by Sara Craven
“How can you say that? Don’t you think your dad would rather have had her alive in any condition—”
“I’m sure he thinks he would have. But while I was recuperating I saw a lot of victims of head injury and soldiers who’d had strokes after other catastrophic injuries. And I know my mother never would have wanted to live like that.” He paused. “There’s no dignity in some kinds of living. I wouldn’t have liked that for either of them.”
She nodded and her silky hair slid over the back of his hand. It felt like cool silk and his one-track mind instantly shot ahead to the night looming before them. The night when they would put Bridget to bed and then it would just be the two of them. Alone.
The next few hours crawled by. They arrived back at Phoebe’s house and unpacked the car, then had a late dinner. They’d lost three hours on the trip east but it was still only eight o’clock when Bridget went down for the night.
Wade followed Phoebe into the room as she laid the baby in her crib, and they looked down at her together.
“She’s incredible,” he said softly.
Phoebe smiled. “She is, isn’t she?”
He put his arm around her shoulders and led her from the room. Phoebe tugged the door nearly shut as they entered the hallway. When she turned back to him, she met his eyes with a wry smile and blew out a breath. “I’m nervous,” she said with a laugh.
He smiled. “You don’t have to be.” He took her hand and led her into the bedroom and across to the big bed in which she slept. Setting his hands on her shoulders, he drew her to him and slid his arms around her, simply holding her, absorbing the amazing sensation of having Phoebe in his arms. She slipped her arms around his waist and snuggled close.
It was a sweet, sweet moment. Wade felt his heart swell with emotion. I love you.
He nearly said it aloud. Might have, except that he was a coward. Plain and simple, a coward.
The night they’d danced, he thought Phoebe had indicated she could care for him. But was it long-term? Sure, she’d made love with him—after her sister’s funeral when no one in their right mind could say her judgment was sound. And she’d clearly been overwhelmed to see him again after she’d thought he was dead. But he was the father of her child. And they’d been friends since their own childhood. She didn’t have to love him to be thrilled that he was alive.
She got so quiet every time Melanie’s name came up that he could barely stand it. Did she blame him? God knew, she wouldn’t be wrong. He should never have let Mel leave alone that night.
So he didn’t speak aloud. Her very silence suggested that her heart wasn’t entirely in this relationship and that made him nervous as hell. She might never forgive him for Melanie’s death but there was no way he was going to let her shove him out of her life. He loved her, even if he could never tell her.
Tonight, he would show her.
He stopped beside the bed and took her into his arms. After a moment, she lifted her face to him and his heart leaped as he lowered his mouth to hers. Whatever else was between them, there was no arguing with the chemistry they created together. He kissed her for a long, long time, using his lips and tongue to show her how he felt, simply made love to her mouth until they both were breathing hard and his blood was pounding through his veins.
When he lifted the hem of her T-shirt, she raised her arms and let him pull it over her head. She shook her head as he tossed the shirt aside and her hair fell around her shoulders, emphasizing the lacy white bra she wore.
“You’re beautiful.” He reached around her and dispensed with the bra, and wanted to howl at the moon when the full, firm mounds of her breasts, capped by rosy nipples, were revealed. He cupped them in his hands and smoothed his thumbs over the taut tips as she lifted her hands to the buttons of his shirt.
She managed to get about half the buttons undone before she threw her head back with a half laugh and said, “I can’t concentrate.”
He smiled, lowering his head to the slope of her breast and tasting the tender flesh. “Can I help?”
He quickly tore the shirt open and shrugged it off, then unfastened his pants as well and pushed them off along with his boxers. Turning his attention to her pants, he unzipped them and put his thumbs at the sides, pushing until she, too, had kicked the last of her clothing away.
Then he urged her onto the mattress.
As he followed her down, he said, “Do you have any idea how many times I dreamed about this?” He cupped her breast again, pulling her close with one arm beneath her head. “You kept me warm on a lot of damn cold nights halfway around the world.”
To his shock, her eyes filled with tears. “I was so mad at you for leaving,” she said. “For not coming to say goodbye. And then—and then—”
And then she’d thought he was dead. Gone forever. He read the anguish in her eyes.
“Shh,” he said. “I’m here, and I’m never leaving again.” He smoothed a hand down over the silky skin of her belly as he bent his head and took one nipple into his mouth. Suckling strongly, his own body pulsed in response as her back arched off the bed and her hands threaded through his hair to hold him to her.
He eased his weight over her, settling himself into the heated cove between her thighs, feeling the damp curls and the soft, soft flesh below. He couldn’t wait.
Slowly, he pushed into her, groaning at the tight, slick feel of her body clasping his. Too tight, he realized belatedly.
“Relax, baby, you’re okay.” He stopped moving and held every muscle still, though his body was screaming at him to move. Guilt ate at him. He should have been thinking of her, and instead all he’d been able to do was think about how badly he wanted to be inside her. It wasn’t even completely sexual, but something more, instinct urging him to stamp every inch of her with his scent and feel, to make her his again in the most basic way there was.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, squirming with discomfort. “I had a couple of stitches after Bridget was born and—”
“Shh,” he said, kissing away a tear that trailed from the corner of her eye. “It’ll be okay. We’re in no hurry here.”
She was taking deep, fast breaths, her breasts heaving as she fought to cooperate, and he knew he needed to help her. He didn’t want her first time after Bridget’s birth to be something she just wanted to forget.
He lifted himself a little away from her and stroked one hand between them, down her belly to the spot where they were joined. His fingers found the tiny, tender button hidden in her curls. Lightly, hoping that she would enjoy his touch, he rubbed a finger over her. And nearly had a heart attack when her body jolted involuntarily beneath his, driving him even deeper into her tight sheath.
She sucked in a sharp breath and he said, “Did you like that?”
He felt, more than saw, her nod in the darkness, so he did it again, starting a small circular pattern that massaged the little nubbin gently. Her hips began to move beneath his and he felt her muscles quiver. His own muscles were trembling with the effort it took to hold still when everything within him was urging him to thrust forward, but still he resisted. Her hips were moving steadily now, creating a delicious rhythm in time with his circling finger and he locked his jaw, holding on to his control by the slimmest of threads as her motions drew him in and out, in and out.
“Oh, yeah,” he said through clenched teeth, “Oh, baby, I’m sorry—I can’t—I can’t—”
Wait was what he’d meant to say, but he never got the chance. Without warning, she arched beneath him and he felt an incredible sensation as she came in heavy waves of completion, her inner muscles squeezing his aching flesh over and over again. Control fell away and he shoved his hips forward, then withdrew and hammered into her again.
She was still shaking and jerking beneath him as he felt his body gather, gather, gather—and then release in a hot, drenching burst of pleasure that went on and on and on until both of them lay spent, gasping for breath.
His head was on the pillow beside hers
and he smiled as she turned her head and pressed her lips briefly to his.
The sweetness of the gesture humbled him. How had he left this woman without telling her that he intended to return and make her his forever? He’d been so wrapped up worrying about what he’d done to her when she was grieving and vulnerable, so determined to give her space to think, that he’d nearly lost his opportunity forever.
What if she’d met and married someone after she’d thought he’d been killed? The idea didn’t bear thinking about.
Instead, he focused on the one thing that had been nagging at him since their discussion over the weekend. “So when do you want to get married?” he asked.
He felt her smile against his throat. “Sounds like you already have a time in mind.”
“Yeah.” He snorted. “Yesterday. How long will it take to get a license here in New York, anyway?”
“I have no idea what the law is here,” she said. “Since you’ll be home this week, why don’t you find out? I assume that once we have a license we can just go to the courthouse.”
“All right. Is that what you want?” he asked. “A civil ceremony?”
She shrugged and the motion sent a pleasurable chain reaction rippling through his system. “I don’t need a big church wedding, if that’s what you’re asking. It would seem sacrilegious, given that we already have a child.” She stopped, then said, “Unless you think that would be important to your dad. Will you invite him?”
He was warmed by the concern she showed for his father’s feelings. “I’ll invite him, but I doubt Dad is about to get on a plane. Not even for that. He’s not going to care if we get married here.”
“All right.” She nodded, as if that were settled. “You find out what we need to do and we’ll set a date.”
He nodded. “Leave it to me.” Then he moved his hips experimentally and grinned when her body clenched around him. “Hmm, wonder what we can do until then?”
She laughed as she drew his head down to hers. And as he began to kiss her again, he thought of an idea for a unique wedding gift that he knew would mean a great deal to her. It was time to lay some ghosts to rest.
But he could pursue that tomorrow. Right now, he had better things to do.
A week passed, then two. They decided to get married in the first week of December, a simple ceremony at the county courthouse, and Phoebe planned ahead to take a personal day.
One evening in the beginning of November, he said, “I applied for a job in the private sector today. The thought of being stuck behind a desk working for the Department of the Army, having to move every couple of years, doesn’t appeal to me.”
She looked up from the papers she was grading. “What kind of work is it?”
He lifted a glossy dark folder that he’d been reading and passed it to her. “Private security.”
“As in being a bodyguard?” She tried not to let her dismay show. Wouldn’t a bodyguard need to live with or near his employer? Possibly travel with the individual, as well?
“Not exactly.” He smiled. “I heard about this company from a friend of mine who got out of the service and went to work for them. This firm performs a number of different specialized services. They are called in when kidnappings occur, they’re quietly hired for operations that the government wants done without any fanfare, they set up protective services for people and property. Last year they provided security for a huge gem exhibit at the Met.”
“What’s it called and where is it?” “Protective Services, Inc.” He hesitated. “The main company is located in northern Virginia, but they’re planning on starting up at least one branch operation. The first one will be in L.A.” “So we’d move back out there?” He nodded. “If you wouldn’t mind.” “No.” She smiled. “I wouldn’t mind.” Then she said, “Do you know what type of work they’d want to hire you for?”
“Actually, I’m hoping to run the whole branch,” he said. “That’s the position they need and if nothing else, being an army officer equipped me for organization.” Then he grinned again. “The Long Gray Line is everywhere.” She stared at him. “What?” “The Long Gray Line,” he repeated. “The U.S. Military Academy grads are called that because of the uniforms we wore as cadets. Graduates of West Point have networking contacts all over the world. A retired soldier who works for PSI graduated a few years ahead of me. One of Walker’s buddies talked to a friend of mine who knew I might be job hunting and word got back to them.”
“That’s amazing. You didn’t even go looking for this job, did you?”
“Not exactly. But I had already decided to take medical retirement so it might work out well. And I think I’d enjoy the challenge.” He made a wry face. “I’d be bored to death doing the same old thing over and over every day.”
“That’s one reason I enjoy teaching,” she said. “There’s always something to challenge me. A child with a special need, a new approach to try, even parent meetings are rarely boring.”
“I bet you’re a good teacher,” he said.
“I try to be. Teaching the next generation is one of the most important jobs there is, I believe.” Then she gestured at the piles of paperwork in front of her. “And speaking of jobs, I’d better get back to work on these spelling tests.”
“Ahh. Teacher talk.” His smile flashed. “It turns me on.”
Phoebe’s hand paused, as she lifted her gaze to his. “Teacher talk turns you on?”
He rose from the easy chair and began to walk toward her. “Yeah. Wanna see?”
“Wade!” She made a token effort to scoot away as he grabbed her and pulled her against his body. “I’ve got to finish grading these papers. It won’t take me long.”
He paused. “How long?”
“Not long!” She twisted her arm so that she could see the face of her watch. “Ten minutes or so.”
“Ten minutes? Sorry, can’t wait that long.”
“You’re impossible,” she said as he lowered his head and set his mouth on hers, then pulled her up against his body.
“Impossible to deter,” he muttered against her skin, kissing his way along her jaw and sucking her earlobe into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it.
She felt her knees buckle beneath the sheer delight that being in his arms always brought. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she let her head fall back as her muscles went lax. Wade took immediate advantage of the exposed slender length of her neck, sliding his mouth down the warm, silken column, nuzzling aside the scooped top of the knit shirt to nip at her collarbone. Phoebe murmured with pleasure, her body humming, response blooming inside her.
He bent and slid his arms beneath her knees, sweeping her into his arms and carrying her up the stairs. She clutched at his neck as he took the steps two at a time. “I’m too heavy for this. You’ll hurt yourself. Put me down.”
He laughed aloud. “Do you know how many pounds I used to carry up the side of a mountain? Trust me, honey, you’re not too heavy.” He paused at the top for a deep kiss, sweeping his tongue into her mouth and enticing her into exploring him as well. “Besides,” he said when he lifted his head, “when I was packing a load up a mountain, I didn’t have this kind of incentive waiting for me at the top.”
It took him only a moment to cover the steps to her bedroom, only a moment more to cross the room and set her beside the bed. Although she had steadfastly refused to allow herself to think of him during waking hours, she had dreamed of Wade over and over, even after she’d believed he was dead. But none of the dreams had ever come close to the heady reality of being in his arms. Even now, she wasn’t sure it was real sometimes.
He pulled her shirt over her head as she set her small hands to work unbuttoning his, then unhooked her bra. She paused so that he could slide it off her shoulder and toss it aside, and then, as he cupped her breasts and began to lightly rub his thumbs across the rosy nipples, her hands slowed and fell away.
He tore his gaze from the sight of the plump, beautiful mounds in his hands to look in
to her eyes. Heat and passion filled his gaze, and to her delight, she felt his body shudder in anticipation against her. Reluctantly, he took his hands from her and stripped off his jeans and briefs, then tugged her slacks and panties down and off in one smooth, efficient motion. He reached around her and peeled the bedcovers back before urging her down onto the cool cotton sheets.
Taking her hand, he guided it down between them to his aching length. “Help me.”
He jumped when her small hand closed around him. Savoring the silken feeling of his body, so taut and hard, she tightened her grip the way she knew he liked and stroked him once, twice and yet again. His hips lifted and thrust against her and he growled. “Tease.”
She lightly bit his shoulder. “Tell me you don’t like it and I’ll stop.”
He sounded as if he were having trouble dragging air into his lungs. “Like that’s ever going to—oh, baby, yeah.”
As she positioned him at the throbbing entrance to her body, she lifted her hips. He was hot and solid and she cried out as he surged forward, embedding himself deeply within her. Her hands clenched on his buttocks, urging him to move, and within moments they established a fast, frantic rhythm that built a blazing fire within her. His body hammered against her, creating an ever-rising tension that stretched tighter and tighter until finally it snapped. As her body bucked and writhed in his arms, and then he was hoarsely calling her name as his body stiffened and froze in a shattering climax that left him shaking and gasping for breath.
When she could breathe again, think again, she stretched up and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Wow.”
He snorted and chuckled. “Yeah. Wow.” He rolled to one side and pulled her into his arms and she relaxed against him, enjoying the cuddling. “I think we’ve mastered that.”