by Amy Andrews
She gave him another distressed look. “A couple of the kids I teach, their dads are deployed at the moment... I’m sorry…I must seem so trivial to you.”
Her insight and compassion were touching. He’d bet she was one hell of a teacher. “Trust me, after nine months over there, trivial is nice.”
He watched her watching him, her eyes roaming his face as if she were trying to soothe him with her gaze alone. He liked the sound of her voice and didn’t want her to stop talking. He’d just prefer a different topic. Like her and kissing. He quirked his eyebrow as his gaze dropped to her mouth. “Anything else?”
The way her eyes widened slightly, he knew she’d figured out he wasn’t talking about inane conversation. She shook her head. “I got nothing.”
He grinned. “Suit yourself. I’m going to watch a game. I’ll be over there if you change your mind.”
And then he rounded the bench, opened the fridge, grabbed a beer and headed for the couch where a remote, a football game, and a half-eaten bag of Cheetos awaited him.
Chapter Five
Eight hours ’til midnight
Three hours later the game was done and Luke was even more aware of Tamara. She’d joined him, eventually, but only after complaining about the idiocy of big buff men in giant shoulder pads running around a field. She’d plonked herself down on the far end of the couch, all prim and proper and kindergarten-teacher-like.
He, on the other hand, had cooked them two rounds of grilled cheese sandwiches, drunk another beer, stoked the fire, changed channels during the ads, and occasionally yelled at the defense for being morons and to move their good-for-nothing asses. At one point, he’d even shared another bag of Cheetos with her.
And the whole time, he’d been excruciatingly conscious of her presence in her skinny jeans and turtleneck, sitting cross-legged on the couch, looking soft and warm and desperately in need of kissing. Her words had flickered at his brain like the flames crackling in the hearth and not a second had gone by that he hadn’t wanted to drag her down to his end and inflict a few of those wet, hungry kisses he’d been craving ever since she’d described them.
It had been a long nine months and Tamara was too damn tempting.
He gripped the remote hard and flicked through the channels, checking on the latest from Times Square. It was hard to believe the crowd was already reaching capacity despite the atrocious weather.
“Not even nine months in a desert dulls the innate skill of the American male to drive a remote control, I see.”
Luke looked over to see her smiling at him and lost his breath for a moment. Her gray eyes seemed huge in the firelight and he wondered briefly what the hell was wrong with the men she’d been seeing. He’d never met a woman quite like Tamara, but after just a few enjoyable hours in her company he knew he wanted to get to know her a hell of a lot better.
He shrugged. “It comes with the chip in our head.”
“Ah, that’s why little boys are different from little girls,” she said, playfully slapping her forehead.
It was on the tip of his to tongue to point out the other differences, but the mood was mellow between them at the moment and he didn’t want to ruin it. “So…what do you want to do now?” he asked.
Tamara’s smile faded and she looked away quickly into the fire. Damn. He’d ruined the mood anyway. “More television, I guess.”
Luke took a deep breath. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. “Or…”
He could have sworn he heard a quick sharp intake of breath as her gaze flew to his face. “Or?”
The breathy note in her voice went straight to his groin. “There is that thing I mentioned earlier. New Year’s Eve, a snowed-in cabin, a roaring fire? It’s the perfect setup for a midnight kiss. And I know,” he said quickly as she opened that delectable mouth to protest, “that you’re my sister’s friend and the age thing is freaking you out and that you probably think I’m at a different place in my life at the moment, but you’d be wrong. I’ve lived a little more than the average guy my age, Tamara. I’m looking for more than just company for a night.”
Her big gray eyes softened, and the compassion he saw in them nearly sucked his breath away. A man could get lost in all that emotion.
“Except that would be breaking my ten-date rule,” she said, her voice husky.
But at least she seemed to be relaxing into the situation. He took advantage, sliding closer to her end of the couch. “Ten dates, huh?” He thought for a moment, a plan crystallizing. “Do I get special dispensation?”
She shot him a wary look. “What do you mean?”
“Well.” He shrugged. “I think what we have here are highly unusual circumstances requiring a modification of the rules.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “How do you figure?”
“Extreme weather events come under acts of God, right? And everyone knows that all cards are off the table in these type of situations.”
“They do...?”
Luke smiled at the tremor in her voice. It seemed more encouraging than wary. “Sure, things are usually expedited, right? In which case I think we’re already well into our ten dates.”
Her eyes widened and she snorted. “Oh really? Do tell.” But he could see a spark of interest in her eyes.
He grinned. “First date, you stripped for me. Second date, you threw up on me. Third date”—he tsked and shook his head—“you slept with me.”
Tamara gaped. “Hey! You slept with me!”
Luke laughed, enjoying her fake outrage. “Fourth date you made me breakfast.”
“Pop-Tarts? You’re easily pleased.”
His gaze drifted to her mouth as deep, wet, and hungry reverberated through his brain. “You have no idea.” She blushed and looked like she was going to run again so he moved closer, not giving her any chance to escape. “Fifth date, I cooked for you.”
“Grilled cheese sandwiches?”
He shrugged. “You’re welcome. Sixth date I took you to see a game. Actually,” he picked up the remote and flicked channels, “I’m about to take you to another one so that takes care of date seven as well.”
She laughed this time. “Just so you know, taking me to a football game when we’re not in the grip of highly unusual circumstances would not count as a date.”
Luke nodded and grinned back. “Roger that.”
And then they were grinning at each other and she said, “Eight, nine, and ten?”
“Well, ten is midnight at Times Square, of course. I expect you to be impressed, we have front row seats after all. Do you know how hard it is to get that close to the ball? ”
She laughed again. “That’s true,” she mused. “But what about numbers eight and nine?”
“Ahh, well now, that depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether we have a deal or not?”
“A deal?”
Luke nodded. “A New Year’s Eve kissing deal.”
Tamara’s gaze locked with his as he extended his hand to hers. “Shake on it?” he said.
She looked down at it, big and male and capable. A hand that had witnessed who- knew-what in a place so far removed from snowy Vermont she couldn’t even begin to comprehend it.
Could she just let herself go like that? Give into temptation? Forget that Luke was Georgia’s brother? That he was younger than her? That their lives were different in so many ways?
Except he’d made a point of telling her they weren’t that different, that his experiences while deployed had added up to a lot of living. She looked up into his steady blue gaze and believed him. She could see the shadows lurking there, the maturity in its depths.
“It’s just a kiss, Tamara.”
Tamara looked at his hand. A little kiss couldn’t hurt, right? It was New Year’s Eve for crying out loud. Even Georgia would forgive her that, surely?
She slipped her hand in his and felt his touch everywhere. “On one condition.”
“Name it.”
“Date
s eight and nine better blow my mind because I gotta say, the rest have been kind of lame. No more grilled cheese sandwiches or gridiron.”
Luke chuckled as he shook. “Deal. Lucky for me I have a whole other game to think of something.”
Tamara felt her hormones stir and pulled her hand away lest the temptation to throw the next eight hours out the window became too much and she gave him more than the kiss he was asking for. She turned to the television as traitorous thoughts entered her head.
Oh God! Do not think about boinking Georgia’s brother. Do not think about boinking Georgia’s younger brother.
“Who’s playing now?” she asked, her voice high and breathy.
Not that Tamara paid much attention to the game. A football fan she wasn’t, and one was just about her limit, but she could hardly deprive a full-blooded American male his football fix. Especially not one who probably hadn’t been privy to that many where he’d been the last nine months.
So her attention wandered. To the way his T-shirt fit snugly around his biceps. The way his forehead scrunched when he yelled at the television. The way he balanced his beer in his lap, snuggled in tight to his groin. The way his lips fitted against the mouth of the beer bottle as he took a sip. Which led to the way those lips were going to fit against hers. Which led to him kissing her.
Deep and wet and hungry.
Frankly, she was glad when it was over and she could concentrate on something else. The anticipation building inside her was making her edgy. There was still five hours left and they hadn’t even gotten to dates eight and nine. And then he turned his head, his steady blue gaze fanning over her, and she felt speared to the spot by his very male anticipation. Or maybe that was appreciation.
“Close your eyes,” he said. “I have the perfect thing for date eight.”
Tamara swallowed but didn’t have it in her to deny him. She should have. She should have said no. Called a halt to this insanity. Tell him she’d changed her mind. Been older and wiser, for crying out loud. But there was something about being cocooned in this cozy, snowed-in cabin that was liberating. Her pulse beat a little faster, her breath came a little thicker, and she realized it had been a long time since a man had made her feel like throwing caution to the wind.
She heard some scraping and rustling nearby and despite the warmth surrounding her, goose bumps puckered her skin and beaded her nipples as the tension cranked up another notch.
She sensed him in front of her then and she opened her eyes as he called, “Aloha, Tamara.” He was standing before her, a lei of fake frangipanis in one hand, a large shell in the other. He sat beside her, placing the lei over her head. “Welcome to Hawaii.”
Tamara blinked. He was so close. His jaw was right there, glowing golden in the firelight. His mouth curving into a slow, sexy smile. “It’s…minus eleven outside,” she said, but the protest was token only.
“Shh,” he said as he raised the shell to her ear. “I found this on the beach in Hawaii years ago. We went every year for a family vacation. Close your eyes and listen. You can hear the swish of the ocean at Waikiki.”
Tamara was powerless to resist as her eyelids fluttered closed. The roar of the fire and the tap of her pulse at her temples hushed as the rhythm of the ocean and the sway of palm trees filled her head. She smiled and when she opened her eyes their gazes locked.
“Did you hear it?” he asked.
She didn’t say anything for a moment, caught up in his gaze, as blue as an island sky. Then she became aware of the cool press of the shell against her cheek and she shifted back “Yes.”
He brought the shell up to his ear and shut his eyes. “I can hear my childhood. Georgia and I learning to surf, learning how to make leis at a roadside tourist trap, my parents holding hands as they walked down the beach. ”
When he opened them again they flashed over her like a famous Hawaiian breaker, and she too caught a glimpse of the boy he’d been before two tours to Afghanistan had made him a man. “I’ve never been,” she said.
“It’s where I used to go,” he said. “In my head. To stay sane over there. Picture the beach and the sunsets. Picture myself living there, lazing in a hammock all day.”
Tamara felt every cell in her body cease functioning at the admission. How awful must it have been? The things he must have seen. Long months spent away from family and all he held dear in a hostile land where no one could be trusted. No wonder a Hawaiian hammock had been his happy place. “Did it help?”
He half shrugged, half smiled. “Sometimes.”
She half smiled back. “Good.”
For a long moment their gazes meshed and neither of them moved or said a word. Tamara was relieved when he sat back and reached for the remote. “To help create a Hawaiian theme I’ve enlisted a little help,” he said. The opening credits to Blue Hawaii filled the screen. “My mother is an Elvis fanatic.”
Tamara laughed as cheesy hula music filled the cabin. It felt good to break the tension. Hell, it felt good to breathe again. Luke joined her. “Pretty good eighth date, huh?” he asked. “Not many guys would take you on an island holiday without you putting out first.”
Tamara smiled as she looked at him. “Mind-blowing,” she said. “You did good.”
“Of course I could also throw in a tropical massage to really set the mood.”
Tamara’s belly tightened at the low suggestion. She didn’t even want to think about what kind of mood would be set if she agreed to that kind of intimacy. Alone in the cabin. His hands on her. Touching. Rubbing. Kneading.
Definitely not tropical. More like incendiary.
“I think Elvis is enough.” Her voice had turned husky at the mere suggestion of physical contact, and she cleared it.
He shrugged. “Okay…the offer’s there if you change your mind.”
Tamara dragged her gaze away from the temptation she saw in his and hoped like hell she wouldn’t change her mind in the next five hours.
After Blue Hawaii ended, they spent a couple hours eating more Pop-Tarts, channel surfing through the celebrations around the world, and watching the reports from Times Square, trying to spot Georgia in the crowd. Just before eleven, their luck ran out and they lost power. It wasn’t surprising. Luke had been fretting it would go out sooner or later given the couple of flickers they’d already had during the course of the evening and the way the wind was really howling again.
He stoked the fire until it glowed a little brighter, like it belonged in the pages of a romance novel. Tamara felt her hormones flare in response as she became aware they were very, very alone. Marking time. Waiting for a ball to drop in a place that might as well have been a million miles away.
“What shall we do now?” she asked, casting around for something, anything, to fill the time. She wasn’t ready to kiss him yet—that wasn’t their deal even if he had gone above and beyond transporting her to a tropical island for their eighth date—and she didn’t want him to suggest that the power going out was another act of God. A sign.
“Well, there’s always that massage…”
She folded her arms. “Not going to happen, Sergeant.”
He shoved his hands on his hips. “Strip poker?”
Tamara sucked in a breath as her pulse gave a wild leap. But his laughing eyes set her mind at ease. “Very funny.”
“You think I jest?” he murmured. “We used to play strip poker all the time when I was in college. It’s perfect for this kind of weather.”
Tamara decided the only way to handle him was to treat him like a naughty toddler and not indulge him. “Nice try. What else did you play?”
He quirked an eyebrow, and it emphasized his beautiful cheekbones and that sexy cleft. Desire burst like Pop Rocks down deep and low. “Strip Scrabble?”
She had to admit, he did deadpan better than anyone she knew. She crossed her arms across her chest because that’s what she would have done for one of her gorgeous little students who was trying to put one over on her. Also, it hid her nip
ples. Despite the warmth enveloping her in a big warm hug, they were reacting scandalously to his charm and the slow inexorable loom of the kiss. And she didn’t have layers on her side this time.
“There is no such thing.”
“Sure there is.” He strode to the old-fashioned chest situated under the window beside the front door. “I’ll teach you. It’s super easy.”
She watched the back view while he searched through the chest—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist and tight buns. He may have been clothed, but she already had him naked in her head. How was one kiss ever going to be enough?
“Ah-hah!” he announced, turning and waving the box in the air. “Strip Scrabble.”
She laughed. She couldn’t help herself. He looked so eager, so sure she was just going to give in to what he wanted because he was cute and no doubt used to getting his own way. “Looks like regular old Scrabble to me.”
“It’s just a rules variation.”
Such a gross understatement delivered with such unfaltering charm caused things to flutter inside that had no business with fluttering. “No thanks. But I will play regular Scrabble with you.” He opened his mouth as if to protest and she gave him her stern teacher face. “Take it or leave it.”
He sighed dramatically. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
Having seen him in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs, Tamara was pretty damn sure she knew exactly what she was missing. But she had to keep this on track. “Afraid I’ll beat you fully clothed?”
“Beat me? Ha! I am a champion Scrabble player.”
“I’m a teacher,” she countered. “Words are my thing.”
“Trust me,” he said, hunkering down on the rug that covered the wooden floorboards in front of the fire and removing the lid of the box. “You’ll be taking your clothes off just to distract me.”
The oxygen in Tamara’s lungs thickened at the wicked visual. “Don’t hold your breath,” she said, smiling sweetly despite the riot happening in her erogenous zones.
He handed her a plastic letter stand, oozing confidence and testosterone from every pore. Tamara inhaled it and actually felt dizzy. “We’ll see,” he murmured.
