Blue Forever (Men in Uniform)

by Bruhns, Nina

  It lunged at the knots, seizing one between its jaws and started to pull, shaking its head viciously. Its growls sank deeper in its throat as Kip began to yank back on the rope.

  No dog he’d ever met could resist playing tug.

  He egged it on, teasing it into playing instead of attacking. It didn’t take long. The dog wasn’t vicious. It had just been doing its job guarding the farm. Now it figured Kip must be a friend, since he was taking the time to play.

  “Good doggie,” he murmured encouragingly, slowly tugging it toward the cellar door. A few minutes later he’d gotten it past the threshold. This time, when he tossed the sliver of meat, the dog dropped the knotted rope and went to sniff at it.

  Kip took the opportunity to make a hasty exit. He closed the door but made sure it would swing open when the dog tried to get out, and took off at a lope in case the dog started barking. But it didn’t. Not yet, anyway.

  The night was warm and the sky clear. The fields smelled fertile and green, the heavy leaves of the plants whispered against his legs as he brushed past them on his way back to DeAnne.

  She was sitting on the ground, bare legs curled under her, holding something between her hands. She looked up sharply when he stepped through the hedge, but her shoulders notched down when she saw it was him.

  “There you are. Thank God! I heard a dog growling like crazy earlier. I thought . . .”

  He dropped down beside her. “Nah. It was a pussy cat.”

  Apprehension chased through her eyes. “You ran into a guard dog?”

  “More like it ran into me.” He winked, and produced the apples, carrots, and assorted other goodies from his pockets. “Our feast. It’s not much, but—”

  She held up the object in her hands, a large tin cup. It was filled with— “Milk?” he asked in surprise.

  “I ran into a cow in the field over there.” She waved a hand, then held out the cup to him. “This is your share.” She gave him a pixie smile. “Sorry. I couldn’t wait.”

  He accepted the cup in astonishment. “You milked a friggin’ cow?” Never mind venturing out into the fields.

  Her smile grew, her white teeth shining in the moonlight. “One learns the most unlikely things in the name of goodwill and diplomacy.” At his hiked brows, she explained, “A few of us from the consulate visited a market fair last year. The men declined to try milking.” A million stars twinkled in her eyes. “I had to uphold the honor of the delegation.”

  “Well. Thank goodness for that,” he said, raised the cup to her in a salute, then drank. The fresh milk was still warm, pungent and creamy thick, and he could taste the bursts of sweetness on his tongue. “Mmm,” he said appreciatively. “Good.”

  She scooped up a handful of strange-looking fruit from a dip in her skirt. “I found some dragon fruit and a few goji berries, too.”

  “Wow,” he said, even more impressed. He traded her a few for an apple. “And here I thought I’d be the sole breadwinner.”

  “Bread would be nice,” she said wistfully. “And a glass of wine.”

  They shared a chuckle.

  “Tomorrow,” he promised. Then immediately regretted it. He wouldn’t be with her tomorrow. She might have quit her job, but Roger wouldn’t leave her high and dry. As soon as they were near the coast Kip would make her call the consulate to be picked up. He wouldn’t allow her to be in danger a minute longer than necessary. Roger might be a jerk, but he could protect her.

  And he’d better, if he valued his life.

  She munched on her apple. “So, what is the plan for tomorrow?”

  He set the cup aside and grabbed a carrot. “Same as today. Get down to the coast without being caught.”

  “Or shot,” she added.

  “Yeah. That, too.”

  “Then what happens?”

  He pushed out a breath, and told a half-truth. “I meet up with my buddies. You meet up with yours. Roger will take you back.”

  She regarded him, the sparkle in her eyes fading. “You’re abandoning me.”

  He choked on a bite of carrot. “Abandoning? No. That’s not—”

  “Sorry.” She waved it off. “Lord, what a stupid thing to say.” Her tone strove for wry humor. It failed miserably. “So, you’ll be going your separate way, then, is what I meant.”

  No she hadn’t. She’d meant exactly what she’d said.

  For a split second he wondered what kind of jerk had abandoned her in the past and broken her heart, causing the shadows that now dimmed those beautiful blue eyes.

  Then he came to his senses.

  He said earnestly, “You have to know you can’t stay with me. You think this morning’s shoot-out was hairy? That was child’s play compared to what I’ve got in store. When my unit arrives to—”

  She held up a hand. “Kip. I was there when you talked with your men. You told them not to come.”

  Ah. Right.

  Her muscle twitched. “You don’t have to lie to me, Major Llowell. I’d much rather have the unvarnished truth.”

  Major Llowell again.

  “Occupational hazard, I’m afraid,” he said truthfully.

  “Yes,” she replied evenly. “I know.”

  There was a whole universe of bitterness in those three quiet words.

  It bothered the hell out of him. Not the bitterness itself. But the fact that it was there. Evidence that someone had messed with this smart, generous, sexy woman so badly that it had left enduring scars. Kip knew all about scars. There were the trophies of battle he carried on his skin . . . but also the invisible kind that dwelled deep in your soul. The kind only those you loved most could give you.

  His protective instincts reared up again, but he told himself firmly that her pain was none of his business. Tomorrow she’d be gone.

  End of story.

  And even if she weren’t going to be gone tomorrow, he would still not be getting involved in any of that stuff. Or with her. He would not be getting involved, period. He had his own issues to contend with. Of which the principal issue was the serious and unwanted consequences of becoming involved, really involved, with any woman.

  He’d tried it a couple of times when he was younger—getting involved. Because he loved women. He truly did. He loved being with them. Touching them. Yeah, even loved the feeling of falling in love with them, the closeness of having someone all your own.

  But inevitably, it got to the point where the woman he was with expected more. Like a ring. And a picket fence. Kids and a dog.

  A dog would be good, he conceded. And he had nothing against fences. Kids? Maybe someday . . .

  The ring? Not so much.

  But the women never understood that. They’d call him commitment phobic and other equally flattering names.

  Well . . . if the combat boot fit . . .

  Yeah. It was a fact, he was commitment phobic. For a very good reason.

  There was no way in hell he was getting married. Not anytime soon, anyway.

  Because getting married would trigger a very real legal consequence for Kiptyn Llowell III. One he was not remotely ready to confront.

  His trust fund.

  And all the family drama that came with it.

  * * *

  Darcy woke a split second before the alarm was set to buzz. She reached out to hit the off button, but Bobby Lee beat her to it by a hair.

  “Rise and shine, ladies,” he called out, waking Jaeger and Zane. As the others started to stir, Bobby Lee leaned over and gave her a lingering kiss. “Naptime’s over, sweet thing.”

  Across the room, Zane groaned, but she didn’t know if it was over having to get up, or having to listen to Bobby Lee’s endearments. Zane had been captured and tortured for sixteen long months by fanatical Islamic terrorists a few years back. Alex Zane was not a sentimental man.

  Well, except
where it concerned Rebel, his wife of two years and the light of his life. His beautiful angel, he called her. So he really didn’t have any room to complain about sappy endearments.

  They all dragged themselves out of bed, made themselves presentable, and headed back to the wardroom to continue planning their strategy for the op. Darcy needed a massive infusion of caffeine, so she went straight for the urn and filled four mugs, carrying them to the table where the guys had already started up the debate again. She set the mugs down and three hands shot out to grab one.

  “Hey! Those are mine!” she protested.

  To a man, they froze, hands suspended in midair, and looked at her. All of them knew she could kill a man seven different ways before he knew what hit him, and under certain circumstances wouldn’t hesitate to do so. What they weren’t sure about was whether stealing her coffee was among them.

  She smiled in satisfaction. “Ha. Had you going.” She grabbed a mug with a grin and leaned back in her chair, indicating they should do likewise.

  The three men let out curses and did eye-rolls.

  “You are such a punk,” Zane grumbled.

  But they hadn’t touched the mugs until she gave permission. Good to know one had the respect of one’s colleagues.

  “Not nice to scare the boys like that, baby,” Quinn drawled over his mug . . . ignoring the fact that his hand had stopped just as quickly.

  “Hell, I don’t scare that easy,” Zane retorted lightly. A bit of dark humor. He still suffered terrible PTSD from his ordeal at the hands of those terrorists, and had been known to wake up cowering in the corner from the nightmares. Not that anyone would ever mention it out loud.

  “She scares me,” Jaeger said with feeling, then went on with what he was doing on his laptop. That was about as long-winded as Jaeger got.

  She smiled.

  “Okay, people,” Quinn said, getting them down to business. “I’m tired of arguing. We need to start making some decisions. Everyone put together a skeleton plan for the strategy you think will work best. We’ll compare and then vote.” He checked his watch. “We’ve got three hours till zero-hundred. Bridger’s going to want some solids on the mission before he leaves tonight.”

  During an op, a sit-rep meeting was always held at midnight to keep each other informed of progress made that day. Assuming they weren’t in the thick of things. Commander Bridger was taking off right afterward for parts unknown.

  As if summoned by the speaking of his name, Bridger suddenly materialized next to the table, startling the heck out of her. “Commander. Miss Zimmerman.”

  Sweet Jesus. The man was like a ghost.

  He nodded at the others. And pretended not to notice that all four of them had nearly gone for their weapons at his sudden appearance. She was sure he did it on purpose as some kind of perverted test.

  She suddenly noticed he had two other men with him. One was Clint Walker, the other an older guy, probably in his fifties or sixties, with a long, silver ponytail hanging halfway down his back and wearing a colorful Florida shirt. He had all the markings of a civilian, but definitely felt ex-military, like Walker.

  Clint Walker nodded to them, gave Quinn a casual salute, and grabbed a chair.

  Bridger said, “People, this is Master Chief Rufus Edwards, USN retired. Sonar spec.”

  She quirked a brow. Sonar?

  “We get to have a submarine, too?” she asked.

  “You want one?” Bridger returned.

  God, he was serious.

  She pursed her lips speculatively. “Really?”

  “Chief Edwards will be rounding out the team.”

  And that made six.

  Everyone introduced themselves and shook hands. When Edwards got to her, he said, “I can hear cogs turning in that pretty head of yours. You got a plan yet?”

  “Give me a minute,” she said, and he smiled broadly.

  She could tell they were going to get along just fine.

  13

  The night was balmy and the stars were twinkling overhead. But DeAnne was not in the mood to enjoy them. She had been so looking forward to being close to Kip tonight. But the mood was spoiled. She knew he was right, she couldn’t stay with him once they got back to civilization, but that didn’t make her feel any better.

  She couldn’t believe she’d quit her job over the man. Well, no, actually she could. It was the principle of the thing. The ethics. And she was pretty sure she’d made her point with Roger. He’d probably take her back if she asked. He probably thought she’d lost her mind.

  He wasn’t the only one.

  She was making a fool of herself over Kiptyn Llowell, even if she was the only one who knew it.

  Why would a man like him possibly want her, anyway?

  More to the point, why would she want a man like him?

  He was brash, egotistical, and insensitive. And he was a U.S. Marine. Everything she hated in a man.

  If only she could get her body to believe that.

  The problem was, every time she came near to him, her body sizzled with awareness. She couldn’t forget those kisses. He kissed like a god. And he’d taken her breath away when he’d whispered in her ear he wanted to see her naked.

  She was so torn.

  No. She wasn’t. He’d reminded her in no uncertain terms that he had no interest in her, other than the obvious.

  She’d thought earlier she could do that, but she’d changed her mind. Who needed the heartache?

  Not that her heart was involved. It was just—

  “You’re quiet,” Kip said, interrupting her unhappy thoughts.

  A while ago, he’d gone to fill their water bottles at a nearby pump, then sat down beside her. She’d lain back on the grass with her down jacket under her head and shoulders, and gazed up at the night sky as they ate their supper of vegetables and fruit.

  “Just tired,” she said now.

  He threw an apple core into the darkness. “You’re angry with me.”

  “No. Just disappointed.”

  He lay down next to her, turning onto his side with elbow bent, and propped his head on his hand to look at her. “The last thing I want to do is hurt you, DeAnne.”

  “I believe you.” And she did. That was never their goal, the men in her life. It always just happened.

  “I have every intention of seeing that you’re safe before leaving you. But coming with me is just not possible.”

  Still on her back, she rolled her head to gaze at him. “I know. I’m not saying I’m being rational.” Not looking at it from the outside. But from in here . . .

  His lips curved, just a little. “I get that.”

  Did he?

  He reached out and traced a finger lightly down her arm. Despite herself, her body reacted instantly, a spill of goose bumps shivering over her. An ache of longing curled through in her center.

  “Kip . . .”

  “That’s better.” He shifted a little closer. “I don’t like it when you call me Major Llowell.”

  She didn’t know what to say to that, so she didn’t say anything. Her disappointment at being jettisoned might be less than logical, but her anger had been totally reasonable. Anger at herself. For forgetting what was real and what was simply wishful thinking.

  Even if Kip hadn’t wanted to get rid of her at the first possible opportunity, which clearly he did, it would never work between them. For a myriad reasons.

  So why bother starting anything?

  He scooted closer still, their bodies almost touching. His hand was warm on her skin as he brushed it up and down her arm. “What are you feeling, princess?”

  A tingle of arousal went through her.

  “Not like a princess.”

  She righted her head to gaze up at the stars and tried to shift away from him. She hated that her body was reacting to h
is touch. It made her want things best left undone. For some inexplicable reason, she was more attracted to this man than she’d been to any other in a long, long time. If ever. But he was so wrong for her.

  His hand on her arm wouldn’t let her escape. But his voice was gentle and sincere. “What can I do to make it better?”

  She squeezed her eyes closed. She didn’t want him to be nice.

  He slid his hand across her midriff as he moved closer still, his body pressing intimately against her side. “How about this?” he suggested.

  He was big and warm and solid. He felt so good. Her willpower wavered.

  “Not a good idea,” she whispered desperately as his hand drifted upward. Trying to convince herself more than him.

  “Oh, I disagree.” He toyed with a lock of her hair. He’d pulled out her ponytail earlier and she suddenly wished she’d put it back up. He lifted the strand to his nose and breathed in.

  A wire of need tightened through her belly, and lower.

  “What happened to the woman who was flirting with me all day?” he murmured.

  She turned her face to gaze up at him, barely hanging on to her sanity. “She got hit with a dose of reality.”

  His fingers brushed over her cheek. “The reality is we both want this. It doesn’t have to be any more complicated than that.”

  It was hard to argue against such simple reasoning. Especially since she’d been thinking the same thing for most of the day. She’d never done mindless hookups or one-night stands with strangers. That just wasn’t her. But somehow, the thought of giving herself to this stranger, under these circumstances, had felt heady and exciting, not sordid.

  Now that she’d gotten to know him, though, that had changed. Now, it just felt . . . dangerous.

  “But it is more complicated,” she refuted.

  The fact was, she was afraid of her unexpected feelings for him. Afraid if she slept with him, it would mean more to her than just casual sex. Because, somehow, she knew it would.