“She was good at hiding,” Lucas said. “She fooled everybody.”
Gwen nodded her agreement. The worst of the drug fog was starting to lift. “Oh shit. Did anyone call Sam yet?”
Craig said, “She called me. Apparently she got a call from Lee Wheeler before he got you out of jail. She said to tell you that she’s glad you’re all right, but next time can you please wait until sunrise to have an emergency. She wants you both to call her.”
Everyone stilled and looked to Lucas. “I’m not canceling,” he said.
“No, but we’re definitely going to have to postpone,” Craig said. “The press are going insane—you should see the mob outside the hospital—and who knows what the courts are going to make of this mess.” He shook his head.
“I’m sorry,” Lucas said.
“I don’t understand,” Gwen said. “Sorry for what? You were kidnapped; nobody expects you to just dive right back in.”
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, then Cathy spoke up. “You’re right, absolutely. But … we’re all out of a job until the tour resumes.”
“Shit,” said Gwen.
“Can’t be helped,” said Craig. “It’s the nature of the business.”
Lucas looked as guilty as she felt.
***
By the time Gwen was released—nearly twelve hours after Lucas, who had refused to leave her side—it was well into the next day. She was exhausted and sore and irritated. There had been an emergency conference call with the two of them and Sam and Craig after two AM. Sam was probably in her pajamas, if she’d been in bed at all last night. The tour was officially on hold, all dates postponed until further notice. Everyone would be going their separate ways within the next day or so.
Gwen didn’t know yet what was in store for her. Sally was talking, but the charges against Gwen were still pending. She was due back in England to revisit the idea of joining the Territorial Army, and now—as the doctors had confirmed the night before—she needed surgery to repair a torn ligament in her shoulder. She looked ahead, and all she saw was a big question mark.
Neither of them said much on the cab ride back to their hotel; they sat side by side, holding hands. By the time they got to their room, the events of the previous days—jail, then the long night previous—hit Gwen squarely between the eyes. She stumbled over and collapsed facedown on the bed, sling and all, not even bothering to take off her jacket. She was dimly aware of Lucas helping take off her shoes, then her jacket, careful, so careful of her shoulder, then gently urging her up along the bed until her head was on a pillow.
Awareness faded for a time, then drifted back on the scent of hotel shampoo. She cracked one eye open and saw Lucas leaning on his elbow, watching her with a curious expression. His hair was in damp waves against his shoulders, and his skin still gleamed with traces of moisture. Gwen licked her dry lips, then swallowed. “How long did I sleep?”
“Not long,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.”
She wriggled closer to him, awkward with only one arm. “Come here.” She pulled him down and curled against his shoulder, and he responded by putting his arms around her. She brushed her cheek against the damp bare skin of his chest and said, “I thought I’d lost you. When they told me at the jail that you were gone. I thought I’d never see you again.”
“I’m here.” He brushed his lips against her hairline. “Gwen, I’m so sorry. I don’t understand why I bought the coke, but I swear I didn’t take any of it. I threw it out right after you found it—”
“We both had our secrets,” she said. “No more, okay? Either of us.” She leaned up and kissed him. It wasn’t like the kiss in the hospital. The adrenaline had long since faded, but the same thrumming sense of near-loss was there. She breathed in the scent of shampoo and soap and clean skin as Lucas pressed her back against the pillow. He was murmuring something as he dragged his mouth against her jaw and down over her neck, but she couldn’t make out the words. Everything was still slow and dream-like from last night’s painkillers and the lack of sleep and the adrenaline crash. She felt a floaty sense of bliss as he slowly undressed her, tugging away her jeans and T-shirt and everything else until she lay, goose pimpled, against the sheets.
When he came back and settled against her it was bare skin against bare skin down the length of their bodies, his skin hot against hers. She groaned and pulled him, one-armed, until he was settled directly over her and she could wrap herself around him and his warmth. As he lowered his head to her neck and began to bite, she held him there with fingers twined in his hair, while she gingerly used her left hand to pet down his side and back. The drugs still in her system were slowing down her response, turning every touch into an agonizing tease. He was already hard against her belly, and she couldn’t resist reaching between them to touch the enticing, soft skin of his cock with light, trailing fingers.
“Please,” he panted against her neck, writhing against her hand. The bite mark he’d left on her neck stung, right where the collar of her usual T-shirts would rest against it. Thinking of that, of feeling the slight irritation of cotton against his mark for days to come, woke something in her brain. She growled and rolled them both over.
“Gwen, your shoulder—” he started to protest, but she wrapped her fingers around him and he broke off with a gasp and arched against her. She winced and shifted the weight off her injured shoulder, trying to keep the sensation of nearly full-body contact.
“You were going to take me right there on that hospital bed, weren’t you?” she teased.
He laughed, breathless. “Well, I was willing to wait and let someone else stop us, at least.” He met her eyes; she could see he was fighting the urge to flutter his eyelids closed as she stroked him, slow and steady—almost too slow. They stayed there, breathing together, the only movement the rising and falling of their chests and the slow slide of Gwen’s fingers.
“Wait,” he said, and stretched over toward the bedside table. She took advantage of the change in position to drop her mouth to his side, nipping at the long muscles pulled taut by the stretch before licking over to one nipple. He squirmed underneath her and laughed, the sound perilously close to a giggle. He dropped the condom packet next to them before fending off her mouth. “What are you doing? That tickles.”
She grinned and kept trying to kiss his side until he pulled her up and kissed her mouth fiercely enough to leave them both breathless. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked.
In response, she tightened her fingers in a slow, firm squeeze. “What do you think?”
He dropped his head back against the pillow in a low groan that Gwen felt more than heard. Then he nudged her to the side and dragged the tips of his fingers up the inside of her thigh. She bent one knee to open to him, and they kissed slow and heated. She shivered when the tips of his fingers parted her lips.
It was difficult to keep teasing him as his long fingers swirled and stroked against her clit, one finger easing down to brush against her, not entering, then dipping in, as if he were testing the waters. God, she wanted so much more. But she also wanted this: the sight of him sprawled lazily beneath her, relaxed but for the pace of his breathing and the fire in his eyes. She wanted to see every thought that went through his head and know that each one was about her. She wanted to see how long they could tease each other before one or both of them lost their composure.
She wanted to see how long she could keep either of them from thinking about anything but this moment, in this bed.
“I love you, Gwen.” The simple, heated honesty in his eyes made her vision blur briefly. She kissed him in answer, and he ran his hands up her back. “Come here.” She couldn’t refuse him, and let him pull her down to his chest. She let go of his cock and let her hips take up the slow, teasing rhythm, stroking him instead with the skin of her belly and thighs. The full-body contact had been thrilling before; now it was nearly overwhelming. With his arms around her, it was as if her enti
re self were surrounded. Her hips picked up speed without a conscious decision on her part, and his quiet moan made it impossible to stop.
He made her stop, though, long enough to unroll the condom onto himself, no longer content with rutting against her skin. She lay against him, keeping her weight off her arms, raising her hips enough so that he could slip into her. His arms wrapped around her again and she whimpered, focusing on his now-fluttering eyelids. When she felt his fingers bite into the tight muscles of her back, she nearly lost control, nearly lost herself to frantic writhing. Instead, she growled and nipped at his jawline, focusing on making him lose control.
It didn’t take long, not when she started biting and sucking at his neck. She gave over and let him set the pace, intent on drawing out every groan, every shudder she could. She could feel the heat coiling in her own belly, slow and heavy and held back. It didn’t matter; what mattered was that he was arching beneath her, begging with each breath for her to ride him faster. She fastened her mouth to the tender rope of muscle at the base of his neck and bit down as he gasped and trembled and cried out.
She was close, but not close enough. She paused to kiss her way back to his open, gasping mouth, and they breathed endearments into each other. Something dirty and hot flashed in Lucas’s eyes after a few minutes of recovery, the only warning Gwen had. This time it was him who rolled them over and began sliding his way down her body in a trail of licks and kisses. He paused at her belly, tongue moving in light, ticklish strokes around her belly button. She tilted her head back and bit her lip, but he didn’t tease her any further. He knelt between her legs and nuzzled at her while she fought to keep from squirming. Then she could feel that tongue—that clever, wicked tongue—swirling and stroking her inside and out, and suddenly the heat in her belly surged higher, swamping her brain.
All she knew in those moments was hot wetness seeming to engulf her, his tongue and lips, soon joined by his fingers below, working together to break her to pieces. She could barely hear the sounds she was making, her head ringing with nonexistent sound. Her eyes were squeezed shut. All she could do was feel and smell, and the deprivation of the three other senses turned each stroke, each breath of musky scent into suffocating bliss.
She was reaching a point of frustration, hindered by the drugs in her system, a point of “Oh God, just let me come,” when the short, sharp shock of pleasure fired across her nerve endings, down her legs and up her chest. She let each wave take her under, feeling more than hearing Lucas’s low, delighted moans with each spasm. She collapsed back against the bed, reaching down to pull him to her. He kissed her instead and retreated to the bathroom to clean up. When he came back, he flopped against her, lazily curling against her chest.
“I need to know, Lucas—are you really all right?” she asked after they’d been quiet for several minutes. Her head was clearer now; her eyelids no longer felt weighted down.
“It seems like it wasn’t real,” he said, resting his hand between her breasts. “She knew me for over two years and thought we were in love. I still don’t even know exactly how we met.”
She combed her fingers through his hair. “It wasn’t anything you did.”
“I slept with her. Before, I mean.”
She tightened her arms around him. “Even so, this wasn’t your fault.” They were quiet again, and he relaxed against her. “We should … probably talk about some things. From before.”
“About what?”
“Well, about you … I get that you like men too,” she said, then stopped, feeling awkward. “Is this—are we—going to be enough?”
Lucas lifted his head to look at her, then started laughing. He was still laughing when he put his head back down. “I don’t know. You like men too. Will I be enough?”
“Of course you will,” she said. “But that’s … different. Isn’t it?”
“Is it?” He tilted his head so his chin rested on his hand and he looked up at her. “Just because I like both doesn’t mean I have to have both to be happy. Gwen, I love you. Other people—men, women, or none of the above—are out of luck.” He grinned.
She laughed and nudged him. “I’m sure people across the globe will be in mourning.”
Lucas curled against her. He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the ringing of a phone. “Yours,” he said, and rolled away to grab it and hand it over.
Gwen sat up. “Yes, this is Gwen.”
“Gwen, Alesha Harrison. I have some good news for you.”
She nodded at Lucas, mouthing, “Lawyer.” “What is it?”
“Morris hasn’t confessed yet, but the police were able to get a search warrant. They found upward of four thousand dollars in cash hidden in a safe-deposit box in her aunt’s name, along with a copy of a receipt from the theater with your signature on it. We’ve requested handwriting analysis.” She paused, and Gwen could hear the smile. “You’re almost off the hook. Even without a confession from her, it’s clear you couldn’t have been involved with the theft. I expect to hear from the prosecutor’s office at any moment dropping the charges.”
Gwen slumped back against the headboard, closing her eyes. “Thank you,” she said. “Just … thank you.”
“I wanted to let you know. You’ll hear from me again as soon as the charges are dismissed.”
When Gwen hung up the phone, she opened her eyes and smiled at him. “They found the money. She thinks they’ll be dropping the charges soon.”
Lucas jumped up and grabbed her off the bed, giving her just enough time to squeak, “Careful! Shoulder!” before he was swinging her around by the waist. He set her down gently and kissed her, his face glowing.
“So what will you do now that you’re a free woman?” he murmured, pressing kisses over her forehead and cheeks while she laughed.
“I … well, I have to go back home. There’s the shoulder surgery, and I have to—” She paused, realizing something she hadn’t considered before.
“Gwen, what is it?”
“I don’t know what to do next.” She leaned against him. “Before, I couldn’t imagine any other life but the RAMC or the TA. But now …”
His arms tightened around her and he hugged her close. “We’ll figure it out.” He pulled back and kissed her. “I’ll go with you. The tour’s on hold, so we’ll make a vacation of it.” He smiled. “I want to see where you grew up.” When she didn’t return his smile he gave her a little shake. “We’ll figure it out. I love you. You’re worth waiting for.”
Chapter Eighteen
Gwen couldn’t stop savoring the air. After months of wandering around the United States, and before that, months in the desert, the cool damp of home soothed something in her soul.
She and Lucas had been in London for two days, planning to use that as their base while they explored the countryside. That had been the plan. In truth, the luxurious room at their hotel was too tempting, as was all of that empty time ready to be filled together. Tonight was the first time they’d come up for air since arriving. There were a few determined paparazzi outside the hotel waiting for them. Normally, Lucas had told her, he wasn’t well-known enough in the UK for many people to stop him. News coverage of the kidnapping had changed that; they’d initially been mobbed. But the news cycle had moved on, and there were much juicier scandals waiting.
The pub was a good old-fashioned local, and Gwen felt at home the minute they walked in the door. The crowd was working-class, and Lucas drew a few curious glances in his leather jacket and sunglasses.
“Sergeant Tennison! Gwen!”
Gwen looked over the heads of the people milling about and spotted a familiar copper head of hair and a waving hand. She grabbed Lucas’s hand. “Over here.” They weaved through the crowd until they got to MacEwan’s table.
He stood as they approached. At the table was another man that Gwen recognized, but she couldn’t remember his name.
“Oi, you didn’t mention you were bringing a date,” complained MacEwan, but his
eyes were twinkling. “Who’s this, then?” Lucas pulled off his sunglasses and MacEwan’s eyes widened slightly.
“George MacEwan, this is Lucas Wheeler. Lucas, this is MacEwan. He was the biggest troublemaker in 16 Air Assault,” Gwen grinned, grabbing him in a one-armed hug.
“Gwennie here saved my life,” MacEwan said, speaking over her head to Lucas before letting her go.
“Stop,” Gwen said, as the two men shook hands. “That wasn’t me.”
“Was,” MacEwan said. “I remember it very clearly. Lucas Wheeler, I know that name. Musician? You were in the news over here … glad to see you’re all right.”
Gwen and Lucas exchanged a glance, but MacEwan went on. “Gwen, you remember Tom?” His friend was standing beside him.
Gwen shook his hand. “Tom … wait. Tom Heath, I remember you! You were there the night this one decided to try and arm wrestle that entire section of Yank Marines.” She laughed and looked up at Lucas. “He came to me the next morning with a sprained wrist. Again.”
Lucas smiled. “Sounds like you had your hands full.”
They sat down and Heath went to get a round. “So, Sergeant,” MacEwan said, “you get your marching orders yet?”
Gwen shook her head, feeling tension drain from her body as Lucas put his hand in the small of her back. “I go in on Tuesday. You?”
“Pensioned out,” he said lightly. “It’s just as well. I think I pissed off one of the locals back in Helmand.”
“I’ll bet you pissed off a few of them,” Gwen teased. Lucas was moving his hand in small, soothing circles on her back.
“So, Lucas,” MacEwan said, “you had yourself a spot of trouble, did you?”
Lucas leaned back in his chair and grinned. “You could say that.” He sounded relaxed, as if it had been nothing huge. “But you know how it is—Gwen was around to bail me out.”
“She’s got a habit of that.”
Both men grinned at her as Heath came back with their round.
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