Between Duty and Desire

by Leanne Banks

  “I’ve never done it in a car,” she murmured against his lips.

  “Are you saying you want to?” he asked, pulling back slightly.

  Her cheeks lit with color. “Maybe sometime.”

  “Not tonight?” he clarified.

  “Not tonight. Can we go up to your condo now?”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said, his body temperature climbing at the expression in her eyes.

  She slid her hand into his and walked with him up the steps. He liked the way her small hand felt in his. He liked the way she felt beside him. He felt the hum of anticipation between them.

  Brock was getting the impression that Callie hadn’t been encouraged to be adventurous in bed, but she was eager to experiment.

  He might go to hell for it, but she could experiment on him all she wanted.

  Eleven

  Marine Lingo Translation

  Pucker Factor: The degree of stress in a given

  situation.

  As soon as Brock got Callie inside his condo door, he pushed her against the wall and French-kissed her until they could barely breathe.

  Her lids heavy with arousal, she sighed. “Oh, wow. I’m starting to understand why you don’t have trouble getting women to do what you want,” she murmured.

  Her comment flattered him at the same time it bothered him. He pushed the bothered part aside and sank his hands into her hair and kissed her again. It was easy to forget everything when he kissed Callie. Her taste, her scent, her response, filled him up. He slid his knee between her legs and she wriggled against him.

  She made him want everything at once. He wanted to kiss her everywhere, take her every way, all at once. Frustration and desire he’d never before experienced rolled through him.

  “Oh.” She moaned against his throat, and he felt her tempting little cat tongue slide over his skin.

  “What do you want, baby?” he asked, wanting to give her everything.

  “I can barely think straight. How can I tell—” She broke off when he ground her against his swollen hardness.

  “I want you to tell me what you want.”

  “You’re doing pretty good without me telling you what to do.”

  He took a mind-clearing breath. “I mean it. I want you to tell me what you want. I have this feeling you haven’t always gotten what you wanted or needed, and I’m going to make sure that changes. Especially tonight.”

  She looked up at him uncertainly. “Anything? I can ask for anything?”

  “Anything,” he said, but he was determined she would want him inside her before the night was over.

  “Okay.” She licked her lips then closed her eyes.

  “Looking at you is distracting. I want music. I want one glass of wine for us to share. I want the lights down low.”

  “Have a seat while I get the wine,” he said, and handed her the remote control to the stereo system. He heard her flick through several radio stations until she landed on jazz.

  Brock’s fingers fumbled as he opened the bottle of white wine he’d bought after he and Callie had made love the first time. He had thought it might happen again and he’d been in a state of anticipatory lust.

  He wanted this to be so right for her. His gut tied in knots, he shook his head at himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been nervous with a woman. He’d always taken his signals from the woman and acted on instinct, but for some reason, with Callie, it was different. He wanted to be everything she wanted and needed.

  He swore under his breath as he spilled some of the wine. He was thinking way too deeply about this. Returning the wine bottle to the fridge, he walked into the den where the lights were low and found Callie in a large overstuffed chair.

  “Here it is,” he said, extending the wineglass to her.

  “Thanks,” she said and scooted over. “Join me.”

  “Sure.” It took some rearranging, but soon she was sitting on his lap and they were taking turns sipping the wine.

  He teased her with slow, mind-drugging kisses that left him hard and her limp. She accidentally spilled some wine on his shirt.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “No problem,” he said, pulling off his shirt and tossing it aside.

  Shaking her head, she skimmed one of her hands over his chest, sending a shiver down his spine. “You are incredibly built.”

  “A lot of scars,” he muttered. He generally ignored them, but sometimes when he stepped out of the shower, the marks on his body still caught him off guard.

  “They don’t bother me,” she whispered, and darted her pink tongue over a jagged scar on his chest.

  Every muscle inside him tightened at the soft, sensual stroke.

  She paused, glancing up at him. “Hurt?”

  He shook his head. “Not at all.”

  Her lips curved in a slow, sexy smile and she lowered her mouth to his chest again. She dropped openmouthed kisses over his chest and torso. With each millimeter lower that she traveled, he felt himself grow harder. When she dipped her mouth just above his navel, all he could think about was her wrapping her busy tongue around him, and exploding.

  That would last a whopping three seconds and she wouldn’t get a thing from it. Sighing, he drew her back up to his mouth.

  “You didn’t like the direction I was going?”

  “Too much,” he said, and slid his hands under her blouse while he kissed her. He found her nipples, tight little buds already, and fondled them until she was squirming in his lap.

  As if she couldn’t stand the teasing sensation, she pulled off her shirt and bra and tossed them aside. She immediately pressed her breasts against him and sighed in pleasure.

  Determined to make the rest of their clothes evaporate, Brock unfastened her jeans. Following his lead, he felt her tug at the button and zipper for his jeans, too. Her fumbling only made him harder.

  With a growl of frustration, she pulled away from him and ditched her own jeans then tugged at his. That primitive growl sent thunder through his pulse, and after he got rid of his jeans, he pulled her back onto his lap and drew one of her breasts into his mouth.

  “Oh, wow.” She moaned. “They’re so small, but you make them feel so good.”

  “They’re not too small. Just right,” he said, nibbling gently on her nipple.

  She moaned again and squirmed. He could feel her moistness brush against him. It would be so easy to pull her over him and slide inside. The very thought of it made him feel like he would explode.

  Pushing away from him, she stood naked in front of him, tugging at his hand to join her.

  “What?” he asked, fascinated by the sight of her, bare and pale with her fiery red-gold hair mussed and hanging down to her shoulders.

  “Dance with me,” she coaxed. “Dance naked with me.”

  The invitation was so sexy it almost hurt to accept. As soon as he took her hand in his, she pressed herself flush against him and urged his mouth to hers.

  Brock couldn’t think of anything more erotic than having Callie kiss him while her silky legs slid against his and her bare belly brushed him intimately. She stretched on tiptoe, inviting him to slide against her where she was wet and swollen.

  Brock accepted the invitation. She felt like warm honey on him. He wanted so badly to plunge inside…He swore.

  “I need to get a condom,” he muttered, loath to move away from her.

  “No, you don’t,” she said, brushing her lips over his in a teasing caress.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I got something from the doctor so we don’t have to use anything else.”

  “The pill?”

  She shook her head and made a little sound of frustration. “No. I took care of it. No worries. No babies.”

  For an instant, the image of Callie, big and pregnant with his baby, flashed through his mind. His heart squeezed tight in a strange way. Alarm shot through him. Where the hell had that thought come—

  She brushed a
gainst him again, distracting him.

  She was a delectable, wiggling, irresistible combination and she was so hot he could barely stand it. He could feel her heat, her want, and it drove his excitement level straight through the roof.

  “Oh, babe, you’re making it hard for me to take my time,” he said, both tortured and stimulated as she rocked against him. “What do you want, Callie?”

  Her shiver of anticipation sent his libido up another notch. “I like it all,” she murmured, rubbing her mouth over his chest. “I like the way you touch me, the way you kiss me. I like it all.”

  The dark sensual expression in her eyes tore his already shredded restraint. He pushed her back against the chair they’d shared and kissed his way down her silky, smooth skin. Her flat belly rippled as he tasted her belly button and when he went lower, she gasped. He tasted her intimately, rubbing his tongue over her swollen bead.

  She arched against his mouth and her breath came in sexy little gasps that made him crazy with need. She said his name over and over again as he felt her climax against him.

  “Brock, pleeeeeeease.”

  “Please what?” he asked, his body bucking with the need to be inside her.

  She slid her hands over his hips and pulled him between her legs. “I want you so bad.”

  “How, Callie?” he asked at the edge of his control. He felt his muscles bunch and coil with the effort to restrain himself.

  “In me,” she said, arching her hips upward in a glorious feminine invitation that he would have to be dead not to accept.

  Unable to hold back any longer, he plunged inside her. He heard her moan mingle with his at the delicious sensation. She was wet, tight and irresistible. He pumped inside her, groaning at the way she tightened around him intimately, as if she couldn’t get enough of him, as if she were stroking and holding him in the most sensual, intimate way possible.

  The combination of her rocking movements and her little, breathless gasps undid him. He felt the force of his peak vibrate from head to toe. Feeling aftershocks rocking through both him and Callie, he rolled to his side and held her tightly against him.

  Her breath tickled his throat and he felt an odd warmth unfurl from inside him. He couldn’t remember feeling so satisfied, so complete.

  Callie wiggled slightly and slid her arms underneath his. “I know guys like you probably hate this, but could you hold me a little longer?”

  Brock frowned. “What do you mean guys like me?”

  “Well, I mean experienced guys, love-’em-and-leave-’em types. You probably would prefer me to jump up, give you a quick kiss good-night then leave you in peace, but—”

  Brock swore and shook his head. “You must have one helluva low opinion of me.”

  Callie looked up at him. “Not at all. I just understand that you don’t want a cling-wrap kind of lover.”

  Brock felt the stab of truth in her words. She wasn’t that far off. With just about any other woman, right now he’d be thinking about how to get her out the door. But not with Callie. He liked the way she felt wrapped around him like cling wrap. He liked feeling every inch of her and he wasn’t inclined to move one millimeter away.

  “There’s no rush,” he said, and liked the way her eyes softened.

  “Are you sure?” she asked in a husky voice that felt warm and fuzzy inside him.

  “Yeah,” he said and pulled her against him. She gave a soft sigh of contentment that seeped through him like brandy. He wanted another shot.

  They made love frequently over the next few days.

  Callie seemed determined to make love with Brock in every way she’d been denied in the past, and Brock was perfectly willing to indulge her every request.

  For a woman who claimed limited experience and previous sexual shyness, she sure was knocking his socks off on a regular basis.

  It would have been one hundred percent pleasurable if he hadn’t detected an undertone of desperation. He wanted to ask her about it, but some form of self-preservation told him not to go there.

  One night after she’d burned up his bed, she sat up and wrapped her arms around her legs. “I have to go to my mother-in-law’s house tomorrow morning.”

  Her announcement felt as if she’d thrown a bucket of ice water on him. He sat up slowly. “Why is that?”

  “The memorial for Rob is this weekend. I promised I would come.”

  He nodded, feeling a tightness form in his chest. He’d spent a lot of time running from thoughts of Rob and how he would feel about Brock making love to his wife. If he spent more than ten seconds thinking about it, Brock felt like the very devil himself. “Do you want me to go with you?”

  “No,” she said immediately, and he felt the cut as if she’d sliced him with a switchblade. “I think it would be hard for his mother to see you. She’s still so hurt. She doesn’t understand why—”

  “Why I lived and he didn’t,” he finished for her, bitterness backing up in his throat.

  She swallowed audibly, clearly dealing with her own emotions. “I was going to say that she doesn’t understand why he had to die. I know that his death and your life aren’t really related, but she might react to you out of her pain. Nobody needs that to happen.”

  “If I had never met Rob, would you want me to go with you?”

  She bit her lip and shook her head.

  Something inside him cracked and it hurt like hell.

  “I have a role to play for my mother-in-law and for the community.”

  “Grieving widow.”

  “Right,” she said. She reached out and took his hand. “I’m not exactly the grieving widow when I’m with you.”

  “You have been,” he said, soothed just a little by her stroking fingers.

  “Not lately.”

  “You sound like you feel guilty.”

  “I do, some. If I think about it, but I try not to.”

  She took a deep breath and exhaled. “I feel very alive with you.”

  “That’s not all bad, Callie,” he said, leaning toward her and nuzzling her head.

  “I guess,” she said, and was quiet for a long moment. “When do you start your job in Atlanta?”

  “Nine days.”

  She gave a forced laugh and pulled away. “Well, at least you won’t have to put up with my craziness anymore.”

  He hated her withdrawal. He wanted her back, close to him, depending on him. “You haven’t heard me complaining, have you?”

  “No.”

  “It doesn’t have to end when I move to Atlanta,” he ventured, tugging at her hand. “Yes, it does,” she said firmly. “You and I have given ourselves permission to be lovers for a limited time. You need to start your life and I need to get on with mine. We both knew this was going to be tempor—”

  He covered her mouth with his, cutting off her words with a kiss. His heart pounded in rebellion at the thought of being temporary to her. For the first time in his life, Brock didn’t want to be temporary and he didn’t know what to do about it.

  The following morning, despite Callie’s protests, Brock checked the oil and fluids in her little Nissan. He filled up the gas tank and added some air to one of the tires. “Take care of yourself,” he said, and watched her drive away. She was going to North Carolina. He would drive to Atlanta in preparation for another change. It was almost time to move on. His job with Callie was nearly done.

  Twelve

  Marine Lingo Translation

  Crucible: A grueling 54-hour training exercise for recruits during boot camp characterized by lack of sleep, little food, forced exercise and teamwork.

  Within twelve hours, Brock drove to Atlanta, turned in his rental car, bought an SUV and signed a three-month lease for a furnished executive condo. He wanted to live somewhere temporary and convenient, so he could take his time figuring out where he eventually wanted to settle. Everything he did, everything decision he made, he wondered what Callie would choose.

  She would probably turn her nose up at the SUV, pref
erring something smaller and more fuel efficient, but she might approve of the executive condo. She would change the furnishings, but she would like the skylights and generous expanse of windows.

  She would, however, hate the traffic and the busy pace. She would miss the ocean.

  He would miss it, too, he thought, as he returned to South Carolina. But he would miss Callie a whole lot more.

  As he returned to the small coastal town, Brock gave himself a harsh lecture, reminding himself of the mission he’d intended to complete with Callie. He had accomplished his goal of prying her out of her hermitlike existence. She was able to work now. When he left, she would go out with people. She’d already met the kindergarten teacher for lunch once. He was confident she wouldn’t hide away in her little cottage like she had before. He wondered when she would start dating again, and the prospect bothered him so much he turned the radio on full blast to drown out his thoughts.

  Instinctively drawn to her place instead of his, Brock pulled into her driveway and noticed that her car wasn’t there. She hadn’t returned. He wondered how the weekend had gone for her. It was silly as hell, but he wished she had let him join her. More than that, it had stung when she’d told him not to come.

  Noticing he was tapping his foot against the floor and drumming his thumb on the steering wheel, he shook his head at his restlessness and got out of the car. He walked toward the beach. It was dark outside, but the smell of salt filled his nostrils and the breeze moved over him with a cleansing rush.

  The wind, however, couldn’t wash thoughts of Callie from his mind. He hadn’t realized how deeply she’d burrowed her way under his skin. Before he’d met her face-to-face, he’d been drawn to her. He’d envied Rob, then when Rob had died, he’d been tormented by visions of her. When he’d become her lover, he’d thought she would quickly lose appeal. He kept waiting, but it wasn’t happening.

  His gut tightened at the realization. The reflection of a headlight flashed to his left and he turned, spotting a car pulling into her driveway. His heart picked up. She was back.

  Brock walked to the house just as she got out of her car and stretched. “Long drive?”