Where or When: A Pearl Harbor Romance

by Bretton, Barbara

  Was this how men felt when faced with a beautiful woman? She'd never understood the power of physical beauty until that moment. It was as if a power outside herself was pushing her forward, making it almost impossible for her to keep from reaching over and placing her hand against his skin just to feel his warmth.

  But she couldn't do that. She couldn't even think of it. Only the worst kind of woman would ever touch a man so blatantly. He'd think she was fast, a tramp like one of those bar girls over at Mama Kate's--she didn't dare contemplate what he would think or why it was so important to her. Last night she'd felt as if the flames from the burning cane fields were burning out of control inside her chest. Today she felt as if the sun's fire was heating her blood, bringing her temperature closer and closer to the flash point.

  And all because of this sailor she scarcely knew. He couldn't be the one, could he? The man she was destined to marry? What a crazy thought. She didn't even like him very much.

  She forced herself to glance away. She'd die if he knew she was staring at him. Thank God his eyes were closed. She wasn't certain if he was asleep or just resting, but it wouldn't hurt to be careful. She might be known as a flirt but she'd never, ever been forward with a man. Certainly she'd never needed to be. Men had always been there, vying for her attention, while she blithely kept them dancing on a string.

  None of them had ever mattered. The parties had mattered. The dance music. The conversation. The need to keep one step ahead of her thoughts. But no suitor had ever made her yearn for his touch. Why on earth it should happen now with a man who thought of her as nothing but an annoyance was beyond her. Certainly fate had a strange sense of humor.

  Rick opened one eye. "What's so funny?"

  She jumped at the sound of his voice. "I didn't know I'd laughed out loud."

  "You did. Was I snoring?"

  "Not at all."

  He grinned lazily and stifled a yawn. "Didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

  "Me neither."

  He propped himself up on his elbows. She swallowed hard at the sight of his biceps tensing with the effort. "That fire last night was something, wasn't it?"

  She took a shaky breath. "Unforgettable."

  "Hard to believe something so beautiful can be so dangerous.” His expression didn't change but his voice was a caress. "You look like you have a question."

  She took another step closer to the edge. "I wanted to ask my father about you this morning but he was already gone by the time I got up."

  His eyes twinkled. "Why ask your father when you can ask me?"

  She shot him an uncertain smile. "Because my father is more likely to tell me the truth."

  "What do you want to know?"

  She hesitated. "I don't know...everything, I suppose. You seem to know all about me."

  "Turnabout's fair play?"

  "Something like that."

  "Not much to tell. I come from the worst neighborhood in Chicago. My mom cleans other people's houses for a living. I have more brothers and sisters than you want to hear about and I'd rather be dead than end up like any of them."

  The brutal honesty of his statement hit her like a blow. "Is their life so terrible?” She imagined cold-water flats with roaches and drunken brawls every night for entertainment.

  "Not for them, I guess. There's food on the table and a roof over their heads. I just want more."

  "You say that as if it's wrong."

  "To them it is. They said I ran out on the family.” He looked away for a moment. "That I'm not one of them any more."

  She leaned forward, wishing the sun would disappear behind a cloud so she could see the expression on his face. "Did you run out on them?"

  "As fast and as far as I could go.” He told her how he'd joined the navy immediately after high school, ignoring his father's rage and his mother's bitter disappointment. "I send them money every month," he said, shaking his head, "more money than my dad made in a year during the Depression, but it's not enough. It's never enough.” His brothers were still working part-time in a butcher shop for drinking money. His married sister had already popped out two babies, while the unmarried ones spent their days figuring out how to snare a husband who would see to it that they never escaped the cycle of poverty. They envied him his dreams and they hated him because those dreams made them realize they'd long since forgotten their own. He wondered what they'd say if they knew it was their own forgotten desires that spurred him on.

  "You're ambitious," she said softly, feeling the stirrings of compassion inside her soul. "That's not a crime."

  "It is to them. My dad said I owed it to them to stay."

  "But what about you? You owed it to yourself to follow your dream."

  "Sorry, princess," he said lightly. "You don't dream in Chicago. That's the law."

  She grew quiet, the bits and pieces of his story tumbling through her head while she tried to make sense of his story. She'd never known anyone like Rick Byrne before. He'd had none of the privileges most people she knew took for granted yet there was nothing of the supplicant about him. He made no apologies. He asked for no favors. He was openly ambitious and willing to work hard to make a name for himself in this world, even if it meant alienating the family he loved.

  "So what do you hope to gain here at Pearl?"

  "I'm pushing for officers' training school in Louisiana."

  "So that's what you meant when you said there were other ways to become an officer outside of Annapolis."

  "Good thinking, princess. Even those of us without a silver spoon can have a chance."

  "I never said you couldn't."

  "Surprises you, though, doesn't it?"

  She couldn't deny it. "A little. I suppose I've never thought too much about it one way or another."

  "Why would you?" he said easily. "You've never had to worry about too much in your life, have you?"

  "You don't know that."

  "What's the worst thing that ever happened to you? Did it rain the night of your senior prom? Did daddy forget roses for your sweet sixteen birthday party?"

  She looked up at him, eyes flashing both pain and anger. "My mother died when I was five years old. How's that for starters?"

  He felt like a grade-A jerk. "Jesus," he said, reaching toward her only to have Eden pull away. "I'm sorry."

  "Sure you are."

  "I didn't mean any of that crap."

  "The hell you didn't it.” Her unexpected vulgarity caught them both by surprise. "I'm the spoiled little daddy's girl with nothing on her mind but parties and clothes. A great catch but a lousy human being.” She glared at him. "Right?"

  He damned himself for not putting the clues together. He'd known there was no Mrs. Forrester senior around. Why hadn't he stopped to think the story had a sad ending, especially sad for the five-year-old girl who'd lost her mother. "I'm sorry if I hurt you."

  She nodded, saying nothing.

  So this was the way it ended. Driver #7 was about to toss in the car keys and admit defeat. Only this time it wasn't the princess's fault. He'd make damn sure her old man knew that.

  "Maybe you're right," he said after a long silence. "I should've taken you to Waikiki like you asked me to. I hope your next driver treats you better."

  Maybe it was the beauty of the secluded cove or the fact that her nerves were stretched to the breaking point by the powerful feelings his nearness brought to life inside her. Or maybe it was simply the fact that his thoughtless words reached a part of her that she usually kept hidden from the world. The part who missed her mother, who wanted a home she could call her own for longer than a couple of years, who was terrified that the happiness others took for granted would somehow pass her by.

  She didn't know exactly how or why it happened, but a flood of tears spilled over and she buried her face in her hands and cried as if her heart would break.

  #

  He should have known she would even look great when she cried. Fragile and delicate. So beautiful that she took his br
eath away despite the shock of seeing the ice princess fall apart right in front of him. He'd never imagined her crying. Screaming, yes. Throwing vases at the wall. Giving as good as she got in any situation he could name. But crying? Not someone like Forrester's daughter.

  Yet there she was, shoulders heaving as she sobbed, and he wondered that such a tiny body could contain so much pain. He wasn't the kind of man who fell apart when a woman cried. He'd seen a lot of women crying back in the old neighborhood and he'd learned to accept it as part of the human condition--at least in Chicago. Back home women cried when they were happy. They cried when they were mad. They cried over new babies and old photographs and saying goodbye to friends who were no longer around. Back home you wore your heart on your sleeve and if it got stomped on a time or two, well, that was just the price you paid.

  But this was different. It cost Eden Forrester dearly to cry in front of him and something inside his heart cracked open. He wanted to hold her in his arms, brush her hair off her face, and kiss away those tears. She'd known privilege from the day she was born. She had a successful father and a doctor for a brother and, despite it all, she still cried for the mother she'd lost so many years ago. He wished he could call down the moon and the stars and lay them at her pretty little feet, then promise her he'd take care of her forever and a day.

  "Don't cry," he said, moving across the sand to get closer to her. "Things aren't that bad."

  She cried even harder, making small inarticulate noises deep in her throat.

  "C'mon, princess. I'm not good at this.” He placed a hand on the top of her head. Her coppery hair was cool and silky against his palm. He was surprised. He'd expected it to burn like fire.

  "I'm sorry," she managed, between hiccoughing sobs. "I--I don't know why I'm...."

  "You're gonna make yourself sick, crying like that.” And if he was bad with a crying woman, he was even worse with a sick one. He put an arm around her, half-expecting her to push him away. She didn't. Instead she turned toward him, her lovely face streaked with tears and naked with pain, and without thinking he drew her into the circle of his arms and held her against his bare chest.

  The sensation of her body against his was intoxicating. More dangerous than anything he'd ever imagined. He drew her closer, until her breasts flattened against his chest, their softness pushing what was left of rational thought from his mind. Her tears made him feel useless and foolishly male. He wanted to cover her body with his and take her right there on the sand, to drive away those tears with the fierce heat of his desire. He wasn't good with words. He couldn't think of the right thing to say to make her smile. The only thing he could do--the only thing he would let himself do--was hold her.

  #

  She was on fire, Eden was, aflame in every pore of her body. The moment he took her in his arms, her confusion and despair vanished against the heat of his skin against hers. She felt as if she were spinning wildly through space toward some destination that was just beyond reach. She yearned...she wanted...she needed...

  What?

  She didn't know. She was pure sensation. Cool, collected, Eden Forrester reduced to a trembling mass of nerve endings by the touch of a man. Who would have imagined it possible? They'd called her the ice princess, little miss iceberg, the girl who played hard to get and meant it. She'd heard the talk and laughed at it all, mostly because it was true. No man had ever been able to scale her defenses and make her want to get so close to him that she could crawl inside his skin.

  And that was how Rick Byrne was making her feel right now. Everything about him was perfect, almost as if he'd been created from the darkest recesses of her mind, from thoughts she hadn't recognized as her own. Even the smell of his skin seemed perfect, faintly soapy and somehow familiar although she knew that was impossible. And yet that's how it felt to be in his arms, as if that was the one place on earth she was meant to be.

  #

  He cupped her chin in his hand and tilted her face up to look at him. Her turquoise eyes were wet with tears. The tears sparkled in the sunlight as they made their way down her cheeks. He stopped a tear with the tip of his forefinger, marveled at its perfection. Her breathing was shallow; her breasts rose and fell to a staccato rhythm that had him hypnotized. She seemed fragile and lovely and mysterious and so infinitely sad that he did the only thing he could think of.

  He kissed her.

  At first his lips brushed against hers, a feathery touch, tentative and questing. She found she liked the sensation of being held against his broad chest, her head cradled in his hands, while his tongue gently played against the soft fullness of her lips. Where other men had charged ahead, he took his time, matching his movements with her desires. And she had desires...thousands of them...dark and thrilling desires that swirled upward from her core and filled her head with images so powerfully erotic they took her breath away.

  "Eden....” He whispered her name against her mouth and her lips parted on a soft moan.

  With his tongue he stroked the moist cavern, then drew her into a sensual battle of wills that drove the last vestige of reason from her mind. The empty aching loneliness that had been her companion seemed to vanish, filled by a burst of elation that to Eden was a kaleidoscope of color. Vivid reds. Lush purples. Deep yellows and oranges hot as the summer sun.

  #

  Gently he pushed her back onto the sand, careful not to hurt her right leg. The cast was cumbersome but Rick was resourceful. Sensation followed sensation like shooting stars through the a summer night sky. She was so small, so finely made, that the conqueror and the protector in him fought bitterly for domain. It would be so easy to take her. She trembled beneath him like a bud ready to bloom, the scent of desire making him almost drunk with need. He would only have to part her slender thighs and remove her skimpy bathing suit, then drive himself into her until he forgot where he ended and she began.

  Primitive blood pounded through his veins. Her gasp as he moved against her hip enflamed him. He'd never burned hotter or needed so fiercely. Turning away from her was either the act of a saint or a madman. He wasn't sure which. He kissed her lips, her jaw, her temple. He memorized her sweet taste, her smell, her sounds. The memories would have to last a lifetime.

  You couldn't get this lucky twice.

  Chapter Fourteen

  She was hungry for his kisses. The feel of him, hard and ready, against her hip should have terrified her but it didn't. Instead her blood heated in answer to his challenge and sensations she'd imagined the product of an overactive imagination sprang to life within her own body, making her a stranger in her own skin. But it wasn't a frightening sensation. It was miraculous.

  She felt as if she'd been sleepwalking, dreaming her days away, waiting for this moment.

  Just wait, her more practical self warned. His kisses are no different than anyone else's. You're nothing more than a pretty face to him...

  But that couldn't be true. He saw through the facade to the real woman waiting to break through. He'd even added up the clues and realized it had been Eden who'd engineered Lilly's rescue from those witches at the club. No one else would have paid such close attention. No other man she'd ever met would have cared about anything but the way she filled out her bathing suit.

  He whispered her name again. Eden. Not princess. Not baby or honey or sweetheart. Her name. She'd been foolhardy enough to open up to him and he hadn't turned away from her, disappointed that little miss perfect was human like everyone else. A rush of emotion flooded through her, making it almost impossible to breathe. His kisses enflamed her, even as they comforted. The fact that there couldn't possibly be a future between them made it easier to give herself up to the moment. She'd said things to him she'd never said to anyone else, not even her best friend. She'd never cried in front of Melanie or talked about her mother or admitted she was anything but the happy, pretty admiral's daughter the rest of the world believed her to be.

  Now Rick Byrne knew differently. He'd held her while she cried and li
stened to at least some of her fears. If he wanted to, he could go back to the barracks and spill her secrets to all and sundry, bragging about the kisses they shared on the beach. But he wouldn't. She knew that as well as she knew the sun would rise the next morning--or that she wished his kisses would never end.

  #

  "Eden.” Her name sounded like a sacrament to him. He wanted to say it over and over again, until it lost its mystical power.

  They were moving too fast. She didn't know what she was doing, arching beneath him like that, making those incredible sounds in the back of her throat, feeling so soft and warm and womanly against him.

  It had to stop. He had to make it stop right now before he went too far. She couldn't know what she was doing. He'd bet his soul she'd never been with a man before. Hell, he'd bet his soul she'd never kissed this way before. There had been something sweetly tentative about her as he claimed her mouth, something pure and innocently curious as her tongue danced lightly against his.

  Her defenses were down. She wouldn't stop him if he took the next step and claimed her as his own. But he couldn't do it. She deserved better. This wasn't one of the girls at Mama Kate's or a camp follower who bedded anything in uniform. She had "forever" written all over her beautiful, virginal face and if he did one good thing with his life he'd see to it she got back home as pure as she was when she'd left it.

  #

  Eden, half-drunk with desire, opened her eyes as Rick ended the kiss. "Rick?"

  He smoothed her hair off her face and kissed her forehead. "Time to get you home."

  "I--I don't understand.” She watched as he got to his feet, towering over her, all male splendor and control.