Between Duty and Desire

by Leanne Banks

  “Extreme boyfriend,” he said with a chuckle.

  She smiled and met his gaze. “That would be right. He was always dragging me off on one adventure or another.”

  “Did you like it?”

  “Sometimes. Sometimes I just wanted to be my little boring self drawing on a pad of paper while I sat under the kitchen table.”

  “Now, see, I would think it could get a little cramped under the kitchen table.”

  “Think of it as a pup tent. It felt safe.”

  She was so freakin’ cute he had the overwhelming urge to take her in his arms and make her feel safe. Which wasn’t like Brock at all. Maybe that concussion had left permanent damage? “How’d the skinny-dip turn out?”

  She tossed him a sideways glance. “We got caught. Well, I guess I should say I got caught. When we heard someone drive up, Rob pulled on his shorts, but my clothes had disappeared. I stayed in that creek so long my entire body turned blue.”

  Brock swallowed a chuckle. “That’s a new one. I never heard that story.”

  “Probably because I told Rob I wouldn’t speak to him again if he told anyone.”

  Brock saw her expression change from amused frustration to wistfulness and felt his gut twist. He shifted his stance and the papers rustled beneath his feet, distracting her.

  “Look at this mess,” she said. “I need to pick these up and toss them.”

  He bent down to help her. “I noticed there was more on the floor than on the walls or easels.”

  She laughed. “A lot more. One of the secrets of getting past a block is not being afraid to waste some paint by drawing something that really stinks.”

  He started to uncurl one of the balled-up pieces of discarded paper and she immediately caught his hand.

  “Oh, no. Absolutely not. I let you look at my studio, but I draw the line at allowing you to look at my stinkers.”

  “How do you know they’re really stinkers? I might think they’re good.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you think. It matters what I think.”

  He glanced down at her slim, artistic fingers over his larger hand and felt an odd stirring inside him. He looked up into her resolute don’t-mess-with-me gaze. “Are you sure you’ve never been a drill instructor? You sure can be bossy for a little thing.”

  “I may not be able to control what goes on outside this room, and I’m not always happy with what I create inside this room, but I make the rules for this room.”

  “The goddess of your little corner of the universe,” he said, understanding her need for control.

  “I wouldn’t use the term ‘goddess,’” she said dryly.

  “You’re not looking at you,” he said and surrendered the ball of discarded paper even though he was curious as hell.

  She stared at him and he felt the electrical zap between them again. She must have felt it, too, because he saw her catch her breath. She quickly pulled her hand from his.

  “He told me you were good with the ladies,” she said. “Flattering a woman must be second nature to you.”

  He shrugged, but didn’t say anything. He knew a no-win conversation with a woman when he saw it coming.

  “What? No answer? What are you thinking?”

  “You don’t really want to know.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  He shook his head and scooped up another piece of paper. “Nah.”

  He felt her hand on his arm. “I want to know. Fair is fair. You know all about me.”

  Uncomfortable, he sighed. “Okay, you’re gonna think this is cocky as hell, but I don’t have to flatter women. I haven’t had to work that hard to get a woman’s attention.”

  She opened her mouth then shut it. “That’s pretty cocky.”

  “I told you.”

  “Right,” she said. “Rob told me you didn’t keep any of them around too long, either.”

  He shouldn’t care what she might think of his lack of commitment, but he did. “I never made promises I couldn’t keep. Everything always felt temporary—in college, in the Corps.”

  She nodded, but he could tell she didn’t under stand and it bothered him. “I don’t know why I always had it easy with females.”

  “Oh, I know,” she said. “They want to tame you. You have this dark, restless look about you that makes women want to domesticate you.”

  “You said women,” he told her in a low voice. “Does that include you?”

  “N-no, no no no,” she said, taking a step back. “I may illustrate children’s books, but I don’t live in never-never land. I’ve never gone for the dark, brooding type. They always seemed like too much work and angst.”

  Glimpsing a reluctant fascination in her gaze that belied her words, he casually took a step toward her. “You think I’m dark and brooding?”

  “Well, you’re not exactly a laugh a minute,” she said, biting her lip.

  “Do I make you nervous, Callie?”

  Her eyes said yes, but she shook her head. “Not really.”

  He shook his head and narrowed his eyes. “Why do I make you nervous?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I just said that you don’t.”

  “I’m not convinced.”

  She looked away from him and sighed. “You’re just different than what I’m used to.”

  “You’re used to the boy-next-door dragging you off on little adventures.”

  “Yeah.” She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and the expression in her eyes held warring glints of grief and a forbidden curiosity that was all too easy for him to understand, because he felt the same burning curiosity about Callie.

  Three

  Marine Lingo Translation

  Commando: Not wearing underwear.

  Brock didn’t see Callie for more than ten minutes during the next three days. Shin splints prevented her from running on Tuesday and it rained nearly nonstop on Wednesday and Thursday as tropical depression Bettina revved up to tropical storm Bettina.

  Brock ran despite the rain. He struggled with what he needed to do next to get through to Callie. He also struggled with how much he thought about her when she wasn’t around. He put it down to unfinished business. As soon as he could help Callie out of the hole she was hiding in, she wouldn’t occupy so much of his mind and he would be able to move on.

  When the lights started flickering in the afternoon, he thought about her bare cupboard and nearly bare refrigerator and made a quick trip to the grocery store before everything shut down. By the time he knocked on her front door, he and the bags he carried were drenched.

  Callie opened the door and stared at him. “What are you doing—” She broke off and tried to take one of the bags from his arms, but he held tight.

  Her eyebrows puckering in a frown, she tugged on his arm. “Come in, you nutcase. Don’t you know there’s a hurricane coming?”

  “That’s why I brought you some food,” he said, allowing her to guide him to the kitchen where he set the bags on the counter. “I figured by the time you realized you didn’t have anything to eat the convenience store would be closed and you would be hungry and SOL.”

  “SOL?” she repeated with a confused expression on her face. “Oh, surely out of luck,” she translated.

  “That’s the Disney version,” he muttered.

  She shook her head. “I could get offended by your lack of confidence in my ability to take care of myself,” she fumed as she began to unload the bags.

  “I got bread, milk, eggs, cheese, pancake mix, a couple of steaks, a few frozen and canned staples and chocolate-covered peanuts.”

  Her eyes rounded and she dug through the second bag and pulled out the box. “Double dipper chocolate-covered peanuts! Oh, you have no idea how much I love—” She broke off and tossed him a sideways glance then rolled her eyes. “Oh, yes you do. Rob must have told you.”

  Brock nodded.

  “Okay, in exchange for your gift of double dippers I can forgive your lack of faith in me.”

&nbs
p; His lips twitched at her cockeyed point of view. “That’s mighty generous of you,” he said, feeling a strange warmth from seeing her again even though she’d scolded him.

  Her gaze fell over him and she gasped. She touched his damp cheek with her soft hand. “You’re drenched and I’ve been standing here fussing at you. Do you want to shower? No, don’t answer. You should shower before the electricity goes completely out—and it will,” she said knowingly. “If you hurry, I can put your clothes in the dryer. So hurry,” she said, shooing him into the hall. She grabbed a couple of towels from the closet and pushed them into his hands.

  “Just toss your clothes out the door as soon as you get undressed.”

  “I can handle being wet. It’s not a big deal,” he said.

  “It is when you don’t have any dry clothes to change into.”

  “I’ve got plenty back at my cottage.”

  She blinked. “Oh, I thought you were going to join me for dinner.”

  Her husky invitation did something weird to his gut. “I guess I could.”

  Her lips curved in a slow smile. “Then if we want to eat, we’d better hurry before the electricity goes out.”

  His stomach growling at the thought of steak, he stepped into the bathroom, shucked his clothes and tossed them in the hall as she’d suggested. He turned her shower on hot, quickly lathered his body and rinsed. He had to concede Callie had been right. The shower felt great. It reminded him of how good a shower had felt coming in from the field. A shower followed by a couple of cold beers, a hot meal and a hotter woman provided a little respite from the uncertainty.

  He rubbed himself dry with one towel and ran his fingers through his hair. Glancing around her bathroom, he saw her silk bathrobe hanging on the back of the door and gave in to the urge to touch it. He suspected her skin was just as soft, only warmer. He thought of her rosebud mouth and licked his own lips. Where were these thoughts coming from? Shaking his head to clear it, he wrapped the second towel around his waist and ventured into the hallway. He heard the rattle of pots and pans in the kitchen and turned in that direction.

  “Need some help?” he asked as he rounded the corner.

  Callie looked up from the bag of frozen mixed vegetables she was pouring into a pot and stared openmouthed at him. He could feel her hazel gaze track every inch of his bare skin from his throat and shoulders to his chest down to his abdomen over the towel that covered him to just above his knees.

  Her hand shifted and the vegetables began to spill onto the stove top.

  “Whoa,” he said, stepping forward to reposition her hand.

  Her hand trembled beneath his.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  She jerked her hand away from his as if he’d scorched her. She shook her head and backed away, her gaze drifting to his chest repeatedly. “No, I just—uh—” She swallowed and met his gaze.

  Brock glanced down at his bare torso and saw the tracks of his wounds from the explosion. He’d grown accustomed to the scars, but Callie hadn’t ever seen them. His gut twisted. Maybe his scars made Callie think of Rob. “Is it the scars?”

  She blinked and shook her head. “Uh, no,” she said sounding surprised. “No, it’s—”

  “It’s what?”

  Embarrassment crossed her face and she looked away. “It’s the muscles.”

  It took him a moment to comprehend what she’d said and when he did, he felt a roar of pleasure he couldn’t recall feeling in a long time. So, her emotions weren’t totally dead after all. That was good. It was part of the plan. Her attraction to him, however, wasn’t part of the plan, but he wasn’t inclined to discourage it at the moment.

  “Thanks for the compliment,” he said quietly, feeling a grin play around his lips.

  She risked a glance at him. “I’m sure tons of women have complimented your body.”

  “Not lately,” he said.

  “Whose choice is that?”

  He shrugged. “It hasn’t been a priority.” His body would disagree.

  “Do you think you’re not as attractive because of your scars?”

  “I haven’t really cared,” he said, and it was true. “I feel different now. It’s more than the limp and the scars. I haven’t figured it all out yet.”

  “Inside,” she said thoughtfully.

  “Yeah.” He inhaled and caught a whiff of beef broiling. “The steaks aren’t burning, are they?”

  “Oh no!” Her eyes widened and she jerked open the oven door. A sizzling sound immediately filled the air and she pulled the steaks from the oven. “They don’t look too bad, but you’re out of luck if you wanted yours rare.”

  “If it’s not as tough as shoe leather, I’ll consider it perfect,” he said and glanced at the toaster oven. “You think the bread—”

  “Yes, I do,” she said, pulling out the biscuits. “Oh, look, the veggies are boiling. They won’t take any time. I think you got some margarine,” she said, pulling a stick from the refrigerator. “We’re almost set.”

  Brock grabbed plates and cups from the cupboard, Callie collected the flatware and, within moments, they took their plates into the den to eat.

  “Sorry I don’t have a kitchen table,” she said as she sat on the floor across from him. “That’s on my to-do list.”

  The lights flickered and he could almost feel her hold her breath. They came back on and she sighed.

  “I know they’ll probably go out for hours, but I want it put off as long as possible.”

  “Are you afraid of the dark?” he asked, then took a bite of steak that was slightly overcooked, but still tasty.

  “No,” she said, taking a sip of water. “And yes.

  “I’m not really afraid of the dark. I just don’t like not being able to have light when I want it.”

  He nodded, amused. “So it’s more of a convenience issue.”

  “For the most part,” she said. “There’s also the side effect of how other senses are sharpened to compensate for the one you can’t use.”

  “Things that go bump in the night.”

  “Yeah, aliens under the bed, in the closet.” She took a bite of steak and swallowed.

  “But you’re not really afraid.”

  “Right,” she said, as she opened a biscuit and poured honey on it. “If I keep telling myself that, it will come true, right?”

  Brock chuckled. “Yeah, right.”

  “Are you afraid of anything? Oh, wait, you’re a Marine, so you’re not allowed to be afraid.”

  “Everybody’s afraid of something, Callie.”

  She met his gaze, and understanding and something more flickered between them.

  “I just try not to let my fears get in my way, and when they do, I do something about them.” He took another bite of steak and thought about why he was here with Callie right now. It was because he was afraid he would never be able to sleep at night and face his image in the mirror each morning if he didn’t at least try to help Rob’s widow. He knew he couldn’t bring back Rob, but he could at least make sure the woman his buddy left behind wasn’t hiding from humanity for the rest of her life.

  The lights flickered again and again, and the house turned dark. “Looks like you got the food ready just in time. Where do you keep your candles and flashlights?”

  “In the kitchen,” she muttered and he heard her stand.

  “I can help.”

  “No, that’s okay. Just guard my plate so the cat doesn’t get my food.”

  He chuckled. “I can do that.”

  He heard her stumble around in the kitchen, bumping into things, opening and closing drawers. After a couple of minutes, he couldn’t stand it anymore and he picked up both plates and carefully walked into the kitchen.

  “I’m right behind you,” he murmured, not wanting her to back into him and upset the plates.

  She gave a squeak of surprise and he successfully avoided her then set the plates on the counter.

  “Matches,” she said. “I c
an’t find the matches. They should be in this drawer.”

  “Let me try,” he said, finding her arm with his hand and following it to the drawer. Some part of him was reluctant to trade the smooth sensation of her skin for the articles in the drawer, but he did. His hand brushed hers in the search for the matches and he felt an odd sensual thrill. He heard her catch her breath and wondered if she felt it, too. His fingers closed around a small rectangular cardboard object. “Got it. Where are your flashlights anyway?”

  “Bedroom,” she said.

  “Ah, to ward off the aliens under the bed.”

  “Right. I’ve got the candle right here.”

  Brock struck the match, lighting it on the first try, and quickly lit the candle. He looked at the soft light illuminating Callie’s features and felt a warmth grow in his belly. “You look like an angel.” The words spilled out impulsively and he immediately felt self-conscious.

  “It’s the candlelight. Everyone looks angelic.”

  “Not me,” he said dryly.

  She smiled. “Maybe a dark angel.”

  “That’s a stretch.”

  She laughed. “Here,” she said, putting the wick of another candle against the lit one. It hit him that this was what some people did during wedding ceremonies. Alarm rushed through him. Now that was just too weird.

  “I’ll go get the flashlights now.”

  She returned with the flashlights and a battery-operated radio. “Good girl,” he said.

  “I may seem like an unprepared flake, but I’m not. We’d better finish eating before the food gets cold.”

  Finishing before she did, he messed with the radio and found an AM station where the deejay reported massive blackouts. The electric company warned that power might not return until morning.

  “Oh, goody,” she muttered. “I guess I won’t be working tonight.”

  “Do you have any cards?”

  “Somewhere. I haven’t played in a while.”

  “I thought you might like to try to beat me at James Bond Junior.”

  She gave a double take. “I always beat Rob at James Bond Junior.”

  “But can you beat me?”