“Now, now, Rambo. No need to get upset. I was just making conversation.” David held up his hands. “All good.”
Vicki stepped next to John and slid her arm around his waist. The maître d’ rushed up with the manager in tow.
The manager placed a light hand on David’s forearm. “Mr. Watters, I am going to have to ask you to leave.”
David reeled to look at him, mouth open, his diction perfect and icy. “Pardon me?”
Bitty stood by his side, her posture perfect and straight. “I believe they are trying to kick us out, David.” She’d mastered the expression of looking down her nose, Vicki noticed.
The maître d’ quailed. The manager straightened and cleared his throat. “I am sorry, sir, madam. I am afraid that you are going to have to leave. We cannot have you disturbing our guests.”
David sneered and looked down his nose at the man. “Do you know who I am?”
“Yes, and I have family members who are soldiers. I will not permit you to come into my restaurant and verbally abuse someone. I have called a cab for you.”
Vicki suppressed the urge to clap.
David swung his arm and smacked a bottle of wine off the closest table. “You will hear about this from your bosses.”
“Considering I own this establishment, I am not afraid,” the manager replied crisply.
John moved into David’s path as he went to leave. “You leave Vicki alone, you hear me? She’s none of your concern anymore.”
“Vicki’s mine, soldier boy. Mine. No paper is going to change that.” David’s face twisted when he looked at her. He slicked his hands along his hair and straightened his tie.
You know what? That was enough of that.
“Fuck off, David. You got caught with your cock out, and I divorced you. We are over.”
A hush fell over the restaurant. John looked over at Vicki with a grin on his lips, his hand still pressed into David’s chest. Vicki blinked and then flushed. She had actually cursed in public. Go her.
“We will never be over, Vivi.”
“What do you mean, David?” Bitty asked with a bite in her voice. She’d backed up toward the door and already had her wrap over her arm. The bruised expression in her eyes said it all. Poor sap seemed to really like David.
David cleared his throat. “I meant she is my responsibility, Belinda. Poor dear needs guidance.”
Belinda’s eyes dropped, and her jaw tensed. She wordlessly walked toward the front entrance.
John nudged David backward, away from Vicki and toward his departing date. David snarled and turned. Then he shoved John hard while his attention was diverted.
John flew back and hit their table, which collapsed under his weight. He seemed to have some difficulty getting back up. She went to help him stand, but he waved her off. By the time he got to his feet, David had fled.
“I am so sorry, John,” she whispered.
John tugged his jacket into place, his cheeks red. “Not your fault.”
The maitre d’ fussed and got them another table nearby. Their dinner was on the house, of course. She knew this was going to happen as soon as she saw David’s smug face. Her first date in forever, with John no less. Her shoulders sagged. John sat silently across from her and ordered a beer.
****
John couldn’t keep the words from popping out. Too personal and too quick, but he couldn’t hold them back any longer. “Why did you marry him, Vicki? Especially after that night?”
The night he had caught David groping her after a football game in the high school hallway flashed through his mind. Her lip had bled from where David bit her. His hand had been up her skirt. It had taken Flick and Brae both to pull him off the asshole. David had been wasted then, too.
His teeth ground, his hands curling. Why would she have gone back to him?
Her eyes dropped from his. “He was so apologetic afterward. He blamed it on the alcohol. Up until then, he’d been the perfect gentleman. Our fathers played golf together. They pushed for me to give him another chance. So I did.” She shrugged. “I would have done anything for their approval back then. They didn’t seem to care about anything else.” She played with the stem of her wineglass. “But that was in the past. That stuff doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Your parents are idiots. I always thought that.” John threw his napkin on the table and signaled for another drink. Water this time. He was driving after all.
Vicki’s lips turned down. She toyed with her fork, scooting it around the table. “I know. My dad divorced my mom. Did you know that? He got caught with his secretary. Mom demolished him. Quite the scandal, and then me, doing the same thing. We Masterson women seem to have bad instincts with men.”
“Maybe you’re looking in the wrong places,” John said. Vicki’s eyes rose to his. A thrill zinged down his spine. Her eyes twinkled at him, and he lost his train of thought. Faint laugh lines fanned out from her eyes. She nibbled on her lower lip. He imagined his tongue soothing the area. His breath shuddered out.
Thank God the food arrived right then, or it could have gotten uncomfortable. Lord knew Flick’s pants were a little tight on him. He shifted and focused on the steak. Meat, it does the body good.
When dinner was done, John looked up and caught her grinning at him. His scarred eyebrow rose. “What?”
Vicki felt her cheeks crease. “Nothing? You approach your food like a battle, all concentration.”
He smiled and waved his knife at her. “It is important to appreciate your food. When I was growing up, times were tough sometimes.”
“Is that why you went into the military?”
“Yeah. That, and it gave me opportunities that a poor kid from Pittsburgh otherwise wouldn’t have. And now I have a pension and the GI Bill. Hopefully, I will get that job at Growing Strong and finish my master’s.”
Vicki raised her wineglass and tipped it at him. “Things are looking up.”
“Yeah, they are.” He tapped his glass to hers. “What about you, Vicki?”
“Hmm, well, the job I applied for at Growing Strong is a management position.”
“Is that what you want to do?”
“Why not? I love gardening, making things bloom and grow. This gives me the means to do that, with opportunities for advancement. I’ll be honest—I don’t need to worry about money after my divorce. What I want is something that will make me happy. I haven’t had that for a long time.” She took a healthy swallow of her wine, loving the warm burn as it went down.
“I hope you’re looking for other things to make you happy.” John’s gaze snagged hers. He swore it got hotter in there when she smiled.
Her fingers trailed down the glass. “Yes, I am.”
He inclined his head. “So, dessert?”
“Not here.” And she blushed scarlet.
Damn. He shifted in his seat again. Did she mean what he thought she meant?
Ten
The drive back seemed to take much longer than the drive there. Vicki felt her palms sweating. She discreetly ran them down her legs. This was crazy. She couldn’t be thinking about doing this, right? Her grandmother would be so proud. And wasn’t that saying something. But she’d wanted John since the moment she saw him—all her life, if she was being honest. He was her secret dream.
When they reached the apartment, John grabbed the frame and pulled himself out. He walked with a noticeable limp around the car and opened her door. His gait made her frown. How hard had David pushed him? Had he gotten injured in the fall?
“Are you all right, John?” she asked as soon as she got out of the Buick.
John’s shoulders tensed. His jaw cracked. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“David didn’t hurt you, did he?” She placed a hand on his forearm. He’d better not have.
John brushed off her fingers. “No, he didn’t hurt me.”
“Oh, well, um. Want to come upstairs for a nightcap?” Do people even do those anymore? Or was there a more hip term she didn’t know? She w
as so damn bad at this. And what kind of alcohol did she have anyway? Her fridge was pretty bare. Most of the time she ate out. What the hell was she thinking? Her heart raced. She waited for his answer.
John tilted his head. He towered over her as they both stood next to the Buick. His arm rested along the top of the car. “Do you want me to?”
Now or never, Vee. “Yes.”
John stroked his hand down her cheek. Her breath hitched. He grinned at the noise, and his thumb snagged on her lower lip, tugging. “You sure?”
He leaned closer.
Vicki bumped into the car behind her, a squeak escaping her.
He grinned harder, his mouth next to her ear. The hair at the base of her neck rose. His voice was soft. “You really sure?”
Her nipples tightened in response. This was going to be amazing. She smelled his cologne, and it went to her head. The world spun in the most delicious way when she turned to face him.
Their noses brushed. “I’m very, very sure,” she said.
John’s lips brushed hers. A shock tingled along her lips; her breath huffed out, mixing with his. He pulled back slightly. Her fingers grazed her mouth. Eyes wide. Her tongue ran along her lower lip. Holy crap. It was never like this with David.
John’s hand rose. He brushed her hair back and gripped the sides of her face with both hands. His eyelashes dropped; his gaze was locked on her lips. He tilted his head, and they were kissing.
His lips on hers. Oh God, no words. Soft, yet firm. Tender, yet bold. He opened his mouth on hers and swiped with his tongue. And she couldn’t help but respond. And his taste, wine, spice, and heat. Her hands twined around his neck.
He leaned into her. His hands trailed down her sides to grab her ass and press her up against him, his mouth continuing to seduce hers.
With a growl, he tilted his head another way, and she felt the touch of his tongue rasping against hers. A gasp slipped out. Her head spun.
John lifted his head and smiled. “Want to head upstairs?”
Vicki nodded. Holy crap on a crutch. This was happening. Her skin tingled all over. Heat pooled between her thighs.
John stepped back and promptly fell right over.
****
Fuck! He was such an idiot. He knew better than to push his leg. He hadn’t even told her about his injury. Too embarrassed, maybe. Not ashamed. He had no reason to be ashamed. He knew that. It was a badge of honor. But also a pain in the ass. And, well. Some people might not take it well. He couldn’t bear it if Vicki withdrew when she saw it. Now was not the time to discuss it. So he chickened out. Bawk, bawk. John slammed his hand down on the concrete.
“Are you all right, John?” Vicki grabbed his arm and tried to help him up.
He broke her grip and stood on his own damn feet. “I’m fine. I think it might be better to end the night here. I had too much to drink.”
Vicki blinked. “You only had one glass of wine then changed to water.” Very observant.
He pushed off the car and backed to his door, leg screaming. “Another night.” He whirled and gimped into his apartment.
After closing the door, he slammed a fist into the wall. Damn it. Deep breath in and out.
A light tap on the door. “John, are you okay?”
Irritation flared through him. “I’m fine. Good night.” He flipped the lock and slunk to the bathroom.
He stared down at his leg in the fluorescent light. He’d definitely hurt it this time. A blister marred the scar along the stump near the peg at a pressure point. As he knew from prior experience, this could take weeks to heal before he would be solid on his feet. He let his head fall between his legs. All because of one shoving match with some pansy ass.
Getting around was going to be a bitch. And he fucking refused to use the crutch. He’d hobble if he had to. Dejected, he sat on the toilet and stared at the ceiling. Vicki was up there. And over one. Almost within spitting distance. He owed her an apology for taking off and how he’d acted at the end of date, but he couldn’t get his ass up and moving.
He was tired of dealing with the stump. The tingling and the wounds and the worry. And it’d been only six months. How could anyone else put up with it when he wasn’t dealing with it? It would be better if he stepped back from Vicki. It was too soon, too quick, too everything. Perfect, arousing, fabulous. He sighed as his cock stirred. Down, boy. The damn thing had a mind of its own.
That was not helping. All it did was make him think about that kiss. He’d never had a kiss like that, something so consuming he wanted to get lost in it. And listen to him sounding like a damn romance novel—what the fuck?
He shifted on the seat and lifted his whole leg. Then he lifted the stump. He could still do hundreds of push-ups straight, but one wrong movement, and he was down.
His gut churned. He closed his eyes and let his stump fall.
He hobbled up and hopped to the medicine cabinet over the sink to get Aquacel. The hydrocolloid in the dressing cushioned the wound. That, along with his liner, and he’d at least be able to walk. He’d limp, but he would be mobile. Getting shot had been a lot easier than this shit. Quicker anyway.
He hopped back to bed and fell face down on the mattress only to dream of that day.
John’s Humvee bounced along the ruts in the road like a drunk uncle after a bender. No gentle swaying; this was brutal, jarring bounds of metal. His spine ached from the abuse. But that wasn’t what was making him uncomfortable. No, it was this mission. The way seemed a little too clear. Maybe he was being jumpy, but something made him nervous.
“Brae, how you doing back there?”
Brae’s gaze remained on the area around him. His eyes scanned for any sign of hostility. “Doing good, John. How close are we?”
“Coordinates have us almost to the target. On my call, standard deployment, left and right.”
Brae bobbed his head in acknowledgment.
There was something off about this mission. A standard supply run to town, then back to base. But it was too quiet. This stretch of desert in Iraq was usually a hotbed of terrorist activity. Thus the armed guards for the run.
The town was only a few hundred meters from the edge of the base. There was usually a lot of foot traffic, but today there was nary a soul to be seen. Did they know something John didn’t? Sandy dunes on both sides of the road with plenty of vegetation provided great protection. Good place for an ambush.
The thought had barely registered when he saw the truck in front of him explode against the dawn sky. Yellow and orange flames burst out of the cabin as the vehicle flipped, its wheels spinning.
“Holy shit!” screamed Brae.
John braced himself.
The driver turned to the right and broke hard. The Humvee skidded to a halt, back tires burning out. Dust flying. Enough to give them some cover.
IED. Had to be. That explained the quiet. John saw Jameson crawl out the back of the vehicle in front of him, Eddie right behind him.
Son of a bitch.
Gunfire broke out around them. A bullet pinged off the armor on the car. Then another.
“Book it to the nearest shelter. Go, go, go,” John bellowed to his team. Brae rolled out first, heading right, M16 up and ready.
John jumped out and ran left. He humped it toward a nearby ditch with some bushes nearby. A plume of dirt exploded in front of him. He tucked his helmet down and ran, carrying the forty pounds of body armor as if it were nothing.
He vaulted over a mound of dirt into the ditch only to come face-to-face with an insurgent, or what he assumed to be one, given the gun.
In slow motion, John watched the guy raise his pistol. He grabbed the insurgent’s wrist, forcing his hand down. John tried to slip his finger behind the guard, but it was too late.
A loud pop. John saw a bullet hit the ground. Then another pierced his left leg. Blood trailed down his foot. He felt its sticky warmth, but no pain yet. Small favors.
“Motherfucker!” John screamed and wrenched the gun up and
sideways, away from his chest. The heat from the barrel singed his fingers as they grappled for the weapon. The smell of gunpowder and dust surrounded them.
The Iraqi squeezed the trigger again. His body jerked against John’s.
He looked up to see the insurgent’s mouth opened wide, brown eyes glazed. Once, twice, and he was gone. They both slowly slipped to the ground.
John still didn’t feel anything. It was going to hurt like a bitch when he did.
Holy shit. That was quick.
He heard Brae hit the dirt beside him, always on his six.
Brae’s eyes took in the red staining the ground around him. “Fuck. Hang in there, buddy. Just hang in there. Medic!” he screamed into the radio he carried. “We need a medic.”
John looked up at Brae’s face. It distorted in front of him as smoke drifted by his eyes. He let himself lie back. The sun blinded him, drawing his gaze. White light.
“John, no, you motherfucker. Do not lie down on the ground. You need to get your ass up and help me here,” Brae ordered. He’d grabbed a kit from his pack. With bleary eyes, John saw him pull out the tourniquet and apply it to his lower leg.
How about that? He felt the pressure of the belt but nothing else. Still no pain. Just that pretty white light above him.
Brae screamed his name again, but John was beyond hearing.
John woke with a shout, his heart racing. His eyes scanned the room. No desert. No white walls. No sad-looking flowers. Home. He felt sweat along his forehead and beading his lip. He scrubbed his hands down his face. He’d thought the dreams were getting better. He hadn’t had one for a week at least, not since he got home. Only a matter of time, he’d guessed.
He definitely couldn’t go to Vicki like this. He glared down at the stump. The reminder of his failure.
Eleven
After twenty-seven years, David shouldn’t have expected anything else. But this, this . . . who planned for this shit? He sighed, then took a puff of his cigar, the tip glowing red, the nicotine calming his nerves. He exhaled and watched the smoke mingle with the dust motes in the air. The ambiance in the dusk-darkened study, with its cloth-covered chairs and empty bookcases, suited his mood. As did the whiskey.
Whole Again (Hometown Hero's Book 1) Page 7