Karen Anders - Special Ops Rendezvous

He left her eyes for last because that’s where all the information about a human being was. Right now he was savoring the anticipation of the moment their eyes met.

Hers were dark brown, fringed with thick lashes. They were direct, assessing and...communicated her attraction. He knew most women liked muscles, and he was ripped. As soon as he got out of Walter Reed in D.C. and was cleared, he’d resumed his fitness routine. Being honed both in body and mind was what made a Special Forces commando a lethal son of a bitch. Besides the effects of his injuries, his body was back to normal now, but not yet his mind. He was still working on that.... Regret washed through him as he thought about Dr. Owens’s death.

So he’d seen that shell-shocked look before. It wasn’t the first time the sight of him half-naked, or completely naked, had put that expression on a woman’s face. It happened all the time.

He’d had zero interest in the pretty receptionist, but this woman was a different matter. She certainly wasn’t the middle-aged, somewhat dour Helga with the strong hands that he was used to. No, this woman was hard to look away from and hard to dismiss.

But unfortunately he had the same problem that he’d had with the receptionist. Getting involved with anyone at this point in his life would be a mistake.

But he suddenly wanted to make a lot of mistakes.

“Helga’s out sick. My name’s Olivia Marshall.”

Trying not to show any reaction to the change in his therapist or the affect she had on him, he smiled and nodded. She was dressed in a white cotton T-shirt with the logo of the spa just above her full breasts and a pair of black, stretchy pants that were modest but did nothing to hide her curves.

“Why don’t you tell me what you need taken care of, Captain Winston?”

When she pulled the sheet from his back, she gasped, but she tried to stifle it.

He turned to look at her again. “I should have warned you about that.”

Her gaze was riveted to his back. She was affected by the sight of what the insurgents had done to him, but there was more than just shock in her eyes. Was there...heat, too? “I should have been more professional. I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize. My back is a mess. I was tortured for three months before I was rescued. As you can see, they weren’t easy on me. My shoulders give me the most problem. They hung me from the ceiling every day.”

Sam met those dark brown eyes and watched her struggle with her compassion and her shock. And something loosened up in him at her look, something that brought with it intense heat. Suddenly he wanted to get close to this woman on more than just a physical level.

“Okay, your shoulders. Anything else?”

“My left hip and quad. I got shot there.”

She nodded. This woman should have come with a warning label, Sam thought. She was much too potent, and he was, lethal son of a bitch or not, feeling just a tad vulnerable.

It had never happened before. Not even when those bastards were pounding on him.

Yet the brown eyes of a beautiful massage therapist seemed to do it without effort.

She dimmed the lights in the room and put on soft, chiming music that was really relaxing.

As the anticipation of her touch built up in him, he sighed softly when her hands started on his upper shoulders. Her touch was sure, gentle, soothing. He tried not to read into it, but her hands just didn’t feel impersonal. He wasn’t sure if that was just his perception.

He didn’t really care. He liked it too much.

He heard her shift her position, felt her move closer, working the big muscles down the length of his back.

The bitch about getting injured was it sapped his energy. He had gotten up early and had worked out hard. The shock and dismay at Dr. Owens’s death had taken a toll, too. He fell asleep.

He drifted, but then flashes of images disturbed the silky, comforting darkness. He blinked and he could see vivid evergreens around him as the sharp scent of pine smoke from the fire drifted across their camp. Flashes of the images lit his brain, powerful and tantalizing. Trey, his big brother, was there and Thad, too. All of them teenagers. He frowned. Was this Yellowstone? Were they camping with their father? How was that possible? Anger against his mother swamped him when he realized she wasn’t there. Why couldn’t she be here, too? He looked at his brother Trey, and his heart lurched.

Darkness swirled around him and his face was blank. There were no eyes, mouth or nose. It was just flesh. Then the scene changed and darkness surrounded Sam. The smell of his own filth and blood disturbed his sleep, and he shifted. He was huddled on the floor, trying to breathe around his agony. He couldn’t find the will to lift his head. But the face of one of his tormenters thrust into his. His eyes widened and his mind reeled. It was Trey.

Foreign voices spun around him. Strong hands pulled at him and he made a sound of anguish, breathing hard and trying to prepare himself for more pain on top of what his aching body had already endured.

Pain exploded in his hip and he jerked away. With a cry of agony he reached for the hand that had touched him. He came fully awake and pushed himself up on the table. In the dim room, Olivia’s startled eyes met his. The memory of that place, his helplessness and the excruciating pain throbbed through him.

And she saw it immediately.

“You fell asleep and must have had a nightmare. It’s okay,” she whispered, her voice so soft and soothing.

Her wrist beneath his hand was delicate, her skin soft and warm. He took a breath and closed his eyes as he let her go. Damn nightmares.

He lay back down, trying to control his breathing. “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t scare you.”

“I don’t scare that easily. You just surprised me. But I totally understand. I’m sure what you endured was something I can’t even comprehend. No harm done.”

He really liked the way this woman was so frank.

“Are you comfortable moving on? I just have your lower body left to do, but if you’d prefer ending the session, we can.”

“No, it’s fine as long as you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.”

She touched his lower back and he sighed. The small room seemed to get smaller as she bent over him, removing the sheet from one leg and tucking it securely under his opposite thigh.

She was close to him.

Very close.

Practically on top of him, and he was enjoying it a little too much—the whole thing, with her hands on him, and her voice close, and her fingers kneading and smoothing over his muscles, sliding over his skin. With every moment of contact, the heat in the small room rose another degree.

From then on it was pure torture trying to keep his body under control and in check. But as she moved around him to his other hip and then his hamstrings, her every touch sent a hot thrill straight to his groin.

And the sensual feel of her not-quite-impersonal hands caused a reaction.

He tried to minimize it. Tried to think of something to curtail his response, but it was no use.

He got an erection.

“I’m ready for you to turn over.”

He wanted to attribute the reaction of his body to not being with a woman for a long time, or to the fact that he’d just woken up from sleeping, but he knew better.

“Olivia, I have to let you know that I have an erection.”

When he looked at her, she didn’t bat an eye, but she looked a bit guilty. “That’s totally normal.”

He’d bet a lot of men got erections around her.

He really, really liked this woman’s direct and no-nonsense attitude.

“My job as a massage therapist is to help you integrate into your body. I’m here to help you heal not only from physical pain and injury, but also from emotional traumas that can be held in the body. Your body is the way it is and I don’t pass judgment on the normal and healthy reaction of a man. While an erection may be an uncomfortable topic for some, I have a different attitude about it.”