by Hall, Marie
But it isn’t coming.
“Me too,” I say. “How long do I have you for?”
Demolishing her half, she quickly sets her fork down and drinks the chamomile I’d brewed earlier. “A while. I think my mom is hoping we’ll have a ‘When Harry Met Sally’ moment.”
I laugh. I’ve never watched the movie, but I’m pretty sure I knew which scene she’s talking about. The breakfast scene when Sally pretends to have an orgasm.
“You’re hard on a man, Lili.” Pushing the plate aside I stand and hold out my hand. “I’m tired.”
Her knuckles turn white as she grips the edge of the table.
Slowly, Ryan. Slowly. I remind myself.
“Not my room, no funny business. I was thinking maybe I could lay my head on your lap on the couch.”
“Only if you get me a blanket,” she glances down at the hem of her skirt, “otherwise I might think you’re trying to get a peek.”
“Awww,” I mutter, even as I walk down the hall to the linen closet and extract the first thing I find. One of my old military, army green scratchy ones. “What am I going to do now? I had the whole scenario planned, stretch my arms, pretend to yawn and then…” I let the thought dangle.
I hand it to her when I get back. Snatching it from me she swats my ass with it, then standing, wraps it twice around her slim frame before gliding to the couch and dropping down into the farthest cushion, plopping her feet up on the coffee table. She pats her knee, an expectant look on her face.
I never sleep with clothes on, but I know how she’ll take it if I start undressing and I want to prove to her that I’m a man of my word. But maybe there’s a way around this, a way to keep her comfortable and myself.
Grabbing a fistful of my shirt, I slip it off.
Her eyes are wide, roaming over my skin and I swear I can feel the heat. My nipples pucker and my stomach flexes.
Movement flutters at the corner of her lips. “I was right. Killer.”
When she looks at me like that, all soft, with sexy bedroom eyes it’s hard to remember why going slow is the right thing. Flexing my fingers, knowing this is a true test of just how far I’m willing to go for her, I settle down beside her, laying my head in her lap and try not to think how much my balls ache.
The stillness is loud, echoing like a pulse in my eardrums. One of those strange quiets that grows in intensity, makes me aware of noises I never think of-- the ticking of a clock, the gentle whoosh of the ceiling fan.
Her fingers brush my forehead, then slips through my hair.
I love when she does that, makes me just want to lay like this forever and let her pet me.
I hadn’t been tired before, and I’m still not, but I suspect I might be headed toward nirvana. Everything inside me relaxes, every muscle softens, lengthens, my spine curls, my breathing settles into an easy rhythm. I close my eyes and start to drift away.
Sometimes silence is painful, but this isn’t one of those times.
“Did you learn to cook like that from your mother?” she asks after a while, breaking the stillness first.
I shake my head, voice rumbling from deep inside me. “No. She was too type A to ever let me in her kitchen. I learned in the Marines.”
Wonder gleams in her bright green eyes. “I wish I could have seen you in uniform.”
“Yeah?” Shifting, I study the graceful silhouette of her profile. The way her cheeks slope toward her lips, how they move as she tastes her words.
My heart is a cannon in my chest.
“Mmhhmm. I’ve always liked a man in uniform.” Her fingers trace random patterns across my skin.
Closing my eyes again, I chuckle. “I’ve still got mine hanging in the back.”
“You’d wear it for me?”
“Not out in public, but I guess.”
I find myself drifting off again, lost in the cadence of her voice, the touch of her hands. But I don’t want to sleep yet, I want to stay awake as long as possible, because each moment I sleep is a moment away from her.
“The other day, in the car,” I start.
Her lips tug down. “Yes,” she asks, sounding confused.
“When you were singing.”
Thin, black brows knit together. “Oh? What about that?”
“Fleetwood Mac?” I chuckle. “Aren’t you a little young to know who they are?”
She shrugs, her hand stilling as her eyes take on a faraway look. “Well, how old are you?”
Putting my hand over hers, I nudge her fingers, asking quietly for her to resume her caresses. “Twenty five,” I sigh as her fingers loop through my hair again. “What about you? Twenty-one, right?”
“Yeah, surprised you remember.”
Wasn’t much I didn’t about her.
“So I guess that means I’m into older men then, huh?”
“I’m not that much older.” I tickle her ribs, liking the way that sounds, that she’s into me, because I’m sure as hell into her.
She swats my hand. “Don’t worry, I’ve always had a thing for older guys.”
“When’s your birthday?”
“February first. When’s yours?”
“New Years Eve,” I tug on the slip of hair that’s fallen over her shoulder.
“Really? That’s cool. Everyone celebrates your birthday, must be nice.”
I shrug. “It’s annoying. Never felt like that day really belonged to me.”
Probably because most times my parents could hardly be bothered with trying to remember to do the whole cake and card thing when they were more concerned about which party they’d attend.
She pouts, “poor baby.”
“Anyway, let’s talk about you. Why Fleetwood Mac? Why not Katy Perry, or Beyonce?”
“My dad used to tell me I had an old soul. It’s his fault really, he brainwashed me.”
There’s a twinge of sadness behind her last statement, waving her fingers, she resumes petting my hair.
“Dad was a musician, really good one actually. He loved classic rock.”
“What’d he play?”
“Guitar. He taught me to play too. I’m nowhere near as good as he is. But I’m decent.”
Imagining her plucking guitar strings makes my pulse speed. Not that I’ve ever really been into chicks that play, but there’s something compelling when I imagine her playing to me. Maybe after lovemaking, both of us wrapped up in nothing but her voice and her music.
Blood throbbing, I grunt.
“I bet you’re good,” I say, forcing myself to focus.
“Good enough that Javi likes it. It’s weird, he didn’t know my dad all that long, three years. Not long enough for him to make an impact. Or so I thought. But I think he misses him.”
Grabbing her fingers, I play with her pinky, running my thumb along her nail and caressing the soft webbing between.
“Why do you think that?”
Her eyes are steady. “Because of what you heard me singing in the car. Fleetwood Mac, that was my dad’s favorite band. After I had…” she pauses, lips pursing, “Javi, dad would lock himself in the garage for hours. Playing on his guitar, cranking Fleetwood, and drinking beers. When Javi was two I’d see him sometimes sitting in front of the door, his ear pressed to it and so still I’d think he was dead.”
Voice cracking, she gives me a self-effacing grin.
I squeeze her hand, letting her know I’m here, and its okay.
“Anyway, that’s how he likes to fall asleep. I can’t do it every night, but when I can I’ll grab my guitar and start playing. His favorite is Silver Springs.”
“You have a beautiful voice,” I admit.
Brushing her knuckles along my cheeks, she smiles. “You said that to me in the car too. I’m sorry I was such a big baby that day. I’m not used to singing in front of others.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“Can you sing?”
I grunt. “When I’ve got a couple beers in me I think I can. Got smashed one night in Kabul, boys and
I had a rare night off from recon. I’m not really sure what I was singing, all I remember was there was karaoke, too many beers, and I vaguely recall a lot of ‘boos’.”
Her teeth are even and white as she laughs. “I would have given anything to have seen that.”
I raise my brows. No, she really wouldn’t have. It was awful and I knew it.
After a pause she asks me, “Did you see war?”
Did I see war? What a loaded question. I still see war. Still see the mangled bodies after an I.E.D. explosion. The blood dripping everywhere, guts strewn thirty feet across the hot, packed desert sand. The smell of fuel burning up what few supplies were left in a village that’d aided the Americans.
Clenching my jaw, I close my eyes. “Yes.”
“Was it terrible?”
I want to drown in the depths of her mossy green eyes, crawl into her light, lose myself in the clean beauty of her soul and not have to remember the hell I’d seen. The things I’d done.
“There was this kid. Seven. Maybe eight.” I shrug. “Missing his front teeth, scratches all over his face, his hair was full of red dirt and his cheeks all smudged like he hadn’t bathed in weeks.”
Her gaze searches mine, as if she’s trying to see what I had.
“He came up to us. He was dressed…” his clothes had been in tatters, shredded and two sizes too big for him, I close my eyes, swallow hard, and continue, “he looked homeless. No shoes on his feet. I felt bad for the kid, you know.”
“What happened?”
Something that shouldn’t have. It’d been hot outside. Worse than any day since I’d gotten there, well over a hundred and twenty. So hot I’d seen mirages dancing everywhere, placid pools of water that’d turned into mounds and mounds of sand when I’d walk up to it.
All the kid had wanted was food, maybe some water.
My canteen had been half full and something about the kid made me think of me. Struggling to survive, fighting to be recognized, noticed…
The guys with me had told me sometimes the insurgents laid traps. But it was just us and the kid for miles. I should have known better.
Kids out there killed too.
But it’d been my first deployment and I’d been green.
I’d gone to him, unhooking my canteen, ready to hand it over when a shrub moved.
I should have known.
The shrub was the trap. Men dressed in camouflage stood up, heavy artillery aimed at my convoy. I hadn’t noticed the kid pull out the rifle from behind the tatters of his robes.
My buddy had saved my ass with a plug in his head.
After that everything rushed by in a blur.
I’d shot and killed one. They’d killed three of ours. Thankfully, we’d been able to take out the one holding the rocket launcher.
After the dust had cleared I realized I may have killed one, but I had the blood of four on my hands.
“He died.”
A tiny tremble runs through her chin.
“Did you do it?”
“No, but I might as well have.”
After that there’s no more talking and at some point I know I’ve fallen asleep. When I wake up, she’s crawled down beside me, spooning her body as close to mine as possible.
Something warm flutters in the center of my chest.
And it scares the living hell out of me.
Chapter 12
Liliana
There’s something hard beneath me and my neck is throbbing.
“Good morning,” his silky voice rumbles straight through my chest.
Somehow I’d ended up draped across him. My thigh wrapped around his, and my face pressed into the crook of his neck. He must have unwrapped me from the blanket and spread it across the both of us.
Grimacing, I push up, wiping the back of my hand against my mouth. Mortified to feel how wet my skin is. I really hope it’s just sweat and not drool.
“What time is it?” I croak.
He looks at his wrist that has no watch. “No clue,” he grins. “But judging from the sun, late afternoon, maybe.”
“Oh.” I grab my head, rolling my neck to work out the kinks. “I’ve got to get home. My mother’s probably worried. And Javi,” I mutter, feeling like the world’s worst mom.
How could I have just forgotten him that way?
Grumbling, I look around for my shoes.
“Lily,” he grabs my hand and I can’t stop the thrill that rushes through me at the sound of my name on his lips, “I had Alex call about an hour ago.”
“Why didn’t you wake me up?”
It wasn’t his fault I’d acted like a complete idiot, but I never drop the ball. Never, and I can’t believe I’d done it now.
“She told him to let you sleep, that you hadn’t gotten much in days.” His voice is soft, understanding and my shoulders slump.
“Of course she would.”
Scooting up on the couch, he stretches legs that snap and pop. I can’t feel more horrible, he must be sore from holding me so long. What had I been thinking?
Heat floods the tips of my ears.
“She worries about you. It’s nice actually.”
I huff.
“Hey, it’s okay. Really. Even supermom’s deserve breaks every once in a while.”
“Supermom? Hardly.” I look around for my shoes, finally spotting them by the door. “Ditching my son to dance the night away and sleep on top of you is hardly supermom material.”
His big arms wrap around my waist as I bend to retrieve my heels. Squealing, I slap his forearms.
“Ryan, put me down. I’m heavy.”
Dropping a kiss on my cheek, he steps back. “Heavy no. But I do have morning breath and I don’t exactly want that to be the last memory you have of me. Give me a sec to clean up and then I’ll take you back. Okay?”
I watch him walk off, his bare back flexing with each step. He is gorgeous, every plane, every dip perfectly sculpted. He has a fighter’s body and my fingers itch to trace each and every line of it.
My legs tingle and my breasts grow heavy, I groan. Why is it that every time I look at him he starts to look better and better?
Blowing out the sexual frustration, I plop onto the black recliner and slip my shoes on.
“So you took the whole ‘mi casa es su casa’ kinda seriously, huh?” Alex drops onto the couch.
I’m happy to see the fro gone. Though he’s still wearing the bell bottoms and, just like his cousin, no shirt. He has washboard abs, but the appeal is definitely not the same.
“Shut up. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
Slapping the cushion between his legs, he looks over his shoulder toward the sound of rushing water in the bathroom. “I haven’t seen him smile so much in years.”
Crossing my legs, a trickle of warmth flows liquid and cool through my pulse, filling my ears with thunder and my stomach with feathery flutters.
“I’m not really sure what we’re doing, Alex.”
“Do you like him?”
Yes. A lot. I think about him all the time.
I shrug, those thoughts are my own. “I think so.”
He smiles. “I’ve got a good feeling about you, Lily Bean. I always have. Just whatever you do… don’t hurt him.”
With those words ringing heavy in my ears, Ryan exits the door. He has on a shirt, and I’m not gonna pretend… I miss the abs.
“What kind of lies are you telling her about me?” He eyes Alex, than looks back at me. “Don’t believe any of it.”
Standing, I hold out my hand for his. “Don’t worry, I never do.”
“Hey, you wound me.” Alex grabs his chest and tosses a pillow at Ryan, but he manages to close the door before it actually hits him.
“When can I see you again?” He asks, and I turn my face, I still haven’t brushed my teeth.
I feel disgusting and gross. I need a shower, a brush, and some food.
“How about tonight?”
Walking to the car door, he unlocks it. Getti
ng inside, I cover my mouth with the back of my hand. “Can’t. Have to work.”
