by Mina Carter
“Wear whatever you feel comfortable wearing,” the photographer, a last minute replacement for the one Mr. Russo had arranged, called over. She’d introduced herself as Jamie. Young, and blonde, she was rather chirpy. A little too chirpy and interested in Rick for Hattie’s liking. “What’s important is that you don’t worry about me pointing the camera at you.”
He huffed. “Lass, I am…was…a professional soldier. You pointing a camera won’t worry me. An RPG, maybe, but nae a camera.”
Jamie laughed, a light, melodious sound that grated on Hattie’s last nerve. “I promise to only shoot you in a good way. Just have a look around, but if you don’t like anything in there, tactical pants, dog tags, and some camouflage paint will do. The more flesh we get, the more of these calendars we’ll sell.” Looking into her bag, she frowned. “Oh, damn. I need my backup. You guys be cool there while I run and get it?”
“Oh, sure thing, hon.” Hattie leapt on the opportunity, giving the blonde her best smile. “Take your time. We’ll be ready for you when you get back.”
Jamie disappeared out to her car and Hattie caught a small grin playing at the corners of Rick’s lips.
“What?” she demanded, avoiding his gaze to pick up a small bag from the props box. Silver chains slithered out and three sets of dog tags fell into her hands.
“Oh, nothing.” The deep chuckle said he’d noticed her avoiding his gaze. “I’m good. Thought you were gonna start snarling there for a moment, though.”
She unknotted the chains from their stranglehold on each other and held them out for his approval.
Flicking a glance at them, he grimaced. “I’m no’ wearing them. They’re the wrong bloody shape.”
“Huh? What do you mean the wrong shape? They’re like Billy used to wear.” She examined the necklaces. Dog tags were dog tags, weren’t they? How could they be the wrong shape?
“Ach,” Rick huffed, his accent thicker than normal. She’d noticed that about him earlier. When he’d spoken in the car, telling her what happened, his lovely burr had become pronounced. She liked it, but not if he had to get stressed for her to hear it.
“It’s just me being daft.” He picked one of the chains, looping it around his neck. “British ones are different.”
“They are? How odd.”
He started to unbutton his shirt and hijacked her attention by each new sliver of skin he revealed. She’d seen him with his shirt off before, when he’d shown her his scars. But that had been different. Not out and out ogling.
“Should I give a little twirl?”
Damn it, he’d caught her staring again. Heat flared over her cheeks in a burning tide.
“Uh, no. You’re okay. Once you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all,” she managed then changed the subject. “You’re not what I expected.”
Rick paused with the shirt half off. The pose highlighted the heavy musculature of his shoulders and chest, the scars pale against his tanned skin. “I’m not? Why…what did you expect?”
“I’m not sure.” She shrugged and perched on the edge of the wall next to the costume box. The location had turned out to be an unused industrial building. Perfect for an urban warrior, military-themed photo shoot. “I guess I didn’t expect you to be so…normal.”
“Yeah. Because all squaddies leap buildings in a single bound and all that.” He chuckled and folded the shirt neatly, searching for somewhere to put it. Automatically she held her hand out, took the shirt to draped it over the short wall she sat on.
Silence fell while he contemplated several pairs of pants laid out on the side of the box. Grabbing a black pair, he glanced around, evidently searching for a place to change. The interior of the building had been stripped to bare walls and structural beams. He paused. Hattie caught her breath, heart pounding. He wasn’t going to drop his pants and change right in front of her…was he?
She barely held in the squeak as he vaulted over the wall. “No peeking, lass,” he warned.
Hattie shook her head, hands in her lap, trying to get her heart rate back to normal. What is the matter with me? She’d gone from no interest in men to near palpitations at the thought of seeing one change his pants? Perhaps I’m coming down with something.
Cloth rustled behind her then two dull thuds. His boots. She bit her lip. Why the hell did the photographer have to pick a location with no reflective surfaces? Within a minute, Rick swung one leg and then the other over the wall and sat next to her, so close the heat of his body beat against her arm, and the faint scent of his cologne, citrus and woodsy, reached her nose.
“You’re easy to talk to.” His admission was soft and unexpected.
“I am? Why?”
His intent blue gaze met hers. “Yeah. You don’t ask stupid questions.”
“Like?” Oh, great. Reduced to one-word sentences. Score one for Hattie being able to phrase a thought in the presence of a half-naked guy.
His expression became serious, his eyes dark and blank. “You don’t ask if I’ve killed anyone.”
Shit, talk about deep territory. She had to be careful with her answer. He’d opened up to her, so she owed him nothing less than complete honesty.
“You’re a soldier. It’s a given that you might have had to. But I don’t need to make you relive that experience by asking questions out of mere curiosity.”
“Thank you,” he said, then leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.
Romance had never been Rick’s forte, not because he didn’t want to be romantic, but more through lack of experience. Most lasses who flirted with a soldier in a bar weren’t in it for the long haul. Not when it meant months alone while he was out of the country, and that was just for the regular forces. It was even worse for Regiment wives. Often the families had little to no contact with their men. Hell, half the time they didn’t even know where in the world the men were.
So he had no idea what possessed him to kiss Hattie at that moment, but one thing for sure—as soon as he did, he was a goner. She started a little in surprise, but a heartbeat later, she softened, her lips warm and welcoming.
He meant the mere brush of his mouth against hers to be a small thing, a barely there touch, but it wasn’t enough. Might never be enough. Tilting his head to the side, he tested the seam of her lips gently. Reconnaissance. Seeing if the little glances she’d been giving him all morning were what he’d thought, or a product of his own imagination.
She didn’t respond for a moment, and his heart sank. Crap, he’d misread and totally fucked up the situation.
He began to pull away, but she made a little noise in the back of her throat and eased closer, the tiny movement barely perceptible. Male triumph and need flared through him, a tidal wave of lust searing all other thoughts but those of her from his mind. A groan escaped him. He opened his arms and she settled into them, smoothing her small hands over his shoulders, and a quick swipe of her tongue stole his breath away.
She murmured in amusement, the small sound transferred between their close bodies, and took advantage of his gasp to slide into his mouth, teasing and tempting him in a dance of wet heat. Fuck, yeah. He was in for some of that. Now she’d initiated things, Rick wasn’t one to walk away. Hell, no.
Shoving his hands into her hair, he kissed her like his life depended on it. Everything else fell away. The memories of the therapy, the incident that had caused it…even his reason for being in the States. For finding her. Next to the feel of her lips on his and the soft curves pressing into the harder lines of his body, everything else could take a long walk off a short pier. If he could freeze time, he’d die a happy man, with all he ever needed in life.
“That wa—ohh, so sorry!”
They were so wrapped up in their own little world that the photographer’s return startled them both. Hattie jumped, tearing herself away, and became very interested in the contents of the prop box. Bright red banners highlighted her cheeks, making him smile. So little Miss Hattie wasn’t as bold as she appeared.
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��No worries.” Ignoring the bulge in his tactical pants, he pushed to his feet and walked past her, diverting Jamie’s attention. Hopefully, she wouldn’t look down. “We ready to do this?”
The next hour passed in a blur. Far from being giggly and ditzy, as Rick had feared from her airhead blonde act, as soon as she lifted the camera, the young photographer was all business. He flexed and stretched, sprawled over metal stairs, and did pull-ups from an exposed beam, all with her encouragement.
That’s great, darling. Just a little twist to the side. Smolder at the camera. You look fabulous.
Rick didn’t care if he looked fan-fucking-tastic, nor about the camera pointed at him. Most of his attention remained on the curvy brunette who sat well behind the lights. Watched Hattie as she watched him, without making it obvious. She was, in a word, gorgeous. Petite, curvy and with a face to tempt an angel. And Rick was oh-so-not an angel. Far from it. He had a wicked streak that would make the devil himself green with envy.
“—at all?”
Blinking, he realized Jamie had spoken. “I’m sorry?”
She smiled and readjusted a light. “I was just saying, and not meaning to cause offense, but didn’t you ever think of getting surgery? For the….” She waved in the general direction of his chest, and the scars scattered over his skin. When he stared down and back up, dumbfounded, she blushed bright pink. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. You don’t seem bothered by them and I wondered why.”
“Oh!” The penny dropped. Rick offered a quick grin. “Nah, lass. No offense taken. Bein’ honest, I was offered it. The whole counseling and cosmetic surgery thing, ye know? But…they’re like memories. The scars,” he clarified at her blank expression. Behind her, Hattie moved closer. Listening in. “They remind me of the people I’ve lost and, well, to get rid of them seems wrong. Like a betrayal.”
He shrugged, making his shoulder click to ease its stiffness. Too many pull-ups trying to impress the ladies present. Or one of them, anyway. “And the counseling, I didnae see the point in. I’ve got a gobby cow of a sister to tell me I’m no right in the head. Don’t need a doctor to tell me that as well.”
Hattie gawked at him. “You have a sister?”
Jamie might as well have not been there for all the attention he and Hattie paid to her. Rick smiled and ran a hand through his hair. “Aye, a twin. Name’s Rachel.”
“A twin….” Comprehension dawned on her face. “Is that who you were talking to last night?”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she stopped, eyes widening as color spread over her cheeks. Rick hid his grin. She hadn’t meant to say that, had she? Pride and triumph hit him. She’s jealous. Jealous that he’d been talking to another woman, not realizing it’d been his sister.
“Aye. We speak most days, unless—” He cut off, but her small nod indicated she knew what he’d been about to say. Unless he was operational, out in the field somewhere, in combat.
“Twins,” Jamie muttered, a speculative gleam in her eyes. “If she’s got the same good genes as you, I’d kill to get you both in a shoot.”
The comment broke the tension and Rick chuckled. “Oh, believe me, compared to Rach, I’m the back end of a bus. She got the beauty and the brains. I got what was left.”
“Looks good enough to me from these shots,” the younger woman smiled, raising the camera again. “Let’s get some shots of you, foot on that pile of bricks, glancing over your shoulder at me.”
“Aye, cap’n.” Rick fired off a mock salute and turned to do as she’d asked.
And that’s when he saw it.
Every muscle in his body locked tight as his gaze riveted on the sand in front of him. Doodles drawn in it with a stick, to pass the time. Circular but geometric at the same time, exactly like the ones he’d seen in an alley. Unique to one man.
Billy.
Chapter Five
“That was a great party.” Hattie sighed with pleasure, the sound morphing into a yawn. She kicked her shoes off and walked past the living room into the kitchen, wriggling her toes in relief. Heels always seemed like such a good idea at the beginning of the night, but by the end, they were the work of the devil. She’d never wear them again. Well, until next week maybe….
“It was,” Rick agreed, closing the door behind them and following her to take a seat on one of the stools by the counter. “People were so friendly.”
“You expected any different?” She glanced over her shoulder. “You want something to drink?”
He’d been a little quiet since the photo shoot the day before, which made her uneasy. It had taken her a while to convince him to go to the party, arguing that it was the Fourth of July. He couldn’t visit the US on the Fourth and not join in the celebrations. That was not right.
“A coffee would be lovely, thanks. And I’m not sure they all knew about Billy, but….” He shrugged, his broad shoulders pulling in all kinds of interesting ways against the blue shirt he wore. “I expected them to be, I dunno.”
“Pissed that you came home and he didn’t?” Hattie didn’t mince her words, going right for the jugular. She lined mugs in front of the pot as it began to boil. In the silence that fell, she poured water into the cups, stirring in instant coffee. Damn, she really needed to get a new coffee machine.
A masculine sigh sounded behind her, like the weight of the world rested on its owner’s shoulders. She crossed the space between them, the steaming brew in her hands.
“Yeah.” The admission was low, as though dragged from the depths of his soul. His shoulders were bowed in a defeated line as he stared at his hands.
For a second, Hattie froze. This is new. From the moment he’d breezed into her life two days before, he’d been nothing but confident. Not brash or arrogant, but a man who knew his place in the world. One who’d been to war and come back with all his limbs, and stories to tell. Yet now she saw that wasn’t the truth. The confident, go-getter attitude masked something else. Despite his easygoing manner, he had a smile that hid damage. Scars still festering out of sight.
Quietly, she set the coffee to the side. Everything about him screamed pain and defeat, and everything within her needed to ease that hurt. Needed to make it better.
“Hey.” Crowding the personal space he kept around himself like a cloak to warn others off, she forced him to look up at her with a finger under his chin. A small move, but it brought her within range of his broad chest, the heavy muscles she’d been dreaming about since the shoot hidden by blue cotton. If he hadn’t admitted he’d been injured not so many months ago, she’d never have guessed. Not with the way he moved, with the energy and vibrancy of a much younger man. Had he been hoping to come home and go active service again? Her heart rebelled at the thought of him being hurt again, or worse.
“You came home. That’s what matters to them, that someone came home. No, others didn’t make it and for that we’re all sorry, but no one blames you for being one of the ones who did. No one would ever blame you for that.”
“It’s not that.” He glanced up, and the pain and guilt in his clear blue eyes speared her to the core. “He died, Hattie. I was there and I couldn’t save him and—”
“Ahhh!” She put a finger to his lips. “You did your best. That’s all anyone can ask. You’re only human, Rick, not God.”
“No!” The word seethed with frustration and anger and he exploded into motion. Pushing her aside, he launched off the stool to the other side of the kitchen and started to pace. “It’s not that. Fuck’s sake, I’m a soldier. More than that, I’m…was….”
He stopped and tipped his head back for a long moment. Hattie stayed put, not moving or making a sound in case she set him off again. Not that he scared her. Far from it. She was safe with him; he would rather die than hurt her. Where that knowledge came from, she didn’t know, but it was there.
“Shit.” He ran a hand through his hair. Muscles bunched in his arm, a complement to the one working at his jawline. Then he dropped his hand,
his expression open, honest. Serious. “I am—was—SAS. Shouldn’t tell you that, but I’m done now. Out of the Army. They train us, as much as they can anyway, to deal with this sort of shit. Billy’s not the first soldier I saw die. Not by a long shot. When you do what I did, it happens. You buy a drink in the mess and you remember their names. Then you move on.”
Hattie winced at his words, more for the torn tone than the mention of Billy, but Rick didn’t appear to notice, still pacing. If he wasn’t guilty over Billy, then what still ate at him?
Softly, she asked. “So, what’s the problem, Rick? Talk to me.”
“What’s the problem? Isn’t that the bloody, million-pound question?” He paused in front of her and let out a bitter snort of amusement. “The problem is you.”
The words slammed into her like a truck at top speed. Her hand crept up to her throat, a tight ball forming there. “M-me? Why am I the problem?”
“Because Billy asked me to come back to make sure you were okay.” Rick stepped toward her, his expression twisting into one of pain and torture. “And all I want to do is make you mine.”
Hattie blinked in shock. He made no sense and, at the same time, made such perfect sense, it resonated all the way to the depths of her soul. He inched closer until his body heat beat against her and the faint scent of his cologne wrapped around her.
“All I can think about is kissing you again,” he said, his voice low and raspy with need and guilt. He hooked a finger under the strap of her sun-top. “About stripping these pretty things from you. About driving deep inside you and making you scream my name as you come.”
Oh. My. God.
Hattie blinked at him. The growled words reached deep inside her and twisted something. Hard. With the softest murmur, she swayed toward him, remembering the feel of his lips on hers at the photo shoot. The feel of his body as he’d kissed her. The frustration that had hit when the photographer had interrupted them.
