I shook my head, still amazed at the fucked up behavior of a scared 18 year-old girl and the trail of destruction that she’d set in motion.
“She thought if she got you out of the way, we’d get back together,” I explained. “She had no idea what she’d done. Until after—and it was too late.”
“And did you? Sleep with her?”
Jesus, what?
“For fuck’s sake,” I snapped. “I told you. I didn’t even touch another woman for three years.”
She took a deep breath.
“Sorry.”
“Yeah, well,” I said, letting my sudden anger drain away, “she had to face her parents eventually. Jack wouldn’t have anything to do with her, and she wouldn’t say who the father was. Everyone assumed it was me anyway.”
That just gave my old man another reason to bitch at me, saying I was refusing to face up to responsibilities or some shit. Yep, he made a personal visit to my training base—he really wanted to put the boot in once he couldn’t beat the shit out of me anymore. The fact that he wet his dick in half the nursing staff at the Base hospital was irrelevant, I guess.
I continued with the story. “But when Kimberley was born, she had all this dark brown hair and dark eyes; it was kind of obvious I wasn’t the father.”
“Kimberley?”
“She’s a great kid. I see them sometimes when I’m on the West Coast. Brenda married a car salesman a couple of years back. He’s a pretty nice guy and good with Kimberley.”
Caro nodded slowly.
“Well, I’m glad it worked out for her—in the end.” She paused. “You didn’t tell me what happened to Donna and Johan. They were always kind to me.”
The walk down memory lane was painful, but I guess after all this time we needed it … needed to say things.
“Shirley stayed in touch with them. I saw them a few times after … Johan retired a couple of years back, and they moved to Phoenix. I heard he was pretty sick—leukemia, I think.”
Her face fell and she looked down.
“I’m sorry to hear that—they were a nice couple.”
I nodded but didn’t reply.
“What about that funny little friend of yours—Fido? What was his real name … um … Alfred? Albert? Arnold! What happened to him?”
God, these memories didn’t get any easier. Catching up really sucked.
“He enlisted just before me: the Rakkasans, 187th Infantry. He died eight years ago in Iraq—IED. Poor bastard never stood a chance. He didn’t even make it to twenty.”
Caro’s hands flew to her mouth and she looked distressed.
“Oh no, I’m so sorry!”
We finished our coffees in silence, each of us lost in the past. I really needed to get out of here; if I kept moving, maybe the memories couldn’t catch me. Yeah, right.
“Ready to head for Chamonix?” I asked, pretty fucking anxious to get going.
Caro smiled, her eyes softening, making me feel things I wasn’t ready to feel. I had to look away.
“Yes, ready as I’ll ever be. Actually though, it’s more comfortable riding on that machine than I thought it would be. I just wish I’d worn something warmer.”
“Put your hands in my pockets this time,” I suggested. “That will help. And there’s a shop in Chamonix where we can get you some good gloves.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I can buy you some fucking gloves, Caro!” I said, my voice unnecessarily gruff.
“Fine!” she said briskly. “Although I have no idea what ‘fucking gloves’ are: made of latex, I suppose!”
I couldn’t help laughing loudly. “God, I love you, Caro!”
Oh fuck!
Did I really say that?
The startled look on her face told me that I did.
“Slip of the tongue,” I mumbled.
We crossed into France at Saint Gingolph. The border guard was an asshole and held us up longer than necessary when he realized we were American. I don’t think it helped that the occupation on my passport said ‘US Marine’. He wanted to show that he was one tough mofo by making us wait. I ran into his kind all the time—guys who thought they’d look like a big man if they took on a Marine. Let’s just say I’d be the one who was still standing at the end.
Eventually the dickwad let us through, and soon we were passing winding roads that threaded their way up into the Alps.
“This road leads to Italy,” I yelled over my shoulder. “How about a quick trip across the border?”
“Two countries in one day is enough!” Caro shouted back.
I hadn’t been serious, but now the thought had snuck into my brain, I really liked that idea. Caro, me, my bike, and the open road to Italy. Yeah, I really liked that idea.
Chamonix soon appeared out of the low mist that had settled in the valley. If I’d been in Afghanistan, I would be reaching for my weapon, on the lookout for an ambush, but all I could see here were picture-postcard chalets and fat, placid cows grazing on the lush grass.
To my left was the looming presence of Mont Blanc, thick snow capping the summit. Great snowboarding country.
But the town was almost deserted at this time of year: the winter skiers and snow-bunnies long gone, the summer tourists not yet arrived. That was fine by me.
I pulled up outside a shop that sold ski equipment. It wouldn’t be as good as a bike shop, but at least Caro wouldn’t be cold on the ride back.
“We’ll get you some ski gloves to wear,” I said, as I climbed off the bike. “Best I can do for now.”
The sales assistant stayed close as she followed us around the shop. It was slightly unnerving and I wondered if I’d ever fucked her. But she was smiling at me, so either I’d played nice in the morning—which seemed unlikely—or she was looking for a hookup.
Caro was quiet and I wondered what she was thinking. I picked up the first pair of gloves that I guessed were about the right size.
“How about these?”
“Ninety Euros!” she gasped. “Are you kidding me? That’s $115! For a pair of gloves!”
“Just try the damn things on, Caro,” I growled, irritated that she wouldn’t let me buy her something. When I was 17, I’d have given her the stars if I could, but I’d had no money. I had plenty now. All I’d ever spent my pay on was booze and bikes.
“No. That’s ridiculous,” she insisted, folding her arms across her chest, not realizing that pushed her tits together in a way that had my dick sitting up and paying attention. “There must be something cheaper.”
“If you don’t try them on, I’ll just buy them anyway,” I threatened.
“No! It’s a waste of money.”
I turned to the sales assistant and handed them over. “D’accord. Je les prends.”
“Wait! Attendez!” Caro yelped.
She snatched them back and pulled them on over her hands. They fit perfectly. The look of annoyance on her face had me grinning.
“You argue too much, Caro.”
“I can’t imagine why,” she said dryly, a smile creeping onto her lips, even as she tried to hide it.
“Should we find somewhere to have lunch?” I suggested.
Her eyes snapped to mine.
“What, you’re actually asking me, Hunter? As in, seeking my opinion?”
I winked at her. “Sure!”
“In that case, yes; but only if I treat you—non negotiable.”
“I love it when you tell me what to do, Caro,” I teased her. “Brings back memories.”
She blushed. It was a good look on her. And she knew exactly what I was talking about. Other than Italian, the one thing she’d taught me was how to give her great orgasms. I’d paid attention.
I couldn’t help smiling at the chagrined expression on her face. Yep, her mind had gone straight to the gutter—just like mine.
I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, automatically pulling her into a hug. I couldn’t help dropping a soft kiss onto her hair, as well.
“
Just teasing you, Caro.”
She shuffled away from me, and I let her go reluctantly. Damn, she was cute when she was embarrassed.
“Do you want to try fondue?” I asked, still trying not to laugh.
“Fine,” she muttered.
Fucking adorable.
At a small bistro, we both ordered the cheese fondue and were given a basket full of different rolls: foccacia, olive breads, breadsticks; and a fondue made up of mozzarella, dolcelatte and parmesan. It was the perfect lunchtime fuel, especially on a cold day in the Spring.
“Mmm, this is good,” Caro mumbled over a mouthful of olive bread. “Have you been here before?”
“A couple of times.”
“Ever bring your women here?”
I didn’t want to answer that. “You make it sound like I had a fucking parade of them,” I complained, hoping to avoid the issue.
“Didn’t you?”
My temper, always so near the surface when she was around, broke through.
“What do you want me to say, Caro? I fucked everything I could get my hands on when I realized you weren’t coming back. It was years before I trusted a woman enough to be able to make love to her, and even then...”
I stopped, not wanting to see that look of hurt on her face again.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, her eyes downcast. “I didn’t mean … it’s none of my business, Sebastian. I apologize.”
I took a deep breath, tamping down the anger and resentment, afraid of what I’d say if I didn’t keep a hold of it.
“I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”
We ate in silence for several minutes, although my appetite was officially shot.
“How long have you had the motorcycle?” she asked, obviously trying for neutral territory.
I blew out a breath, relieving some of the tension, and leaned back in my chair.
“This one, about two years. But I’ve had one on and off since I was 19. Bought my first bike as a birthday present to myself. It’s still in Ches’s garage.”
“Really? Well, there’s another reason for his wife to think you’re leading Ches astray. Or is he the responsible father-type now?”
I smiled.
“He’s a great dad—really patient. He fucking loves those kids of his. But we still take the boards out and catch some waves when I’m there.”
“Uh-huh, and how many meals have you made him late for, just catching ‘one more wave’?”
Yeah, she knew me well.
“Too many for Amy’s taste!” I admitted. “But he goes out when Mitch visits, too, so she can’t blame me for that.”
“Oh, I don’t know—it sounds as if she’d think of a way. I’d like her: a woman immune to the Hunter charm.”
I had to laugh at that.
“She’s immune alright. But yeah, she’d like you. I’ll introduce you when we’re stateside.”
Wow, I really said that. I was already thinking of a future when we were still together. Caro looked as surprised as I felt.
“In case you’d forgotten,” she reminded me, oozing sarcasm, “I live about 3,000 miles and ten states from San Diego.”
“Yeah, well, in case you’d forgotten, they’ve invented airplanes.”
“Touché.”
I raised my glass of water in a toast.
“What happened to that friend of Mitch’s—Bill—the one who was at the wretched military ‘fun’ day that Donna dragged me to?”
That fucker—always sniffing around Caro.
“Why are you asking about him?” I growled out.
“Just wondering. He was in your surfing crowd, wasn’t he?”
“Oh, right. He got married again a few years back, I think. He was sent to Quantico. Mitch keeps up with him—Christmas cards—something like that.” Who fucking cares?
I turned the conversation back to us—my new favorite topic. Besides, I wanted to suggest my Italian plan to her.
“It felt good having you on the bike with me today, Caro.”
“Hmm,” she said, the sound filled with skepticism.
“Well, I’ve had an idea about that…”
“Oh, another of your ideas?” she said, a smile hiding behind the snippy words. “That sounds dangerous.”
I grinned at her.
“You know how we always talked about traveling through Italy? I just thought, while we’re both here, why don’t we?”
She frowned as if she didn’t understand what I was suggesting.
“Why don’t we what?”
“See Italy. We could take the motorcycle and go see all those places we talked about: Milano, Verona, Capezzano Inferiore—see if your dad’s relatives still live there.”
That was the ace in my hand: I knew Caro’s dad was from southern Italy and we’d talked about going there one day. From the look of longing on her face, I could tell she still wanted to.
“Don’t you have work to do?” she answered evasively. “How come you’ve got all this time off?”
“I’m on leave,” I said. “I’ll be shipping back out to Afghanistan—in about three weeks.”
“Oh,” she said, her voice soft. “I didn’t realize … I thought you were stationed in Geneva.”
“I was, but they need interpreters and they’re getting antsy about using locals. Too many green-on-blue attacks. So, what do you think about Italy?”
She shook her head.
“I can’t, you know I can’t. My papers could come through any moment and I’ll be on my way out there myself.” Oh, I don’t think so. “Besides, three weeks with you—that’s definitely a dangerous mission.”
I suppressed a smile at her choice of words.
“Don’t you trust me?” I asked, pretending to be hurt.
“No, not particularly.”
I grinned at her. Yep, she had my number. “Oh, don’t say that. I’ll be good. Scout’s honor.”
“You were never a boy scout.”
“True,” I agreed, more serious now. “What if I promise I’ll behave myself: separate bedrooms and everything?”
“No way, Hunter. I’ve heard about your reputation, remember? Besides, I don’t know how soon I’ll get a flight to Leatherneck. I don’t want to risk losing my slot.”
“It won’t happen for at least two weeks.”
She narrowed her eyes, and I knew I’d said too much. Shit.
“You sound very sure of that. What did you do, Hunter?”
I had two choices: lie my ass off, or tell the truth. Neither particularly appealed, but I decided to go with truth.
“Let’s just say I know people in the right places,” I admitted.
Her voice started rising, and I could tell she was genuinely pissed.
“Are you telling me you’ve blocked my application?”
“It’s not blocked, Caro, not entirely. I … just threw a few well-aimed monkey wrenches in the works. It’ll take at least a week to sort out—probably two.”
Oh shit, this was not going well. The fury on her face was clear and her small hands clenched into fists.
“This is my work, Sebastian,” she hissed. “This is how I get paid. How dare you interfere like this! You’re unbelievable. You can’t butt into my life like this!”
By now she was yelling, and people were turning to stare.
“I’m not the insipid little woman I was ten years ago!”
I blinked in surprise. What the fuck was she talking about?
“You were never that,” I insisted.
The air started heating between us, and I knew she felt it as well, even if she was too stubborn to admit it.
“You’d better damn well get that monkey wrench out, Hunter! I mean it.”
Time to admit the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
“I can’t, Caro, it’s out of my hands now. But I promise it’s temporary. I just … after all this time … I wanted us to be able to spend more than a few hours together. I don’t know when I’ll see you again,
” I said quietly. “I’ve already waited ten years.”
She was silent, and when I looked up, the anger had vanished from her eyes, leaving them tinged with sadness.
“Will you at least think about Italy?” I begged.
She nodded jerkily, but looked away from me.
We finished our meal in silence and then spent the afternoon wandering through the town, stopping to look in shops and patisserie windows.
“I wouldn’t mind coming back here in the winter,” I said, gazing up at the stormy face of Mont Blanc, “try out the snowboarding.”
“That’s something else I’ve never done,” Caro murmured, staring up at the mountain apprehensively.
“I’ll teach you,” I offered.
“Oh, something you can teach me, Hunter?” she shot back, showing that her irritation with me hadn’t entirely dissipated. Then she glanced at her watch. “I think we should be heading back now. I can’t get a signal on my phone here. My editor might have been trying to contact me.”
I knew that was extremely unlikely, but I didn’t want to get into another argument with her. Instead, we headed to the bike and mounted up. Even if she was still pissed with me, she had no choice but to wrap her body around mine again. Definitely a bonus.
I took the AutoRoute back to Geneva, arriving in slightly under an hour. I felt the loss instantly when she climbed off the bike and handed the spare helmet and jacket to me. I stowed it in one of the empty saddlebags, giving myself time, trying to think of something to say. But it was Caro who found the words.
“I really enjoyed today, Sebastian. Most of it, anyway. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Caro.”
We stood gazing at each other. Without knowing why, I felt awkward, the tension stretching tightly between us.
“Okay, well, thanks again,” she murmured, turning to go.
“Can I see you tomorrow, Caro?” I asked, my voice desperate even to my own ears. “Will you think about the Italy idea?”
She hesitated and licked her lips. Automatically, my eyes dropped to her mouth, and I let myself admit how I was feeling—something I hadn’t done for a long time. Too long.
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