Falling for Her Soldier 3

by Ophelia London

  Ellie held her breath in shock and anticipation, feeling his hard leg muscles flex against her.

  It was the music; something seemed to come alive in him. He walked them in two proms, then a tight swivel left, whipping her around. His steps were in rhythm, and…were those his hips swaying?

  Oh, my.

  “Try the open turn,” Ellie said.

  “Shh—” His fingers pressed into her lower back and he turned them in another pretty damn good eight-count basic, his left foot dragging to finish the close.

  There wasn’t much eye contact with the tango, but Ellie couldn’t stop herself from peeking up at Hunter, expecting to find him all clench-jawed. But he was peering down at her, that anti–Fred Astaire gaze that made her core tighten, then burst into spasms.

  His locked frame was suddenly not so locked, and he took her hand, linking his fingers through hers. Her breaths were becoming more and more shallow, reacting to his touch. A moment later, he moved his hand to her hip, where his other hand had wandered. He pressed his forehead to hers, like this morning, slowly box-stepping her to the rhythm of Elvis.

  She held on to his elbows, letting herself be led, feeling her heart pounding as Hunter’s hands curled around her hips. And then, as naturally as how they moved to music, he tilted his chin and pressed his lips to hers.

  It was like she’d been holding her breath for an hour and could finally breathe. She didn’t realize how much she’d been waiting for this moment until they broke apart, inhaling in unison, in perfect timing. His hot, firm mouth covered hers again. He slid his arms around her back, holding her so tightly against him that her back bowed and her arms fell loose at her sides like she was floating, being swept away. His breath on her skin shot delicious shivers through her limbs.

  When her knees buckled, she didn’t think, she grabbed him around the neck, tasting his sweet mouth, never wanting the kiss to end.

  He led her backward, still in rhythm, though Elvis’s voice had died out. Her back hit the wall and he leaned into her, pulling away from her mouth to smoothly maneuver to the side of her neck. Ellie sucked in a breath and tilted her head, giving him free access to whatever he wanted while she slid her fingers over the sides of his hair.

  A tiny corner of her mind knew what she was doing might technically be against the rules—so many rules—but she couldn’t stop. He was so much fun and gorgeous, and man alive was he a good kisser.

  Slow-slow-quick-quick-slow went her heart.

  “Damn, I love the tango,” he whispered, tickling her ear.

  She giggled, his hot breath and skilled hands flooding her body with more sweet shivers.

  He planted kisses across her jaw. “Why didn’t you teach me this earlier?”

  “I wanted to,” she whispered in raggedy little pants, gripping the back of his head. “But I couldn’t. I…”

  She was about to finish her thought by saying she couldn’t kiss him before because she thought she was kind of in love with another man, a man she only knew online. The memory of Charlie Johansson had drifted so far from Ellie’s mind that it seemed ludicrous to even think it.

  It wasn’t Charlie she wanted to kiss again and again and again and again.

  When she didn’t continue her thought, he pulled back, his intense blue eyes gazing down at her. “I wanted it, too,” he admitted, his breathing just as ragged as hers. “Very badly. But I couldn’t, either.”

  For a moment, she wondered if Charlie had ever mentioned her or their e-mails to the other guys in the unit. Or was this about Sam? “Why?” she asked, pressing her hand to his warm, scruffy cheek.

  Hunter closed his eyes, leaning into her hand. But a moment later, he blinked and pulled back another inch, his troubled expression turned the other way. “Ellie,” he said, keeping his hand under her hair. “We need to talk about something.”

  She sighed, feeling knots of dread in her stomach, her stomach that had been filled with beautiful butterflies only seconds ago. “I know.”

  He lifted his eyes. “You do?”

  “Yeah. We need to talk about Sam, and what he told me.”

  …

  After one hard beat, Charlie’s heart slowed to a sluggish crawl, foreboding made his body feel heavy. But if he was going to tell her the truth, now was as good a time as any—except for, you know, three days ago.

  Maybe he’d get lucky…maybe that kiss had been as insanely mind-blowing for her as it had been for him. He’d kissed a lot of women, but not one had ever made him feel like that, hungry and helpless and spinning out of his mind.

  He hadn’t meant to back her into the wall like an animal, but he was afraid if he didn’t have help keeping them upright, he would end up pulling them both to the floor. A few months ago, he would have done that without a second thought, but not now, not with Ellie. That was a Hunter move, and the hunter was dead.

  “Sam,” he repeated, still holding her body in his arms. He wasn’t ready to let go—not if this was the last time he would touch her this way.

  Without thinking, he leaned down and kissed her, slowly, loving the way her lips parted immediately, trembling under his. He’d never made a woman’s lips tremble from just a kiss before. Or maybe his were the ones trembling; he couldn’t be sure. He held her face between his hands, combing his fingers into her hair. Then slowly, regretfully, he let go.

  She was breathing hard, her eyes closed. “Anyway,” she said after a shaky inhale.

  “Sorry. You were about to say something.”

  “No, no.” She nodded. “It’s okay…that was okay.”

  Charlie laughed, gazing at her beautiful face. He slid his hands in his pockets and stepped back, allowing her to come away from the wall. “What about Sam?” he asked, letting her lead the conversation as she’d so lovingly led him in other ways.

  But Ellie seemed at a loss for the moment, then her expression cleared. “He doesn’t want me to date you.”

  “We’re not dating.”

  She nodded her head a few times. “True. He didn’t say this specifically, but he probably doesn’t want you to pin me against a mirrored wall while Elvis plays, either.”

  Charlie ran a fist over his mouth, trying not to smile. “Probably not.”

  “I told him to butt out,” she said, twirling some hair around a finger. He couldn’t help grinning; she was so adorably sexy that he was on the verge of trying out the stability of that wall again.

  “He’s right, though,” she added. “We can’t date or”—she motioned to the wall behind her—“anything like that.” Her voice suddenly lost its joy. “I just… I’m sorry, I can’t.”

  It felt like his stomach dropped like a boulder to his feet then straight through the floor, along with his hopes. He’d faced unspeakable danger in Afghanistan, numerous times, yet he’d never truly felt like he might die until right now.

  “Is that what you wanted to talk about?” he forced himself to ask.

  “There’s more.” But she didn’t continue. Instead, she was staring at his mouth, her gorgeous lips parted, the word “more” whirling around his head.

  It took everything in him not to go to her. Whatever her reasons were to keep a distance, she was struggling, too. Charlie knew she was right—they shouldn’t be doing this. She just didn’t know his real reason, but she needed to.

  “If that’s the case,” he said, “we probably shouldn’t stay here, because I can’t think of anything besides you and…” He nodded toward the mirror, catching the reflection of Ellie from behind. His temperature shot through the roof.

  She giggled but then coughed inside her throat. “I need to tell you something else, if that’s okay, but where—”

  “Dinner?” Charlie asked, knowing exactly where he wanted to take her, especially if this was the last time they’d be together. “Not a date, and not an…anything.”

  She was watching him with a dubious expression. “Okay.”

  “Grab your bag; I’m driving.”

  Ellie turned off
all the lights and Charlie waited outside while she locked the front door. After they were both in the Impala, she asked, “Back to Phoenix or the pie place?”

  “Neither.” He revved the engine. “My place.”

  Ellie blinked then stared at him, still holding her seat belt. “Your…” She trailed off. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

  Probably not, Charlie considered. But he needed her there. “You’ll be perfectly safe. I swear, no more Elvis.”

  She laughed. “Okay.”

  They chatted as they drove to his apartment. He didn’t want any heavy subjects to come up, not yet, so he did everything to steer their conversation toward the frivolous. Her current favorite food was hot fudge sundaes. He already knew that. She’d had a summer job as a lifeguard at the city pool—which probably set off her desire to surf. He also already knew that, from the e-mails.

  In the back of his mind, he heard Jack’s advice, reminding him to take it slow, get to know her better. For the past three days, Charlie hadn’t needed that advice. He could sit and listen to and learn about Ellie Bell for hours. If he could find a way to also kiss those delicious lips of hers every hour, he’d be set for life.

  It wasn’t to be. She was about to drop some bomb on him; he didn’t know what it was, exactly, but if her news didn’t kill the mood, his would.

  He pulled into his covered parking space and turned off the car. “This is me.” He pointed to his apartment.

  “Cool neighborhood. How long have you lived here?”

  “I’ve had this apartment about two years. Of course I was deployed for some of that.”

  “Oh,” she said, “yeah.”

  He couldn’t tell, but it seemed like she was disappointed about something. “You okay?” he asked as they walked up the steps.

  “Sure.” She was nibbling on her bottom lip. “Just thinking.” Charlie knew that, too, of course: Ellie’s tell.

  He unlocked the door and stepped in first so he could turn on the light. Then he held the door open wide. “Come in.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Hunter’s apartment wasn’t a huge surprise. Typical single guy digs. Maybe a little cleaner than she was used to, but that was military mentality for you.

  “So, this is it,” he said, walking farther into the room, turning on lights as he passed. The floor plan was one-bedroom-apartment basic: the kitchen and living room were one large space, three opened doors, probably closet, bathroom, bedroom.

  She tried not to fixate about which door led to his room. “Nice,” she said. “I like how your TV doesn’t take up the entire wall.”

  “I guess it’s pretty big. It was a gift.”

  “Grateful date?”

  Hunter rolled his eyes at her. “Not funny, Ellie.”

  She snickered and looked around the room. Huh. It was also obvious he was a single soldier who’d been deployed. Not many personal effects. A few pictures in frames, probably his family, and probably put there by his family. Most of the pictures in Sam’s apartment were put there by Ellie herself.

  “Didn’t you say you played high school football?”

  “Yeah,” Hunter answered, more firmly than before when she’d brought up the subject.

  “No trophies?”

  He seemed to mull this over for a second. “I have trophies, but they’re in my bedroom.” He shot her a meaningful look. “You are not going in there unless you’re invited.” He folded his arms, looking all tough. “And you’re not invited.”

  “Fair enough,” she said, shrugging one shoulder.

  “So?” They smiled at each other, and Ellie couldn’t help feeling the desire to see those football trophies. To keep busy, she picked up a framed picture of an older couple, assuming it was his parents. “You and Sam are lucky to have family close by,” she said.

  “My sister never lets me forget that,” he said, chuckling afterward. “Yes,” his voice turned warm and somber, “I feel very lucky.”

  “Nice for us that you’ll be stationed here another year.”

  “I might not be,” Hunter said. “My orders are different from the rest of the unit. At least, that’s what my commander told me the day I got back from Afghanistan. But I’m still waiting for the new orders.”

  Ellie couldn’t help feeling a little deflated, and then more than a little anxious, knowing her days with Hunter might be numbered. “Oh. Well, that’s the military for ya, right?” she said, trying to sound breezy.

  He tilted his head. “You’re pretty understanding.”

  She looked down at her hands, twisting the hairband around her wrist. “It’s not like it’s a shock that military people sometimes have to move with short notice. It’s a way of life.” She sighed and glanced at Hunter. “Even though it really kind of sucks right now.”

  Hunter exhaled a laugh. “It does kind of suck right now.” He leaned against the back of the couch, at ease. “So, you wanted to talk,” he said, his gaze dipping to the floor for a moment, his posture suddenly not so at ease. “I’m ready”—he took in a breath then exhaled—“if you are. Should we sit?” He motioned to the couch.

  Ellie hesitated, not wanting to get into it yet. Not about the e-mails, or about Charlie, or about her man-less year. Couldn’t they just hang out like two normal people before she made everything weird?

  “You promised to feed me. Can we eat first?”

  Hunter’s gaze dropped to the floor again, and when he looked up, he appeared almost more relieved than she felt. “Of course.” He scratched his head then pushed off the couch. “I haven’t been to the store in a while.” He strolled to the fridge and pulled open the door. “May I interest you in two-day-old Chinese takeout? Or protein shakes? Or…” He pulled out a square Tupperware container and peeled back the lid. “Some lasagna, courtesy of either Tess or Mac. They both know where my spare key is hidden and are known to drop in and leave food.”

  She tried not to flinch at the name “Mac.” If he said they were just friends, she had to believe him. After all, if anything were going to happen with Hunter after her twenty-two-more-days probation was over, she would have to trust him. She wanted to trust him. Actually, it was kind of miraculous how much she wanted to trust him, after not trusting anyone for so long.

  “It’s like having your own personal maid service,” she offered breezily.

  “They might drop off a meal or two, but they refuse to clean.”

  “Tough life.” She tilted her head. “So, you invited me for dinner, but you have no food.” She motioned at the pantry. “Do you mind if I…?”

  “Be my guest.”

  She pulled it open and examined the contents. Hmm. Not much. She was not going to eat mac ’n’ cheese from a box, and she didn’t even know what flavor pink ramen noodles were supposed to be.

  “Do you have vegetable oil?” she asked. Hunter nodded. “Any eggs?”

  “Two dozen, actually,” he reported. “Protein.”

  Her gaze moved to his bicep for a second, admiring the effects of said protein. “We only need one egg,” she said and pulled out a box of Bisquick. “Pancakes, it is. Or do you have a waffle iron?”

  “I think so.” He reached under the counter, dragging out an ancient-looking waffle iron. “When my parents moved, I inherited some pretty random things. I believe this was on their wedding registry. It weighs about twenty pounds.” The thing made a loud clunk when he dropped it on the counter.

  “It’s probably better quality than anything you can buy today. Plug it in; let’s see.” She stood at Hunter’s side while he plugged in the thick black cord. A red light came on, and they both leaned their elbows on the counter, staring at it fixedly.

  “What are we doing?” Hunter asked a few seconds later.

  “We’re waiting to see how hot it gets.”

  He knocked his shoulder against hers. “Are you hitting on me?”

  “In your dreams.” She glanced at his grinning mouth, wondering if he was thinking what she was…that they were alone in h
is house and that kiss at the studio had ended way too soon and she really, really wanted to see those football trophies. Her neck and face felt hot, so she pushed back her hair, noticing Hunter’s eyes move to her neck.

  The waffle iron made a loud clicking sound, sidetracking her thoughts in the nick of time. She hovered her hand over the top of the appliance. “I feel some heat,” she said, and opened the top. “Oh, yeah, we’re raging hot.”

  “You’re killing me, Eleanor.”

  She shook her head, though thoroughly enjoying his flirts. It gave her hope that maybe the conversation she’d been putting off would go better than she thought. “Grab an egg and oil, a mixing bowl, and a measuring cup, any size.”

  He laid out all the requested items on the counter, but when Ellie went to start the batter, he caught her wrist. “I do know how to make waffles,” he said, sliding his thumb across the inside of her wrist before letting go.

  “Oh, well…” She pointed to the counter. “It’s your kitchen.”

  Hunter rubbed his hands together and grinned. “Stand back, baby.”

  She tried not to feel too swoony whenever his shoulder swept by or pressed against hers for longer than necessary. His touch was welcome, but each one made her nervous all over again about what she was going to say when they were through with dinner. If she did manage to make her feelings coherent, how would he take it?

  “Another hidden talent?” she asked as he poured batter into the steaming iron.

  “Let’s see how the first one turns out.” It turned out fine—pretty good, in fact. He pulled it off the griddle with a fork and laid it on a plate. “Butter’s in the fridge, but I’m not sure if there’s syrup.”

  “I saw brown sugar in the pantry,” Ellie said, needing to make herself busy. “That stuff never goes bad. I’ll make the syrup; you handle the waffles.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Hunter said, then offered a quick salute.

  The syrup was way easier than the waffles. Just dump a cup of brown sugar in a saucepan, add water, and walk away. Two minutes later, it was ready.