“I haven’t darkened the door of a church in forever, but I know this song,” he said. The other men in the room watched quietly, identifying with his emotions, supporting their comrade. Two of the guys began to sing the words, and she nodded in encouragement.
The strain gradually washed from Sam’s face, and when he opened his eyes, they were clear and cognizant. This was how her music was supposed to work, and she smiled at her guys as their voices lifted, singing in unison words that were the prayer and salvation of many soldiers on the battlefields of foreign soil as well as in their own minds. When there was nothing left, nothing that could reach the darkness, the men who were believers experienced the grace of God, and the non-believers enjoyed the remnants of peace found in the sacred words.
The door cracked open and Dr. Leo stuck her head into the room. Allison nodded. Everything was all right. Crisis averted. Whatever had caused Sam’s disturbance in the therapy session, it ended on a positive note.
****
“Our friend is amazing,” Dr. Leo told him. “She did everything right. There’s a man in her group—he’s fairly new here. Shrapnel in the brain, TBI. He’s having difficulty making the transition to civilian life and loses control. He was skirting on the edge, and Allison brought him down. We’re lucky to have her here.”
“Is that what just happened in there?” Brodie asked.
“Yes. Allison didn’t engage him verbally. She used a common technique and played a song she thought he might be familiar with, a song with a melody and lyrics universally recognized as a song of peace and healing. It brought him back to his identity, back to himself.”
“This is what your program does?” he asked. He was beyond proud of Allison.
“Yes. We treat a fair number of patients who experience what we call polytrauma. That’s a term that describes injuries to multiple body parts as a result of blast-related wounds. The body and mind are one unit. For some veterans, the wounds are visible; for others their wounds are buried deep inside. For men like Sam, it was both. He should be in a residential facility, but we don’t have one. He’ll get better; it’ll just take some time.”
“But he will recuperate?” Brodie asked.
“If Allison has anything to say about it, he will.” Mary Leo patted his arm, and went about her business.
The more time he spent with this Ally—the grown up Ally, Ally the healer—the more he liked about her. She was becoming important to him. At some point, he’d begun to need her, and something told him she needed him.
Brodie and Dr. Leo walked down the hall away from the therapy unit. “I don’t understand how she can do this and not be affected herself. She seems so fragile, yet exhibits so much strength. We underestimated her, even when we were kids. Don’t get me wrong—she was a royal pain in the ass, but a sweet pain in the ass. Back then, she was a giver. Looked out for everybody, especially me and Brett. We thought we were big and strong, but, all along, she was the strong one.”
“That’s one reason I brought her here. Her co-workers at Walter Reed shared the same opinion. I haven’t known her long, but she’s made an impression on everyone. Did you know she wrote a paper on enhancing the techniques we’re developing and opening up the program to the entire community of first-responders? Cops, firefighters, EMTs—anyone who sees the worst that can happen to a human being and experiences the associated trauma. I asked her to join my program to start a community project. You might like to be involved, Brodie.”
“Me? I don’t have any skills you could use. I’m barely holding myself together.”
“Still having nightmares? Sweats? Flashbacks?” she asked.
“Not as bad as when I first came home. But, yeah, on occasion. You and Allison have almost made a believer of me. Did you know she plays every night? She calls it practicing, but I think maybe she does it for me. When I listen to her…I don’t know, something happens. The only time I sleep through the night is when she plays.”
Mary Leo rested her hand on his arm and let it linger. “Mutual healing, Brodie. Have you wondered what makes Allison’s music so special? Aside from the obvious, the training, the talent, and the experience, that is.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
The doctor shook her head in exasperation. “She hurts, too. Her brilliance comes from a broken heart—that’s what drives her. Her music heals her as well as those she serves. You live across the street from her. Haven’t you two gotten together yet? I thought you were old friends.”
He shook his head. “Something always comes up. We keep making plans for dinner, but for whatever reason, we’ve only seen each other a few times. She’s been seeing some guy. The man who’s working with her on her yard. A landscaper. She seems to like him. I don’t know… Maybe it would be better to just let it be.”
“I don’t know how she feels about her new friend, but I know she has feelings for you. Take it from an old lady, she’s dedicated to her work and the men she serves, but she’s a red-blooded American woman in her prime. My father, a fine Italian gentleman, used to say, ‘Maria, the fruit you must reach for is always sweeter than the fruit that falls at your feet.’ She puts me in mind of that ripe fruit; she’s at her sweetest. If you want her, you shouldn’t wait too long to make the reach. Don’t lose her. Don’t let the other guy steal her from you.”
She walked away, leaving him with something to think about. He knew how he felt about Ally, and he’d been running away long enough. If he dragged his feet, the landscaper would win her heart.
Then he thought about the way she looked at him, about the way her eyes would deepen when he came near, how her breath caught in her throat if he inadvertently touched her. They shared something special. Because of their history, or because of the chemistry between them, she was attracted to him. He was the one who’d been holding back. All he was doing was handing her to Harper on a silver platter.
Her work was her focus, and he got that. But from now on, he was going to pay attention to the signals she sent his way. Mary Leo was right. If he waited too long, he would lose his chance with Allison. He couldn’t allow that to happen. He wanted her…he needed her. She kept him sane.
****
Allison was running on fumes. She’d had another morning session with Sam Bennett, and again he’d come close to losing it. He kept finding excuses to seek her out, talk to her, touch her. She hoped he wasn’t becoming fixated on her, but everywhere she turned, on the days he came for therapy, he was there like a shadow. He was still a very confused and hurting man, but she couldn’t allow him to cross boundaries put in place for his protection as well as hers.
That wasn’t her only problem.
She’d only seen Brodie a few times in the last three weeks. He seemed content to be in a friendship relationship with her—the good neighbor, the fun companion, the occasional coffee and conversation buddy. Time or circumstance? She couldn’t say. Whatever the reason, they hadn’t connected the way she’d hoped.
Meanwhile, Jess had finished his work on her yard but kept making excuses to drop by her house, or calling to ask her out. So far, she’d declined, but she’d run out of excuses—for Jess and herself.
Jess was great. Sweet, handsome, a great kisser. There was plenty of chemistry there. If it weren’t for her addiction to Brodie, she could fall in love with him. The chase was getting old. She was getting old. Maybe it was time to move on. If it was going to happen with him, wouldn’t there be some indication? Two steps forward and one step back wasn’t cutting it anymore. She didn’t like it.
Long evenings alone with her piano and a glass of wine left her lonely and restless. Enough of the tossing and turning, of fantasies about Brodie stripping her naked and making love to her. Enough of her empty arms and empty bed and foolish dreams. She wanted a man. She wanted Brodie. But if he wasn’t going to come around, was it time to consider another?
That left Jess. He hadn’t been shy about declaring his feelings for her, and had made it clear he wanted more
than friendship. He called her almost every day, stopped by her house frequently, kissed her every chance he got, and let her know he was ready to take things to the next level. Handsome, sexy, uncomplicated—Jess was great.
He just wasn’t Brodie.
But Brodie was emotionally unavailable. Jess wasn’t. She determined to give him a call and invite him over. She’d put her desire for Brodie on the back burner and see what developed with Jess. A little Chardonnay, some sax music, a bunch of frosty grapes, and a round of Brie to stimulate the appetite. It was possible all she had to do was set the mood and let nature take its course.
She remembered the play of Jess’s muscles as he worked the gardens, letting the long, slow tingle of desire build. He was a sexy man. It shouldn’t be too hard to lose herself in the magic they could create together. If anyone could banish the ghost of Brodie Miller, it was Jess Harper.
No more nights alone.
Her resolve held up on the commute home, and right up until the moment she pulled into her driveway. Allison swallowed a curse as she parked the car and stared, unbelieving, at the scene that awaited her. What had she said about timing? What had she said about moving on, giving another man a chance, giving herself a chance to fall in love with someone else? Idle talk. Nothing to do with reality. Nothing at all.
On her porch sat a small table covered with a white cloth and candles, two crystal glasses, and a bottle of wine submerged in a cooler of ice. Next to the table, a tall man in soft, faded jeans and a white dress shirt with sleeves rolled up, top three buttons undone, lounged in her old rocking chair. He’d made himself at home. When he saw her, he stood—all six sexy feet of him.
She had one thought as his slow, sensual grin welcomed her home: It didn’t look like Brodie Miller was running away any more.
And did she mention he was sexy?
Chapter Nine
Oh, my.
Her little pep talk obliterated from her memory, Allison got out of the car and strolled the few steps to where he waited. Taking her time allowed her the pleasure of visually tasting him.
Delicious.
A form-fitting shirt hugged his mountains of muscles. Given half the chance, she’d explore every ridge and valley obscured by the soft fabric. The faded jeans? They softly cupped his sex, and if she wasn’t mistaken, he was a little turned on. Her mouth began to water. He wasn’t the only one.
This was a different Brodie, relaxed and open. He seemed ready.
“This is nice of you, Brodie,” she breathed softly as she climbed the steps.
When she stopped in front of him, he reached out and tenderly tucked a wayward tendril of hair behind her ear. His thumb lingered to caress her cheek, and she closed her eyes as the rough pad made lazy circles over and around her cheekbone. She could feel the heat of his big body, and smell the fresh, citrusy male scent of him that always sped her heart to allegro. She could barely breathe.
“Wh-what are you doing?” she asked, searching his gaze. “Why are you here, and why now? You’ve spent weeks running from me. I come close, you back away. I got your message…and now, this?”
“You invited me for dinner, don’t you remember?”
“Oh, I remember. Dinner is fine, but all this? Candles, flowers, wine? You, dressed like dessert?”
He laughed. “Don’t you like dessert?” His eyes darkened.
Her face grew warm. She didn’t answer his question.
“I stayed away because this thing between us didn’t seem right. I didn’t think it was fair to you. I’m still screwed up from the war. I’m still dealing with ‘issues.’ I have nothing to offer, yet I sit on my porch at night and listen to you play, and I want to come over here and…”
“And do what?” she prompted.
“This.”
He stepped closer and spread his legs, planting them firmly in front of her. He angled his head and claimed her mouth, his lips branding her. Searing them together, fusing cell upon cell. His mouth lingered for the longest time, and Allison couldn’t breathe. If she died and went to heaven right this minute, she couldn’t think of a better way to go.
The tip of his tongue traced the seam of her lips, and she instinctively opened to him. It was an invasion of the sweetest kind. His rough tongue gently explored the cavity of her mouth, and he tasted of her favorite wine. Of course, he’d gotten a head start. It tasted better on his tongue than from the glass. His kiss was an onslaught of flavor and texture, and deep, wet heat. Oh, dear God. It was wonderful.
A tiny, hungry moan of sheer need escaped her throat. Was she dreaming? This couldn’t be—it was far better than anything she could have imagined. She gloried in every minute of his kiss and never, ever, wanted him to stop.
“Brodie,” she finally whispered. After all these years, after all the days and nights of yearning to know what his kiss would be like, the reality far exceeded her expectations. He was worth the wait. It was exciting, erotic, and reached way down deep into the farthest reaches of her being and stroked her there. He knew just where to touch her; he was the only one who ever would.
He gently gathered her close to his body, his hands cupping her butt, pressing her against his hard, thick length. He ground against her, letting her feel just how much she aroused him.
“Hmmm.” He palmed her, and squeezed, pinched, and kneaded. “You feel so good. All woman.”
Her breasts barely brushed the cotton of his shirt, but the sensation was electric, and she melted into the hard contours of his chest. She snaked her arms around his waist and fisted his shirt, holding on, pulling him into her. Her legs quivered, threatening to give way, so he anchored her firmly between his, settling in, grounding them. His kisses seemed to go on forever. Kiss after kiss after kiss after kiss. Longer, hotter, deeper, wetter. She loved it and begged for more with soft mewls and throaty groans and whispered persuasions.
He delved deeper, his mouth urgent, teasing the bow of her upper lip, the corners that lifted with her smile. His tongue feasted on hers, darting in and out, exploring the crevices, gliding over her teeth. She opened her mouth wider, and their tongues mated, mimicking what their bodies urged them to do. In and out, deeper with each thrust.
She wasn’t sure how long it went on, and didn’t care. She didn’t care that they were standing on her front porch, in full view of all their neighbors. Didn’t care that this might be a dream, and she’d wake up to find it wasn’t real. She didn’t care about anything. All she wanted was for him to keep holding her, kissing her, touching her, and chasing away the cold, lonely places that only Brodie could fill.
His hands moved up and down her back, and just as the heat level hit the incineration point, he stilled, ended the kiss abruptly, and glanced over her shoulder with an irritated growl. Allison held on, her breathing labored, dizzy from his kiss and the depth of his passion. She gradually became aware of the sound of a motor running, a vehicle crunching the rocks of her driveway, and the loud, angry slam of a metal door. She turned in Brodie’s arms, and emitted a faint gasp. Oh, no.
“Shit,” Brodie cursed under his breath and straightened. Embarrassed, she abruptly tried to put some distance between them, but Brodie pulled her back and held on tight.
Jess’s gaze locked on hers, filled with hurt, betrayal, and the attitude of pissed-off male. She shouldn’t feel guilty, but she did. Brodie stiffened, ready for a confrontation, and she put a hand on his arm. She watched, dread pitting in her stomach, as Jess stalked toward them and climbed the steps. He stopped at the top and held her gaze with angry eyes. He appeared not one bit concerned about interrupting and offered no apology.
Jess swiveled his gaze toward Brodie and inclined his head in a reluctant greeting.
“You must be the neighbor,” he said, and held out his hand. His stony face a portrait of jealous anger carved in granite.
“You must be the landscaper,” Brodie replied, and the men shook once and broke. “I know Allison appreciates all you’ve done. The property looks as good as it did when
we were kids.” No smile, no warmth, no welcome. Statement of fact.
“That’s right,” Jess said, equally cold. “You and Allison are old friends.” The emphasis was on the word “old.”
Brodie flushed at the obvious insult. The two men stared, sizing each other up; neither man backing down or backing away. Nope, not an inch. Stalemate. Allison could have cut the tension with a knife, and the testosterone was pole-vaulting all over her front porch.
She should feel ashamed of herself, but in a wicked sort of way it was interesting to watch the two men engage in a silent battle of wills, each one making it clear to the other they wanted her, staking a claim. Challenging cocks, ready for a match. She couldn’t remember when she’d had two emotionally dueling men vying for her affections. She couldn’t remember because it had never happened before.
In one corner, there was Jess. Hot. Confident. Alpha male. Friendly, fun to be around, a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of man. An All-American, with an easy smile and an easy way. Jess was honest, steady, and reliable. Husband material; the kind of man she could rely on. Never boring, a great date, and sexually appealing. A woman would have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to want a man like Jess.
Then…there was Brodie. Another Alpha; the Dark Knight. A hero. A little broken and a little wounded. He’d left it all on the battlefield, and was in need of a little tender care. A man tested and true, showing a little wear, but far from done. A survivor who knew the meaning of sacrifice, ever ready and willing to go the extra mile if called. He, too, was a man she could depend on. And when Mr. Webster defined sex appeal, he had to have been thinking of Brodie. Life with him would be a challenge, but the rewards indescribable. And he was—after all—Brodie. Her dream lover, her fantasy, unattainable and thus more desirable than any other man could ever be.
She broke the silence. “Jess, we were just about to share a glass of wine.”
Brodie glared at Jess. “I think Mr. Harper was just leaving.”
Sonata by Moonlight Page 8
