A Soldier's Quest

by Lori Handeland

  Bobby held out his hand. Jane stared at it and hesitated.

  “I promise I won’t step on your toes,” he said.

  “But I’m going to step on yours.”

  He wiggled his foot, covered in a shiny black army boot. “That’s the least of my worries.”

  As if mesmerized, Jane allowed him to tug her to her feet, then into his arms.

  She stumbled and would have landed squarely on his toes, but Bobby swung her off the ground, then around and around as if she weighed no more than a child.

  The strength of his arms, the press of his body, the whirl of the room made her giddy, and she laughed.

  Bobby stopped twirling. Jane glanced into his face and found him staring at her. “What?”

  “I like your laugh. You don’t do it enough.”

  Her hair had come loose. A strand stuck to his mouth, and she pulled it away. Her fingertip grazed his lower lip, and his eyes darkened. For an instant she thought he might kiss her. Her fingers clenched his shoulders as something hovered between them—something both old and new, something as ancient and mysterious as the ruins that littered Mexico.

  The song ended and silence fell over the room, broken only by the sound of their breath in staccato rhythm. His grip relaxed, and she began to slide down his body. Their mouths got closer and closer, then—

  A loud, lively jitterbug tune erupted from the radio, and Lucky, woken from her nap, began to bark. Bobby let Jane go, and instead of descending in an agile, ballet-like movement, Jane’s feet hit the ground with an unpleasant thump as he spun away from her to change the station.

  “Hush, girl,” she murmured, watching his broad back walk away. She blinked as an unpleasant sense of déjà vu, or maybe premonition, wafted over her. He would walk away—it was only a matter of time.

  “Never mind,” she said. “I’m really no good at this.”

  “You will be. I promise. You should have seen my brother Dean. Not only left-handed, but two left feet.”

  “And now he can dance?”

  “Kind of.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “He can, he just chooses not to. Dean’s not the dancing type.”

  “Neither am I.”

  He returned and pulled her back into his arms despite her protest. “Sure you are. You laugh, you smile, you will dance.”

  Bobby began to show her the steps of a waltz. She tried to follow his feet, listen to his voice explaining what to do, then counting in her ear. But she was too distracted by his touch, his scent, his heat. What was the matter with her?

  She’d been bitten by the lust bug. What on earth was she going to do about it?

  The same thing she’d been doing. Give in to it.

  As she’d told Bobby once before—she wanted this, she wanted him. Since her mother insisted she have a bodyguard, insisted that bodyguard be Bobby Luchetti and insisted they go to the Patriot Ball, Jane was going to enjoy herself while she could.

  There’d be plenty of time to live alone without him once he went back to his job.

  An hour later Jane was actually getting it. She hadn’t tripped in several minutes, nor trod on Bobby’s feet for an entire song. He kissed her brow, and she lifted her mouth, begging for more. He didn’t notice.

  “You’re doing great,” he said.

  “Mmm.” She leaned her head against his shoulder, wishing the dance could last forever.

  “The colonel thinks you’re suffering from a case of rescuer worship.”

  Jane stiffened. “Excuse me?”

  “He didn’t want me to see you because he thought you might attach to your rescuer. Sometimes kidnap victims do.”

  Jane stared into his face as they continued to sway to the music. He seemed bothered by the prospect that she might be sleeping with him because of a misguided sense of gratitude.

  He’d asked her that once already, and she’d denied it. She’d deny it again, because she knew the truth.

  “I wanted to sleep with you long before the General showed up.”

  He stilled. “What?”

  “A handsome man breaks into my tent and drags me into the jungle. Of course I wanted to jump your bones.”

  She’d put their relationship right back where it belonged. Now she had to make it stay there.

  “You hated me.”

  “Not for long.”

  “Because I rescued you.” He sighed.

  Jane slipped her hands beneath his T-shirt, ran her fingertips over his stomach, then pressed her body against his as the song died.

  “If this is rescuer worship,” she whispered, “why don’t you rescue me again?”

  He gazed into her eyes until the next song began, then he took her hand and led her into the bedroom. This time he locked the door.

  Then he rescued her. More than once.

  THE NEXT FEW DAYS WERE a whirlwind of dresses, shoes, fittings, doctors. Sometimes Jane felt as if she were a princess trapped in the tower. Except her knight was trapped inside, too—as well as a dragon named Lucky.

  Or was the dragon named Raeanne? She couldn’t decide.

  The best part were the nights she and Bobby spent together. Once the army of courtiers and stylists left for the day, they ordered supper, then danced, talked, laughed and retired to the big bedroom for more and more daring games of rescue.

  To be honest, Jane wasn’t all that enthusiastic about being sprung from the tower. But time moved on, and the Patriot Ball arrived.

  The entire day was spent getting ready. Bobby hung out with Lucky. The two of them would make an appearance in the living room, see Jane with her hair foiled or her nails soaking in warm soapy water, then escape.

  One of her mother’s flunkies actually tried to help her dress. Jane put a stop to that by throwing out everyone who wasn’t Bobby.

  As she dressed, all by herself, Jane wondered what would happen when the clock struck midnight and the ball was over.

  “Am I Cinderella or Princess Fiona?”

  Shaking her head, Jane settled the royal-purple gown over her shoulders. Something had to happen soon. She couldn’t live in the tower indefinitely—as much as she might want to.

  Jane contemplated herself in the mirror. At first she’d rejected this dress outright, because it was too bright, too attention-getting, too drag-queenish.

  But the designer had insisted, “The color is perfect for you.”

  The woman had been right. This shade of purple made Jane’s eyes shine bright green. Of course, the artfully applied eye shadow probably had something to do with it, as well.

  “Why does it take an hour to apply makeup so I don’t appear to be wearing makeup?”

  Lucky, who sat in the doorway watching, merely tilted her head in the opposite direction.

  The makeup artist had done an excellent job. Even Jane, who knew exactly what to look for, couldn’t see the bruises anymore.

  The stylist had swept her hair into some kind of “do,” which made it seem as if she wore a crown. The highlights she’d endured turned her tresses from dishwater to gold. The push-up bra gave her cleavage. The gel-crap they’d spread over her chest and shoulders made her skin glow almost as brightly as her mother’s diamond necklace and earrings.

  “Not bad for Plain Jane of the Yucatán.”

  “Who called you that?”

  Jane shrieked and spun around. Bobby stood in the doorway in a tuxedo. He was so polished, so beautiful, at first she couldn’t speak.

  Once she could, all she managed was a single word. “Wow.”

  “Right back atcha.”

  “I thought you’d wear a uniform.” She’d enjoyed some lovely fantasies about taking it off afterward.

  “Delta doesn’t really have uniforms. We’re army, but we’re on civilian-clothing status. Besides, the colonel and I felt it best if I blended in.”

  The reminder that he was coming to the ball to protect her life and not to socialize took a little of the shine off Jane’s mood.

 
Bobby reached out and drew her from the bathroom. “Who called you Plain Jane?”

  “Besides my mother?”

  Bobby’s smile turned into a frown. “She needs her eyes checked.”

  Among other things, Jane thought, but she kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want to spoil this night with discussions of Raeanne Harker.

  Lucky pranced around their feet, seeming to know something special was in the air. Jane felt it, too. She was definitely Cinderella, not Fiona. When midnight came she’d still feel like a princess and not an ogre, even if her ball gown turned to rags.

  Bobby lifted their hands high and twirled Jane once. The skirt belled out, then settled around her bare legs. She liked the sensation, so she did it again.

  She’d balked at wearing panty hose. What good was being a doctor in the jungle if you couldn’t go bare-legged?

  Jane had taken her nail file to the stockings the dressmaker had sent, and she’d loved every minute she’d spent destroying them.

  “Great shoes,” Bobby observed.

  Jane glanced at the silver sandals—she’d also balked at wearing heels—which had cost almost as much as her dress.

  “Italian?” he asked.

  Jane lifted her gaze and stared at him curiously. “How do you know that?”

  “My sister is a shoe freak. I hear my niece is the same way. Kim was always talking about Rossi this and Fiorangelo that. I guess some of it wiggled into my brain.”

  He offered his arm. “Shall we?”

  Jane hesitated. She’d been excited, now she was just nervous. She’d never attended a dance with a man.

  Of course she wasn’t “attending” with him. Bobby was her bodyguard.

  “Save the last song for me,” he whispered.

  Their eyes met. All her nervousness fled. As long as Bobby was there, everything would be all right.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  BOBBY WAS UNEASY FROM the moment they arrived at the Patriot Ball, and he couldn’t figure out why. The security was top-notch, as it should be for such an event. If there was a terrorist attack on this building, or a single nut with a gun, half of Congress and most of the Senate could be wiped out.

  He might not have much use for politicians in general, but even Bobby had to admit that if most of them were vaporized, chaos would reign.

  He still got shivers whenever he thought about the plane that had gone down in Pennsylvania. If Flight 93 had plowed into the Capitol, 9/11 would have been so much worse. Talk about heroes.

  The Connelly Museum was shiny and new, which was why the Patriot Ball was being held there. There was a red carpet of sorts, which the attendees were supposed to stroll across in order to reach the festivities.

  Bobby would have preferred to take Jane in the back way, through the kitchen and directly to the ballroom, but her mother insisted they enter through the front of the building like everyone else.

  Now he knew why. Reporters and photographers jostled for position behind the security rope. Flash-bulbs popped all over the place.

  Obviously the senator was of the opinion that the only purpose to attending such an event was being photographed doing so. Judging from Jane’s expression, she couldn’t care less. She just wanted this over with.

  Men and women wearing dark clothing, with the requisite earpieces, were interspersed though the crowd. If the suits and the ear hardware didn’t mark them as Secret Service, their stoic faces and disinterest in anything other than the milling masses would have.

  A quick glance upward and Bobby gave a nod of approval. Police snipers on the roof. There was no doubt a fighter jet idling nearby. Nevertheless, that bull’s-eye on Bobby’s back had started to itch.

  “Let’s get inside,” he murmured.

  Great security or not, if someone wanted to take a shot, they could. Which was why protecting a U.S. president was not a job Bobby ever wanted.

  They hurried toward the doors. Flashes flashed, questions were thrown their way. They ignored everything as they slipped into the building.

  Metal detectors were set up just inside. Bobby showed his documentation, which would allow him to carry a weapon past Security. Amazingly, Jane set off the alarm.

  “Metal hip, knee, plate in the head?” the officer asked as she patted Jane down.

  “Maybe it’s the pins in my hair,” Jane suggested.

  The woman wanded her and voilà, the apparatus lit up like a switchboard at the Howard Stern Radio Show. After probing Jane’s coiffure with a pencil, they allowed her to pass.

  “That was exciting,” Jane said.

  “Thrilling,” he said dryly. “Do you know how many times that thing’s going to ring if hairpins set it off?”

  “Do hairpins usually set it off?”

  “I don’t think so. But how often do people use hairpins these days?”

  “You’d be surprised,” Jane muttered.

  “Jane!”

  Senator Harker’s voice made them both start. Bobby settled his hand at the base of Jane’s spine as they turned to meet her mother. Though he knew he shouldn’t keep touching her, he couldn’t stop himself. He liked the warmth of her skin beneath the satin, the bump of her body against his.

  “Captain.” The senator greeted him without looking Bobby in the face.

  Jane took another half step closer to him, and Bobby rubbed his thumb over her hip, where no one else could see. She threw him a grateful glance that made him want to turn around and take her back to the hotel for the night.

  He didn’t understand Jane’s relationship with her mother. They didn’t seem to like each other at all. They spent little time together, never embraced, and whenever possible they made a jab with words that would have drawn blood if made with fists.

  His mother and sister had had their differences, but they’d made up long before his niece was born. Now they were pals, which was disconcerting at times, considering the past, but nice, too.

  However, even during the years they’d spent screaming and throwing things, everyone had known they loved each other. Except, perhaps, the two of them. But that was another story. Bobby got the impression the senator and Jane had deeper problems than leftover teenage angst. Especially since Jane was long past the age of majority.

  “Jane, I want you to meet my aide, Greg Wylie. He’s been working overtime to help organize the ball.”

  A young man hovered behind the senator. Far enough away that Bobby hadn’t even thought they were together, now he stepped forward and extended his hand.

  Taller than Bobby, he was slim and blond, with wire-rimmed glasses and the air of the eternally rich.

  Jane shook his hand. “Hello, Greg. Mother’s mentioned you. You were in the Olympics, right?”

  Bobby lifted a brow. Since when did they have an official stick-up-the-ass competition?

  “Let’s discuss that while we dance.” Smooth as a grass snake, Greg tugged Jane into the crowd.

  She glanced back at Bobby and he made a shooing motion with one hand. He couldn’t very well monopolize her all night. Even if he wanted to.

  Bobby took up a position where he could keep an eye on Jane as she whirled by. He’d told her to save the last song, but maybe he should have claimed the first one, too. Seeing her waltz in the arms of another man after he’d been the one to teach her the moves was damn annoying.

  The senator sidled up next to him and watched, too. He’d hoped she would find more pressing things to do than talk to him, but no such luck.

  “They make a lovely couple, don’t you think?”

  Bobby grunted. She couldn’t be serious. Wylie was a pencil-neck, a paper-pusher, a pasty-faced desk jockey. He couldn’t keep up with Jane in a million years. But how to tell that to her mother?

  “He’s more her type, her class.” The senator put a hand on Bobby’s arm, and he had to brace himself so he wouldn’t jerk away. “I just want you to understand that she might boff the bodyguard, but she isn’t going to marry him.”

  Bobby turned to the senator. �
�I don’t recall asking her.”

  Senator Harker’s smile spread like the Cheshire cat’s. “Wonderful. As long as it’s a fling for both of you, then no one gets hurt.”

  “Fling. Right.”

  Which was what this was. Always had been. There was no reason for Bobby to feel as if he’d been kicked in the gut.

  “I have great plans for Jane, and marrying a soldier—even if he is top of the line—isn’t in them. She’s going to be one of the premier physicians in D.C. before she’s forty. Two point five children and a husband on the fast track to the White House.”

  “Is Jane aware of these plans?”

  “Of course. I’ve discussed them with her on countless occasions.”

  Bobby couldn’t see it. Jane would insist on bringing Lucky. Although the idea of that dog living at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue was downright amusing.

  “Good luck with that,” he murmured as he moved off to get a better angle on Jane and Prince Charming.

  The night was long. Even longer since he had to watch the woman he’d brought to the ball dance with every other man in the room. Bobby could have claimed a song. He hadn’t been forbidden to do so. But she was having such a good time, he didn’t have the heart to cut in. Yet.

  Jane never forgot him. Every time a song ended she’d glance Bobby’s way, even start in his direction. Then she’d be besieged.

  She looked beautiful. Of course being a physician and a senator’s daughter didn’t hurt, either. Especially in this town.

  For just one night, she was the belle of the ball. But when the clock struck midnight, she’d go back to being Jane.

  And he’d be right there to claim the last dance as his.

  JANE HAD NEVER BEEN so popular. Was it the dress, the shoes, her hair? More than likely it was her mother.

  After listening to Wylie drone on about his days as an Olympian, she’d been thrilled to move to the next man.

  Then she’d been regaled, more than once, with the news that Senator Harker was certain of a cabinet position within the next few years. Any man in Washington who wanted to ride Raeanne’s coattails might consider it worth the trouble to romance her too tall, too smart, not-quite-pretty-enough daughter. Too bad that the daughter only had one man on her mind.