"I'll get you more food later." He laid her on the carpet, dragging a blanket from a nearby chair. He made love to her, again. Yet no matter how much she gave to him, how uninhibited she was with him, Kyle felt she was holding something back.
Maxie stepped from the shower, drying quickly and slipping into a terry-cloth robe. She left the bathroom and stilled. Kyle was asleep in her bed. He looked so big and ferocious in the draped four-poster bed. Settling in a chair, she watched him sleep, tempted to touch him, to run her fingers delicately over his muscles. He was on his stomach, his arm dangling off the bed, his body bare and languid in repose. Her gaze strayed to the scar marking him from ankle to midthigh, the redness long since gone, but she knew it caused him pain. It reminded her of watching him jump from the helicopter, springing up, then the horror as he got tangled.
That was the old Kyle, she reminded herself again. The danger-loving Kyle. The man who wanted her back but was afraid to ask.
But was he ready to hear what she had to say? Was he ready to know what loving her, really loving her meant? Maxie closed her eyes and sank into the chair. She couldn't spend another moment with him without telling him. She was sure of her love for him, just as she knew she would have to risk it to be happy. "Baby?"
His whiskey-rough voice curled through her before she opened her eyes. She smiled. "Hey, flyboy." Her gaze slid briefly over his bare body. "Nice butt."
His arm still dangling over the edge of the bed, he togged on the hem of her robe. "Wanna get naked with me?"
"Not satisfied yet?"
"Never."
"Never say never, Kyle."
His gaze moved over her with undisguised possession. "Marry me, Max." She inhaled sharply, her eyes wide. "Marry me, tonight."
"Kyle. Let's not rush things."
He propped his torso on one elbow. "Rush things? Jeez, Max, don't you think we're long overdue?"
"Yeah, we are," she said shakily. She glanced at the closet, and Kyle's frown deepened. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
"Max. Don't do this. I can feel you leaving me. You married the wrong man for the wrong reasons. Marry me for the right ones. The same ones we had years ago."
She met his gaze. "I'm not running, Kyle. I'm facing us, head-on. This time, the choice will be yours." He frowned, opening his mouth to speak, but she leaned close to press two fingers to his lips. "Why don't you shower and I'll get you some coffee. Then we'll talk."
He nodded, impatient to make her his wife, to start living like the family they all should be. He sure as hell didn't think they had anything left to discuss. He loved her. She loved him. The past didn't matter.
Kyle stood, recognizing the worry on her face. He gathered her close and kissed her deeply, loving that she drove her fingers into his hair and held him tighter to her mouth. He moaned, growing hard, then stepped back and headed into the bathroom.
Maxie moved to the closet, drawing down a large box before leaving the room.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed, toweling his hair dry when she returned, a cup of steaming coffee in one hand, an envelope in the other. She handed him the coffee.
He took a sip, sighing with pleasure as the warmth simmered down to his stomach.
"What's that?" He nodded to the letter clutched in her hands.
"My—our future."
Kyle frowned, carefully setting aside his coffee. An uneasy feeling swept through him as she held out the crumpled, yellowed envelope. Her hand trembled. "We'll talk after you've read it."
He took it, turning it over to read the address.
A painful chill raced over his spine, his blood going cold.
It was addressed to him, from her, seven years ago.
It was marked "Return to sender, delivery refused."
And it was unopened.
Be careful what you wish for, he thought.
* * *
Eleven
« ^ »
Dear Kyle,
Well, now, at least, I know that you did as you promised and kept your head down during Desert Storm, since your name didn't show up on the KIA or wounded lists. I wished you'd let me know, but I understand why you didn't. I know I've hurt you and I'm so sorry. I didn't want to. Though I guess it means nothing to you now, huh? Your heartache won't heal with words. And neither will mine, but I do love you. I always have and unfortunately for me, I think I always will.
Oh, for weeks I'd lay awake wishing you would call, wishing you could find the love we'd shared, enough to let me know you survived. I let it go for a while, and when your unit returned, I tried calling, but I got your brother. His attitude tells me he's taken sides. A shame, I liked him. Rather than become an annoyance to you, I've decided to try one last time in this letter.
I'm not begging you to come back when it's obvious you don't want to. You've already proved that you didn't love me as I imagined. But I feel you have the right to know that you're a father.
Kyle's eyes widened, and he reread the line over and over. Mimi.
I guess I forgot to take one of those pills, call it pre-wedding stress. It doesn't matter now.
He swallowed, his suspicions unfolding, memories rising. The moments in the barn… Mimi's father turned his back on us. He chose to cut us out.
This guy who gave you Mimi, did you love him?
Yes. Desperately.
You don't know what I've had to do to go on…
Kyle felt a barrage of emotions, regret, sadness, joy—utter joy. Then came anger. He stood, leaving the room, calling her name. It didn't take him long to discover he was alone. He strode to the door, flinging it open and shouting for her just as horse and rider bolted from the barn. Kyle clenched his fists, ignorant of the icy wind and falling snow as she rode away in a hard gallop. He stayed there, on the porch, barefoot and shirtless until the figures were a dark slash against the white snow.
Damn her for not trying harder. Damn her for not coming to him and demanding he listen. Kyle groaned miserably, returning to the house, to the bedroom. He'd turned his back on her and couldn't blame her. It was a choice he'd made with a broken heart. He chose not to answer her letters, her calls.
God. He'd been a complete and total pigheaded fool. And he'd missed everything. She'd carried his child, alone. She'd suffered ailments and labor, questions and likely some gossip—alone.
He sank to the floor, moaning. Tears burned the back of his eyes. And he forced himself to finish reading the letter.
I know you don't want to have anything to do with me, but your child deserves to know her father, at least in some small way. Our daughter is eight months old, by the way. I would never have kept you from her, Kyle, if you wanted to be with her. If you do not call or write in a few days, I will know your answer and although it will be difficult, I will accept it.
It's okay, my parents are handling this great. They're supportive and happy over their grandchild. Your child will know I loved you and at the time we created her, we loved.
Kyle felt a tear roll down his cheek. He smeared it across his face, then pinched the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. "Oh, God."
The anger was gone, replaced with regret so deep it was hard to breathe. His chest clenched down on his heart, squeezing and squeezing. He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes and thought of Maxie—pregnant and alone. Of her going through labor knowing he'd abandoned her—of holding their child for the first time, seeing Mimi walk and talk and sharing it with her parents, her sisters. But not him.
No wonder she was so cold to him, not forthcoming with her past, making him pry it out of her. She didn't want him in her life, because she'd let him in before and he'd turned tail. Anger at himself spirited through him. He should have recognized his suspicions for what they were: a thinly disguised truth. He was afraid to see it. Afraid to confront it. And he was ashamed that he'd even thought Maxie could have jumped into bed with anyone. It was never in her. My God, how could she forgive him for being so cruel and selfi
sh? How had she gotten past her pain to love him again? He didn't have half the strength she did.
He dropped his head back on the edge of the mattress, flinging his arm out. His knuckles hit a box and he sat up.
The note read
You've missed a lot, baby. And I'm sorry. Start with the video.
Kyle grabbed it and scrambled across the room to the TV, jamming it in the VCR and pushing Play. His heart pounded violently as the picture came into view, jiggled, then focused.
Maxie.
She was on a hospital bed, her knees bent. She was breathing through her mouth. Rapidly. She was in the throes of labor, he realized and watched, enthralled as she bore down, forcing the child, his child, from her body. Her mother and sisters were there, encouraging her, giving her water and drying her face between contractions. Then he heard the doctor tell her this was it. Maxie groaned and bore down, and Kyle clenched his fists, his body sweating with her, his face contorted with hers. "It's a girl," he heard, and felt dizzy, sinking back onto his haunches. He touched the screen, his gaze scanning every detail as the doctor placed the blood-cloaked child in her arms. Everyone laughed and applauded, cooed and smiled.
Maxie sobbed and sobbed, and faintly he heard her say, "Oh, Kyle, look what we did." She looked at her father, who was holding the camera. "I wish he was here to see this, Dad."
"I know you do, poppet. I know."
Kyle's heart shattered, for the sadness in her voice, for the moment he'd missed, for the time he'd wasted. Then he noticed she wore the ball cap he'd given her years ago. The faded, worn one she'd offered him this morning. She'd loved him then. She'd loved him when she should have hated him, cursed him.
The video stopped, and he punched the button, rewinding it, watching it again and again and each time catching something new. Then he looked at the box, carefully lifting out a smaller one, opening it to find tiny shoes, white and a little worn. He brought them to his nose, smelling musty leather and baby powder. He put them carefully aside, reaching for a rattle, then the tiniest bonnet he'd ever seen. He tried to imagine Mimi wearing it, her red curls sticking out, her green eyes staring trustingly up at him. My baby, he thought. My daughter. His hands shook as he reached for the albums. There were photos of him and Maxie, at the Marine Corps ball, in Encinada, the marketplace in Coronado. Then there was a photo of Maxie, a wedding photo taken for the newspapers.
Kyle had never seen her wedding gown, and she looked incredible, sexy and innocent a sparkle in her eyes the photographer caught so clearly. It hurt to see it. And in the next photo, it was gone. It was a picture of Maxie, round with his child. He ran his fingertip over her belly. Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes, although everyone around her was beaming. It looked like a family barbecue or something, he thought flipping the page. Maxie at about six months, Maxie at eight. He frowned and noticed she was rarely smiling in any photo and in most of them, she was wearing that old black ball cap.
Other than gum-machine junk and an engagement ring, it was the only thing he'd ever given her. Except a child. He found articles about Desert Storm, his unit and the KIA list. Oh, Lord.
"Kyle?"
His head jerked up, and the desolation in his eyes was palatable.
"I didn't give you much of a choice, did I?" he said softly.
"Oh, honey, don't," she moaned, stepping into the room. "Don't beat yourself up."
"What you went through. God, I was stupid and selfish."
He climbed to his feet, letting the photos and memorabilia fall to the floor. He moved to her. And she looked away.
"Max?"
When she looked back, her eyes were glossy with tears. Her lip trembled. "I missed you so much, Kyle." Her voice broke and wavered pitifully.
"Aw, baby, me too." He clenched his fists.
"I wanted to hate you."
"You had the right."
"I couldn't and it hurt so bad to keep loving you when you didn't want me." Her expression grew more miserable. "I didn't want you back if you were coming just for the baby."
"So when my letter came back, you just quit trying."
She nodded, fighting tears. "Mimi gave me the strength I needed. Mom and Dad were great, still are, but it was you I needed."
"I wish I was. How I wish I'd swallowed my pride and come after you. The time I wasted."
"Don't. It's useless."
He nodded shakily, holding her gaze. "Need me now?"
"Yes," she whispered quickly. "Yes."
"You gonna let me hold you again?"
She nodded, looking small and forlorn. They stepped, bodies impacting, arms around each other, tight and warm.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. God, I keep saying that."
She sobbed in his arms, clinging to him. "Don't, not anymore."
Kyle closed his eyes tightly, rocking her in his arms. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him. "I need you, Kyle."
"I need you, too."
"No, I need you," she said against his lips. Her teeth scraped over his jaw, his throat. She rubbed his chest, then flipped the button of his jeans.
Kyle could feel it. The energy. The rush. She wanted to master and take. Start again and relive. Kyle hurriedly peeled off her clothes, taking her to the bed, covering her body with his.
"Now, Kyle. Now." She spread for him, guiding him.
Kyle grappled for the nightstand, tearing open the foil packet. "Max, hold on. Hold on."
"I've waited long enough."
He barely got it on before she caught his hips and pulled him down onto her. He filled her completely and he groaned, loud and harsh.
Maxie couldn't get enough of him, her mouth anywhere she could reach, her hands roaming roughly over his big body. The back of her throat burned. She needed to feel him, deeper, needed to make a permanent link with him. All the secrets were out, and they were still together. They were loving and Maxie let herself go, inhibition set free.
"I love you. I love you," she cried, and he kept making love to her. Wild jungle love. They tasted and nibbled, suckled and kissed and Maxie cried for years lost and Kyle held her, loving her until she rejoiced in the new feeling of peace.
Then she ate hordes of chocolate.
"I need more than a sugar rush," he said, sliding from the bed and pulling on his jeans.
Maxie watched him; she couldn't help it. He looked so sexy all sleep tousled and bare-chested. And when he yanked up the zipper and left the button unfastened, she thought she'd come apart again and drag him back into the bed. And her expression said as much.
Kyle took a slow, steady breath, calming himself. "Food. Food," he chanted as if to keep his mind off his body's reaction as he turned away and headed to the kitchen. He slapped together an obscenely large sandwich, added fruit and cheese to the plate, in case Max somehow lost her appetite for chocolate and returned to the bedroom. He stopped short when he saw her reclined on the mound of pillows, her legs curled to the side as she sucked chocolate from her fingertips, empty candy wrappers scattered on the spread.
She'd slipped on a skimpy nightgown that gave him immediate fantasies of taking it off her, and Kyle didn't think he'd seen anything as erotic and beautiful as Maxie waiting for him. His gaze shifted to the box on the floor, the baby things and photos sticking out, then back to her.
"Sustenance," he said, hefting the plate a little higher as he moved to the side of the bed.
She balled up a wrapper and aimed for the trash can. "You're going to need more than that before the night's over," she said, innuendo in her tone as she tossed and missed.
His gaze slid over her like liquid silk. "So are you, baby."
Maxie couldn't respond, her insides gone to jelly under his heated look.
Smiling, Kyle set the plate on the nightstand and bent for the wrapper, his hand straying to the baby shoes, the photos, his fingers lightly touching. Look at all he'd missed, he thought, all he'd nearly lost. He sat on the bed and pulled the box to his lap.
"These," he said, dang
ling the tiny shoes from his fingertip, "go in my chopper."
Maxie smiled tenderly, watching him poke and pluck through her past. Then suddenly, he stilled, digging deep, and she didn't see what he took out. She frowned curiously as he laid the box on the floor and turned to her.
"You look strange." Her gaze dropped to his fist. "What is it?"
Kyle shifted closer, his thigh pressing along hers, his gaze slamming her features over and over, as if memorizing each one. The intensity of it trapped her, held her heart in mid-beat. Then she heard a soft creak and looked down. Her breath caught, memories flooding back at the sight of her engagement ring nestled in the tiny black velvet box. Images flickered in her mind—Kyle in his uniform, on one knee, proposing with so much doubt in his eyes and hesitation in his voice she'd almost said no then. Her gaze flew to his.
And she saw only his faith and their love mirrored in his eyes, his expression, his determination, his surety growing as he took her hand, the ring poised at the tip of her finger.
He stared at it for a moment marveling at his own calm and he lifted his gaze. "We love each other."
"Yes," she said in a fractured voice. "We do."
"This time, it's forever, baby."
Her smile sent a tear down her cheek. "Forever, Kyle."
He slid the ring onto her finger, then brought her hand to his lips. He kissed her knuckles, holding her gaze, and her hand unfurled, sliding to his nape. She brought him down to her on a soft kiss. He slipped his arms around her, shifting over her, molding her to him, and made slow, delicate love to her, with her, supple movement and soft breaths, binding their new love in time's oldest dance.
When they stirred again, they ate a decent meal. They rode horses and she soothed his aching leg. Kyle listened to her "I told you that bungee jump was stupid" speech as he lay back on the couch, loving her for still feeling afraid for him, for her tender touch on an old injury.
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