Man Beneath the Uniform

by Maureen Child

  "Good." He took another step closer to her and stopped. "Now. About the other thing."

  "Yes?"

  "I told you before that you'd have to ask."

  "I know." Her voice sounded creaky, unused, as if she'd been mute for years and was only now attempting speech. She swallowed past the knot in her throat and told herself to get a grip. But it wasn't easy when everything in her ached. Need pumped through her body, leaving flash fires in its wake. Her knees went weak and her blood pumped in a furious rush, making her head spin.

  If she had any sense at all, Kim thought, she'd tell him to leave again, and this time, she'd mean it. But while her brain argued with her hormones, Kim couldn't help thinking, why not?

  They were adults. There was an obvious attraction. Neither one of them was looking for anything more than an end to the need rocketing around the room like a Ping-Pong ball. There was an easy answer to all this. All she had to do was make a move and she could feed the fires within. She could enjoy Zack and then have her life back when he was gone.

  All she had to do was speak up.

  So what was stopping her?

  Reality, that's what. She took a deep breath in a desperate attempt to steady herself, but since that was useless at this point, she simply started talking.

  "Okay, I can admit this much."

  His eyes darkened, his mouth tightened, but he didn't speak. He waited.

  "I do want you."

  "Atta girl," he muttered and started around the edge of the bed.

  "But…" That one single word had the desired effect. It stopped him cold.

  "How did I know that was coming?" he asked, shaking his head.

  "Maybe you're the psychic."

  "Yeah, that's it."

  "There has to be a 'but,' Zack," she said, clutching the quilt and sheet just a little closer to her chest.

  "With you?" he murmured. "Naturally."

  "What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded.

  He held both hands up, palms out. "Cool down, Doc. All I meant was, there's nothing about you that's easy."

  Kim smiled as her temper eased and the feelings she'd expected would be stomped on were instead soothed. "I think that was a compliment, Zack."

  A long moment passed before he nodded. "Yeah, I guess it was."

  "Thanks." Warmth stole through her, softer, gentler than the heat that had burst through her body only moments before. That flash fire of need and hunger was exciting, but this slow slide of warmth was more … tempting somehow. More … intoxicating.

  Which meant she was in serious trouble. "I'm really tempted to just have an affair with you," she blurted.

  "Go with your urges, babe."

  "That's what you do, isn't it?" she asked, tipping her head to one side as she watched him.

  "Mostly, yeah." He grabbed hold of the spindle post at the end of her bed. Even in the moonlight, she could see his fingers tighten around the carved wood until his knuckles whitened.

  "I don't," she said softly. "Not any more. I did once," she offered, knowing that it wasn't what he wanted to hear. "I followed my impulses and they led me right over a cliff."

  "Doesn't have to be that way again."

  "Maybe not." The more she talked, the stronger she felt. She continued, not knowing if she was trying to explain her decision to him—or to herself. "But that's not how I live. I like things … organized. Tidy."

  "And I like 'em loose."

  "I know. And God help me," she admitted, shaking her head, "that's part of your appeal."

  One eyebrow lifted again.

  "How do you do that?"

  "Huh?"

  "The one-eyebrow lift. How do you—" she broke off, laughing and hoped it didn't sound nearly as hysterical as it felt. "Never mind. Zack, a part of me wants to tell you yes."

  "And the other part?"

  Kim blew out another breath and lifted her chin. "That part's hoping you'll leave fast before the less-disciplined part takes over."

  "Uh-huh." He let go of the bedpost and walked toward her, one slow step after another.

  God, just watching him move made her mouth go dry. He was all lean muscle and sharp angles. He moved quietly, as if stepping through a minefield and maybe, she told herself, he was.

  There was nowhere to back up to. Nowhere to hide. Kim knew if he touched her, all of her fine resolutions and discipline were going to jump out the window, shouting, "Hallelujah," as they went.

  "I meant what I said." Zack was close enough now that she could feel the heat pulsing off his body. Waves of hunger and need reached out from him to find her own hunger and need, to stoke them, and they really didn't need any assistance in reaching bonfire proportions.

  "Meant what?"

  "You'll have to ask." He reached up, stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. His touch sent jagged bolts of something deliciously wicked to the center of her belly.

  Oh, boy.

  "I can't."

  "Not now, I see that," he whispered, and he was so close, his breath dusted her cheek as gently as his fingertips had. "But you will."

  She stiffened at his cool confidence, but if she were going to be honest, then she had to admit that he was right. Sooner or later, she was bound to cave in. Zack Sheridan at his most lethal was something no woman could resist for long.

  Steeling herself against the dazzling light in his eyes, she met his gaze and tightened her grip on the quilt clutched to her and ignored the cool breeze slipping through the partially opened window. Wind chimes danced musically and, from somewhere down the street, a dog barked as though chasing away a horde of invaders.

  "It would be easy to give in to what I'm feeling for you."

  One corner of his mouth tipped up. "There's another 'but' coming, I can almost hear it."

  She obliged him. "But I went with easy once and in the end, it was more difficult than anything I'd ever experienced, before or since."

  "What happened?"

  His voice was a hush. Like a whisper in a confessional and maybe it was that tone—maybe it was the quiet of the moonlight—that had her telling him what he wanted to hear.

  "Charles Barrington the third," she said.

  He snorted.

  Kim appreciated the sentiment. "He gave me a big rush. Came to the house all the time to see me. Made nice with my brothers, my parents. He brought me flowers, took me to plays and," she said with a sigh, "in general, played the part of the perfect boyfriend."

  "When?"

  "Hmm?" She was staring at the past and hardly heard her present.

  "When was Chuck your man of the moment?"

  "Chuck?" Kim slapped one hand across her mouth to muffle the hoot of laughter. "Oh, my God, Chuck. I never thought, but that's the official nickname for a Charles, isn't it?"

  Zack folded his arms over his chest and nodded. His mouth tight, eyes narrowed, he said, "Now imagine what nasty little four-letter word it rhymes with."

  A moment. Then Kim laughed again. "Appropriate. Funny how I never thought of that before."

  "Doesn't matter. Tell me about Chuck. Since he's the guy standing between us at the moment, I figure I rate an introduction."

  Her smile slipped away. She felt it and didn't even try to retrieve it. Kim was long over the pain, but she had a feeling that the sting of humiliation, of betrayal, would stay with her to her dying day.

  "He asked me to marry him."

  "You said yes?"

  "Of course."

  He snorted again.

  "What?"

  "Nothing," he said. "Just go on."

  "Not much more to tell." She shrugged and the quilt dipped near her shoulder. She tugged it back into place. "We were engaged. Everyone was pleased. Such a good match. Old Savannah families. His father was a congressman, mine was thinking even then about a run for the Senate."

  "And?"

  "And," she let her gaze drift from his. She stared out the window into the moonlit backyard and looked instead at the moment that was still carved
into her memory. "We were at a party, but I had a headache. Wanted Charles to take me home. But I couldn't find him. No one had seen him for a while."

  She closed her eyes now and saw again the brilliantly lit dance floor, the acres of crystal glinting in the overhead lights. Saw the flash of diamonds around the necks of society matrons, heard the whisper of conversations drifting just beneath the dance music provided by a small orchestra at the end of the room.

  Kim remembered making her way outside. She could almost smell the jasmine, feel the wet heat of the summer air.

  "What happened when you found him?" Zack prompted.

  Kim opened her eyes and strangely, she was comforted by Zack's presence, even though she was standing there in little more than her bed clothes.

  "I heard voices coming from the gazebo. I walked across the grass, and heard Charles speaking, but I couldn't make out who was with him." She stiffened then, as the memory sharpened, like a cleaver, slicing through her heart again. Thank heaven, the slice it took this time was a lot smaller than it had been once. "When I was close enough, I heard Charles, carefully explaining to Elizabeth Coopersmith—"

  "Where do they get these names?" Zack reached out and took her hand.

  She chuckled at his exasperation and had to admit she felt better for telling him this story. His grip was warm and strong and steady and she was grateful for it. Stupid really, to still feel the sharp slap of humiliation, but there it was.

  She swallowed hard and pushed the rest of the words out, wanting it said. "Charles was telling Elizabeth that once he and I were married, he and Elizabeth could meet again. Seems he'd purchased her a condo outside Hilton Head and she was pouting because he hadn't been by to see what the decorator had accomplished."

  "Bastard."

  She smiled. "Oh, yes."

  "Did you hit him?"

  Kim sighed. "Why didn't I think of that?"

  "I don't know," he teased and she turned to look up at him. "You didn't have any trouble dusting me that night you tried to sneak past me."

  Her lips quirked and the tiny stab of pain eased back into the shadows where it usually stayed. "Yes, but I was too much the lady that night for anything so unseemly."

  "Too bad."

  "Yes, it is a shame."

  "So what did you do?"

  "Oh, I walked into the gazebo, handed Charles his ring back—it was a gaudy thing—and wished him and Elizabeth well."

  "Darlin', you let him off easy."

  "Not so easy," she said with a shrug of nonchalance she didn't quite feel. "He married her. Believe me, he's paying."

  "So you just walked away?"

  "It wasn't that civilized," she said. "After all, Charles made a point of telling me he'd been counting on the Danforth money. And that was why he'd put up with the cold fish that I was." She lifted her chin in defiance to an old memory. "Elizabeth had a few things to say as well, since she too had plans for my money—not that her family was poor, you understand. Just—"

  "Not as rich as yours."

  "Exactly."

  "Hmph. Who knew that rich people can come from the wrong side of the tracks, too?"

  Kim gave him a small, tired smile. "Not wrong exactly," she corrected, "just less right."

  "Oh, yeah, that makes sense."

  "Oh, I never said it made sense." She folded her arms across her chest and gave herself a hug.

  * * *

  Zack's insides fisted even tighter than his hands. He wanted to hunt down the miserable bastard who'd broken something fragile inside Kim. He wanted to beat the son of a bitch within an inch of his life, then heal him and start all over again.

  But he couldn't do any of that. Charles the third was out of Zack's reach. But Kim wasn't. Her expression and the old sorrow in her eyes pulled at him until it yanked something from him he hadn't really been sure existed.

  Tenderness.

  "Chuck was a moron."

  She laughed sharply. "True."

  "So consider the source when you think about anything the idiot had to say."

  "Oh, I do. Usually."

  "Good. Cold fish?" He shook his head. "You're no fish, peaches," he said and grinned when her mouth flattened into a firm line. She really hated it when he called her anything but Kim. So he'd tease her by giving her something to be mad at. Something to replace the misery of the memory she'd just lived through again.

  Reaching over, he cupped her face in his hands and stroked her high cheekbones with the pads of his thumbs. The feel of her skin against his was a jolt of liquid heat that rolled through him like a summer storm sweeping across the ocean.

  "Not a damn thing cold about you, darlin'," he said, swallowing hard to choke his own need back. "If ol' Chuck couldn't find the fire, maybe it was because he didn't have good enough kindling."

  She trembled under his touch, his words, and Zack felt that slight reaction shudder through him. This woman had some strong weapons. Weapons she was using effectively whether she was aware of it or not.

  "Zack…"

  "Me," he said, interrupting her quickly, "I'm a great little fire-starter. But I think your fires burn plenty hot enough without help."

  She shook her head, confused now as his words swirled around her and his hands continued to stroke her face. Regret shadowed the want in her cool green eyes and he knew they wouldn't be doing what he'd like to be doing. At least not tonight.

  "I can't do this," she said softly.

  "I know that," he said, feeling his own aching regret reach up to grab hold of his throat. "I'm just saying, don't let that bastard be the ruler you measure yourself by."

  "I don't. I haven't. Not for a long time."

  "Good."

  "You're not what I expected," she said, her voice as quiet and steady as the beat of her heart, pulsing at the base of her throat.

  "Yeah?" he asked, smoothing his hands into her hair, pushing it back from her face. It felt cool and soft as his fingers threaded through the long strands. He wanted to wrap them around his hands, pull her tightly to him and kiss her until neither one of them could think. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

  She sighed heavily then chewed on her bottom lip. "I think … it's a dangerous thing."

  He chuckled, though it was strained. "Lucky for you, there's a SEAL in the house. Nothing we like better than danger."

  "Lucky me." She gave him a wry smile, then turned her green eyes to him. Her eyes were remarkable. Within their depths he could see her emotions and deep dreams. And he could see himself reflected there, too.

  A part of Zack wanted to turn and bolt for cover. He'd never planned on being a part of someone's dream. Didn't know if he could. But damn, if she wasn't the one woman who could make him think about trying.

  "I'm uh … gonna go back to my room," he said, congratulating himself on being able to speak at all.

  She nodded as he stood back, letting his hands fall to his sides. "Probably safest that way."

  "Not the most fun, though," he quipped and gave her another smile, hoping she couldn't see what it cost him to turn and walk away from her.

  "Probably not."

  "I'm not him, you know," Zack said, his voice a low scrape of sound. "I don't give a good damn about your money or your family or, God help us, society."

  She laughed lightly and it sounded like the crystal ring of the wind chimes hanging outside her window. "I know."

  "Okay then," he said, backing up another step and then another until he'd rounded her bed and was safely at her door. "There is one thing you could do for me," he said, one hand on the doorknob, ready to shut himself out and away from her.

  "What's that?"

  His gaze dropped to the quilt she still held like an ancient shield in front of her. "It's been killing me for a week now, wondering just what you sleep in."

  Surprise lit her eyes and, just for a moment, he saw a flash of excitement. "That's probably not a good idea."

  "Probably not."

  She thought about it for a long
moment, long enough to have Zack imagining all kinds of wonderful things. Then she shook her head and that long, black hair flew back from her face. "Why don't we just leave it to your imagination, okay?"

  He didn't know if he was disappointed or relieved. Though he'd love to get a look at the woman behind that quilt, he was willing to admit that if he did, it would make sleeping even harder than it was already.

  "Doc," he assured her, "my imagination's what's killing me."

  "Good night, Zack."

  "For some of us," he said, shaking his head. Then, groaning, as the imagination she'd sentenced him to took over, he closed the door with the last of his strength.

  * * *

  Eight

  « ^ »

  To say things were a little tense around Kim's house would be like describing Mount Everest as a nice little hill.

  It had been three long days since Kim and Zack had stood opposite each other in the moonlight, separated only by an antique quilt. And every minute of every one of those days, Kim's mind had reminded her of what she'd turned down.

  And Zack wasn't helping any.

  She felt him watching her. Felt his gaze on her as surely as she would his touch. He hadn't made a move on her since that night, and she wasn't sure if she was grateful or not. Which was so absolutely contrary, it infuriated her.

  But she was walking a fine line between desire and logic. She felt on edge, as if every cell in her body was humming with an electrical charge. Her brain kept telling her that this would pass, and her body wanted her brain to shut up so it could get busy.

  Bottom line though, neither of them was happy.

  "Nice to find out at the ripe old age of twenty-eight that you're schizophrenic," she muttered to herself, staring unseeing at the landscape whizzing past the window of Zack's shiny black SUV.

  "You say something?"

  "No." Nothing she wanted to repeat.

  "So why are we doing this again?"

  She glanced at Zack and really tried not to sigh. But even her stoic mind had to allow her body to respond to Zack Sheridan in dress whites. In the dim light of the dashboard, he looked … way too good. She'd been attracted to the man in jeans and T-shirts. That same man in a dress white uniform was enough to make her want to stretch herself across the hood of the car and shout, "Take me now!"