Series: Love at Last #2
She was my best friend’s little sister—and the woman who ruined my life.
O’Neal Jones was the last person I expected to run into on this mountain in the middle of nowhere.
I wanted her, even if it was a bad idea.
But this thing between us was dangerous. It tore through flesh and bone to sear my soul.
Then, in the course of one night, she worked her way into my tent and my sleeping bag…
The question was, could I heal my wounds enough to let her into my heart?
Loving the Wounded Warrior is a sexy standalone novella, in the Love at Last series.
Originally published in the Rogue Affair anthology, this edition has been expanded with new material.
“Straight to the gut.” – The Book Hammock
“Beautiful and poignant.” – Sunny, Scandalicious Book Reviews
“An emotional read that I just loved.” – Gladys, Goodreads
“Totally enthralled until the very end!” – Pat, Goodreads
“A moving and poignant story of a broken individual looking for redemption and healing.” – T Rosado, Goodreads
“Unique and refreshing.” – Michelle, Goodreads
“Sweet love story, with a generous amount of angst.” – Katherine, Goodreads
“You’re killing me, O’Neal.”
“We don’t have to do anything, is what I’m trying to tell you. But we can. I’m a direct son of a bitch, I know.”
That made me laugh; a weird, barked sound that almost hurt on the way out.
“Or, you know, if you need me to…hold you or something, I could just keep you warm.”
“You said you were lonely.”
My eyes popped open, and I turned to her. “You feel sorry for me?”
“No, dumbass. I’m into you.”
“This how you are with guys? Offering hugs and stuff?”
“I usually demand a quick, hard fuck. But with you I figured I’d take it slow.”
Everything in my body stood up at those words. Goosebumps in a sleeping bag when it was just barely freezing outside. And my cock, Christ, it was rock solid now. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a hard-on like this. And I’d had a lot of offers for fucks over the years.
“Jesus, lady.” I managed to squeeze the words out through my throat, got my eyes to focus on her instead of the ceiling.
“We just met!”
“Kurt Anderson, I’ve known you since third grade.”
She didn’t look like she was joking. And she didn’t have the vibe of someone negotiating the terms of a pity fuck. But I wasn’t entirely sure what I’d do if we did get naked, much less get busy. It had been so long since I’d gotten close to a woman. And as for fucking… I swallowed hard. What was I doing?
Her mouth, though. My eyes snagged on that pouty lip—just inches away, right here in my tent. Unless this whole thing was a hallucination. And, Jesus, if it was, let it never, ever end.
“How about a kiss?” My attention was so focused on her mouth, I forgot to take in her eyes when I let those words slide out. As if I said shit like that every day.
Her eyes were wide, by the time my gaze made its way up there—like she was taking it all in with as much as excitement as I was, and she didn’t want to miss a thing.
“That’s what you want?” she asked. “A kiss?”
“Yeah.” I was breathing hard already, like a teenager, which seemed pretty damned suited to the situation.
“Come here, then, and kiss me.”