Page 17 of Wild Card

“I knocked a home run out of the park and tweaked it on the home plate.”

“That’s how you hurt it? When you slid?”

“You saw it?”

“Bits and pieces. I was at the game with friends.”

“So, you know I won the game.”

“I know you hit a home run that clinched the win. Why you still slid into the home base is beyond me.”

“It’s all about the big finish.”

“You mean it’s all about grandstanding.”

“Not grandstanding if you can back it up.”

“Men are so silly.” She catches the joint at the wrong angle and I withdraw.

Her pressure eases off, and her hand goes to my neckline. “I need to feel the nerve reaction. Do you mind?”

I refrain from telling her she can feel any part of me she wants and just nod. The instant her fingers dip into the socket area, I hiss at the zing of pain that radiates through my shoulder.

“Fuck me.”

“Sorry, you really tweaked it. What was your initial injury?”

“Dislocated it.”

“Hmmm,” she hums, continuing to prompt. “That’s painful.”

“I survived.”

“Dislocated shoulder must have put you out of commission for a while at work.”

“You could say that.” As well as a punctured lung and a list of other injuries. I don’t mention these, knowing the motherfucker responsible and the details are mostly classified. Bringing down a domestic smuggling operation made the news. Our involvement was a special assignment.

We were the silent operatives working with a specialized group.

Until someone came after Rowan.

Then it became a different sort of mission.

“Mr. Simms, breathe through it.”

I break out of my thoughts, realizing Willow is now resting her fingers against my pulse point with a troubled expression. “Your heart rate is elevated. Breathe through the pain.”

I should correct her, but that could lead to questions. Instead, I say, “Call me Talon.”

She studies me, her concern fading. “Talon, think you’re up to some exercises?”

The coaxing in her voice reminds me of my mom when I was a boy. “You have me for the hour.”

“We don’t want to overdo it.”

My pride gets the best of me, not willing to let this woman think I’m a pussy. “Babe, that wasn’t pain that sent my pulse racing. Pretty sure it was the fact your hands are roaming all over me. A little more and there’d be a whole different reaction.”

Her skin flames again. “Mr. Simms?—”

---