Page 25 of Cooper

I’m not naïve enough to think being captured and tortured hasn’t impacted me, but it’s more than that. And it’s more than having a major hard-on for a certain Limaji brunette whom I think about more than I probably should. For some reason, I’m desperate to get out of here. I feel like a different kind of prisoner and it’s too soon after actually being a prisoner to stay anywhere that has that effect on me.

At some point after they take blood and check my vitals around four in the morning, I fall asleep. The next thing I know, someone has brought me breakfast and I open my eyes with a yawn.

“Good morning.” One of the dozens of doctors I’ve seen since I’d been here smiles at me from over the clipboard in his hands.

“Morning.” I sit up, stretching.

“I understand you’re going to be recuperating in Limaj with the royal family. Must be nice to have friends in high places.” He’s signing sheet after sheet of paper on some kind of clipboard. “Make sure you take it easy, though. You’ll need a lot of rest to heal—both mentally and physically. It’s still pretty cold over there, isn’t it?” He continues to ramble, but I just sip my coffee, wondering what Louie or Grim—or some combination of both—did to make this happen.

Whoever it was, the jet arrives a couple of hours later and I’m on my way not long after that. It’s not a long flight, so I get to the palace in Limaj that night around nine-thirty. I’m exhausted just from sitting on the plane for a few hours and can’t wait to get to bed, even though I’ll never admit it. Those fuckers in Iraq really did a number on me and it pisses me off. I’m alive and healing, but it’s going a lot slower than it ever has before. Of course, I’ve never been captured and tortured before.

Apparently, it makes a difference.

“Hi.” Natalia is standing in the underground garage when we enter, and the driver gets my bag as I limp out of the limousine they sent for me.

“Hey, beautiful.” I lean over and kiss her.

“You look tired.” She reaches out to cup the side of my face. “Let’s get you settled in my room. Are you hungry?”

“I could eat.” I follow her slowly, hoping I don’t look as lame as I feel.

“A sandwich? Soup?”

“I’d really like a shower first.”

“Done.” She takes my bag from the guy who picked me up at the airport, and that pisses me off. In what universe does the woman in my life carry my bags?

“You were captured, beaten, and tortured,” she says, hitting the button on the elevator. “You were almost killed and we’re both marines—for lack of a better comparison word. So don’t do that macho thing where you get grumpy because your girlfriend is carrying your bag.”

I quirk a brow at her in amusement. “Are you my girlfriend?”

“Well, I can’t think of any other term that’s appropriate, so unless you can, that’s what I’m going with.”

“Works for me.”

The elevator doors open and we step into a wide hallway.

“This is the apartment wing,” she says. “Level four. Level one is the garage. Two is ground level, which is where the kitchens, gym, business and security offices, and conference rooms are. Three is where the staff and employee apartments are, four is where the royal family’s apartments are, and five is penthouses and special events. I’ll give you a tour when you’re a little more rested.”

“Sounds good.” I watch her cool efficiency with a private smile. She’s very at home and confident in her role as a Royal Protector, and it’s interesting to see her in her element. We talked a lot about the palace and the Protectors when we were in Iraq, but seeing it all firsthand is different.

“I’ll get you your own key to my suite,” she says. “It’s small but comfortable.” She unlocks a door at the end of the hall.

We walk in and there’s a decent size bed, two nightstands, a dresser, a desk and chair, a flat-screen TV on the wall, and a comfortable looking recliner by the window. There are other things, like a mini-fridge and microwave, but I’m a bit fixated on the chair. It seems out of place in the otherwise sparsely decorated room, like a personal touch randomly thrown in. Especially since it appears older, worn but in a cozy way.

“You look tired,” Natalia is saying. “Let’s get you settled. Do you need to use the bathroom or anything?”

“Are you going to mother me?”

“For a day,” she replies, laughing as she unlaces her boots and pulls them off. “Tomorrow, you’re on your own.”

“Fair enough.” I sit on the edge of the bed as fatigue suddenly overwhelms me. “Maybe I need a little mothering.”

“You okay?” She’s instantly at my side.

“Getting on a plane took a lot out of me, that’s all. I’ll be okay once I get some sleep.”

“Come on.” She helps me to my feet and leads me into the bathroom. “Do your business, I’ll get your things so you can brush your teeth or whatever. Then I’m ordering you some soup and putting you to bed.”

---