Page 3 of A Spark of Luck (The Defenders #2)

Hunt shifted on his bunk, tempted to bounce his reading device off the wall.

He was reading a W.E.B. Griffin book. If The Brotherhood of War wasn’t one of his favorite series, he’d have closed out The Lieutenants two hours ago.

He’d slept a solid ten hours after falling face down in his bunk – unheard of, but a result of the local anesthetic, the loss of blood, and stress.

But now it was day one, twelve hours in, and boredom scraped against his sour mood.

Out in the field, he could lie for hours in one position and never lose his focus.

But in quarters, there was nothing but gray ceilings, squeaky beds, the noise of others’ working, and no threat of death.

The doc said three days, and he was determined to not let her down, but it might be the biggest challenge he’d had in a good long time.

He would do as she’d requested and not because violating her rules affected his performance as a SEAL.

Honoring her wishes was something he had to do.

He would respect her knowledge and her skill by tempering his actions.

If she was in his environment, he’d expect her to honor his authority .

That part really wasn’t his problem. It might be tough, might rub against his need to be working, involved, busy.

But he could do it. What he couldn’t do was keep his mind off her.

Her physician presence, her smarts, her skill – all were evident in how she treated him.

He closed his eyes, and it was all fresh as yesterday’s moments.

Every time he thought about her, his body followed the fantasy to hot and steel hard.

Privacy didn’t exist here. He couldn’t even reach down and use his hand to give himself relief.

Lying in the bed with his body humming and doing nothing about it – it sucked.

“Yeah, Hunt. Use that word.” He rolled his eyes.

He’d promised her he’d follow the rules she’d set forth, and he would keep his word.

It was all he had. He didn’t ever make promises unless he could keep them.

Which led to the problem with this attraction.

He was a lieutenant soon to be a lieutenant commander in the U.S.

Navy, and she was a captain in the U.S. Army.

So similar ranks and similar time in service.

No fraternization problem per se, but he’d hear about it anyway.

The SEALs were operating in Afghanistan in a classified capacity.

Interacting with others, even the medical staff, presented an open door for gossip.

Further, the kind of interaction he had in mind was sweaty, intense, and included getting his hands into her beautiful strawberry blonde hair, his mouth on those pert pink lips, and his naked body against her naked curves.

Frustrated, he rolled again then hissed when the stitches pulled from the movement.

“Dammit.” He’d promised her he’d take it easy, and he did want to get back in the field sooner rather than later, even if it meant getting shot at and confronting nasty, unprincipled people. That was part of the job.

He picked up his book, found his spot, and tried to concentrate.

World War II was one of his favorite subjects.

But, again, his mind wandered. Was it because he was in a long dry spell?

A year to be specific. Honestly, after what his last “girlfriend” did – now nameless to him – he planned to remain a monk for the rest of his life.

He had no interest in the chase, in the persuasion, or in the sex.

Doogie’s current psychological theory surmised that he was reacting to his childhood and the crap his parents had done to him, so he wasn’t in a mindset to be trusting.

Honestly, he hadn’t met anyone that made it a physical and emotional imperative to get together.

A body imperative for the moment wasn’t worth it.

Did that make Doc his destiny or an unruly body saying enough celibacy already? Since his body was rarely out of his mental control, this had to be something else. He didn’t believe in destiny or fate. Life was just life. But this smacked of either lust or divine intervention; he wasn’t sure which.

The expected knock on the door stayed true to practice.

His team had an unwritten rule and wouldn’t be leaving him alone if they could help it.

Afghanistan was a hard place to be, and caring about each team member’s mental health stayed a priority.

Slipping a pillow between his legs, he told himself it was to elevate the injury.

Concealing the hard on was a side benefit.

He picked up his device and hollered, “Come in.”

Doogie’s head popped through the door. “You up for company?”

He was up all right.

Stifling that bit of humor, he nodded an affirmative. “Get in here.”

“Bout ready to jump out of your skin?”

“Yes, you nailed it.”

Doogie sat on a bunk across from his, currently empty because the previous team had returned stateside. The man offered his plastic bag with the beef jerky he inhaled regularly. “Ripped into the package my mama sent. Nice care package.”

Hunt waved it off. “Your mama is too good to you.”

“That’d be God’s honest truth. You really gonna stay off your feet for three days? ”

“Yes, longer if there’s pain.” God, he didn’t want to talk about Doc.

“Doc won’t know.”

Hunt tried to gauge Doogie’s expression. He looked too innocent. That meant he had something to say. Hunt didn’t want to go there. They’d been friends since they’d both gone to the SEALS at twenty-three, five years in, and they’d succeeded at everything together. “She’ll know.”

“Sixth sense?”

“Yes.” In spades.

Doogie’s expression showed his skepticism. “We’re SEALs, man. She’ll never know how it happened.”

“Nope. She’s charging me fifty dollars for every stitch I pop.”

The big man gave a loud guffaw.

Hunt ignored it. “I promised, and she’s right. If I stay off this leg and give it a head start on the heal, I might not have problems.”

“She really gave you the woo-woo, huh?” Doogie had lowered his voice to football-stadium loud, not transmitting-to-everyone-and-God loud.

Hunt choked. “Woo-woo?”

Doogie laughed again, mirth in every movement of his body. “Don’t tell me you didn’t get a hard-on with that pretty doc touching your ass. ”

“You will not talk about my ass ever again.” He should have known. Nothing got by Doogie. He was his second for a reason.

“Have you ever known me to pass up a chance to rib you?”

“Try. I’m in pain.” As a strategy, it had no chance of success.

“Pain, my ass.” Doogie stuffed the empty plastic bag into his cargo pockets. “Seriously, Hunt. Haven’t seen you react to a woman like that in a long time. Good to see it.” The normal-room voice was appreciated, and Hunt loosened his tongue before he caught himself.

“Fraternization. Any time you have a disparity in rank that calls into question possible coercion for sex or other commodities.” He’d already dismissed this as a problem, but as a potential sidetrack to Doogie’s matchmaking, it had potential.

“That’s not how the Navy will see it. You’re close to equal rank.” Doogie looked ready to gear up his argument. Hunt didn’t want to hear it because he was desperate to give in, and he never did anything without thinking things through.

He reached for his water bottle and took a sip. “Don’t know what happened between me and Doc, but I’m not going to act on it, Doogie. It has nothing to do with her being beautiful and sexy, and everything to do with my professional compass and this hellhole we’re all trapped in.”

“She zapped you. I saw it when she touched you. I agree on the hellhole part, but maybe there’s a bit of heaven there. Mighty Hunt should take a chance.”

He rolled his eyes and glared, not liking that twist on his SEAL handle of Big Hunt. “You’re giving me love advice? You?”

“Well, I’m lookin’. I’m not findin’.” The mountain-sized man flashed an impertinent grin. “Would help if I wasn’t always on the other side of the world getting chased through the countryside by nasty men.”

“Copy that.” Hunt pushed the pillow from between his legs and dropped back on the bed. “I’m fine, Doogie.”

“Fine isn’t the question. Better than fine, now that’s where you should be. Think about Doc instead. She’s got it all, intelligence, humor, and patience, all in a pretty package. I’ll bet a hug from her is damn good.”

He silently agreed, but….

“SEAL relationships have a huge failure rate.” He dropped the book into his lap and switched the subject. “Any news?”

“Nope. Still waiting for actionable intel. Until they find us a target, you get to recover and read. Seems to me I heard this was Doc’s second tour here. She’s not exactly ignorant of what we do. She uses a scalpel, and we use a weapon. That’s it. We’re both helping people.”

Hunt put a hand over his eyes and groaned. “Give it a rest, Doogie.”

“Okay, man, but think about it. A good woman is a treasure.” He rose to his feet. Hunt peered up at him, wondering at the direction of Doogie’s wisdom.

Another knock came on the door, stopping their conversation. That didn’t hurt Hunt’s feelings a bit. “Come in.”

Carter walked in. “Doc called. She wants me to check your stitches. Make sure there’s no infection.”

“She’s interested,” Doogie pronounced, rubbing his hands together like a matchmaker ready to jump in and plan the first date.

“She’s a doctor,” Carter offered, his questioning look added to the statement. He had no plans to share Doog’s prompting. “She’s supposed to think like that. At least I would.”

Doogie rolled his eyes. “Clue in, Carter. No one did a follow-up on me last month. She wants the LT’s ass. ”

Carter frowned. “Never had someone as good as she is, and yours was a baby wound. Could be that.”

“A baby wound?” Doogie’s face screwed into a scowl. He did offended really well.

Carter put his fingers together. “Small, miniscule wound.”

Hunt’s head hurt. “Stop both of you. My stitches are fine.”