Always a Marine
Have Yourself a Marine Christmas
by
HEATHER LONG
Rebel
with a holiday…
Ryan
Edward Brun—Rebel to his friends—has always loved Christmas. Whether raising
money for Toys for Tots, delivering presents dressed up like Santa Claus or
driving his platoon crazy with Christmas ‘surprises.’ He never lacked for
Christmas spirit—until he lost his legs to an IED.
Operation
Good Cheer…
Noël
Torres has watched over Rebel for months, holding his hand when he wanted to
give up, and bullying him when he got lazy. But with Christmas right around the
corner and decorations filling every room in their wing of Mike’s Place, the
barren oasis Rebel surrounds himself in breaks her heart. He won’t call his
family, he’s not sending out cards, he won’t pull any pranks—she decides to get
this Marine back into the holiday action.
An
elf on a mission…
With
the help of some kids, a few good Marines, and Santa Claus and Noël is
determined to give Rebel a very Marine Christmas…
Have Yourself a Marine
Christmas
Always a Marine
Release Date: November 26,
2013 – All Links Pending Release
About the Author:
National
bestselling author, Heather Long, likes long walks in the park, science
fiction, superheroes, Marines, and men who aren’t douche bags. Her books are
filled with heroes and heroines tangled in romance as hot as Texas summertime.
From paranormal historical westerns to contemporary military romance, Heather
might switch genres, but one thing is true in all of her stories—her characters
drive the books. When she’s not wrangling her menagerie of animals, she devotes
her time to family and friends she considers family. She believes if you like
your heroes so real you could lick the grit off their chest, and your heroines
so likable, you’re sure you’ve been friends with women just like them, you’ll
enjoy her worlds as much as she does.
Contact Details:
Website:
http://www.heatherlong.net
Email:
heather@heatherlong.net
Facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/HeatherLongAuthor
Twitter:
http://www.twitter.com/HVLong
Enjoy
the following excerpt for Have Yourself a Marine Christmas:
Jingle Bell Rock blasted through the speakers
and more than one voice jammed out to the familiar tune, echoing the song up
and down the hall. The music still invaded his room, even after one of the
nurses had closed the door for him. Rebel thumbed the volume louder on the
television, hoping to mute the insidious little ditty before it wormed farther
into his brain.
A cramp fisted in his thigh and Rebel dropped the
remote, digging his fingers into the recalcitrant muscle. He gritted his teeth
and a hiss of air escaped—his only concession to the pain radiating up from his
calf to pinch his quadriceps. It’s all in
your head, Marine. Suck it up. He had no calf muscle to cramp.
Because he had no damn calves.
Staring steadily at the news report offered him a
grim distraction. Trouble in the Baltics and civil war raging in an African
nation earned top news bites. Somewhere, someone always hurt worse than he did.
Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he tried to distract himself, but
the thunk of the faux foot on wood didn’t have the same effect.
The door opened, adding fresh punch to his misery as
Frosty the Snowman followed behind the luscious, caramel-skinned torturer who
looked after him.
“Close the damn door.” He regretted the snarl the
moment it passed his lips. The aggravating pain in his quad wouldn’t let go and
had begun to radiate up his back. Flattening his prosthetic foot had zero
effect and the socket friction on his skin compounded by the damn song
replicating like a virus across the walls of his mind.
“Good afternoon to you, too.” Noel Torres pushed the
door closed with a thump. “Cramps?” She
didn’t wait for his answer before crossing the room and adding her nimble
fingers to the job. Seizing his thigh in both hands, she dug her thumbs right
into the center of the knot, brutalizing him with a fresh wave of agony. “You
know the drill, Rebel.” Snappy and crisp, her eyes clashed with his. “Breathe.”
He could no more ignore the order than he could the
heady scent of her perfume—not that he was expert in such matters. Noel’s was
an exotic, distinctly feminine scent he associated only with her, and for the
last year it had been his salvation. Deep breaths calmed his racing heart as
her thumbs continued to apply pressure to the violent spasm seizing his muscle
until bit-by-bit, it eased.
“Breathe,” she ordered him. “In for four. Hold. Out
for four.”
Struggling to follow the command, he kept his
attention on her. Dressed in deep yellow polo shirt that truly brought out her
skin tone, and her long black hair pulled back in a severe ponytail, she looked
all of twelve years old.
Yeah, if twelve looked hot
and edible….
He scowled at the new direction his mind wandered and Noel squeezed his thigh.
A burning lance of sensation stabbed him and then the muscle let go entirely
and he wanted to weep.
“You’re holding your breath again.” She frowned, but
shifted her grip on his thigh and begun to massage it.
Reminded, he exhaled a hard sigh. “Hurts like a
bitch.”
“Of course it does, you’re tense and getting worked
up. You know your mood has as much of an effect on your recovery as your
exercise regimen.” Disapproval hung off the last two words and Rebel huffed.
“And don’t you take that impatient note with me. Did you really think they
wouldn’t tell me you skipped physio three days this week?”
“I was tired.” He tried to look around her, but she
only adjusted her firm touch to knead the taut muscles of his other thigh.
“Bullshit. Your physio is not an option. Get a grip
on your panties, Marine. You don’t get to play the I’m-too-tired card. We put a pin in that one months ago.”
Three months before, he’d been in the midst of a
black depression and slept day in and day out. He refused to go to therapy,
refused to engage with his psych evaluation, and damn near ended up on forced
medication. Noel hadn’t allowed him the luxury of mind-numbing drugs. Instead,
she’d all but dragged him out of bed, helped him into a wheelchair and took him
for a walk in the park—pushing him around like a baby in a pram.
Humiliating—but effective. He returned to therapy the next day—and she’d smiled
at him.
The soothing stroke of her fingers unlocked the
tension in his gut. “How was your trip?” he asked. Maybe distraction would
work.
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