Writer66’s picture brought home just how much he was missing. There was still a part of Brian that believed in the goodness of others and that’s what her eyes represented. They looked into his heart, a heart that still had small shreds of hope in the humane. She was humane, she was innocent, she was soft and gentle, feisty when someone she loved was hurt. Brian didn’t know why he knew those things about her, he just knew.
As a mercenary, he possessed skills about human nature that gave him an advantage over most and he was going to use that advantage to know Writer66.
A mercenary’s life didn’t leave room for remorse, but he felt it anyway, because it brought pain and death to the surrounding, innocent family members.
His body could only hold out for so long. He was thirty-six and he’d been doing this for more years than he could remember.
He’d been shot, bombed and shot again. His knees were well on their way to being trashed from airborne and he had more scars than he could count.
But Brian kept going in for more. As long as there were people who needed him, he kept going in.
Writer66 could make him give up everything and he wanted to know why the hell he felt that strongly about her from just a picture and a few e-mails. Wishful thinking? Was he looking for an excuse to leave the life he led behind and Writer66 gave him one?
No. He didn’t believe that at all. He’d had plenty of women in his time, no one made him want them the way she did from just a smile and an e-mail. His gut twisted sharply with instinct, finely honed and skilled.
Brian wasn’t so bitter about life that he didn’t want more after his time as a mercenary was done. He didn’t want to hit his senior years still thinking he could take on the world like some he worked with.
He wanted what everyone else had. He wanted to come home to someone, share a meal, a joke. He wanted to climb into bed beside someone who didn’t shun him because he’d killed people for a cause. He wanted someone who knew it meant more than the money a mercenary was paid. He wanted someone who knew why he’d done what he did.
What he still did.
Brian Benson wanted the one person who would look into his eyes without fear. Someone who looked beyond the detachment that was required of him and know killing wasn’t what drove him. Keeping them from hurting others was.
He wanted someone to understand that he knew he couldn’t save the world alone, but that his innate sense of right and wrong drove him endlessly.
It wasn’t the adventure of toting a sniper rifle and playing GI JOE. It wasn’t the locales people seemed to think were so exotic. It wasn’t because he was a Neanderthal on a rampage.
It was what was just.
It just was.
Brian scanned Writer66’s picture again and closed his eyes, memorizing once more her soft, chocolate brown eyes and her full, sweet lips, the curve of her face. Lips he had a gut feeling other men on the site were lusting for and it was pissing him off. Eyes he knew other men were looking into, but not really “seeing”. Irrational? Maybe, but he wanted what he knew Writer66 or Callie as she signed her e-mails, had.
Brian wanted what his fellow mercenaries might call mundane, but what he could finally call peace.
Sweet and without chaos.
Unhurried and restful.
Minus fear, plus gentleness.
Brian Benson wanted Writer66.
With heart-stopping tenderness.
With forceful passion
With understanding.
With sweet abyss.
Completely.
And as he began the journey that would take him to her, Brian smiled. A genuine, rare smile that warmed what was dead and cold inside of him most of the time. Now was the time to find out why Callie did this to him, made him hope for something more. Now was the time to take one last chance that his instincts were still almost always on the mark.
To: Writer66
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Victoria’s Secret
Bubble baths, huh?
Brian typed and paused for a moment.
Brian fought the image of Callie slippery and wet in a bubble bath, her skin glistening with scented, soapy water. It made his pulse roar and his cock flame. It didn’t make much sense. He really had no clue what she looked like beyond the head shot on the site. All he could say was he just knew she’d be everything and more than he might hope to imagine. Soft, curvy, rounded in all the right places and even if she wasn’t it almost didn’t matter. Brian didn’t even think it was crazy that he felt this inexplicable pull to her. He’d learned not to question things in his line of work and he didn’t question the unnerving, anxious insistence that was driving him to learn about Callie. Brian tried to set aside the image of her naked and wrote:
That’s an indulgence that I don’t get the chance to partake in often. So the next time you take one, think of me…
Funny you should mention your pillow, I have a poncho liner that I’ve had since I was seventeen that I take everywhere with me. I never leave home without it.
I have a passion for old antebellum homes. I want to buy one someday and fix it up myself. Can I borrow your power tools? I’m from Mississippi. We have plenty of homes like that where I come from.
Summer is my favorite time of year. I hate clothes. I love my flip-flops and Jimmy Buffet.
Now you owe me a paragraph…LOL
Brian
Brian clicked send and went to get a bottle of water, hoping Callie hadn’t gone to bed yet and she would answer his e-mail. Digging to the farthest reaches of his refrigerator, he found one last bottle of water and popped it open, leaning against the countertop that held nothing but a box of Pop Tarts. Taking a look around, he realized to most his apartment would seem scant at best. He leased them as he needed to, kept them while he waited for a contract, gave them up when he had to go back overseas. His life was filled with waiting. Waiting for the e-mail that would tell him he had four days to pack and get to Iraq, waiting for his next contract, waiting for the next covert operation.
Brian ran a hand over his short hair and made his way back to the bedroom, his laptop, and hopefully, another e-mail from Callie.
His inbox glowed dark blue, telling him he had another e-mail. Callie had changed the subject line to DIY freak? Brian chuckled to himself. Yeah, he loved do-it-yourself projects.
To: Brian_SOF
From: Writer66
Subject: DIY freak?
You like do-it-yourself projects? Oh, me too! I live in an apartment since my divorce, but I really miss the smell of freshly cut wood. Ah well, someday I’ll buy myself a fixer-upper and go DIY hog wild! Until then, I’ll have to do small things like hang shelves. My friend Katherine makes fun of me all the time, but she knows when I get out my Daisy Dukes and my T-shirt I’m going to “fix” something, LOL.
In regard to your poncho, isn’t it funny that we have tactile things that soothe us? I even bring my pillow when I’m traveling…I imagine your poncho has gotten you through a rough time or two.
I presume you’re in the military? Scary times these days for men in the armed forces. Tell me about your job.
I’m a columnist for a magazine. I love people and animals and I love reruns of The Love Boat and Fantasy Island. My life is sooo full. LOL
Callie
Callie was lonely and she didn’t even know it, Brian surmised. He wanted to change that with gut wrenching clarity and if he could figure out this instant messenger thing he was going to ask her to talk to him in “real time”. Brian searched on the Internet to find an instant messaging program off the site, damning the slowness of his dial up. He entered a username and downloaded the program while he sent Callie another e-mail.
To: Writer66
Subject: Re: DIY Freak?
Do you have a private instant messenger? If so, would you like to chat there instead of the site?
Oh, and Daisy Duke stole my heart when I was a kid…
Brian
To: Brian_SOF
Subject: Instant M
essaging
I do…do you promise not to stalk me via means of cyber space? LOL. It’s [email protected].
Callie
Brian’s fingers flew to send her a message and an invitation to chat. He was slow and a horrible typist, but he needed to talk to her, so he’d muddle through if it meant he could learn more about this woman whose eyes had captivated him and whose words said more than just the obligatory courtesies.
Brian sent off the invitation and cracked his knuckles to prepare to type. Callie was a writer, so she was probably going to be quick. Callie accepted his invitation and Brian sent off the first sentence with equal portions of undisguised interest and untamed curiosity.
“So, Callie, what made you join an online dating site?”
* * * *
Callie’s intestines twisted in a tight knot as she read Brian’s first “real time” words. She was stupidly excited over having the chance to talk to him and giddy and breathless.
This was ridiculous. High school bullshit.
She might as well be honest. Callie sucked at lying. Even if it was a lie thrown into cyber space to a man she’d never meet.
“It began because I was writing an article for my column about online dating.”
The small box remained empty but for her words for a moment and then, it showed that Brian was typing. “So I’m a guinea pig of sorts?”
Callie gulped. Brian wasn’t like any guinea pig she’d encountered thus far. “No, not you…” was all she could answer, because it was true and she had no explanation other than he intrigued her. He asked questions about her that no one else had asked in a hundred e-mails. Maybe he was just good at playing a woman, but Callie wanted to find out anyway. Think research, Callie. Rambo was hunk-o-licious research indeed.
“Good. What kind of column do you write?”
Callie smiled. “A little of this and a little of that. Humor mostly. My very bizarre take on things, I suppose. I love hearing I made someone smile after they’ve read a column of mine.”
“You gotta laugh. It’s the only way to survive in my mind. You’re making me smile right now.”
Callie squirmed as a sizzle of awareness, crisp and clear shot to her nerve endings. How was it possible that making him smile pleased her so much? “Well, thanks. I’m glad. Tell me about life in the military? Your job fascinates me.”
“I’m not in the military, Callie.”
Oh. So what was he doing in Iraq with a gun? “Oh, I’m sorry I must have misunderstood. You did say you were hurt in Iraq, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
Hookay, man of mystery, then what the hell happened? “Do you mind if I ask what happened? You don’t have to tell me if you’d rather not.” But Callie needed to know and she didn’t understand the whys or wherefores of it.
“I was hit by a grenade, just a small piece of it. Kinda like a splinter. It was lodged in my shin.”
Callie’s heart sank fast and hard. A grenade and he wasn’t in the military? The idea of Brian being hurt, even minimally, frightened her and then, it frightened her that it frightened her. The fear hit her right between the eyes and yanked sharply at her heart. What the hell was wrong with her? She knew nothing about this man. She was a sensitive human being, no doubt, but Brian’s injury literally made her heart cringe. “Does it still trouble you?” Callie asked. She couldn’t bear it if he was in pain and she couldn’t explain why.
“Nah, it’s fine now, really.”
Callie breathed a deep sigh of relief that came out of nowhere and made Aston groan in his sleep at her feet. She shifted positions in her chair and said, “I’m so glad. So how long are you here in the states for?”
“Until I’m given another contract.”
Contract? For what? Callie wasn’t getting this at all and she didn’t want to pry. And then she thought, oh, well, what the hell. Brian didn’t have to answer. “Contract for what? I’m sorry. I’m confused…” Callie held her breath while he typed and smiled at how slowly he was answering her question.
“I work for an American company who contracts out my help in Iraq.”
Yeah, peachy, but what the hell did that mean? “Doing?”
“I’m a mercenary.”
Callie stared at the words, or the word.
Mercenary.
Rambo.
Soldier of fortune.
Jesus.
“Wow, you’ve chosen a hard life, Brian.” She didn’t know what else to say. Blowing out a breath of air she rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand. A mercenary, Callie… You should stop this conversation right now, but as she looked at his picture, she couldn’t…
Compelled.
She was compelled by some strange force of whatever to keep asking questions.
“Sometimes it’s hard, but I value life and what’s right. That’s why I do it. It isn’t just the money I’m paid. The money will never be compensation for it, no matter the amount.”
Brian, it would seem, had a deep bone, or a good line. Callie couldn’t figure out which, but if the latter were true, she understood perfectly his reasoning behind his work. It terrified her, but she understood wanting to help people. To give when others wanted to throw their hands up in the air. “For some reason, I understand that statement completely. I can’t explain it, but I do.”
“For some reason, I knew you would.”
The words Brian typed singed Callie’s eyes and made her brain swirl. He was sucking her in via a cyber connection that she was too curious not to explore. “Really? And how did you know that, Brian?” she teased.
“I just did. You just look like someone who has much to give.”
“Look like? Tell me something, Brian, why did you e-mail me? I’m curious. We have distance between us and you’re obviously gone more that you’re here. Why would you e-mail someone like me?” She had to know so she could put him in her, “really good at bullshitting a woman” file.
“Your eyes are what drew me to your picture. They’re beautiful, by the way.”
Not her lips? Gee, that was a switch and she found herself responding to the compliment by twirling a dark strand of her hair. “LOL. Well, thank you, but they’re nothing special. I’m pretty average.” God, she’d said that a hundred times as of late hadn’t she? Average. I’m average. Welcome to average-ville.
“There’s nothing average about you, Callie. Nothing.”
Callie was mesmerized by his words. They were simple, but clear. They weren’t flirty, rather concise and straightforward and she had no idea how to answer, so she made a joke. “Well, tell that to my ex-husband. He thought I was very average.” She highlighted the word very and hit the send button.
“Then he was obviously not the man for you. You need a nice Southern man who doesn’t think you’re average at all,” Brian typed back, slow and choppy, grammar mistakes galore.
Meaning? “So only Southern men will think I’m not average?”
“Well, this one doesn’t.”
“You don’t know anything about me. How can you say that?”
“Because average women can’t fix a toilet. LOL.”
Ah, he had read her profile. “LOL. Anyone can fix a toilet. I had to learn. The ex was deficient in such matters.”
“I get the impression he was deficient in many matters.”
Hah! If Rambo had a clue… ”Well, it’s over now and I’m happier than I ever thought possible.” And she was to a degree. There was no more worry involved in her Friday nights. Frank wasn’t going to call her from some bar while she paced the floor worrying about who he was with. She could do as she pleased while she flew low under the relationship radar. She liked it that way. You couldn’t get hurt if you stayed home every Friday night. Alone.
“Define happy, Callie.” Brian typed and sent a smiley face icon along with it.
Callie giggled. “Well, I have some amazing friends, my dog Aston, my work. My life is full and I don’t have the worry I once had living with Frank.” I watch Love Boa
t reruns and clean my apartment—yep, my life is definitely full—as opposed to empty—devoid of all things full.
“Frank? Is he the ex?”
“Yeah, it was ugly and messy, but I’m so much happier now. It did make me tough as nails, though…but I’d like to think I’m still soft on the inside.” If she could handle her divorce from Frank, she could handle Attila the Hun. “But who knew I’d be so much better off?”
“Sometimes life chooses us, not the other way around.”
Callie snorted. No kidding. “Well, divorce isn’t what I would have chosen, at least not as ugly as it was.”
“Do you mind me asking what happened?”
Well, why not, Brian? Now you can find out just how average I really am. “He was unfaithful. Several times,” Callie replied. It didn’t hurt to write that, or even see the words, not like it once did. Frank really was a freak, just like Katherine said, but he’d conditioned her to believe she was the problem in their marriage, not his roving eye and sliding zipper. She knew in her head she wasn’t the problem, it was her heart that kept disbelief close. If Callie allowed herself a maudlin moment, she’d always wonder why she couldn’t keep Frank happy. She’d just never been enough.
“He needs his ass whooped,” Brian wrote.
Callie shrugged. She was long past the stage of wanting to hurt Frank, but somehow, Brian standing up for her, even if it was all just for show made her feel less like she wore a big letter “C” for cheated on her chest. “LOL. Nah, it’s not worth it, really. He would have to mean something to me for me to want to have him hurt. He just doesn’t.”
“So you’re over him?”
“Um, yeah with a capital OVER.” And it was true. Callie didn’t even feel rage at Frank anymore. He’d humiliated her and tortured her in the end of their marriage, but it had also made her stronger. That which does not kill you and all…
“He didn’t deserve you.”
“I was a good wife. Frank was a bad husband. I know that now and it’s okay.”
“A woman should be cherished, treasured.”
Sexy Lips 66 Page 6
