Off the Leash

by M. L. Buchman

  Then Linda did what he’d been trying to forestall, or at least draw out. She grabbed the back collar of her blouse, yanked it off, then tossed it aside. A slightly stained gray sports bra followed moments later.

  He’d been right. With Linda Hamlin, you got what you saw. No lacy lingerie purchased special for the moment. No coyness over wearing work clothes—no matter how high end—rather than date clothes.

  And with absolutely spectacular results. He knew of her strength. Had witnessed it, felt it as he’d rubbed her back. But to see how so much power had been translated into the female form was astonishing. She looked only a little broader of shoulder than might be expected for her size. But with even the slightest motion, he could see the muscles rippling beneath her beautiful skin.

  And what skin. It wasn’t all smooth, powdered, moisturized, and who knew what else. There were scars on her arms, a big one on her shoulder that looked like…

  “Dog teeth?”

  She followed the line of his gaze, then shrugged. “Bite training. He caught me above the training sleeve. Seventeen stitches. I thought men only looked at one thing on naked women.”

  “Well, I’ll admit to noting that you have exceptionally nice breasts.” Again he reached for them and again he failed. He tried to raise his shoulders enough to free the trapped shirt, but she was still leaning against his chest and he couldn’t get the leverage.

  But Linda was about so much more than her womanly parts. Though now that she’d mentioned them, it was hard to look away.

  That earned him a smile before she leaned down and rubbed against him chest-to-chest. He watched her eyes as she slowly gave herself over to the sensations. The tough soldier-turned-dog handler faded away and the hidden woman who intrigued him as much as the latter slowly emerged. Her eyes slid shut and her mouth opened slightly as the shift continued.

  He leaned up enough to kiss her and they both groaned.

  “Where?” She finally whispered.

  Clive waved a hand at the nearby nightstand. She straddled his chest, still wearing her khakis as she reached over and dug out some protection. He planted a kiss on her breastbone just between her breasts and she scooped a hand to support his head and keep it there. Her breasts were soft and warm, brushing against his cheeks. He’d always been an unabashed breast man, in any size. But at her breastbone he felt as if he was somehow closer to who she was. Powerful muscle close over solid bone. The essence of this woman lay not in her splendid curves, but in her pervasive inner and outer strength.

  With him sheathed and her pants shed, again in some maneuver he’d missed, she hovered over him. Her palms braced on his shoulders kept him still trapped by his shirt. Pinned by that and the most dramatic woman he’d ever been with.

  Linda felt as if she teetered upon some brink. Men were easy. You gave them what they wanted and, if all went well, you got some of what you wanted as well.

  But Clive confused her.

  He kept insisting on seeing her, Linda, rather than merely some woman. And if she knew who that was, it would definitely help.

  She knew Sergeant Hamlin. More than one unit had nicknamed her Ball-breaker because she didn’t take shit from anyone. And any grunt who dared perform at one millimeter less than a hundred percent of their potential around her soon found out just how dangerous that was—though she saved literal ball-breaking just for those who didn’t understand the meaning of the word no.

  Clive had kissed right her where her dog tags had hung for a decade, as if he could somehow fill the hole that their removal had left. She didn’t believe in nostalgia and had stripped them off as she’d driven out of the Fort Benning gates on that last day, but she’d missed them. Missed them horribly without realizing it until Clive planted a kiss there as if he could heal the gaping wound left by the removal of her dog tags and the end of her military career.

  With a subtlety of understanding, he also didn’t reach for her, merely letting his hands rest on her thighs where she knelt over him. He somehow knew that she had to find her own way through the maelstrom that being with him had stirred awake.

  Men were supposed to be easy.

  Clive Andrews looked easy. His sweet face and smiling eyes said that he absolutely was easy. But with every gesture, with every move, he proved that he was the most complex man she’d ever met.

  His kindness was without question.

  His humor, his ability to laugh at himself even as he tumbled to the carpet in the middle of a dance step and played the fool, was something she knew she’d be a better person if she could learn.

  And the man… There wasn’t a thing about him that wasn’t substantial.

  His impact on her thoughts was all out of proportion with any prior assignation. And to take him inside… It felt as if she was about to bare her very soul for him to see. Of course, Clive Andrews was the one proving to her that she even had a soul, so perhaps that wasn’t a bad thing.

  Easing down, she slowly took him in. One long, slow, delicious slide all the way down until she couldn’t believe how extraordinarily he filled her in every way.

  Definitely not a bad thing.

  “It will be dawn soon,” Linda mumbled from where she lay beneath the covers, her head on his chest.

  “Dawn,” Clive managed to acknowledge as he finger-brushed her hair so that it spread like a liquid ganache over his neck and shoulders. A featherweight as light as her kisses and the flutter of her eyelashes against his cheek when they kissed.

  Dawn of a new day. New day? He had trouble even remembering the Clive of yesterday. In a single night, Linda Hamlin had transformed him. Yesterday he’d been a chocolatier who enjoyed women. Today he knew for a fact that there was no other woman for him.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been awake a whole night and come out of it feeling more energized than when the evening had started. Yes, sex on the carpet, hard against the tile wall in the shower with the hot water sluicing over them, and finally on top of her in the bed had certainly had their impact. But it was the times between, curled up in each other’s arms and talking easily, that he’d most remember.

  Piece by tiny piece, like a layered chocolate truffle that continued without end, she slowly revealed herself. The triumphs and heartbreaks of working with the dogs. And with the people. He’d never given much thought to the civilians of countries caught up in war zones against their wishes. Now they seemed so real that he’d never see the war-torn, ex-military men prowling along the White House fence the same way again. They hadn’t wanted war either, but everything had been stripped from them until all they had left was looking through an iron fence at the center of power. Did they find comfort there or a focus for their ire?

  And he was a chocolatier. How useless was that?

  Yet Linda was so compassionate that she had talked him down from that as well. “It gives me hope, knowing that normal life continues. That I can walk into the mall and hit See’s Candies. It’s a sign of all the things we’re doing right.” After that he’d made a particularly gentle love to her, for it was the best way he could think to thank her.

  “I just wish I could do more,” he brushed at her hair some more. Out the window, the low gray clouds reflected back the streetlights.

  “You do.” She pulled back the sheets enough to uncover her face so that he could trace his fingertips over her fine features. Somehow she knew that it was the same conversation they’d abandoned hours before. “Think about the dessert you just designed.”

  He’d told her about it earlier. Now it sounded trite. He rolled his eyes.

  “No, Clive,” she propped herself up to look down at him. “I’m serious. A mission isn’t achieved by me and my dog leading the way, searching for IEDs. It’s won by the intel analyst who found the target, the commander who planned and ordered the raid. The helo pilots. The grunts on the ground. The snipers on overwatch. The eyes in the sky of the drone operators. We each do our little piece. Even then victory isn’t assured, but it’s not for wa
nt of trying.”

  Clive blinked at the force of her tirade, but she continued.

  “Your role may not seem obvious to you, but how do you know that your contribution won’t be the tipping point? You don’t. You just do what every good soldier does. You do the best you can; and as long as you keep doing that, no one can ask more of you. Besides, you’re much farther up the chain than I am. Maybe your ‘silly’ dessert will help make a change so that people like me don’t have to deploy in the first place.”

  “Have you always been such an optimist?”

  “I’m not. I’m a fierce pessimist. Maybe I’ll tell you about my parents someday.”

  Then she shuddered against him and he wasn’t so sure that she was pretending. Only then did he realize that her life story to him had begun with the moment she joined the Army.

  “Or maybe not,” she continued softly. “But I’m also a realist who see what works.”

  “There must be something you’re optimistic about?”

  In answer she slid a hand down his chest, over his stomach, and wrapped those fine fingers around him.

  “Okay,” he had to agree. “I’m feeling rather optimistic about that too.”

  Chapter Eight

  Perimeter patrol. It felt good to be outdoors for a change.

  Even if it was snowing. She was in such a good mood that the light snowfall looked pretty. If it persisted through the day and the temperature didn’t rise, she’d probably be less enamored by this afternoon. For now, it was pleasant. Each cool snowflake that landed on her face and melted seemed to freeze and wash clean an old memory leaving only the fresh and new ones behind.

  Linda also appreciated having a tall fence between her and the White House for a change. Between her and Clive.

  She’d pay for the lack of sleep later, though the Rangers had taught her to go two or three days without when needed. But she’d never felt more awake rather than less with the passage of time.

  Clive had slipped past her guard. She wasn’t used to guys spending the night. In all fairness, she’d been in his apartment, so it would have been up to her to leave. But she hadn’t even thought about it. Two a.m. had slipped by just as pleasantly as their predawn tussle in the sheets. She was comfortable in his arms like no other’s before. Which was unnerving enough to confuse the crap out of her.

  Then this morning he’d given her a pair of gloves that he’d knit for his mother, but she’d died before he’d finished them.

  “They were to be our cribbage gloves.”

  She’d inspected them carefully. Rows and rows of tiny beer glasses, some amber, some stout brown, and each with a white foam cap. “They look like drinking gloves.”

  “We used to go to a pub together to have a beer and play cribbage.” Then he’d folded down the thumb. Sure enough, on the inside face of it was a tiny cribbage board.

  Even now she felt the kiss on each palm before he’d slipped the gloves on her hands.

  Clive hadn’t just slipped past her guard—he’d blown by it as if it wasn’t even there.

  This morning, an officer named Claremont was following her along the fence line, but far enough back that she didn’t have to interact with him. His job was two-fold: to act as backup if Thor found anything and to answer questions about Thor so that they could keep moving and do their job. She could hear him behind her.

  “Yes, he’s really a Secret Service dog.”

  “No, you can’t pet him. Sorry.”

  “Yes, he may look silly, but his nose is one of the top ones in the business.”

  “His breed, ma’am? Pure mutt.”

  “Yes, he’s the one who caught the bomber yesterday.”

  “No. He’s at work right now, so he can’t stop for pictures, sir.”

  He was repeating the last two so often that it was making Linda crazy. Thor had become an overnight celebrity. The Secret Service was generally very careful to keep quiet just how many lunatics they quietly nabbed at the fence line carrying explosives.

  But the diplomat, by dropping his briefcase in the center of Lafayette Square, had turned it into a front page spectacle—below the fold, but still front page. With a big close-up of Thor. The hero dog had drawn crowds of his own to the White House fence.

  Well, the public weren’t the only ones who now knew who she was. The other dog handlers circling the fence offered her a nod of greeting, even the ones she’d never seen before. Outside the line, she and another floppy-eared were on opposite rotations, so they passed one another each half-rotation around the White House grounds. Even from inside the fence line, the handlers with the Malinois ERTs—Emergency Response Team dogs—nodded a greeting.

  She missed the prestige of handling a Malinois war dog. They were fierce and fiercely loyal. They could also be utterly charming, but they were always impressive. Yet Thor, the least impressive dog on the entire team, had a sweetness that went all the way to his core.

  And they were finding a place for themselves. She’d burned out in the Rangers. Witnessing so much death and suffering had taken its toll. But Linda had stayed an extra two-year tour just because she had no idea where she could possibly belong outside of the Army. But maybe, just maybe, she was finding it.

  “You’re famous,” a voice whispered close beside her.

  Linda prepared herself to actually deal with a tourist when she recognized the voice. “Good morning, Dilya.”

  The girl was dressed in a massive parka of neon blue that almost reached her knees. She wore a knit hat of blue with gold stripes with a tail so long that she had the end tied around her throat as a scarf. She existed only from her brilliant green eyes to her lower lip.

  “Is that hat-scarf thing Clive’s doing? Gute Hund,” she told Thor so that he could take a moment to greet Dilya and pee on a handy lamppost.

  Dilya nodded.

  “Where’s Zackie?”

  “I didn’t want to distract Thor. Besides, I’m not supposed to take her off the grounds. It’s weird how many people want to kidnap the First Dog.”

  It was weird, but she’d seen the statistics on threats against White House pets. More than one tour guest had tried to smuggle a First Cat out under their coats. “Good choice. We’ve got to get back to work, but you’re welcome to walk with us. Thor, Such.” And once more he was back on the job, sniffing the air as he moved through the crowds gawking at the White House. Whenever someone stepped too far aside, as if perhaps shifting to avoid being smelled by Thor, she’d twitch his leash ever so slightly and he’d shift over to check them.

  Dilya fell in close beside her. With a neat awareness, she stayed an extra half step to the side so that she wouldn’t be in the way if Linda had to react.

  “Did you get any more training done?”

  “No, she’s with the First Lady over in the East Wing. They’re usually good together for the morning. After lunch she’s off to New York.”

  Meeting at the UN, Linda recalled from the morning briefing. The President was scheduled to be inside all day.

  “I’m usually at school in the mornings anyway.”

  “Why aren’t you today?”

  “Saturday. Duh!”

  “Oh,” Linda had completely lost track of the days. She simply checked the duty roster at checkout each evening to see if she was on or off the following day.

  “Is that where you caught him?” They were passing Lafayette Square.

  “Yes. Close by the Andrew Jackson statue in the center. Though Thor picked up his trail three blocks that way.”

  Dilya was looking from the statue to along G Street.

  She did it enough times that Linda finally had to ask what she was thinking.

  “Well…” she drew it out. “He wasn’t really headed anywhere, was he. Not to Hay-Adams Hotel or he would have crossed the square on the other side of the statue. And not toward Blair House where the Japanese ambassador was meeting with their prime minister or he wouldn’t have come into the square at all.”

  An observation
that had been brought up at yesterday’s debriefing, but no one knew how to interpret.

  “But by walking along G Street, he was almost asking to be found. If you hadn’t caught him, I wonder if he would have kept walking back and forth.”

  Linda froze, earning her a puzzled look from Thor. She looked up the street, imagining a map of DC in her mind. Three blocks to the Metro Center subway station. Two blocks and a block left beyond that to the Secret Service Headquarters building. It would be perhaps the most patrolled approach to the White House just for that reason.

  Dilya continued her speculation, “I mean, if I was going to smuggle four kilos of explosives into the vicinity of the White House without a dog catching me, that isn’t a route I would have followed. Combine that with a diplomatic pass and something isn’t right.”

  “How did you know it was four kilos?” The fact of the diplomatic pass had also been kept out of the papers, yet somehow Dilya knew.

  Linda didn’t wait for the girl to answer. She keyed the radio mic clipped to her shoulder. “Sergeant Hamlin for Captain Baxter.”

  “Baxter here.”

  “What if the bomber wanted to be caught?”

  There was a long silence. Then, “Get your ass in here. I’ll send another team out to patrol the line.”

  She acknowledged and turned to thank Dilya, but she was gone. Even her neon blue parka and matching hat were nowhere to be seen.

  It took Clive most of the day to perfect the dessert for the State Dinner. Chef Klaus liked it well enough, even if he didn’t understand the higher concept. First Lady Anne Darlington-Thomas understood it the moment she saw it and was then delighted with the taste. She looked absolutely elegant and had a small entourage in tow that crowded his tiny shop badly.

  “You’ve outdone yourself, Chef Andrews.” The First Lady began handing around his Pocky-stick treats to the rest of the gathering.