After the War

by Jessica Scott

  Once upon a time, she might have run from him. From the anger between them. But something had changed her over the years and she stood and fought now. Sean felt the stir of arousal in his blood once more. There was so much drawing him toward her.

  “Suppose we need to go pay our respects to the commander?” Morgan asked, glancing toward where the brigade commanders were standing around shooting the breeze. As the group of full bird colonels broke up, they began holding court for officers in their units. Ambitious ass-kissing began in earnest, disguising people who genuinely wanted to ask questions of the senior leaders in the division from those who were more interested in face time. It was a shame that some of the country’s best and most brilliant minds were surrounded by sycophantic yes men.

  He lost sight of Sarah as the crowd shifted and he scanned the faces, looking for the woman he’d dreamt of last night. He’d jerked awake and for the first time in a long time, his heart had been pounding through his veins with arousal and need, not fear and helplessness. He’d lain back and closed his eyes and imagined her lips on his neck, his chest, her fingers sliding over his belly.

  He took a long sip of his drink, trying to pull his mind from the erotic and decidedly inappropriate thoughts. He wanted her. He didn’t deny that. And despite everything that had happened between them, despite the investigation and the soldiers she had yet to judge, he was certain she felt the same.

  He caught a glimpse of her in the crowd of black Stetsons, talking with a big infantry officer. The big man turned and Sean frowned as recognition cooled his previous thoughts. Why was Sarah talking with Colonel Jansen? He scanned the crowd and found his XO standing with a bunch of the other LTs from Sean’s battalion.

  Sean watched his LT and his buddies circle a group of female lieutenants. It was like they were at a frat party. The females were giggling and laughing while the guys preened. It was so damn juvenile.

  “When did we get so old?”

  Sean barely avoided jerking and glanced over to see Sarah looking at the same group. “I don’t know but I feel like I was never that young.”

  She nodded. “I don’t know that we ever were.” She angled her body toward him and he caught a scent of vanilla. His body tightened. “You clean up pretty good,” she said with a warm smile.

  He leaned back and let his eyes sweep over her body. Her eyes glowed like melted chocolate and they looked like they were lit by candles. He frowned.

  “What?” she asked quietly. She was standing close, under the pretense that she couldn’t hear him. She tipped her neck at him and he saw tiny diamonds sparkle in her ears.

  “I was just thinking that you looked beautiful tonight,” he murmured as he leaned in closer than he probably should have. Just being near her overwhelmed his sense of decorum. It made him want to take risks just to see her reaction. “You wear your uniform really well.”

  She frowned but a teasing smile bit at her lips. “That does it. Who are you?”

  Sean laughed. “I’m a different man than I was,” he said.

  He swallowed, wishing they could have more time alone before they moved into the ballroom. He wanted to sit near her. Maybe he could slip his hand beneath the tablecloth to her thigh. Maybe a little higher.

  It was a thought he should avoid if he wanted to avoid looking like a sexual deviant in the receiving line.

  He did not resist the temptation to lean closer to her ear. He loved how she tipped her neck up toward him. The brim of his Stetson created a barrier and he had the strongest urge to nip her earlobe. It would be an unbelievably stupid thing to do in a crowded hall full of senior officers.

  Sean opened his mouth to speak, the words just there, to ask her to come home with him tonight. “Don’t forget you saved me a dance.” He blew on her ear beneath her own Stetson before she leaned away, his voice low. “Where are you sitting?”

  “I have no idea.” There was a rough edge to her voice that hadn’t been there a moment before.

  “Sit with me.” He brushed his hand against hers. “You won’t be alone.”

  “Don’t you have commander-type things to do tonight?”

  He nodded. “Won’t stop me from having dinner with a beautiful woman.”

  “Serious cliché,” she said with a smile. “You can do better than that.”

  “Sadly, all my finesse is gone when it comes to you. It’s all I can do to get myself dressed when you’re around.”

  She smiled and shook her head, sipping her wine.

  But she didn’t move away.

  Twenty

  Sarah followed Claire to their table and stood behind her chair. She scanned the massive ballroom, decorated with yellow roses in the centers of white tablecloths, waiting for Sean to come through the receiving line.

  “This is stupid,” she murmured to Claire.

  “Not really. You’re sitting with me and Evan. Sean just happens to be at the same table.”

  Sarah grinned over at Evan. “Good, maybe I can use this as an excuse to find out if you have any of the reports from last deployment hiding out in the ops office or the intel shop.”

  Evan took a pull off his beer. “Actually we do. We’ve got a mirror image of the classified share drive that’s been declassified since we came back because the last brigade commander wants to write a book about his tour.” He frowned at her, his eyes shadowed beneath the wide rim of his Stetson. “Why?”

  Sarah filled him in quickly on the reports of the escalation of force incident and how she suspected it might tie in. “I can send you the report on that,” he said. “Can it wait until Sunday morning, though? I’d really rather not go back to work tonight after the ball.”

  She could not actually believe her luck. This kind of thing just didn’t happen, but thanks to a colonel’s desire to be the next Hemingway, she was finally catching a break. She’d be damned if she was going to look this gift horse in the mouth.

  “That would be awesome, Evan. Thank you.”

  “What are you thanking Captain America for?” Sean appeared by her side then, melting out of the sea of ball gowns and Dress Blue formal uniforms.

  He might have been wearing the exact same outfit as everyone else but Sean wore it better than most. His uniform hugged his shoulders, accenting his strength. Not just physical strength. There was so much more to this man than the boy she’d left. He’d pushed himself into a new mold. The mold of a leader. A man his men could trust. It wasn’t a stretch to envision him on the battlefield, in a cloud of smoke and fire, giving orders and directing the fight. Before she could stop herself, she brushed her fingers across the Bronze Star Medal on his chest and the tiny V in the center. He hadn’t simply been awarded a Bronze Star, one of the highest combat awards for serving in Iraq. He’d been awarded one for valor.

  And she didn’t know what to call the feeling that tumbled through her stomach when she’d first seen it. Pride mixed with a lingering sense of fear. Sean was a warrior. A true warrior. He was an infantryman.

  Why couldn’t she find a nice military intelligence officer to fall for? One that would sit in a TOC somewhere and stay safe and unharmed on the base?

  No; she had to find her ex and fall for him, knowing damn good and well he was going back into harm’s way. She didn’t want to think of Sean dying, alone on some God forsaken street, half a world away from anyone who cared for him. But he’d gone through two tours already. He’d survived. Fate could not be so cruel as to send him back into her life only to take him away again. Could it?

  The speaker called the room to attention. The toasts rang out, the answering cries from the crowd supporting the president, the colors, and finally the First Cavalry Division. Sarah smiled. The speaker had a good voice. Deep—it resonated through the banquet hall across the shoulders of the men and women who’d served the Cav in a far off land.

  “As you entered the banquet hall, you may have noticed a small table here, in a place of honor, near our head table.”

  Sarah swallowed and caught Cla
ire’s sidelong glance at her. Claire squeezed her hand quickly. This was the toast to the POWs. The men who’d never returned from Vietnam, not even in a casket.

  “This table set for one is small, symbolizing the frailty of one prisoner alone against his oppressors. The tablecloth is white, symbolizing the purity of their intentions to respond to their country’s call to arms. Remember.”

  Sarah remembered. Her own father had been touched by Vietnam, a war he rarely spoke of. She’d worshiped him. Wanted nothing more than to make him proud of her by being a soldier, too. Just like her dad. Sarah blinked rapidly, the symbolism of the yellow rose, calling for remembrance of the families who waited, keeping faith for their safe return. And she saw Jack’s flag once more as it had been folded and handed to her at his funeral.

  Jack wasn’t coming home. The speaker called for the toast to be made with water, instead of wine. “Out of respect for our former Vietnam Prisoners of War, this toast is made with water.” There was solemn silence as every person present raised their glass in toast to their comrades who’d gone off to fight in a foreign land and had never returned.

  “Mr. Speaker, I propose a final toast. Let us raise our glasses in silence to honor our fallen comrades, who have ridden their final ride and gone ahead to wait for us at the Fiddler’s Green.”

  Every arm in the hall raised in silent tribute. There was an absolute silence. The kind of remembrance that only soldiers, who stood in mourning for lost brothers and sisters, could understand.

  Sarah’s hand trembled as she held her glass high, her throat tight. She blinked rapidly, pushing back the sudden memory of the day she’d laid her husband to his final rest.

  She blinked back the burn behind her eyes that surprised her with its intensity. In the silence of the banquet hall, that seemed to go on forever, she felt it.

  The brush of his fingers against hers. Seeking her out. Twining with hers in a silent offer of comfort and support.

  And in his gaze, she saw understanding and genuine pain. A pain they shared. A pain that still hurt and would always hurt.

  Somehow, holding Sean’s hand, the pain eased back a tiny bit, salved by the compassion and understanding she saw gazing back at her.

  And her heart, once full of love for one man and one daughter, shifted, making room again for a man she’d loved, long ago.

  * * *

  Sean turned and leaned against the bar, looking down at the woman who’d occupied his thoughts all evening. She smiled up at the man in front of her and licked the corner of her lips.

  Sean had long ago rested his Stetson in his chair and relaxed, enjoying the company of this beautiful woman.

  “Are you drunk?” he asked quietly, leaning in close just for a hint of her scent.

  “You wish,” she said with a laugh.

  “Damn.” He was standing too close. All evening, he’d tried not to stare in her direction like a moonstruck puppy but he hadn’t succeeded. He’d watched her move. Watched her laugh with Claire. He knew it but since all of the power players in the brigade had long ago given up holding court and abandoned the field, he didn’t care. The evening was winding down or winding up, depending on how he looked at it. Couples had moved from the tables to the dance floor. The excuse to have his hands on Sarah’s body was pulsing through his blood.

  He didn’t move when her fingers brushed across the awards over the left side of his dress uniform. Over the Bronze Star with V device that he’d tried to refuse.

  As much as he’d tried to avoid talking about what was quite possibly the worst day of his life, he prayed she wouldn’t ask. He saw the questions in her eyes, simmering below the surface. If he wanted to get closer to her, if he wanted to move forward with her, he’d have to answer those questions. If she asked.

  Please don’t.

  Only Haverson and Kearney knew the true extent of the darkness Sean had proven himself capable of. But as much as he knew that, he couldn’t bring himself to lay his soul at her feet.

  The thought of losing her again, of seeing that same disappointment and betrayal on her features, made his heart ache. She brushed her fingers over the awards again and his eyes were drawn to the awards she wore. The purple and white medal struck him. How had he not noticed that before?

  “Purple Heart?” he asked.

  Her lips pressed into a tight line as she nodded. “My reason for no longer being in command,” she admitted flatly.

  “You were shot?” He barely grasped the reins of the panic that twisted through him at the thought of her bleeding in the dirty, dusty streets of Baghdad.

  “No. Shrapnel. The contractor had deliberately tried to sabotage the fuel point.”

  Sean swallowed and leaned down near her ear. “Can I see your scars?”

  He’d wanted to change the subject. He wanted to enjoy the night with her instead of standing around, recounting the blood and sweat lost in Iraq’s dirt.

  He didn’t count on her reaction. Her eyes were suddenly darker. Her lips parted and he saw the edge of her tongue dart across the inside of her bottom lip. She blinked rapidly and he saw her pulse hitch beneath her ear.

  “Only if you show me yours.” She bit her lip as soon as the words were out, as though she’d tried to capture them back.

  Sean’s mouth went dry. “Guess I’ll have to take a rain check on that dance,” he murmured.

  She lifted one shoulder, feigning a carelessness she couldn’t possibly feel. Everything in Sean’s world just went tight and hard. There was nothing careless about the pounding of his heart in his throat.

  He didn’t know how they made it to his apartment. Neither of them were drunk and Sarah had insisted on following him in her own vehicle. Through the drive he’d watched her headlights in his rearview mirror, afraid that she would turn toward her home instead of toward his. He practically held his breath as they passed the turn off to his apartment, exhaling with relief when he saw her car stay behind his.

  She didn’t touch him as he led her up the stairs. Anticipation crawled over his skin in sliding, slipping waves of warmth. Her cheeks were flushed. He didn’t think. Didn’t want to talk himself out of this.

  He wanted her. There was no way around it. What had once been inconceivable was now a want, beating through his veins in time with his heart. Hot and thick, and demanding the feel of Sarah’s skin against his.

  He unlocked the door and turned to her. He’d loosened his tie at some point on the ride home. “I’m not going to ask you if you’re sure,” he said softly, brushing his fingertips across her cheek.

  He held his breath while he waited for her answer. Her gaze dropped to his mouth for a long moment and then she moved.

  She took the single step into his space. The distance between them dissolved in that simple action and Sean was a goner. Her hands ran up his chest and twisted around his neck until her lips were pressed against his ear and she offered the only response he wanted to hear.

  “I’m sure.”

  That was the only answer Sean needed. He crushed her against him, pouring his soul into the kiss that this time would lead somewhere other than a cold shower. Her tongue slid against his, driving the heat in his veins to a flash point.

  He lost himself in that kiss and when he opened his eyes, she stood pressed against him in his bedroom. He groaned when he saw the room through her eyes. His bed was unmade. There were dirty clothes crumpled in the corner, somewhat near the collapsible hamper.

  He looked back at her and saw a smile painting her lips. “You are such a cliché,” she said against his mouth as she molded her body to his.

  He cupped her neck, dragging his thumbs across the soft skin beneath her ears. His fingers slipped into her hair, tugging until the pins gave up their tenuous hold. Her long dark curls tumbled free from the soft twist and Sean buried his face in her neck, simply holding her until the ache in his heart faded to something manageable. She tensed in his embrace, her back stiffening.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, nuzzli
ng her neck.

  “I was going to ask you that.”

  He stroked her jaw with one thumb as he leaned away and looked at her. “I don’t want to screw this up.”

  She smiled. Lit only by moonlight slipping through his small bedroom window, her skin practically glowed. Her lips were darker. Fuller.

  “Me, either.”

  He laughed suddenly and pulled her against him, some of the tension easing out of the vise around his chest. “At this rate, I think we might end up talking rather than doing.”

  She tipped her chin at him. “I turn into a pumpkin at three.”

  Sean glanced at his watch. “Then I’ve got five hours to do this right.” He brushed his lips against her ear. “It should be enough time.”

  Her soft laugh vibrated through her body and Sean felt it against the full length of his own. He let his fingers drift down the front of her jacket, releasing each gold eagle Sta-Bright button one at a time until he slipped the dark blue coat from her shoulders.

  He saw the mirror over his desk—a silver plate framed in simple black—and urged her in front of it, standing behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and simply stood, looking at the image they created together. Her hands came to rest atop his and she tipped her head back on his shoulder.

  “I want you to watch.” He needed her to see who she was with. He didn’t want there to be a hint of confusion in her mind as to the man she stood with. He would not compete with her dead husband. Not tonight, at least. Tonight, he was going to make sure she knew. She was his.

  * * *

  The prospect of undressing—of Sean undressing her—in a mirror was both erotic and unnerving. She opened her mouth to speak but he silenced her with a quick brush of his lips, tilting her face and cradling her neck until the wet heat of his mouth covered hers.

  His fingers worked her collar until the small black neck tab was gone, lying on top of her jacket. One by one, he worked to free the buttons on her blouse. He watched her in the mirror. Unsure what to do with her hands, she finally reached behind them to twine around his neck. The effect caused her to arch her back against his. An offering of the simplest form. Inch by inch, he parted her dress shirt, tugging the tails free from her skirt. In the pale silver of the moonlight, her skin glowed in the mirror, the darkness of his skin a stark contrast against hers.