The One Worth Waiting For

by Alicia Scott

  Now Garret’s eyes skimmed down her figure, seeming to find each of those round curves fascinating. Slowly, his large hand slid to the base of her throat, his calloused fingers resting delicately around her graceful throat.

  “Was it good to get back to your routine today?”

  Hardly able to breathe, she nodded, feeling his fingers rough and strong against her skin.

  “Meetings?” he asked silkily. His hand lifted, tracing the outline of her ear. She shivered at the light, tantalizing touch. “I bet you’re the volunteer type,” he whispered. “Maybe church bingo. Fund-raiser. Definitely garden club material.”

  She tried to muster indignation at his words, but it was hard to command her own muscles when he kept touching her. Besides, he wasn’t saying anything that wasn’t true. Then he leaned down, and she found herself holding her breath in anticipation.

  “And men?” he whispered, so close she could feel the motion of his lips. “Does getting back to your routine mean you’ll be staying out late with men?”

  She licked her lips and tried to think of a suitable answer. The correct one would be no, but she hadn’t so lost her senses that she’d admit that to him.

  “Of course,” she managed to reply finally. The words lacked force, and their meaning was probably undermined by the way she arched her neck closer to the warmth of his lips. “By—by the dozen,” she added hesitantly.

  In the dark, she could feel his grin. “I bet they all play bingo,” he drawled.

  She nodded, her mind seeking out a sharp retort while her lips still tingled from the teasing proximity of his lips. “Yes,” she said at last, not able to think up anything else to say about these nonexistent men.

  Abruptly, he leaned back, and she felt the sharp pang of disappointment. His thumb rasped up her neck, a corresponding shiver sparking up her spine. He didn’t lean forward again, though. Instead, he seemed to be looking at her with something close to contemplation. Then, he shook his head.

  “You should keep away from me,” he said in the shadows. She nodded, but didn’t move. “I don’t like being caged up all day,” he continued. Whatever war he’d been fighting, he lost, because suddenly his hand moved, smoothing up to find the knot at the top of her hair. While she sucked in her breath, he drew the first hairpin out. “I just want to know how many,” he murmured. His strong fingers found the second slender pin and slipped it out as well. Slowly, her long hair unwound and cascaded down.

  She had to bite her lip against the soft sigh that nearly escaped. At the end of a long day, there was nothing quite like the relief of her long hair finally falling free. The cool, fine strands brushed against her shoulders and neck. Unconsciously, she arched back her head.

  He didn’t say anything, but buried both of his hands in the mass of her hair, combing through the silky tresses, massaging her scalp with slow, sensual strokes that made her lean closer. He picked up a handful of the brown strands, letting them spill over his hands to fall halfway down her back.

  His dark eyes gleamed.

  The restlessness surged and soared again in his veins. He needed a distraction. And here she was, her eyes already heavy lidded and half-closed while her hair tangled around his hands like a silken net. He should walk away. She wasn’t his type, and she certainly deserved better than him. All he had to offer were goodbyes; she’d do better with the bingo folks.

  But then she looked at him again, her gaze golden with simmering anticipation and barely suppressed passion. He stopped thinking and started feeling instead. Want. Need. Desire.

  He leaned forward sharply, catching that beguiling scent of roses and shampoo. His hands stayed entwined in her hair. His lips found hers.

  She trembled at the first touch of his lips brushing across hers. He felt the tremble, and it filled him with primal satisfaction. One hand snaked around her back, curving around her warm, slender waist, and without deepening the kiss, he drew her up hard against his frame. Her breasts pressed against his chest through the thin fabric of her dress, her hips tantalizingly close.

  With schooled discipline, he slanted his mouth slightly and deepened the kiss. His tongue touched her lips, tracing them suggestively. She jolted at the contact, skittish and untamed in his arms. He continued soft and slow, willing her to respond.

  Tentatively, her arms crept around his neck, and he congratulated her with a teasing nip at the corner of her mouth. Breathlessly, her lips parted, and his tongue slid between her teeth, delving into her mouth with long, sure strokes.

  She gasped, her muscles turning to liquid as she melted against his hard frame. Suddenly, her arms were clinging to his neck for support, while his mouth did wild and wonderful things that flushed her cheeks and heated her blood. He tasted dark and masculine, an exotic temptation she didn’t completely understand but wanted to have. She found herself pressing closer, her lips parting wider while she unconsciously arched her neck.

  His hand drifted down to cup her buttocks, and then he was pressing his hips intimately against her. She gasped again, and he took the opportunity to tangle his tongue around her own. Shivers raced down her back, and she tentatively returned his ministrations.

  He growled low in his throat. “Yes, sweetheart. Do that. Kiss me back, honey, just like that.”

  The power was heady and strong, nearly as beguiling as the kiss itself. She could feel his hard, hot body pressed against her own, his corded neck beneath her hands. And his tongue dueled with hers, plunging and plundering, only to draw back and tease her mercilessly. She tasted his lips, firm and hot and masculine. She explored the corners of his mouth and heard him groan while his hips rubbed against her own suggestively. She could feel his heated length through her thin dress and she was at once breathless and needy.

  Her thighs grew damp, and she hadn’t known her own restlessness until now. Suddenly, she was the one pressing against him, her fingers tangling in the long, jet strands of his wild hair.

  His hand brushed forward, cupping her breast. She arched back, her eyes closed while hot, exotic need boiled through her. She wanted his hand on her breast just like that. And when his fingers found her nipple, rolling it seductively, she bit her lip against the unbearable pleasure. She wanted his hands everywhere. She wanted him to find her, to torment her and end the wonderful torment with something that was sure to be even better. His hardness pressing, rubbing against her. His rigid, burning length, plunging into her…

  His hand slipped inside her dress to find her breast, and she didn’t protest. She wanted simply to let herself go and turn herself over to this new world unexpectedly exploding in her veins. She wanted him to make her feel all the things she’d never known.

  But then she opened her eyes, looking at the shadowed man she really couldn’t see in the darkness of the room.

  And all of a sudden, she felt the fear. She didn’t even know him. He was just someone she had worshiped all those years ago when she’d been too stupid to know otherwise. He’d left her at the bus stop with a rainy promise that had become the center of her world. And how many nights had she lain there praying he would come back? All those nights she would have sold her sixteen-year-old soul if only he’d return and take her away.

  The shattering mornings when she’d awaken in the same bed, with her mother’s drunken snores already filling her ears.

  He wasn’t holding her in his arms then; he wasn’t calling her sweetheart and honey. He was thousands of miles away, playing the soldier he always wanted to be, while she struggled with the same small-town life she’d always led.

  Now, he was merely the stranger passing through town. A stranger who traveled with three condoms in his wallet and knew a whole lot more about the world than she did. A stranger who would inevitably return to that world without ever giving her another thought.

  Without warning, her eyes filled with hot tears. And even as his lips nipped at her own, she thought she might hate him.

  Before he could react, she pushed herself away with all her might.
And as he reached out reflexively for her, she drew back her hand and cracked it across his cheek.

  The room grew deathly silent, and for a long moment, the only movement was the rapid rise and fall of her chest. His hand came up and gingerly touched his cheek. Still, he didn’t say anything.

  “Next time you need a distraction,” she snapped, her voice low and furious, “there’s an exercise bike on the second floor. Why, with it you might get your strength back even faster so you can leave that much sooner.”

  He rubbed his jaw again. “Suzanne—” he began, but she wouldn’t let him finish.

  “You’re just passing through, Garret. I know that, Cagney knows that, we all know that. So don’t waste my time with any lines, and don’t you touch me again. I’ll be your host. I’ll be your nurse. You want something more, go look elsewhere.”

  His eyes darkened dangerously, and once more, the air around him began to crackle. “If that’s what you want. But about thirty seconds ago, I could’ve sworn you wanted something completely different.”

  She gasped, her mouth opening and closing, then opening again. But no words would come out, no answers for his blatant accusation. Her cheeks flushed red and fiery, and she didn’t know where to begin anymore. Her body trembled traitorously at the mere memory, and her cheeks burned even more brightly. At that moment, she hated the both of them.

  “I’m going to bed,” she announced stiffly, clenching her hands in an effort at composure. “I’d suggest that in the morning, we simply start fresh. This never happened, and certainly won’t happen again.”

  “As you wish.”

  She nodded, though his choice of words sounded ominous. She pivoted sharply and, before she could do herself any more damage, marched down the hallway toward the stairs.

  She did not want Garret Guiness.

  She managed to keep that in mind until she made it up to her room. Then she closed the door and felt the hot tears of frustration roll down her cheeks.

  Chapter 5

  He was back at the rocky outskirts of the foreign city.

  Around him, he could see the makeshift tents and wooden lean-tos of a temporary camp. Cooking fires smoldered within small circles of rocks, logs set up as benches. Right now, however, no one sat around the campfires.

  Instead, the center of the camp riveted all attention. There, an old, tottering school bus rested with idling engine. A man and a woman were directing the flow of activity, and as Garret watched, the younger children in the camp slowly climbed onto the bus. Dimly, he heard orders being issued in French and understood the commands because he knew French from his Cambodia days.

  Abruptly, he was aware of all the other sounds: the weeping of the women, letting their children go, the wails of the children, frightened by their mothers’ tears. And finally, the distant, constant sound of shelling.

  Every now and then, one of the weeping women would look toward that sound and the distant sight of the city. The shelling had grown closer just this morning.

  Then Garret’s eyes found her.

  He recognized her right away, and in the depths of his mind, he already knew her name. Zenaisa. She bent over, her long, honey blond hair half hiding her face as she straightened the collar of the young, somber-faced child in front her. Behind her, her husband, Zlatko, looked on with a grim expression.

  The first tear trickled down her son’s face, and with a feeble smile, she wiped the tear away. A matching tear trickled down the other cheek. She found that tear, as well, and then she smoothed his threadbare coat with a mother’s touch, her hands lingering briefly on her son’s thin shoulders. The EquiLibre L’Entreprise Humanitaire would take the children away to safety. Most likely they would remain in an orphanage for the months to come. Some might be adopted. Perhaps some might even manage to find their parents after the war.

  No one knew.

  As Garret watched, Zenaisa reached into the folds of her overcoat and pulled out a small package. Even from his position at the perimeter of the camp, he could see her hands tremble. And even from this distance, he recognized the carefully tied bundle as the remnants of their last UN package, containing tins of beef and fish, half a box of cheese and one bar of soap. Zenaisa had stood in line five hours to get the supplies.

  Sudic began to cry in earnest now, his pinched seven-yearold face crumpling into a mask of raw terror and desperate pain. For one moment, Zenaisa gave in and crushed her last living child close to her heart. Her hands shook as they smoothed his dark hair, her shoulders trembling as she rocked his tiny frame and prayed for strength and hope in a time when there appeared to be none. Zlatko placed a hand on her shoulder, and she loosened her grip on the child.

  There were tear tracks on her cheeks, but she still smiled at Sudic, soothing him with soft words as her hands lingered on his shoulders one last time. With a sigh of determination, she stood and brushed off her dusty skirts. Then she took her son’s hand and led him to the bus.

  She stood there for a long time as the bus pulled away. The women around her sobbed, some tearing at their hair with the force of their grief. But Zenaisa just stood there and watched her son’s face disappear into a haze of dust.

  Zlatko came up behind her and placed his large, callused hands on her shoulders. She turned then, looking at him with a wide Slavic face that once had been beautiful, but now was worn and tired. Abruptly, she threw her arms around her husband’s shoulders, burying her head against his neck.

  And right before Garret had to look away, the emotions burning his own throat, he saw her shoulders shake with the force of her tears.

  “Darn it, Cagney, the man needs something to do! We can’t just keep him locked up in my house all day.”

  Cagney eyed her with his calm gray gaze and arched an eyebrow. “Is there something I should know?” He’d never seen practical Suzanne so flustered before. It was only eight a.m., but half her hair had already escaped from its customary knot, and her cheeks were flushed.

  “That’s none of your damn business!” she snapped, raising his brow even higher. “Just help me figure out something for him to do!”

  Cagney sighed, rising from the corner of his desk to stretch out his leg while he contemplated her words. It was too early in the morning to be worrying about Garret again. He was a newly engaged man with a beautiful, passionate fiancée. What in the world was he doing arriving at the sheriff’s office at eight a.m.?

  He dragged a hand through his rumpled black hair and gave Suzanne another thoughtful look. Garret always did wreak havoc on her nerves.

  “How’s his back?” he asked presently.

  “He gets around all right. He still sleeps quite a bit, but I think he’s about to eat me out of house and home.”

  “Sounds like Garret.”

  “You’re not helping.”

  Cagney threw up his hands in self-defense and tried to fend her off with a disarming grin. “I’m working on it, I’m working on it. But for goodness’ sake, Suzanne, I haven’t received much more than a couple of phone calls and postcards from Garret in the past ten years. How do I know what he likes to do?”

  “He’s your brother.”

  “Guilty as charged, I’m afraid.” Cagney pivoted, and unconsciously began rubbing his left leg. His limp was much better these days, since he’d started doing the doctor’s stretching exercises. Still, if he moved too suddenly, the old bullet wound plagued him. “Dad just overhauled his shop. I suppose I can ask him for his old tools.”

  “Furniture tools?” Suzanne looked unconvinced, but pondered the idea. “Where would we put them?”

  “Don’t you have that shed by your garden?”

  “Yes, but my garden supplies are in there.”

  Cagney gave her an exasperated look. “Surely you can move your garden tools for this. Remember, it’ll get him out of the house.”

  That seemed to convince her. “Will they all fit?”

  Cagney shrugged. “Only one way to know. Look, I’ll talk to Dad this afternoon and t
ell him I’d like to play around with his old tools. He’s never said anything, but I think he’s always wished one of his kids would show an interest in craftsmanship.” Cagney frowned, looking unhappy. “I hate lying to him, you know,” he said suddenly. “I hate having a deputy watching my own parents’ house and not being able to tell them.”

  Suzanne’s gaze instantly softened, and she nodded her head. “It can’t be much longer,” she said quietly. “He really is recovering remarkably fast. Sooner or later, it won’t matter if his memory has returned or not. He’ll simply leave out of the pure frustration of not knowing what to do.”

  Cagney looked at her for a moment, then gave in to his impulse to tell her everything. “I heard from Mitch,” he said abruptly. “He did some minor checking from the road. Garret’s considered AWOL.”

  Suzanne’s eyes opened wide. “Garret would never desert. He just wouldn’t.”

  Cagney nodded his head. “I know, I know. He would never deliberately desert. But let’s face it, Suzanne, he came here covertly. Obviously, they don’t know where he is.”

  “Do you think maybe he should contact someone?”

  Cagney frowned, his face looking troubled once more. “I don’t know, to tell you the truth. But Garret always did have uncanny instincts. I used to think both he and Mitch were throwbacks to the old warriors. Mitch always knows when something bad is about to happen, and Garret…Garret just seems to know what to do. Think about it. He was shot in the back. Most people would have gone straight to the hospital, and most men back to their unit. Garret came here, told us to tell no one and ordered Mitch out of D.C. Until he remembers more, I think we have to trust that.”

  Suzanne nodded, but her face was as troubled as his own. “How’s Jessica?” she asked, changing the subject.