A rough groan rumbled up from his chest, as if she were causing him physical pain. She closed her eyes and let herself live in the moment, in the delicious sensations as their tongues touched and explored with increasing pressure and hunger. His scent, his taste, the heat, everything, she loved it all, and it swirled around her like a spell, draping over her like a magical coat, suspending any ability to think.

Okay, that might have been the last of the drugs leaving her system.

But he was the best drug of all. “You take away my pain,” she whispered. He also took away her ability to think straight. And she wasn’t the only one affected, either. From deep in his throat came another low, masculine sound and she slid her hand down his shoulders to his chest, feeling his heart beating solidly beneath her palm. Below that, where their lower bodies were pressed together, he was hard. “You’re better than pain meds, Brady.”

He shifted and rested his forehead against hers, sliding his hands into her hair, his fingertips shockingly gentle against her scalp. “You’re not all the way here with me.”

How to tell him she was more with him than she’d ever been with anyone in her entire life? “I am. Trust me, the meds have worn off. Please, Brady, I need-”

“Rest.”

“I can rest when I’m dead.”

He let out a long breath, clearly fighting with his old-fashioned male moral ground. “Go back to sleep for a while.” His mouth was at her ear, his breath hot against her skin.

“Can’t.”

Leaning over her, he rubbed his jaw to hers. “Close your eyes.”

When she did, he ran his hand over her body, a light touch, caressing, teasing. She rocked up for more, but he held her down. “Just relax,” he murmured, his mouth leaving hot kisses along her throat.

Her nipples were hard and pressed against the soft fabric of the shirt-his shirt, she realized. He must have removed her bloody clothes. His eyes went heavy-lidded and hot at the sight of her nipples. Then he slid his fingers beneath the cotton and desire shot through her, centering between her legs.

“Is this what you need?” he asked, strumming her like an instrument. “This?”

“Yes,” she gasped, rocking into him.

His other hand went to her hips and held her still. “Don’t move, you’ll hurt yourself.” With another long, deep kiss, he lifted the shirt up and over her head, taking great care with her arm. Then he bent to her breasts, the tip of his tongue stroking her nipple as his other hand slid between her legs.

She gasped again, writhing beneath him.

“Stay still,” he reminded her sternly as his fingers worked their magic. “God, you feel like silk.” He stroked her and she moaned. “Wet silk.” And then he slid lower on the bed and gently pulled the material aside, out of his way. Holding her legs open with his broad shoulders, he put his mouth on her.

At the first touch of his tongue, she started to shoot straight up, but his hands caught her before she could. “No moving,” he reminded her, gently holding her effortlessly immobile as he not so gently took her straight out of her mind with pleasure.

Afterward, he held her while she attempted to get herself under control. Or as under control as she could get for someone who’d been shot, drugged, and had just had the mother of all orgasms. He was sprawled on his back. She lay curled at his side, one leg and her bandaged arm over the top of him. She had no idea why having his arms tight on her calmed her more than anything she’d ever known. Maybe because she’d never let herself be vulnerable before, with anyone else.

Ever.

Even thinking it had peace settling in her heart, and she knew that she was right where she belonged. She tilted her head up to study him. His eyes were closed but she knew he wasn’t sleeping. “Brady?”

“Yeah?”

She sighed dreamily. I love you, she thought.

He ran a hand over her, scooping her hair from her face. “Now you’ll be able to sleep.”

Yes. Yes she would… But she forced her eyes open one last time to make sure he was still there.

His arms tightened on her and he nuzzled his face in her hair. He breathed her in, his arms tightening on her. “You’d make a shitty soldier. I’ll take care of you.”

She knew that all his life, people had needed him in one form or another, and he’d taken care of them. He’d always come through.

But who took care of him? She wanted to be the one. “Stay,” she said, knowing that if he’d only let her, she’d give him as much comfort as he always gave her.

“Yes.”

“Promise?”

She held her breath when he cracked open an eye and leveled it on her. He wasn’t big on promises, she knew this. But if he gave his word, it was as good as gold.

“Promise,” he said, and brushed a kiss against her jaw. “Now close your damn eyes and zip it.”

She closed her eyes and fell asleep smiling.

The next time she woke up, her arm felt like fire, her mouth was drier than the Sahara Desert, and…

And she was in Brady’s T-shirt and nothing else. The sun was peeking through the blinds, casting shadows on the sheets. The other side of her bed was empty and she rolled over and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of Brady.

He’d slept with her.

A smile broke on her face, but then it all came back to her. Being shot. Getting stitches while pretending she didn’t have a needle phobia. And then…

Nothing.

Wait-Brady, Dell, and Adam had taken her home, then argued over who was going to stay. She remembered Adam leaving, and then Dell, and Brady covering her with a blanket. She remembered his delicious method of helping her sleep… That had ended well for her, very well.

She looked at the clock. It was nine. In the morning! She’d never slept past six thirty before, never, and suddenly her grogginess was gone, replaced by panic.

Cruz was on vacation, and she had the animals!

Struggling out of the covers, she staggered across the room, tripped over a startled Boss and jammed her legs into sweats. The best she could with one arm. She looked down at herself. More disconcerting than her commando status was the fact that she couldn’t rein in her hair.

Glancing fondly at the painkillers sitting by her bed, she bypassed them for Motrin instead. She wouldn’t be able to run the kennel if she was high as a kite, so she was going to have to suck it up, bad hair and all. Jamming her feet into boots, she bent over to tie them, got dizzy, and nearly fell on her head. Note to self: no bending. Which meant no lacing her boots.

She was going with the thug look today.

Moving as fast as she could without tripping over her own laces, she hit the bathroom and brushed her teeth-about all she could manage. She ran out the door and into the kennels, and skidded to a shocked halt.

Brady was behind the front counter. He had a cat on his lap and another at his elbow. Abigail stood guard at his feet next to Twinkles. In front of him was a short line of people and pets, waiting patiently to check in.

Actually, not quite patiently. Mrs. Lyons was in Brady’s face, waggling a finger at him. “You’d best be good to my babies,” she was saying. “I hear what they call you, you know. Dr. Death. Honestly, I don’t know what Lilah was thinking, letting you work here.”

Brady shoved his hand through his hair. “Your animals will be fine.”

“My babies.”

Brady looked at her, and with an utterly straight face, nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Lilah covered her mouth and bit back her laugh as her heart slid to the floor at his feet. She couldn’t help it. Watching him so completely out of his element and yet trying his best to run her world for her when he had no idea what he was doing, was it for her.

Even as she thought it, he looked up and frowned. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“No rest for the weary. Thanks for opening for me. I can take it from here.”