Wise Men Say (1 Night Stand Series)

by Burke, Wendy

  “Get off me! Help!” Her pinned leg came free and she kneed him in the groin.

  “Oh shit.” He croaked and grabbed his genitals. Rolling from her and the sofa, he landed on the floor with a thud. “Damn, Emmy, you still have friggin’ boney knees.”

  Springing from the couch, she jumped behind it.

  The door popped open and before she could acknowledge him, Paul yodeled a ‘Helll-low!’ at the nude bulk on the floor.

  Peering over the sofa back, more at ease with another man in her presence—albeit Paul—she took a good look at her attacker. The pain inflicted by her patella was wearing off. When he turned to get to his knees, then his feet, the red and black tattoo on his right shoulder blade shocked her. Her breath caught in her throat and she stumbled back. Only one person she knew had that particular ink. God will judge our enemies, we’ll arrange the meeting circled the Navy SEAL crest.

  With the threat dissipated, Paul retrieved a robe from the bedroom. “Lieutenant Klaussen.” He handed it over. Nick nodded, his gaze on Emmy as he knotted the robe.

  Paul’s hands warmed her shoulders. “Go on. It’s all right.”

  Arms stretched out to her, Nick waited.

  Decades of praying, writing letters, harassing members of Congress, hoping, believing, wanting, and in her heart just knowing Nick was out there somewhere, alive…and there he stood. This is too much–it can’t be.

  The circumstance was too enormous to fathom. Wanting so badly to speak, go to him, fall into his embrace, she couldn’t move, paralyzed with shock. She was elated, yet sick to her stomach.

  Her voice trembled. “N-Nicky?”

  Paul steadied her when he approached. The emotion of the situation became too much, her eyes rolled up before the world went black.

  “I got her.” Nick scooped Emmy into his arms. He kissed her forehead and rubbed his head against hers, breathed her in, and fell in love all over again. Placing her on the sofa, he cradled her in his lap.

  “I’d faint, too,” Paul said. Nick nodded in thorough understanding. “Is she all right?”

  Putting fingers to the inside of her wrist, he held it for a moment. “Her pulse is strong and steady, so she’ll be fine. I’m sure she’s just a bit shocked, probably more psychological than anything else.”

  Paul sat at the far end of the couch. “She’s been waiting for this day a very long time.”

  “As have I.”

  “I know this sounds cliché, but she’s lived for you. She never gave up, she knew you were out there…alive.”

  “I don’t doubt that, she’s pretty damn stubborn.”

  “Stubborn is being polite.” Paul snorted.

  “Don’t I know it.” Nick rested his chin on her head, the smell of her intoxicating him like it always had. “She’s still beautiful, though.”

  “That she is…inside and out.”

  Emmy stirred. “Wha….”

  Paul grinned. “I’ll let you two alone.”

  Nick put out his hand, embarrassed. “Thank you, uh….”

  “Paul,” he responded, shaking his hand.

  “…Paul.”

  Paul leaned over to kiss her head. “Nighty night, Emmy. See you in the morning.”

  On his way out, he hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the handle.

  As the door clunked closed, Nick lifted her from the sofa. Taking her into the bedroom, he leaned into the massive bed and laid her on the spread. Her breathing still strong and steady, she showed no signs of distress. His long awaited reunion would have to wait a little longer.

  While she lay in stunned unconsciousness, he dressed in blue jeans and a green khaki T-shirt with SEAL Base Kandahar stenciled across the chest.

  Settling beside her, his back propped against the headboard, he looked at his fiancée, wondering if technically they were still engaged. He lifted her left hand. She still wore the spartan diamond ring he’d placed on her finger more than twenty years earlier. “Oh, Em.”

  She stirred. “Hmm?”

  He continued to hold her hand, studying her. She was beautiful and barely seemed to have aged. Her hair seemed different, shorter, darker and wavier than he remembered.

  He touched her cheek. “You in there, Emmy?”

  “Paulie, what happened?” she mumbled, still confused.

  “You passed out.”

  She blinked her eyes a few times. “But I didn’t have that much to drink.”

  “Maybe you were in shock.”

  “What shock?”

  He cupped her chin in his hand, hoping she’d fully wake. “Of seeing me.”

  Her eyes opened. Seeing him for the second time, she didn’t flinch. But she covered her mouth with one hand while tears streamed down her cheeks. He pulled her into a sitting position and embraced her.

  “It’s really you!”

  He’d waited thousands of days for that moment. The feel of her body wrapped in his arms, her hands stroking his back. Unbelievable!

  He let her cry for a time, her tears well deserved. But he needed to do something and could wait no longer.

  “Emmy, hon.”

  She loosed her grip, wiping her face, snuffling, calming herself with a sigh. “Yes?”

  He didn’t hesitate and she didn’t balk when he brought her back into his embrace and locked lips with hers.

  Thank you, thank you, Jesus! It’s him, it’s really him!

  Mouth memory returned in full force and she fed on his lips and tongue. His groans and surprised chuckle through their kiss hadn’t changed, even after so many, many years. She giggled too and with their kiss ending, they again fell into each other’s arms.

  In a low, warm tone, he said, “Hello, Emelia Patterson.”

  “Hello, Nicholas Klaussen.” She sat back. “Where have you been?”

  Reaching out, she stroked his face—once clean-shaven, he now had a perfectly trimmed beard and moustache, silver sprinkled through the black. The facial hair did little to cover the character creases and weathering of years gone by. He’d aged, but in no way looked old. His pale blue eyes twinkled with wonder, and hers had to be sparkling in the same surprised manner. She patted his chest, just to make sure no specter sat before her. Oh, he’s real all right—still my Hardbody!

  “You really want to know?”

  She kissed his mouth and moaned when he kissed back. “I do.” With a sigh, she centered herself, wondering how long the list might be. “I do.”

  Propped against the headboard, he drew her into his lap. “I might miss a few. Let’s see—Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, Kuwait, Saudi, Oman, Qatar, Syria, Turkey, Jordan, Israel….”

  “And did you bring me a refrigerator magnet from all those places?”

  He chuckled at the private, inside joke. “Shit. I meant to. I was kind of busy, but I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

  When he nuzzled her cheek with his whiskered chin, a feral want pulsed deep within her.

  “You don’t have to promise me anything. You kept the most important one and came home to me.”

  He touched a callused fingertip over her cheek. “Look how beautiful you are.” A warm flush crept up her neck, just like it always had when he complimented her. “You’re still wearing my ring.”

  “Of course I am. I’m still engaged to you.” He shrugged in response, appearing unlike his strapping, confident self. “You didn’t think I’d leave you.”

  “Em, I’m a realistic person—I wouldn’t have held it against you if you’d moved on, not at all. I actually prepared myself for it—but when I found out you weren’t involved with anyone, all I could do was hope you still wanted me.”

  “Of course, I do….” She stopped. This can’t be a coincidence. “But, how did you know I was here? How did you get into my room?” She gazed at him and smiled, “All that SEAL training, huh?”

  A wry grin crossed his face. “No, actually, I had some help.”

  Cocking her head, she signaled him to continue.

  “I was a bit concerned about wh
at I’d find—if you were with someone else, moved away…you know. And, I didn’t want to find that possible bad news on my own, so I had a little help…an agency.”

  “What the CIA? FBI?” She snorted.

  “No. Let’s just say, not only does the Castillo family love your work, but they had another reason for you to be here—the woman who owns this agency insisted upon it.”

  She furrowed her brow, the wheels in her mind turning, attempting alignment of information. “I don’t understand.”

  “Let’s just say your friend Paul helped.”

  The confused wrinkle dissipated. “Leave it to Paulie.”

  “He’s a very good friend. I can tell that.”

  She sighed into his comfortable hold as the past month began to make sense—the major orders from the Castillo Hotel chain, their insisting upon her presence during installation, Paul’s behind the scenes maneuvering, and goofy grin when she pushed him for answers on the purchases.

  “I do owe you an apology, though.”

  What is he talking about? “You don’t owe me anything.”

  “Em…I’ve been back in the States for nearly two years….”

  His admission tore at her heart. She waited a moment, held back her response, hoping any evidence of hurt would dissipate from the words before she spoke. “You have?”

  He nodded. “I had to get straightened out, honey. I couldn’t come back to you the way I was. It took some time.”

  Nestling her head against his shoulder, she relaxed into his caress, hoping he’d continue.

  “I was a mess—physically and psychologically. What I went through, what I had to do…tough as I am, as much as I was prepared…hell, nothing prepares you for some things.”

  His ragged sigh saddened her to her core, her heart breaking from experiences likely more horrendous than words could ever express. She knew of some of the atrocities inflicted upon American troops. Heard from other family of soldiers, sailors and airmen—their military men and women went through wartime hell, most of which never saw the media’s eye.

  “The things I had to do just to survive….”

  She buried her face under his chin. He responded as she had hoped, clutching her tighter, kissing her forehead, stroking her arms.

  Listening to his story, she held back her tears—the tales so intense and almost unbelievable. But, they had to be true, Nick would never lie, never spin a yarn just to garner even an iota of sympathy. He was an unsung hero.

  She didn’t interject, didn’t question, but let him talk, vent the fear, frustration, exhaustion and irritation of the last twenty-one years. His monologue lasted an hour.

  With a small hitch, he stuttered through his final words. “So, can you understand why I couldn’t come back to you right away?”

  She quieted him with a warm hug about his neck. “It doesn’t matter, you’re here now.” She held him as she always had, although she clung to him a bit longer, thinking if she let go, he’d disappear again.

  “I love you, Nick.”

  His response sounded like a gasp, then a contented sigh before he said, “I’ve waited so long to hear that, Emelia…so long.” He brought his mouth to hear ear, whispering, “I love you, Emmy.”

  When his mouth found hers, it was as if no time had passed between them. He kissed her like he had more than twenty years ago, the same kind of kiss which always led to one thing.

  Chapter Four

  His strong weight forced her into the lush linens. He kissed and nibbled on her neck, drowning in the scent of her, one he’d missed for so very long. He brought his fingers to the decorative zipper bisecting the front of her dressy gold-sparkled blouse, she closed her hand around his.

  “Nick.”

  He moved his hand beneath hers in a continuing attempt to unzip her shirt. “Yes?”

  “Umm….”

  “Do you not want to? I mean, I can understand….”

  “Of course, I do…I just….”

  Lifting his face, he looked at her. “What is it?” Her jaw tightened as she held back more tears.

  “It’s been a long time. I-I don’t know if….”

  Drawing her close, he had to keep from chuckling. “Like riding a bike, once you get on….” He let the thought hang then pulled back, gave her a wink, and unzipped her shirt, exposing a daintily embellished bra. She still loves her fancy underwear! He raised a very interested eyebrow then rubbed his cheek on hers. “Pretty, but let’s get you out of it, shall we?”

  “Nicky!”

  That tone! That tone always got his attention. “What, baby?”

  He held her gaze for a moment, until she turned her face from his with the plea, “Please….”

  Taking a deep breath, he centered himself and with great care slipped the fabric from the right side of her bust. Peeling the lace away from the left side, he bit his bottom lip. Damn, she still has a rack! Taking a breast in his hand, he sighed. He’d waited so long for this day.

  “Oh crap.” She closed her eyes and tipped her head back into the sheets.

  Vertigo sent his mind swirling in a time warp, its spirals sending him back two decades, plus. Flashes of images; the bed of his pick-up truck, Emmy astride him, silhouetted by a full moon—her knit cap sparkling with melting flakes as he rolled her in the snow of Kiwanis Park sledding hill the last time he’d visited their hometown—her tear-filled hazel eyes when she’d kissed him for the last time at Vegas’ McCarran International Airport, the day he went away, almost for good.

  She slipped her hand under the back of his shirt. Her words oozed sex. “Take it off.”

  The breathy invitation was all he needed. He pulled away and ripped his shirt over his head. Yanking his jeans over his hips, he didn’t bother to unzip them. When he turned his attention back to the bed, she’d slipped off her top. She’d barely raised her hips to shimmy from her dressy trousers, when he grabbed the waistband and stripped them from her.

  “Damn, you’re still fucking beautiful!” Impossible to restrain himself, he dragged his lips over her skin, kissing her from cheek and neck, to shoulder, to breast and nipple.

  “God, Nicky.”

  He slid a hand down her torso, between her legs, gliding his fingers deep into her folds. Wet, so, so wet!—as if drenched in the finest oil. “Damn, Em.” She tossed her head back with a gasp when he found what he searched for. “There it is.”

  “Just where you left it.”

  Gentle, but direct, his finger slipped under her hood, rubbing her clit against her pelvic bone. He’d forgotten how easily she aroused and the unrestrained moans which came from her. He attempted to temper his response, but couldn’t resist grinding his groin on her hip. Slow down, sailor! Kissing her became more difficult as his body demanded more force, more friction. Shit! His forehead against hers, they panted as one. He’d come too far to slow down now. Ready or not, here I….

  She twisted under him. “Nick!”

  “Oh God, Emmy!”

  In a wail of long-awaited emotion, they cried out together.

  After a moment, he rolled to his back, still trying to catch his breath. When she moved from him, he lifted his head in time to warn, “Don’t!” Too late, he shuddered again as she grazed his wet slit with her fingertip—ecstasy and excruciating oversensitivity fought to control his physical response, nerve endings firing amok, confused.

  When his reactions were disciplined, he opened his eyes.

  “Mmm.” Her tongue teased her top lip.

  You fucking minx! Her finger swirled the pool of release collected in his navel. She teased him, tonguing her bottom lip. Lifting her finger from his torso she slid it into her mouth.

  Jezebel incarnate! “I missed you. Damn, how I’ve missed you.”

  Snuggling with her fiancé, for the moment nothing seemed amiss, like it hadn’t been two decades ago they were holding each other in the exact same manner. A moment of sadness washed over her, but with a centering breath, she forced it away. Their last meeting had held so
much anxiety of the impending unknown, where he would be shipped to, how long he’d be gone, and of course, the fear neither of them had tried to entertain, if he’d come back.

  “Em?”

  She wondered again about the impending unknown.

  “You okay, honey?”

  She leaned away from him, her gaze meeting his. “I always knew, but I just never thought….”

  He pressed his lips to her forehead and spoke through his kisses. “I never thought, either, never thought I’d see you again, let alone be…uh….” Emotion caught in his throat.

  Stretching in his hold, she snagged tissues from the bedside table and wiped his release from her skin, then from his torso. “Be what? Naked with your cum squished between us?” Her words did the trick and he coughed out a laugh, his face lighting up with her amusement. Wiggling from his embrace, she slipped over him. She straddled his lap, his powerful body vibrating with mirth beneath her. She enjoyed his laughter—how familiar it sounded.

  Although dinged up, he was still the strong, battle-built, handsome patriot she’d fallen in love with so many years ago. In the dim light, she studied him. Nibbling her bottom lip, she held in the sorrow—so many scars.

  Reaching down, she traced the jagged line under his chin. The scar ran from under his left jawbone, across his throat, then up near his right ear. He grasped her hand, removing it from his neck. She caressed the mark’s termination point with her lips, continuing to its origin.

  “Emmy.”

  “Shh.” She examined the old injury, lingered on it, hoping to draw out any memory of the pain. “I love you, Nicky,” she whispered.

  Tipping her head back, she gazed at her fiancé—his eyes closed in peaceful resignation, his war-scarred chest rising and falling with anticipation, his member again stiffening beneath her.

  The small amount of light in the room illuminated the toll war had taken on his body. With reverence she kissed each wound; a group of mottled red pits that dotted his upper left arm; a long, pinkish line crossing his right forearm from elbow to wrist; a deep pucker above his right hip. Honoring him, she stroked his chest and abdomen, holding back tears when she touched an irregularity, something buried deep in his tissue—brought home with him from war, forever to remain.