Mitch laughed now at Eli’s assessment of his three nephews. “Mini-terrorists, eh?”
“You don’t even want to know,” Eli said. Hellion was a good term for them. His mother said they reminded her of him at that age. He grinned. “Are you taking leave?”
“Nope. I’m heading up to Bragg.” That didn’t surprise Eli, either. Special Forces training would continue at Fort Bragg, home of the 82nd Airborne and Special Operations Forces in North Carolina. There they’d become the crème de la crème—some of the most valuable soldiers in the military, Special Forces officers, experts in unilateral direct action operations and unconventional warfare. Eli had an affinity for languages. The weeks prior to jump school he’d completed an intense course in Farsi.
“Where are you heading?” Mitch asked.
“Back home for the weekend. Another one of my buddies is getting married. Poor bastard. I’ll stay at my folks’ place, even though they’re away right now.” His friends were dropping like flies now. This was number four. And Eli had agreed to be a groomsman when said bastard, Greg Waddell, married Lisa Mosley. He and Greg had had a reputation in town for pulling some harmless but dumb-ass pranks when they were younger, like spray painting the town water tower one night. Eli had the leave time coming and it’d be cool to reconnect with some of the people from his severely misspent youth. It was kind of strange that while he’d spent the last several years traveling the globe, so many of the people he’d grown up with had stayed in Jackson Flats.
And she would be there. His gut clenched at the thought of Tara Swenson…her mouth, her hands, her soft, soft skin, her legs wrapped around his waist, her writhing beneath him, on top of him…This time he was definitely staying away. Twice had been two times too many. No more close encounters of the hot kind with her.
“You need a psych eval, man, if you’re spending your leave at some wedding.”
Eli shrugged, stopping at his pride and joy, his 2008 Shelby Mustang GT500KR, black with silver stripes and packing 500 horses in the engine. He popped the trunk. “They’re not bad and the parties afterward are usually kick-ass.” That was an understatement.
His first buddy had succumbed to matrimony five years ago. Eli had been fresh out of college and had just been handed down his commission. Yeah, he’d thought he was the man. The champagne had been endless and the night had been hot. And what had started out as a casual romp had turned into something way, way more…so not what he wanted, needed or was looking for. He’d woken up the next morning, looked into Tara’s sea-green eyes and felt something inside him turn upside down.
And in keeping with his military strategic training, he’d taken the only viable course of action. Far better that a soldier retreat than surrender. So, he’d run like hell in the other direction.
And then, there was Christy and Matt’s wedding two years ago. Hell, they’d divorced before the ink was dry on the license. But Tara had been there. Neither one of them had planned to hook up, but dammit to hell he couldn’t keep his hands off her. Before the night was over, they were wearing out the sheets in a hotel thirty miles away.
His entire body tightened, quickened when he remembered the hottest sex he’d ever had. He’d almost called her after that night. Hell, he’d even put together an e-mail once and then deleted it. He was heading overseas and that didn’t make him much of a candidate for a relationship. It wasn’t fair to her. And besides, his career plans didn’t include any emotional commitments. He suspected Tara was the one woman who could derail those plans. So, they’d scorched the bed…and the carpet…and the shower…And, once again, he’d walked away.
He shook his head, trying to dislodge the memories. Then he put his duffel bag in the trunk and slammed it closed.
Mitch frowned. “I tell you what. I’ll stick with the bar scene and leave the wedding deals to you.”
“How ’bout you recon the bars up at Bragg before I get there?”
Mitch strode over to his restored-to-mint-condition ’69 Ford Bronco. “Deal. Enjoy your wedding.”
“Will do.” He planned to have a helluva good time. And he was due a little R&R after busting his balls for his wings the last three weeks. After all, there were lots of fish in the sea. And this time, he’d make it a point to fish far, far away from where he might catch Tara.
Because come hell or high water, he was not sleeping with Tara Swenson again.
2
“ELI’S FLYING IN this afternoon. Greg’s picking him up at the airport and they’re heading straight to the rehearsal,” Lisa Mosley said as she strolled into Tara’s now-empty classroom after a cursory knock.
Tara knew he was coming, that he was one of the groomsmen, but hearing Lisa say it, sent her stomach somersaulting. Tara was a bridesmaid. She’d be at the rehearsal. He’d be at the rehearsal. The situation had disaster written all over it. But then, she’d known Eli had disaster written all over him from the first minute she’d seen him in high school and felt her heart drop into her stomach…and he hadn’t seen her at all.
She glanced up from the pile of essays her eighth graders had turned in last period. Despite the upheaval inside her, she strove for calm nonchalance. “And I care, why?”
Lisa settled on the edge of Tara’s desk. “Hel-lo. I distinctly remember what happened two years ago when Christy and Matt got married.”
Good Lord, Lisa would be insufferable if she only knew that it had been the second time Tara had slept with Eli. In a moment of weakness, she’d confessed that second indiscretion to Lisa, but thank God, had the good sense to not tell her it was bedroom romp numero dos. “Everyone’s allowed one mistake—” or two “—in a lifetime.”
Lisa stared her down, continuing her interrogation Spanish Inquisition–style. “Are you bringing a date to the wedding?”
Tara abandoned the essays. Grading them wasn’t going to happen today. She leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms and returned Lisa’s stare. “I don’t need to bring a date to the wedding. I’m an independent woman who doesn’t have to have a man attached to her side to prove anything, thank you.”
“Anthony was busy?”
Smirking really wasn’t attractive on Lisa, but Tara held her tongue.
“Well, yeah.” Okay, so Tara had known a moment of last-minute panic. True enough, she didn’t need a man, but having a human shield between her and Captain Hard Body had suddenly struck her as a prudent move.
Eli Murdoch was her Achilles’ heel. Her weak spot. If she could keep him at arm’s length then he couldn’t get close enough to get around her. She just didn’t think she could put herself through another great-sex-and-then-he-never-calls episode again.
Hence, she’d made an emergency plea to Anthony Caldwell, who was nothing more than a friend and totally, blindly in love with Trish McGee, who’d stupidly moved in with the good-for-nothing Mac Taylor—the intricacies of small-town relationships could be mind-boggling. But Anthony was out of town on business.
Which meant that Tara had to face Eli Murdoch on her own.
“Eli’s going to be your escort.” Lisa shot her an arch look.
“I wish you hadn’t…”
“Where there are sparks, there’s fire. Look at me and Greg. We’re the last two people you’d expect to get married.”
Wasn’t that the truth? Lisa was the smart chick with the smart mouth and Greg was your typical Tennessee good ol’ boy—but what they had worked. Still, Lisa, who always thought she knew best, was wasting her time having Eli escort Tara. Whatever.
“I think I can handle hooking my arm through his without throwing him to the church floor and having my wicked way with him.”
“Are you sure about that?”
Actually, she wasn’t altogether certain—but she was darn sure going to try. For some crazy, totally frightening reason, all of her self-control seemed to desert her whenever she was close to his dark-haired, dark-eyed, chiseled-lipped, breathtakingly broad-shouldered, hard-bodied six-foot-two self.
Willpower
? Gone.
Common decency? Out the window.
She remembered every inch, every nuance of him in excruciating, maddening detail even though it had been two years. The way his fingers had curled through hers when he held her hands above her head, against the smooth cotton sheets…the low, guttural sound he made in the back of his throat when she traced her finger along the muscled ridge bisecting his hip.
“It shouldn’t be a problem,” Tara said.
“You do realize that if Eli wasn’t a problem for you, you wouldn’t have had to turn to Anthony as a stand-in date? You’d have a real date.”
Now Lisa was just getting ridiculous. As if Eli Murdoch had any bearing on her love life or immediate lack thereof. “Please. I’ve dated guys. I just happen to be in between.”
She’d had two lovers since the last time she’d slept with Eli. One guy a year didn’t seem excessive. They’d been competent, and one would think that one man’s warm breath against her neck would feel the same as another’s, that the rasp of male stubble against her bare skin shouldn’t vary much from man to man. But it did. Neither of her subsequent lovers had come close to measuring up to Eli—literally or figuratively.
Unfortunately, Eli was the wrong man for her. She’d always known it—from the very first moment she’d laid eyes on him when she’d transferred to Jackson Flats High School as a sophomore. Her breath caught in her throat as she recalled the very instant she’d seen him, a senior, decked out in his ROTC uniform, so commanding with his broad shoulders and height, so compelling with his piercing dark eyes, so handsome, it was as if everything inside her melted.
He’d clearly been eager to shake the dust of Jackson Flats from his heels and embark on a military career that meant moving often. She’d just arrived, desperate to settle into one place and call it home, after being dragged over the great state of Tennessee by her mother since the time she was a small child. Tara craved stability, she needed to put down roots.
“Well, I’m betting you wind up back in the sack with him this time, too.”
Falling into bed with Eli, yet again—and at a damn wedding once again—wasn’t going to happen. She hadn’t heard a single word from him in two years—no phone call, no e-mail, no message via friends. God, she’d have to be flat-out stupid or desperate—and she was neither.
“I’ll walk down the aisle with him—” Whoa, that came out all wrong. “—in your wedding, but that’s it. Nothing else. Not even a kiss.”
Ohmigod. Why’d she mention a kiss? The man kissed like heaven—regardless of where or what he was kissing. White-hot heat flashed through her.
Lisa shot her a knowing look. “Uh-huh.”
Tara ignored the clamor of certain body parts that were already waving a white flag of surrender in anticipation. “Absolutely. And I’ll make sure he knows it right up front.”
3
ELI LEFT HIS DUFFEL BAG in the trunk of Greg’s ride and sauntered toward the First Methodist Church of Jackson Flats. A brisk wind whistled through February’s bare branches.
“Lisa was all nervous that we’d be late and here we are with—” Greg checked his wristwatch “—three minutes to spare. I’ve still got time to get in a smoke.”
Eli laughed, pushing his buddy toward the front steps of the steepled, stained glass building. “You need to give that up, man. It’s gonna kill you. And if you’re late, Lisa’s gonna kill me. Keep walking.”
Greg shot him a pitiful glance that didn’t even begin to disguise the sudden onset of “oh-shit-I’m-about-to-give-up-my-freedom” jitters. “You’re whipped and she’s not even your fiancée.”
“Nuh-uh. There’s a difference between being smart and being whipped. You’ve got about eighteen hours left to figure it out.”
Eli climbed the first step and his heart slammed against his ribs. Damn but he needed to get a handle on himself. He’d recently completed a number of night jumps and managed to stay calm, cool and collected. So how had one woman managed to tie him up like this? He had to get a grip. It was all the more reason not to do something stupid like hook up again. No…not, just no, hell no.
Greg had filled him in on the other members of the bridal party. Traci Rowell, one of the bridesmaids, had always been cute and as far as he knew, was still unattached. Tara wasn’t the only game in town. He’d send a clear concise message he wasn’t interested this time.
Then suddenly, it was showtime. Greg pushed open one of the front double doors and announced in his booming voice, “Look who I found loitering at the airport.”
There was a sudden pause in conversation and then everyone headed toward them, pretty much all talking at once. Part of Eli’s training included making snap situation assessments. He noted everyone in the wedding party, but his gaze immediately sliced through the crowd to Tara, like a laser locking onto a target.
Some women didn’t age well. Unfortunately, she wasn’t one of them. She looked even better than he remembered, and he’d remembered her looking pretty damn good. Her honey-blond hair that had been cut in a chin-length bob two years ago, now hung past her shoulders…long enough to brush against his skin if she leaned over him…A new pair of square-shaped glasses framed her green eyes—very sexy. Her mouth, however, had remained unchanged—wide, generous, tempting. And the lush curves of her body he’d so enjoyed were still enough to send his pulse into overdrive.
Lisa, Greg’s outspoken bride-to-be, launched herself at Eli, enveloping him in a sisterly hug. “Hey, you. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
And then the rest of his old schoolmates greeted him, exchanging hellos and handshakes. He didn’t miss the fact, however, that Tara held herself apart, even though he could feel the heat of her green eyes scanning him from head to toe, covering all the interesting spots in between.
After a few minutes, Mrs. Cantrell, the wedding director, took over. “Okay, since we’re all here now, let’s get started. First, I’m going to pair up the groomsmen and bridesmaids so you know how to line up and who’ll be escorting whom out. Just move to the side when I call your names.” She glanced down at her notepad and began to read off her list. Third pair down she announced, “Eli Murdoch, Tara Swenson.”
As they moved to the side, Eli whispered, “Hi, Tara.” He was in imminent danger of drowning in her sea-green eyes.
“Hello, Eli.” She tucked her hair behind one pink-shelled, double-pierced ear. Dammit, even her ears were sexy. He remembered nibbling at that delicate little lobe, and Tara making the softest moan in the back of her throat…“Stop it,” she hissed under her breath.
“What?” He hadn’t done anything. He hadn’t even touched her. Still, her scent wrapped around him, evoking the memory of her smell on his skin after sex, her taste against his tongue.
“Quit looking at me like that.” Her eyes were taking on that smoky, glazed look he knew so intimately.
“Like what?”
“You know what.”
“I wouldn’t ask if I knew, would I?”
She turned her head away from the rest of the wedding party and said in a low voice that cut right through him, “Don’t look at me like you’d like to eat me up.”
Okay, so maybe he had checked her out when he came in. Last time he noticed, he was still a red-blooded American male, but what the hell. She’d given him the once-over, too. “Well, then maybe you shouldn’t look at me that way.”
“You wish.” She crossed her arms over her chest and shot him a smoldering look that didn’t do a damn thing to bank the fire she’d started inside him. Because, quite frankly, her actions just showcased her well-rounded assets. “And just for the record, I’m telling you up front, I’m not going to—” she lowered her voice to a husky almost-whisper “—make the same mistake I’ve made at the last two weddings.”
Exactly his thought. They were on the same page. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“You are?” She looked…shocked. She quickly recovered her aplomb. “Well, of course you are. We’re both using better judgment
this time.”
“Yep. You’ll be relieved to know I’m not planning to…follow that path, either.”
“That’s…great,” she said, her smile overly bright, a tad strained. “It’s a big relief.”
“Glad we got that out of the way.”
“Yep.”
“Okay, everyone.” Mrs. Cantrell clapped her hands together. “Ladies, if you’ll move to the rear of the church. Gentleman, I’d like you to gather at the front pew.”
“She said gentlemen, but I bet she wants you up there, too,” Tara said with a sassy smirk before heading to the back of the church.
He stood momentarily transfixed by the bounce of her blond hair against her shoulders and the sensual sway of her hips as she took a shortcut through the pews.
Good thing they’d cleared the air. Because right now, he wanted desperately to kiss the top of her head and her feet and every space in between.
4
“LET’S TRY THIS AGAIN. We’ve got to get things right before we can finish up,” Mrs. Cantrell intoned from the front of the church.
“Again?” Tara said, her stomach bottoming out.
How long would they spend going through the exit routine? This was the third time Kathy Farland had missed her cue. Which meant it was the third time Tara had to link her arm through Eli’s.
She knew it shouldn’t be a big deal. The problem was, she couldn’t link her arm though his without feeling the play of all those hard muscles, getting caught up in the incendiary heat that seemed to roll off of him, surrounding her with his scent, his heat, him. It was a rapid plunge into lust-driven madness. Two lousy, long years and simply standing next to him made her body hum.
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