Brothers in Blue: Matt
Genre: Contemporary, Erotic Romance
Previous Book: Brothers in Blue: Marc
Meet the men of Manning Grove, three small-town cops and brothers, who meet the women who will change the rest of their lives. This is Matt’s story…
As a former Marine, Matt Bryson has dealt with PTSD ever since coming home from the Middle East. He finds himself fortunate to be able to return to his job as a cop at the local police department with his brothers Max and Marc.
Dr. Carly Stephens works hard as an obstetrician at the local hospital, struggling to pay off her medical school loans, financially support her elderly parents, and save money to adopt a baby. Unable to have children, she still longs for one of her very own.
Instantly attracted to the Dictator Doctor, Matt finds Carly easily brings him to his knees both emotionally and physically. What starts out only as a convenient sexual relationship turns into a whole lot more when dealing with their pasts and their future. Especially since Matt doesn’t ever want children.
Matt and Carly find themselves on a passionate and emotional journey that can either bring them together or rip them apart.
Note: This book can be read as a stand-alone and has an HEA ending. Due to the sensual and explicit sexual nature of the story, it is intended only for readers 18+. Trigger warning: this book includes a main character who is dealing with PTSD.
When she stepped into the house from the garage, she heard the music. It was hard to miss since it blared so loudly the windows shook. What a wonderful way to end her day and help her headache.
She walked through the house, not finding a soul, and then stomped up the steps. A light came from the open doorway of the master bedroom. The room she had made hers. As she stepped inside, she saw Matt shirtless and barefoot, wearing the same camo cargo pants from this morning. His deeply tanned skin had a fine coating of white dust over it as he scrubbed sandpaper over the new patch on the wall.
How he could think with the music so loud?
But then, maybe that was the point. He didn’t want to think.
She would to have to do research on PTSD.
Fuck. No. No, she wasn’t. She reminded herself that he wasn’t hers to worry about.
Watching the play of muscles under his skin as he moved the sandpaper violently over the seams of the patch, she wouldn’t be surprised if he ripped a new hole in the wall with his angry movements.
She studied the tattoo on his back for a moment before shaking her head to stop the fantasy that formed in her mind. Though she needed to get his attention, she knew not to approach him unawares. The music had drowned out all the noise she made coming into the room, so he had no idea she stood behind him.
After a brief glance at the stereo and the very large speakers he had set on the floor temporarily while he worked, she went over and hit the power button. Suddenly silence surrounded them, but her ears still rang. She’d be surprised if he had any hearing left at all. Especially after listening to that horribly depressing country music at deafening levels. He could have at least picked a better genre of music if he wanted to kill off one of his senses.
He turned slowly, the sandpaper in his hand. The light from the work lamp illuminated his side as he turned. It was then she spotted the scar along his ribs. She hadn’t noticed it the night before. But then, they had taken little time to explore each other. Fast and furious had been the name of the game.
He noticed where she stared, and his hand automatically came up to his side, his fingers brushing along the raised scar.
“Shrapnel,” was all he said before turning back around to finish sanding. Slower this time and more methodical, not so frantic. “I’ll try to finish this as soon as possible. I’ll paint it tomorrow after you go to work so you don’t have to sleep with the smell of fresh paint.”
“I could always sleep in the spare bedroom.”
He nodded, yet didn’t answer.
She tilted her head and couldn’t help but study his body as he moved. The man appeared powerful and in excellent shape. He could probably hurt someone very easily. She wondered how many people he had hurt. How many he had killed.
While, in contrast, she had done everything to save people. To help them live or be born. She had taken the Hippocratic oath to help people. He had taken the pledge to defend his country and his fellow Marines, no matter what it took.
Her heart ached for him. For everything he’d seen, for everything he had done. For everything he had to live with for the rest of his life. His memories, his nightmares.
He’d dealt with death.
She dealt with life.
Such total opposites.
“Why are you still standing there?” he asked without turning around.
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
His arm fell to his side, his head dropped, and his body heaved when he took a deep breath.
She wanted this man more now than she did last night. She wanted to heal him, even though she knew it was most likely impossible.
She was crazy, certifiably insane to even get involved with him.