by Marie Force
“Rob just texted us both to say that Eric and Ava are coming home from Spain early.”
“Why?”
Amy’s fingers fly as she responds to Rob. “He didn’t say.”
All at once, we both seem to realize where we are and who we’re with. Amy puts her phone on the table, facedown. “Sorry. I didn’t think.”
“Don’t be sorry,” John says. “I hope they’re both all right.”
“Me, too,” Amy says.
“It’s okay to check your phone,” John says. “Now we all want to know what’s going on.”
The waitress returns to our table, and we order dinner. I go with the Caesar, hoping I can choke it down.
With John’s blessing, Amy picks up her phone. “Rob said Eric didn’t tell him why they’re coming home. Just that they’ll be home in the morning.”
Why would they cut short the honeymoon they planned with meticulous care and looked forward to for months? I’m filled with dread when I ponder the various answers to that question.
I have no idea how I manage to get through the next hour. I’m so riddled with anxiety and despair, and my ears… The humming continues unabated, and now my skin has gotten in on the action, feeling hot and prickly. If I didn’t know exactly what was causing it, I’d think I have a raging fever.
Once again, John insists on picking up the tab, and we follow him out of the restaurant.
I note heads turning as he goes by. One man starts to get up to speak to him, but I shake my head to discourage him. He gives me a foul look as he drops back into his chair. Outside, we wait for the valet to bring Muncie’s SUV.
The same valet who approached me before gasps. “That is him. I knew it was. He lost a leg in the raid. That’s why he’s on crutches.”
I turn toward him. “Back off and mind your own business.”
“Why’d you lie to me?”
Fortunately, the car arrives before I have to explain myself.
“What was that about?” John asks when we’re in the car.
This time, I’m seated behind Muncie, so I can see the left side of John’s face. “He figured out who you are and was about to make a scene.”
“Oh, well, thanks for running interference.”
“No problem.”
“So, in the morning,” Muncie says, “we’ll pick you up around seven, if that’s okay.”
The reminder of the pending trip to New York, during which I’ll constantly be by John’s side, turns my already upset stomach. I clear my throat and force myself to acknowledge the plan. “That works. Thanks.”
“And thank you for including me,” Amy says.
Muncie smiles at her in the mirror. “Our pleasure, but you have to thank the captain. The brass will give him anything he asks for right about now. Adding a friend to the flight is the least they can do for him.”
“Thank you both,” Amy says.
“Happy to have you.” John sounds tired and stressed.
He has to be dreading this trip, the attention, all of it. His already high profile is about to get a whole lot higher, which is the last thing he wants.
I’m doing the right thing, sticking with him and doing my best to make this easier on him. I just hope I don’t ruin my own life and career in the process.
Chapter Fourteen
JOHN
Jules is not herself tonight. I’m so used to bubbly, optimistic, happy Jules that seeing her obviously upset rattles me. I want to know what’s wrong. I also want to know why Ava cut short her honeymoon.
It’s none of my business. I’m well aware of that. But still I want to know. Is there trouble in paradise, or did one of them get sick? More than anything, I want to know that she’s okay. I stepped aside when she asked me to, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care anymore. If only it was that simple.
When we arrive at their hotel, the sisters say good night and thank me again for dinner.
“See you bright and early,” Muncie says.
“We’ll be ready,” Amy replies.
Jules gets out of the car, heads inside and never looks back.
Amy runs after her sister, the doors closing behind her.
“Was it something we said?” I ask Muncie as we leave the hotel parking lot.
“What do you mean?”
“Jules was off tonight, from the minute we picked them up.”
“Do you know ‘Jules’ well enough to judge when she’s off?”
“I’ve spent hours with her over the last two weeks. She was off tonight. Something is wrong.”
“And you’re aware that whatever is wrong or going on with her is not your concern, right?” After a pause, he adds, “Sir?”
I crack up. “It’s far too late now to avoid an insubordination rap.”
“Then I should probably go all in and tell you that you look at her like a man who hasn’t had a steak in twenty years and she’s a tenderloin.”
The man has a way with words. I have to give him that. “Well, since I haven’t had ‘steak’ or any kind of red meat, for that matter, in more than six years, you’ll have to pardon me if I find myself attracted to a beautiful woman.”
“Who happens to be the new sister-in-law of your ex.”
“Oh, damn, is she? I’d forgotten that, so thanks for the reminder.”
“Sarcasm aside, she’s not the tenderloin you need to be focusing your gravy on.”
I groan. “Gravy? Seriously? Way to totally ruin a metaphor.”
“You know what I mean.”
Yeah, I do, and he’s absolutely right. But I can’t help but wonder what has Jules so upset and whether it has anything to do with me. “If I forget to say it every hour of every day—thank you for everything. I mean that sincerely.”
“Just doing my job, sir.”
“You do it exceptionally well.”
“Thank you. I’m glad you’re pleased.” He pulls up to the front door of my building, puts the car in Park and jumps out to grab my crutches.
When I’m standing upright and balanced on the crutches, I reach out to shake his hand. “You’ve also been a good friend when I’ve needed one. Thank you for that, too.”
He shakes my hand. “It’s an honor and a privilege, sir.”
“See you in the morning.”
I make my way inside, aware that he’s waiting until I get to the elevator before taking off. He’s nothing if not thoroughly committed to his mission, which happens to be me. As the elevator lifts me to the fourth floor, I think about what Muncie said. While I know I ought to leave well enough alone where Jules is concerned, I need to know what’s wrong and if she’s regretting taking me on a client.
What if she is? Should I let her off the hook? Christ, would that be even possible on the eve of this media nightmare she set up for me? I have no idea, but I can’t go on this trip with her without knowing if something I did has upset her. Not that long ago, I found her annoyingly chipper and wanted her to go away. I’ve since discovered there’s so much more to her than her upbeat exterior. If she’s upset, I want to know why. It’s that simple.
And that complicated.
Inside my apartment, I go right to the dresser to retrieve the phone that Muncie has left charging. I check the contacts, but don’t find Jules’s number listed. I don’t think I ever put it into the contacts on my old phone.
Shit.
Wait, Ava sent me Jules’s number. I asked Muncie to print out the info Ava emailed me. I tear the place apart trying to find it and locate it in a drawer in the kitchen. There’s the number I need, along with the note Ava sent with it.
Full disclosure. She’s Eric’s sister, but she’s fantastic at what she does, and she’s a genuinely nice person. You’ll be in good hands with her.
All those things are true. I want to text Ava and ask why she cut her honeymoon short, but I can’t do that. I’m probably not supposed to know they’re on their way home. And if there’s trouble between the newlyweds? What then?
“Nothing. It’s over wit
h you and her, no matter what’s going on with them.” I have to keep telling myself that, because it’s the truth. She made her decision. She picked him. She’s married to him. But what if she suddenly changed her mind?
I have to sit on the bed, because that possibility has me reeling. There’s no way she changed her mind.
Did she?
I type Jules’s number into my contacts and set up a text message.
It’s John. Are you ok?
I stare at the words for five full minutes before I press Send and then continue to stare at the screen for another five minutes, hoping she’ll respond. But she doesn’t. The message shows up as delivered but not read. As I get up to change into sweats and a T-shirt and finish packing for the trip, I resist the urge to check and recheck the phone.
It’s so weird to even have a phone again. That was the worst part of the deployment—being completely cut off from Ava, which was necessary so as not to risk the mission in any way—and it was necessary to keep her safe. Our unit had to be ready at a moment’s notice to simply disappear for as long as it took to get the job done. Now I can call her any time I want, except I can’t because she’s not mine anymore. She’s someone else’s wife and permanently off-limits to me.
Perhaps I’ve started to accept that fact of my life at some point, and that’s why Muncie accused me of looking at Jules like she was tenderloin to a guy who hasn’t eaten in years—or whatever it was he said before he ruined it with the disgusting gravy comment.
I pull my dress blues out of the closet, brush off a speck of lint and give the uniform that’s defined my adult life a careful once-over to make sure everything is where it belongs. Satisfied, I load it into a garment bag that I zip closed and lay over the top of the suitcase that has everything else I’ll need for this latest mission, the last one I’ll make on behalf of the Navy.
In the bathroom, I take a leak—which isn’t easy to do on crutches—floss and brush my teeth, wash my face and hands. Only then do I wander into the bedroom and allow myself to check the phone to see if she replied.
She did. Nothing! All good. See you in the AM.
I don’t believe her.
Taking the phone with me, I sit on the edge of my bed to remove the prosthetic because the stump is aching like a bastard. Most of the time, I sleep with it on because I can’t bear the idea of not being able to get out of here if I had to. Chalk that up to years of sleeping in caves and other unsafe locations where we had to be ready to mobilize in a matter of seconds if necessary.
I get into bed, telling myself to let it go with her. I need to follow Muncie’s advice and remember who she is—and who she can never be to me.
I push all the reasons why it’s a terrible idea aside and type my reply. Aren’t you the one who told me we need to be honest with each other? Why are you lying?
I erase the part about her lying to me and then press Send.
Right away, the message shows up as read.
As I wait—and hope—for her reply, I can barely breathe. Did I go too far calling her out on her dishonesty? Will she level with me, or did I piss her off?
I startle when the phone rings. It’s her.
“Hey.”
“Hi.”
I can barely hear her. “Why are you whispering?”
“I’m in the bathroom. Amy crashed from an overabundance of sun and cocktails.”
“Ah, okay.”
“I, um, I wanted to call you because… Well, I’m sorry if I was out of sorts tonight. Won’t happen again. We’ve got a big couple of weeks ahead, and I’m ready to make this as easy for you as I can.”
“How long did it take you to come up with that rehearsed bullshit?”
“It’s not bullshit.” She sounds wounded, and I hate that, but it doesn’t stop me from pressing the point.
“Yes, it is. Tell me why you were out of sorts tonight.”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s over and done with now, and I’m ready to get some sleep and then head for New York.”
“It does matter. It, um, it matters to me if you’re upset about something, especially if it’s my fault.”
Dead silence.
“Jules?”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Can you come over?”
“What? Now?”
“Yeah. Now.”
“No, I can’t come over there.”
The panicked sound of her voice matches the panic brewing inside of me. I’m certainly aware of the many the reasons why this is a terrible, awful, no-good idea, but I don’t care. I need to see her. “Why can’t you?”
“Because it’s almost midnight and…”
“Please? I want to talk to you. I’ll come there.”
“No!” After a fraught second, she speaks more calmly. “Please don’t come here.” Another long pause ensues, during which I want to ask what she’s thinking—and more than anything, I want to know what’s wrong. “I’ll come there.”
“Okay.”
She ends the call.
I sit up, reach for my leg and put it back on, wincing when it makes contact with the stump. I want a pain pill, but I need to be clearheaded when she arrives. A drink. That’s what I need. After pulling myself up and taking a second for my leg to throb in protest, I move to the kitchen to search the cabinets.
Muncie thought of just about everything, but there’s no booze to be found here.
While I wait for her to arrive, I stand in the kitchen and try to think about when exactly it was that I stopped obsessing about Ava every second of the day and started thinking of Jules as more than just the publicist charged with shark-wrangling on my behalf.
It was the day we talked on the boardwalk. That’s when things changed between us—and not just for me. She felt it, too. I’d bet the farm on that. Things between us have been different since then, and it’s a difference I welcome, as it’s given me some relief from the torturous thoughts that’ve plagued me since my life blew up in my face.
Jules is literally—and figuratively—the worst person in the entire world for me to feel anything for.
However, I feel something. I could be wrong, but I think she does, too, and I suspect that’s why she was out of sorts tonight.
If I’m wrong, so be it. I’ve survived worse, and even knowing I could be making the next few weeks exquisitely uncomfortable for both of us doesn’t stop me from answering the door fifteen minutes later. It doesn’t stop me from stepping aside to let her in or drinking in every detail of her, from the hair piled on top of her head to the formfitting workout pants and zip-up sweatshirt she’s wearing to the rosy glow of her cheeks to the way her chest rises and falls, as if she’s out of breath or maybe…
“Jules.”
“John.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I told you. Nothing is wrong.”
“Did I do something?”
“No.” She’s so tense, I fear she might snap or do something awful, such as cry.
If I hadn’t spent days in the presence of cool, competent, unflappable Jules, I wouldn’t see the difference. But I do see it, and I need to know if I’m the cause. I take a step closer to her.
She takes a step back, bumping up against the wall.
“Tell me what I did to upset you.”
Only because I’m watching her so closely do I notice the throbbing pulse point in her neck and the shift of her gaze from my eyes to my lips.
Oh.
“Talk to me, Jules.” I set the crutches aside and lean one arm on the wall next to her, hoping I won’t fall over in the next few minutes. I have a feeling that if I start to stumble, she’ll catch me. In fact, I’d bet the farm I don’t have on that, too.
“I can’t. You’re my client and Ava’s ex and… I can’t.”
“Forget about me being your client or Ava’s ex and tell me what has you so wound up.”
“You have me wound up! You do. And I can’t—”
I’m not sure what possesses me, but I rai
se my right hand to her face and kiss her. It’s a somewhat platonic kiss, as kisses go, all lips and no tongue. Not yet, anyway. I have a feeling that too much too soon will send her running, and that’s the last thing I want.
She kisses me back with lips so soft and so tender, I want to drown in her sweetness. Until she turns away with a whimpering sound that makes me want to roar. “Please, John. We can’t.” Her hands are shaking when she puts them on my chest to stop me from going back for more.
“Why not?” I feel more alive in this moment than I have since I woke up in the hospital after surviving an infection that should’ve killed me.
She gives me a withering look. “You know why not.”
“Ava is out of my life. She got married.”
“To my brother!”
“I know, but that doesn’t mean we can’t—”
“Yes, it does. It really does.”
“Jules.” I slide my arms around her and snuggle her into my embrace. She smells incredible, like sunshine and flowers and fresh air and life itself, and I want to breathe her in. I can’t hide my natural reaction to being close to her this way or the relief I feel at realizing that I’m not actually dead down there. It’s been so fucking long since I touched a woman. But it’s not just any woman I want. I ache from wanting this woman. “Tell me you feel it, too.” The attraction, the undeniable pull, the desire.
“I… I can’t ...”
Empowered to know I’m not alone in this, I nuzzle her neck, making her tremble. I tighten my hold on her. “Easy. I’ve got you. Hold on to me.”
She moves tentatively, but her arms encircle my waist, and I release the deep breath I was holding while I waited to see what she would do.
With her in my arms, I feel stronger than I have in months. I have no idea how long we stand there, clinging to each other. I want more of her. I want more of the way I feel when she’s around—calm, optimistic, cared for. Safe. It’s that last one that I crave more than anything after what I’ve been through.
“I… I should go.”
I caress her back in small circles. “Don’t go. Stay with me.”
She shivers and holds on tighter to me.