Until There Was You (Coming Home, #2)

by Jessica Scott

* * *

  Evan stood in front of the old oak, hands stuffed in the pockets of his faded jacket. His cheeks were red from the cold but Claire doubted he could feel it.

  The old tree was more misshapen than the tattoo on his back. More bent and twisted with time. She thought she saw a glint of metal gleaming from the bark, but she couldn’t be sure.

  “Casey was always a bit wild.” He sniffed, rubbing his jaw briefly before stuffing his hand back in his pocket. “My dad worked a lot. Which left me to look after her. Mom didn’t really know what to do with her. I guess Mom’s answer was to do nothing at all.”

  He released a shuddering breath. It froze, glittering on the night air. “Is it weird that I don’t hate her for that?”

  Claire could barely speak past the knot in her throat. She shook her head, mute. Listening. Just listening.

  “I’d snuck out to a party a week before Halloween. I thought Casey was at home. She wasn’t. She,” his voice wavered and broke and he sucked in a long, hard breath, “she’d gone out with a couple of seniors from another high school.”

  “Oh, Evan.” Her words were a whisper, a caress of sympathy.

  “I got to her before anything happened.” He smiled, but the smile was carved with sadness, raw and uncut. “I thought I was some kind of badass, and that I was going to get my little sister home safe.” His breath caught again and he bowed his head. “Except that I’d had a couple of beers.”

  Claire placed her hand on his shoulder, right over the scar that had ripped Casey Loehr’s name from his skin.

  “I thought I was sober enough to drive. We were hit by a tractor trailer. He drifted into my lane and I jerked the wheel into his lane to try and avoid him.” The muscles on his back clenched and knotted beneath her touch. “Casey died before the airlift helo could get her to the hospital.”

  She heard the recrimination, the self-loathing in those whispered words. The memories twisting into him. “I killed my little sister.”

  He bowed his head, looking away from the tree. Avoiding her gaze until she stepped in front of him, cupping his face gently in her palms, his skin frigid cold beneath her touch. Waiting until he met her gaze. “Evan,” she whispered, knowing her words were useless.

  There was nothing she could say that would erase the thirteen years of guilt he’d carried with him. She traced her fingers across his forehead, brushing a strand of hair from his eyes.

  It terrified her, seeing this side of a man she thought of as a rock. Steadfast. Reliable.

  But tonight he was shaken, his grief so real and raw, he might have been standing at the scene of the accident after it just happened instead of in a field of snow-covered memories.

  “Look at me,” she said. He turned to her with dark eyes filled with sadness. She brushed her lips against his. “Evan. You can’t keep punishing yourself.”

  His breath froze against her skin. Slowly, so slowly, the memories retreated.

  “Evan,” she repeated, her breath mingling with his. She brushed her lips against his again, hoping to chase away the demons that danced at the edge of his soul.

  A ragged breath rushed from him and he buried his face against her neck. She wrapped her arms around him. “I can’t go home. My parents can’t even look at me.” He lifted his face from her neck, stroking her hair from her face. He smiled weakly. “So much for Captain America, huh?”

  Claire cupped his face in her hands. “I call you Captain America because you’re such an honorable man. But now I know why you work so hard to be perfect.” She stroked her thumb over his cheek.

  He was lost. Adrift in a field of memories. And he might have been looking at Claire, but he was speaking to the memory of his dead sister, who hadn’t lived long enough for him to make his apology.

  “You can’t change what happened,” she whispered. “You’re a good man, Evan.”

  He closed his eyes, lowering his forehead to hers. “How can you look at me and say that knowing what I did?”

  She shifted, pressing her lips to his closed eyes. “Because I know all about making mistakes that will haunt you for a lifetime.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Iaconelli is going to ruin his career with his drinking.” Evan’s voice was rough as Claire pulled into the parking lot of the lodge a short while later. It was close to four A.M. Dawn was not far off, but he doubted they’d be able to sleep. It would not be the first time that either of them had pulled more than a twenty-four-hour shift. The war was funny that way. Got you so used to working such long hours that when you came home, you felt like you were slacking off if you worked only ten- or twelve-hour days.

  “He’s getting worse.” It hurt Claire to say the words—she’d tried to keep them inside of her for so long. “And I don’t think he can stop.”

  “If he doesn’t get himself under control, someone’s going to get hurt,” Evan said. He stared out into the darkness. “Before we came up here, I found out the sergeant major caught him with Everclear downrange.” Claire said nothing, and Evan turned his face to peer at her in the darkness. “I don’t know why he didn’t report him, but he didn’t.”

  Claire met his gaze, a warm sadness filling her eyes in the unlit cab of the truck. “I can guess,” she said quietly. “He needed Reza in the fight more than he needed to make an example of him for drinking downrange. It might not have been the right tradeoff, but it’s one that anyone who has served in combat can understand.”

  Evan sighed quietly. “He doesn’t talk about it. About anything, for that matter. He just drinks and screws and drinks and screws. Only good thing I can say is that at least he loads up on condoms, so there hopefully aren’t dozens of little Iaconellis running around.”

  Evan caught the edge of her smile in the dark and he frowned. “What?”

  “It’s funny. Reza is passed out in the backseat and oh, by the way, you’re breaking all kinds of rules to keep him off any police reports, and the only thing you’re concerned about is his ability to put a condom on when he’s shit-faced drunk?”

  Evan laughed quietly. “Well, that is actually heroic, if you think about it.”

  “Only in your world,” she said with a wry grin. “In the rest of the world, it’s kind of tragic.”

  Silence hung over them once more, and Claire killed the ignition.

  “I’ll help you get him upstairs,” Evan said softly.

  She glanced over her shoulder, then back at him, an odd smile on her lips. “You don’t have to. I’ll deal with him. I’ve done it a hundred times before.” Iaconelli shifted behind them and threw his arm over his eyes with a rough sigh. Claire was the type of woman who would come through for her friends no matter what. It hurt, knowing that no matter what happened between them, he could never garner that kind of loyalty from her.

  He slid his hand over hers, her skin cold and soft beneath his palm. “Maybe it’s time we both stopped trying to deal with everything alone.”

  * * *

  They put Reza to bed. Getting Reza out of the car was no easier than getting him into the backseat of the car, but it was accomplished in much the same way. With much swearing and grunting.

  Evan paused outside Reza’s door. Claire stood with him for a moment, then threaded her fingers through his, guiding him past his door and into her own. The door closed with a quiet click behind them and a hush fell over the suite. The snow covered the outside world in a heavy white blanket, obscuring the dark.

  Kneeling next to the fireplace, Claire stacked a few pieces of kindling on top of newspaper and waited until they were crackling and snapping before she added a small log. All the while, she felt Evan’s gaze on her back. The warmth of it slid beneath her skin, sidling up to her heart and nestling close.

  She shifted and sighed, settling on the floor near the fire and wrapping her arms around her knees. The awkwardness between them had to balance out sometime. They could not go the rest of this mission alternating between fighting and not speaking to each other and kissing at really awkward
moments.

  Evan moved to sit on the floor in front of the fire and said nothing for a long moment. The space between them was warmer now, heated by more than the flames in front of them.

  “What’s going on in that brain of yours?” she asked quietly.

  It was tempting, so tempting, to inch across the floor and sit near him. Such a simple gesture, but one that would hold too much significance. She watched as he searched for a way to put whatever was eating at him into words.

  He’d long ago convinced her that he was nowhere near as intoxicated as she’d originally thought. Either he hadn’t had as much to drink as Reza or he’d processed it out of his system faster. One thing was clear: the man sitting on the floor of her suite was sober.

  His next words, much more so.

  “Today when we were at the shoot house, I started thinking about our mission out in Hamamiyat.” He looked up at her, his eyes glittering darkly.

  “You mean the mission where you pissed your pants?” she said, dancing around a memory. It was one of the few times they’d actually worked together without ripping each other’s heads off.

  “I have it on good authority that I was not the only one who pissed my pants that day.” Some of the tension went out of his shoulders then. His mouth relaxed. Just a little, but it was enough to take the edge off.

  Not enough to keep Claire from being drawn to him, inexplicably, by a force she could not explain. He was everything that was tormented, sensual, male.

  “I never figured that training for combat would never be the same again after doing it for real,” she said quietly. She turned away from the want pounding inside her, ignoring the sensual warmth from the man sitting so close to her. Heat engulfed her, wrapped around her.

  Made her blood sing with arousal and unsatisfied desire.

  “Yeah. It makes a difference when you know that someday, the fake blood will be real.” Evan scoffed quietly. He paused. “I think the only one who didn’t nearly shit himself after that house blew up was Reza.”

  The memory of that town, of that battle stirred a maelstrom of emotions inside her. Twisted and tormented. “I think he got drunk when we got back to base after that mission,” she admitted softly. “I couldn’t find him for half a day, and when I did …”

  Evan studied her quietly for a moment. “You didn’t turn him in.”

  “Why would I?” A shadow fell across her heart. A memory of having her life uprooted and destroyed all because she’d finally told someone about the extent of her father’s drinking. She pinned him with a thoughtful look and a wry smile. “I look after people I care about.” She stared into the fire, lost in a maze of tangled memories.

  Evan inched closer to her. He boxed her in between the wall and the fire and the heat from his body, and she fought the brief panic that gripped her heart. “What were you thinking about just then?” he whispered, sitting far too close.

  Panic edged up, cloying and grasping and making it difficult for her to breathe. Cool air kissed her skin as his fingers gathered the weight of her hair from her neck.

  She tipped her chin, arching her neck in subtle invitation. “This is a bad idea,” she whispered.

  “Probably.” He nipped her ear hard enough that pleasure spiked with pain shot through her body to the vee between her thighs. “Do you want me to stop?”

  “Only if you want to die,” she murmured. He shifted, and in a single moment pulled her against him, so that she was cradled between his thighs. His chest pressed to her back, his arousal grazing her backside.

  His breath was hot on her neck, his deep voice rumbling through his body and into hers. “I have a confession.”

  “Hmm?” Sensation slithered through her body, twisting and writhing with the lingering strain from the day.

  He traced the edge of her ear with the tip of his tongue, sending fire sparking through her veins. “It’s been a really long time for me.”

  She smiled, resting her head back against his shoulder. He slipped his hands over her belly, stroking her gently. “A warrior monk. I knew it.”

  His laugh rumbled through his body, shaking her gently. “Not exactly.” He pressed his lips to her temple. “But I want to do this right.”

  “I was right. A perfectionist.” She smiled and shifted closer. “I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about. You don’t exactly have a lot of competition.”

  Behind her, he stiffened and she winced—she’d revealed far too much. “Bad lovers, or not enough lovers?”

  The warmth of his body drew her closer, urging her into the promise of his embrace. She played her palms over his thighs, feeling the hard muscles beneath the soft fabric of his jeans. “Does it matter?” she whispered.

  “Not really.” His breath was hot on her cheek, his mouth nibbling over the tiny curve of her jaw. “But …”

  Her breath caught in her throat as he sucked gently on the skin beneath her ear, his big body wrapping around her. Too close. She inched away slightly.

  “Answer me something?” he asked, his voice soft. “Why do you always back away when I touch you?”

  “Evan, this isn’t a good time to go all amateur psychiatrist on me,” she whispered, losing some of the fight to maintain control.

  She felt his lips curl against her ear and an unexpected laugh rumbled deep in his chest. “Ever tried naked psychiatry?”

  Her blood warmed, burning through the bad memories to the good that she did not deserve and could not hold on to, no matter how tightly she squeezed. The lingering edge of arousal pumped through her veins, slower now, but still potent.

  Evan was here. And tonight, she understood him a little better. Understood that losing his sister when he was little more than a child had shaped the man he was. He’d shown her the scarred, damaged man beneath his uniform. She admired the hell out of that man.

  He would not see the same thing if he looked closely at her jaded past. No matter how much her blood pumped in her ears, no matter how much the heat pooled between her thighs, she wanted her own past to stay buried.

  * * *

  He craved Claire, but more, he craved her trust, this woman who was so convinced that she needed no one. Gently, so gently, he traced a single finger down the line of her neck.

  He wanted. Oh God how he wanted this woman. And with a single touch, he had shattered her barriers. He knew it when she tilted her neck to one side, the barest hint of movement. He knew it when her throat moved against his finger as she swallowed and did not pull away.

  “Can I kiss you?” he asked, lowering his mouth to hover just above her pulse.

  He traced his finger along the gentle slope of her jaw, their bodies separated by the barest hint of space. “Claire?” He blew on her skin, savoring the shiver that ran through her body and crossed the space into his. “Say yes, Claire.”

  Chapter Twelve

  A whimper tore from her throat. Pleasure surged through his veins, his cock hard and aching. He caressed the sensitive skin of her neck, but he would not give her what she wanted until she said it. “Say yes, Claire,” he murmured. With infinite slowness, he traced the line of her jaw with the tip of his tongue, cradling her body against his.

  She moaned low in her throat, refusing to answer. Everything about her was a challenge. To his sanity. To his livelihood. To the wholeness of his very soul. A maddening, frustrating challenge that burned in his belly. He pressed his lips to that sensitive skin then, allowing her the first round, even as he wrapped his arms tight around her, pulling her hard against him. He suckled her throat, felt her pulse racing beneath his lips as she molded herself against him, a shiver ripping through them both.

  She arched against him, rubbing her cheeks against his erection, and it was Evan’s turn to groan as his cock chafed against the zipper of his pants. He rocked his hips against her, feeding on the sensation of her body against his. He wanted her naked. He wanted her stripped and vulnerable.

  He curled his lips against her neck, then nipped at her earl
obe before he yanked her shirt over her head in a single jerk.

  She shivered violently at the sudden snap of cold against her skin, but he pulled her against him again before she could register what he’d done. “That’s mean,” she hissed.

  “You’re the one who’s not cooperating.”

  He held her close, loving the feeling of her body against his. He stroked his hands over her belly, her ribs, memorizing the shape of her before he eased her back. He’d meant to press his lips to the back of her neck.

  Dozens of tiny scars crisscrossed her back, white lines against pale skin.

  His gasp was a sharp, biting hiss in the silence. Her body went tense beneath his touch. He closed his eyes, his vision crossed with the razor-thin lines that threaded the skin on her back. He wanted to push, to demand the answers that would ease his burning desire to hurt the person who’d done this to her.

  * * *

  Claire could have sworn she felt the heat of his gaze sweep over the damaged flesh. She could not force herself to relax as she waited for him to speak.

  “This is not a combat injury,” he murmured, his voice shaking with barely restrained rage. “Is it?”

  “No. It’s not.” Claire felt exposed and vulnerable. Her heart trembled in her chest, skittering against her breast. She tried to pull away then, needing to stop the bloodletting before it began. “Just another piece of history.”

  Neither of them moved. Neither of them made a sound in the ragged silence. Then he slowly pulled her against him, kissing her cheek, her jaw, her throat. And Claire could have wept for the relief that crashed through her.

  * * *

  With a gentleness he did not feel, Evan cradled her body against his. He’d never guessed that the scars she carried would be physical. She hid so much beneath the rank on her chest, the grey uniforms she wore everywhere. She was filled with shame, he realized, when she had nothing to be ashamed of. He cradled her against him and pressed his lips to the scars crisscrossing her back. Had anyone ever loved her, just for her? “You’re beautiful,” he murmured. Her fingers tightened against his forearms.