by Gail, Stacy
He sighed heavily. He understood that his parents had been through hell right alongside him, and that they probably saw this as an honor. But there was no way he could go through with it.
“Gabe, can you put your Aunt Linda on the phone for me?”
Ten minutes and floods of maternal tears later, Chris groped his way back to the kitchen. He lingered in the doorway, listening to Beth pour the hot chocolate, hoping his expression didn’t look as sheepish as it felt.
“So,” he began, “How would you feel about billeting a soldier for Christmas?”
Within minutes he was seated at Beth’s kitchen table, his hands wrapped around his mug as he explained the situation.
“I know they mean well,” he concluded, “But I can’t let it go ahead. Three men in my command died that night—my survival was down to pure chance. There’s nothing heroic about that.”
“It’s just the principle that bothers you, then?” Beth asked. “Not the crowd, or the sirens, or anything like that?”
Chris frowned. Had he said something to give her the impression that he hated big gatherings of people?
“No, that’s all fine—and even if every citizen of Stanfield, Kansas turned up to attend, calling it a crowd would be an exaggeration. It’s the idea that I’ve somehow earned this recognition, that I’ve done something to deserve it.” He shook his head. “All I did was get out of bed after someone shook me awake.”
Beth’s pause was thoughtful. He tried to imagine how she looked in that moment, her smooth, high forehead slightly pinched in concentration, her rosy lips pursed. Had a few locks of hair fallen forward over her shoulders? Were her hands resting on her mug or had she moved her arm so she could prop her chin on her palm? Were her blue eyes staring unfocused through her glasses as she considered, or was she looking straight at him, running her gaze over the lines of his face? He often longed to touch her when they chatted like this, to hold her in his lap or lace his fingers through hers, anything that might make him feel more connected to the shared moment than when he sat apart, adrift in the shadows. Maybe someday she’d be comfortable enough to let him do that.
Maybe.
“This isn’t what you want to hear,” she said finally, “But I think you have to go. I think you have to suck it up and be in the parade.”
Chris winced. “Why?”
“While I completely sympathize with your ideological objections,” she said kindly, “They’re a little too subtle to justify calling the whole thing off. If you couldn’t be in the parade because you broke your leg, fine—everyone would understand. But to cancel it at the last minute because you don’t feel you deserve it just isn’t going to fly in a little Kansas farm town that’s eagerly looking forward to welcoming home its favorite son. Plus,” she continued, “It’s important to your parents, your extended family’s come all the way from Oklahoma and the irritation you experience will be minor compared to the thrill they’ll get from seeing it all come together.”
“Even though it’s all a lie?” he countered. “Wouldn’t it be wrong to allow myself to be represented in a way I know is false?”
“Heroism is subjective,” Beth replied matter-of-factly. “You may think heroism is risking your life to save a comrade, but for some people, just joining the army knowing you could be sent into combat on your country’s behalf may be enough.” She pried his hand from the handle of his mug and gripped it tightly. “And other people might think that a man who loves a woman enough to push her away in order to protect her from hardship, a man who would make that sacrifice and go that far to save the woman he loved from being in pain, is pretty damn heroic in his own right.”
“Come with me,” he blurted, the words leaving his mouth before he knew they had formed. “Come up to Marshall County and watch this stupid parade. Have Christmas Eve dinner with all my noisy relatives. We can stay in my room up in the attic, no one will bother us. Or, I mean, you could stay there,” he fumbled, putting on the brakes way too late. “I can stay in the guest room. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”
“I don’t know,” she balked. “I think your family probably wants to spend time with you, alone. I’m a stranger—they don’t want me barging in unannounced.”
“Actually, they’ve heard a lot about you,” he reminded her. “And even if you decide we shouldn’t be together, it will alleviate my mother’s fears that I’m such damaged goods that no decent woman will ever want to be with me.”
“Did she say that?” Beth asked, astonished.
“Not in so many words,” he acknowledged. “But she keeps mentioning things about dating websites for people with visual impairment, and she asked the hospital shrink how many of her patients were single when they were wounded, and whether many of them went on to get married.”
He could hear the cringe in Beth’s voice. “Ouch. But that sounds like a conversation you need to have with her. You can’t just haul me in as a decoy.”
“You know that’s not why I want you there.” He squeezed her hand.
She sighed. “I’ll drive you up in the morning, how’s that? And I’ll think about whether or not I want to drive straight back down. Deal?”
It took everything in him not to punch the air. “Deal.”
* * *
Dinner had been effortlessly conversational, peppered with flirtatious jokes and lingering touches. When Chris finished devouring another few slices of pie, they flopped on the couch to watch—or in Chris’s case, listen to—television. As soon as they were settled he slid his arm around her and tugged her into his side, and it only took about twenty minutes of the heat of his body and the weight of his grip for her to doze off.
She awoke to the feeling of being hoisted and jostled, and when she opened her eyes she discovered that Chris was carrying her through the house, cradling her like a baby.
“What are you doing?” she gasped, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“It’s okay,” he said softly. “I know where I’m going.”
True to his word, he slowly but safely navigated down the hallway and into her bedroom. She could tell that he was mentally counting and measuring his steps, and when he paused in her bedroom doorway she gently told him the bed was three steps forward, two steps right.
Moving confidently, he laid her down on the bed, pausing to tuck her hair behind her ear and skim his lips over her temple.
“Good night,” he whispered. She closed her eyes and listened to him turn and find his way back out of her room, shutting the door behind him.
She expected to instantly resume her momentarily interrupted sleep, but an hour later she felt more awake than ever.
They were moving way too fast. This time yesterday he was still hell-bent on pushing her out of his life, and now he wanted her to spend Christmas with his family? That was a huge step, and not one she’d ever taken with any of her ex-boyfriends. Throw in the facts that he was a wounded soldier returning to see his extended family for the first time in months, he was all set to star in his very own homecoming parade, she’d been out of his life since he was wounded and it was arguably the most significant family holiday of the year? No way—it was an absurd idea.
And yet some part of her fervently wanted to believe in him—in the sincerity of his request, in the honesty of his insistence that he’d been falling in love with her. Was he still? Could she really be this close to recapturing what she was so certain had been ripped away from her forever?
It was warm under the duvet on her bed, yet she shivered. She felt like she was standing on a tightrope stretched across a canyon. If she toppled off to her right, she found love with the only man she’d ever truly cared for. And if she tumbled to her left, she dropped back into the pit of agonizing, despairing heartbreak she still hadn’t fully climbed out of.
Either way she was bound to fall.
She w
as only three lines into her mental list of reasons not to let things with Chris get any further when she heard something thud to the floor in the guest room, and she was out of bed and padding down the hall before she knew what she was doing. Was Chris having a nightmare? Had he bumped into something and hurt himself? She was forever chucking extraneous knickknacks and books and papers she couldn’t bother to file in the guest room—it was probably a total minefield for a blind person. With her thoughts racing at top speed, she threw open the door without bothering to knock.
Chris was kneeling beside the bed in boxers and a T-shirt, fanning his hands out across the floor.
“Sorry,” he apologized without looking up. “I must have left my cell phone on the end of the bed, and it fell when I turned over.”
Beth spotted the phone on the floor, about an inch away from his outstretched fingers.
“I see it.” She leaned down beside him. “Get back in bed, I’ve got it.”
As she swept up the phone and placed it on the bedside table, Chris obediently slipped between the bright purple sheets, the old box springs groaning under his weight.
Beth looked him over as he pulled the duvet back into place. She took in the long, muscular legs extending below his paisley-patterned boxers, the torso that broadened until it filled the top of the gray T-shirt emblazoned with the word ARMY in bold black letters and the dull, hazy eyes that might never again twinkle with mischief, never flash with surprise, never widen in sensual admiration until she thought she might drown in all that blue.
So he might never look at her like that again. But she felt a sudden overwhelming gratitude that he had ever looked at her at all, and that he was still here, not quite the same man yet maybe not so changed either.
Without another thought she closed the distance to the bed, lifted the duvet and climbed in beside him.
“Hello,” he murmured in pleased surprise as he drew her to him, pulling her away from the edge of the narrow single bed. The sheets were warm from his body and full of his scent. Beth closed her eyes and breathed it in, that intoxicating fragrance that reminded her of crisp stalks of straw and leather saddles and the cool, shady interior of a barn on a hot day.
She opened her eyes and looked at his gently curving smile, his expression clearly broadcasting his sheer, contented happiness at having her beside him and his lack of expectation of anything further. It was hard to imagine him barking orders at a platoon of soldiers, or hurling a grenade or limping back to a desert camp in full combat gear, streaked with blood and dust.
She squeezed her eyes shut against those images and wrapped her arms around his neck. He was safe, he was here with her and nothing else mattered.
Her mouth found his and he tightened his embrace, making a sound that was at once deeply grateful and full of need.
The movement of his lips on hers was sweet and slow, lingering and tender, and although she normally adored his unhurried, savoring style, after only a few minutes her body was thrumming with insistent desire. She increased the tempo, widening her jaw until it ached, relentlessly seeking his tongue with her own. She closed her hand on his hip bone, sliding her fingertips under the elastic waist of his boxers and circling her thumb over the sloping indentation that led down to his inner thigh.
Chris responded with a hunger that was surprising in its sudden fierceness. He plunged his hand down the back of her flannel pajama pants to cup her bare rear, pulling her tight against the erection that jutted boldly against her thigh. Beth moaned as its tantalizingly familiar heat and girth raised memories of their lovemaking six months ago, and she clawed at his shirt, desperate to feel the hard breadth of his chest.
He obediently pulled his shirt over his head and then swept his hands up under her long-sleeved thermal knit top. He pushed the hem up to her collarbone and palmed her breasts, his thumbs brushing their undersides in a way that soon had Beth squirming beneath his hands.
At first she was jolted by Chris’s blank gaze, at the way he stared straight ahead, seemingly at her forehead rather than at the body he was touching. But there was something explorative in his touch, in the way his expression changed as his hands moved—as though he was opening gift after gift to find he’d been given everything he wanted—that was so endearing that she soon forgot about where his gaze was directed, preoccupied instead with his tactile journey.
Chris yanked off her shirt and brought his mouth to her breasts, the warm puff of his breath sending a shiver down her spine just seconds before the smooth lap of his tongue over her nipple nearly had her screaming out loud. She dragged her fingers across the short, buzzed hair at the back of his neck, unsure whether she wanted him to go faster or slower or stop altogether as the sensation built to a fever pitch.
Beth followed the narrowing line of coarse dark hair down his stomach, only briefly noting the ragged shrapnel scars that ripped up his side before her fingers closed on the long, hard length of him. She squeezed him gently, and he groaned heavily as she felt his arousal throb.
“My God, Beth,” he said hoarsely, “It’s been so long, I’m not sure I can—”
She silenced him with a finger to his lips, threw back the duvet and dragged his boxers over his lean hips. Then she pushed him onto his back and scooted down to straddle his thighs.
His brows shot up as he clocked her intentions, and he half sat up so he could reach her, lightly squeezing her upper arm.
“You don’t have to,” he told her softly. “I didn’t mean—”
She hushed him and directed him back down to the pillows with a hand planted firmly on his chest.
“I want to,” she said, and meant it. Then she leaned over and took him in her mouth.
This was something Beth had only done a handful of times in her sexual career—it was never something she’d particularly enjoyed or felt compelled to do. Fleetingly she worried that she might be bad at it, but as she swept her tongue across Chris’s sensitive tip, the answering tremor that ran through his body put her fears to rest.
Beth took him deeper, closing her mouth over as much of his length as she could and wrapping her hand around the flesh she couldn’t reach. She trailed the tip of her tongue up and down his shaft, and then followed its motion with her mouth, slowly at first, savoring the intimacy of the moment and relishing the opportunity to give him so much pleasure.
Because if his guttural moan and heaving chest were any indication, that’s what she was doing.
His erection was unyieldingly rigid in her mouth, the flesh over it velvety soft, and there was something about that combination of virility and vulnerability that clutched at her heart. That was the essence of Chris—so smart, strong, decisive and deeply masculine, yet at his core so touchingly open and sincere. As she moved her lips up and down, she wanted to show him how well she understood him and that he was safe with her, that she could be entrusted with the most defenseless parts of him.
After only a few strokes he propped himself up on his elbows, his ragged breaths audible as he reached forward to clamp his hand over hers where it was planted on his thigh. As his fingers dug into hers she increased the rhythm, and an echoing, sensual pulse began between her legs as his panting gave testament to her skill. She guided his hand to her bare breast, where her swollen nipple was aching to be touched, and she whimpered with need as his hand closed over her.
“Stop, stop,” Chris begged, hauling himself upright and stilling her with a hand on her shoulder. Beth released him with a final taste, looking up expectantly.
“I want to hold you,” he murmured and pulled her onto the pillows beside him. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders, trapping her against his chest, and directed her hand down to his swollen erection. “I want to have you near me. Is that okay?”
“Of course,” she whispered, and began to stroke him, quickly accelerating to the same pace where she’d left off.
&
nbsp; He pressed his lips against her forehead, tightening his embrace until with a jerking shudder and a strangled cry he buried his face in her hair, and then his warm, liquid conclusion spilled over her fingers.
He held on to Beth through the shivering aftershocks, and then flopped over onto his back.
“You’re amazing,” he breathed. “That was—I can’t find the words. Thank you.”
Beth settled into the crook of his arm. “It was my pleasure.” She sighed with contentment, closing her eyes. “We can move and sleep in my bed, if you want. It’s bigger than this one.”
Chris laughed, loudly and heartily, and her eyes snapped open in surprise.
“We’re not done yet,” he grinned. “Do you have any protection?”
She frowned. “In my bedroom, but you just—”
“I’ll recuperate while you go get it,” he said, nudging her to get up. “Then it’s your turn.”
* * *
By the time Beth slid back into the bed, Chris could already feel himself stiffening in anticipation of a second round. Before she had a chance to speak he eased down her pajama pants and pressed her onto her back.
Now this was something he could do. He laid his hands along either side of her rib cage and brought his mouth to the space between her breasts. He couldn’t drive, he couldn’t read the newspaper, yet he could still give her all the pleasure she deserved.
He might never again see her eyes flutter and roll under his ministrations—he might never again meet her gaze with his own as they climaxed together. But he shook off those thoughts, forcing himself to focus on the smooth, soft skin of her stomach beneath his lips, the sweet vanilla scent that engulfed his senses, the quiet whimpers that told him she was enjoying this just as much as he was.
He trailed kisses down her abdomen, over her hip bone and along the inside of her right thigh. He urged her legs apart and gently ran a testing thumb along her folds.
The hot, ready slickness he found there made his groin throb.