by Julie Miller
Idly, Harry wondered how the sensations of curves and gentle heat would change without the ribs of her sweater and wrinkled blouse between his hands and her skin. An interested party stirred behind the zipper of his jeans at the idea of touching Daisy’s warm skin. He’d like to kiss her, too, to see if those lips were as soft and luscious as they looked—to find out if they’d respond with the same bold enthusiasm of her hugs or be more like the gentle tutelage of her hands. His whole body thrummed with anticipation as he rubbed his lips against her temple, kissing the earpiece of her glasses before adjusting his aim to press his lips against the warm beat of her pulse there. Daisy’s arms tightened around him, aligning her body more perfectly against his. Her breasts pillowed against his chest and the tips beaded into pearls that poked through the layers of clothing separating them, making his palms itch to touch those, too.
“Why do I get the feeling you haven’t had much of this kind of contact, Top?” she murmured against his neck. “Which is a shame because you’re good at it.” She added the undeserved compliment, reminding him that while he’d had sex, he’d never once been in a relationship with a woman. Not long distance and certainly not up close and personal like this.
But this was Daisy, his pen pal angel and long-distance friend, and she was scared. He might even be a big part of what scared her. This wasn’t the time to give in to curiosity and crude impulses. Right now, all he needed was for her to be safe.
Reluctantly, he loosened his grip on her, turning his head to kiss the same spot on her hair. But never one to be demure or predictable, Daisy lifted her chin and caught his lips with hers. The kiss was surprising, but not so brief that he didn’t have a moment to press his mouth over hers, confirming at least one of his speculations. Her lips were as soft and succulent as he’d imagined. And he wanted to kiss her again.
Daisy dropped back onto her heels and pulled away before he fully acknowledged that impulse. “You gonna be okay?” he asked.
She was smiling again when she nodded, and his chest swelled. Yeah. There was a lot to be said for trading hugs and comfort. He didn’t feel quite so guilty about stealing that smile away in the first place.
He tugged his hat back over his short hair and pulled on his gloves. “I’ll go take care of the dogs.”
Chapter Six
“One hot dog with ketchup and extra relish.”
Daisy closed the money box and stamped the hands of the three students who’d paid their fee at her table outside the Central Prep gym, encouraging them to enjoy the games before accepting the dinner Harry offered. “I’m starving. Thank you.” She took a big bite, savoring the tangy flavors before nodding toward the bottles of soda in Harry’s hands. “You’re not hungry?”
“Already finished mine.” He set one of the sodas on the table and pulled a paper napkin from the pocket of his jeans. He reached over and wiped a dribble of ketchup and pickle juice from the side of her mouth, showing her the stain on the napkin before she snatched it from his fingers. “Why doesn’t it surprise me to discover you have a healthy appetite?”
Daisy turned away, feeling the heat of embarrassment creeping into her cheeks. She wiped her mouth a second time before facing him again. “I haven’t eaten since lunch, and that was seven hours ago.”
“I’m not criticizing.” His bottle hissed as he twisted the cap and released the carbonation pressure. “Just observing. You don’t do anything halfway. Decorating for Christmas. Hugs. Eating hot dogs.”
“Are you sure you’re not making fun of me?” Daisy took a daintier bite this time.
“No, ma’am.”
She arched an eyebrow. “We talked about that, Master Sergeant.”
“Ouch.” For a split second, his stiff mouth crooked into a smile. But then there was a big roar from the crowd in the gym as someone on the junior varsity team made an exciting play. Harry’s alert gaze darted through the doorway toward the bleachers. A muscle tightened across his angular cheekbone before he swallowed a drink of soda and brought his gaze back to hers. “No more fancy titles for you and me. In my defense, though, we are back at school. Technically, you’re on duty.”
Daisy wadded up her napkin and tossed it at him. He deftly caught it and tossed it into the trash can beside the table. Although this familiar camaraderie had settled between them, not unlike the conversation they’d shared in their long-distance letters, Daisy felt raw inside. Harry had insisted he drive her to school, and for a man so averse to long conversations, he’d had plenty of questions to ask about her Secret Santa. At his insistence, she’d unlocked her classroom to show him the gifts hidden inside her desk, as well as her mailbox in the teachers’ lounge where most of the messages and gifts had been delivered. Seemingly immune to the curious stares at his scarred face, he’d asked her to introduce him to several coworkers, glossing over thank-yous for his service to the country and turning the conversations around to learn a little more about Principal Hague, Eddie Bosch and Mary Gamblin.
Despite security protocols that were in place to protect the school from outside threats, access to her inside the school was too easy, he’d complained. And she was too isolated at home for him to deem either place safe. Although she’d teased him about his natural talent for bringing down the mood of a room, the underlying truth to his words had left her feeling unsettled. His advice that she be hypervigilant to her surroundings, avoid being alone or even one-on-one with any of the male students or faculty in the building, and report anyone lurking near her classroom or faculty workroom to the principal made her that much more edgy and distrustful of the people she interacted with nearly every day of her life.
Two weeks ago, before the first message had been delivered, she’d been content to surround herself with students and work. She was a social creature by nature. She was proud of her school, liked her students and coworkers, reveled in the holiday season, loved being busy and doing for others.
But tonight, despite her spirited blue and gold facade, all she wanted was to go home to her dogs and lock her doors. She couldn’t say whether it was Harry’s reserved, imposing presence, casting suspicion in a wide net around her, or the fact this damaged yet fit, virile man was enduring his aversion to the crowd to not only protect her, but to also be kind to her, that left her feeling so off-kilter this evening.
“Daisy.”
She hadn’t realized how far into her troubling thoughts she’d sunk until Harry spoke her name and nodded toward the group jostling for position on the opposite side of the table.
Complete with two sets of grandparents, two elementary-aged children and a curly-haired toddler who was fussing to climb down from her mother’s arms and explore, the family’s arrival required Daisy to focus on her job. After calculating the discounts, she gave them the price for their tickets, even splitting the cost in half for them when both grandfathers insisted on paying.
By the time she finished counting back their change and stamping hands, Daisy realized the little girl had stopped squirming and was staring at Harry. Harry was staring right back. In that grim, clenched-jaw look that made the muscle beneath his right eye spasm. The little girl smiled and pointed at Harry. “Bomba No-man.”
“Abominable Snowman?” The mother saw where her daughter was pointing, and pulled her hand away. “I’m sorry. You must remind her of a character in one of those animated Christmas shows she watches.”
“Not a problem, ma’am,” Harry reassured her. “I’ve been called worse.”
But it was a problem. Even as the family moved into the gym to find seats on the bleachers, Harry was retreating against the cinder block wall behind him. She heard the plastic of his soda bottle cracking as he squeezed it in his hand.
However, pointing out the disfiguring scars didn’t seem to bother him as much as the noise. The referees blew their whistles and the timeout buzzer sounded. The pep band struck up an enthusias
tic rendition of the school fight song. That muscle ticked across Harry’s cheek and he turned his head as if the cacophony hurt his ears.
“Are you okay?” She took a drink, trying to hide how much his charged, yet overtly still, posture worried her. She gestured to the metal chair beside hers. “You can sit if you want.”
“I’m better standing.” So he could make a quicker getaway if he had to, no doubt.
With no one waiting in line for tickets, Daisy sat on the edge of the table, facing him. “You said you suffer from PTSD. Do the loud noises bother you?
Harry’s dark gray eyes scanned the lobby, from the glimpse inside the gym to the line waiting at the concession stand. “A basketball game is not going to make me freak out.”
“But other things will?”
His gaze landed on her. He hesitated a moment before dropping his volume and answering. “Sometimes a loud bang will trigger memories. Your dogs charging at me last night kind of...” He twirled his fingers beside his head, indicating some kind of flashback, she supposed. “Usually it’s the smells that are the worst.”
“Like what?” More than once, she’d caught him sniffing her hair. And she’d already memorized his unique scent, undoctored by any aftershave or cologne. He must be particularly sensitive to certain odors. “Do you smell anything here?”
He rolled his shoulders as if his sweater was suddenly uncomfortably tight. “This isn’t the place for that kind of conversation.”
“Maybe when we get home. You could stay for a while.” Daisy pushed to her feet, needing to touch him to comfort him somehow. She reached for his free hand and squeezed his fingers. “Do you need to talk about it? I could make us some hot chocolate and stay up as late as you need to. You mentioned things in your letters—like you needed to get them off your chest. I don’t claim to understand everything you’ve been through, but I do know a little about how horrible the world can be.”
He stared at her hard for a moment, muttering something about an angel that she couldn’t quite make out over the squeaks of rubber-soled shoes on the polished gymnasium floor.
“I’ve got a therapist for those kinds of talks.” Harry’s grip pulsed around her hand. “I’m not interested in making you cry anymore.”
Daisy leaned in, matching his hushed tone. “Even if I did, it would be all right. If I can help... I want to.”
“Are you asking this guy for a favor, too?”
Recognizing the smug woman’s voice behind her, Daisy plopped her forehead against Harry’s chest for a moment and audibly groaned. Then she released his hand and turned to the statuesque blonde in a coat most likely from a pricey boutique. “Excuse me?”
Stella Riley, resident trophy wife and all-around ego buster as far as Daisy was concerned. Stella grinned, waving off what had sounded like an accusation. “I’m just teasing. Bernie said you’d asked for his help.”
“With a student.”
“Is this your new gentleman friend? Bernie thought you might have met someone, but that you were keeping him a secret.” The woman extended her hand across the table. “Hi. I’m Stella, Coach Riley’s wife.”
“Basketball coach,” Daisy whispered, explaining the pronouncement. While part of her wanted to correct the assumption that Harry was her boyfriend, she also knew this conversation would end sooner if she just let Stella say what she wanted to and move on.
Daisy startled at the brush of Harry’s fingers against the small of her back. Was he reassuring her? Or grounding himself? He tossed his empty bottle into the trash before shaking Stella’s hand. “Harry Lockhart.”
“Military, right?”
“Yes, ma’am. Marine Corps.”
“I could tell by the haircut.” She winked before releasing him. “It suits you. We’re proud of you boys. And we’re all glad that Daisy has found someone again.” Stella pulled her ID card out of her wallet and flashed it at Daisy. “Not that you need this to know who I am. But I want to follow the rules.”
“You’re good to go, Stella.” Daisy had a hard time zeroing in on Stella’s name on the list of faculty and spouses who got in free because Harry’s palm had slipped beneath the hem of her gold cardigan and flattened against her back. Daisy felt the brand of his touch through her blouse as surely as the stamp she inked onto Stella’s hand.
Stella tipped her blond curls toward the gym. “How’s it going?”
“I haven’t been able to check the score yet, but there’s lots of cheering, so I’m guessing pretty well.”
“Great. Bernie will be in a good mood, then.” Stella’s wave included both Harry and Daisy. “Nice to meet you, soldier boy. Don’t be a stranger. I’ll see you next week, Daisy. If you need any help with the party, let me know.”
“That was like a tornado blowing through,” Harry muttered, absentmindedly rubbing his hand in small circles against her spine. “Is she a friend of yours?”
Whether soothing her taut nerves or assuaging his own, Daisy had to step away from his distracting touch so she could think of words to speak. “She is first lady of the basketball court. When the team has a winning season, I guess she deserves some of the credit, too.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I work with her husband.”
“Still not an answer.” Daisy busied herself straightening the items on the table. “You know, other people say bad things about people. You’re too big-hearted to do that, aren’t you? The fact that you won’t makes me think there’s some friction between you and the first lady.”
Daisy stopped her busy work. “I never have understood people who think they’re all that. It feels like I’m back in high school whenever I’m around her. Of course, maybe if I’d been one of the popular kids back then instead of an artsy geek, I might feel differently.”
“Still avoiding the question, Ms. Geek.”
“I liked you better when you wouldn’t talk to me.”
Harry laughed. Although far too brief, his laugh was a rich, chest-deep sound that made her smile. She adjusted her glasses to see the pliant side of his mouth smiling, too.
A hundred little wishes locked up inside her heart unfurled at the knowledge she’d put that smile there. “Maybe her snootiness stems from insecurity. I imagine she’s alone a lot during basketball season with all the games and practices. Sometimes, I think she’s jealous that other people get to spend more time with her husband than she does.”
Harry’s smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “How jealous?”
“Jealous enough to send me those threats?” Daisy shook her head. While she’d never felt especially comfortable around Stella Riley, she couldn’t see any reason for the woman to have a personal grudge against her. “Those have to be from a guy. Right?”
Harry wasn’t probing for answers anymore. He was moving to intercept the tall young black man who circled around the table.
“Now you got Coach Riley callin’ my granny on me?” Albert Logan’s Central Prep ball cap was cocked off to the side, giving him a deceptively juvenile look. But there was nothing childlike about the anger in his expression. “Ain’t ’Lo man enough for you? You want to give me some private tutoring, too? Let’s do it, Ms. G.”
Daisy planted her feet, cringing at his grammar and hating the innuendo in his tone. “Not if you’re going to talk to me like that. I’ll report you to Mr. Hague. This isn’t a punishment. We’re concerned about you, Albert.”
“You stay out of my business, or I’m gonna get all up in yours.”
The moment Albert’s pointing finger got too close, Harry palmed the teenager’s shoulder and pushed him away, sliding between her and Albert.
Albert knocked the restraining hand away. “Get your hands off me, old man.”
Harry squared off against the bigger, younger man. Although she couldn’t see Harry’s
face, she could read every wary line of tension in his muscular stance. There were rules against touching students. Harry wasn’t staff, but this standoff could escalate in a heartbeat if he thought he had to protect her.
“It’s okay, Harry.” She closed her hand over his rock-hard bicep, knowing she had to reach him with words and touch because there’d be no way she could physically restrain him. She splayed her other hand against his back, remembering how distracting his touch had been to her just a few minutes earlier. “This is Albert Logan, a former student of mine.” With Harry’s hands fisting at his sides, she appealed to Albert, as well. “Master Sergeant Lockhart is my pen pal from last year’s writing project. He’s home on leave.”
“Take a step back,” Harry warned. His muscles vibrated with tension beneath her fingers.
“Albert, please. I don’t want to call the principal.”
Albert glanced back and forth between the two of them, considering how a confrontation with Harry would play out, then wisely decided to retreat a step. Curiosity replaced the wounded pride and anger that had puffed up his posture, reminding Daisy that in many ways, these nearly grown students were still just big kids. Albert rubbed his knuckles across his cheek. “Dude, did that happen to you over there?”
The poised wariness didn’t waver. “Yes.”
“Was it a car bomb?”
“Albert...”
Picking up on subtle clues had never been Albert’s strong suit. “You know Corporal Benny Garcia?” he asked. “That’s the guy I wrote to. When I still had Ms. G for class. He drove one of those armored cars.”
“I knew Garcia.” Knew? Harry’s shoulders lifted with a deep breath. “He drove an LAV—Light Armored Vehicle.”
Compassion squeezed Daisy’s heart. Was Albert hearing any of those past-tense references? She curled her fingers into the back of Harry’s sweater, wishing they were in a less public place so she could wind her arms around his waist.
