Witness to Passion (Entangled Ignite) (Guarding Her Body) by Naima Simone Read Free Book Online Page A

terrified, grieving, vulnerable. When the body he’d always considered strong and capable had been dependent on the tubes invading his flesh, and his mind and reason had been muddied by drugs. A period when he hadn’t been able to see a future past the frosted glass doors of Walter Reed Army Medical Center’s ICU.
    If he’d had his wish, his mother and sister wouldn’t have been allowed in to see him, but his CO and doctors had overruled that while he’d been under. His family’s presence at his hospital bed had been out of his control, but Fallon’s had not. He’d refused. Having her witness him hooked up to countless machines, helpless as a baby…weak…
    Yeah, never would’ve been too soon for her to observe those scars. And last night…
    His gut clenched at the phantom sensation of her lips caressing flesh that had been deadened to sensation since an enemy bullet had gouged out a chunk of skin and tissue. But, it’d seemed like the moment she’d pressed her mouth to him, nerve endings had regenerated and fired to life. The pleasure—the pleasure had bolted through him like he’d stuck his finger into an electrical outlet. For a moment, he’d forgotten every reason why touching her was a bad idea: little sister’s best friend; different as night and day; asking for trouble if Addy ever found out.
    It’d taken every scrap of control he tenuously possessed not to tangle his hand into those gorgeous curls, drag her around, crush his mouth to hers, and taste the sweet flavor he’d spent seven years trying to forget. Required every ounce of restraint not to lay her out on the couch, floor, table—hell, any flat surface would do—and sink his cock into her inch by inch.
    But he hadn’t. He’d walked away. Damn near ran away, needing space and a breather before he could return with a semblance of calm.
    And he deserved to be fucking canonized for the sacrifice.
    A memory flashed across his brain. Fallon, standing at the end of the sofa in a T-shirt that did nothing to hide the perfect thrust of her breasts and shorts that barely covered her hips and ass. Fallon, a hunger she probably wasn’t even aware she revealed darkening her gray eyes. Fallon, staring at his cock like it was the Eighth Wonder of the World.
    He clenched his jaw against the onslaught of lust razing a path straight to his dick.
    Damn canonized. He deserved a halo and wings.
    The front entrance to the police department swung open once again, and this time the man he’d come to see emerged.
    Tristan Scott, Boston Police detective and Shane’s childhood friend, crossed the parking lot, his long, confident stride eating up the distance. He had every right to that self-assurance. At thirty, Tristan was one of the youngest detectives on the force. He’d always known what he’d wanted for his future—to be a police officer just like his father and his grandfather. He rose steadily in the ranks of a career he loved and owned a home in South End with his beautiful fiancée of two years, Joy Sanders. Tristan had the dream—at least the dream Shane desired.
    Stability. Family.
    Growing up with Trudy Roarke as a mother, he appreciated the need for stability, security, and routine. While he’d never doubted his mother’s love, and she’d never shorted him and Addy on affection, hugs hadn’t paid the power bills or the rent. Kisses hadn’t filled the refrigerator with food. And neither could erase the dread of climbing the stairs of their South End apartment building, afraid to look at the door in case another eviction notice was taped to the front. He’d craved normalcy. Had joined the Army in search of it. While others had chafed at the rules, discipline, and rigid structure, he’d craved them—flourished under them.
    He still embraced them.
    “Hey.” Tristan dragged Shane forward and into a brief, back-slapping hug, which Shane returned. “I haven’t seen you in a while. What’s up? Everything okay at the firm?”
    “Yeah,”