Once and For All: An American Valor Novel

by Cheryl Etchison

  LIKE SEVERAL OTHER times already that morning, a woman burst from the crowd and ran up to him. But like any good husband, Danny kept his eyes straight ahead and continued marching forward while the kissing bandit tried to have her way with him. It was all in good fun. Any other year he fully appreciated each and every one of the women he encountered along the way. But this year was different. This year there was only one woman he wanted.

  Especially after that little stunt this morning. Calling his attention and then dropping her towel. Even after all these years she still was, by far, the sexiest woman he’d ever seen. It took every ounce of his self-restraint to not chase her down, throw her over his shoulder, take her back to bed, and run his mouth all over her.

  As C-Co neared Olgethorpe Avenue, Danny’s eyes scanned the crowded sidewalks in search of Bree, knowing she’d be sitting with several other wives. A blur of orange and green raced up to him but he kept this one at a distance.

  He held up a hand while still looking over her head to the crowd. “Not now, sweetheart. How about one of the other guys?”

  “Danny?”

  For the first time he looked at the woman’s face and realized it was his wife. “Oh, my God,” he said, pushing the fire-colored curls back from her face. “I didn’t even recognize you.”

  She raised a brow, giving him a skeptical smile. “And yet, you still called me ‘sweetheart.’ ”

  Shit.

  Momentarily stunned, he wasn’t sure what to say. But the time he found the words to apologize she was laughing at him.

  Danny narrowed his eyes at her. “I’ll get you for that.”

  “Promise?” Bree smiled and draped the feather boa around his neck, following it up with a quick peck to his lips.

  But a peck was far from enough.

  Before she got too far away, he took hold of her hand. With a swift tug and a graceful spin, she was back in his arms. All sparkle and smile. A mischievous glint in her eyes with those crazy orange curls. This was the girl he fell in love with all those years before. So goddamn beautiful, his heart ached.

  “Dan—” His name became an unfinished gasp.

  With one arm wrapped about her waist, another at her neck, he brought his mouth to hers, bending her backward, making escape impossible. She relaxed not only into his embrace, but his kiss. The crowds around them erupted, an uproar of hoots and wolf whistles and applause as he took his time and deepened the kiss. Even his brothers-in-arms cheered him on as they continued marching past. When air became necessary, the kiss ended, leaving them both dazed and smiling as they tried to catch their breath. But he wasn’t done with her yet and placed quick pecks upon her jaw, her neck, leaving a trail of faded red lipstick on her skin, marking her for all to see.

  She squirmed in his arms. “I know what you’re doing,” she said, laughing and pushing at his shoulder. “Knock it off!”

  “Consider this payback.”

  Finally, Danny righted her back on her feet and took a good, long look at her. Her eyes sparkled. Her skin flushed beneath the smear of lipstick. But it was her laugh that resonated deep in his soul.

  God, he had missed that sound.

  “Having fun?” he asked.

  “Too much, I think.” She walked alongside him for several feet, using her fingers to wipe some of the lipstick from his face. “You’re a mess,” she said, giggling.

  “That’s okay. Leave it.” He took hold of her fingers and kissed them before letting her go. “Let it serve as a warning to all the others.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  AS MUCH AS he hated to admit it, he’d missed his bed. His great, big, girlie bed. Yes, it had the softest, thickest mattress known to man. And he’d spent a shitload on the pillows alone. But after spending days, weeks, sometimes months living and sleeping in the crappiest of places on earth, Danny thought he’d earned a nice fluffy bed to come home to. Deserved it, really. Then he did the gentlemanly thing and offered it to his wife while he slept on the couch.

  Such an idiot.

  Knowing Bree would be in the shower a good ten, fifteen minutes despite her lack of hair anywhere, Danny stripped down to his boxer briefs and collapsed onto the bed. Hands tucked behind his head, he settled in and closed his eyes. Although the room was quiet, his mind was far from still. Images of Bree shuffled in his mind like a slideshow.

  Bree wearing his T-shirt.

  Bree in a towel.

  Naked Bree.

  And if that wasn’t enough, curly red-headed Bree with bright red lipstick on her gorgeous mouth. It was a look that made him instantly hard as he imagined her leaving a trail of red lipstick on his body as she worked his way from his mouth, down his chest, below his waist to his—

  The bathroom door opened and Danny cracked one eye open to see light stream across the hall and into the bedroom, illuminating Bree’s path. Damn. He was just getting to the good part. But this was nice, too. A cloud of steam followed in her wake, carrying with it the same scent that had come to permeate every nook and cranny of his once stale apartment. He loved the smell, whatever it was. A blend of something citrus and sweet reminding him of lemonade and sugar cookies. But most of all, it always made him think of Bree, of her bright smile and sparkling eyes and freckles dotting her nose.

  “Do you want me to turn out the light?” she whispered.

  Danny closed his eyes and groaned, knowing his time in the big, comfy bed was nearing its end. “Nah. I’m getting ready to hop in the shower.”

  But he found it impossible to move, much less make any real effort to get up.

  Her hands punched and smacked the down pillows, fluffing them, before the bed dipped to his left as she climbed in. Although his eyes remained closed he could tell from her movements she was stretching out alongside him, the scent of her so very close now, bringing her warmth, as well. In his mind they were lying on a sandy beach somewhere instead of a crummy little apartment in Savannah.

  “This bed is big enough for the two of us, Danny,” she whispered again, jolting him from his momentary dreamlike state. “There’s really no need for you to sleep on the couch.”

  Good God. Her words were a song from heaven. An invitation from an angel.

  Or maybe the devil’s temptation.

  “I don’t mind the couch.”

  Damn liar. He didn’t sound convincing even to his own ears.

  “It’s up to you. Offer still stands.”

  The bed shifted again and he sensed her rolling onto her side, most likely facing away from him. Within the minute she rolled over once again, punching her pillow, sighing loudly, obviously restless. If she’d let him rest in peace just a few minutes more, he’d get out of her way and let her have the entire bed to herself. Or maybe all that tossing and turning was an attempt to chase him off sooner rather than later.

  “What does this mean?” she asked.

  He had no clue in hell what she was referring to so Danny cracked open one eye and turned to face her. If she was baiting him into that dreaded minefield of relationship analysis, he was out of here.

  “Your tattoo,” she clarified.

  Definitely dodged a bullet. Small talk about his tattoo he could handle.

  “Which one are you talking about?” He really wasn’t in the mood for chitchat, but it allowed him a few more minutes to close his eyes again and relax.

  She shifted again, this time close enough the mattress dipped beneath his back. Then he felt the tip of her finger upon his skin, alighting every nerve in his body as she traced the inked script on his inner biceps.

  “It’s Latin, right? What does it say?”

  He was having difficulty remembering. Her scent, her warmth, her touch, all of it wreaking havoc on his brain. Not to mention the sudden blood loss to parts farther south.

  As she reached the final letters of his tattoo—aut inveniam viam aut faciam—she
paused only a moment then worked her way from the end back to the beginning.

  He cleared his throat before forcing the words out. “It means ‘I shall either find a way or make one.’ ”

  She repeated the words several times as if committing them to memory. “Where is it from?”

  This time he opened his eyes to find she was sitting upright, her legs crossed beneath her as she looked down at him.

  “It’s not from anywhere, really. Hannibal said it.”

  Her brow crinkled. “Hannibal? As in Lecter?”

  Danny chuckled and rolled onto his side toward her. “No, not Hannibal Lecter,” he said. Of course, she mirrored his position and lay down, facing him with a sweet smile on her face. He couldn’t help but smile back.

  Stupid bastard.

  Instead of fleeing for the door like he should be doing, he furthered their conversation. Initiated closeness. Mere inches separated their bodies, their faces. Even in the half dark of the bedroom, he noticed the spark in her eyes, bright with curiosity.

  “It’s a quote from Hannibal, the military commander. During the Second Punic War, he marched his troops and war elephants over the Pyrenees and the Alps—”

  She placed her palm on his biceps. “Wait a minute. War elephants?”

  “The military used elephants not only to transport food and weapons, but they trained them to attack front lines and trample the enemy.”

  She sat up a bit, her eyes going wide. “That sounds horrific.”

  Danny shrugged. “That’s war.”

  The words were barely out of his mouth and he wished he could take them back. Even if they were the truth. The last thing he wanted to do was scare the wits out of her. In the future he’d need to find a balance between the truth and a lie. Maybe sugarcoating things just a bit would be the best option. The last thing he needed her doing was worrying about him when she needed to focus on herself, on getting stronger.

  “Are you going to finish the story?” she asked.

  Only then did he realize he’d been silent too long.

  “Are you going to interrupt me again?” Bree narrowed her eyes, making him laugh. “Okay. So the Romans were prepared for an attack from the sea and had soldiers waiting for them along the Mediterranean coast. That’s why Hannibal wanted to attack from the north and take the Romans by surprise. But to do that, he had to move his troops over the mountains. His superiors told him it couldn’t be done. Because of the harsh conditions he lost a lot of men and most of his elephants, but the idea worked. It exposed Italy to a northerly attack. Now he’s considered one of the greatest military strategists ever.”

  Her eyes drifted back to the tattoo, her fingers tracing his skin once again. “That makes sense, I guess.” Her lips quirked, as if holding back a smile. “For a second there I was worried you tattooed quotes from a fictional serial killer on your body.”

  She shifted slightly and her tank top inched higher, revealing a sliver of skin above the waistband of her pajama bottoms. His fingers itched to touch her, to stroke her warm flesh beneath his palm. His mouth watered from want of tasting her, to sample her sweetness, to roll her body beneath his and lick every inch of her skin.

  Her finger now grazed a scar near his collarbone, still pink and raised in its newness. “What’s this from?”

  “A tree.”

  Bree laughed. “You’re so full of it.”

  “Nope. It was a tree. We were training in the woods at night, wearing night-vision goggles. I tripped, landed on a branch from a freshly downed limb. Straight in, straight out. Damn lucky, considering. If you don’t believe me, ask Mike. After all, that scar’s his handiwork.”

  “Did it hurt?”

  “Like a son of a bitch. Of course my ego took the brunt of that beating. The guys still give me a hard time about it every time we train in the woods.”

  She lifted her hand to his face, tracing the faint line on the underside of his chin. “Now this one, I know,” she said, smiling as she ran her finger along the scar he acquired at the ripe old age of nine. “You were such a little show-off.”

  “That’s what I get for trying to impress a girl.”

  His dad had given him a brand-new bike for his birthday. The first one he’d ever had since all the others had been handed down from Mike. Although he’d only had it a few hours, he was determined to be popping wheelies by the end of the day. Didn’t matter the bike was too big for him; he was going to do it. And he did. Popped one wheelie and then another. Then she came out of her house and he called out for her to watch him. That was when things went a little sideways and he face-planted into a neighbor’s mailbox.

  “And this?” Her finger trailed the no longer perfect line of his nose.

  He smiled. “Officially? Caught an elbow in the face during a pickup game of basketball.”

  She raised a brow. “And the truth?”

  “Got into a bar fight with a bunch of trash-talking jarheads while on leave in Florida.”

  Bree shook her head in disbelief. “Always the troublemaker.”

  The last was the scar across his eyebrow. “That’s from a rock.”

  “First a tree, now a rock. I’m not sure I believe you this time.”

  “To be honest, I don’t really know. Only that we were on patrol, going house to house in this little village at the base of the mountains. An IED exploded and kicked up a bunch of rocks, debris, shrapnel. Took seven stitches. My eye was swollen shut a couple of days, but nothing permanent.”

  At least not permanent for him.

  What he didn’t want to tell her was the blast killed one man and resulted in two others losing multiple limbs.

  Her eyes filled with worry and Danny held his breath, hoping what he said was enough to satisfy her curiosity. She opened her mouth to say something then closed it again as if she thought better of it. Their own little version of “don’t ask, don’t tell.”

  THERE WAS MORE to the story. From the tension in his body and hurt in his eyes she could only assume the worst. If he chose to talk about it she would listen, but she refused to push. She learned long ago, forcing him into a conversation only garnered a ton of aggravation instead of answers.

  “Believe it or not, of the three, the tree hurt the most,” he said, the right corner of his mouth lifting almost into a half smile.

  That was a tactic she recognized. Making light of a situation as a means of distraction was classic Danny MacGregor behavior. Did he assume she’d forgotten all of his old tricks? Hardly. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

  But her heart still ached to comfort him, so Bree pressed a gentle kiss to that faint line slashing his brow. The physical scar might be less noticeable than the rest, but instinct told her the emotional scar ran far, far deeper. She moved on to the other battle scars, a brush of lips across his imperfect nose, another pressed to the small scar on his chin. She caressed his cheek, the day-old stubble prickly against her palm. Dark blue eyes stared up at her and she found herself silently willing him to say something, anything.

  What she received in return was more silence, so she let it go and whispered good-night.

  She placed a hand upon his chest only to use him as leverage as she rolled back to her side of the bed. Instead, he trapped her hand beneath his, keeping her there. This time when she met his gaze, everything shifted instantly. What began as comfort gave way to want, which quickly transformed to an undeniable need. Beneath her palm his skin was hot, his muscles rigid. His pulse pounded in the hollow of his throat and she was struck with the overwhelming urge to press her lips to his skin, to feel his blood hammer beneath her lips and taste the salt of his skin on her tongue. Before she talked herself out of it, Bree pressed her mouth to his neck.

  His hand moved to her hip, strong calloused fingers digging into her flesh through her flannel pajama bottoms. When she nipped at his flesh
with her teeth, he’d had enough of her teasing and pushed her onto her back. It didn’t matter that he was so much stronger than her; she fought to pull him completely on top of her, wanting his body to blanket her own.

  Instead, he trapped her hands beneath his, giving her only a little of his weight where his hips rested upon hers.

  God, she had missed this. The heat and ache and want. She missed surrendering control, his mouth covering hers, his tongue winding hotly around hers. For the first time in a very long time she was desperate to have a man inside her. Not just any man, though. She wanted Danny. For as long as he would have her. If only a week or a month or a year, it didn’t matter to her. A broken heart was well worth the price of feeling alive.

  His mouth trailed down her neck to her shoulder and she scrabbled for purchase, her nails scraping across skin. When he countered with a frantic move of his own, grasping the hem of her T-shirt and shoving it upward, she gasped in surprise.

  Then, just as quickly as it began, it ended.

  Danny lowered her shirt back into place then distanced himself by sitting back on his heels. “Dammit.” He shook his head, his breath rushing in and out of his lungs. “I’m sorry.”

  Bree tried to catch her breath as she propped herself on her elbows. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Danny.”

  “The hell I didn’t.” His head hung from his shoulders while he roughly scrubbed one hand across his face. She reached out for him, wanting to reestablish that powerful connection. Instead, he practically leaped off the bed to avoid her touch and raced from the room. “I’m gonna sleep on the couch.”

  Oh, hell no. He was not getting off that easy.

  She climbed off the bed and followed, hot on his heels.

  “Why are you running away?”

  Danny threw his pillow and blanket on the loveseat and headed into the kitchen. “Because you don’t want this, Bree.”

  “I don’t? Well, that’s shocking and offensive all at the same time. I’m a grown woman, Danny, not the little girl you used to know.”

  “Believe me. I know that.” He yanked open the refrigerator with such force she was surprised he didn’t pull the door from its hinges.