Okay. Okay. She just had to figure out a way to get him alone. Before —-: p.m.—tomorrow.
How hard could that be?
The Relief Aid office was hushed and quiet when Bobby came in at . The radio—which usually played classic rock at full volume—was off. No one was packing boxes of canned goods and other donations. People stood, talking quietly in small groups.
Rene pushed past him, making a beeline for the ladies' room, head down. She was crying.
What the...?
Bobby looked around, more carefully this time, but Colleen was nowhere in sight.
He saw Susan Fitzgerald, the group's leading volunteer, sitting at the row of desks on the other side of the room. She was on the phone, and as he watched, she hung up. She just sat there, then, rubbing her forehead and her eyes behind her glasses.
"What's going on?" he asked.
"Another quake hit Tulgeria this morning," she told him. "About a.m., our time. I'm not sure how it happened, whether it was from a fire caused by downed power lines or from the actual shock waves, but one of the local
terrorist cells had an ammunitions stockpile, and it went up in a big way. The Tulgerian government thought they were under attack and launched a counteroffensive."
Oh, God. Bobby could tell from the look on Susan's face that the worst news was coming. He braced himself.
"St. Christof’s—our orphanage—sustained a direct hit from some sort of missile," Susan told him. "We lost at least half of the kids."
Oh, Christ. "Does Colleen know?"
Susan nodded. "She was here when the news came in. But she went home. Her little girl—the one she'd been writing to—was on the list of children who were killed."
Analena. Oh, God. Bobby closed his eyes.
"She was very upset," Susan told him. "Understandably."
He straightened up and started for the door. He knew damn well that Colleen's apartment was the last place he should go, but it was the one place in the world where he absolutely needed to be right now. To hell with his rules.
To hell with everything.
"Bobby," Susan called after him. "She told me you're leaving for Virginia in a few hours. Try to talk her into coming back here when you go. She really shouldn't be alone."
Colleen let the doorbell ring the same way she'd let the phone ring.
She didn't want to talk to anyone, didn't want to see anyone, didn't want to have to try to explain how a little girl she'd never met could have owned such an enormous piece of her heart.
She didn't want to do anything but lie here, on her bed, in her room, with the shades pulled down, and cry over the injustice of a world in which orphanages were bombed during a war that really didn't exist.
Yet, at the same time, the last thing she wanted was to be alone. Back when she was a kid, when her world fell apart and she needed a shoulder to cry on, she'd gone to her brother Ethan. He was closest in age to her—the one Skelly kid who didn't have that infamous knee-jerk temper and that smart-mouthed impatience.
She'd loved him, and he'd died, too. What was it with her...that made the people she loved disappear? She stared up at her ceiling, at the cracks and chips that she'd memorized through too many sleepless nights. She should have learned by now just to stop loving, to stop taking chances. Yeah, like that would ever happen. Maybe she was stupid, but that was one lesson she refused to learn.
Every single day, she fell in love over and over. When she walked past a little girl with a new puppy. When a baby stared at her unblinkingly on the trolley and then smiled, a big, drooly, gummy grin. When she saw an elderly couple out for a stroll, still holding hands. She lost her heart to them all.
Still, just once, she wanted more than to be a witness to other people's happy endings. She wanted to be part of one.
She wanted Bobby.
She didn't care when the doorbell stopped ringing and the phone started up again, knowing it was probably Bobby, and crying even harder because she'd pushed too hard and now he was leaving, too.
Because he didn't want her love, not in any format. Not even quick and easy and free—the way she'd offered it.
She just lay on her bed, head aching and face numb from the hours she'd already cried, but unable to stop.
But then she wasn't alone anymore. She didn't know how he got in. Her door was locked. She hadn't even heard his footsteps on the floor.
It was as if Bobby had just suddenly materialized, next to her bed.
He didn't hesitate, he just lay down right next to her and drew her into his arms. He didn't say a word, he just held her close, cradling her with his entire body.
His shirt was soft against her cheek. He smelled like clean clothes and coffee. The trace of cigarette smoke that usually lingered on his shirt and even in his hair had finally been washed away.
But it was late. If he was going to get to Logan in time to catch his flight to Norfolk... "You have to leave soon," she told him, trying to be strong, wiping her face and lifting her head to look into his eyes.
For a man who could make one mean war face when he wanted to, he had the softest, most gentle eyes. "No." He shook his head slightly. "I don't."
Colleen couldn't help it. Fresh tears welled, and she shook from trying so hard not to cry.
"It's okay," he told her. "Go on and cry. I've got you, sweet. I'm here. I'll be here for as long as you need me."
She clung to him.
And he just held her and held her and held her.
As she fell asleep, still held tightly in his arms, his fingers running gently through her hair, her last thought was to wonder hazily what he was going to say when he found out that she could well need him forever.
Bobby woke up slowly. He knew even before he opened his eyes that, like Dorothy, he wasn't in Kansas anymore. Wherever he was, it wasn't his apartment on the base, and he most certainly wasn't alone.
It came to him in a flash. Massachusetts. Colleen Skelly, She was lying against him, on top of him, beneath him, her leg thrown across his, his thigh pressed tight between her legs. Her head was on his shoulder, his arms beneath her and around her, the softness of her breasts against his chest, her hand tucked up alongside his neck.
They were both still fully dressed, but Bobby knew with an acceptance of his fate—it was actually quite calming and peaceful, all things considered—that after she awoke, they wouldn't keep their clothes on for long.
He'd had his chance for a clean escape, and he'd blown it. He was here, and there was no way in hell he was going to walk away now.
Wes was just going to have to kill him.
But, damn, it was going to be worth it. Bobby was going to die with a smile on his face.
His hand had slipped up underneath the edge of Colleen's T-shirt, and he took advantage of that, gliding his fingers across the smooth skin of her back, up all the way to the back strap of her bra, down to the waistband of her shorts. Up and back in an unending circle.
Man, he could lie here, just touching her lightly like this, for the rest of his life.
But Colleen stirred, and he waited, still caressing the softness of her skin, feeling her wake up and become as aware of him as he was of her.
She didn't move, didn't pull away from him.
And he didn't stop touching her.
“How long did I sleep?" she finally asked, her voice even huskier than usual.
"I don't know," he admitted. "I fell asleep, too." He glanced at the windows. The light was starting to weaken. "It's probably around —seven o'clock."
''Thank you," she said. "For coming here."
"You want to talk about it?" Bobby asked. "About An-alena?"
"No," she said. "Because when I say it out loud, it all sounds so stupid. I mean, what was I thinking? That I was going to bring her here, to live with me? I mean, come on—who was I kidding? I don't have room—look at this place. And I don't have money—I can barely pay my own
bills. I couldn't live here without Ashley paying for half of everythi
ng. I had to sell my car to stay in law school. And that's with the school loans. And how am I supposed to take care of a kid while I'm going to school? I don't have time for an instant family—not now while I'm in law school. I don't have time for a husband, let alone a child, And yet..."
She shook her head. “When I saw her pictures and read her letters... Oh, Bobby, she was so alive. I didn't even get a chance to know her, but I wanted to—God, I wanted to!"
“If you had met her, you would have fallen completely in love with her." He smiled. "I know you pretty well. And she would've loved you, too. And you would have somehow made it work," he told her. "It wouldn't have been easy, but there are some things you just have to do, you know? So you do it, and it all works out. I'm sorry you won't get that chance with Analena."
She lifted her head to look at him. "You don't think I'm being ridiculous?"
"I would never think of you as ridiculous," he told her quietly. "Generous, yes. Warm. Giving. Loving, caring..."
Something shifted. There was a sudden something in her eyes that clued him in to the fact that, like him, she was suddenly acutely, intensely aware of every inch of him that was in contact with every inch of her.
"Sexy as hell," he whispered. "But never ridiculous."
Her gaze dropped to his mouth. He saw it coming. She was going to kiss him, and his fate would be sealed.
He met her halfway, wanting to take a proactive part in this, wanting to do more than simply be unable to resist the temptation.
Her lips were soft, her mouth almost unbearably sweet. It was a slow, languorous kiss—as if they both knew that from here on in, there was no turning back, no need to rush.
He kissed her again, longer this time, deeper—just in case she had any last, lingering doubts about what was going to happen next.
But before he could kiss her again, she pulled away. There were tears in her eyes.
"I didn't want it to happen this way," she said.
He tried to understand what she was telling him, tried to rein himself in. "Colleen, if you don't want me to stay—"
"No," she said. "I do want you to stay. I want you. Too much. See, I lay awake last night, figuring out ways to get you back here. I was going to make something up, try to trick you into coming here after the meeting and then..."
Comprehension dawned. She'd gotten what she'd wanted. He was here. But at what price? An earthquake and a war. A body count that included people she'd loved.
"No," he told her, not wanting her to believe that. "I would've shown up here sooner or later. Even if I'd gotten on that plane—and I'm not sure I would have been able to—I would've called you from Little Creek tonight. I wouldn't have been able to resist."
She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hands. "Really?"
"The things you do to me with just a telephone... Man, oh, man."
Tears still clung to her eyelashes, and her nose was slightly pink. But she was laughing.
As he held her gaze, he remembered the things she said to him last night and let her see that memory reflected in his eyes. She blushed slightly.
"I've really never done that before," she told him. "I mean, the phone part." She blushed again as she looked away, embarrassed by what she'd just again admitted.
He needed her to know what merely thinking about her—about that—did to him. He pulled her chin back so that she had to look into his eyes, as he answered her with
just as much soul-baring honesty. "Maybe someday you'll let me watch."
Someday. The word hung between them. It implied that there was going to be more than just tonight.
"You don't do long-distance relationships," she reminded him.
"No," he corrected her. "I don't want to do it that way. I have in the past, and I've hated it. It's so hard to—"
“I don't want to be something that's hard,'' she told him. "I don't want to be an obligation that turns into something you dread dealing with."
He steeled himself, preparing to pull away from her, out of her arms. "Then maybe I should go, before—"
“Maybe we should just make love and not worry about tomorrow," she countered.
She kissed him, and it was dizzying. He kissed her back hungrily, possessively—all sense of laziness gone. He wanted her, now. He needed her.
Now.
Her hands were in his hair, freeing it completely from the ponytail that had already halfway fallen out. She kissed him even harder, angling her head to give him better access to her mouth—or maybe to give herself better access to his mouth.
Could she really do this?
Make love to him tonight and only tonight?
Her legs tightened around his thigh, and he stopped thinking. He kissed her again and again, loving the taste of her, the feel of her in his arms. He reached between them, sliding his hand up under her shirt to fill his hand with her breast.
She pulled back from him to tug at his T-shirt. She wanted it off, and it was easier simply to give up—temporarily—trying to kiss and touch as much of her as he possibly could, and take his shirt off himself. His shoulder
was still stiff, and the only way he could get a T-shirt on or off was awkwardly. Painfully. One arm at a time.
Before he even got it off, she'd started on his shorts, her fingers cool against his stomach as she unfastened the button and then the zipper.
She had his shorts halfway down his legs by the time he tossed his shirt onto the floor.
He helped her, kicking his legs free, and then there he was. On her bed in only his briefs, while she was still fully clothed.
He reached for her, intending to rid her of her T-shirt and shorts as efficiently as she'd taken care of his, but she distracted him by kissing him. And then he distracted himself by touching her breasts beneath her shirt, by unfastening her bra and kissing her right through the cotton, by burying his face in the softness of her body.
It wasn't until he tried to push her shirt up over her breasts so that he could see her as well as touch and kiss, that he felt her tense.
And he remembered.
She was self-conscious about her body.
Probably because she wasn't stick thin like the alleged Hollywood ideal.
The hell with that—she was his ideal. She was curvaceous. Stacked. Voluptuous. She was perfection.
Man, if he were her, he would walk around in one of those little nonexistent tank tops that were so popular. She should wear one without a bra, and just watch all the men faint as she passed by.
Someday he'd get her one of those. She could wear it here, in the privacy of her room, if she didn't want to wear it in public. Man, he hadn't thought he could get any harder, any hotter, but just the thought of her wearing something like that, just because he liked it—just for him— heated him up another notch.
She would do it, too. After he made her realize that he truly worshiped her body, that he found her unbelievably beautiful and sexy, she would be just as adventurous about that as she was with everything else.
Phone sex. Sweet heaven.
Phone sex was all about words. About saying what he wanted, about saying how he felt.
He hadn't been very good at it—not like Colleen. Unlike her, words weren't his strong suit. But he had to do it again now. He had to use words to reassure her, to let her know just how beautiful he thought she was.
He could do it with body language, with his eyes, with his mouth and his hands. He could show her, by the way he made love to her, but even then, he knew she wouldn't completely believe him.
No, if he wanted to dissolve that edge of tension that tightened her shoulders, he had to do it with words.
Or did he? Maybe he could do a combination of both show and tell.
"I think you're spectacular," he told her. "You're incredible and gorgeous and..."
And he was doing this wrong. She wasn't buying any of it.
He touched her, reaching up beneath her shirt to caress her. He had the show part down. He wanted to taste her, and he reali
zed with a flash that instead of trying to make up compliments filled with meaningless adjectives, he should just say what he wanted, say how he felt. He should just open his mouth and speak his very thoughts.
"I want to taste you right here," he told her as he touched her. "I want to feel you in my mouth."
He tugged her shirt up just a little, watching her face, ready to take it even more slowly if she wanted him to. But she didn't tense up, so he drew it up a little more, exposing the underside of her breast, so pale and soft and perfect.
And then he forgot to watch her eyes because there was her nipple, peeking out. He'd been holding his breath, he realized, and he let it out in a rush. "Oh, yeah."
She was already taut with desire, and he lowered his head to do just what he'd described. She made a sound that he liked, a sound that had nothing to do with being self-conscious and everything to do with pleasure.
He drew her shirt up then, up and over her head, and she sat up to help him.
And there she was.
As he pulled back to look at her, he opened his mouth and let his thoughts escape.
Unfortunately, his expression of sincere admiration was one of Wes's favorite, more colorful turns of phrase.
Fortunately, Colleen laughed. She looked at him, looked at the expression he knew was on his face, the pure pleasure he let shine from his eyes.
“You're so beautiful," he breathed. "I've died and gone to heaven."
"Gee," she said, "and I don't even have my pants off."
He grabbed her by the waist of her shorts, flipping her back onto the bed and, as she whooped in surprised laughter, he corrected that.
In five seconds flat she was naked and he was kissing her, touching, loving the feel of all that smooth, perfect skin against him. And when he pulled back to really look at her, there wasn't a bit of tension in the air.
But this talking thing was working so well, why stop?
"Do you know what you do to me?" he asked her as he touched, kissed, explored. He didn't give her time to answer. He just took one of her own exploring hands, and pressed it against him.
Suzanne Brockmann - Team Ten 10 - Taylor's Temptation Page 13
