Everyday, Average Jones

by Suzanne Brockmann

  Romantic was the wondrous look in his eyes that she'd seen when he'd touched her and felt their baby move.

  Romantic was Jones, driving home from New Hampshire after they'd found Andy, furtively wiping tears of relief from his eyes when he thought she wasn't looking.

  Romantic was the way he could gaze at her from across the room—the way he was gazing at her right now—as if she were the most beautiful, most desirable woman on the entire planet. His eyelids were slightly lowered, and the intensity of the expression on his face would be a little frightening if not for the small smile playing around the corners of his lips.

  She'd seen that smile before. In Paris. And she knew for a fact that Jones had the ability and the wherewithal to make everything that little smile promised come true.

  She turned away, her cheeks heating with a blush. She didn't want this man, she reminded herself. She didn't love him. God help her, she didn't want to love him....

  "Gentlemen," Abby Cloutier announced, "grab a floor mat and some pillows and find your ladies. We're going to do some simple breathing and relaxation exercises to get you started."

  Across the room, Jones waited patiently for a chance to take a mat from the pile. As if he felt Melody watching him, he looked up at her again and smiled. It was a tentative, apologetic smile, as if he knew what was coming and how much the thought of his touching her scared her.

  Scared her and exhilarated her.

  "Gentlemen, sit down on the mat and use your bodies and the pillows to make as comfortable a nest as you possibly can for your ladies," Abby continued.

  Jones set the mat and the pillows toward the back of the room, giving them what little privacy he could. No doubt he was well aware of the curious glances they'd been receiving all evening long. Appleton was a fairly conservative community, and they were the only unmarried pair in the group—although a few of the younger couples looked as if there had been a shotgun present at their nuptials.

  He sat down, imitating their classmates as he spread his long legs for her to sit nestled against him, as if they were riding a toboggan.

  Knowing it would be far worse if she hesitated and stood there gaping at him like some landed fish, Melody lowered herself to the mat. At least this way, she would keep her back to him. At least this way, he wouldn't see the blush that was heating her cheeks. At least this way, she wouldn't have to gaze into his eyes or watch his lips curve up into one of his smiles. At least this way, she wouldn't be tempted to do something foolish, such as kiss him.

  She gingerly inched her way back, bumping against the inside of his knee. "Oh, I'm sorry!"

  "That's all right, honey. Keep coming on back."

  She didn't dare look at him. "Are you sure? It's a little warm in here, and I'm not exactly a lightweight these days."

  "Mel. You're supposed to lean against me. How're you going to relax if you're not leaning back?"

  How was she supposed to relax, leaning back against this outrageously sexy man's solid chest, her legs against the inside of his thighs?

  "Come on," he whispered. "I promise it won't be that bad."

  Bad wasn't what she was afraid of. She was afraid it was going to be irresistibly good.

  "Get comfortable, ladies," Abby ordered.

  Melody inched farther back, closing her eyes as Jones took control and pulled her in close. Too close. He put his arms around her, the palms of his hands against her belly, and she felt both impossibly safe and in terrible peril. She felt his breath, soft against her ear. She felt his heart beating against her back. She didn't want to move, didn't want to talk. She just wanted to sit there with him like this. Forever.

  And that was absolutely the wrong thing to be thinking.

  "This makes me really uncomfortable," she whispered. It was both a lie and the understatement of the year.

  "Sorry—I'm sorry." He removed his hands but then didn't know quite where to put them.

  God, now she'd gone and made him tense, too.

  Abby's voice was just a drone in the background. She was saying something about breathing, about the importance of taking a deep cleansing breath before and after contractions. Melody inhaled deeply through her nose, releasing her breath through her mouth, along with the rest of the class.

  She tried her best to follow the breathing exercises but knew without a doubt that she was retaining absolutely nothing. Come tomorrow morning, she would remember none of this—except for the way Jones smelled, and the warmth of his body pressed against her, and...

  "...back rub while she's doing this." Abby's voice cut into her thoughts. "Come on, guys, make her feel good."

  "At last," Jones said, trying to make light of it. "I'm finally going to get a chance to give you a back rub."

  Melody closed her eyes. There was nothing even remotely funny here. She remembered his back rubs far too well. They had involved a great deal more of both of their anatomies than simply her back and his hands.

  She felt him move aside the mass of her long hair, felt his hands touch her shoulders, his fingers gently massaging the too tense muscles in her upper back and neck. She tried to focus on her breathing, but with him touching her that way, she could barely get a breath in, let alone push one out.

  "Tell her how wonderfully she's doing, gentlemen," Abby urged. "Tell her how beautiful she is. Tell her how much you love her. Don't hold back. Practice letting her know. When she's in labour, she's going to need to hear all these little things you take for granted."

  "Don't you dare say anything," Melody said from between clenched teeth.

  His husky laughter moved the hair next to her ear. "Are you kidding?" he asked. "I wouldn't dream of it. I'm supposed to be relaxing you, not getting you more tense. I know you pretty well by now, Mel—enough to know that when you look into a mirror, you don't see what I see. I happen to think you're crazy, but this is not the time to debate the issue."

  "...called effleurage," Abby was saying. "It's a French word, meaning to stroke or lightly massage. Gentlemen, when your lady is in labour, it may comfort her to stroke her abdomen very lightly in a circular motion. Ladies, let him know the right amount of pressure. Tell him what feels good. Don't be shy."

  Melody closed her eyes tightly as Jones's long fingers caressed the mountain that was her belly. Somehow he knew exactly how to touch her. Watching those powerful-looking hands touch her so exquisitely gently was enough to make her dizzy.

  "Is this all right?" he asked. "Am I doing this right?"

  She managed to nod. Right was not quite the word for what he was doing.

  "How's your lower back?" he asked, using his other hand to reach between them and massage her. "This is where you're always hurting the most, isn't it?"

  She nodded again, unable to speak.

  "Are you focusing on the breathing?" he asked, his voice soft and soothing in her ear. "If I know you, you're not. You're thinking about something else entirely—about Brittany and Andy, about what's going on over at the Romanellas'. You're always thinking and worrying about someone else, but right now, you've got to clear your mind and think only about yourself. Relax and breathe and just shut everything else out." He laughed softly. "I know that's hard because I'm probably the one problem you'd like to shut out the most, right?"

  Wrong. Jones was wrong. He was incredibly, impossibly, amazingly, totally wrong. Melody realized with a sudden startling clarity that she didn't want to shut him out. She'd tried, but he'd been doggedly persistent, and somehow, someway, over the past few weeks, he'd gone from former lover and near stranger to dear friend.

  He'd been patient and he'd let her see that although he would never be called average or normal, there was a part of him that could be content just sitting on the porch, talking and watching the sunset. He'd taken his time and told her stories about himself as a boy, about growing up, so she felt she had a good sense of him, of why he did the things he did. And his dealings with Andy had told her even more about the kind of man he'd become.

  He was the
kind of man she could fall in love with.

  The kind of man she had fallen in love with.

  I know you pretty well by now, he'd said. If I know you... He did know her. And she knew him.

  Oh, she didn't know him completely. Even if she spent the rest of her life with him, there'd still be secrets she knew he'd never share with her. And even the parts of him she did know, she'd never totally understand. His need to risk his life, to be a SEAL. But even though she didn't understand it, she could appreciate it. And God knows he was good at what he did.

  She was starting to believe that if he did marry her, he would stick by her—for the rest of his life, if need be. If he made a vow, he wouldn't break it. He had the strength and the willpower to keep to his word, no matter how hard.

  But would that be enough for her? Knowing that he was with her not out of love, but out of duty? Was it possible that her own feelings for him were strong enough to sustain them both?

  She didn't think so.

  She knew he liked her. And although she couldn't quite believe it, he seemed to desire her. But unless he loved her, truly loved her, she couldn't marry him. Could she?

  "Mel, you're tightening up again," Jones whispered. "Just let it go. Whatever you're wrestling with, just give it up, throw it away."

  "We're out of time," Abby announced. "The next class is about to break down the doors, so just leave your mats and pillows where they are. Next week, we're going to work on Modified-Paced Breathing and the Progressive Relaxation Exercise, so read over those sections in your books—it'll save us a little time. Ladies, remember to do your stretches and your Kegels!"

  Jones helped Melody to her feet He would've held on to her hand, but she pulled away, afraid he would somehow know the awful truth just from touching her. She'd done what she'd sworn she wouldn't do. She'd fallen in love with him. She was doomed.

  A shadow flickered in his eyes, and all at once he looked about as tired as she felt. "You're never going be able to relax around me, are you?" It was a rhetorical question, and he didn't wait for her to answer. "It was stupid to think I could be your labour coach. Come on, let's get you home. You look beat."

  He was careful not to touch her again as he opened the door for her. And he was noticeably silent in the car on the way home. And it wasn't until they pulled into the driveway that Melody gathered up the nerve to speak.

  "Jones, I'm sorry...I, um..." What could she possibly say? I love you? She wasn't sure she'd ever be able to tell him that. Not with words anyway. Not in this lifetime.

  He pulled up the parking brake and turned to face her. "Mel, look, I've been thinking about...a lot of things. Andy. Our baby. You and me. You—what you want and what you don't want." The muscle in his jaw was jumping. "As in me."

  "Jones—"

  He stopped her by holding up one hand. "I need to say this, so please let me talk. I think it's kind of obvious that my parenting skills need a lot of work. I'm not sure anymore that I should help you raise our child.

  "But I keep coming back to the fact that I don't want this kid growing up thinking I don't give a damn. Because I do. I do." His voice broke, and he took a deep breath, steadying himself. "I care about him, but I care about you, too. And what Andy said is right. If you marry me, you'll never find someone that you can really love, someone who can be a real father to our baby."

  "Jones—"

  "Hush and let me finish. I'm giving you your deal, Melody. You acknowledge that the baby's mine, put my name on his birth certificate, let me come and visit a couple times a year. I'll want to pay child support, too, but we can have our lawyers work that out."

  He cleared his throat. "My only other condition is that I'd like to be there when the baby's born. I know there's no real way to be certain when that's going to take place, but it's not likely to happen within the next three weeks. So I figure what I'll do is pack up and head back to base as soon as possible. I'll apply for additional leave at the start of December, and then we'll just cross our fingers and hope it happens sooner rather than later."

  Melody was speechless. He was accepting her deal. He had it all figured out, down to being there when the baby was born. He was capitulating, backing down, giving in. She could barely believe it.

  Didn't he realize that she was on the verge of surrender herself?

  But there was no need to worry anymore. She'd won.

  So why did she feel as if she'd lost?

  Chapter 14

  Cowboy stood on the steps of the porch, waiting while Melody unlocked the front door. He was making sure she got safely inside before he returned to his tent. He'd grab a combat nap—just enough to refresh him—and then he'd pack up and walk over to the gas station by the highway, bum a ride off someone heading into Boston. Once in town, he'd take the T to Logan Airport. By sunup, he'd be wheels up, heading back to base.

  Harvard had told him most of Alpha Squad had long since returned to Virginia. After a great deal of bitching and moaning, FInCOM was ready to negotiate with Joe Cat about the counter-terrorist training session. It looked as if FInCOM would keep its rule book with the understanding that the program was going to happen on a trial basis only. Although latest word was that the combined SEAL/FInCOM training program wouldn't happen until spring—May or June at the earliest.

  Which left Alpha Squad with a looong time to prepare. But as they waited, of course, they were ready to go wherever they were needed at a moment's notice.

  The moon had risen above the trees, and its silvery light made Melody's face seem exquisitely otherworldly as she pushed open the door and then turned to face him. "Good night."

  "You are beautiful, you know."

  She closed her eyes. "Jones, we're done. We've come to an agreement. There's no need for you to—"

  "Yeah, I know," he interrupted. "I figure that's why I can say it. I don't have to worry anymore about you freaking out and running away. Hell, I don't have to stop there. I can tell you that despite what you think, you're the sexiest lady I've ever known."

  She tried to make a joke of it. "Well, sure, you're a SEAL. After spending all that time in the ocean, it's no wonder you'd be attracted to someone who reminds you of a whale."

  Cowboy didn't laugh. "You know what you remind me of?"

  "A circus tent?"

  He refused to acknowledge her attempts at humour. He continued as if she hadn't spoken. "You remind me of the hottest, most powerful sex I've ever had in my life. Every time I see you, I think about what we did to make you look that way. I think about locking myself in that bathroom with you on board that 747. I think about the way you made me feel, about the fact that for the first time in my entire life, I honest to God didn't care that I didn't have a condom."

  He lowered his voice. "I think about the way you kissed me when you climaxed so you wouldn't cry out. I look at you, Melody, and I remember every stroke, every touch, every kiss. I look at you, and all I can think about is how badly I want another chance to make love to you like that again."

  Melody was silent, just staring at him, her eyes wide.

  "So," Cowboy said, "now you know."

  She still didn't say a word. But she didn't run away, either.

  He took a step toward her, and then another step, and she still didn't move. "I may be way out of line here—no, I know I'm way out of line, but I figure as long as I'm being brutally honest, I have to tell you that I've spent these past few weeks damn near tied in knots from wanting you so badly. I wanted you and I thought I needed you, but I found out today that wanting and needing aren't the same thing. Need's not about sex, is it? Not really. Because today I needed you more than I've ever needed anyone, and you were there for me." He forced a smile. "And what do you know? We had our clothes on the entire time."

  He touched her hair, touched the softness of her cheek. "Look at me," he said. "Still putting the moves on you. We've reached an understanding, made an agreement. We've achieved a friendship of sorts, and I still can't seem to back away. I still want you more
than I've ever wanted any woman,"

  She was trembling. He knew damn well that kissing her wasn't the gallant, gentlemanly thing to do, but he couldn't keep himself from lowering his mouth to hers.

  She tasted so sweet, so perfect. Her lips were deliciously soft, exquisitely inviting. He pulled her closer, and the tautness of her belly pressed against him. He loved the way she felt beneath his hands, loved the way she seemed to sigh and melt against him as he kissed her again, deeper, longer, but just as slowly and gently.

  "Come inside," she whispered. Her eyes were soft and dreamy as she gazed up at him. "Please?'' Her fingers were laced through his hair, and she tugged his head down toward her to kiss him again.

  She kissed him.

  Cowboy knew he should turn and walk away. He knew nothing had changed. He was still going to have to leave tomorrow. But hell, it was entirely possible that she was doing this because he was leaving.

  He broke free from her kiss. "Mel, are you sure?"

  "Yes."

  Yes. It wasn't something he needed to hear twice.

  She took his hand and drew him into the house. She didn't say another word as she led him toward the stairs and up to her bedroom.

  Cowboy felt compelled to speak. "Honey, I don't have any condoms. Again."

  She glanced back at him. "Jones, it's not as if you're going to get me pregnant," she said. "Again."

  "Still, I was reading this whole huge debate about whether or not women should have sexual relations in the eighth and ninth months of their pregnancies," he told her. "The consensus was unless the pregnancy was high risk, anything goes. Except there was a minority who seemed to think unprotected sex increased the risk of potential infection to the baby."

  She'd gone into her room without turning the light on and now stood there in the moonlight, gazing at him. "Sometimes I think you go a teeny bit overboard with your research. My garden, for instance. It looks as if it's ready for a Siberian winter. All I really needed was someone to clear out the dead plants and throw down a little mulch." A smile softened her words. "Thank you for taking care of it, by the way."