Next to Die by Marliss Melton

shield, he rolled over and swung his feet over the side.
Not a twinge
, he marveled. She’d really loosened him up. “Wow,” he murmured, thinking she was quite talented.
    “I’d like to see you again on Thursday,” she said. “We’ll run through the same treatment.”
    He looked forward to it. Maybe then he’d even be able to look her in the eye and not feel like a loser.
    “Check with the receptionist on your way out,” she added with a small, professional smile. Her skirt swished and her heels tapped, and she was gone.
    Joe heaved a sigh of self-recrimination. Maybe little sister was right. Penelope Price didn’t seem like the type to expose him. She had integrity. And given the magic in her fingers, he was probably lucky to have her as his neighbor, not to mention his physical therapist.
     
    Penny shut herself up in her office and dropped into her desk chair. Bringing her aching fingers to her nose, she savored the scent of clean male and fresh laundry. The feel of his hot, smooth skin replayed itself in her kinetic memory. His densely powerful muscles were a playground to her tutored hands. She could have spent hours massaging his body, starting with those perfectly toned butt muscles peeking out of his boxer briefs.
    With a sigh, she released such unprofessional thoughts. Her infatuation with Joe was pointless. He’d made it clear that he resented her meddling. And yet, his visit today had only stoked her fascination. There was something going on with him that she couldn’t put her finger on . . .
    She tapped her chin, thinking.
    He refused to talk about the accident that had left him scarred and another SEAL dead. When she’d mentioned the downing of the helicopter filled with men, he’d gone rigid, almost like he’d witnessed it. But he couldn’t have. He was a commander.
    And yet, there
was
one lone SEAL who’d survived that fiasco. He’d been chased for days by Taliban insurgents, only to be later found and rescued. That could not have been Joe.
    Or could it?
    Penny glanced questioningly at her computer. She swiveled in her chair and jiggled the mouse, performing an online search for articles regarding the recent disaster. While skimming one article, she read, “Military officials said the survivor was knocked off his feet by the blast of a rocket detonation during fighting with insurgents and slid down a mountainside in the steep terrain.”
    Penny’s ears started ringing. She skimmed the rest of the article, her certainty growing with each printed word.
Joe was the survivor
. Everything in print dovetailed with his circumstances: his sudden arrival at home, his physical condition, his refusal to talk about what had happened.
    “Oh, my God,” she breathed, understanding why he was so vehement about protecting his privacy. The last thing he would want was publicity. “Oh, Joe.”
    She leaned back in her chair, envisioning the hell he’d been through and reeling at the heartache she knew he was left with.
    The urge to comfort him was overwhelming. It was also futile. She had no desire to join the ranks of women he’d loved and left, nor could he have made his desire for privacy any clearer. Her only option was to give him physical relief. She could help to heal his body. But who would heal his broken heart?

 
     
    Chapter Six
     
     
    “You must be Monty.”
    Joe lifted a startled gaze from the magazine he was reading in the clinic’s waiting area. He’d been well aware of the older man standing immediately in front of him, clutching a cane and watching everything Joe did. But he’d assumed the man was either senile or lost in his own thoughts, not that he was pondering Joe’s identity. “Yes, sir,” He set the magazine aside, thinking,
Do I know this guy?
    “I’m Admiral Jacobs,” divulged the stranger. He wore civilian clothing and sported sparse silver hair atop his egg-shaped head.
    An admiral. Joe rocketed to his feet. “Sir, nice to meet you, sir.” He snapped off a