Free Being Emerald by Sylvia Ryan

Feisty and cute.”
    The fifteen-minute break passed in the blink of an eye, and after giving Laila a new bottle of water, he pulled her up from the ground. She groaned.
    “You sore?”
    “Dying maybe, maimed perhaps, but sore definitely doesn’t cover it.”
    “The more you move, the better you’ll feel.” Rock grasped her hand again and slowly led her into the armory and shooting range, where he delivered his first lesson on the assembly, disassembly and safety features of her side arm.
    “Can I shoot?” She’d perked up. The hope in her upturned face gnawed at his resolve. He loved that she wasn’t afraid. “Please,” she whined.
    “In a couple of days.”
    She drooped in disappointment. She was a mess, standing stiffly in her dirty clothes. It was okay, though. Nothing wrong with a little pain and emotion to remind a person they were alive.
    Today, he’d lived.
    So had she.
     
     

Chapter 9
     
    Laila was nearly asleep by the time Rock pulled into his driveway. He walked around the front of the truck, opened the passenger door, and caught her before she tumbled out. He offered his hand.
    “Ahh! Stop!” she cried, squeezing his hand hard. “My muscles have stiffened up.” She gingerly slid the rest of the way out of the truck, until her feet found the pavement. “Holy shit, you’ve broken me.” She stood there hunchbacked and grasping his hand so hard she felt his knuckles roll against each other. “I can’t move.”
    “Okay, up you go.” Rock hauled her into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist and supporting her rear with his hands, just as he’d done the night before.
    Laila experienced a twinge of pain at the mere thought of clinging to him, so she tucked her arms between them and snuggled into his chest instead.
    He carried her upstairs, as if she weighed nothing. In the bathroom, he sat her on the edge of the tub. She just sat there, not wanting to make the motions required to take off her clothes. Her limbs were heavy and about as useful as boulders.
    Rock turned on the faucet and adjusted the knobs. His T-shirt pulled tight across his magnificent back and his sculpted ass looked delicious in the black mission pants he wore. She smiled for the first time that day. Rock’s rejection to her offer of sex the night before had maimed her dignity. For the most part, he’d followed her lead, staying businesslike during training, but when he turned to her, he’d changed, too. Pure sex rolled off him, kicking up her heart rate.
    He pulled her up, and stepping back, he assessed her. His blazing eyes moved slowly, from her head to toes while she stood there, hobbled. She was depleted, had absolutely nothing left, and wondered if she looked the way she felt.
    With an apologetic look in his eyes, he tenderly helped her sit back down. She slumped, resting her forearms on her knees. “Poor baby,” he whispered as he knelt in front of her.
    “Please don’t make fun of me.”
    He gently pulled off one of her boots and then the other. “I’m not. Promise.” He peeled a sock off and massaged her foot with strong, probing fingers.
    “Oh, that feels good.” He took his time, kneading with both hands, digging into her arches.
    “You knew you were going on this mission. Why didn’t you train ahead of time?” Rock’s voice was soft, his tone concerned, with no reproach.
    “I did. I trained my mind. I learned, planned, and then contingency planned how to get these pieces back in one piece.” She groaned again as he let go of one foot and started on the other. “I shouldn’t need to train my body too. Protecting me is your job.”
    He chuckled softly. “Still cute.”
    She ground her molars together, barely able to contain her ire. She wanted to bite his head off, tell him to go fuck himself, something.
    “Up,” he ordered with a nudge to her arms. She ignored his direction until he met her gaze and raised an eyebrow.
    She lifted her arms slowly.
    He peeled her top off and tossed it