I collapse on the bed, barely able to roll to the side to avoid crushing her. My heart is pounding so hard I swear it is outside of my body.

“Shit” is the only word I can manage.

She laughs weakly and a small soft hand flops onto my chest, followed by her head as she snuggles into my side. “I think you wrecked me.”

“No, I’m the one who’s destroyed. You’re able to move.”

I wrap my arm around her, the one made of metal and plastic. She doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. She just snuggles in closer.

In the aftermath, the night air sends goose bumps over her skin. I reach across her and wrap the edge of the comforter around her. I’m too hot for blankets, plus her body provides me plenty of heat. Exhausted and sated, I hold her until her breath evens out.

After the haze of the orgasm wears off, the ache in my left arm and left leg intensifies. I need to get home and take these prosthetics off. I’ve worn them way too long. As quietly as possible, I ease out from underneath her. I press a kiss against her temple and wrap the comforter around her like a cocoon.

It takes me a minute to find my clothes; I locate my shirt under a dresser. Shrugging it on, I zip my pants up, but decide not to deal with the belt. I cup the end in my hand so the metal doesn’t clink and wake her. Out in the living room, I gather up my duffel.

I begin to limp, slightly.

In the six years since my medical discharge and the five since I’ve had my prosthetics, I’ve never slept overnight with a woman and I have never taken a prosthetic off in her presence. It’s one thing for a woman to fuck a guy standing on two legs even if one of those legs is fake. It’s one thing to be held by a man with two arms, even if one of those arms is made of metal and plastic, but it’s a whole different game to be touched by a stump.

I’ve mostly been at peace with myself over the loss of my leg and arm. I’m in better physical shape than I’ve ever been—even when I was deployed. I’m careful with what I eat; I run and lift assiduously. With the advancements companies have made with artificial limbs, I can even operate my prosthetics with my brain.

DARPA and others are working on making those difficult fine motor skills a reality. Already the lower-limb prosthetics are making life virtually indistinguishable from those who still have the limbs they were born with. Amy Purdy competed in a dance competition, blowing everyone’s socks off. The astonishing gains we’ve made in science and technology are eradicating the lines between abled and disabled.

Still, for all of that, I’m reluctant, but if I want more than sex with Natalie, I’m going to have to learn to be comfortable taking my prosthesis off in front of her.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

JAKE

“So you’re fucking my cousin?” drawls Oliver Graham as I close Natalie’s door behind me.

Fatigue and a little pain makes me irritable. “You spend a lot of time lurking outside your cousin’s door?”

He advances in a way I’m sure is supposed to be menacing. No doubt he’s used to intimidating people, but I served in the army for eight years, four of them as a Ranger. I’ve seen shit and done shit that’d give him nightmares.

“How’s the investigation going? You find out who sent that note yet?”

His words taunt—he knows I don’t have anything to report, because if I did, he’d have already had the information. I take a moment so I don’t say something I regret. This is Natalie’s beloved cousin.

“We’re working on it,” I reply with studious calm.

He stops a foot away. “You’ve found time to seduce my cousin but haven’t made any progress on finding the shitstain who is tormenting her.”

His accusations sting, in part because they’re true. We haven’t made much progress on finding the guy behind the note or the clown. Neither the ex nor Dr. Terrance appear to be behind the threats either, although we keep watching both.

“We’re working on it,” I repeat. “I’m tired and I’m going home. I’ll call you when we find out something worth reporting.”

I attempt to move around him, but he’s having none of it. I eye his well over six-feet-five-inch frame. He’s got a couple inches on me but not much more than that. I’m confident that I’d take him in a fight, not because I’m stronger than him but because I’ve been trained to fight to kill. But it’d be close, real close.

“You don’t want to do this,” I say softly. The last thing I want to do is get in a brawl with Natalie’s cousin outside her apartment at two in the fucking morning.

“Do what? Wipe the floor with your weak ass?”

I try to gather my calm. I have been accused, frequently, of being overprotective of my two sisters. Graham has every reason to be on edge given what’s going on in Natalie’s life.

“Fight out here and we’ll wake Natalie up,” I caution.

“Don’t fuck with her,” he says fiercely, but his voice is lowered. He doesn’t want to disturb her any more than I do. “She’s delicate. She doesn’t need someone to sweet-talk his way into her panties and then waltz away. I don’t even know how you got her to open the fucking door for you, but I’m telling you now to stay away.”

“You’re right and you’re wrong.” I gesture toward her door. “Yes, she’s got some issues, but she’s not all that delicate.” The sting of her nails in my back is evidence of that, I think. “As for how I got her to open the door, she asked me to come in.”

“To fuck?” he sneers in disbelief. I can see by the veins in his neck and the set of his jaw that he’d like to haul off and hit me.

I run a hand through my hair. “This is getting nowhere. Natalie’s an adult. She gets to make her own decisions. She gets to decide when to call her doctor and who to have sex with. Not you. And I have no intention of fucking and running. That’s not my style, unlike some people.”

The snide remark hits home. Graham has a reputation for playing the field outside the stadium as well. He flinches but then rallies.

“If you aren’t planning on ditching her after you’ve gotten your snake wet, then why the hell are you leaving in the dead of night? You know women don’t like that.” He throws his hand out toward the door.

“Because my leg fucking aches and I don’t want to pull it off the first night I spend with her,” I bite out in frustration and knock his arm down. Leaving her isn’t my first choice.

He opens his mouth and then closes it. When pity leaks into his eyes, I’m done. Just done.

“Sorry, man,” he says and steps back.

I fight the urge to punch him in the face. “Backing down because I’m a gimp? Thought you were better than that.”

I brush by him and he offers no resistance, making me even angrier. At the elevator, I jab the DOWN button with my left hand. See. I work my body just as well as you do.

When he comes to stand beside me, I don’t look at him. In part because I’m embarrassed by my outburst and in part because I’m angry I’m not in bed with Natalie. I should’ve just removed the prosthesis and climbed in bed with her. If she lay at my right side, she wouldn’t even have noticed.

Now I have to explain to her why I left, and deal with her hurt feelings. I may have even damaged her trust. All because I was vain and thinking of myself instead of her. I scrub my hand over my face. With a sigh, I turn to Oliver.