He sat again, drawing her close until she was in his lap, her legs draped over his. He tugged her until her face was buried in his neck. The harsh scrape of his beard stubble abraded her skin but she didn’t mind. The warmth of his skin against hers pushed away the cold. His arms around her were tight. Strong. Steady.
She needed nothing more at that moment than to hold him, to be strong as she felt him breaking in her arms. They sat in silence, the connection of their bodies saying more than any words could.
“Thank you,” he whispered finally. “For believing in me.”
She pressed her lips to the pulse in his throat. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you sooner,” she said.
He kissed her forehead gently. “It happens. We all let the scars of our past color our present.”
He shifted then. A brush of his lips against her forehead. The stroke of her thumb against his neck. Tiny actions that drew on the tension, that claimed it and made it something more.
She lifted her mouth to his, opening for his kiss. His breath tangled with hers a moment before he kissed her. Something soft. Fierce. A gentle bite of pleasure that drew her deeper into the vortex of his touch.
She tugged at his shirt. He yanked hers over her head. She pulled open his pants. Passion spiraled wide to pull them both in, deeper. Closer to the center of this thing that was growing between them. Something stronger than either of them could have imagined.
A stapler crashed to the floor as he stood, laying her back on his desk, everything urgent and fierce and needy. He kissed her, hard and deep, while his tongue made love to her mouth. He slipped his fingers lower. Down over the slick edge of her panties to find her core, wet and swollen. He stroked her through her panties then, savoring the arch of her back, the sweet gasp that she made when he slipped a finger beneath the edge of the moist fabric to stroke her sensitive skin.
He wanted her mindless. Needed to lose himself in her passion, her drive, the blinding pleasure of her orgasm. He straightened between her knees, parting her, loving the way she looked spread on his desk. Wanton and wild and with complete abandon. He stood for a moment, his hands framing her hips, looking down at this woman who’d believed in him when he’d wanted to give up.
This woman who had pushed and prodded until he’d believed that he could do the right thing.
Who’d stood by him when he’d made the hardest decisions of his career—and the decision to fight for his men instead of abandoning the field.
He traced his tongue down her belly, overwhelmed by desire. He paused, placing a gentle kiss above the sweetest, swollen core. He kissed her then, a gentle kiss right at the heart of her. Her hips arced at the sharp, aching pleasure. He dragged his tongue over her, flicking that tiny swollen knot beneath the damp cotton of her panties. And then he stroked her, making love to her with his fingers and his mouth while she writhed on his desk. She was fucking primal. Gorgeous.
His.
Her body tightened on his fingers, her stomach tense beneath the hand he’d placed there to hold her captive.
And then she trembled. Exploded. Shattered. And still trembling, she shimmied her panties over her hips and opened her arms, urging him where he fit most perfectly.
He slid inside her then in a single, hard thrust. Savored the trembling, shaking remains of her orgasm as the remnants of her pleasure rocked through her, over him.
And when she was still, he met her eyes. Twined her fingers with his. And started to move. Slowly. Filling her, touching something deep, deep inside her. Something deep. Something primitive. Something pure.
She hooked her legs around his hips as he rocked against her. Slid her arms around his neck and drew him down. He never looked away from the promise held in her eyes.
From the genuine emotions looking back at him. The care. The concern.
The faith.
The love.
Ben shattered. In the darkness, in the center of her embrace, he lost a piece of himself he’d been clinging to.
And found something new, something he hadn’t realized he’d lost so long ago. He held her there, whispering her name in the darkness.
With Olivia. Tangled in her arms, they moved from the desk to the narrow sofa.
And in the sweet, lingering silence, she heard words she’d feared once upon a time. For so long, love had meant pain and betrayal. But right then, whispered across Ben’s lips, they were the sweetest sound she’d ever heard.
“I love you,” he whispered.
She curled into him. Draped her thigh over his and tangled her arms and legs with his. Pressed her lips to his throat. “I love you.”
It was the only response she could manage before tumbling over the edge and into something she’d never dared hope for herself.
Into love.
Epilogue
Three months later.
Olivia stepped out of her shower and shrieked.
Ben was sitting on her bathroom sink.
“That is seriously not funny, Ben!” She tugged the towel tight around her body, her hands shaking from the scare.
She hadn’t heard him sneak into her home. She should be used to having him in her space now but every so often, he surprised her.
He grinned at her and held out a tiny gold Godiva box. “I brought you a resupply.”
She glared at him, not at all mollified by the sudden appearance of emergency chocolate. He’d stopped by her office last week after a particularly draining legal briefing and they’d curled up on her office floor long after the rest of the staff had gone home, eating chocolate and laughing about the day.
“I’m quite positive that did not need to involve stalking me in the bathroom,” she said dryly.
“You don’t want it?” He held it up over her head, out of her reach.
She tipped her chin, refusing to surrender her dignity by reaching for it.
“I don’t want it in the bathroom while I’m naked,” she said.
Ben hopped off the counter and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. He was warm and dry where she was wet. Her skin chilled as the moisture evaporated. “Beautiful naked woman and decadent chocolate,” he murmured, leaning down to claim her mouth. “What could be more perfect?”
She leaned back to look up at him, tasting crisp white wine on his lips. “Have you been drinking?”
His grin was purely Ben. It was good to see him smiling more. To see the weariness fading. He still had trouble sleeping but it was better than it had been. He was always there when she woke up in the morning.
It was a good way to wake up.
“There may or may not be an open bottle of wine on the kitchen counter.”
“Really? The night is looking up.” She slipped her arms around his waist. “I thought I was meeting you for dinner.”
He shrugged. “I wanted to see you.” He nibbled on her bottom lip. “I don’t get to see you enough.”
It was true. They were a few months out from the deployment and they were busier than ever—and because Ben and Sorren had made a concerted effort to clean up their company, Ben saw less of Olivia during the day.
He regularly threatened to give out random Article Fifteens so he had an excuse to stop into her office more.
She relaxed into his touch, opening for his kiss. Her tongue traced his, sliding against his in erotic friction. “Hmmm. Dinner doesn’t sound nearly as good right now as this does,” she murmured, arching against him.
“You really should open the chocolate,” he whispered, nipping her earlobe.
There was a suspicious note in his voice. She leaned back, looking up at him through narrowed eyes. “What did you do to it?”
“Nothing.” His voice was pure innocence but she’d known him long enough to know he was lying.
“Ben.”
“Just open the box.” He left her standing there, wrapped in a towel.
For a moment, she was unable to move. Fear skittered down her spine as she rubbed her thumb along the edge of the tiny box. Nerves flutt
ered in her belly as she looked at the small container in her palm. Her breath caught in her throat as she slipped the pretty brown ribbon off and lifted the top.
A tiny black velvet pouch was nestled between four pieces of dark chocolate.
She looked up at him. His expression betrayed raw nerves; his eyes glittered darkly in the steamy bathroom. After a few seconds he left her alone.
Her fingers shook. He wouldn’t do this to her, would he? They hadn’t talked about this. Not at all. They were deploying in a few weeks.
She fumbled with the pouch. A tiny card slipped out.
She smiled then as her eyes burned. She blinked rapidly and kept reading.
Come into the kitchen.
She was far too curious to get dressed. Wrapped in her towel, she padded down the hall, stopping just before she entered the kitchen. Ben stood at the counter, fiddling with the cork in the top of the bottle of wine. His thumb flicked over the edge, a nervous tick.
“Shit,” he mumbled, then turned toward her.
He froze, his gaze dropping down her body in an intimate, dark caress.
She’d stopped at the edge of the carpet.
“What happens if I come into the kitchen?” she whispered.
His throat moved as he swallowed. “You’ll have to come to find out.” His voice was thick. Nervous.
Olivia didn’t move as she sought to control the violent emotions rioting inside her. Questions. Fears.
Fears she saw looking back at her from his dark eyes.
Finally she took a single step. The tile was cold on her bare foot but only for an instant before Ben met her halfway. He sucked in a deep breath, lifting her against him. Holding her close as though he was afraid she wouldn’t take that step.
“I’m not really good on big gestures and all that,” he whispered. He set her down gently. He captured her left hand. “But I was hoping you’d marry me.” He stroked his thumb over her ring finger.
“I know we didn’t talk about it…” He looked down at her.
She didn’t move, watching the emotion play out over his face. Disbelief. Amazement.
And finally she gave a single nod. He cradled her face in his palms. She laughed then lost herself in his kiss, his touch. He set her on the counter. “You said yes.”
“Yeah,” she whispered. “Maybe I like having you around.”
“You did that on purpose, didn’t you,” he growled against her mouth.
“What, made you wait?” She threaded her arms around his shoulders. “Maybe.”
“That was really a really screwed up thing to do, toying with my emotions that way.” His thumb brushed over her cheek and he lowered his forehead to hers. “I’m not sure how this whole going-to-war-together thing is going to work,” he whispered. Deployment was looming closer and closer.
“Does it worry you? Me being there with you?”
“I’d be lying if I told you no,” he said quietly. “I’m not sure I won’t completely lose my shit if you get yourself hurt.”
She kissed him gently, moved by his concern. “I’ll do my best not to get blown up.”
He wasn’t kidding. His eyes were darkly serious. His fingers tensed on her cheeks.
She lifted his face until he looked at her. “Ben, I was kidding.”
She knew the look on his face. Serious Ben was always such a stark change from how he was normally. “I don’t know how guys do this,” he said. “I can go. I can lead patrols and do what I do. But I don’t know how I’m going to deal with you being out in sector with the colonel. I don’t know how I’m going to deal with you being out there, at risk.”
“Just like you deal when your soldiers go out. You train them to be the best you can, then you have to let go.”
He lowered his forehead back to hers. “It’s not the same. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with one of my soldiers. I want to spend it with you,” he whispered. “And I’d like that to be a really long time.” He kissed her gently. “So no getting blown up, okay?”
She brushed her lips against his. “Same goes for you, too.”
She didn’t know how to answer his fear. Didn’t know how to assuage it or help him face it. Instead, she did the only thing she knew how to do.
She dropped the towel from her body. Wrapped her legs around his hips. And made love to the man she wanted to spend her life with.
About the Author
USA Today bestselling author Jessica Scott is a career army officer; mother of two daughters, three cats, and three dogs; wife to a career NCO; and wrangler of all things stuffed and fluffy. She is a terrible cook and an even worse housekeeper, but she’s a pretty good shot with her assigned weapon, and someone liked some of the stuff she wrote. Somehow, her children are pretty well adjusted and her husband still loves her, despite burned water and a messy house.
She’s written for the New York Times’s At War blog, PBS’s POV: Regarding War blog, and Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America. She deployed to Iraq in 2009 as part of Operation Iraqi Freedom/New Dawn and has served as a company commander at Fort Hood, Texas.
She’s pursuing a PhD in sociology in her spare time, and most recently she’s been featured as one of Esquire magazine’s Americans of the Year for 2012.
Learn more at:
JessicaScott.net
Twitter, @JessicaScott09
Facebook.com/JessicaScottAuthor
Turn the page for an excerpt from the first book in the Coming Home series
Back to You
Available now!
Prologue
Fort Hood, 2007
“I put your checkbook in the front pocket of your rucksack. Did you find the sleep medication? You’ll need to sleep on the plane so that you’re rested when you land. And I put your calling card—”
Captain Trent Davila looked up from where he sat on the edge of their bathtub. He held a tiny folded flag in his hands. For a moment, he’d been somewhere else. Sulfur scorched the inside of his nose. The thunder of the fifty cal reverberated off his breastbone.
“What’s that?” she asked softly, watching him from the bathroom door.
He held out his palm so she could see the little flag. “Good luck charm. I can’t deploy without it.”
Questions flickered over her face as her gaze fell onto that tiny flag. She bit her lip and turned away, but not before he saw the naked fear looking back at him.
He moved, stepping in front of his wife and capturing her face in his palms. Her skin was smooth and soft and achingly familiar, and a deep part of his soul missed her already.
But that part of his soul wasn’t in control right now. The moment she touched him, his soul recoiled, refusing to let him take even the simplest pleasure in her touch.
He’d cheated death and he knew, knew he didn’t deserve to be there with his wife when so many of his men had died.
That’s why he had to leave. Again. It didn’t matter to where. It didn’t matter if it was the war in Iraq or a transition team somewhere in the mountains of Afghanistan. He needed to get away. To get back into the fight.
And pray that his wife would understand why he had to go.
“Laura.” He whispered her name, capturing her attention.
She tried to look away, to pretend that today was just another day. But Trent knew her too well. He saw the doubt and the fear that she tried to hide. Her eyes, though, her eyes always gave her away. He stroked an errant strand of copper hair away from her forehead, meeting her golden eyes, unable to speak any words of comfort. He knew they’d just be more empty lies.
She offered a watery smile. “I’m terrified of losing you again,” she whispered.
“I’ve deployed since I got hurt. This time is no different.”
“You didn’t get hurt.” She refused to meet his gaze. “You died. Your heart actually stopped beating. And this time is worse. This is the Surge.” Her voice broke. “I can’t lose you again,” she whispered. Her voice cracked as the tears tumbled down her cheeks.
He hated to see her cry. Worse, he knew he could prevent those tears.
He pulled her close and simply held her, wishing he could feel as alive with his wife and family as he did when he was at war. Maybe someday, when the war was over, he could figure out what had broken inside him and how to fix it.
He stroked his thumbs over her cheeks as the kids shrieked in Ethan’s bedroom. The sound sent a spike of anxiety through Trent’s heart, but he smiled, hoping to cheer her up. “Sounds like someone just lost a Lego.”
“Daddy!”
“He’s probably going to beg you for a hamster again,” she said. Laura swiped at her eyes, blinking rapidly. “Can’t let them see me like this.”
He slid from her embrace, regret sealing the walls that four deployments had erected around his heart. Trent tried not to notice how intently Laura watched him, her gaze sweeping over the scars on his body as he finished getting dressed. His dog tags banged against his ribs as he dragged his t-shirt over his head and pulled on the rest of his uniform and then his boots.
“Well, you could get one,” Trent said, needing the distraction of simple conversation.
“Or,” Laura said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, “you could promise him one when you get home. It’ll give him something to look forward to.”
Trent frowned at the odd note in Laura’s voice and focused on tying his boots and tucking the laces beneath the cuffs of his pants. “He won’t even notice I’m gone. They’re both too little.”
Trent straightened as Laura approached, placing her palm over the scar on his heart. It burned where she touched him. It took everything he had not to flinch away from the gentleness in that touch. “Keep telling yourself that,” she said with a soft kiss. “They miss you when you’re gone. We all do.”
He sighed quietly and glanced at her, resting his hands gently on her hips. “Laura, you know I have to go.”
He couldn’t explain it. Didn’t have the words to explain the emptiness inside him that consumed every waking moment when he wasn’t over there. And worse, he didn’t ever want her to see the emptiness he tried so hard to hide from her.
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