Flash Fire

by Dana Marton

  Although, the whole family thing was a little intimidating now that he was in the middle of it. The house too was impressive. He couldn’t offer Clara anything like this. For now, he was little more than a DEA bureaucrat, on a bureaucrat’s salary.

  He took her hand. Just sitting like this with her was more than he’d dared hope for in these past few months while he tried to create a life for himself that could include her. He figured since the general had participated in setting up this visit, maybe the man wouldn’t shoot him for the handholding.

  The general pretended not to notice. Good enough. Walker could work with that.

  Meredith Robert beamed with approval. “How about I go and make some fresh coffee?”

  “I’ll help.” The general stood with her, looking between Clara and Walker. “You two catch up. I’ll take kitchen duty.”

  Grandma Lucy kept watching Walker. “When are we going skating?”

  He looked at Clara, who gave a small nod, so he said, “A little later.”

  “I’d like to sit in the sunroom and look at the snow,” Grandma Lucy said next, lifting a stack of old letters tied together with a ribbon from her lap.

  “I found Grandpa Bud’s old letters from Vietnam in the back of a closet when I was looking for Christmas decorations,” Clara whispered next to Walker.

  The pleased smile lighting up her face went straight to his heart. He wanted to kiss her again more than he wanted to draw his next breath. But they were in full view of the general and his wife in the kitchen. So Walker was going to take things slow.

  Some things were worth waiting for. Clara was worth everything.

  He stood and offered his arm to escort her grandmother, following Clara, who walked in front of them. At least he could look his fill. She wore jeans and a bulky Christmas sweater, but to him, she was hotter than a Victoria’s Secret model in nothing but lace and wings.

  They passed through the French doors into a spacious sunroom that looked over the snow-covered backyard. When Grandma Lucy settled into a wicker sofa, Clara tucked a blanket around her.

  Since Grandma Lucy didn’t let Walker’s hand go, Walker sat next to her. Clara sat on his other side, close enough so their thighs touched lightly. He shifted until the contact became more solid. She seemed to relax, as if she needed to touch him as badly as he needed to touch her.

  Grandma Lucy passed him the letters she’d been holding in a hand that was liver-spotted but as elegant as a piano player’s. Which she probably was, considering the gleaming black baby grand in the foyer. “Could you read them to me?”

  He took the stack, pulled the letter on top, and opened the faded envelope, unfolded the wrinkled, stained paper. “My Dearest Sweetheart, I miss you more every day…”

  He wasn’t a sentimental man, but his eyes were burning by the time he was done with the first letter. The only thing that kept him going was the way Grandma Lucy and Clara beamed at him. When Clara looked at him with such admiration, he would have drained oceans and battled sea monsters for her.

  He read on.

  Obviously, Clara’s grandfather had been to some seriously bloody battles. He’d suffered staggering losses, among them the loss of his twin brother in a chopper crash Bud had barely recovered from. He’d done dark things to survive. He hadn’t spelled it out in his letters to his sweetheart, but Walker could read between the lines and felt a connection to the man.

  He liked knowing that Bud had survived to return home. He had not let the past claim him. He’d married his Lucy and started a family. A life like that was possible. Maybe even for Walker.

  Grandma Lucy fell asleep on the third letter.

  Clara tucked the blanket tighter around her, then took Walker’s hand, led him out of the sunroom, through the living room, and into the library.

  “So is this where the hot monkey sex happens?” he asked on a note of hope.

  But she didn’t laugh with him.

  A quiet, thoughtful look came over her face. “I have something for you. I got it two days ago. I’ve been trying to find you.”

  She walked to the fireplace and picked up a copper urn from the mantel, holding the urn as carefully as if it were a priceless treasure. She hesitated.

  He stepped closer. “What is it?”

  Her expression turned tender. “I need to tell you something.” She held his gaze, letting her love and concern show in her eyes undisguised. “I found your brother.” She paused. “US Customs had him. The box hadn’t been correctly stamped as remains.”

  He felt as if the floor had dropped out from under his feet. For a moment, he could only stare at her. All the air left his lungs. He struggled to draw some back. Then he reached for the urn and cradled it in is arms.

  Ben.

  Walker’s throat tightened.

  Clara had found Ben for him. His little brother hadn’t been lost to the incinerator. Ben was here.

  Walker blinked moisture from his eyes. His cheeks felt wet. He was holding on to the urn so tightly, it was a miracle he didn’t dent the metal.

  He turned from Clara, too embarrassed to cry in front of her. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried. Not even when he’d found out about Ben’s death.

  Ben.

  And then, oh great, Walker couldn’t see.

  He was definitely crying. Like a big giant baby. But suddenly he didn’t care. Nothing mattered but that he had Ben back.

  Then Clara wrapped her arms around Walker and pressed herself against his back, laid her cheek against his shoulder, and just held him. Held him up. Held him together.

  “Thank you.” His voice was so thick, he barely recognized it. “You don’t know what this means to me.”

  She held him tighter, her arms strong and steady. Man, it was a good feeling. Best feeling ever.

  Ben before him, Clara behind him. Surrounded by the two people he loved most. Feelings he couldn’t begin to identify spread through Walker’s chest and threatened to drop him to his knees. A vast, stormy sea of emotions threatened to wash him away. But he had an anchor: Clara Roberts.

  When they’d first met, he’d thought she was about as soft as a fishhook in the eye. But if something got hooked, it was his heart. Truth was, she was soft, and warm, and kind. Which didn’t stop her from being pretty damn kickass when she needed to be.

  As she held on to him, his dead and empty heart filled with life again.

  * * *

  Walker couldn’t sleep.

  He couldn’t believe the day he’d just had. Clara’s family had treated him as if he was one of them. Before dinner, they’d taken Grandma Lucy to look at the ice-skaters. Putting those old bones on ice was not the best idea, so they kept her on the sidelines. But she seemed satisfied with watching, her arm hooked into Walker’s on one side, Clara’s on the other.

  After the visit to the frozen pond, her memory seemed to return. The old gal was a hoot and a half. Walker liked her. A lot. And not only because Grandma Lucy seemed to wholeheartedly approve of him.

  For dinner, they took her to her favorite restaurant, where Bud had proposed to her, and she was so happy, she squealed like a young girl.

  While she napped in the afternoon, Walker played cards with Clara and her parents. He’d been a little unnerved by the general, but he liked to think he stood his ground in Uno against the man. Then Clara took him for a walk in the park, a winter wonderland, very different from the jungle where he’d fallen in love with her.

  He kissed her every chance he got and hoped for more, but after dinner, Meredith, the general’s wife, set up the guest bedroom for him.

  Where all he could think about was Clara somewhere down the hall, way too far away from him.

  Walker loved her so much, he could barely breathe when she was in his arms. Which was where he wanted her right now. But he wasn’t going to push her. He was going to wait patiently, even if it killed him, until she arrived to the same page where he was.

  He turned onto his back, folded his arms under his he
ad, and stared at the ceiling in the semidarkness. No way was he going to be able to sleep while under the same roof with Clara.

  He settled in for a long night, but when he heard furtive footsteps in the hallway, he turned back toward the door and held his breath in hope.

  Clara stuck her head in. Her gaze met his in the dim room. “Can I come in?”

  “Does your father have a gun collection?”

  “Nothing bigger than a grenade launcher.” She flashed him an is-my-big-bad-navy-SEAL-scared? look.

  Then, before he could respond to the unspoken challenge, her gaze dropped to the comforter, making it clear that she wasn’t asking to sit in the armchair by the window. She wanted to come into his bed.

  Hell, yeah.

  God, he loved her. “When did I ever not offer to share a bed with you?”

  He shifted to the side, making room for her, his heart thrilling at the sight of her, his body immediately ready to go as far as she would let him. Preferably, all the way. As many times as possible. Tonight, tomorrow night, for the rest of their lives.

  He held her gaze. “Remember what I said the last time you were in bed with me?” If you come into my arms again, don’t expect me to stop.

  She just smiled as she hurried over, wearing the skimpiest black nightgown he’d ever seen. She slipped under the covers.

  An answer, right? A definite yes. He hardened even more, which seemed impossible.

  And then, the wonderful, amazing woman that she was, she spelled it out for him. “I was promised a present in the driveway. You were in the driveway. I’m here to unwrap my present.”

  Full green light. Okay, then.

  Her warmth and soft scent enveloped him—the scent of chocolate, peppermint, and cinnamon. Maybe she hadn’t been able to sleep either and had tried the hot-chocolate treatment first.

  He desperately wanted a taste.

  When he reached for her, she didn’t resist.

  But she did say, “Oh, you’re naked.”

  “I live in hope. It’s my new motto.”

  She pressed herself into his embrace, laid her cheek against his chest. He caressed the velvety skin of her back, barely able to believe that she was in his arms at long last.

  She tasted like Christmas, and hope, and future—everything he’d never thought he could have. She tasted like an impossible dream. He was determined to make that impossible dream his. He’d waited too damn long for this moment.

  When they came up for air, he told her, “I’m in this for the long haul. Just so you know.” It needed to be said.

  “Okay.” She nibbled his earlobe.

  Heat shot through him. “Okay?” The single word came out in an uneven tone.

  He turned his head on the pillow to force her to look at him. He wanted to make sure that she meant it. “I’ve done some seriously bad shit in the past.”

  “I know,” she said patiently. “I was there.”

  He winced. Searched her gaze. “It’s possible that I’m messed up. You know, in the head. Maybe I’m not just part-time nuts. I could be full-on crazy.”

  “You mean like PTSD?”

  “I don’t know. But I have some pretty nasty baggage from my SEAL days, and after.” He filled his lungs. “I’m seeing a shrink over at Walter Reed.”

  From the way her eyes flared, he knew that he’d surprised her.

  A smile flashed onto her face. “Really?”

  “You deserve a good man. Better than me, for sure. So I want to do whatever I can to be as good a man as I can be.” He paused. “I kept thinking about what you said, that quote from Heraclitus.”

  “What anger wants, it buys at the price of soul.”

  “Yeah. Thing is…you are my soul. Or a big part of it. And I’m not going to let my anger touch you, or hurt you. That just can’t happen. So I’m letting it go.” He offered half a smile. “I’m working on letting it go,” he corrected.

  Her gaze softened. She worked off her nightgown and pressed her naked body against his. “I love you, Walker.”

  His heart swelled with emotion. He tasted her lips over and over again, then swept inside and explored her fully, just in case there was something he’d forgotten. There wasn’t. She was just as sweet as he remembered.

  Then he kissed her neck, her collarbone, nibbling his way to her pebbled nipples. He circled them with kisses.

  He laid his head between her breasts. When he stuck his tongue out, her nipple was at the perfect distance for licking.

  Every man needed a bosom for his pillow, indeed.

  He hummed the song as he grinned.

  Damn straight.

  By the time he sucked the nipple into his mouth, she was writhing under him.

  He’d been waiting for this for too long. He was tired of dancing the blue-ball shuffle around her. If he didn’t get to bury himself in her sweet body and soon, his dick was going to fall off, hit the floor with a clang, and roll off into some dusty corner. After all the years of fun they’d had together, he figured he owed his dick a better fate. He was done with trying to keep his distance.

  He moved over her and fit his erection against her. She moaned in approval. He was so freaking ready. But a torturous thought jarred him out of his lust haze.

  He lifted his head, and swore. “I don’t have a condom. I have them at the hotel.”

  He’d gotten a room, hadn’t expected that he would be invited to spend the night. He was close to grinding his teeth with frustration.

  Clara blinked. “I put some in my robe pocket.” She groaned. “But then I was so distracted by the thought of sneaking in here, I left my robe in my room.” She closed her eyes for a moment. Opened them. “Try the nightstand.”

  When he did, he found a brand-new six-pack. Relief slammed into him pretty damn hard.

  She grinned. “My mother. My father is a general and could organize the occupation of a large country. But he pales next to my mother when it comes to planning ahead.”

  He decided that he really, really liked Meredith Roberts.

  “I’m going to do something very nice for your mother in the near future. Say, she needs closet organizers put in, or whatever women go crazy over these days. Whatever it is, I’m there.”

  He rolled the condom into place, then moved back over Clara as her thighs parted to welcome him. Ahhh.

  He did not give any further thought to closet organizers.

  Nothing had ever felt as right as their two bodies joining together—every moment pure bliss.

  He thrust into Clara’s tight heat.

  The headboard hit the wall.

  Shit.

  The general slept on the other side of that wall with his wife.

  Walker held still. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He couldn’t stop. No way. He pulled back, thrust again, slower this time. But the headboard knocked into the wall anyway.

  In the other room, the general coughed.

  Shit.

  * * *

  Clara had a romantic night in mind for their first time together—something sweet and poignant she would always remember. And great sex, of course.

  She knew her body. Certain parts had to be touched in a certain way, for a certain length of time. She wasn’t afraid to ask for what she needed. She was a twenty-first-century woman. She was in charge of her own orgasms.

  Except, one second, they were in bed, the next, Walker was on his feet, and she was somehow wrapped around him, the comforter wrapped around both of them. He evacuated the room as fast as if bombs were falling.

  “Headboard. Wall,” he whispered into her ear, his voice unsteady and strangely guttural.

  Okay, she could be flexible. Even if her small, twin-size bed wasn’t nearly as nice as the queen mattress in the guest bedroom.

  But as she thought about pointing him toward her room, the mountain of evidence to her childhood geekiness held her back. Wall-to-wall Mathlete trophies didn’t exactly make for a nest of romance. And how did one explain a life-size portrait of Einstein in
boxer shorts?

  While she hesitated, he was already carrying her down the stairs, his movements as stealthy as if sneaking through enemy camp. He headed for the couch.

  They were almost there when Grandma Lucy called from her downstairs bedroom in a sleep-laden voice, “Is that you, Bud?”

  Walker turned from the couch. Then they were at the back door, then outside.

  The cold didn’t even touch Clara. The heat of his body radiated through her.

  Her brain screamed: She was about to have sex outdoors! Against the house. Like in a movie. Okay. Maybe she could stretch her comfort zone this far.

  But the next step they took forward turned on the motion-sensor floodlight.

  If her father looked out his bedroom window…

  Walker must have thought the same, because he crossed the deck in a few strides and dove off with her.

  Lying in the ditch sheltered them from the motion sensors. The lights clicked off.

  She lay on top of the comforter in the snow, Walker on top of her. And then he was inside her again.

  Okay, so Navy SEALs were known for being highly adaptable to their environment, but…

  In a ditch?!

  Their first time making love was going to be in a ditch?

  This was not how tonight was supposed to happen. She’d had plans.

  She was a twenty-first-century woman. She knew what she wanted. She knew what worked for her. She was in charge of her own—

  Then he moved inside her, claiming her lips at the same time, and suddenly she was in charge of nothing.

  Mad tingles ran through her body with his every move. Her response to him was spiraling rapidly out of control. The best she could do was hang on to his wide shoulders while she arched her back and tilted her hips on instinct to take him in even deeper.

  Then she was close. So close… But every time she came to the edge, he pulled back. Then he built the pressure again. And again, and again. Until he finally pushed her over, and she flew apart in his arms.

  As she slowly returned to earth, she became aware that the comforter under her was wet from the snow her body heat had melted. When she squirmed, Walker noticed.