Page 34 of Wrecked (McIntyre Security Bodyguard #16)

Just as I expected, Sam falls asleep quickly. It’s been hard on him since the accident. He’s been dealing all week with his leg hurting and with headaches. And now he’s frustrated being immobilized. Obviously, his physical confinement is bringing back bad memories from the parachute accident.

I’m so damn proud of him for what he did. He risked his own safety to save Beth, and in the process, he also saved her unborn baby. I couldn’t be more proud of him, and I couldn’t love—want—him more.

I lie awake for a long time just listening to Sam breathe, watching his chest rise and fall steadily, reveling in the warmth of his body. When I think about how close I came to losing him, I’m in danger of losing my sanity.

I lost someone once—Cody—all those years ago. Cody and I were just kids, too young to stand up for ourselves. Too young to protect ourselves. And losing him devastated me. But if I lost Sam—that I don’t think I could survive.

I’m in my fifties, and for the first time in my life, I know who I want to spend the rest of my life with. Or, at least, be with as long as he’ll have me. I want that to be forever, but I’m worried that I can’t give Sam what he needs.

I know I can’t.

He wants the whole package. He wants me to tell him I love him. He wants me to hold his hand in public. He wants me to tell the whole world he’s mine , and I’m his .

Deep down inside, I want that too, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. It’s like there’s a wall around my heart—an immovable, unbreakable barrier I can’t cross. If I do, something bad will happen, and I’ll lose Sam, too. It’ll be like Cody all over again.

Every time I think of taking those steps, I see Cody’s lifeless body in front of me. I failed Cody. And I’m afraid of failing Sam, too.

I know the world is a vastly different place than it was when I grew up, secretive and closeted, but when I think of outing myself, I become paralyzed with fear. Fear of not being able to protect Sam. Fear of losing him.

But if I don’t give him what he needs, I’m in danger of losing him anyway.

I’m damned if I do, and damned if I don’t.

Eventually, I manage to drift off, but my sleep is restless. Every time Sam shifts position, he groans in pain. When he tries to move his broken leg, he cries out.

“Take it easy, baby,” I tell him as I run my palm up and down his torso. My thumb pauses to brush against one of his nipples.

“God, that feels good,” he says with a groan. “You’re trying to distract me.”

“Guilty as charged.”

Sam presses his lips to my forehead. “I miss you. It’s been so long since you’ve really touched me.”

“That’s because you’re hurt .”

“I’d feel better if you touched me.”

“Or, I’d end up hurting you more.”

“I guess there’s only one way to know for sure.”

“All right. But you have to promise not to move. And if anything hurts, you have to tell me so I can stop.”

“I promise.”

I’m rolling my eyes at that, but it’s dark, so he can’t see.

After I go down on him—very gently—we fall asleep in each other’s arms.

* * *

The next morning, I wake as the morning sun filters through the drapes. It’s time to rise and shine and get breakfast started.

I carefully extricate myself from Sam’s embrace, use the toilet, and get myself ready. When I come back into the bedroom, Sam’s just waking up.

Groaning, he stretches his arms above his head, giving me a glimpse of his lean hips, his happy trail, and his abdominal muscles contracting and flexing. God, he’s gorgeous.

“How are you feeling?” I ask him.

He grimaces. “My leg hurts like a bitch. And before you ask, no, it’s not because of what we did that night. I just lay here while you did all the work.”

“Whatever you say. How about I help you to the bathroom, and then you rest in bed until your breakfast is ready?”

Sam gives me a dreamy, fuck-me smile. “Okay.”

“You want pancakes?”

“Yeah. That sounds good. And bacon?”

“You bet.”

Beth walks into the kitchen while I’m flipping pancakes. “Hey, kiddo. Good morning. What’ll you have? And don’t tell me you’re not hungry, because that won’t fly anymore. You’re pregnant—you need to eat.”

Beth gives me a long-suffering smile. “I’ll have whatever you’re making.”

“I’m making pancakes and bacon for Sam. That sound good?”

“Yes, thank you.” She takes her seat at the breakfast counter. “I’m really happy about you and Sam.”

I freeze, my shoulders tensing up. “You want coffee too?”

“Decaf. I’ll get it.” She hops down from her seat and heads for the coffee maker. “Is Sam still sleeping?”

“He’s awake, but I told him to stay in bed.” Last night really wore him out. “His leg’s aching pretty badly this morning, and he refuses to take any pain medication. The obstinate knucklehead.”

Beth laughs. “It’s nice having him here, isn’t it?”

“Sure.” I have a feeling I’m about to be interrogated.

“You know I love you, right?” she says.

I know what she’s doing. She’s trying to desensitize me to talking about my relationship with Sam. She figures if I get used to talking about him to her, it’ll be easier for me to talk about him to others. “Beth, please don’t. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But why?” Clearly, she doesn’t get it. “I care about both of you and I’m happy for you—”

I shake my head. “Please. I’m asking you nicely.” I set a plate of food in front of her. “Eat up.”

Beth frowns as she slathers her pancakes with butter and maple syrup.

I make up a plate for Sam—pancakes, bacon, coffee—and carry a tray to his room. I find him sitting up in bed, leaning against a stack of pillows, with his tablet in his lap.

I make room on his nightstand for the tray and pull a chair close so I can help him eat.

“I don’t need to eat in bed,” he says.

“Yes, you do. You’re pushing yourself too fast. You need to take it easy and give your body time to heal. For fuck’s sake, Sam. You could have died from that head injury. You got off easily. It could have been so much worse.”

“Maybe I could try using the crutches. Then I could get around on my own.”

“No.”

He glares at me. “You’re not the boss of me, you know.”

Now it’s my turn to glare at him. “Aren’t I?”

He turns away from me, staring at the wall across from the foot of the bed. I reach out to stroke his cheek, but he pulls away.

Hurt by his dismissal, I stand, lean in, and grip his chin. I make him look at me. “You’d better cool your jets, buddy. Forget the damn crutches for now. You have nothing to prove. Just rest and let your leg heal.”

I kiss him, using my lips to nudge his mouth open. Suddenly, he grabs hold of my wrist and kisses me back, groaning hungrily.

I catch movement out of the corner of my eye, but when I glance at the open doorway, no one is there.

* * *

I take a leave of absence from work so I can stay home and take care of Sam. His leg still pains him, but it’s a little better each day—as long as he doesn’t overdo it, which he is prone to. He still refuses to take anything for the discomfort. Stubborn brat.

I finally break down after all his pestering and let him try using the crutches. That goes about as well as I expected—meaning very badly. If I hadn’t been there to catch him, he would have hit the floor. “No more crutches until I say so. You’re recovering from a head injury, too. Take it easy.”

When he insists on arguing with me, I give him something else to think about.

I kiss my way down his throat, over his shoulders and biceps.

I especially pay attention to his rock-hard biceps.

I tease his nipples with my tongue and play with his piercings.

He’s a groaning, shivering mess by the time I work my way down to his erection, which is straining madly against his knit shorts.

Carefully, without jarring his leg, I work his shorts down just enough to give me access to his straining cock and balls. As I draw him in deep, to the back of my throat, he grips my hair tightly, pulling the strands so hard I’m afraid I won’t have any hair left.

He comes with a strangled groan, his fingers still in my hair, petting me, stroking me. “Oh, God, Danny! Fuck!”

After he comes down from the high, I kiss him sweetly. Then I nod toward his right bicep.

He glances down at the fresh red mark on his arm and chuckles. “Another one?”

“Just marking my claim,” I say.

It’s not quite the claiming he wants, but it’s something I can give him. I just hope it’s enough.