by Sex, Nikki
Of course, a pretty lady caressing his face would cause a stir in any normal man. Still, the "nice guy" part of his brain was decidedly uncomfortable from the signals it was receiving from below his waist.
Taking advantage of one of his men's widows wasn't only dishonorable, it was downright wrong. What had he been fantasizing about all of these months? He must’ve been crazy. It could never happen.
It should never happen.
Jack was conflicted. Stay, or go? The decision to leave before he impulsively acted on any baser thoughts or feelings won.
"Well...Laura...it was nice to meet you. I hope I brought you some closure—"
He stood up but Laura reached out and grabbed him by the belt and wouldn't let him take even a single step.
"Not so fast there, you."
She pulled herself up next to him. Jack felt his pants shift across his backside as she tugged.
"You came all this way to see me and bring me Bob's ring and there's no way I'm just letting you leave. We’re getting out of these wet clothes and I'm going to put on something nice. You can wear what you want, but dammit, I haven't dressed up in a long time and I'm tired of moping around. I'm going to give you the dollar tour of our town and I'm going to treat you to some good southern cooking."
"I don't know if I should—"
Her green eyes flashed. "I don't give a shit what you think you should do. This is all about me, OK? I need a night out and I need to have a little fun for once. Sometimes a girl just wants to have a few laughs, right? So you’re going to help me. It's—it’s your duty."
"Duty? I don't—"
"Serve and protect, right? Isn't that the Navy motto or something? Or that that cops? It doesn't matter. Let's get your crap and get suited up."
"I've reserved a hotel room."
Laura playfully punched him in the chest. "I didn't say that you were spending the night, silly,” she said with a captivating giggle. “I said that you're taking me to dinner. You men are all alike—just one thing on the brain."
Chapter 26.
Jack let himself smile back at her and then followed as she led him back up the path and across the lawn. They stopped at his jeep.
“Mm. Nice ride.”
“I treated myself. It’s brand spanking new.”
She slanted him playful smile. “I’m not complaining.”
Laura made admiring noises as he pulled a pair of well-pressed slacks and a crisp, white button down shirt out of a bag he had in the back.
Jack grinned at her happily. Their interaction was dangerously close to flirting. It had been so long since he’d been around a pretty girl in a social situation. He was out of practice, but he hadn’t forgotten how much fun it was to flirt.
Change of clothes in hand, they went into her building and up the stairs. He wasn't about to bring his duffels bags into her apartment, not with Ron around to raise his eyebrows at him.
Laura paused at the landing and looked around tentatively. She visibly relaxed when the hallway proved empty.
Again, Jack was reminded of what Ron had said earlier. She seemed like a woman who knew her own mind. So what was she afraid of?
Her apartment was small and the furniture was thrift shop and yard sale quality, but everything was as neat as a pin and spotless.
Laura may not have much money, but Jack could tell she took great care of her space with pride. He’d seen that kind of thing before.
A childhood surfing buddy of his was from a poor family. He never fully fit in with Jack's other Orange County friends. They'd had everything but didn't seem to care about any of it. This kid was different. He took care of his few possessions as if they were the only things on this earth. From the detailed darning of his clothes to the twenty-year-old bike, he kept oiled and polished to perfection, he'd truly valued and cared for everything he had.
"If you only got one pot to piss in, it'd better be the shiniest and cleanest damned pot there ever was," he once told Jack, who'd respected this quality greatly.
Laura's apartment was kept with the same meticulous care. It spoke very well about her character and let Jack know that she'd probably grown up in abject poverty.
Kids that started out extremely poor quite often became fastidious adults, especially where their possessions were concerned.
Laura had him use the shower and change first while she put his damp, half-salt and half-river water smelling clothes into the laundry.
He changed quickly—there wasn't much to his outfit. He'd shaven before leaving Camp Lejeune and his hair was too short to need a comb, so there wasn't much grooming involved, either.
When he came out of the bathroom, which was as spotless as the rest of the place, she gave him an ice cold Coke from the fridge and told him to wait on the couch. The bathroom door closed behind her. After a few minutes, Jack heard the shower kick on.
Great, this is going to be a while.
As he sat on the couch, he let his eyes wander. One thing he noticed was the absence of photographs—no graduation or wedding pictures, no mom, no dad, no beach vacations.
Only artistic prints and movie posters adorned the walls—all neatly framed.
The movie posters were all of the classic Humphrey Bogart and Audrey Hepburn type. Jack was never much into those kinds of movies, but he recognized the names on the posters well enough.
Across from where he sat, next to the bathroom door, was a bookshelf packed with ratty paperbacks.
On the shelf, he found one photo. It was a small, framed picture of Laura, Bob and some friends, all smiling, laughing and happy. They looked as if they were celebrating. It could've been a wedding photo.
With a pang, he studied Bob’s young, eager face. He'd be that age forever. Gone but clearly not forgotten.
Not by Laura. Not by me.
Jack scanned the book titles. Along with Harry Potter and some historical romances were Fountainhead, Dali and Postmodernism, Metamorphosis, The Brothers Karamazov—some pretty deep stuff, so deep that they'd likely put Jack to sleep if he'd tried to read them.
She's got brains, too.
One of her books was clearly not second-hand. “The Language of Love,” by André Chevalier. Really? Hmm. Now that looked interesting.
As Jack reached for the Chevalier book, he heard a slight pop. To his surprise, the ancient looking, ill constructed bathroom door swung ajar. The shower was still running full blast. A puff of steam escaped through the opening.
Jack thought Laura was coming out or had cracked the door to tell him something. Then he saw her reflection in the mirror. She was still in the shower.
Slowly, he got up to close the door. He'd always considered himself a decent guy—honor meant something to him. Yet as he approached, and his hand reached for the doorknob, he paused and simply had to look at her.
He couldn't resist the impulse.
The shower was positioned in a way that his only observation point was the mirror over the bathroom sink. It was a little foggy from the steam, but the cooler air that wafted in from the living room when the door opened caused some of the fog to dissipate.
Through the moisture and fog on the mirror, Jack could just make out Laura's sleek flank and rounded buttocks. He held his breath and watched as she soaped herself.
His view of her body combined with her graceful, practical movements while washing herself was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen.
Laura was achingly beautiful.
Jack observed a trim, curvy, womanly figure and smooth skin that was pink from the hot water. He could hear her humming to herself as she let the warm water cascade over her head.
His breath caught, his pulse increased and his blood flowed south. Jack couldn't help his instant excitement—he was a man, after all. A little voice inside of him suggested that he slip into the shower and join her.
Damn! Jack’s entire body hummed, almost shaking with urgent, powerful need. It had been such a long time since he'd touched a woman in any way other than as a doc
tor. A really long time.
Years, in fact.
For a second, he was about to do that very thing, until reason entered the picture.
The big head up north, which was never as much fun and always seemed to thwart the devious plans of the little head down south, came barging in and vetoed his plans.
“Morality" and "common sense" impressed upon him the fact that joining Laura in the shower was very likely going to freak her out.
What the Hell was I thinking? Shit!
Irritated and ashamed with himself, he quietly pulled the door shut and walked back to the couch.
After a few minutes, the water cut off.
Jack could hear movement and then the sound of a hair dryer. The dryer sound went up and down in pitch in an almost rhythmic way. Jack bit back a moan as he imagined air running through her long hair over and over.
Every sound coming from the bathroom seemed to be geared toward arousing him. He could control his actions, but his thoughts and desires weren’t fully under his command. Neither was his unwanted erection.
He wondered what her gorgeous hair looked like as she combed it. He wondered what it felt like, too. Soft and silky, he bet. He balled his fists.
The dryer switched off and the door opened. Laura stood in the doorway, snuggled up in a terrycloth robe.
"Almost there. Thanks for waiting. I'll be right back," she said and scampered into her bedroom, leaving a sweet, damp, feminine breeze of soap, shampoo and something uniquely Laura behind.
“You have quite the selection of reading material here,” he yelled out. “Have you read all these books?” Jack picked out the “The Language of Love,” by Chevalier, hoping it would distract him.
She poked her head through her bedroom door and gave him a pointed stare. “I’m broke, not stupid.”
He laughed out loud and enjoyed seeing her satisfied smile, as her face disappeared.
“No ma’am,” he called after her. “You’re not stupid. Right from your first letter, I knew that about you.”
“Now you’re sucking up,” she shouted back through the slightly open door.
“Is it working?”
“Yes! Don’t stop now. Flattery works for me,” she giggled. "Hey, this is your first time here, right?”
“That’s right.”
He could see shadows of her, moving around in her room. Seductive silhouettes of a woman’s shapely form, cast in black on white.
Then the robe came off.
Chapter 27.
Jack’s entire body came alive. He couldn’t take his eyes away from her shadow.
It had been ages since he’d held a woman in his arms. In his position as senior officer, it was nearly impossible to get laid while in Iraq.
Eyes burning, he didn't even blink as her tall, graceful silhouette came and went from his view. Jack didn’t want to miss a thing.
God, she's beautiful.
No sex for years and before that? A chance meeting with another officer during training. That had been a simple fling, sexual relief for both. As expected, after very little time, PCS (Permanent Change of Station) orders separated them.
It had been forever since Jack held a woman he cared for, like he cared for Laura. Had he ever felt as close to a woman like he felt close to her?
Jack shook his head. Stupid stupid stupid.
And yet in his heart, he didn’t think so.
During their months of correspondence, he'd looked forward to Laura’s every letter. Now that he’d met her, the fluttering in his gut had become relentless. He had Laura herself, to look forward to.
Jack had fantasized, of course. He’d even imagined making love to Laura countless times, before he even knew what she looked like. It had only been his imagination. Vivid imagination, yes, but fantasy, nonetheless.
Here and now—only feet away, behind that door—was the real thing.
He remembered Bob’s picture on her bookcase. Not forgotten, indeed. Yet his sister Sally’s blunt words ran through his mind: He has no use for her now, does he? If you two have a thing for each other, why let that go to waste? Life’s too short to dick around.
Despite his sister’s proclamation, because of the awkward and ethically challenging circumstances, there was no way they could be together.
Could they?
“Hello. You still there?” Laura called out. “I asked if you’d ever been here before.”
He cleared his throat. "New Bern, you mean?" Jack managed to croak, just barely. "No. Seems like a nice place."
"Yeah, it's nice," Laura said. Jack could see her shadow again, appearing once more against the wall. She was doing something with one leg.
Stockings?
"Nice, and quiet. I like it quiet," she continued. “It's good to live in a town where they roll the streets up at night."
"I agree. Peaceful is good, but in LA, I can buy a book or get a steak dinner at three A.M. There's something to be said about that—it's the freedom to do what you want, whenever you want."
Laura came out, brushing her hair. It was as shiny as a brand new penny.
"That's not freedom,” she said. “You get stuck in all of that hurrying here and there and buying stuff—that's gross consumerism. Here, you stop and breathe in the air and don't worry about getting somewhere on time because the traffic's jammed up even in the middle of the night. I take the time to walk, stop and look around because I don't have to be anywhere. That's freedom—being able to buy stuff anytime isn't. That people feel the need to buy a book at three in the morning shows just how much a slave they are to their own materialism."
Jack laughed. Her feisty, confident attitude pleased him. "Are you some sort of activist? Tell me you wouldn't want to be able to buy a Bentley at midnight on a Tuesday."
Laura wrinkled her nose and then tossed the brush at him, over the couch. Jack caught it with one hand.
"Hell yes, I'd want to be able to buy a Bentley, any time and any day of the week—but it wouldn't break my heart if I had to wait until Wednesday morning to do it. When you have to have stuff right now, you’re no longer in charge of your life, stuff is."
"I can't argue with you on that one."
“Of course you can't.” She snorted. “I'm right and it's obvious." She softened this stubborn assertion with a cheeky grin.
Laura ducked back into her room. "Let me put in some earrings and we'll be ready to go."
When she came back out, she gave a little pirouette in the middle of the living room. "Here you go. Worth the wait?"
Yes, yes she was. She was most definitely worth the wait. “You look amazing,” he said fervently and Laura laughed.
Make-up made her green eyes stand out—not too much make-up, just the right amount. They looked huge, framed by long, dark eyelashes. Her mouth caught his attention—that pink gloss made her lips look so damn kissable.
She'd put on a light, short floral peasant dress, cinched at the waist with a simple leather belt. A brightly colored ribbon held her hair back in a ponytail that left her jangly earrings exposed. They lightly brushed her neck when she walked.
Laura held up one slim foot. "I hope you don't mind if I wear flats, I wear heels at work and avoid them at all costs when I'm not working."
"Fine by me." Jack hadn't even bothered to look at her feet, there was so much else to look at. She was mouth-wateringly feminine, not in any “come get me, baby” way, but still appealing and desirable.
“Is that André Chevalier’s book you have there? The Language of Love?”
Jack looked down, surprised to see he still held the book in his hand. “Oh, yeah.” He flipped through it. “Looks good.”
“It’s great.”
Jack opened a page and started reading out loud, “All people crave human connection. Why then, is such connection so difficult to find? Deceit is a barrier to intimacy. The loss of a relationship begins with one secret.”
“Hmm, interesting,” he said.
The words he read had disturbed him. Jack
was keeping secrets from Laura about her husband Wynn. Was he eventually going to tell her? Did he even need to? He wanted to, but some secrets are hidden for a good reason.
“Keep it,” Laura said. “Put it in your car to read later when you get home.”
“OK. Thanks.”
"Where we going?"
"You'll see." Laura grabbed her purse, and they left together. He put the book into his jeep and, side by side, they started walking. Laura chatted about the town and the restaurant. It was new, and sat out over the river on pylons, so every seat had a waterfront view.
Her words drifted into the background as Jack took in the mild night air.
Suddenly he felt uneasy, as if he were back in Iraq on a convoy driving into another ambush.
Something isn’t right.
Vets were commonly known to be paranoid. Jack knew this. He'd seen it in those he'd worked with; he experienced it himself, frequently.
Nevertheless, he was sure there was danger here. He felt it, but couldn't quite place it.
Laura laughed at something, and Jack smiled back, nodded and then looked over her head. The sun had set, but the street wasn't too dark as it was lit by neat rows of streetlamps.
"New Bern was the first capital of North Carolina, before they moved it to Raleigh after the revolution," Laura said.
"That’s interesting."
Restless and disturbed, Jack looked up and down the street.
He saw apartments and family homes, most with lights shining from open windows. People sat on their porches, talking with neighbors or simply enjoying the evening.
Fireflies winked on and off in their nightly mating dance.
Jack couldn't imagine a more peaceful and bucolic setting. So why was he so uneasy?
"It was originally a Swiss colony, believe it or not. That's what all those bears you see are around. It was the mascot of Old Bern, where the original settlers came from," Laura went on.
Jack felt positive what he sensed was real. It was more than paranoia, dammit.
Hyper-alert, he could feel someone's eyes boring into the back of his neck. He wasn't about to say anything to Laura. She was enjoying herself too much for him to spoil it by going all PTSD on her.
