His eyebrows lifted, and I think he fought a grin. “Yes ma’am. Read you loud and clear.”

  “And I wouldn’t classify your injuries as ‘little booboos.’”

  He waved his hand dismissively. “Bah. I’ve had worse and kept fighting.”

  It didn’t want to think about that statement too closely. Or, at least, that’s what I tried to tell myself. I couldn’t help wondering, though, what it was he did. An army guy or someone from the armed forces would be seen to at a military base, not at a civilian hospital. So what was he doing here?

  The idea that he’d come to Jackson Memorial from Nevada just to see me made my head spin, made me woozy and faint and made certain things ache and throb that had no business aching or throbbing—and I wasn’t talking about my yoo-hoo. My heart had been closed down and shut off for a long, long time, and for good reason. Without even trying, Thresh had pried open and breathed life into some long-dormant part of me I kept firmly closed and shut off.

  When we got to a room and I cut his T-shirt off, I could see that he wasn’t lying; his body was a maze of scars, old, new, thin lines and puckered bullet wounds and jagged gashes.

  Jesus, what had this man been through in his life to accumulate such extensive scarring?

  I met his eyes, and for a moment his expression was full of world-weariness, followed by a hardness, a cold, calculating cunning that terrified me to my core, but it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, buried and layered under a scrim of warmth and humor.

  I put my emotions away, shoving them deep down in the place where I knew they were protected.

  I called for help. We gave him some local anaesthetics, and I went to work on his arm, first. I cleaned the wound, set the bone, checked for muscle damage, stitched it closed and wrapped it. He wouldn’t need plates or screws, thankfully, as it was a fairly clean break. Next, I began removing the bullets from his shoulder; he wasn’t so lucky there. The bullets had flattened and done fairly extensive damage to the muscle. He’d need physical therapy before he regained full use of this side of his torso.

  Before I sent the nurses away I had them give him a Tetanus shot as well as a bunch of antibiotics mixed with painkillers. I watched him for a moment, sitting on the foot of his bed. He was awake, but out of it.

  He was staring at me. Woozy. Tired.

  “Rest, Thresh.” I hated how tender my voice sounded.

  He was a pig. A bastard. The biggest, roughest, toughest man I’d ever encountered. Huge, hard, and beyond bad.

  But the really bad news, the worst news, was that he was the kind of man I’d spent my entire life avoiding like the Bubonic Plague.

  And very successfully, I might add…up until now.

  Why did I feel so…

  Drawn to him?

  I shot to my feet, bustled out of his room without a backward glance, tugging on the ends of my stethoscope, unreasonably angry.

  I heard a chuckle behind me.

  Damn that man. Damn him to hell.

  BONUS SCENE:

  VALENTINE’S DAY

  I wasn’t expecting much from Roth by way of a Valentine’s Day celebration.

  We were parents, now, after all. Corinna Abigail Roth was six months old, and demanded pretty much every moment of our attention. My man had gotten his baby girl, which irritated me on some level. I mean, he’d decided he was having a girl, so we had a girl? How fair was that?

  Rinna, as we called her, was easily the most adorable human being ever born. She had my blond hair and her father’s mesmerizing blue eyes. She was always hungry, never sleepy, and hated being put down even for a second. Which I blamed entirely on her father, seeing as he never put her down. Never. He’d sit out on the deck with his laptop on a table nearby, working one handed while holding Rinna on his lap and playing with her with his other hand. She’d fall asleep on his chest, and he’d stay where he was until she woke up. If she woke up crying, he’d be there in a flash to soothe her.

  Which meant when I put her on the floor every once in a while to play or practice rolling over or sitting up, she would freak out. Mama was the bad guy, Mama put me down. Bad Mama.

  I honestly worried she’d never learn to crawl if Valentine didn’t put her down to play. But I didn’t bring it up too much, because he loved her to pieces. Shit, the man adored her. He was absolutely crazy for her. And that was heart melting.

  Panty-melting, too. But that was something that had suffered a bit: it’s hard to find time for sex when you’re raising a baby that needs you every moment and refuses to sleep more than four hours in a row.

  What I mean to say is Corrina Roth is outrageously, absurdly adorable, but impossibly difficult.

  Valentine claims stubbornness and being difficult is a hallmark of the intelligent, but I think he’s just saying that because she’s a perfect little angel for him. Not so much for me. I get the Rinna that won’t latch onto the nipple and gets angry, smacks me in the tit with her little fists, snuffling at my breast and screaming and acting like a brat. And then, when Valentine comes over and strokes her cheek and says something soothing in that hypnotic voice of his, she just latches on without a problem and goes to town.

  It’s ridiculous and maddening and I love it.

  Even when I hate it.

  Don’t get me wrong: I love being a parent, but it’s hard, so, so, so hard. I worry all the time that we’re doing it wrong, that we’re going to mess her up. I miss being able to sleep in until whenever I want—shit, I miss being able to sleep through the night. I miss being able to hop onto Roth’s monster cock and ride him whenever the mood takes me, and I miss being able to cut loose and scream as loud as I want when we do catch a few minutes to fuck. I miss Roth’s mouth on my tits.

  But the thing is, it’s all worth it. Because when Rinna is at my breast and gazing up at me, suckling and scratching at my skin with her fingernails, blueblueblue eyes wide and so intelligent and so full of personality, I just…I sometimes feel like my heart can’t be any fuller. When she’s cradled in my arms, fighting sleep, drowsing and jerking awake and dropping off again, going limp in my arms, utterly helpless, and all mine…I’m happier and more complete than I ever thought I could be. And when Roth has our daughter on his chest, her chubby little cheek smushed against his bare skin, a contented smile on her sleepy face, Roth’s palm covering her back protectively…I just melt.

  So, yeah, Valentine’s Day. It’s never been a huge occasion for me. If I was seeing someone when Valentine’s Day came around, it was nice when he did something thoughtful. But if he forgot, I wouldn’t wig out over it. It was a stupid Hallmark holiday, created to sell chocolate and greeting cards. I didn’t need a special holiday to celebrate love. And with Roth, every day we spent together was a day to celebrate our love. Our anniversary was a day to celebrate our love. When Rinna decided to take a long afternoon nap Roth and I would sneak in a quickie—that was a day to celebrate our love.

  Valentine’s Day. An arbitrary holiday? Meh.

  So when Valentine’s Day came around I didn’t really spare it a second thought. It passed like any other day, slow and lazy, Roth working on his laptop, doing what he did, and me spending time with Rinna, prepping for dinner, reading when Rinna went down for a short nap. An average, domestic day. Honestly, it was the kind of day I loved most.

  I never thought domestic life would be for me, but I absolutely love it. I’m a mom. A wife. I have a home which words like beautiful and stunning don’t even begin to describe. I have the world’s best husband, and the world’s most amazing daughter. I’ve even learned to cook and, surprisingly, I’m really good at it. I like finding a recipe and using it as a starting point, finding interesting ways to personalize it. I like experimenting, trying weird and new and fun things.

  Before Rinna I felt at loose ends, like I didn’t know what to do with myself. Roth would always have his businesses to run, because even though we have enough money that we’ll never have to worry, Roth is driven to work. He has to. Sitting around doing nothing all day isn’t an option for him. But he works from home, now, so I still get him to myself all day every day. It’s the best of all possible worlds. Like I said, though, before Rinna, I didn’t know what my purpose was, what I was meant to do. I’d always just worked to survive, one dead-end job after another. Honestly, I didn’t have a particular skill or passion or talent, and that was a weird and disconcerting thing to realize about myself.

  And then I had Rinna, and my life had meaning. I’m a mother; that’s my purpose in life. To love Rinna, to take care of her, to nurture and cherish and protect her—and her beautiful, incredible father, of course.

  It’s not for everyone. Some people are driven to succeed, some have a talent that demands expression, and some just need to be busy, to be out there working and doing and going. Me? I’m content to be at home with my husband and daughter.

  And that, right there? Husband and daughter? That never gets old. Never.

  God, I’m really digressing, aren’t I?

  Valentine’s Day. Six p.m.

  I was just about to put dinner in the oven. Roth had just finished his work for the day, and Rinna was, for once, playing on the floor quietly and contentedly, lying on her back on a little play-mat that dangled toys over her face, making sweet cooing noises and batting at the toys.

  I heard a boat, in the distance, but paid it no mind. Boats passed by all the time, and we received frequent deliveries via boat. But then I heard voices, Roth’s, and a female voice. One I’d heard before, but couldn’t place. The voices were approaching the house so I, curious, tucked Rinna onto my hip and went out onto the beach to see who was visiting us.

  Roth was walking toward the house and I could see a boat anchored a ways out. Alexei was standing on the beach in the distance, assault rifle dangling from a strap, head constantly swivelling and scanning. Walking beside Roth was a small female figure, her features silhouetted by the setting sun. I stood curling my toes in the warm sand, Rinna tugging at a strand of my hair while Roth and the woman approached us.

  Roth saw me waiting and he lifted a hand. “Kyrie, come say hello to Ella.”

  I moved toward them, finally realizing whom it was: Ella, the dressmaker, and the elder sister of Eliza, Roth’s former housekeeper whom had been killed as retribution during a kidnapping attempt on me. Ella was in her fifties, short and thin and beautiful, with caramel skin and long black hair going silver near the temples.

  I leaned in to hug Ella with one arm. “Hi, Ella! So good to see you.”

  I was puzzled, though. Why would Ella be here? Why would we need a dressmaker? And if we did, why wouldn’t we just go see her on St. Thomas? Roth wasn’t giving anything away, though.

  He led the way back inside, and took Ella on a guided tour of our home, which was situated at the center of our privately owned island. She was suitably impressed by the scope of our home, which, Roth being Roth, was immense. It wasn’t a colossal, echoing monstrosity, though. It was something near thirty-thousand square feet all total, but that was spread out in a vast sprawl over the island, with all the various rooms and sections perfectly placed to have the best views, connected to each other by covered walkways—which had storm shutters that could be deployed at the touch of a button. So while the square footage of the home was immense, each room was designed to feel cozy and comfortable and elegant.

  I contained my questions until Ella scooped Rinna up in her arms and took her out onto the beach, cooing in her rhythmic island voice.

  And then I pounced. “Not that I’m not glad to see her, Roth, but why is Ella here?”

  Roth smirked. “Well, it’s Valentine’s Day. We haven’t had any time alone together since Rinna was born, so I invited Ella over to spend the night with Rinna. You and me, love, are going on a date.”

  I actually squealed. “We are? Holy shit! Where are we going? Should I change? What do I do with dinner? I was just about to put it in the oven? We have to tell Ella that Rinna can’t sleep without her floppy pony, and did you show her where the formula is? I should—”

  Roth’s mouth slammed down on mine, silencing me with a short, powerful kiss. “Kyrie, shush. I’ve got it covered.”

  “But Rinna—”

  “Is in the best possible hands, I promise. Ella has five children of her own, and each of those five children has at least two children apiece. Ella is a grandmother to thirteen children, and she babysits them all the time.”

  “Oh.”

  “And yes, I’ve run her through Rinna’s bedtime routine, showed her where the formula is, as well as the backup breast milk you pumped. She knows where the diapers and wipes are, and she has both of our phone numbers in case something comes up. But nothing will come up.” He grabbed me by the hips and spun me around, gave me a gentle but insistent shove toward the docks where our boats were moored. “Now, get your sexy ass onto the baby yacht. I want as much time alone with you as I can get.”

  “But where are we going? I’m not wearing anything very nice, and—”

  He kissed me again, and this time he spanked my ass hard enough to make me jump. “You’re fine. We’re not going anywhere where it’ll matter what you’re wearing.” He leaned in, murmured in my ear. “In fact, where we’re going, the less you wear, the better.”

  I grinned broadly, heat and excitement flushing through me. “Oh. Well, in that case…” I glanced around, making sure no one was watching.

  I was wearing a loose, ankle-length skirt made of light, flowy, breathable cotton, so thin it was nearly—but not quite—sheer, and a spaghetti-strap tank top. With Roth’s eyes on me, I reached up under my skirt and tugged off my panties and stepped out of them. I leaned up against Roth and kissed him, while tucking my panties into the hip pocket of his shorts.

  Roth’s smile was wide, and hungry. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

  * * *

  What Roth, my dear, silly, out-of-touch-with-reality husband, called the “baby yacht” was in fact a totally normal-sized luxury yacht, the kind of thing you’d see tied up at any harbor anywhere in the world— it was just that in comparison to the ocean-going mega-yacht we’d sailed the world in, it did seem a little small. Although, at a hundred and fifty feet long, I wouldn’t exactly classify it as small. But when you put it up next to the Eliza, our mega-yacht, it did seem like a little baby thing.

  It’s small, but blinged out to the max. Custom built as private cruiser just for Roth and me. It had so many goodies and bells and whistles it would take a week to list them all.

  We boarded the mini-yacht, which Roth had dubbed the Rinna. We had Sasha with us, piloting the yacht, but otherwise we were alone on the ship. We sat in the lounge area built into the very bow, sipping wine and nibbling on a cheese-and-cracker tray Roth had produced. Since the Rinna was meant as a short-cruise, island-hopping vessel there wasn’t a big galley like we had on the big yacht . It had a small galley, just enough to keep some snacks and beverages, and a few staples so we could throw together a quick meal if we wanted to. The sun was lowering into the water, bathing everything in a golden light. I’d spent long enough down here in the Caribbean that I knew we weren’t heading for any of the major ports or islands, but rather somewhere more remote. Which made sense, given Roth’s innuendo-laced statement.

  It took us over an hour and half, but Sasha finally slowed the Rinna to a stop and lowered the anchor, and then let the skiff down over the side and lowered the ladder. I was intensely curious, now, since we were in the middle of nowhere, no populated islands within several nautical miles, just a little atoll with a long, wide, sandbar extending out for hundreds of yards. I let Roth help me down into the skiff, and then sat in the bow, trying to figure out what his plan was. Roth powered up the outboard motor, and then got us moving toward the atoll in the drowsing golden light of early evening.

  It didn’t take long before I understood.

  Roth skirted the outside edge of the sandbar, following it around to the far side of the atoll from where the Rinna was anchored. He cut the motor and angled the skiff so the nose slid up onto the sandbar, and then planted an anchor deep in the sand. He hopped out into the water, which was knee-deep. He reached for me, intending to lift me out into the water.

  “I’m still wearing my dress,” I pointed out.

  “Tuck the ends into the waistband.”

  I lifted the hem of my dress and tucked it into the waistband, as Roth suggested, so it was short enough that it wouldn’t get wet. Which meant it was just barely above my hoo-ha.

  “Is Sasha watching?” I asked.

  Roth shook his head. “No. Well, yes, but he’s not watching us. He’s just keeping watch. Scanning the horizon, making sure we’re left alone.”

  “Am I going to have to be quiet?” I asked, as Roth lifted me down into the water, which came up to mid-thigh.

  Roth smirked, eyes sparking. “He’s got earbuds in, and music cranked. He won’t hear a thing.”

  “Good,” I said, “I’m not sure I have it in me to keep quiet any more.”

  “You’re never quiet, love.”

  I swatted at him. “I am, too.”

  “You woke up Rinna the other night, and I’d even turned on a fan for cover noise.”

  “Well…you did that thing with your finger. You know what that does to me.”

  We were wading through the water, and Roth’s hand drifted down, under the edge of my skirt, and brushed the seam of my ass. “This thing?” He wiggled a finger against me, just so.

  I sucked in a breath. “Yeah, that thing.” I knocked his arm away. “Don’t you dare start that. If you start that, we’ll end up fucking right here in the water, and I’m hungry. I hope you have some way to feed me all the way out here.”

  He gestured. Just ahead of us, a dozen tiki torches had been planted in the sand in a wide circle, surrounding a square table with two chairs that had been planted right in the water. It was a high-top style table and chairs, so that when sitting down in them, the water would be just beneath the bottom of the seat, lapping against your knees as you dined. There was a single candle on the table, and a single red rose in a crystal vase. Another, smaller table had been set up a short distance away, on which were several covered dishes, two bottles of wine and a pair of wine glasses.