Forget Me Not (Love in the Fleet)

by Ashby, Heather

  His eyes lit up. “You do?”

  “Yes, but I’ve been trying to avoid them.” A slow smile tipped up the corner of her mouth. “You are one persistent guy, though. And, well, I guess you’ve broken down my defenses.”

  “I have?” Brian laid down the spatula and took her in his arms. “Let me take care of you, Daisy. Even if it’s only for today.”

  “I don’t want you to feel obli—”

  He cut her off at the pass, sealing her mouth with a kiss. It started out tender and then heated to a slow sizzle. No, wait. That was the smell of burning fried eggs. Brian reached back blindly, slid the pan off the burner, and turned off the stove. Then he resumed the kiss, more passionate this time. It was as if he’d picked up where they left off in the surf. It felt so good to be held and kissed and backed up against a counter again. He unclipped her hair and threaded his fingers into it, gripping her head, pulling her mouth to his. It felt as if he was trying to climb inside her and she was more than willing to let him.

  He broke the kiss long enough to bury his face in her hair and whisper, “I’ve missed you so much. Oh, God, Daisy. You just don’t know.”

  “Me too.”

  He pulled back and looked at her. “You have?”

  “Shut up and kiss me.” Daisy reignited the kiss, sliding her hands down the silky fabric of his flight suit until she reached his butt, then pulled his body to hers so she could feel what the kiss was doing to him. If she was going to scamper into Brian’s bed, she was going to enjoy every single moment of the ride.

  As his lips traveled down her neck, he mumbled, “Baby, it’s all going to be okay. I promise I’ll take good care of you.”

  She tipped her head back, eyes at half-mast, lips parted, as his mouth worked his way into the V of her blouse. Good thing the counter was there because Daisy was sure her knees were going to buckle at any moment.

  “Oh, God, Brian. This feels so good. It’s been so long.”

  He unbuttoned her top button and continued kissing her, down into her cleavage, while his thumbs worked their magic over her nipples. They hardened to his touch, which caused her to gasp.

  “Please, Brian, please.”

  He returned to her mouth, his tongue searching. His hands now on her ass, pulling her to him, grinding himself against her. The love, affection, sex, and maybe procreation voice chanted rhythmically in her brain and since she was certain a man like this bought stock in condoms, she listened. It had been way too long and Daisy knew she was past the point of no return. She didn’t care if he was a player. She didn’t care if he was in love with her or not. She didn’t care if she never saw him again, which might not be a bad thing. But she knew one thing beyond a shadow of a doubt. Daisy Schneider was not leaving this apartment without some hot-curl-your-toes-knock-your-socks-off-good-for-what-ails-you-mind-blowing sex. And if they didn’t move it to the bedroom mighty soon, they were going to go up in flames right here in the kitchen.

  His kisses moved to her neck, behind her ears. “Oh, baby, I want you so much. Oh, God, Daisy. You just don’t know.”

  Daisy’s hand moved to the zipper on his flight suit. “Yes, Brian, yes. Please. Please make love to me.”

  Brian jerked away so suddenly she almost fell over. Near panic on his face, his breathing ragged. He scrubbed his hand through his crew cut once, twice, three times. Then reached out and re-buttoned her top button.

  “I’m sorry, Daisy. I can’t.”

  Chapter 14

  “What do you mean, you can’t?” Gio Gutiérrez asked his son. “Of course you will learn the business. How else will you take it over some day?”

  “Sorry. I can’t,” Jorge repeated. “In all good conscience, I want nothing to do with the business, Papa.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. This is your birthright.”

  “Evil is my birthright? Ha!”

  Gio laughed just as harshly. “Oh, so it’s evil again, is it?”

  “Yes, sir. Evil. Do you have any idea of the horrors cocaine spreads around the world?”

  “You’ve been there what? A week? You couldn’t last longer than one week before you come to me with this mierda? Like I’ve told you before, if men are weak it is not my problem.” He puffed on a cigar, then watched the stream of smoke fill the air. “But I will certainly ensure their drug of choice is available to them. If they choose to ruin their lives, it is not my concern. Would you have all the makers of rum stop distilling because there are weak men who cannot handle alcohol?”

  Jorge stared into his father’s eyes, unafraid of the set jaw in the strong patrician face—more Spanish nobility than native. His olive complexion blanched in anger at his son and those sharp hazel eyes that made weaker men crawl to do his bidding, were filled with fury. And disgust.

  But Jorge would not back down. “How can you kneel at Mass and accept the wine and the wafer with a clear conscience?”

  “As I’ve already said, other people’s problems are not my fault.”

  “What about the bribes paid to what used-to-be honest citizens? I’ve watched over the years. I bet you and your fellow traffickers have penetrated every political and judicial institution in the entire country. I’ve met many of your henchmen and I can do the math. They seem proud—proud—of paying out millions of dollars a year in hush money. Together with all of your cohorts, I estimate upwards of one hundred million dollars going for bribes alone. Do you know what that money could do for the poor in this country?”

  His father tapped the ashes from his cigar and sipped his coffee. He placed the cup gently in the saucer without commenting.

  “Papa, I have seen or heard about bribes to congressmen, judges, army officers, the police. No one is left untouched by this scourge!”

  “Son, calm down. Cocaine is a multi-billion dollar industry. It brings as much to the economy of this country as all the legitimate goods put together. We employ millions. The money circulates and we keep the economy afloat.”

  “Oh, so you rationalize it’s for the good of the country?”

  “It is said that every man has his price. There will always be those who will turn against their beliefs when money talks. Again, it is not my fault if men choose to work for me and my colleagues.”

  “Even when they choose because their arms are twisted behind their backs?”

  His father’s grin widened to show perfectly-capped teeth. “They could choose to grow pineapples. They did not have to become judges.”

  “And you’re proud of all of this...this power?”

  “Not proud. It is what it is.” He leaned across the desk and leveled his son with a look. “Do you think for one minute if I quit my business, everyone else would do the same? Look, somebody is going to make money off this industry. It might as well be me.”

  Jorge threw his hands up into the air and rose from his chair. He paced his father’s office. He paused momentarily, taking in the richly furnished room: the mahogany desk, the leather chairs, the Oriental carpets, and the teak bookcases, filled with books he doubted his father had ever read. Like everything else, so much in his father’s life was for show.

  “I can see I’m getting nowhere here. I still don’t understand how you can separate your family, those who you love, from the evil you do to give them these luxuries.” He gestured around the room, indicating the entire villa.

  Gio took his time, stamping out the cigar. An unwilling smile pulled at his mouth as he templed his fingers under his chin. “I compartmentalize. I have the ability to tuck away that which I don’t care to think about into a separate place in my brain.”

  Jorge tapped his solar plexus. “And what about your soul?”

  “My soul has compartments as well.”

  “Oh, my God!” Jorge began to pace again. “You compartmentalize your sins? Do you believe God cannot see into that p
art of your soul?”

  “Do not worry about me, son. God and I are good. Do I not contribute millions to the poor? To the orphanage? To the church? I have already paid for my berth in heaven.”

  “You think you can buy your way into heaven! You know, for much of my life I thought you were the smartest man in the world, but I have changed my mind.” He stood and placed his hands on his father’s desk, leaning over to make his point. “Only a fool would believe money could be a ticket to the afterlife.” Jorge shook his head in disbelief and sat back down. “Okay, okay. So you ignore the parts you don’t want to deal with. But what about your family?”

  “What about them? I take care of my family. Look at you. Certainly you can’t complain about your life thus far. Do you want for anything? Do your sisters or your mother?”

  “No. But what if I don’t want any of it?”

  “Your sports car was paid for with what you call ‘dirty money.’ Are you telling me you don’t want it anymore?”

  Jorge swallowed hard and said quietly, “No. I don’t want it anymore.”

  “Fine, I’ll give it to Elena’s husband. He has worked hard for me. He appreciates what I do for him and your sister. What about your fancy college education? I can’t exactly repossess that.” To himself he muttered, “Perhaps it is where all the trouble started. I send him to one of the finest schools in the United States to learn to run the business and he comes home and throws it back in my face!”

  “Papa, I have stood by this week and watched the rape of the land. What I have seen horrifies me. I saw chemicals poured onto the jungle floor—or worse, poured directly into the river. What wasn’t going up in smoke, that is. Do you think it just goes away? I did some research at night and there appears to be multi-millions of liters of sulfuric acid, ethyl alcohol, and hundreds of millions of liters of kerosene dumped into the ground each year, trickling down into our ground water. Have you not seen the increase in cancers and birth defects? Do you not see a connection? Do you think it won’t affect your own family?”

  “Surely I feel sorrow for those misfortunes. But my family is healthy and strong and I can afford the finest medical care in the world should they ever fall ill.”

  “Oh, it’s as easy as that, is it? Mark my words. You just wait until the first of our family falls ill or a grandchild is born with a deformity!”

  Gio shot from his chair and slapped Jorge’s face.

  “Bite your tongue!” He quickly crossed himself. “That is enough!”

  Never flinching from the slap, Jorge replied low and slow. “But I’m not finished, Papa. I don’t suppose you’ve noticed how many subsistence farmers have stopped growing food in order to produce enough coca to satisfy you and your cohorts? The villagers have begun to hunt for food since no one seems to be growing it anymore. And now they are decimating the animal population. They’ve stopped fishing since so many of the rivers have been declared dead.”

  His father waved him away, as if the cold hard facts were nothing. He settled back into his red leather chair and crossed his arms at his son’s defiance. But his eyes narrowed as his son continued to berate him. Jorge could see his father’s pulse pounding in his neck, but he was nowhere near finished stating his case.

  “I read that one third of the rain forest will be gone in the next five years. Between the rate of deforestation and the poisons being poured into the land and the air, it may become impossible to ever restore our land.” Jorge’s voice took on both speed and volume as he delivered his coup de grace. “It is entirely possible this tropical paradise could end up a vast desert wasteland like Ethiopia or Somalia by the end of the century. Is that what you want for your descendants!”

  Gio flew up in a rage and slammed his fists on the desk. “I’ve had enough of your bullshit! Get the hell out of my sight!”

  Jorge rose calmly. “That will not be a problem. I have said my piece.” He started to leave, but then returned to his father’s desk, unsnapped his Rolex watch, and laid it in front of his papa. Jorge began to unbuckle his belt and slip off his shoes, but then stopped and re-buckled. “I will send my clothes when I get where I am going.”

  “You are going back to the processing plant. Because you are going to take over this business one day!”

  “No, Papa. I am going to join the priesthood. And may God have mercy on your soul.” Jorge turned on his heel and walked out the door.

  Chapter 15

  The knobs on the kitchen cabinets dug into the back of Daisy’s thighs as she processed what Brian had said.

  “You what?”

  “I can’t make love to you.” He leaned against a kitchen chair, arms crossed.

  She shook her head in disbelief. “Talk about mixed messages. For weeks you’ve been—”

  “Daisy, this is different.”

  She started to laugh, but caught herself. Too incredulous. “I offer you a golden opportunity at Bachelor Pad Central and you say no?”

  “Daisy, your husband died.”

  “I know that, Brian, but it happened two years ago. Trust me, I’ve had time to adjust to Jack’s death.”

  “Yeah, but I haven’t. I’ve only known for two hours and I’ve got some grieving to do.”

  “Brian, you didn’t even know him.”

  “It doesn’t matter whether I knew him or not. He was my brother.”

  “Your brother?”

  “My brother-in-arms, Daisy. A fellow pilot. A fellow helo pilot. And I just found out. I can’t jump into bed with his widow. It’s wrong.”

  “That’s sweet, but I still can’t believe you’re turning me down. Especially after this…” She waved her hands between them. “After practically igniting here in the kitchen.”

  “I’m sorry about that. I lost control because I want you so much.” He rubbed at his face. “Oh, God. You don’t know how much I want you, but I’m just not ready.”

  “You’re not ready.” Maybe if she repeated it enough, she’d understand. “He’s not ready,” she said to Daisy Mae who peeked around the corner and hissed at her. Daisy flipped the eggs into the sink and began to wash the pan. Then she looked back at him. “But you’ll let me know when you are? Ready, that is?”

  A lazy smile slid from one side of his face to the other. “Absolutely. Trust me, darlin’. You’ll be the first to know.”

  Daisy reached for the egg carton, cracked four new eggs into the pan, and wondered if she’d ever understand how Brian’s brain worked. Then it hit her that Brian and brain were the same word. Just a little mixed-up, like him. She turned to him. “You’re serious, aren’t you? After looking at me like I was dinner for the past—what was it? Seventeen days? Now you won’t make love with me?”

  “Not tonight. And tomorrow isn’t looking real good either.”

  Daisy flipped the eggs over and muttered under her breath, “He’s not ready. Not tonight. And tomorrow isn’t looking real good either.”

  Brian crowded her at the stove. “Look, Daisy, I just discovered the guy I’ve been calling names for the past two weeks didn’t break your heart and leave town. He died, Daisy. And not only did he die, but he died in the line of duty. In frigging combat. And he died while flying a helicopter. Actually I’d grown kind of fond of the guy for leaving you—fool that he was—because it left you available to me. Now I’m not only fond of him, I freaking revere him. He’s my brother. And I just discovered my brother died. So no. I can’t make love to you. Yet.”

  Had she just propositioned this player and he’d turned her down? On the one hand she felt forward, and a bit rejected. But, on the other hand she was touched beyond belief that this man—this gentleman—lived by a code so strong that he was unwilling to sleep with a fallen comrade’s widow. Yet.

  Daisy slid the pan off the burner and turned to him.

  “Then can I ask you a favor?”
>
  “Anything.”

  She put her arms around him and laid her head against his shoulder. “Will you come home with me and hold me tonight?”

  Brian pulled her close and kissed her temple. “Darlin’, as Mick Jagger would say, ‘Wild horses couldn’t drag me away.’”

  Wild horses couldn’t drag him away?

  No, but badass nightmares sure could. Sky mentally kicked himself, as he lay propped up on Daisy’s guest room bed, his arm around her, her head on his shoulder. Finally he’d gotten to see her hair down. It went just below her shoulders, but he was afraid to touch it. Afraid he’d lose himself in it. He pulled a lap blanket up to her chin and kissed the top of her head. No way was he getting under any covers.

  He double-checked himself. Jeans zipped, belt buckled, shirt buttoned and tucked in. He’d even kept his boat shoes on. What the hell had he been thinking? That he could handle lying here with Daisy in his arms and not want to, need to, make love to her? Oh, well, as his buddy, Mick, would say, “You can’t always get what you want.”

  Dammit all, he wished he’d engaged his brain and thought this through first. It was going to be a long night.

  “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

  “Yes, it feels so good to lie here in your arms.” Daisy curled deeper into his embrace. Her cheek on his chest. “Thanks again for understanding about the pictures in the living room.”

  “Not a problem. I needed to see him. You know. If I’m going to honor the guy, I need to know a little about him. Thanks for filling me in on his flight training. That majorly helps.”

  The pictures had surprised Sky a little. Jack had been ruggedly handsome. Chiseled. Yeah, that was the word. Tall, dark, a little rangy, but movie star handsome, at least next to bulky linebacker Sky Crawford with his little boy crew cut and that damn space between his two front teeth. He felt like a casting call reject next to Jack’s pictures. Like Chesty, the Marine Corps’ bulldog, next to the Marine Corps’ poster boy: Jack, “The Man. The Proud. The Marine.”