“You’re not a stripper anymore.”

“I’m not anything at all. The only thing I knew how to do was dance.” I can’t help the bitterness that creeps into my voice. I don’t mind what happened last night, as much as I mind that it’s all I’m good for. “And turn men on.”

Her hand covers mine on the shiny bar top. “You do a lot more than that. Those hot military guys walk around with all their confidence and their swagger, but inside they’re hurting. You help soothe them. It’s a lot more than just their bodies. It’s nothing they could find within these walls, that’s for sure.”

I hang my head, hoping that’s true. Hoping I provide some measure of comfort for them. Would that be enough, being a source of peace for other men? Being a balm? In some ways it’s all I’ve ever aspired to be, to take care of others—Mrs. Owens and the girls at the club. And Blue.

And now West. He gives me a little wave from across the room.

I’m blushing when I wave back. Because if I take care of West the same way I take care of Blue…our evenings are going to get a lot more interesting.

Candy laughs, and I don’t really mind.

She’s right—there isn’t enough smiling around here.

I sigh. “Sometimes I miss working here. Is that crazy?”

She gets this secret look on her face, half smug, half mystery. “Maybe one day you’ll come back.”

Chapter Seven

The first thing I see is the moon, framed by the windowpane and open curtain. Luminous gray casts the rest of the room in shadows, and I have to orient myself by touch alone. The cool cotton of the sheets and the warm weight of Blue’s arm.

I don’t know what woke me up, but I lie very still. Even after all these years, there’s a part of me afraid of who might walk into my room. I lived in foster home after foster home, with random men and “brothers” who might visit me at night.

My breathing speeds up, and Blue’s arm tightens around me.

Even without waking, he’s attune to me, guarding me. I’m safe with him, and bit by bit I relax into his embrace. I still don’t know what woke me, but I know no one can touch me while he’s around.

Then I hear it—a low keening sound. It doesn’t sound like it’s from a machine. It doesn’t quite seem human either. The hair on the back of my neck raises.

“Blue,” I whisper.

Alertness enters his body quickly, smoothly, the sleep draining right away. “What’s wrong?”

I start to answer—I don’t know. I’m scared. But then the sound comes again, almost too low to notice. I can sense it more than I can hear it, and it makes my body clench tight. Blue is up and out of the bed in an instant, already leaving me behind.

“Stay put,” he warns before slipping out the door.

I hold my breath and clutch the sheets, waiting. God, what could have made that sound? It was almost like a wounded animal, but on the twelfth floor in a glass-walled condo, that isn’t likely.

Blue can take care of himself, I remind myself when the silence threatens to choke me.

Then I hear it, the low voices of Blue—and West. They’re speaking in serious tones, private tones, but I don’t detect the kind of urgency that an intruder would cause. I push the sheets back and creep toward the door. He told me to stay put, but I can’t sit in that bed for one more second, can’t wonder and wait after feeling the strange moans vibrate under my skin.

The hallway is pitch-black, but the guest room is illuminated by the moon like the main bedroom. I stand at the door, a few feet behind where Blue is standing. Beyond him, West is sitting up in bed and rubbing his forehead.

“Christ,” he mutters. “Sorry to wake you.”

Blue shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. Besides, after sleeping in the same bed with Hannah, I’m used to waking up several times a night.”

“Hey,” I say before I can stop myself.

He looks back and winks at me. “That’s what you get for eavesdropping.”

I give him a small smile, still tense from before. “Just checking on you.”

His expression softens, and he pulls me close. “Check away. We’re okay. He’s okay.”

Except that West doesn’t look okay. I can’t see his face at all with the shadows, but his body language tells me he’s tense and frustrated and maybe even scared. “West?” I ask softly.

His laugh is hard. “Okay is not the word I’d use to describe myself. I’ll move out tomorrow. Don’t worry. You won’t have to hear me again.”

I flinch, though I’m glad he can’t see me do it. Too many years with angry men have left me wary. Even Blue has an intensity that is unnerving, a single-minded focus that breaks through my walls. I don’t like being vulnerable. But that’s something we have in common. West doesn’t like being vulnerable either.

One step closer. Two.

“I can’t help but worry,” I say, sitting on the edge of the bed. It feels like an invasion of his space. Even if I live here and West is a guest. Because this is his bed. More than that, this is a moment of weakness. He would rather be left alone, would prefer never to have woken us up.

But turning my back on him now would be like turning my back on every soldier who had a bad dream. It would be like turning my back on Blue, and I can’t do that.

Instead I reach for him, my hand a dark slash against the white sheet. I’m giving the option to reject me, and I wouldn’t be angry if he did.

So it’s almost a surprise when he takes my hand.

A surprise when a strong, hard man takes comfort from someone like me. I’m too soft to really support them, these soldiers, these warriors. I know that, but it seems to help anyway. Some of the tension leaves West’s soldiers.

“Shit,” he sighs. “I thought it would stop once I left Fort Armstrong.”

“Flashbacks?” I ask quietly.

“Nothing as specific as that. Or if there are, I don’t remember them. I just wake up shaking and sweating, my BP to the ceiling and copper in my mouth. Then I’m awake for the rest of the night, with nothing to do but lie here and think.”

“That’s the worst,” Blue says, coming to stand by the bed, his hand on my shoulder.

The men aren’t touching each other, but they’re both touching me. I’m the link between them, the comfort they struggle to offer each other. West’s hand is larger than mine, but it’s trembling. I squeeze, offering comfort, feeling the calluses—the general ones that cover his palm and the specific hills where skin rubbed against a part of a weapon. Blue has them too. Hours of practice and hours more of using the weapon in combat left their mark, as much a scar as knife and bullet wounds.

West squeezes back, and I know we can’t leave him like this—to face the darkness and his demons alone. He might leave tomorrow, like he says he will, even if we reassure him it’s okay. And at some point, he might need to be alone.

Not tonight.

“Scoot over,” I say.

I feel West’s surprise more than I see it. He doesn’t object though. He just scoots to the far side of the queen-sized guest bed, leaving plenty of space for myself—and for Blue.

Glancing over my shoulder, I ask, “What’ll it be? Do you want to be the cream or a cookie?”

He snorts. “What do you think?”

Then he’s pushing me into the middle of the bed, climbing in after me. Of course he’s the hard outer shell. I’m the middle, the one sandwiched between them. My body recognizes the two muscled male bodies around me and responds with heat. Mostly, though, I feel both safe and protective. These two men would defend me against anything, but they need me to keep them company, to hold their hand through the long, dark nights.

We drift asleep, held safe in each other’s arms.

Chapter Eight

The next night it feels almost inevitable to wake up, hearing that unearthly animal sound and drifting down the hall. I climb into the bed beside West, as if it’s the most natural thing on earth, Blue on my heels.