices, saved lives, and he wouldn't change that. He hadn't known Julia then—their paths would have never crossed—so there was no “if only” for them.

Dylan couldn't wait any longer. Her touch was driving him wild with want, and he needed to make this special, something pleasurable, not a race to maintain self-control. He slid his sweats off, and she reached for him.

“Wait, Julia. Not quite yet.” He pressed soft kisses against her belly, moving back up her body. “If you touch me, I'm a goner,” he warned.

She smiled and he could see the pleasure in her eyes. He wanted her to know how she affected him, how much he yearned for her. He wanted her to realize how much she had come to mean to him, how special she was. He wanted her to know he loved her.

The realization surprised him at its intensity.

There was no logical, reasonable way for him to fall in love with her so quickly, but there was also no doubt in his mind. He loved Julia. Loved her gentle spirit, her tender heart, the way she opened up to him in spite of the pain she was feeling. He loved her smile that was so quick to surface, and the way she pushed him to gain control of his life again.

“But I
want
to touch you.” Her voice was a soft purr of seduction without her even trying, and his entire body throbbed in response.