by Sara Arden
“Taking you against the wall, holding you up just like this and hearing you scream my name.” Both hands were on her hips now as he held her up and ground against her simultaneously. “The vanilla sugar taste between your thighs on my tongue. I don’t know how you’re so damn sweet, but I crave it.”
She shivered again.
“Yeah, you definitely need more heat,” he growled against her ear.
Then his mouth crashed into hers, all strength and domination, but she melted under the barrage. It was almost as if her body didn’t belong to her, shifting and arching against him with an agenda of its own.
“Please, don’t make me wait. It’s already been so long.”
“I’ve been writing, Bets. Just like you wanted me to.”
Oh God, why was he telling her about this now when she was ready to explode in his arms?
“And it’s all about you, just like this.”
She clenched her thighs as she imagined him making up his stories about her, about them together. As she imagined him pleasuring himself to those same stories.
“I brought my journals, if you want to read them.” His hands were traveling her body again, pushing up beneath the soft material of her blouse. “Or I could read them to you.”
Betsy made an unintelligible sound and rolled her hips against him.
“Yeah, I’ll read them to you tonight. The first one is about a beautiful girl who sends her man off to war with the best gift ever on a red-checkered blanket with a bottle of blackberry cordial.”
“Does he say no?”
“He’s more a bastard than I was, because he wants her to remember him, too.”
“What does he do to make her remember him?” she asked, breathless.
“This.” He laid her down gently on the sofa and peeled her slacks and panties down her legs before dipping his head between them.
She loved that he always wanted to taste her, and that it seemed to bring him almost as much pleasure as it did her. The first touch of his tongue was always ecstasy. It was if her pleasure was his prime directive.
“And the girl,” she gasped, as he laved at her. “What did she— Oh.”
“She stopped talking and surrendered to his every dark desire,” he teased before continuing his work.
The light abrasion of his stubble against her thighs spurred her hotter and his tongue moved faster, taking her ever higher. She was so close to the brink, and it was a full-on campaign to push her over the edge.
Her world contracted to a pinpoint so tiny she thought it would crush her; then it exploded outward like a burning star.
Betsy was still quaking with the aftershocks when he stripped bare and pulled her onto his lap. “Take what you want from me.”
She braced her shaking hands on the back of the sofa and shifted until he was inside her, her full breasts and tight nipples brushing against his lips. He put his tongue back to good use licking the puckered rose-tipped flesh just as he had done between her legs. Her channel was still spasming with pleasure and gripped him hard and pulled him deep. She rode him as he demanded, and it made her feel powerful to see him so vulnerable and needing her.
Betsy suddenly understood why he liked to please her. It must make him feel the same.
He tightened his arms around her and she increased her pace. Betsy found her own ecstasy spiraling again and she moved faster, harder—all for that heat and delicious friction.
“That’s right, sweet thing. Take it deep.”
She’d always thought dirty talk was something to laugh at, but his commands were anything but funny. They stirred something primal and hungry, and she wanted to drive him past the point of bliss, just as he did her.
Sweat-slicked and straining, their bodies moved together toward the pinnacle of release.
Suddenly his palm was on the back of her neck and her eyes flashed open as he drew her down close, but he didn’t kiss her. Instead he was looking into her eyes as he found completion.
Betsy didn’t know if she’d ever seen anything as beautiful as Jack McConnell with all his muscles strained, the cords in his neck visible with exertion and his erection thrusting up into her as she brought him the ultimate pleasure.
She bit her lip to keep from confessing once again that she loved him. She sagged against his shoulder as they were both spent, and he ran his fingers absently up and down her spine.
And for a moment, she was glad they didn’t need any words between them, glad for the shared and easy silence. She wanted to bask in this.
After a while, he asked quietly, “How soon do you want to leave?”
“I already resigned from the internship. I’m ready to leave on the next flight. I want to go home. Take me home, Jack.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
BETSY HAD ALWAYS thought coming home to Glory was a punishment. The first time she’d come back from Paris, it had been like a death sentence. Now she couldn’t imagine wanting to spend her life anywhere else.
Or raising a child anywhere else.
It had taken them all of a week to book their flight home, and she was ready to be in Glory.
She watched the familiar scenery speed by the windows like an animated flip book. “I know you’ve done a lot of flying in the last few days and you’re probably jet-lagged like crazy, but could we drive through downtown when we get to Glory?” she asked Jack. “I want to see the mayor’s tree and the lights.”
“You got it. Being a SEAL trained me for no sleep. Anything else you were missing in particular?”
“Besides everything?” Betsy laughed. The car slowed and they turned down Broadway. “Oh look, the Harvey Girls house is lit up so beautifully. The doctor next door has a candle in every window.” She sighed. “I wonder if it’s on the candlelight homes tour this year. I’d love to see inside again. There’s so much history here.”
“And there isn’t in Paris?” Jack teased.
“You know what I mean. Paris is worldly. She’s very beautiful, but she’s like a model. Beautiful art, but not very livable. At least not for someone like me. Glory is like my fat and sassy grandmother with her lace-trimmed Sunday dress, but serviceable shoes and apple pie.”
“Speaking of grandmothers, you know we didn’t actually get much talking done. When do you want to tell your family? More important, where are you sleeping tonight?”
For some reason, his question made everything more real. She was going to spend the rest of her life with him. That meant they would live in the same house, sleep in the same bed. They’d share the same struggles. There would be victories and losses. She understood that now in a way she never had before. This wasn’t playing house, or pretend. This wasn’t castles in the clouds. This was real.
Suddenly she was terrified.
Was she really strong enough to do this? Could she love him enough for both of them? It was strange, but before she’d gone to Paris, she thought she could. But after she’d conquered her demons, now she wasn’t so sure. She kind of thought it was supposed to be the other way around, but Betsy never did anything the way she was supposed to.
“Bets? You okay?”
She searched his face and found concern sharp in his eyes. “No, I’m really not. We’re getting married. Do you know what that means?”
“Well, yes. Generally, it involves the joining of bank accounts, Christmas card lists, cohabitation, et cetera. To my understanding anyway.” His hard mouth curved into a gentle smile.
Betsy held up her hands, as if what she was trying to say could somehow be held in her palms.
“Look, if you changed your mind and you want to think about it, that’s okay. I understand you’re scared. I won’t lie and say I’m not scared as hell, too. But I’ll stand by you, Betsy.”
In that moment, Jack proved yet again that he was her hero.
“W
hy don’t we save the family reunion and all the questions for another night? Tonight, we’ll just hide at my place with some takeout and movies,” he said.
“Can we make a pillow fort? I’m not going unless there’s a pillow fort.” This was safer territory. It was familiar and silly, and it was something that was theirs from a simpler time.
“Yeah, there can be a pillow fort.” Jack grinned and turned down the road toward his house.
Even though she tried to put it from her head, she couldn’t help wondering if this was what their lives together would be like. If they could still be the best of friends, it would be almost perfect. Pillow forts, playing the cloud game, laughing together and making love—it was an ideal life.
And that was how Betsy knew that he was never going to be in love with her the way she loved him. Because nothing could be perfect. Life just didn’t work out that way.
But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t enjoy the good moments as they came.
Like stealing Jack’s T-shirts for sleepwear. “I’m going to raid your closet,” she said after they were inside.
She went upstairs to his old room and saw that he’d moved his things back from the den. Betsy pulled an old No Fear shirt out of the closet. She also stole a pair of his socks. The shirt was well worn, the cotton soft against her body. Wrapping herself in his shirts always felt like wrapping herself in him, or so she used to think. Now that she’d had the real experience, it wasn’t even close, but she still liked the sensation.
When she came downstairs, the requested pillow fort had been constructed from the cushions on the couch and she smiled.
“Knock-knock.”
The corner of the blanket was pulled away and Jack said, “‘Come into my parlor,’ said the spider to the fly.”
“That makes it sound like you have something nefarious planned.”
“I do, I do. I’m going to make you watch old reruns of The A-Team. Unless you plan on subjecting me to some horrible chick flick. Then I might have to hang myself.”
“It’s only fair. If you make me watch The A-Team, I’ll subject you to a My So-Called Life marathon.”
“But you love the The A-Team. What did I do to deserve all of that Jordangela angst?” Jack propped his laptop open on his thighs, and the familiar music started when he hit Play.
Betsy laughed as she settled in against his chest, his arm around her, and for a moment, everything was fine. She exhaled a heavy breath she didn’t know she was holding. All the tension fled her body and she just listened to the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. He pushed his fingers through her hair absently and for a moment, it was as if nothing had changed.
“You were right, you know.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Right now we’re just Betsy and Jack.”
“Who else would we be?”
She could feel his smile. “I don’t know. It’s just, it seemed like nothing would ever happen to me and now everything is happening all at once.” Betsy steadied herself for what she said next. She was afraid of his answer, but she had to say it. “I don’t want to be the girl who got pregnant to keep the hometown hero. And I don’t want you to be the man who resents his wife and children because his glory days are behind him.”
“They’re all Glory days when you live here,” he teased.
She was silent. That was all the answer she needed.
“Betsy, it was supposed to be funny. Look, if I didn’t want to marry you, I wouldn’t have asked. We’re still us.”
“Do you swear?”
“To the sun, the moon and the stars, sweet thing.”
“I don’t need you to take care of me, you know,” she said quietly, informing him, in case he really didn’t know.
“Maybe it’s the other way around, Bets.”
She didn’t think so. Not now. Back when he was still broken, maybe. He was still wounded, still fighting, but he’d dragged himself out of hell all on his own. She couldn’t have done it for him, as much as she wished she could have. He’d been through so much.
“What did you want to be when you grew up?”
“What kind of question is that?”
She shrugged. “When you were a kid and anything and everything was possible.”
“A SEAL.”
“No, before you decided you were going to save the world. There had to be something.” She scooted closer against him.
“I guess I went through a phase that all kids go through. I wanted to be an astronaut, a paleontologist, a Formula One racer.”
“You’re much too tall to be a race car driver.” Betsy found herself smiling. “So, when did you know you were going to be a SEAL?”
“When Johnny Hart’s dad came on career day in seventh grade.”
“He was kind of a bastard.”
“Yeah, he was. But I’d already caught the bug. From then on, it was what I always wanted to do.”
“You say that like it’s a virus.”
“I guess it kind of is. You’re useless to the corps until they break you down, but after they reform you in the image they want, you’re useless for anything else.”
“You’re not useless, Jack.”
“Yeah, I’m learning. I’ve been swimming at the community center. Working out a little more.”
“I noticed.” She could help trailing her hand over his chest.
“Oh you like that, do you?”
“I won’t complain.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Betsy liked the idea that he would do that to please her. It was a heady sensation, made her feel just a bit powerful. “I used to think that if you wanted to have sex with your best friend, that was true love.”
“And now?”
“Now I think there’s something more. Some vital spark that when people talk about it, they say it’s sexual attraction, passion. But it’s not. They don’t know how to quantify it. So they chock it up to sex appeal.”
“Is that what you think we have? We’re the best of friends who like to be naked together?”
“What would you call it?” Betsy answered his question with another question in the vain hope he’d say what they had was the stuff of fairy tales. Even though Betsy knew there was no such thing, that didn’t stop her from hoping.
He didn’t answer. He just stroked her back and she surrendered to sleep because it was easier than waiting for a truth she didn’t want.
* * *
JACK DIDN’T KNOW why he couldn’t tell her that he loved her. He opened his mouth and the words just wouldn’t come out.
She’d made her decision about what she wanted and she’d chosen a life with him. Betsy deserved to know how he felt, but for some reason, he still couldn’t say the words.
Maybe he thought if he said them, it would be like a dare to the world to take her away from him. That was completely illogical, but there it was, glaring and ugly. That was the only explanation.
Seeing her in his shirt had always turned him on, the way it clung to her perfect breasts and brushed the tops of her thighs, being just modest enough to be presentable, but oh so enticing. Everything about Betsy turned him on. Now she was nestled against him soft and warm, and he knew he’d probably spend the night with a hard-on, but Betsy needed to feel safe and secure. Jack had no doubt that if he kissed her, or started stroking his hands through her hair, down her back and— He turned his thoughts away from all the things he wanted to do to her. They’d have plenty of time for that. She was his.
He still wondered if maybe she’d given up her dreams for him. Jack had been listening when she said what she wanted was Glory, but she was alone and afraid, and Jack knew he’d always been her safe place. She needed that now more than ever. Maybe he should have talked her into staying in France, but
he’d have an easier time cutting off his own hand than he would telling her no about anything. The noble part of him wanted to make her stay, but his heart wanted to believe this—him—was everything she wanted.
Getting married wasn’t just what was best for the baby; it would be what was best for Jack, too.
But was it what was best for Betsy?
He looked down at her drowsy face, lashes slowly fluttering down against the cream palette of her cheeks. Her bow lips were parted and her fingers flexed and released against his chest in a soft succession, almost as if she was checking to make sure he was still there.
Jack rested his chin on the top of her head.
Just let me keep her.
He knew some men would be afraid of the situation he found himself in, and Jack wouldn’t deny he was afraid, too. He doubted his abilities to be a good husband, a good father, but he wanted the chance to try.
After the navy, he’d thought he didn’t have a future. His career had been his life, but none of that mattered now. His career would be whatever would best support Betsy and their children. He would find a way to give her the fairy tale. No matter what it took.
He used to be afraid of the way she looked at him. The wonder in her wide eyes as she watched everything he did. It had always made him want to be better, want to be worthy. Jack knew that Betsy, whether she knew it or not, had made him the man he was and gave him hope for the man he still wanted to be.
Jack still didn’t know what she’d ever seen in him to warrant that kind of devotion, but he couldn’t imagine living without it or without her.
This might not have been what either of them planned on, but now that he had it, he wasn’t going to let go. As he watched her sleep, Jack swore he’d find a way to make her understand what she meant to him.
The soft kneading of her fingers had ceased and her breathing was deep and even. “I love you.”
There, that wasn’t so bad. In fact, it was a release to finally say what he’d felt for so long—to admit it out loud to himself. He finally realized that when he’d given her his tags that night all those years ago, what he’d really given her was his heart.