Through the Static by Jeanette Grey

Spartan. The big room had been roughly divided in half, with two sets of bunk beds, a table and chairs and a galley kitchen lining one side, and rows of lab equipment and file cabinets dominating the other. A couple of closed doors stood at the far end.
    She shivered in his embrace, and he pressed a gentle kiss to her temple as he rubbed her arm, still taking care around the places where she’d been hurt. Over on the wall near the light switches, he spied a climate control panel. He should let her go, but—no. Not now. He couldn’t. He shifted her, bending to slide an arm under her thighs and lifting her against his chest. She let out a low sound of surprise but didn’t protest as he walked her over to the panel and keyed in a program he thought she’d find comfortable.
    As he turned back toward the room, she stirred, pressing a kiss to his pulse point and sliding a hand up his chest to rest, soft and cool at the base of his skull. “I should look in your head.”
    His throat tightened. Emotion surged at the gentleness of her touch and the promise of her taking care of him, but it was all mixed with the lingering sense of dread. She wanted to set him free—free from his Three and presumably free from her.
    Unable to cope with the latter possibility, he shook his head. “Let me take care of you first.”
    Her indecision was clear in her mind. He didn’t know how else to convince her. Even though it hurt him, he trailed his fingertips over her shoulder and braced himself against her squeak of pain.
    â€œPlease?” he asked.
    She sighed, her thoughts accepting. He hesitated, then headed toward the closest of the beds. Setting her down on the lower bunk, he lingered with his fingertips on her skin for a moment. He leaned in to kiss her cheek before letting go.
    In her mind, he saw the medical supplies in the closet behind one of the closed doors, and he nodded and stood. The pull to touch her grew with every step he took across the concrete floor. He opened the closet to find it arranged exactly how she’d shown him, and as soon as he located the kit, he headed back to her.
    He paused at the sink in the kitchen where he scrubbed his knuckles and under his nails. They were filthy with dirt, but they also glowed with contact. He’d touched her with these hands, stitched her flesh together. Felt her secret skin and made her come.
    They were killer’s hands, but they had brought healing, too. Pleasure.
    They came in and out of focus as he gazed at them, rinsing the soap and grime away. And he wondered if he could rinse everything else away, too. If he could be someone else, if she would only let him stay with her.
    He turned the water off and dried his hands before returning to her. She was staring at him oddly. Just how much of his thoughts had she been able to see? She knew the violence he had wrought already, but the thought of her learning more of what he’d done made him rub his chest against the ache there.
    Who would want to stay tethered to someone like him?
    Avoiding her eyes, he sat on the edge of the bed beside her and reached for the hem of her top. She stopped him with a touch to his wrist. He met her gaze and swallowed.
    â€œThank you. For taking care of me.”
    His throat hurt as he told her, “Always.”
    Together, they got her shirt off, and he sucked in a breath at the sight of her, bare and beautiful. The night before, he’d been able to restrain his need to touch, clinging to his role as a medic, but everything was different now. He grazed his fingertips along the curve of her breast, desire uncoiling inside him.
    â€œJinx?”
    Her voice was uncertain, her expression more so. He felt the conflict in her thoughts, too, her wish for contact and closeness battling her efforts to focus on what they needed to do. It was a focus he should have had himself.
    â€œI’m sorry.” He pulled his hand from her softness and shifted his