by Leanne Banks
She stopped midstretch and looked at him. “Oh, I thought it might be you. New wheels?” she asked, tilting her head in the direction of his SUV.
He nodded as he moved toward her. “Yeah. I decided it was time to ditch the rental and make a commitment.”
“Definitely a guy car,” she said.
He’d predicted this. His lips twitched. “You don’t like it. Too big, and bad gas mileage.”
“Exactly,” she said. “And I would have preferred you choose a different color than black.”
“Why? Not artsy enough?” he asked, inhaling her scent and wanting to get closer so he could smell her more.
She shook her head. “Safety reasons, knucklehead,” she said, gently stabbing her finger against his chest. “Black is one of the least visible colors for cars. There’s a time for stealth and a time to be seen.”
His heart twisting, he grabbed her hand and held it against his chest. “Aw, Callie, I didn’t know you cared,” he said, making sure he used a playful tone.
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t get excited. I care for my cat, too.”
“Thanks,” he said dryly. “I’ll remember that.”
He looked at her for a long moment that stretched into two and told his stomach to unknot itself. “You okay?” he asked in a low voice.
She sighed and her eyelids fluttered down, shielding her gaze from his. “Yeah.” She swallowed. “It hurt, but I didn’t feel so lost.” She shrugged and looked up at him. “It’s hard to explain.”
“You don’t have to if you don’t want,” he said, lifting his hand to touch her hair.
“Let’s go inside. I’ve been sitting in that car a long time and I need to tinkle.”
Brock chuckled. “You go on in and I’ll unload your car.”
“Don’t forget the wine. I picked up some on my way into town,” she said as she dashed for the front door.
“You did?” he muttered in surprise, not sure what to make of that. Not sure he should make anything of it. Maybe she’d planned to drink a glass of wine in solitude after her long drive. Maybe the wine purchase had nothing to do with him.
Brock swore under his breath. He was overthinking stuff way too much. Grabbing her overnight bag, a backpack and the small grocery bag, he took them into her cottage. He set her overnight bag and backpack in her bedroom then took the grocery bag into the kitchen. He stuck the wine in the freezer, setting his mental timer for twenty minutes. He was about to throw away the grocery bag when he spotted four chocolate chip cookies from the deli.
“I had a burger on the way home, but I thought cookies and wine sounded good,” she said from the doorway. “Two for you and two for me.”
He chuckled. So she had thought of him after all. “You could save the other two for tomorrow night.”
“I can share,” she said, almost flirting with him. “Tell me about your trip.”
He shrugged. “Not much to tell. I bought the SUV and rented a furnished condo.”
“Furnished,” she echoed, wrinkling her nose in disapproval.
“It’s temporary,” he said. “It’s pretty nice. Got skylights and a Jacuzzi.”
“Ooh, I could be a little jealous of the Jacuzzi, but I’ll console myself with my ocean and lack of traffic.”
“Your ocean,” he returned, laughing. “When did it become yours?”
“Okay, my access to the ocean.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I know I’ve been a pain in the butt fix-it project for you, but you’ll miss me more than you plan on.”
He sure as hell hoped not, Brock thought. He’d missed her so much this past weekend it had taken his breath away a few times. “Sure I’ll miss you. Like a toothache,” he teased her as he pulled her against him. He was tired of waiting to hold her.
She thumped his chest with her fist. “It’s gonna be weird not having you around.”
“I’m only a phone call away. Just a four-hour drive.”
She bit her lip and shook her head. “I’m not going to bug you when you’re starting your new adventure.”
“What if I don’t think of it as bugging me?”
She shook her head again. “That’s just your over-developed sense of responsibility talking.”
He wanted to argue, but shelved it for another time. Now, at least, she was in his arms. “I’m not feeling responsible right now,” he said and lowered his head.
“Oh, really? Wha—”
He took her mouth with his, stopping her words. She immediately lifted her hands to the back of his neck and his heart turned over. He took his time with her mouth, kissing her so long he had to pull back for air.
“You feel so good,” she whispered. “The whole drive home, I thought about how good you feel.”
The sensual need in her voice pulled every chain inside him. “I thought about you a lot, too,” he muttered.
“You don’t sound happy about it,” she murmured, running her lips over his throat.
Brock wasn’t happy about it. He felt his body temperature rise another degree. Impatient with her clothes, with his clothes, with anything between them, he slid his fingers over her nipples and approved the ripple that raced through her.
He felt her tug his shirt loose and slip her hands underneath. He felt so hot he wondered if his skin sizzled at her touch. A groan escaped his throat when she pulled at the buttons on his shirt.
“I was planning on wine, cookies then you, but…” Her voice trailed off as she pressed her open mouth on his chest.
Brock groaned again. “We can have the wine. It just needs to chill a little longer.”
“That’ll take too long,” she protested, lowering her mouth to his belly.
Brock swore. “No, it won’t. I put it in the freezer.”
She glanced up at him. “How long?”
“Fifteen or twenty minutes,” he said, his heart pounding at the dark, wanting expression in her eyes.
She bit her lip and lowered her palm to the front of his pants. “I think you’re ready now.”
Unbearably aroused by her boldness, he held his breath. “Seems like I’m always ready around you.”
She closed her eyes and pressed her mouth against his chest. “But I’m ready, too. I’ve been ready for you for hours.”
Brock started to sweat. “You’re making it impossible for me to go slow with you.”
“I don’t want slow tonight,” she said, pulling her shirt over her head and tossing her bra aside. “I just want you.”
Something inside him snapped. He felt hard and urgent, almost desperate. No almost about it. He felt lust and something more. He wanted to give and take, to possess. He couldn’t rebel against the primitive need. He wanted Callie to be his and no one else’s. He wanted to mark her as his. Feeling his muscles twitch from the strain of restraint, he argued with himself. Until she took his mouth. And then he was lost to everything but her.
Sliding his hands under her bottom, he picked her up and strode to her bedroom. It was dark except for the light streaming in from the hallway. He tumbled her onto the bed and immediately followed her down. His mouth seeking hers, he helped rid her of her clothes and his. Her skin felt like the softest satin beneath him—hot satin. He touched her between her thighs and found her damp and ready.
“Do I need a con—”
She shook her head. “I took care of—”
Unable to wait one more second, he thrust inside her. Her sigh mingled with his.
“Take me,” she pleaded. “Let me take you.”
She already had taken him, he thought, as he began to move inside her in a rhythm guaranteed to send him over the edge in no time. He held her as she urged him on and from the corner of his eye, he saw her bedside table with Rob’s photo, his medals and his cover…Even as Brock tumbled over the edge, something inside him whispered you’ll never really have her.
That didn’t keep him from trying. Remembering the bottle of wine in the freezer, he collected it along with some glasses and toasted every inch of
her starting with her hair. He toasted her eyes and nose, which made her giggle. He toasted her lips several times, then her chin. He spilled a little wine on her and kissed it away. She returned the favor, and pretty soon he ditched the wine. She tasted better anyway.
He made love to her again and again throughout the night, trying to get enough of her, trying to fill himself up enough that maybe he wouldn’t want her so much.
When dawn slipped through her bedroom window he was sexually satisfied, sated. Sighing, he looked at her, but she was turned away from him. He felt an odd gnawing sensation in his gut. He wanted to see her face. Her hair spilled over the pillow behind her and she was very still. Sleeping, he thought, until he saw her chest rise in a jerky movement and heard a tight choking sound.
Alarmed, Brock sat up. “Callie?” He glanced in the same direction she was looking and his heart sank. She was looking at Rob’s medals and his cover, his photo. He heard her sniff and his stomach twisted. “Callie,” he said, reaching for her.
She flinched away from his touch.
That slight movement sliced him.
Pulling the sheet with her, she sat up, swiping at her cheeks. “I’m sorry. It just hit me all of a sudden.” Her voice was strained and tight. “I kept it together all weekend. I got a little sad at the memorial when I thought about Rob and me and some of the things we did when we were kids, but—” She broke off and closed her eyes, taking a steadying breath. She opened her eyes and met his gaze. “I’m really starting to lose him,” she whispered, desperation oozing from her. “I don’t think about him every other minute anymore.”
He took her hand in his even though it hurt not to pull her into his arms. “You’re not losing him, Callie. You’re just starting to live again. He’ll always be a part of you, your art, the way you look at people. He’ll always be with you even when you’re not thinking about him.”
There was so much more he wanted to say, more he wanted to be to her. Rob may have been Callie’s history, but Brock wanted to be her future. The desire was starting to consume him. He was beginning to think that going through the grueling Crucible training in boot camp had been nothing compared to what he’d gotten himself into with Callie.
He met her for a midmorning walk. It was a windy, sunny day and she chattered excitedly about how much progress she was making with her art. Her voice sounded like music to him. One more thing he would miss like hell. He hated the way his gut felt, like it was being twisted and torn out of him.
She reached for his hand and pulled him to a stop, laughing. “You haven’t said a word and you’re walking like you’re headed for Egypt. What’s up?”
He paused, memorizing how her hand felt on his—soft and small, yet firm. “Not Egypt,” he said, meeting her gaze. “Just Atlanta.”
Her smile fell and she brushed her hair out of her face. “How soon?”
“Today.”
Her eyes widened and she looked away. “Wow.”
“Callie,” he began, wanting to reassure her.
She lifted her hand and shook her head. “No, no, no. You don’t have to baby me. I knew this was com ing. I’ll be okay. I am okay,” she corrected, lifting her lips in a forced, but determined smile. “You don’t have to worry. I won’t weep and wail. I won’t act like Velcro. I won’t be plastic cling wrap around you.”
What if that was what he wanted? “You know you can call me for anything,” he said. “I can be here in no time if you need me.”
“But I won’t,” she insisted, lifting her chin. “I appreciate everything you’ve done. You pulled me out of my hole and—” She broke off and shook her head smiling. “God rest Rob’s soul, but you gave me the best sex I’ve ever had.”
“Same,” he said.
Her eyes widened in surprise. “I find that difficult to believe.”
“Believe it,” he said.
She met his gaze and the electricity between them hummed as if a power line ran straight through them. Her face turned pink and she lifted her hand self-consciously to her throat. “Watch out,” she warned. “It’ll go to my head.”
“That’s fair. You’ve gone to my head.” That was as close as he would get to telling her how he really felt about her. He wouldn’t make promises she wouldn’t want him to keep. He wouldn’t make a profession that would make her faint in disbelief.
She rolled her eyes and snagged his arm. “Come on. I don’t want you worrying about me while you go off on your new adventure,” she said as she urged him toward her cottage. “I’m going to be fine. I have another luncheon date and I’ve somehow gotten myself committed to working with kindergartners once a week.”
“I guess that means you’ll at least start your car once a week.”
She tossed him a dirty look then continued with a driven air. “Don’t pull that innocent routine with me. I know you’re behind it. I’m also going back to the retirement center. But I have something I want you to take with you. There were actually two things I wanted to give you, but I didn’t know you were leaving so soon.”
Brock shook his head as they entered the back door of the cottage. “I don’t want anything, don’t need anything. Really. It’s not—”
“This isn’t anything that big, just a reminder,” she said, guiding him to the kitchen. “I’m glad I went ahead and got them developed.” She grabbed a packet of photographs from the counter and flipped through them. “Where is it…here it is!” she said, pulling out one and thrusting it at him.
“What was I saying?” she murmured, lifting her hand to her head. “Oh, it’s a reminder. Not of me,” she said firmly, “but of you.”
Distracted by the unusual frantic pace of her conversation, Brock looked down at the photograph and wrinkled his brow in confusion. It was the photo of him and Callie and all those kids who had worked on the sand castle. His gaze automatically returned to Callie, with her sunburned nose, windblown hair and laughing smile.
“Are you looking at yourself?”
He nodded, lying, his gaze still fastened on her.
“See how relaxed you look, how happy,” she said, pointing at him.
Brock glanced at himself in the photo. She was right. He looked happy. “Yeah,” he muttered.
“Don’t forget the sand castles,” she said.
He looked at her. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you are one of the most driven men I’ve ever met. You’re intense, sometimes too serious, and almost always too hard on yourself. Don’t forget what your dreams were when you were a kid.” She took a quick breath then lifted her lips to his in a kiss that didn’t last nearly long enough. “Draw some high-rise sand castles during some of those endless meetings.”
A terrible knot formed in his throat, but he smiled over it. “I’ll do that,” he said, and lifted his hand to touch her cheek, memorizing her features one more time. “Call me for any reason.”
She shook her head. “This is your new adventure. I refuse to butt in.” She bit her lip. “Thank you for everything. Good—”
Unable to bear hearing those words from her, he covered her mouth. “Don’t say it.”
“What do you want me to say?” she asked, her voice reflecting a hint of the desperation he felt.
“See you soon,” he said.
“What if that’s not true?”
“Say it anyway.”
“See you soon,” she said, and he pulled her into his arms and held her in silence for two and a half minutes. It took him that long to get himself squared away enough to walk away.
Thirteen
Marine Lingo Translation
Semper Fi: Marine Corps motto—
Always Faithful.
The late November rain pounded against the window of Brock’s corner office. His leg always ached when there was a cold rain and today was no different. Reports waited for his review, but he picked up the photograph of Callie and him with the super sand castle instead. He’d touched it so often, the edges had started to show some wear, so he’d put it
in a Plexiglas frame. If he closed his eyes, he could smell the ocean and hear her laughter.
“Brock?” a male voice called from the doorway, interrupting Brock’s trip to the South Carolina shore.
Sighing, he turned toward the door. He knew the voice belonged to the managing partner’s intern. “What do you need, Eugene?”
“Mr. Robertson just wants your opinion on this as soon as you can take a look at it,” Eugene said, setting down a thick file and glancing over Brock’s shoulder. “Pretty lady,” he said. “I didn’t know you were married.”
Brock set the picture down. “I’m not.”
“Significant other? Fiancée?” Eugene paused. “Sister? She doesn’t really look—”
“No, she’s not my sister,” he said, feeling irritated. “She’s just a woman I know.”
“An acquaintance,” Eugene clarified, nodding his head.
“Yes,” Brock said, knowing the description wasn’t right. “And—”
“More,” Eugene said, waving his hand. “A friend.”
“Why are we playing charades?” Brock asked.
Eugene shrugged. “I’ve never noticed that photograph before.”
That was because Brock had kept it in his drawer until he’d put it in a frame. “You can tell Mr. Robertson I’ll get this done by tomorrow.”
Eugene scratched the back of his neck. “If you’re not romantically involved, I know a woman who would like to meet you for a drink.”
Brock immediately rejected the idea. He wasn’t interested. He wasn’t sure when he would be interested again. He was starting to wonder if he might as well become a monk. “I’ve got a lot of work—”
“Before you say no,” Eugene said, “remember, it’s just a drink. I’ll pay.”
Brock frowned in confusion. “Why?”
Eugene sighed and looked over his shoulder as if to make sure no one was listening. “Because I want Linda in Accounting to go out with me. She said she would meet me for drinks if I could get you to come along for Beth. We could all go together.”
Brock couldn’t remember meeting Beth personally, but she looked exactly like the kind of woman who would have attracted him before Callie. Killer body, clearly experienced, hot. Not feeling a lick of interest, Brock shook his head. “Sorry, Eugene, you’re gonna have to—”
