Falling for Her Soldier: A Perfect Kisses Novel (Entangled Bliss)

by London, Ophelia

  He remained outside the glass doors of the dance studio, not wanting to disturb her. Charlie knew what it was like to be in the zone; he got like that while running laps or lifting at the gym. You could lose yourself in the cadence. Ellie looked lost. Beautiful and lost. And he couldn’t pull his eyes away.

  He’d kind of blown off ballet as something silly because he didn’t understand it. But watching her graceful movements, he appreciated the passion and the beauty. His chest ached with longing while he watched.

  Her long red hair was down, and it flew every time she twirled, spilling over her shoulders as she dipped forward, exposing her long neck whenever she tipped her chin to the sky. She looked completely at peace.

  Charlie didn’t think he’d ever felt that kind of tranquility before. Certainly not since his last mission. Come to think of it, the only times he felt anything close to that was when he’d read one of her e-mails.

  Ellie took a few running steps, spun, then flew through the air. Recalling her knee injury, Charlie held his breath and gripped the door handle. But she landed perfectly, strong and sure, like any other athlete. When she lifted up on those pointy shoes and balanced on her toes, new muscles appeared.

  Without thinking, he passed through the open door and into the studio.

  Ellie didn’t notice him, still locked inside her head. As she curved her long arm then extended it his way, their eyes locked over the tips of her fingers. For a moment, neither of them moved.

  “Sorry,” Charlie said over the classical music. “I didn’t mean to…”

  Ellie dropped her arm and lowered from her toes to flat-footed, still gazing at him. Her expression was unreadable, but she almost looked disappointed that it was him. Who had she been hoping would walk through the door?

  “Am I interrupting?” He was about to follow up with asking if she wanted to be alone, but he couldn’t imagine leaving.

  “No,” Ellie said, her cheeks rosy from her workout. “I was just thinking…about…”

  “Me?” he asked hopefully, but then added a self-deprecating smile.

  “No.” Her answer came almost too quickly. “Not you.”

  “Do I know the guy? I’ll kill him.”

  Ellie laughed softly, tugging at the ends of her red hair. “You probably do. He’s in your unit, with you and Sam.”

  A gust of coldness blasted through his body. Charlie, she was thinking about damn Staff Sergeant Johansson… He’d never been so jealous of himself before. It was weird, but very real. He opened his mouth, dying to tell her, but remembering his promise to Sam.

  “Forget it,” Ellie said. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” She trotted to a corner of the room and grabbed a towel hanging over the long bar. She blotted her forehead and neck. Charlie could see her face in the mirrors. Every wall was a mirror of endless Ellies.

  “So, you finished hockey early?” she asked as she sat on a folding chair, still slightly winded. She untied her pink ballet shoe and slid it off. What Charlie noticed first was the sexy red nail polish. What he noticed next made his stomach clench. The color wasn’t on just the nails. Her first two toes were a bright, angry red. Little bandages circled the bottom three toes, and gauze was wrapped around the ball of her foot.

  “How long have you been playing hockey?” he heard her ask, as he continued to stare at her injury. “What’s the matter?”

  “Ellie, you need a doctor. Can you walk? No—I’ll carry you.” He made it to her in three long strides. “Put your arm around my neck.”

  Her wide eyes stared up at him. “What are you… Hunter, this is nothing.”

  “Nothing?” he echoed. “That’s nothing?” He gestured at her foot.

  “Yes.” She extended her leg and wiggled her toes. “See, I’m fine, I swear.”

  Gingerly, Charlie reached out and cupped her heel, performing his own assessment. In the few seconds the shoe had been off, her foot wasn’t nearly as red. “Oh,” he said, feeling calmer. Then he couldn’t help it, he reached out his other hand and held the back of her calf. Her skin was smooth and soft. Without realizing it, he ran his hand up its length and over her knee.

  “Um, it’s the other one.”

  Charlie blinked and looked at her.

  “My bad knee,” Ellie said with a smile. “It’s the other one.”

  “Oh. Right.” Reluctantly, he removed his hands from her leg and stepped back. “Just being thorough.”

  Ellie laughed as she pulled off her other shoe. “Didn’t know you were also a doctor.”

  “I don’t like to brag.” He shrugged. “You’re pretty tough. Some of the guys I play hockey with would call it quits after something like that.”

  She reached under her chair and pulled out a pair of black leather flats. “How long have you been playing?” she asked, sliding them on, then hopping to her feet without the slightest twinge of discomfort. The woman was resilient, all right.

  “About a year. We have a three-on-three a few times a week.”

  “Sounds like you catch on quick.” She moved to the mirror, her eyes giving him a sly up-down before she turned to her reflection, combing her fingers through her long hair. “Before we begin…” she added. But Charlie was doing his own up-down, his gaze getting hung up where her bodysuit curved in at the waist. “I guess I need to know your previous experiences.”

  Charlie glanced at her face in the mirror, doing a double take. “E-experiences?”

  “Yeah.” She was adjusting the skinny strap of her top. “Do you want to show me?”

  His jaw went slack as he stared at her reflection. “You…want me to…”

  “Or you can tell me about it. I need to know.”

  He shook his head, incredulous, but when her steady gaze didn’t waver, he exhaled a groan of confused surrender. “Well, uh, okay.” He rubbed his chin. “My first time was when I was fifteen, she was seventeen, it was after a football game in the—”

  The words stopped mid-sentence when Ellie whirled around.

  “Your experience with dancing.”

  Chapter Eight

  His mouth was a perfect O. “Yes. Dancing,” Ellie repeated.

  “Oh.” Hunter dropped his chin and scrubbed both hands over his face. “Sorry.”

  She couldn’t help snorting at his mistake, though Ellie was glad she’d cut him off when she did. That wasn’t a story she was keen to hear.

  “Zero,” he said. “Zero experience with the dancing.”

  “Be serious.”

  He shrugged. “You asked.”

  She walked her pointe shoes to a corner of the room, laughing at the way Hunter had been glaring at them like they were some kind of medieval torture device. Well, back in the day, she’d called those shoes worse names than that.

  It had been startling when she’d first spotted him in the studio. How long had he been standing there watching her dance? She’d been pretty out of it, except for when she’d been fixed on Charlie’s e-mail. That was right when she’d noticed Hunter in the middle of the dance floor, looking captivated and intense, tearing her desire in two.

  “No experience, huh?” She tossed her hand towel on a chair, then moved to the middle of the floor. “Did you go to your prom?”

  “Yes,” Hunter said, leaning back against the mirrored wall, resembling a caged animal.

  “Did you dance with your sister at her wedding?”

  He twisted his mouth in thought. “Well, yeah.”

  Ellie couldn’t picture what Hunter might’ve looked like as an eighteen-year-old about to graduate. It made her feel cougary to even think about it. But she could definitely picture him in a suit and tie at a wedding. She didn’t know who his sister married, but there was no way he could out-smexy Hunter in a tux.

  “Okay.” She cleared her throat. “So you do have previous dance experience.”

  “I guess, but not, you know”—he slid his hands in his jeans pockets—“not ballroom or whatever it’s called.”

  “It’s all the same. I�
�m assuming you know how to march in cadence.”

  “Affirmative, ma’am,” he said with a little smile.

  “Marching, prom, and hockey.” She snapped her fingers. “This’ll be a piece of cake. So, are you going to join me out here? You can’t dance with me from way over there.”

  Hunter twisted his lips like he was still deciding. Finally he pushed off the wall and strolled over, pulling his hands out of his pockets only to let them hang loose at his sides. “I’m telling you, I have no idea how—”

  “Just shhh,” she interrupted. “Take my right hand.”

  He didn’t wait to be told twice, but clasped his big hand around hers. It felt warm and strong, just like she remembered.

  “I’m going to rest my left hand on your shoulder and you put yours on my waist.”

  “I think I can handle that.”

  Ellie knew her waist wasn’t tiny by any means, yet Hunter’s hand seemed to circle the entire curve of it. She liked the feeling, and couldn’t help being additionally impressed by the feel of his hard shoulder muscles under her own hand. When she peered up at him, his eyes were lowered.

  “No need to be nervous. You’re doing great.”

  He exhaled long, like he’d been holding his breath. “Yeah, right.”

  “Just relax.” She rearranged her fingers around his then flexed their wrists back and forth, trying to loosen him up. “Perfect.”

  “Dancing’s easy so far,” he said.

  Ellie breathed out a little laugh. “I told you so. Okay, we’re going to start with a box step, basic place to start.”

  “‘Kay.”

  “Now, I’ll be leading at first, but obviously the man is supposed to lead.”

  “Obviously.”

  His expression of over-concentration made her want to crack up. But that wasn’t very mature, and it might make him more nervous, or cause him to bail on the whole thing. She needed to make this worth his while.

  “When I’m in teacher mode,” she continued, “I’ll steer us, but when we practice the dance, it’s all you.”

  “I apologize in advance.”

  She did giggle now, just a quiet one. “Basically, it goes: forward-slide-together, back-slide-together.”

  “Huh?”

  “Just repeat that with me. Forward…come on,” she coaxed.

  After a brief pause, he spoke the words along with her. He had pretty good rhythm. Ellie had a theory: If a guy was good at slow dancing, he was also good at—

  Stop it, Ellie!

  “Okay. Got that down.” She cleared her throat and shook out her white-knuckled grip around the bulge of his shoulder. “Now, you’re going to step forward with your right foot—no—oh!”

  “Sorry,” Hunter said, dropping her hand and stepping back. “Damn it, your foot. Did I hurt you?”

  “No, it’s fine. At least we got the first blooper out of the way. It’s all downhill.”

  “I fear I’m going to trample you to death.”

  “You won’t.” She picked up his hand and squeezed it encouragingly. “Let’s try again. You step forward with your left foot and I’ll follow you with my right. Ready…”

  Tentatively, Hunter picked up his foot and stepped forward.

  “Excellent,” she cheered. “And no broken bones.”

  He exhaled a quiet laugh. “Yet.”

  “Okay, now we’ll both step to the side. You with your right. Ready…side. Good.”

  She squeezed his shoulder, trying not to linger on the rock-hard boulder. When he looked at her, wearing the most triumphant smile, Ellie felt tingles up the back of her neck, like her body was registering the nearness of his body. She couldn’t help sliding just an inch or two closer, repositioning their stance. His scent was a heavenly mixture of clean and musky, filling her head.

  It suddenly dawned on Ellie that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so comfortable in someone’s arms.

  …

  “Lock your frame.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Just… Hold this…” Ellie sounded all business. She gripped his hand tightly and braced their arms in position. If he wasn’t so frustrated, he would really enjoy being close to her like this. He should be enjoying himself, for hell’s sake.

  “The music is throwing me off,” he complained, stepping back in frustration.

  “There has to be music,” Ellie said. “That’s one hard-and-fast rule.”

  “Who is this singer? His voice is bugging the crap out of me. I can’t hear myself think.”

  “It’s Michael Bublé. And you’re projecting blame.” She folded her arms. “Don’t blame Bublé.”

  “I sure as hell blame Bublé. Elvis would be better.”

  Ellie lifted her eyebrows. “You like Elvis?”

  Charlie shrugged. “He’s the king.”

  “Sorry, I don’t have any Elvis on my phone, so Bublé has to do.”

  “Bublé,” Charlie muttered, pronouncing the word like it was profanity fit for a drill sergeant. “I can step, I guess, but I can’t feel when I should. Does that make sense? How do we do it so our bodies move together?”

  She didn’t reply, but was kind of staring at him. Then he realized what he’d said. Dammit, he was throwing out Hunter lines without even meaning to.

  “Come here, let’s try something.” Ellie took his hand and moved them into starting position, the only move he’d halfway mastered. “Rest your forehead against mine.”

  Charlie lifted his eyebrows and looked at her staring up at him. He didn’t know what this had to do with learning a damn box step, but he wasn’t about to complain. He didn’t have to stoop very much; Ellie was nice and tall.

  When their foreheads touched, he couldn’t help taking in a long, deep breath, smelling her shampoo, her skin. He shut his eyes and inhaled.

  “Close your eyes,” Ellie said in a quiet voice.

  “I am.”

  “Listen to the music.”

  “Bublé,” he muttered.

  He felt Ellie’s body vibrate in a silent giggle.

  “I’m going to start,” she said. “I’ll move you backward using only pressure from my forehead. Just feel it.”

  Charlie nodded an inch. A moment later, he felt Ellie’s weight shift forward ever so slightly. His body’s natural response was to move forward to meet hers, but he knew that wasn’t the intention, so he swayed back on his left foot. Ellie followed forward. Then he felt her shift to the side. Again he followed. Then forward. Side again. Back.

  “You’re doing it,” she whispered.

  “Quiet, woman, you’ll throw me off.” He readjusted his grip on her hand, his forehead still pressed to hers, breathing her in, being guided.

  Forward-slide-together, back-slide-together. He didn’t have to repeat it in his mind anymore, he was simply moving with her. And he suddenly realized he was doing the leading, guiding her back and to the side with only the slightest shift of weight.

  He was leading them, and she was following.

  His fingers slid from her waist and splayed across her lower back, pulling her closer. He rearranged their grip, easing her hand to rest against his chest. At some point, her other hand had moved from his shoulder to behind his neck. It was a little bit of paradise, feeling her breath on his face, though he was barely breathing himself.

  With eyes closed, his other senses were full of her. Her silky skin, the whisper of her breath, the memory of her laughter and face behind his closed eyes. He ran his fingers down her spine, then up her arms, their foreheads still together. He felt his heart pounding under her hand pressed to his chest.

  “Ellie,” he whispered, heat flooding his body.

  She didn’t speak, but he heard her breathing hitch.

  He moved his hands to the sides of her long neck, touching the softness of her skin, her pulse racing with his. Every breath he took pushed the ache in his chest further down to the pit of his stomach. Part of his brain realized their feet were no longer moving, but
the rest of his brain went blank when her fingers slid up the back of his hair.

  He dipped his head and pressed his cheek to hers, easing her in until her chin rested against his shoulder.

  “Jane,” she whispered, her fingers gripping his neck.

  He pulled back and looked at her. “What?”

  Ellie’s huge, light eyes were staring at something across the room. Charlie turned to see Jane planted right outside the glass doors. “I have a class,” Ellie said, regret coloring her voice. “The girls will be in here any minute.”

  Charlie’s chest throbbed when she let go of him, like she was breaking their link. He had to tell her the truth. Without Sammy killing him.

  She walked to the water cooler in the corner and filled a Styrofoam cup to the top.

  “Ellie,” he said, following her, taking ahold of her shoulder. “There’s something—”

  “Yo! Break it up.” Jane rapped on the door.

  Ellie jumped in surprise, dumping the contents of her cup down the front of Charlie’s shirt. “Sorry!” She dropped the cup and started dabbing at his chest. “You’re soaked.”

  “It’s okay. I’ve got my gym bag.” Before it got him too wet, he pulled his shirt off over his head.

  “Oh.” Ellie was staring at him. “Um.”

  She seemed to be zeroed in on the tattoo on his chest. It was two rifles making an X. Was it freaking her out? Then he thought of his other tattoo, the one on his arm, the one he got with Sam last year. He froze in place, wondering for a moment if Sam had told Ellie he’d gotten that tattoo with Charlie or Hunter?

  It didn’t look like she was staring at just the tattoo on his chest anymore, but the region as a whole. Her green eyes lifted from his chest to his eyes, looking lovely and open and lost. He felt the most incredible pull toward her.

  “Hey!” Jane tapped on the door again. “Children present.”

  “I have to work,” Ellie said, rubbing a hand at the back of her neck, looking as frustrated as he felt.

  Charlie stepped back, pulled a dry shirt from his gym bag, and put it on.

  “You’re really good,” Ellie added after clearing her throat. “At dancing, I mean. Nice, um, job.”