Falling for Her Soldier 3

by Ophelia London

  She couldn’t help surrendering to his plea. He was so earnest about his car—his baby. It was adorable. “Fine. But you have to give me something next.”

  “Name it.” He let go of her hand to open her car door, and she felt his eyes glide over her body as she climbed inside, causing her skin to tingle all over again.

  “So, what kept you busy this afternoon with no car to tinker with?”

  “I was on the phone for a while,” he said, sliding in next to her. “Catching up with some guys from the unit.”

  Ellie’s mind shot to Charlie. But it was only a mild whiplash this time. Hunter was sitting beside her, all sexy and dreamy and smelling like a sunny day. He was here, all too tangible, while Charlie was becoming more like a memory. Or a delusion.

  “Cool,” she offered. “Then what?”

  “Drove to Franklin High and—” He cut off, and when Ellie glanced at him, he was staring straight ahead, his long fingers gripped tightly around the steering wheel.

  “Yeah? And?”

  He seemed preoccupied by the road, then he messed with the windshield wipers. “Two of my friends work there,” he said. “I drop in sometimes. My brother-in-law, Jack, is the football coach and Mac teaches speech.”

  “Did you play football in high school or—” Ellie had to grab her seat belt when the car swerved then corrected.

  “Dammit,” Hunter snapped under his breath, his eyes darting at her then away. “Sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” She peered over the hood at the road ahead. “Was there a squirrel?”

  “No, I…” He pulled at the neck of his T-shirt. “I was…” He dipped his chin and exhaled out his nose. “Anyway, we should—”

  “So, football?” Ellie repeated. “Did you play?”

  Hunter seemed fascinated by the radio all of a sudden, switching first to a news station then jabbing the button, scanning to something loud and guitary. “Uh, yeah,” he said, glaring at the console. “A bit.”

  “Oh.”

  Huh. That’s odd. Most guys love reliving their high school glory days. More and more, Ellie was discovering that Hunter was not like most guys.

  “So, you were just hanging out in the locker room with Jack?” she asked. “Male bonding?”

  Hunter chuckled softly and turned off the radio. “Basically. Then Jack had practice, so Mac and I hung out during the free period.”

  Jack and Mac. Such manly names. She wondered if Mac had played hockey with him that morning, too, though she didn’t remember hearing the name. It was nice that Hunter had guy buddies outside the Army. Sometimes she worried that Sam didn’t get out with civilians often enough. And then what if the Warrior Station closed?

  But she couldn’t think that way.

  Stay positive. We’ll raise enough money and everything will be fine.

  “By the way, Mac told me Rick is going to put something in the paper about the WS tomorrow, then every day till the fund-raiser.”

  “Really? That’s incredible. Thanks for doing that.”

  Hunter shrugged but then pulled back a proud little smile. “No problem. Mac owed me a favor.”

  “I thought Rick is the one who owns the paper.”

  “He is, but he’s engaged to Mac.”

  This was getting confusing. “Rick is engaged to your buddy Mac?”

  Hunter stared at her for a minute, then burst into laughter. “Mackenzie,” he corrected. “Mac’s her nickname.”

  “Mac is a woman?”

  Hunter nodded, still chuckling as he idled at a red light.

  “So you were”—she tucked some hair behind an ear—“you were with a woman this afternoon?”

  “Yeah.”

  Suddenly, all the stories Sam had shared about Big Game Hunter came rushing back, blinding her objectivity: the serial dating, the sleeping around, the general male-pigness that she simply wouldn’t tolerate anymore. Had Sam been right to warn her?

  “Oh.” She folded her arms and stared straight ahead. “So you left me at the studio after we…” She tried to block the memory of their sexy almost-kiss out of her mind. “And then you hung out with—”

  “Ellie. I’ve known Mackenzie my whole life. She’s my sister Tess’s best friend, and she’s engaged to Rick. Engaged.”

  “I heard you,” she said, feeling the irrational burn of jealousy.

  Suddenly, the car swerved and slowed, then Hunter pulled to the side of the road, setting the car to park. “Let me get this straight. You’re jealous of Mac?”

  Heat flooded her chest and cheeks; she couldn’t stop it. “I’m not jealous.”

  “You’re blushing and you won’t look at me.”

  “So?”

  “Ellie.” He unsnapped his seat belt and slid across the bench seat. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t nice of me to laugh.” He touched her shoulder. “I should have been clearer. Yes, I was hanging out with Mackenzie today, but we…” He paused. “We were talking about you.”

  Despite the fact that she was still beet red, she turned to face him. “Me? Why?”

  A tiny smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “For starters, she wondered why I was in such a good mood.” He fingered a strand of her hair, then swept it off her shoulder, exposing her neck. “So I told her.” His finger slid up her neck, making her tingle all over. “About you.”

  A swarm of butterflies flew loose in her stomach and she couldn’t help blushing again at his sweet, romantic confession. “Oh.”

  He rested his hand on the back of her neck. It was warm and strong and made Ellie’s breath slow. “Please don’t be mad at me for that. You have no reason to be jealous of Mac…or any woman.” His intense blue eyes slid to her mouth. “Believe me.”

  Ellie felt her lips part, dying to go to him, to kiss him. “I believe you, Hunter.”

  For a moment, something seemed to change on his face. His hand remained on her neck, but his eyes dropped away. “Thanks.” The next second, he slid back behind the steering wheel. “We should go,” he said, and put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb.

  Lust had taken the place of jealousy, too easily to justify forgetting about her twenty-two more man-less days. And now, her overwhelming emotion was frustration, leaving nothing for Ellie to do but sit on her hands and stare out the window.

  A few minutes later, they arrived at the ballet studio. “Jane’s last class is almost done,” she said.

  “Oh, sorry. Back at the WS, you said we could practice in an hour. I guess I kind of dragged you away.”

  “What was that about?” she asked, unlocking her seat belt and swiveling around to face him. “Are you and Sam mad at each other?”

  He rubbed his square jaw. “Not exactly.”

  “Because it looked like you guys were about to throw down.”

  Hunter laughed. “We’re in the middle of a disagreement.”

  “About me?”

  He looked at her and shrugged.

  “This is none of his business,” she growled under her breath, feeling pissed off all over again.

  “He’s your brother.”

  “Well, he’s acting like a damn prison guard. I don’t need that.”

  “What do you need, Ellie?”

  She stared at him while a million ideas ran through her mind, her core temperature elevating with each additional thought. Her fantasy ended with her breaking the biggest promise she’d ever made to herself. Her inner perfectionist would not let that happen.

  “I need…to go inside.” She grabbed the door handle and practically jumped out of the car.

  Hunter didn’t follow her right away, but Ellie couldn’t wait. She needed to not be sitting on that bench seat beside him, not if she didn’t want to blow her goal.

  Twenty-two more days, champ, she thought as she bit the inside of her cheek and hustled inside.

  “Hey, you.” Jane waved as Ellie marched through the door. She was in head-to-toe leopard. Only Jane could pull that off and not look skank
y.

  “Hey,” Ellie said as a line of bun-headed teenagers trotted past and out the door.

  Jane draped a towel over her shoulder. “So where’s Mr. Big Guns—”

  “Shhh.” Ellie hushed her right as Hunter walked in.

  “Oh, hey, Hunter,” Jane said, then gave Ellie the eye.

  “How are you, Jane? Need any tulle lugged upstairs?”

  Jane laughed. “Thanks again for that.” She leaned against the reception desk and glanced at Ellie. “He’s a good one.”

  “Is the room cleared out?” Ellie asked, attempting to talk over Jane’s extreme lack of subtleties.

  “It’s all yours, nice and private.” Jane waved toward the studio with a flourish. “You guys picking up where you left off and…whatnot?”

  Ellie felt her cheeks get hot at the insinuation. Again with the tact, Jane.

  “I still have a lot to learn,” Hunter said, his eyes flitting around the room, settling on the empty studio. “I’m sure Ellie’s raring to get started on me.”

  Ellie saw Jane’s mouth open, so she shot her a silencing glare, grabbed Hunter’s hand, and pulled him into the studio.

  “I’ll lock up in a few minutes,” Jane called through the glass doors. “Then you’ll have the place all to yourselves.”

  Ellie didn’t reply. Didn’t even look back.

  …

  “Are we doing more boxing?”

  “Box step,” Ellie corrected, dropping her purse on a chair then fishing out her phone.

  Hunter laughed. “Ahh, that’s what I meant.”

  “No more box step. I think we should get right to it.”

  “Right to it,” he couldn’t help repeating, grinning at her.

  “The tango, I meant.” When she blushed like that, the woman was beyond irresistible. “We should get to the tango.”

  “Oh.” He nodded, trying to look pensive, even though his mind hopped to other things they could be getting right to. “If you say so.”

  Ellie cleared her throat and plugged her phone into a jack. “So, you showed me this morning you’ve got good rhythm—” She coughed like she was choking. “I mean, well, yeah, rhythm. Anyway, some ballroom dances are formally structured, but the tango has an open position, easy to fake your way through, which is why I chose it for us. Plus, it’s dramatic-looking, a crowd-pleaser. Everyone’s tangoed across the kitchen tiles in the heat of the moment.”

  “I haven’t,” Charlie said, keeping his eyes steady on her, a bit entranced by her words. Had she taught like this before, or was he her first private pupil? He had no clue. She was a kind sister, a good friend, and an amazing dancer—he knew that about her. But he was greedy, and he wanted to know everything.

  “Anyway,” Ellie continued, “the box step we did this morning is smooth, with a continuous rhythm. The American Style Tango is open to interpretation. The promenade, that’s the basic walk, goes back and forth between slow and quick. The bottom two beats are sharp and staccato, while the top two are gradual and slithery.”

  “I don’t know if I can slither.”

  She laughed. “Let’s try.”

  “Ellie,” he said. “I have to admit, I have no idea what you were just talking about.” Honestly, he’d gotten hung up imagining what she might look like being slithery. He liked where his mind had gone.

  “Come here,” she said, walking to the middle of the room. After a brief pause of how-did-I-get-myself-into-this-again? he joined her.

  “Can we do the forehead thing?” he requested hopefully. “That was…useful.”

  She laughed softly, her cheeks turning a charming shade of pink. “I think you have that move down pat.” She opened her arms to her sides. His reflex was to rush forward and wrap himself around those curves. But he knew she was setting the start position. Damn stupid tango.

  When he reached for her hand, she pulled back. “Our position is different with tango.”

  As long as he could touch her, he didn’t give a rip.

  “Take my right hand.” He did so eagerly. “Our arms are straight and high, the frame is tight.” She demonstrated.

  He liked it much better when her hands were resting on his chest, better yet when his arms were completely around her. He already hated the tango.

  “Your right hand goes higher on my back,” she said, “right under my arm, elbow out.” Charlie slid his hand around her back, already feeling happier. “Um…higher,” she said, “and over more. Your, um, your fingertips should be touching my spine.”

  “Like this.” Charlie slowly trailed his fingers over the bumps of her backbone, one by one. The sound of her breath hitching made him smile.

  “Yeah. That’s, um, good.”

  He gazed down at her lowered eyes. Why did she seem so nervous? She was the pro here, not him. “Ellie?”

  She looked up; her light green eyes were the shade of moss in a sunbathed pond, the most bewitching color he’d ever seen. By just looking at her, he felt his own breath hitch and his throat go dry. He knew he was going to kiss her in about five seconds unless he did something. “What…is Ellie short for?” he managed to ask.

  “Eleanor.”

  “As in Roosevelt?” There’s a nice mood-killing image, he thought.

  She rolled her eyes. “As in Rigby.”

  He lifted his brows. “Ah, the Beatles. I like that better.” He gave her hand an encouraging squeeze. “Okay, what’s next?”

  “Next?” For a moment, she seemed at a loss. “My hand…goes here.” She rested her left hand behind his right bicep, their elbows overlapping. Finally, they were touching for real. “This is the position. Lock it in.”

  “Locked and loaded.”

  “The basic pattern is slow-slow-quick-quick-slow.”

  “I’ve never been a slow kind of guy,” he couldn’t help saying.

  She arched an eyebrow. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. Let’s start with the eight-count basic. The first two steps we walk slowly, then close on the three. You’ll lead eventually, but for now, just follow and hold on to me.”

  Charlie did not need a second invitation. He moved his hand to the small of her back and pulled her close, smiling when she didn’t resist. When he leaned forward to touch his forehead to hers, her hand behind his shoulder slid down and curled around his bicep. He swayed them back and forth, though their feet didn’t move.

  “You’re not…locking your frame,” Ellie said, her voice a ragged whisper.

  “I can’t do what I want to do with a locked frame.”

  She lifted her chin and looked at him. “Hunter, didn’t we come here to dance?”

  He exhaled, wishing he could erase that name, and all its implications, from her mind. “Sorry.” He repositioned his body. “Frame locked.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Okay, so he was no Fred Astaire, but Fred Astaire didn’t have arms like rocks or killer chest muscles that were constantly driving Ellie to distraction. And Fred Astaire had certainly never looked at Ginger Rogers the way Hunter was looking at her.

  Holy mother of distractions…

  After about two hours, Hunter got the basics of the eight-count down. The tango-close was tricky, but that was probably because she kept tripping over her own feet when their slow promenade brought her stepping leg between his thighs. Very up-close and personal. Then he would give her a look, accompanied by a sexy smile, and her frame would buckle.

  Some teacher she was turning out to be. If he kept eyeing her like that, Friday night would be a disaster.

  “Ready to try with music?” she asked, needing to step away and not breathe in his aftershave for five seconds.

  “Aw, damn,” Hunter muttered. “Bublé?”

  She laughed at his tragic expression. “No, you’re safe for now. The tango is a passionate dance. Bublé lacks a certain…”

  “Urgency?” he finished.

  As he gazed at her, Ellie got a funny feeling deep in her stomach; the feeling that usually preceded dragging someone into a janito
r’s closet.

  “Um, yeah,” she said after a swallow. She sifted through some music on her phone. “We can practice with these songs, and maybe one of them might be good for the performance.”

  She noticed how he flinched at the word “performance.” This was probably pretty agonizing for him, being a macho soldier and everything. Ellie had been surrounded by military men most of her life, and not many of them would volunteer to dance in public. He must be an exceptionally brave guy.

  She thought about that, genuinely, then she looked at him, imagining Hunter the soldier. There was probably no one better at his job. The concept was unexpectedly comforting.

  “I’ll start the music,” she said, snapping back to reality. “We step on the four.”

  Hunter nodded, his hands on his hips, looking a little stiff. She hoped some music would loosen him up. “Smooth Operator” by Sade was the first song to come on. The rhythm was slow enough that they wouldn’t have to rush.

  “Ready?” she asked. Hunter nodded. “Let’s try it. On the four.”

  After one or two false starts, they did a few promising eight-count promenades, some pretty decent closes, and even one left swivel, though Ellie figured that was just luck. Half the time, it felt like Hunter was holding his breath and when she peeked up at him, his jaw was clenched.

  “Are you counting to yourself?”

  He nodded. “Otherwise, I’ll trample you. I’m not…getting into this,” he said through gritted teeth. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t worry. This song is over.” She dropped her arms and shook them out. “Relax for a second until the next one comes on. We’ll try again.” Hunter nodded and shook out his arms like she had.

  A few seconds later, the next track on her “tango” playlist started. Hunter’s head snapped to attention at the “ooh’s” and the Spanish guitar intro. The second the velvety voice broke into song, she watched as a smile appeared on Hunter’s face.

  “Elvis?”

  “You mentioned him.”

  He stepped up, locked his stance, and leveled his chin. Ellie was about to start counting aloud to prepare him to follow her lead when Hunter pulled her to his chest. His left leg slid back, balancing his weight. She followed, stepping between his thighs, her body bowing over him, both of them dropping into a lunge.