Neve sucked in a breath. “Me?”
“Sssshh.” He motioned to the screen. “Movie’s starting.” Eyes straight ahead, he tilted the popcorn toward her. She tried to resist, really. But the delicious aroma made her want, and wanting made her rationalize. If tomorrow she did one V-up for every kernel consumed, surely she could have a few.
Eyes closed, to enjoy the experience to its fullest, Neve took a handful, chewing one at a time to extend the pleasure. It’d been so long, and it tasted so good.
“Stop moaning,” Rory whispered.
“I am not—” His teasing grin stopped her.
By the time she’d had her fill she owed herself forty-two V-ups.
Rory held out his soda. “Tonic?”
“You Bostoners talk funny,” she whispered, leaning in to take a sip from his straw.
“So do you New Yawkahs.”
She smiled back.
As much as Neve enjoyed the movie, she enjoyed seeing it with Rory even more, his hand holding hers or his arm around her shoulders. Turned out he was one of those people who talked throughout a movie. A comment here, a quick joke there. He did it quietly, and Neve didn’t mind, even though she pretended she did.
But all too soon it was over, and they were back in the brightly lit, crowded lobby.
Rory stopped in front of the men’s room. “Give me a minute, okay?”
“Tonic running right through you?”
He smiled. “Not yet, but about to.”
Looking at upcoming movie posters, Neve cringed at the sound of a male voice bellowing her name. Shit. Ignore or acknowledge? She glanced at the men’s room door. No Rory.
A quick hello. That’s it. She turned to see Kyle, tall and good-looking, and Ricky, his stocky and disheveled but nice friend. “Hey.” She forced out a smile.
“What have you been up to?” Kyle picked her up. He’d been drinking.
“Put me down.”
He did. “I miss seeing you around.”
He missed having her available.
“I stopped by a few times.”
Arms crossed over her chest, she looked up at him. “I don’t answer my door when drunks come knocking…in the middle of the night…uninvited.”
He didn’t look at all ashamed. “We had fun. I thought we could do it again.”
Without asking her on a date or buying her dinner or even drinks, he thought they could do it again if he simply showed up at her condo without warning, without an invitation, drunk, horny, and stupid.
He reached in and ran a rough finger down the side of her face. “Maybe later on tonight.”
“She’s busy tonight.”
Rory would have to pick that exact moment to join them, in his army fatigues and boots, the only real clothing he had with him, and a soldier-tough expression on his face.
Okay, no way around it. “Rory, meet Kyle and Ricky. Kyle and Ricky, Rory.”
The men shook hands.
“So that’s why you haven’t been around,” Kyle said. Then to Rory, “You are one lucky bastard to have this little hottie all to yourself. But quit hogging our girl.” He put his arm around her shoulders.
Our girl. Community property. What the hell had she been thinking all those years? “Stop it, Kyle.” She pushed his hand off.
Rory moved her close to his side.
“You active-duty?” Ricky asked, almost hopefully.
“Not anymore.” He glared up at Kyle. “Home for good.” And staking his claim apparently.
Without waiting to see how Kyle would react, she grabbed Rory’s hand. “Okay. Let’s go.” And she pulled him toward the exit. “Have a nice night,” she called over her shoulder, when really she could care less what kind of night the two men had.
When they got outside Rory snapped, “Why did you let him talk like that? Why didn’t you tell him to fuck off?”
“Because what he says doesn’t matter.”
“It should matter. That guy’s a total asshole.” Rory looked ready to charge back in and fight said asshole.
“It’s not worth it,” she told him. “He’s not worth it.” She started to walk. Thank goodness he followed. “I’m out of here in a few weeks. Then I’ll never have to see or deal with him again.” Or any of the dozens of losers like him.
Their nice, romantic movie-date-night vibe destroyed, they walked in silence.
They were almost at the parking lot when a heavily accented female voice yelled something in a foreign language.
A young boy with jet-black hair, maybe seven or eight years old, shot past them and jumped off the curb. A car driving too fast sped in his direction.
Rory took off after him.
Chapter 15
With the firefight raging around them, Rory dragged the boy to cover, then curled over on top of him, protecting him, waiting to feel the pain of bullets penetrating his skin, hoping his body armor would do its job. Could not let this boy die, would not stand by and watch another boy be killed, too young.
The child started to fight.
“Stay still.” Rory squeezed him tighter, knowing he didn’t understand. But Rory didn’t care. “When your mother tells you to stop, you stop,” he yelled.
“Rory.”
Rory? No one called him Rory over here. Mic. They called him Mic.
“Rory. It’s okay. Let go.”
A woman’s voice. There were no women on his team, in his squad.
“It’s Neve.”
Now he recognized the voice. Neve. His body relaxed. But wait. “Get down.” He reached for her blindly, couldn’t find her.
“You’re in New York. With me.” She grabbed his hand. “We just saw a movie.”
He noticed the quiet. The gunfire had stopped.
“Get up,” a man said in heavily accented English. “Release my son.”
“Give him a minute,” Neve said calmly. “He’s just back from Afghanistan. Rory.” He felt her hand on his cheek. “Look at me.”
He tried, but his eyes wouldn’t focus.
“You’re in New York,” she said again. “You’re home. You’re safe. The boy is safe. You saved him.”
“I saved him.” He let out a breath. Thank God.
The first thing that registered was the cold, hard pavement beneath his knees, then darkness, the smell of gasoline, and the boy in his arms, crying.
They were wedged under the back of a car of some sort. What? He slid out and helped the boy up. As soon as the boy regained his feet he ran to his mother, a plump woman dressed in a traditional hijab. “You called out in Pashto,” Rory said, remembering. “Wait. Stop.”
The woman didn’t confirm or deny, but simply looked at him, wary.
In the overhead lights the boy’s father stood tall, wearing Western clothing with a traditional Arab headdress. A crowd had gathered, some looking at Rory with pity, others with anger. “I’m sorry,” Rory said. “I don’t know…”
Neve came up beside him, slid her hand into his, and squeezed. “When Rory was over fighting in Afghanistan he wrote me about a horrible mission that went wrong.”
They’d received intel about a delivery of weapons to local insurgents. That delivery had been accompanied by at least a dozen heavily armed guards. “Our orders were to observe and report.” To identify where the weapons were being stored. He rubbed a hand over his head, hoping the sensation would keep him in the present. “Not to engage.” They’d been after the arms dealer and had another team in the air waiting to follow the delivery truck upon its departure.
“A young boy, around the age of your son, lived in the home they were using as a lookout,” Neve explained. “Rory later learned that the boy saw his brother among the armed guards in the square and was trying to warn him about the U.S. soldiers.”
“He’d been upstairs,” Rory said, remembering that horrible day. “I heard his mother yell for him…‘Wait…Stop.’ In Pashto. When I looked over he was almost to the door. I tried to grab him.” But he’d missed.
“Onc
e their presence was revealed a huge firefight broke out.”
“In the end, among the dead lay that boy,” Rory said, emotion clogging his throat. “A young boy who should not have died that day, killed because I wasn’t quick enough.”
“Killed because he didn’t listen to his mother when she told him to stop.” Neve eyed the young boy, standing with his arms wrapped around his mother’s waist, his head down.
The father stepped forward. Rory stood tall, not sure what to expect.
But the man simply held out his hand. “Thank you for saving my son.”
Rory looked at the hand extended toward him. He didn’t deserve this man’s thanks, couldn’t remember what’d happened aside from holding the boy down and making him cry.
Neve nudged his shoulder.
He shook the man’s hand.
A woman in the crowd watching them yelled out, “And thank you for your service.” Someone started to clap. Others joined in.
All Rory wanted to do was get the hell out of there.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, backing away. “Didn’t mean to scare him.”
“Well,” Neve said, walking beside him, her hand still in his. “That little brat won’t run away from his mother again anytime soon.”
Only Neve could lighten the mood when he felt so unsettled. “What happened?”
“Give me the keys to my cah,” she said, mimicking his accent. “I think it’s bettah if I drive.”
No argument there.
After turning on the car and blasting the heat, which only served to blow more cold air at them, she explained: “That boy ran past us. His mother yelled something in what I now know was Pashto. A car was coming, fast.”
That he remembered.
“You took off, snatched him right off his feet, and kept running. I’ve never seen anyone move so fast.” She put on her seatbelt, so Rory put his on too. “Brakes squealed. The car swerved, skidded into the path of an old pickup truck coming the other way. When that guy slammed on his brakes, the rusted-out tailgate on the back of his truck dropped open and all sorts of crap flew out. Tools. Dozens of beer cans, some empty, some not. Two good-sized metal drums of some sort that must have been empty because they bounced and rolled away. What a racket. What a mess.”
He tried, strained his memory, but couldn’t remember any of that. “Do you have any water?”
“Coming right up.” Neve pulled out of her parking spot.
They passed a bunch of people still standing around, while others helped to pick up debris from the parking lot. Flashing lights. “Shit. Someone called the cops.”
Rory ducked down in his seat. “Stop that.” Neve swatted his shoulder. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
But he noticed she didn’t stop to converse with the officers of the law. “I accosted a kid. I held him down. I wasn’t in my right mind.” Again. He dropped his head into his hands and rubbed. “What the hell is wrong with me?” Nightmares, yes, he’d had those before. Lots of times. But these episodes…almost attacking Neve, restraining that kid, being unable to remember chunks of time…never.
“Regardless of what happened while you were doing it, you saved that child’s life.” She pulled into a gas station and parked. “There is no doubt in my mind he would have been struck and killed by that speeding car if you hadn’t intervened.” She opened her door, looking over at him. “A bottle of water. Anything else?”
“A twelve-pack. Any brand. Regular, none of that light crap.”
She climbed out without a word, then returned a few minutes later with one bottle of water.
“What about the beer?”
“You don’t need beer, Rory.” She turned on the car, backed out, and started to drive.
“What the hell do you know about what I need and don’t need?” He wanted a beer, a dozen beers, to dull that out-of-control feeling threatening to choke him. He’d attributed the unfortunate incident with Neve to lack of sleep. Since he’d started sleeping better, there’d been no further problems.
What had just happened meant that any little thing could trigger one of these…episodes. Flashbacks? Any little thing could mess up his mind, sending him back to the war, at any time, without warning. What if he’d been at the pub and lost it in front of his family and friends? They’d all think he was nuts. Maybe he was. “Stop the damn car. Or better yet, let’s find a bar and have a few drinks.” Yeah. That’d work. Unless something at the bar set him off. Shit.
“We’re going home.” She kept her eyes straight ahead, focusing on the road.
Rory’s heart pounded, adrenaline or something similar surged through his system—he needed to move, needed to run, needed something to calm him the hell down. He shifted in his seat, the damn seatbelt wouldn’t let his chest expand. He unhooked it, opened his window, and sucked in some cool, fresh air. He shook his legs, cracked his knuckles, tried to keep his mind clear by focusing in on the sights passing by. A Taco Bell. McDonald’s. An office building.
The fear crept back in. Anything could be a trigger. He had no way of knowing when an episode would happen or how to control it. He didn’t want to be one of the fucked-in-the-head veterans who came back from war unable to live a normal life, a threat to those around him.
He had to call Gump…Shane. He’d know what to do, how to handle this. Yes. He’d call Shane. Tonight. He glanced at the clock. Shit. Too late. Tomorrow, then. First thing tomorrow.
Which meant he had to get through tonight all on his own, had to stay in control, had to stay away from Neve so he wouldn’t hurt her.
“Talk to me, Rory.”
“I don’t want a talk. I need a beer. A couple of beers.” Or something stronger, something to put him into a deep sleep so he wouldn’t think or worry or remember. Something to knock him out until tomorrow.
Neve took a hard right turn into what looked like an elementary school parking lot. “What are you doing?”
“You don’t want to talk? This is worse than I thought.” She drove to the back, to a darkened area in the far corner of the lot, parked, and turned off the headlights, but kept the car running. Then she moved her seat all the way back and started squirming.
“What are you doing?”
“Give me…one…minute.”
Something thumped in the area of her feet.
The next thing he knew she was climbing over the center console and onto his lap. And she wasn’t wearing pants.
“What the—?”
“You don’t need to get drunk. All you need is me.” She rocked up and down along his growing erection. “Let me help you to relax.”
God, yes. He threw his arms around her and hugged her close. Neve would make this better, he could always count on her. He ran his hands over the soft, warm skin of her bare thighs, lower, to her socks, back up to her silky panties. “God, I need you.” He reached up to cup her head, to draw her down for a kiss. “You have no idea how much.” Neither had he until this very second.
The touch of her lips to his ignited a raging fire of desire. But…“No.” He pulled away, already breathing heavy. “Why do you do this? I don’t want to be one of those guys who use you for sex.” He wanted to kill those guys, not join their ranks.
“You’re not using me.” She kissed him again, still rocking along his arousal. “I like sex. I’m good at it.” Damn right she was. “Yes, I want to help you relax, but this is hardly one-sided.” She kissed along his cheek to his ear. “I know you’re going to make me feel just as good as I’m going to make you feel.”
“Better.” He palmed her ass and pushed her down as he braced his feet on the floor and thrust his hips upward. “I’m going to make you feel even better than you make me feel.”
“Oh, you think so?” She nipped at his earlobe.
“I know so, baby.” He slid his hand up beneath her sweater to flick his thumbs over her nipples, loving how quickly they tightened beneath her bra, how she trembled against him. And just like that, sweet anticipation took command, outr
anking any other emotion. Once again, Neve was there to brighten his darkest moments. “Thank you.”
“Oh, don’t thank me yet.”
“I meant for earlier. For sticking by my side. For standing up for me until I could stand up for myself.” For not running away scared.
She kissed his neck while unzipping his jacket. “Anytime.” She reached down for the button of his pants. “Now let’s get busy. Nate’s working tonight. The last thing I need is for us to get caught.”
“That just makes it all the more exciting.” While she unzipped his pants he found the buttons on the door to move the seat back and recline it. Perfect. “Are you cold?” She’d left the car on. “Should I turn up the heat?”
“I’d rather you warm me.” She cupped his bare flesh, ran her hand from tip to base and back again. “From the inside out.”
“Gladly.” Nothing he’d rather do more.
—
“You comfortable?” Rory asked.
Actually, straddling his lap, but with the spread of her legs restricted by the door on one side and the center console of her car on the other, Neve wasn’t experiencing any discomfort at all. “Very comfortable.”
He palmed her ass beneath her panties, partially pulling them down. “Take these off.”
“Not gonna happen.” Not with her wedged in the way she was. “Move them to the side. Now. Fuck me, Rory. I need it just as bad as you do.” She lifted up.
He reached down, pushed her panties aside, and set his tip to her opening, dipped inside.
Neve tried to drop down, to drive him deep. He held her hips, maintained control, and dipped in a little farther.
“You’re so hot, so wet.”
“Stop teasing me.”
“So you’re ready?” he teased, pulling out and sliding back in, just the tip.
“I’m about to get violent.”
In one spectacular motion he slammed her down at the same moment he thrust up, hard, joining them together, holding himself deep inside of her.
And that was when Neve remembered. “Damn it. Don’t move.” She dropped her head, banging it against his shoulder. “We have to stop. I am the queen of poor planning.”
“We have to stop? Now I’m the one about to get violent.”
All I Need Is You Page 17