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Authors: Elisabeth Barrett
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man—this dangerous man with a hell-raising past—was humbling himself for her. For a moment, neither of them breathed.
“All right,” Julie assented. “I’ll take a look.”
For a split second, something flashed in Cole’s eyes. A satisfied, primal look. And then, just as Julie blinked, his fierce expression faded. She’d made her choice. She only hoped that she wouldn’t live to regret it.
“I’ll step outside so you can get your pants off.”
“No need,” he said, and before she could even move, he jumped down from the table, undid his pants, slid them down his legs, tossed them on a chair, and hopped back up. “Ready when you are.”
“Hmm,” she said, narrowing her eyes at the breach of protocol. Then she focused her gaze on his leg and saw the web of scar tissue that started halfway up the side of his left thigh and disappeared beneath the edge of his boxer shorts. Though she’d seen plenty of serious injuries during her med school rotations and residency, she’d never seen one like this—utterly devastating in its size. The skin was healed but still looked stretched and dry, despite the fact that the damage had obviously happened years ago. It was a wound of war—jagged and angry. “How—”
“Roadside bomb.” The tone of his voice left no doubt that any line of questioning would be shut down.
“So let’s see what we’ve got.” She crossed the room in two long steps. “Do you mind?” she asked, holding her hand over his leg.
“Not at all, Doc.” Was it her imagination or were his lips curling up at the edges?
Julie reached down and put her hand lightly on his thigh. As she touched him, he hissed through his teeth.
Julie probed the scar tissue on his leg experimentally, pushing up the edge of his boxers nearly to his hip to see the extent of the scarring. “Shrapnel sure does a lot of damage and the scar tissue is tight. Does it give you much pain?” she asked.
“Only when it rains,” Cole said wryly. “Seriously, it always aches more during the spring. Itches, too. Not sure why.”
“Who put your leg back together?” she asked, probing the edges of the scar.
“Army medics. Had to have a skin graft,” he told her.
“You’re lucky they did a really good job with the graft.”
“Yeah,” Cole said, bitterness infusing his voice. “Luckier than the guys who didn’t make it, that’s for sure.”
“Did they do a silicone wrap?”
He nodded. “At six months. It helped a lot.”
“Hmm,” Julie said under her breath as she continued to press Cole’s scar, checking for tightness and give. “There are specialists who could probably do a better job with you. You’re a couple of years out from having any additional silicone treatments—they usually do those within the first year—so you really have only a couple of options for the dry scar tissue and surrounding skin. My suggestion is to rub some moisturizing ointment into your leg at night. Massage is great for taking care of scar tissue—it helps to break it up—and the ointment would help keep the skin moist. It might ease some of the tightness and aching. You can buy some over the counter, and I’m happy to write down which ones I think are best.”
Cole placed one of his large hands on hers, trapping it between his hand and his thigh. Julie jerked her head up. The warmth from his body seeped into her. She felt a steady pulse tick in his wrist, in sharp contrast to the wild beating of her own heart.
“You want to thank me for giving your boys another chance, don’t you?” Cole asked softly.
“Thank you,” Julie responded calmly, automatically, even as her senses began to spiral out of control. By trapping her hand, he’d pulled her closer to him. She hoped he couldn’t feel her racing pulse and she tugged experimentally to free her hand. Although heat rushed from where he touched her and diffused through her entire body, filling her with a delicious warmth, she didn’t break eye contact with
“All right,” Julie assented. “I’ll take a look.”
For a split second, something flashed in Cole’s eyes. A satisfied, primal look. And then, just as Julie blinked, his fierce expression faded. She’d made her choice. She only hoped that she wouldn’t live to regret it.
“I’ll step outside so you can get your pants off.”
“No need,” he said, and before she could even move, he jumped down from the table, undid his pants, slid them down his legs, tossed them on a chair, and hopped back up. “Ready when you are.”
“Hmm,” she said, narrowing her eyes at the breach of protocol. Then she focused her gaze on his leg and saw the web of scar tissue that started halfway up the side of his left thigh and disappeared beneath the edge of his boxer shorts. Though she’d seen plenty of serious injuries during her med school rotations and residency, she’d never seen one like this—utterly devastating in its size. The skin was healed but still looked stretched and dry, despite the fact that the damage had obviously happened years ago. It was a wound of war—jagged and angry. “How—”
“Roadside bomb.” The tone of his voice left no doubt that any line of questioning would be shut down.
“So let’s see what we’ve got.” She crossed the room in two long steps. “Do you mind?” she asked, holding her hand over his leg.
“Not at all, Doc.” Was it her imagination or were his lips curling up at the edges?
Julie reached down and put her hand lightly on his thigh. As she touched him, he hissed through his teeth.
Julie probed the scar tissue on his leg experimentally, pushing up the edge of his boxers nearly to his hip to see the extent of the scarring. “Shrapnel sure does a lot of damage and the scar tissue is tight. Does it give you much pain?” she asked.
“Only when it rains,” Cole said wryly. “Seriously, it always aches more during the spring. Itches, too. Not sure why.”
“Who put your leg back together?” she asked, probing the edges of the scar.
“Army medics. Had to have a skin graft,” he told her.
“You’re lucky they did a really good job with the graft.”
“Yeah,” Cole said, bitterness infusing his voice. “Luckier than the guys who didn’t make it, that’s for sure.”
“Did they do a silicone wrap?”
He nodded. “At six months. It helped a lot.”
“Hmm,” Julie said under her breath as she continued to press Cole’s scar, checking for tightness and give. “There are specialists who could probably do a better job with you. You’re a couple of years out from having any additional silicone treatments—they usually do those within the first year—so you really have only a couple of options for the dry scar tissue and surrounding skin. My suggestion is to rub some moisturizing ointment into your leg at night. Massage is great for taking care of scar tissue—it helps to break it up—and the ointment would help keep the skin moist. It might ease some of the tightness and aching. You can buy some over the counter, and I’m happy to write down which ones I think are best.”
Cole placed one of his large hands on hers, trapping it between his hand and his thigh. Julie jerked her head up. The warmth from his body seeped into her. She felt a steady pulse tick in his wrist, in sharp contrast to the wild beating of her own heart.
“You want to thank me for giving your boys another chance, don’t you?” Cole asked softly.
“Thank you,” Julie responded calmly, automatically, even as her senses began to spiral out of control. By trapping her hand, he’d pulled her closer to him. She hoped he couldn’t feel her racing pulse and she tugged experimentally to free her hand. Although heat rushed from where he touched her and diffused through her entire body, filling her with a delicious warmth, she didn’t break eye contact with
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