As Bruce waited to see what she would do next, Claire turned around, straightening her shoulders and looking resigned. "If you want to press charges, I will understand."

"What?" Feeling a little stunned, Bruce stood up, his eyes doing a series of rapid blinks. "What are you talking about?"

Wringing her hands, she stared down at his feet. "For—" She looked to her left and right before moving toward him, still not willing to make eye contact. When close enough to use a whisper, she stopped and murmured, "Sexual assault."

More blinking on his part. Then he threw his head back and laughed.

She finally met his gaze, hers shadowed by a frown. "This is not a laughing matter, Major."

'No," he squeezed out between chortles. He tried to suppress it, but the laughter kept flowing.

Until he saw her reaction.

Big brown eyes became shiny with tears before she stepped away from him, heading to her room.

No more laughing. "Claire, wait," he said, following her.

When she kept moving, he grabbed her upper arm and spun her around, backing her up against the countertop of the center-island. Placing his hands on the concrete at either side of her hips, he locked her in place. Clearly shocked by his move, she stood frozen while he used the proximity to enjoy a close-up examination of the freckles on her cheeks.

Regaining composure, she tried to edge her way out from the circle of his arms, but he held tight. "Let me go," she demanded.

"Not until we get one thing straight. Last night was by no means an assault. Sexual, yes, I'll give you that. But assault? No way."

"It was inappropriate. I took advantage of my position. I . . . I touched you, someone under my command."

"Well . . ." Bruce smiled a little and brought a hand up to her neck, running his thumb along her jaw line. "When I do this, do you feel assaulted?"

Her eyes widened. "No," she breathed.

He dragged his finger from her chin to the hollow at the base of her throat, drawing circles inside the sweet indentation. "How about now?"

The shake of her head was barely detectable. It was her expectant stillness that provided its own version of permission.

Stop, he told himself. This was a stick of dynamite rolling toward an open flame. It was early morning on a crowded base. At any moment someone could arrive at their door.

But as the tip of her tongue parted perfect lips, he tempted fate. His hand inched further down. He could feel the incline through her shirt where cleavage began. Slowly, he brushed his fingertip back and forth over her contours. "And now?" God, his voice was so raspy he hardly recognized it.

She closed her eyes and arched toward him in a way that got his blood pumping. Everywhere. Now this, this was more like it. She was with him in the moment. No one-sided clinical evaluation this time.

When a little moan sounded from deep in her throat, he forgot all about location and timing. He needed to touch her, to feel her breast in his palm even if it was through clothing. Flattening his hand, he—

A hard knock rattled the door on its hinges. "Commander Wilson," Morris's muffled voice called through it.

Claire gulped down a gasp and pushed Bruce aside. Bracing himself against the countertop, he hung his head and muttered a curse.

With the limited patience of a man that was used to being in command and catered to, the door knobbed turned . . . and in walked Claire's number one hypochondriac.

Bruce should have known he'd show up. According to Morris, the "sore back" had degenerated to the point where it required daily physiotherapy. In other words, he had turned Claire into his own personal masseuse. Bruce didn't buy into it for a second. Oh, there was pain alright, but it had nothing to do with Morris's back.

Pain in the ass was more like it.

Especially right now as he stood with his hands on his hips, absorbing the scene he had just walked in on.

Claire sidestepped to put some distance between them, the pinkish tint to her cheeks sending a direct message to Morris. Bruce gave him a run of the mill wave of his hand knowing the nothing-going-on-here attempt at civility had failed even before his ass was back on the stool.

Claire hurried over to the exam room. Bruce could sense Morris's scrutiny but didn't dare look up from the computer, tempted as he was to flip the guy off. Footsteps signaled his freedom, and he glanced over as Morris lowered himself face-first onto the bed. Claire kept the curtain open as she always did with Morris. Bruce suspected she had her own doubts about back pain, although she never talked about it.

Twenty minutes later they were done. Morris said his goodbyes and had almost reached the door when he stopped and wheeled around. Looking fixedly at Bruce, he asked, "How is your woman back home doing, Major?"

In his peripheral vision, Bruce watched Claire stiffen. Stuck between a rock and hard place, he muttered, "Fine."

"Glad to hear it." Morris turned his attention to Claire. "It's nice when the men have someone at home waiting for them. It grounds them, gives them a reason to take better care of themselves. Don't you agree, Commander?"

Claire nodded dully.

Morris turned his smug face back to Bruce. "Enjoy your day."

Once he was gone, Bruce was back on his feet, his eyes locked onto hers. "There is no—"

"Stop." Claire's hand came up. "This ends." With a flip of her wrist, her index finger hammered toward the ground. "Right here, right now." She pointed to some files on the counter. "Please take those records back to storage."

She turned her back on him and returned to the exam room to rip the sheets from the bed and prep it for the next patient. There would be no reasoning with her.

The lab coat was back on.

Only this time, it was buttoned all the way up to the neck.

)l(

After Bruce left, Claire tried to keep busy but it was no use. Her mind raced with self-recrimination. What was she doing? Had she not learned her lesson years ago? Being sucked in by the charms of a good-looking man, only to find out she was nothing more than a little fling on the side. Although, she was just as much to blame after her actions the night before. He had pushed her away, hadn't he. And then, in her own bed, she had . . . Oh, God, this was all her fault.

Behind her the door opened, and she slammed her eyes shut. Back already? Was it too much to ask for a few minutes of privacy? She wasn't sure she could look Bruce in the eye. Still, they had to work together, so she squared her shoulders and made an effort at small talk. "That was fast."

The click of the lock was unexpected. Frowning, she looked over her shoulder to find Morris by the door, his hand on the mechanism. The strange look on his face made her heart start to pound.

He came at her, wearing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "We haven't had many opportunities to chat. Is everything working out okay here in the lab?"

Claire turned and nodded, stepping away from the counter as he moved closer, not wanting to feel trapped against it. "Yes, sir, everything is running smoothly."

"And with the major?"

Claire felt the heat rush to her cheeks. "Ah, Major Morgan is working out fine." She looked over to the spot where Bruce had cornered her earlier, wondering if that was what Morris was referring to. Whatever. It was none of his goddamned business anyway, so she added, "Whether or not he's enjoying the work . . . well, you'd have to ask him." Sensing the man's gaze had moved down her body, she snapped her eyes back to his, catching him in the act. She was grateful for the loose fitting uniform—he'd have a hard time picturing her naked. "Anything else?" she asked, purposely leaving off the sir and hearing the disdain that had crept into her own voice.

Morris took another step toward her and she stepped back. They repeated the awkward dance two more times until she had worked herself into the corner. With one final step, he came uncomfortably close—and she had nowhere to go. Morris may have been twice her age, but he still cut an imposing figure, and she hated how easily he could dominate her.

"A beautiful woman like you has to be careful. Lots of lonely men on base. Sometimes they can get a little worked up." He shrugged. "Wouldn't want any of them taking liberties they shouldn't." His hand came up to her face, his finger stroking below her chin.

Claire jerked her head away from his touch. "I can take care of myself, believe me. Drugs can be dangerous weapons." Wait until you try the cocktail I mix for you the next time you complain about a sore back.

A low laugh rumbled in his chest. "We men sometimes forget that women have needs too." He pinched her chin between his thumb and finger, turning her head and forcing her eyes back to his. "Underneath this icy exterior, I'm willing to bet you're a little hellcat in the bedroom."

Claire was about to slap his hand away when a sound at the door had Morris backing off.

From the hallway, Bruce's voice called, "Claire, the door's locked. I forgot my—"

Keys rattled, and the door swung wide. Bruce spotted them in the corner and blinked a few times before long strides carried him across the floor, his glare fixed on Morris.

"Major." Morris gave Bruce the plastic smile Claire was getting sick of seeing. "Commander Wilson was just telling me what a fine job you are doing here."

Bruce said nothing but Claire could sense the anger rolling off of him in waves. Morris sensed it too, the corners of his mouth sliding down to form a rigid line. "Well, I have a meeting to get to." He headed toward the door.

Dark eyes swept over her face while Morris made his exit.

"I'm fine," she hissed once they were alone, trying to cover up the shaky edge in her voice.

Bruce spun on his heels and she reached out to grab his arm, but he slipped out of her hold and headed after the major general. "Shit," she whispered. For whatever reason he was here, he didn't need to blow the whole mission because of some protective instinct he felt for her. She needed to stop him. Now.

"He didn't do anything you haven't already done," she called out.

Bruce came to an abrupt halt, his body stiffening. "True," he muttered, dropping his head. As she watched, the broad back in front of her expanded and contracted with a deep inhale. The files he had tucked under his arm were thrown back on the countertop. "I'm going for a coffee, want one?" he asked in a flat voice without turning around.

She could barely get the words out, the sting of hurting him more painful than expected. "No. No, thank you."

He nodded his head once and left.

END OF CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Poor Bruce and Claire. They just can't seem to catch a break, can they? 😔

What did you think of Morris?😡

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Dedicated to @Cressysa  I figured you might like this chapter 😉 Thank you for all the wonderful support throughout both of my books, my #1 Bruce fan❤️