by Unknown
Brad tried to disentangle from Jo’s restraining grip. “Brad Wilson. I met her tonight.”
“Rea-a-ally?” Dan drawled and she felt the beginning of a blush. “Relax, Swannie,” he added. “What happens in Auckland stays in Auckland.”
The two men shook hands and Jo squirmed as she watched Brad deliver a bone-crusher. Dan responded by stroking the other man’s knuckle with his thumb. Brad couldn’t release fast enough. Her best friend looked at her. You can’t be serious.
“Brad is an investment banker,” she said desperately.
“Impressive,” said Dan.
Brad studied Dan, who was wearing a polo shirt over dress jeans, then he leaned back, crossed his legs in their expensive suit pants and flung an arm across Jo’s shoulders. “And what do you do when you’re not surfing?”
“I’m a soldier.”
“Really?” Brad’s eyebrows rose in surprise. Dan might be one of the world’s most lethal combatants, but projecting a self-effacing mildness was a crucial part of their skill set. The guy looked at his disheveled brown hair. “I thought all you guys had crew cuts.”
“I’ve been on a month’s leave.&cla�€†#x201D;
“Nice for some,” said Brad, unaware that Dan had earned it after a six-month deployment in Afghanistan. He smiled down at Jo. “I can’t remember the last time I took a break.”
Why did corporates think being a workaholic was a turn-on?
“Yeah,” Dan said sympathetically, “rebuilding credibility must involve really long hours.”
Brad frowned. “The credit crisis wasn’t a picnic for the banking industry, either.” Jo began to fidget. This guy was really pompous. She had to get him out of here and into bed before her friend put her off him completely.
Dan sat with the air of a man prepared to enjoy himself. “I’d love to hear your take on that.”
Jo nudged her pickup. “Except we were about to leave.”
Brad looked down her cleavage. “Whatever you say.” “Is this the part where I ask your intentions, Bradley?” Dan was still smiling but not with his eyes. Brad removed his arm from Jo’s shoulders.
She put it back. “Relax, Jansen. I know who I’m doing.”
“Yeah? How much have you had to drink?”
Jo turned to Brad with a flirtatious smile. “I need a quick word with my overprotective friend. Don’t go anywhere.”
“She’s been this bossy since first grade,” Dan confided. “Hope you enjoy being the girl.”
“Such a kidder.” Jo dragged Dan out of the booth and out of earshot. “Look, I know you’re worried that I’m drunk and being taken advantage of, but trust me it’s the other way around.”
Dan looked skeptical, and impatiently Jo jiggled her up-thrust cleavage. “Isn’t it obvious I dressed to get laid?”
“Can you quit bouncing those things in front of me?” He sounded irritated. “You’re making me feel like a pervert.”
“That’s because all guys are shallow.” “Yeah, and you’re only interested in Brad’s personality.”
“My point is,” she said, sticking doggedly to it, “quit with the third degree. I’m not chasing blue-chip investment here. Bad—I mean, Brad and I are all about mutual-asset stripping and quick returns.”
“You wouldn’t have sex with him if you weren’t drunk though, would you?”
“Tracy,” said Jo. “Mandy … Shall I go on? Angie.”
He held up his hands. “Fine, you’ve made your point, I’ll say goodbye and disappear.”
“Thank you.” They returned to the booth. It was empty. Jo resisted the urge to check under the table. “You’ve scared him off.”
“He could be in the men’s room.”
“Go check.”
“You’re not serious.”
She gave him a panicky push. “Go check.”
But he came out alone, shrugging his broad shoulders. Jo swallowed hard. That was it then, her last chance gone. And Dan thought it was fun ai�€†ny, she could tell.
“Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.” To her horror she could feel her eyes welling.
Dan’s jaw dropped. “Jo?”
Scowling, she blinked, but that only sent two tears trickling down her cheek.
“Hell, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize this mattered.” Dan wiped her tears away with his thumb. “I’ll hunt him down for you.”
Her laugh was half sob. “Because that’ll rekindle the romance.”
“C’mon, mate.” He put an arm around her. “You know he’s not worth this.”
“I’m not crying for him.” Suddenly exhausted, she leaned her head against his shoulder. “I’m crying for …” Jo straightened, forced a smile. “Hell, I don’t know why I’m crying. Must be the alcohol.”
He searched her face. “You only get drunk when you’re in trouble.”
Jo closed her eyes. “I feel sick.”
“Oh, God, hang on.” It worked. He steered her toward the ladies’ room. She’d thrown up on him before—at her sixth birthday party when they’d been jumping on the trampoline after Jo had eaten too many candies.
“I think I can make it to my room. On my own.”
“I’ll walk you.”
Not safe from interrogation yet, then. But she was glad of his support as they walked across the foyer. The black-and-white checked tiles kept moving. The hotel receptionist darted a curious glance at Dan as Jo asked for her key. “We’re just friends,” she clarified.
“Of course,” the girl answered in disbelief, her tone envious. She passed the key over.
Certainly Dan was a looker; even knowing him forever, Jo could appreciate that. But she also knew all that warm, sexy charm was a mask. Behind it, he held himself separate. Like Jo did. Even now he was clearly thinking about something else.
“I expected the hotel to be full of delegates,” he said and Jo dropped her key. “Doesn’t your publishers’ conference start tomorrow?”
“Conference?” said the receptionist.
“This isn’t the venue.” Hastily Jo bent to pick up her key and nearly fell over. “I wanted a quieter hotel.” She steered Dan away from reception. “Why are you in Auckland? I thought you were back in Beacon Bay.”
“I’ve been recalled. We’re going over the hill within the next few days.”
SAS speak for overseas deployment. Only Dan knew whether it was an exercise or for real. But Jo was a journalist, she kept an eye on the news feeds. And it was no secret that the United States had formally asked for New Zealand’s SAS to be sent to Afghanistan. “The Middle East?”
His face shuttered. “I can’t tell you that.” “How long?” “Six months.”
Jo was torn between anxiety for his safety and a sense of reprieve. She didn’t enjoy lying to him. “What did Maxine say?&#con�€†x201D; His girlfriend didn’t cope well with his job.
“Let’s just say I got more than one set of marching orders today.”
Jo stopped halfway to the elevators. “Dan, I’m sorry.”
He laughed, propelling her forward. “It’s okay, mate, I’m not heartbroken.”
“You should be. Maxine was a keeper.”
“What a shame that I’m already engaged—to you.”
She snorted. Four years earlier when Jo had broken up with Chris, a guy she’d hoped was the One, and was fretting that she’d never get the large family she wanted, Dan had promised to marry her if they were both still single at thirty-three. They’d signed the contract on a beer mat. “You only use that as an excuse with other women.”
“And very useful it’s been, too.”
They reached the elevator and he pushed the call button. The shiny chrome doors reflected a redheaded bimbo in a filmy, low-cut top clinging to him. It took Jo a moment to recognize herself. On the other hand she’d been having out-of-body experiences for ten days—ever since she’d heard the news from her doctor. Releasing Dan, Jo hugged herself.
He glanced at her. “You feeling sick again?”
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“I’m all right,” she said numbly.
The elevator’s doors swished open and its two occupants sprang guiltily apart. A bride and groom in their early twenties, still dotted with confetti.
“It’s okay,” Dan reminded them, “you’re married now.”
The bride giggled. “Hey, that’s right.” She shifted her veil to make room for them, but they still had to skirt her Cinderella dress.
“Congratulations,” said Jo, pressing the button for her floor.
“Thanks,” replied the groom as he turned an adoring gaze on his bride. The elevator started with a jolt. Jo fell back against Dan and he steadied her. The groom murmured into the bride’s ear. “Dare you …” And laughing, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him passionately.
Jo fanned out her top and stared at the numbers flashing on the panel, 2 … 3 … 4. She’d wanted that so badly tonight. Not love—at thirty-one she’d lost faith in that—but lust. She would have settled for lust. Brad might have been an arrogant ass but he knew what a woman wanted to hear—that she was desirable—and he could have made her forget.
The elevator stopped at six. The happy couple disembarked, leaving behind their heat and their pheromones. Jo gazed after them wistfully.
Dan leaned over her shoulder to jab the door-close button, and his warm breath stirred her hair. Slowly turning her head, Jo stared at him as he moved to her right, giving her more room. He and Maxine had broken up. Maybe it was a sign?
She dragged her eyes to the flashing panel. Yeah, a sign you’re drunk! You don’t risk a twenty-seven-year friendship by suggesting a one-night stand. Except … what she might lose suddenly didn’t seem important weighed against what she might lose tomorrow.
“You sure you’re okay, Jo? You look pale.”
“Relax, I’m not going to throw up on you.”
“Thank God for that.
“Here we are.” Dan led the way to her room, taking her key when Jo fumbled it and opened the door.
“Come in,” she invited him. “We’ve hardly talked. Help yourself to a drink from the minibar, I won’t be a minute.”
Staggering into the bathroom, Jo splashed water on her face, she finger-combed her disheveled hair and left the bathroom, licking her glossy lips. I need a memory hot enough to last me a lifetime.
She found Dan pouring boiling water into two mugs. “I’ve made coffee,” he said, over his shoulder. “You probably need it.”
“Sounds good.” Her heart was beating so fast he must hear it. Jo looped her arms around his waist and laid her face against his back.
“Maybe you’d better lie down,” he said, adding sugar and milk, “if you can’t stand up by yourself.”
Frustrated, Jo released him. “Dan, turn around.”
He picked up the mugs and turned, pulling them up over her head in the nick of time.
“What the …” Stepping between the outstretched mugs, she yanked his face down to hers. Dan stiffened.
“Jo, don’t—”
She kissed him, stifling his protests with her tongue.
It was odd kissing someone she loved platonically, odd and way too much like a science experiment. Although. Dan wrenched his mouth away and said in a tight voice, “Step away, before you get burned.”
“Wow, you really think you’re that good?” then she realized he was still holding the mugs outstretched, and hot coffee was dripping over his fingers and splattering onto the cream carpet.
She sobered, real fast. “Dan …”
“Just get out of the goddamn way, Jo.”
He dumped the mugs on the bedside table and disappeared into the bathroom where she heard him turn on the faucet. For a moment, Jo stood in abject humiliation before wrapping herself in a dressing gown and following him. He had his fingers under a stream of cold water.
“Dan,” she choked. “I’m sorry.”
“You bloody should be!” His eyes met hers in the mirror. “Where’s your brain, Jo?”
“It was only a one-off,” she protested. “I might be drunk and stupid but I’m not that drunk and stupid.”
His mouth twitched. “This isn’t even about me, is it?” She shook her head and relief softened his features. “So what … the ticking clock again?”
It took her a moment to realize he was talking about her desire to have children. She dropped her gaze. “It’s silly, I know.”
“You’re not even thirty-two.”
“You’re right,” she said. Only thirty-one. It wasn’t fair. Jo started to cry, she couldn’t help it. With an oath, Dan turned off the tap and pulled her into a hug.
“You’re an idiot, Swannieat �€†,” he said roughly. “You’ve still got plenty of time.”
Jo cried harder.
“You’ll be glad I turned you down when you sober up. And we’ll forget about this.”
“Okay,” she sobbed. It was so good to be held by someone who actually cared about her.
“I’ll find you a goddamn husband when I get home.”
“Okay.” It was easier to agree with him. He gave her a shake. “Quit crying now.” “Okay.” Jo made an effort and wiped her eyes with the corner of his shirt. “Um … Dan?” she sniffed. “Yeah, mate.” “I’m going to be sick now.” “Oh, great.”
Back in the Soldier’s Arms/Here Comes the Groom
CR!93BHZ3MAHS4NVAVVWQG1QCZMZ0ZB
CHAPTER TWO
Twelve months later
HIS STALKER LEAPED OUT of the moonless dark.
Only a panting yip seconds before front paws slammed into Dan’s chest made him drop the knife in time. He caught the border collie in his arms, a furry mass of squirming, whining affection. “Goddamn it, Blue! “
Heart still climbing his throat, Dan dropped to his knees on the rough driveway leading to the farmhouse and tightened his hold. “Don’t try and ambush a soldier.” Especially not SAS. A sloppy, rough tongue licked his unshaven jaw.
Even in the pitch dark, the New Zealand landscape smelled different from Afghanistan—pine and lush pasture instead of arid desert and rock. Life, not death.
Pushing the ecstatic animal away, Dan felt for his knife on the loose stones, then shoved it to the bottom of his backpack. It wasn’t like him to get disoriented like this. Still crouching, he covered his face with his hands, breathing deeply. Hey, folks, I accidentally killed the dog thinking he was al Qaeda, but otherwise I’m perfectly normal.
Blue rolled into him, knocking Dan onto his ass. Sharp stones digging through his worn jeans, he struggled to see the dog and laughed. Still on his back, wriggling, the collie’s jaw stretched wide in a canine grin.
“What the hell are you doing here anyway, eh, boy?” Leaning forward, he scratched Blue’s exposed belly. “You’re supposed to be living in town with the parents … Yeah, well, I’m happy to see you, too. Now go on.” He pushed the dog to its feet, rose to his own. “Lead the way home.” Blue tore off into the night.
Reshouldering his pack, Dan followed the faint sound of dislodged stones, the sonic trigger that had caused him to pull his knife in the first place. He’d forgotten the impenetrable blackness of a cloudy country night, the sense of total isolation. In early May thererug019;d was a crispness to the air, the first breath of impending winter.
The moon broke through. There was enough light now to make out the dog’s pricked ears as Blue waited for him to catch up. Farther up the track, the empty farmhouse came into view, white clapboard, corrugated iron roof, and a low-pitch verandah with pegs and shelves for wet weather gear and gum boots. No cow manure would ever be tracked through his mother’s kitchen.
He could tell she didn’t live here anymore, though. The porch needed sweeping and the doormat was caked in mud. This place was his now, at least until he decided whether to buy into the farm.
He slid his hand between the second and third step for the spare key, still on a hook under the porch. Some things didn’t change. He found comfort in that. Unlocking the door he stepped inside.
“Move one inch, you thieving bastard,” said a gruff voice, “and I’ll pepper your ass with steel shot.” There was the sound of a double-barrel snapping shut.
Dan grinned. “Is that any way to welcome your firstborn home? “
HIS FATHER POURED THEM both a whiskey to steady their nerves. “Creeping in at midnight.” Herman pushed the shot glass across the kitchen table, his thick gray hair tufted from sleep. “Who the hell do you think you are, Cinderella?”
“Hitchhikers take rides when they can.” Dan had been on operational deployment for six months in rugged, mountainous terrain. Given his haggard appearance, he considered himself lucky to have been picked up at all. “I had to walk the last five kilometers from the turnoff.”
“With that pack? You should have called me.”
It hadn’t occurred to him; he was so used to self-sufficiency. And the backpack weighed a fraction of the twenty-plus pounds he usually carried. Picking up his whiskey, Dan looked curiously at his old man. “What are you doing here anyway? I thought you and Mom moved to town two months ago.” And it looked like it. The kitchen held only an old table and two mismatched chairs. One mug in the sink. A small fridge.
Herman started toying with his glass. “I wasn’t happy leaving this place vacant—isolated the way it is—so I stay over weeknights. I’m still working on the farm every day with Rob. It’s more convenient to sleep here.” The nineteen-year-old farm hand rented the old cottage at the other end of the property, and had been looking after the farm dogs since their move to town.
The amber liquid burned a path down Dan’s throat, warming all the cold places. “Town’s only a fifteen-minute drive away. Hardly a commute. And Rob’s only a few acres over.”
“Now you sound like your mother.” Herman went and got the whiskey bottle. “Anyway, it was only until you came home.”
“So I’ve been holding up your retirement plans?” He hadn’t been home in almost a year, spending his leave with one of his younger twin sisters—Viv—in New York.
“Not my plans, son—hers. Personally I’m in no hurry to turn into an old dodderer.”
“At sixty-five? Hardly.” Herman Jansen was still a vital, handsome man, with a full head of hair, piercing blue eyes and a strong Dutch jaw. Popeye, as his three children affectionately refed R‘€†rred to him. “Isn’t retirement about having freedom? To travel, play golf …” Dan grinned. “Spend quality time with the grandkids.”