Before There Was You

by Denise A. Agnew

  “I’m within a few seconds kissing you.” He moved away from the mantle. “If I kiss you, I don’t think I’ll want to stop there.”

  The realization he wanted to make love to her hit her like a sledgehammer. Before she could respond to his statement, before she could express that the desire and need burned inside her too, he backed off.

  He looked at the rain running like a waterfall down the windows. “If you want to stay in the guest room tonight, you’re welcome.” He went to the window. “Uh…yeah. Come look at the parking lot.”

  When she arrived at the window, she saw exactly what he meant. “Oh crap.”

  Water had risen over the hubcaps and looked like it might grow higher. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

  * * * *

  Lana woke up, heart pounding and body trembling. A dream. Just a dream.

  Then she heard it. A man crying out with pain. A bone-shaking, soul-breaking sound that caused her heart to pound. Aaron. Fear made her snap on the bedside light in the guest room. She glanced at the bedside clock. One in the morning. She untangled from the sheets and launched out of bed toward the door. The small guest bathroom night light gave her a little to see by, and she moved quickly toward Aaron’s bedroom. She stood at the partially open door, hesitation pausing her.

  “Aaron?” she said barely above a whisper. She put more strength into her voice. “Aaron, are you all right?”

  She heard him muttering under his breath. He lay on his back on the king-sized bed, sprawled out with the sheets thrown to the bottom of the bed. At first she thought he was naked, but she saw the barest hint of white briefs covering him.

  “No. Don’t do this!”

  His cry startled her, and she jerked in surprise. “Aaron. Aaron, wake up.” She flipped on the light switch and it threw muted light across the room. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he twitched the tiniest bit. “Aaron, it’s a dream. Wake up.”

  She started to sit on the edge of the bed and to touch him, but something she’d read or heard reminded her it could prove dangerous to approach a combat vet in the throes of a nightmare. He groaned. Even concerned about his welfare, she couldn’t ignore his gorgeous body. Sprawled on his back with arms akimbo and his legs parted, he represented pure physical fitness. Long, lean, and yet powerful muscles carved his body. She’d always had a thing for men with hard thighs and calves and his legs were perfect. Everything about him was perfect. Brown hair dusted his chest and spread over a six pack stomach and disappeared into his briefs. Her attention snagged on the bulge between his legs. Get your mind out of the gutter. She returned her concentration to the problem at hand.

  “Aaron,” she said more forcefully, “wake up!”

  He jerked and sat bolt upright, blinking in the light. “What? What’s wrong?”

  She held her hand out. “You were having a nightmare. I heard you.”

  His chest heaved up and down, his breathing fast. He ran a hand over his face. “Sorry.”

  He lay back on the bed, eyes haunted.

  “Are you all right now?” she asked.

  He covered his eyes with his right hand and heaved a sigh. He shook his head.

  Worry propelled her to his side. She approached the bed and sat on the edge. She took a chance and touched his forearm. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  He looked up at her, doubt in his eyes. “I have this dream a lot. It’s the…when Fillman walked up and pointed the gun at me. I’m frozen and can’t do a damned thing. Then he points his weapon at himself. It’s in slow motion.”

  “Oh crap.”

  “Yeah, that describes it well.”

  “I’m sorry.” He shifted on the bed, and he reached up to clasp her arm. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Caring. For listening to me.”

  She smiled as a wave of tenderness captured her. “You’d do the same for me.”

  “In a heartbeat.”

  Waves of longing swept through her, and hard on its heels came desire. He must have seen it inside her even as she stood and backed away from the bed.

  “Well, then,” she said softly.

  He held out his hand. “Don’t go yet. Stay and talk awhile.”

  The raw vulnerability in his voice halted her when she would have retreated to her room. She didn’t think she’d fall asleep anyway. Not with the thought of him tackling nightmares. She needed, somewhere down deep, to soothe away his cares. She returned to the bed and sat down.

  He clasped her forearm gently. “You know there’s no cages here. No dirty huts or brutal men. You can walk away anytime. I won’t stop you. I’ll miss you like hell, and along the way I might die from wanting you near. From just wanting you.”

  She tried to smile but failed miserably. “I don’t believe that. You’re a big bad marine with a leather hide. You’d get bored and…”

  She left the bed again, mortified at what she’d just said. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Where the hell did that come from? Confused by her conflicting emotions, she backed away and hit the wall just near the door. He rose from the bed, all male muscle and determination. He prowled across the floor until he stood within inches. He placed his hands on the wall on either side of her head. The heat of him teased, and the powerful attraction gnawed at her and demanded action.

  “I could never get bored with you, Lana Burns. Ever.”

  She saw an answering need in his eyes, and she decided right then she couldn’t take it anymore. She slipped her fingers over his bristly jaw, felt the prickle against her skin. A wild tremor tickled her belly. God, the heat and thick desire urged her to let go and do something she never would have done even a few weeks ago.

  He clasped her hand and drew it up to his chest. “Whenever you like, however you like, touch me. No matter what you do, you’re safe with me. I may ask you for something…hell, I might even fuckin’ beg you. I’d never force you. But know this…I’m dying to wipe out the memory of that asshole who hurt you. And I’ll do anything to prove it. If I could wrap my hands around his neck I would…”

  Kill him. She saw that in his eyes too. Both sides of the man. The steel-hard, tough military man who’d risk his life for her. The gentle, caring man with a heart of gold. She saw it all right there. Right now.

  Sparklers of sensation danced up and down her body. She’d never been this crazy with arousal, stunning, eager desire that urged her to throw every caution to the wind and just go for it. Fuck him blind. Take him furiously, make him show he wasn’t a liar. She knew, deep down in her most primal instincts, he’d be an amazing lover.

  He held her, fingers curled in his and a promise hanging there.

  Then an image flashed into her head of Raul demanding she put her mouth on him, and she shuddered with revulsion. Her mind couldn’t shove the nasty memory away.

  “No.” She untangled her fingers from his and slipped away from him and headed to the door. She stopped there a second. “I’m sorry…I…”

  She didn’t have a clue what to say or how to say it. Better to cut her losses and go. She headed back to her room, closed the door, and got into bed. She pulled the covers up and let out a harsh breath. It wasn’t much longer before the tears came.

  Chapter 13

  “Shit.” Aaron muttered the curse as he drove toward his parents’ home through the still half-flooded roads in Colorado Springs on Saturday.

  He cursed a lot when he thought of Thursday night and how it had ended between him and Lana. He’d pushed her too far, told her too much of what he was thinking. He’d babbled and let it all hang out. It hadn’t gotten him the result he wanted. Lana happy, satisfied personally and sexually. He was selfish, he knew, because he’d almost choked on the desire to slide his cock into her sweet body and make love to her until she came around him, calling his name.

  He hadn’t lied when he said he wanted to wipe Raul out of her head. At the same time, he knew what he wanted might never be what she wanted, and pushing her to get what he desired would make him an asshole
. He might be a lot of things, but he wasn’t that guy. The one that forced his will on a woman. He hoped to God she’d heal and find happiness, that the bastard Raul and his minions hadn’t permanently scarred her. He hated that idea so soundly, he’d found himself wallowing in anger over the damage done to her by the fuckers.

  Then there was that whole nightmare thing. Of all the nights for him to have a dream about Fillman shooting himself. Rotten damned timing. He didn’t like anyone seeing him that vulnerable. Yet with Lana, he’d felt safe and understood in a way he never had before.

  Breakfast Friday morning at his apartment had felt awkward as hell. The rain had stopped, and she’d left for her apartment by six o’clock that morning with a promise to see him next Tuesday. He’d promptly gone out in the damp day and jogged five miles. He’d come home and exercised until he couldn’t move. At least the exercise accomplished what it did every day. It acted like a meditation, a way to remove the toxic thoughts he would have if he didn’t jog. An important thing had happened, though. He’d deepened his connection with Lana, and for that he was both grateful and terrified.

  He pulled into his parents’ driveway with the intent to do as he had for a week, to help his parents. His mom opened the door with a weary look that instantly freaked him. Mom always came to the door with a smile.

  “Hey sweetie, come on in,” she said.

  As he entered the house, his Dad was sitting on the couch looking perturbed. “Hey, Dad. How’s it going?”

  Dad grunted. “It’s okay.”

  Ah shit. That meant the day wasn’t going that well.

  “Can I talk to you in the backyard, sweetie?” his mother asked.

  Part of him wanted to demand they just spill it right here and now, but he said automatically, “Okay.”

  Shit, man. I’m as lame as Dad. Okay?

  He followed her through the kitchen and to the sliding glass door which led onto the big deck.

  “Let’s walk,” she said.

  Today she wore a light sweater, even though the day had started to warm up. She almost looked gray, her hair a little mussed. Yeah, something had gone down, and it wasn’t pretty. A million ideas crashed through his mind. Dad was sicker than they’d thought, maybe? He followed her down the deck steps to the green lawn below. He breathed in the fresh air, glad for the blue skies.

  When she turned toward him, he took her shoulders in a gentle grip. “Mom, what’s wrong?”

  She sighed, and her eyes looked moist. “It’s more than one thing. I’ve…you don’t know everything that’s happened between your father and I since we evacuated the house during the Waldo Canyon Fire.”

  “Like…what?”

  “The day I evacuated the house your father wasn’t home, of course. He was at work.”

  He knew all that. “Right. You had less than twenty minutes or so to get out, right?”

  “Yes. I’d come home from grocery shopping and had put stuff in the fridge when the evac order came.”

  “I remember.” He understood that fear—the sudden rush of do or die. He’d felt it more than once in war, but his mother wasn’t a soldier.

  She stuffed her hands in her jean pockets. “For about the millionth day he was working his rear off. When I called, there wasn’t a lot of time, and when I told him I was evacuating, he didn’t seem concerned. Not at all. He was just cold. I told him I was going to your sister’s house and his attitude was…” She shrugged. “Do what you want. I couldn’t believe it. But he was dealing with things at work that were overwhelming him again.” She shook her head and sighed again. “You know all of that already.”

  “I do, but I thought you’d worked it out with him.”

  “Are you kidding? No matter what it is, he can’t seem to get it through his stubborn head that he needs to do something. Earlier today he started running around the house doing chores, and while I appreciate his help, the doctor said he needed to stay off his feet and read and relax. When I told him to sit down and stop helping me, he snapped at me. He needs counseling. Maybe I need it. I don’t know, but this was the last straw. I told him he either gets help for his workaholic attitude and dismissive behavior or I walk.”

  He released her, shock holding him silent before he managed to blurt one word. “What?”

  She averted her gaze, which was weird for her. “Your father has worked himself into a lather so many times over the years, it’s a miracle he hasn’t had something worse than an ulcer. I told him he needs to do something to reduce his stress or it will kill him eventually. He just won’t listen to me, and I just can’t take it anymore. I won’t.”

  Surprise and worry settled in his stomach like a ball of lead. “I know he’s a workaholic. Hell, he passed that trait on to me. That’s why he’s disappointed I haven’t amounted to shit since I left the marines.”

  She gave him an exasperated look. “Aaron…”

  “I know.” He held up his hands. “I know. This isn’t about me.”

  When her eyes meet his this time, sadness built inside him at the misery on her face. “You’re a part of this, just like the rest of the family is. Your father has always been a hard worker, but after your brother died, he sank into this hole. If he just worked harder, he could outrun his grief. Remember how I cooked until I couldn’t stand the sight of the kitchen for weeks after? I was looking for something to sink into. That’s what he did when your brother was killed. Everything from that day forward reflects his pain. He keeps trying to outrun his grief, and he just can’t. It’s eating him up from the inside out. He won’t acknowledge it out loud, and he won’t share with me. He’s cut himself off from feeling anything but anger.” She rushed onward, now using her hands for emphasis, the exasperation in her face rising. “Do you know what he said to me when I was on the cell phone with him and I was freaking out about the fire and driving down the road knowing we might lose practically everything we own?”

  He was afraid to know the answer. “No.”

  “He had this very bland voice and all he said was, ‘well don’t be so hysterical’. Your father is about as warm as an iceberg these days.”

  Damn. Son of a bitch.

  Aaron rolled his head on his shoulders to relieve the tightness growing like a rubber band around in his muscles. “I’m sorry. He shouldn’t have said that. You had every right to be afraid.” A revelation came to him, and it made his stomach suddenly sour and his throat dry. “When Craig died, I shut down all but the essential emotions so I could survive. I was terrified I’d get other marines killed. It was all about not getting dead. I couldn’t feel a damn thing.”

  Oh, he’d grieved all right. During the funeral, he’d sobbed big ole buckets of tears and afterwards had felt as if someone had beat him with a baseball bat. He’d never cried like that before in his life and hoped to never do so again.

  Mom moved toward him this time, her hands going up to his cheeks and forcing his gaze to hers. “You and the girls are all I’ve got left if your father and I…”

  He put his hands over hers as a sharp pang of worry struck him. “No, Mom. You’re going to work this out. I’ll talk to him.”

  She released him. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

  “You got a better one? Dad and I never talk about Craig. I’ve heard you, Gina, and Mandy talk about him. Sometimes sad and sometimes good memories. Like you said, Dad walks away and clams up.”

  Her mouth took on a grim tightness. “Just like you?”

  Aaron hadn’t thought of it that way. In fact, the idea hit him between the eyes like a gunshot. “What?”

  Tears filled her eyes. “You never talk about Craig. Ever.”

  His throat tightened, and he didn’t know what to say. Couldn’t say a damn thing.

  She reached out for him, her hands at his shoulders. “I’m sorry, sweetie. It wasn’t meant as a criticism.”

  “Maybe I cried myself dry at the funeral. I don’t have anything more to give to grieving. But I’ll…would it help the rest of you
if I talked about Craig?”

  She gave him a tremulous smile. “Yes. Because I’d know you were all right. I’d know what’s going on in that mind of yours.”

  “That’s what you want from Dad too?”

  “Of course,” she said softly. “I want him to talk, to be something other than driven and always running. He’s always so stressed, but he won’t do a thing to relieve it. It’s going to kill him one day. The doctors told him to slow down.”

  “I know.”

  “So you aren’t oblivious to what he’s been doing?”

  “Maybe I’ve been too caught up in my own crap to notice everything, but I’ve always thought he works too hard.”

  “Just like you?”

  He nodded. “Takes one workaholic to know another one, I guess. Do as I say, not as I do. All the clichés.”

  “You deserved the break, sweetie.” Her voice held understanding and love. “You were in a war, for goodness sake. A man killed himself in front of you. It’s a lot to process…it would be for anyone, no matter how tough they think they are.”

  For some reason his mother saying it made the difference. The remembrance of the day Fillman had killed himself stung like a sharp bite and brought a bad taste to his mouth.

  The back door opened and Dad walked onto the deck. Great. This wouldn’t be easy. “I’ll talk to him.”

  “I’ll stay out here for a while.”

  Aaron returned to the deck.

  Dad’s eyebrows rose. “What’s going on?” A weak smile touched his lips. “You guys plotting to put me in a rubber room?”

  “Well, I’d be in the room with you. We’d have matching straitjackets.”

  Dad snorted a laugh, a rare occurrence for him. “Speak for yourself. Seriously, what’s going on?”

  Aaron took a deep breath. “Can we talk, Dad?”

  Doubt filled Dad’s eyes, but he nodded. “Sure. Let’s go downstairs.”

  They headed inside and down to the basement, which Dad had turned into a low-key man cave with wide screen TV, easy chairs, and an enormous sectional couch. A bar for entertaining and a pool table stood at the other end of the basement.