* * * * *

Vance worked through my recovery, though Lee never assigned him to anything that would take him out of town. He also was never given night shifts in the surveillance room. This meant Vance was home by eight o’clock, usually earlier, every night.

* * * * *

In late December, close to Christmas when I was still recovering but getting stronger all the time, I stood in Vance’s bathroom, wearing nothing but lacy, pink hipsters and staring into the mirror at my red, ugly, puckering, very, very slowly fading scars.

They would fade but they’d never go away and they were not at all attractive.

I put on a t-shirt of Vance’s. I’d not worn a sexy nightie since getting shot, the bodice of all of the ones I had showed the scar. I knew this because I tried them all on and checked. Then I walked to the bedroom.

Vance was lying in bed, chest bare, sheet to his waist, na**d under the sheet (I knew this because Vance slept na**d not that I’d acquired x-ray vision during my recent trauma). He was reading.

Boo was on his belly, eyes closed but his was head up.

I rounded the bed, flicked back the covers and lay down, pulling the covers up to my neck.

It was safe to say that multiple gunshot wounds put a serious crimp in your sex life. A crimp I wasn’t all fired up to iron out.

In fact, I didn’t think I ever wanted Vance to see me na**d again.

“I think we should break up,” I blurted to the ceiling and then closed my eyes tight when I felt his mood change and fill the room with dangerous white-hot electricity.

“Sorry?” he asked.

I opened my eyes and looked at him. I shouldn’t have. He was looking at me, his brows were knit and his eyes were narrowed and I’d learned that was not a good combo with Vance.

“I think we should break up,” I told him.

“Jesus, you’re a pain in the ass,” he muttered and went back to his book.

“Seriously, Vance.”

“Shut up, Jules,” he said without taking his eyes from his book.

I rolled to my side, reached out and pushed his book down. His eyes cut to me and with one look in them I rethought my actions but it was too late.

“Crowe –” I started but Vance turned, Boo flew off his belly and he put his book to the nightstand. Then he came back to me and rolled toward me, arm going around my waist, he pulled me to him. He did this gently, how he’d been touching me for weeks, but this time it had meaning.

“What’s in that f**king head of yours?” he asked when we were lying side-by-side, face-to-face, our bodies touching.

“I… you… well…” I stopped then started again, “it’s pretty clear you’re the kind of guy who has to have sex, um… a lot of it and, um… we can’t have sex anymore.”

“Why can’t we have sex anymore?”

“Well,” I started and halted. Did I really have to explain it?

I looked at him. He was glaring at me.

I guessed I did.

“I’m kind of gross,” I finished.

“Gross?”

“Yes, gross.”

“How are you gross?”

Now I was getting pissed. “I can’t believe you’re gonna make me spell it out for you,” I snapped.

His hand moved, it went down over my hip then up under my shirt then both his arms wrapped around me. “He could have blown off half your face, you survived, you’d still be lyin’ beside me.”

I blinked.

He didn’t pause for me to wrap my head around that mind-blowing statement, he went on. “One of those bullets could have torn through your spinal cord, you’d be lyin’ beside me.”

Oh my God.

His arms got tighter, pressing my body against his and his face came super-close. “This is it. You and me. No matter what,” he said.

“Crowe –” I whispered, so stunned, so moved, I thought my heart had to have stopped beating.

“No matter what,” he said, his voice fierce and strong and rumbling through me. “You told me I was home to you and I get it. You’re home to me. I’ve never had a home. I like the one I found and I’m not losin’ it. No matter what.”

I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want to but I started crying. It wasn’t the wracking-loud-sobs kind of crying, it was the tears-filling-your-eyes-and-spilling-over-silently kind of crying.

He watched me cry and didn’t say a word, he just held me close.

“You… you said…” I stammered, “if I ever changed my body –”

“Show me,” he murmured, his voice and eyes had grown soft.

I stopped crying immediately and said, “What?”

“Show me, Princess.”

I stared at him for what seemed like ages knowing exactly what he meant.

His mouth came to mine and he said again, “Show me.”

I sucked in a breath in an attempt to buy time to decide if I had the courage to show him. Then, deciding I did, in fact I had to, I pulled away and he let me go. He pushed down the covers, I pulled up the t-shirt and I closed my eyes.

I opened them again when I felt his mouth on me.

It moved, touching my scars gently, his hands roaming my sides, h*ps and then he pushed me on my back.

Then he came up, kissing the scar at my chest then he moved his mouth to my br**sts, spending a lot more time there, first at one then the other. It felt great and I totally forgot how gross I was.

Then his mouth went lower. Then lower. Then he rolled between my legs and his mouth was there.

That’s when I really totally forgot how gross I was.

After awhile he pulled off my panties and made me come with his mouth.

It was f**king fantastic.

He rolled to his back, I got on top of him and wrapped my hand around him.

“Jules, you don’t –” he started but I leaned down and kissed him quiet.

Then I guided him inside me and moved on top of him. I took my time mainly because I’d just had an orgasm so I had all the time in the world, not to mention it felt really good.

Vance wasn’t really into slow though. I figured he’d taken care of himself somewhere along the way but maybe I was wrong. He got impatient and sat up, his hands at my h*ps coaxing me to go faster. They slid up my sides and his eyes locked on mine.

“I wanna take off your shirt,” he said, his voice hoarse.

I shook my head.