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When you make a deal with the devil…
Don’t complain about the heat.
Luckily, I like it hot.
And here's the tease!
This is the difference between Army life and being a civilian. I have to deal with next of kin. Or point in fact, Asha does. I’ve had a hard time dealing with this part of the job myself. I mean, sure, when I was in the military, I could send a letter, maybe even visit a buddy’s family when I was back stateside. But actually being the one to hold someone’s hand and tell them their loved one is dead…is tougher than anything I’ve ever done before.
I don’t know what to do, what kind of advice to give her. So out of my blabbering mouth comes some kind of shit I hadn’t planned for. “Hit me.”
“What?” Her delicate dark brows knit together, and her hand on me grips into a fist.
“In the Army, after a bad case or we lost one of our own, we’d…you know, fight. Smack each other around a little.” Jesus, do I sound like an idiotic man or what?
“I’m not going to hit you.”
“Or we’d target practice.”
“I don’t have a gun.”
“You can borrow mine.”
“You have a gun?”
I shrug. “I’ve thought about hunting but never got around to it so far.”
She slowly nods, the fist on my chest isn’t loosening. I’m not helping. Shit.
I inhale, thinking of a slightly different tactic. “What you do, how you care for your patients and their loved ones, isn’t easy on you. You give everything you can. And sometimes to compensate you need to do something physical. Maybe not target practice or fighting. But we could—I don’t know—we could do a Pilates class or something.”
She snort laughs and smacks me a little with her tiny fist. “I don’t do Pilates.”
“Yeah, I don’t know where the Pilates came from. I’m a shit.”
She smiles widely, shaking her head. “You’re not a shit.”
“What about—” her smile slides off as her gaze lowers. To my lips. “What about kissing?”
Everything in my body lights up. It’s as if every damned atom is responding to what she just said, as if I’ve never been fully alive until this very second. I’m also very hot suddenly. Too damned hot. I’m molten and scared I’ll burn her hand that’s on me.
I want to ask if she means kissing me, but I won’t. I want her to be talking about kissing me. Only me. I want it so bad I stop rationalizing. I stop thinking. I stop everything and just react.
Placing a hand on the stored sanitizers behind her and one on her hip, I cage her in, not about to let her rethink what she’s just said.
She can push me away, and I’ll stop and probably be embarrassed as hell, but I’m going in.
I’m going to kiss sweet little Dr. Asha Whitetail.
About the Author
Red L. Jameson is an award-winning and multi-published author. She writes in many genres. Her pen name, L. B. Joramo, includes the odd combination of historical and paranormal for the Immortal American Series. However, it is under her “Red” name, her nickname too, where all her stories are strongly laced with love, including contemporary, historical, time-travel, paranormal, and erotic romance. Red lives in the wilds of Montana with her family and a few too many animals, and is currently working on her next novel that she hopes will make her readers laugh, cry, think, and fall in love.
She loves her readers, so please feel free to contact her at http://www.redljameson.com
Or sign up for her sporadic emails at http://bit.ly/1jUgUhr
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