Page 62 of Welker

Welker sighed.

The sneak attack responsible for his eyebrow to chin scar had not only spun him into near man-whore territory, it had also fomented his need to have over-the-top surveillance systems installed at his house.

“This, is what ended my career as a SEAL,” he finally answered.

She waited patiently beside him, her digits still tracing his scar-tissue, with a questioning look on her face. “I’d heard that. But we don’t?—"

“No. Seriously. I don’t mind talking about it,” he told her, staring at the ceiling while basking in her touch. “It was one of those things you hear about all the time, except in this instance, it happened to me. I was in Afghanistan on patrol one night with a couple of guys from another unit who I hardly knew. One of them was a little amped up, couldn’t be reined in. The third guy and I knew he was making too much noise, but we thought there weren’t any insurgents in the area.” Welker groaned. “We were wrong. A group of five ambushed us, appearing out of nowhere. The loud guy was killed, instantly, but the guy behind me was balls-to-the-wall. He and I took out the rest in a bitter fight to the end. Luckily for my back-up, he escaped unscathed. I got sliced by a big-ass blade, and ended up with this.” He squinched up his face where she touched.

Welker wouldn’t lie. He’d felt awful that the one soldier had been killed, but he’d also been relieved it wasn’t one of his actual team who’d died that night. His buddies had heard the skirmish and swiftly rushed to his aid, probably saving his eye by giving him immediate medical attention and calling for a medivac.

“And you got discharged from the service because…?”

“Because after the surgeons made their repairs, my vision was compromised,” he admitted, knowing the remnants of his disability wouldn’t be a game-changer for Moira.

“They call it penetrative physical trauma, and it’s kind of a crapshoot. The doctors weren’t sure how much, if any of my visual acuity I’d regain over time, but the higher-ups weren’t amenable to waiting around and finding out,” Welker told her.

Yeah. He’d been bitter about that. He’d given several good years of his life to the Navy, and they’d cut him loose without a backward glance.

“But it’s their loss.” He shrugged. Water under the bridge. “Time sorted things out to a point where although I’ll never be twenty-twenty in that eye, I’m good enough to do my job as a cop and a SWAT member.”

“Of course you are,” Moira kissed his boo-boo then winked. “All that and more.” She hesitated, then asked another hard question. “So the amped up security around here…?”

“Smart girl,” Welker huffed. “Yeah. You guessed it. I ended up with a fear of being snuck-up-upon. It’s not as bad as it once was, but I still don’t like surprises.”

“Good to know.” Moira patted his chest. “I’ll make sure I cause a ruckus every time I approach.” She gazed at his scar again. “So you don’t mind having it now? Because I think it’s kind of…rakish.”

Welker chuckled. “Yeah. All the ladies love it,” he teased. The women he’d…sampled, had assured him it just added to his mysterious, bad-boy persona.

“Well, this lady has dibs.”

She snorted, then straddled his prone body with smirk.

Yup. Round four.

When they finally emerged from their room to walk downstairs, Welker wondered if Moira’s legs—her long, fucking gorgeous legs, showcased by his shirt she was wearing, which gave him repeated glimpses of paradise—were as wobbly as his. He’d never, in his entire sexual history, had someone who could rock his world the way this woman did. And for so many times in a row. He’d orgasmed more in the past two hours than he’d ever imagined was humanly possible.

Moira was if for him, and he planned on letting her know it every day for the rest of their lives.

“You’ve ruined me for anything else tonight, Moira. I’d been thinking we might take a walk in the woods after we eat since the weather is still cooperating, but my muscles are totally shot. You’ve made me a marshmallow.”

“Oooh,” Moira piped up, full of far too much energy for the amount they’d just expended. “That reminds me. I found the ingredients for s’mores in your cabinets, so after pork-chops, instead of a walk, we’ll?—”

The perimeter alarm blared to life, interrupting.

Welker instantly lost any of his remaining lethargy, and grew immediately alert.

“I wasn’t expecting Callie and Sabira tonight,” he said, headed straight for his office at a run, toward his computer.

Moira was right on his heels. “Who else comes to visit?”

Within seconds, Welker had his exterior camera feeds up, and…

He snorted, then looked at Moira. “You, uh, might want to go put on something other than my shirt,” he warned her.

“Why? Who is it?” she asked, already taking a few steps back toward the stairs, knowing he wouldn’t suggest she get dressed if there were any other option.

Welker sighed deeply. “I knew we couldn’t put it off forever. But I was hoping for a little more time.”

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