All I Need Is You Read online

  “I’m sorry you’re still upset,” Rory called out. “If you’d just let me explain. You wouldn’t answer my calls, didn’t respond to my emails, and sent all my lettahs back, unopened. Now that I’m home for good I’m not going anywhere until we talk.”

  “We’ve been talking.” She removed the plastic container of warm soup from the bag and placed it on the table. “Now I’m done talking.” She looked at him. “Goodbye, Rory. Go home. Have a nice life.”

  At that, Rory walked inside her messy condo.

  Sheesh. Men. Why don’t they ever do as they’re told?

  “Stop,” Nate said in his police voice.

  “Arrest him,” Neve suggested while struggling to remove the lid, which seemed to be glued on. Suddenly the effort didn’t seem worth it. What little appetite she’d had was gone.

  “He didn’t arrest me last time.” Rory crossed his arms over his chest. “Just drove me away, took me to the train station, and waited around for me to get on.”

  Last time when he’d showed up, uninvited, two days before he needed to head back to Afghanistan, banging on her door, demanding to be let in, insisting she give him a chance to explain. Nope. Instead she’d called her brother. “What is the benefit of having a sibling who’s a cop if you won’t arrest people when I tell you to?”

  Nate ignored her, as he often did. His full focus elsewhere, he leaned down to look Rory in the eyes. “I recall telling you if you came back around I’d arrest you for real.”

  “For what?” Rory asked.

  “Trespassing,” Nate answered.

  “Harassment,” Neve added. The word had come out of her mouth, she’d felt the vibration of her vocal cords, and yet the voice didn’t sound like hers. A wave of hot, achy, nauseating weakness slammed into her. Her peripheral vision started to narrow. The room started to blur. She needed to get back to bed, to sleep this off, but when she tried to stand a horrific pain shot through her right hip into her lower back.

  Then everything went black.

  —

  Rory made it to Neve just as her right temple connected with the hard tile floor. “Shit.” He scooped her into his arms. “Neve. Baby. You okay?”

  She didn’t respond.

  Rory’s pulse pounded, his lungs went tight. Suddenly it wasn’t Neve in his arms—it was Ghost, a sneaky soldier nicknamed for his ability to slip in and out of places undetected, his body lifeless, his eyes locked in the stare of the dead. Rory shook his head trying to clear the disturbing image.

  “Give her to me.” Nate squatted beside him, tried to take his sister.

  “No.” Rory stood on shaky legs, carried Neve’s limp body to the sofa, and sat down, cradling her on his lap, concentrating on his breathing, focusing on Neve, on staying here in the present and not returning to the past. “Get me a cold wet cloth and a glass of water.” The cloth for her, the water for him.

  Surprisingly, Nate did so without arguing. “You know, my buddy’s wife went through this same thing when she was pregnant,” Rory told Nate as he brushed some dark curls off of Neve’s beautiful but too damn pale face. “She couldn’t keep any food down, got weak and dehydrated, kept passing out. She had to be hospitalized for intravenous hydration.”

  Nate ran back with the wet cloth and placed it on Neve’s forehead. “If she is pregnant I’m going to beat the crap out of you, you irresponsible asshole. You should have used protection.”

  Rory had suggested it, had told Neve to wait. But while talking about trust and each of them having an experience they’d never had before, she’d slid down, taking him inside of her body, with no barrier between them, like he’d dreamt of and fantasized about so many times. So hot, so wet, so fucking amazing, he couldn’t muster the willpower to stop her. God help him, he’d had the best sex of his life that night. But afterward he’d started to wonder, What if? And when she wouldn’t give him a straight answer…

  Nate knelt on the floor beside the couch, leaned in close to Neve, and said, “Come on, you pain in the ass. Wake up.” Then he kissed her forehead. “Shit.” He shot to his feet. “She’s burning up. We’ve got to get her to the hospital.”

  Burning up? That’s when Rory noticed the heat radiating through her bathrobe.

  “Come on.” Nate opened the door. “We’ll take my car.”

  His police car.

  Siren blaring, Nate drove like a maniac, navigating through heavy traffic like a pro, getting them to a hospital in less than ten minutes. All the while Rory held Neve on his lap in the backseat, cuddling her close, checking her pulse and shallow breathing, telling her she was going to be okay and they’d have her to the hospital soon, more to reassure himself than her, because she remained unresponsive for the entire trip.

  Once they got to the Emergency Room, everything happened so fast. He carried Neve in through the electric doors. Nate yelled, “We need some help here,” and they were directed into a large room with three empty beds. He placed Neve on a stretcher to the right. Hospital staff, male and female, dressed in green or blue scrub uniforms, some with lab coats or colorful scrub jackets, hurried in, moving quickly and efficiently. Nate answered questions about Neve’s past medical history and gave the name of her general practitioner. A tall black woman called out orders.

  Rory’s head spun from all the activity, the swarm of people he didn’t know, the unfamiliar sounds. On edge, his heart started to race. His hands grew damp. He wanted to leave, to run to someplace calmer…quieter…but couldn’t. Because Neve lay there, limp and silent, at the center of the mayhem, her head drooped to the side, eyes closed.

  He pinched his ear. Touch seemed to help. Get control of yourself. You’re back in the States. Safe. Relax. Easier said than done, especially the first couple of weeks, sometimes months, after returning home from a combat deployment.

  When he could finally get a word in, as he and Nate were being herded out into the hall, Rory made sure to mention, “She may be pregnant.” His son or daughter might, at this very second, be fighting for life, same as Neve. His heart squeezed at the thought. Please, God. Let them be okay.

  Rory and Nate stood in the hallway outside of Neve’s room, quietly, idly, waiting. A security guard moseyed over, probably to ask them to move to the waiting room. Nate put his hand on his gun and gave the poor guy a look that had him returning to his post without uttering a single word. When the door opened, they braced for news. A woman came out carrying vials filled with blood and what looked like a urine sample, then hurried off without so much as glancing their way.

  Rory, sweat soaking through his shirt, checked his watch. Fifteen fucking minutes had gone by. He needed to know what was happening, something, anything. About Neve. About his baby. Damn the hospital staff, who knew they were out here, worried, waiting for any bit of news. Yet no one had the decency to come talk to them, to put their minds at ease. Enough. Rory took a step toward the room, only to be grabbed back by Nate. “Don’t.” As quick as he’d grabbed Rory, he released him. “Let them do their job.” He stood there stiff—his back against the wall, worry etched on his face—and crossed his arms back over his chest.

  A minute or so later Nate pushed off the wall and started to walk. “Dr. Glassman.” He held out his hand to a tall, gray-haired, nicely dressed man walking toward them. When the doctor had finished putting on his white lab coat, he shook Nate’s hand.

  “Happened to be on my way to the hospital to do rounds when I received your message.” He took his stethoscope, which he’d been holding in his hand, and wrapped it around the back of his neck. “What’s up with our girl?”

  “She’s got a bad case of the flu. Said half the kids in her gymnastics studio are down with it,” Nate answered.

  “It’s a pretty virulent strain this year.”

  “And she may be pregnant,” Rory added, because if she was, the medical staff needed to avoid any testing or treatments that might harm the baby. His baby.

  Dr. Glassman turned his gaze on Rory, looking him over. “And who mi
ght you be?”

  Nate answered. “This is Rory McRoy, a friend of Neve’s.”

  Damn right. A close friend, regardless of what Neve thought. Rory held out his hand, and Dr. Glassman shook it, his grip firm, confident. Rory liked that.

  “Active duty?”

  Rory nodded. “Got back from Afghanistan yesterday, sir.” Three days of travel, hours spent waiting around, no bed in sight. Then he’d been delayed on base, which caused him to miss his flights to New York. He’d spent last night in an airport hoping to fly stand-by.

  “Thank you for your service, son.” The doctor turned toward Nate. “Tell me what happened today.”

  Nate told him everything he’d observed from the time he arrived at Neve’s condo until their arrival at the hospital.

  “When did her symptoms start?”

  “She first mentioned them to me about a week ago, but I think she’d been feeling poorly prior to that.”

  Dr. Glassman shook his head, a concerned expression on his face. “So soon after her procedure, she should have called me immediately. Where is she?” he asked with a sudden sense of urgency.

  “Procedure?” Nate looked confused. “What procedure?”

  Dr. Glassman looked up. “If she didn’t tell you, I’m not at liberty to discuss it. Not without a signed release giving me permission. I’ll have my secretary check to see if we have one. In the meantime I’ve got to speak with her ER attending right away.”

  “She’s in there.” Nate pointed, and a few seconds later Dr. Glassman disappeared behind the door.

  Procedure? The word pounded in Rory’s head. His chest tightened, his stomach cramped. Had there been a problem with her pregnancy? Had she gotten an abortion? At four months? No. With Neve’s history, she’d never intentionally kill their baby…would she?

  Chapter 2

  The next two hours were the longest of Rory’s life. Nate had plenty to keep him busy, mostly phone calls to get someone to cover for him at work, since he was on duty and had planned only a quick stop at Neve’s place. He also tried to contact some of Neve’s coworkers and friends to tell them what was going on and to probe for information about what type of procedure she’d recently undergone. No one knew.

  Rory had nothing to keep him busy, so all he did was sit and wait, alone. Although hard to believe, the waiting made him miss the routine of army life on the base that had been his home for the past twelve months. He actually missed having his buddies in his face all the damn time, no fucking privacy, but always a guy to talk to or kill time with, always someone nearby to have his back. He didn’t like being closed in with a bunch of strangers in the ER waiting room. It made him antsy—as soon as he made a conscious effort to stop the rapid bouncing of his leg, it started up again moments later, as if beyond his control—and it made him wish he had his M16, just in case. After months of having it with him almost all the time, Rory felt naked and vulnerable without it. He eyed each waiting room occupant: Why were they here? Did they pose a threat?

  He shook his head. Stupid, yeah, but being extra cautious kept guys alive, at least in a war zone. You’re no longer in a war zone, dumbass.

  His attention was caught by a little boy, maybe eight years old, thin build, black hair, Middle Eastern complexion. A mother’s yell echoed through his head, gunfire exploded in his mind, forced him to stand, propelled him outside, to get the hell away and gulp some fresh air.

  Rory rubbed his neck, paced back and forth along the sidewalk. He’d expected a nice, quiet homecoming—after he calmed Neve down, of course. Maybe, hopefully, some hot sex. A few days to relax and regroup before heading home to his family and the craziness of working the pub.

  Not this.

  When the cold had chilled him down to his bones, Rory peered through the electric glass doors and saw that the little boy who’d sparked a particularly unpleasant memory was gone from the chair where he’d been sitting. Cautiously Rory reentered the waiting room, not looking at anyone in particular, and found an empty chair as far away from another human being as possible.

  Not far away enough, though.

  To occupy himself, he counted ceiling tiles—sixty-six. Three with cracks, eight with water stains, and one with a pencil stuck in it. He counted waiting room chairs (forty-two) and waiting room occupants (twenty-nine). Pictures on the wall (fourteen). Piercings in the woman sitting across the room (twelve that he could see). Number of coughs suffered by the guy at the end of his row (nineteen) until the woman with him gave him a cough drop.

  Counting helped to calm his nerves.

  So did thinking about Neve. Especially her “Read when you’re alone” letters. Elbows on his knees, fingers clasped together, staring down at his boots, the first one she’d ever sent him came to mind. He’d read it so often he remembered it word for word:

  Dear Rory,

  You don’t shock easily? Challenge accepted!!!! Hope you enjoy all the stuff in the care package. As far as my letters, the sexier the better? How’s this for a first try?

  You visited me in my dreams last night, Rory. Lavished some surprisingly enjoyable attention on each one of my toes with your talented tongue, so warm and wet, before sliding in between the sheets at the foot of my bed, crawling up, all quiet stealth. I wasn’t scared. It was as if my body recognized the feel of your hot mouth and then your weight settling on top of me, how our bodies lined up so perfectly, hip to hip, chest to chest, chin to chin.

  There’s something highly arousing about the coarse fabric of a man’s pants in contact with my naked legs, pushing them apart, making room for himself between my wide-spread thighs. I’m not sure if it was the soft cotton of your T-shirt against my bare breasts or the firm, wide expanse of your chest, pressed so tightly to mine, that made my nipples tighten on contact. Did you feel them?

  Now you know my secret. I sleep in the nude.

  When you rocked your hips I felt the huge bulge of your arousal against my exposed sex, so close, almost there. An overwhelming, intense desire flared to life, pulsing, demanding, creating a need so strong only you could satisfy it, a yearning so deep only you could reach it.

  “Please.” Do you remember me begging? And I never beg. I prefer to go after what I want. I tried. But you wouldn’t let me, would you? No. You stopped my hands at the clasp of your pants, lifting them to either side of my head, holding my wrists in your firm grip. I tried to fight you, to turn you over so I could climb on top and take charge…until that kiss robbed me of my will to resist, your lips so full and soft, your touch gentle, coaxing rather than demanding, in sharp contrast to your show of strength in pinning me beneath you. At that moment I didn’t care that I could hardly move. All I could think was, more. And like you heard my internal plea you gave it to me, plunging your tongue into my mouth, over and over, filling me. It still wasn’t enough.

  I tilted my hips, needing more of you, needing all of you.

  You dropped your forehead to mine and let out that shaky breath, part relieved sigh, part desperately trying to maintain control.

  Do you remember what I said? “You’re away from that awful place, from the horrible conditions and the fighting. Tonight you’re here with me. Let me take care of you. Let me help you forget the war, if only for a short time.”

  You gave in so easily, seeming to want that as much as I did.

  After I had your shirt off and got into position straddling your waist, I couldn’t help but run my palms over your shaved head—so soft—your shoulders, arms, chest, and abs. My God! Your muscles are so defined. It was as if I could see them clearly, even in the dark room. Your skin was so warm and smooth except for the tight buds of your nipples. Seems you like some gentle pinching just like I do. Good to know.

  As I explored, you did too. Your touch made my skin tingle with eager anticipation as your rough hands smoothed up my arms, over my shoulders, to my neck, into my hair, down my back, to squeeze my butt. You spent a lot of time down there before moving over to my hips, along the curve of my waist, up to c
up my breasts, covering every inch of skin, so thorough and careful, as if mapping out my points of interest. Did you like touching me?

  I think you did. Because without warning your calm broke and you clamped both of your arms behind my back, pulled me down, and squeezed me tight, sucking my nipple so hard, over and over. You moved to the other one, and I thought I might come from your mouth alone. I couldn’t allow that. I wanted you inside of me. “Stop.” You did, in an instant, but you didn’t let me go. “Tonight is about you,” I reminded you.

  When I could move again I slid down to sit on your thighs, massaged your impressive erection through your pants, then undid the button and started to slide down the zipper. You held perfectly still, I could feel your eyes watching me, sensed the surge of excitement in the air around us. Soon.

  When I cupped your bare, hard flesh you groaned as if in pain. I knew that wasn’t the time to play. I quickly undressed you, the process hastened by your obvious enthusiasm for the plan.

  I kissed the tip of your erection, tasted you for the first time. My mouth flooded with saliva, craving more. You groaned again, and I decided I liked the deep, rich timbre of that sound and set out to hear more of it. I sucked deep and you slid into my mouth, over my tongue, along my palate and the inner walls of my cheeks, to bump the back of my throat. You held yourself rigid, didn’t grab my head and thrust yourself into my mouth, hard and violent…but I got the feeling you wanted to. Instead you let me set the pace and depth. I appreciated that.

  Each time I took you deep your essence grew more potent. I debated between finishing you off with my mouth vs. taking you between my legs where you could unleash the wild man you were fighting so hard to contain. I wanted you to be able to set him free, so I lifted my head, rolled to my side, then to my back. You followed my lead, settling on top of me again, this time both of us gloriously naked.