It's Always Been You

by Jessica Scott

  She licked her lips, looking at the closed front door. Her breath caught in her throat just then. “Really?”

  She rolled off the couch and padded to the front door, then paused. She was wearing a ratty t-shirt from Banana Republic and a pair of comfortably worn sweat pants. No bra.

  He’d seen her in less. A lot less. But it felt incredibly daring and brazen to open her front door like this. Her nipples tightened with the idea that she had only to say the word and he could be in her space. Touching her. Chasing away the ugliness of her job with a few hours of dark, sensual pleasure.

  She could open the door as is and let him see her exactly how she was right then.

  Or she could keep him standing on her front step while she ran back into her bedroom and tried to find something that even remotely resembled sexy.

  And then she remembered that the only thing she had that fit that description was a plain white tank top.

  His voice from the phone distracted her, reminded her that he was waiting on her. “Holy crap, please don’t tell me she hung up on me,” he mumbled.

  “No, I’m here,” she said.

  “Are you going to open the door?”

  “I’m not really dressed for company.”

  “Neither am I.”

  Now that sparked her curiosity. She flipped on the outside light and opened the front door.

  “Wow, you weren’t kidding.”

  He really wasn’t up for company. He was sporting a fat lip and holding a bloody tissue to it. There was blood splattered on his t-shirt and a hole ripped in the shoulder. His knuckles were scraped and bloody.

  And he was grinning like he’d just had the time of his life.

  “What in the world happened?” She ushered him into the house and closed the door behind him.

  “Funny story,” he said, wincing as the words split his lip again. Blood oozed from the cut and he dabbed it with the napkin. “Do you have some ice?”

  * * *

  “So there we were,” he said, lifting the towel-wrapped ice away from his lip. A tiny speck of blood was the only hint that his lip was still bleeding.

  Olivia sat against the edge of her couch, her feet curled beneath her. She balanced a fresh glass of wine on her knee and rested her head against her hand. “You look terrible,” she said.

  “Do you want to know what happened or not?” He tried to look disgruntled. He was pretty sure it didn’t work because she laughed at him.

  “Please enlighten me,” she said. “I’m dying to know what happened.”

  “Really? Should I make some stuff up to make me sound heroic and sexy? Something that would get you to crawl over here instead of sitting over there?”

  Her lips twitched as she sipped her wine. “Start with the truth and we’ll go from there.”

  He grinned, then caught himself because the pain ripped through his bottom lip. “Ow. Don’t make me smile.”

  She laughed quietly. “You’re being a baby. It’s just a fat lip.”

  Ben took a deep breath and tried to take a sip of his own wine from the unsplit side of his lip. It was awkward at best and he gave up rather than embarrass himself further. “Went to Ropers to try to get a bunch of our guys home before they got arrested. Couple of guys from the 3rd Armored Cavalry Regiment decided they didn’t want to end the night peacefully.” He looked at the towel again. “You should see the other guy.”

  “And no one got arrested?”

  “Nope. I told the cops I was the company commander and was trying to get my guys out of there without causing any trouble. He gave me ten minutes. Needless to say, we got everyone into cabs and sent on their way in six minutes flat.”

  Olivia grinned, running her fingers through her hair and resting her head in her hand. “So you and your first sergeant kept everyone out of jail and all you have to show for your heroism is a fat lip?”

  “Pretty much,” he said. He lowered the towel. “Does it look really tough?”

  “It looks like it hurts,” she said. Her gaze dropped to his mouth and Ben’s throat tightened. “If I kiss it, will that make it better?” One side of his mouth felt like it was the size of a golf ball and throbbed like a bastard. He’d eat his damn shorts if it made her crawl onto his lap. He touched his fingers to his lip gently, watching her watching him. “I think that would help,” he murmured.

  She didn’t move for a long time. His entire body tightened as she leaned over and set her wine glass down. Ben went very still as she crawled across the couch. She nudged his leg over and slid up his body until she straddled him. “Such a hero tonight,” she whispered.

  She threaded her fingers through his hair. He framed her hips with his hands, wincing when his shoulder protested the movement.

  “What happened?” Her fingers traced over the tear in his shirt.

  “Collided with a soldier’s head.” Her touch was cool against his skin. His lungs were tight. “Your sympathy is making me feel so much better,” he murmured.

  He tipped his face, giving her access to his damaged lip. She brushed her lips gently near the swelling. He closed his eyes as she touched him, loving the feel of her fingers on his body.

  “It doesn’t look too bad,” she whispered.

  “Hurts.”

  She made a sound, something sultry in her throat, then pressed her lips gently to the side of his mouth. His pulse quickened beneath her touch.

  He loved that she was wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants. There was something sexy about her comfort. The worn cotton shifted beneath his palms as he ran his hands over her thighs. She wiggled and pressed her body against his aching erection.

  A groan escaped him before he could stop it. She leaned back. “Did that hurt?” she whispered.

  He shook his head, meeting her gaze. “No.” He gripped her hips, pulling her closer. Loving the pressure of her body against his erection. “You feel good,” he whispered, pulling her down.

  Her lips brushed against his. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Not kissing me is causing unimaginable pain,” he said against her mouth.

  She nipped his bottom lip at the farthest spot away from the swollen split. “We wouldn’t want that.”

  She traced her tongue over the seam of his lips before kissing him, a gentle stroke of her tongue against his. She kept the pressure soft, her lips barely caressing the swollen bottom lip.

  It was Ben who deepened the kiss. Who turned the moment from something light and teasing to something dark and sensual. He urged her closer, moved her hips against his cock, needing the friction, needing the connection blocked by their clothes.

  Her fingers slid down his chest and danced beneath the torn t-shirt. They were cool against his fevered skin. He ached. Dear lord but he ached. He leaned up, still kissing her, twisting to yank his t-shirt over his head, breaking the kiss only when he absolutely had to.

  She nestled close, the warm cotton of her t-shirt soft against his skin. “You’re warm,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck.

  “You’re not naked,” he complained, tracing his fingers over the small of her back.

  “We can fix that.”

  She leaned back to lift her shirt but Ben surprised her by pushing up onto his knees and lying her down on the couch. “Much better,” he murmured.

  He leaned down, lifting her shirt, pressing her lips to her belly. Dragging his tongue over her skin as he pushed the shirt higher.

  Olivia was lost in sensation. She surrendered to the warmth of his touch, the heat that smoldered beneath his fingertips. His fingers traced over her ribs and tugged her sweats down.

  She was naked.

  Ben knelt between her thighs and urged them wider. She wanted to cover herself. To shield her body from his view.

  This was too much. The brush of air on her skin. The dance of his fingertips over her stomach.

  She closed her eyes. Ben smiled. She was beautiful. Strong. But spread before him just then, she was his. Nothing more. Nothing
less.

  His.

  He slid between her thighs, loving the sensation of her wrapping them around his hips.

  He kissed her then, slipping a hand between their bodies to touch her gently where she was open and swollen and so fucking beautiful. He captured her gasp in his mouth as he touched her. Felt her tremble when he slipped one finger inside her.

  “Ben.” His name was a plea on her lips. Something beautiful. A mark of possession. A need.

  * * *

  She could have watched him roll the condom in place.

  But she didn’t. She reached for it, sliding her hand over his erection. Stroking that soft, smooth satin steel before tearing open the small foil ring.

  His stomach tensed beneath her touch.

  She pressed her lips gently to the aching head. Felt him jump at the same time he sucked in a harsh breath. “Olivia.”

  Her name was pained. Tense.

  She owned this. Wanted to claim him.

  She traced her tongue over the tip of him. Felt his entire body tremble beneath her touch. She sucked him softly into her mouth, her tongue tracing the tip.

  “Oh god.”

  He fisted his hands in her hair, his fingers tight and tense. His touch filled her with power. Raw. Ragged.

  He wrenched her away and pulled the condom from her hand and rolled it into place.

  “I want to be inside you when I come,” he whispered right before he kissed her.

  He filled her then, pushing deep, deep inside her. Touching the reserved center of her that ached for him.

  Together they rode the wave of pleasure. Together they shattered. And when the world stopped spinning, together, they tumbled into sleep, twined in each other’s arms.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Sir, I need a minute of your time.” First Sarn’t Sorren stood in Ben’s doorway, his entire body radiating pissed off. But he was stiff and moving a little more slowly today than he had the night before.

  “Age starting to catch up with you, big guy?” Ben asked, flipping his computer monitor the bird before closing out his e-mail.

  “I’m too old to be getting into bar fights on the weekends. I took three Motrin eight hundreds when I got home and I’m still in fucking pain.”

  Ben smiled, glad the swelling had gone down in his lip. “I’m never getting as old and crusty as you.”

  Sorren flipped him off. “Your lip looks better than it did last night.”

  “I had it looked at.”

  “Uh huh. And the person who did the looking didn’t happen to be the lawyer, did it?”

  “Um…”

  Sorren chuckled. It was the first time he’d ever heard his first sergeant laugh. “Sir, I could give a shit less what you do on your off time.”

  “Ah, thanks?” Ben said. He wasn’t really certain of the direction of this conversation.

  Sorren leaned forward, resting his elbows on both knees. “Look, the lawyer’s got her head screwed on straight and she’s helping move some of these packets along really fast.” Sorren paused. “I like her.”

  Ben narrowed his eyes at his first sergeant. “Why do I feel like this conversation is about to get a whole lot more touchy feely?”

  Sorren scrubbed his hand over his mouth. “Because despite yourself, I think you’re a hell of a lot better at this than you give yourself credit for. There aren’t too many officers who’ll show up to a bar fight and then not report it higher.”

  Ben scrubbed his hand across his jaw. “Yeah, well, I’ve been in one too many incidents that weren’t reported higher. The guys were just blowing off steam. They deserve to have a good time while they’re home.”

  “Yeah, well, not in this day and age. We need to keep the good ones out of trouble and the shitbirds need to get the fuck out of my army.” Sorren drummed his fingers on the back of the couch. “It pisses me off when these little assholes start running around, ruining what we stand for.”

  “By getting into bar fights? I thought that was a time-honored tradition of soldiers everywhere.”

  “It is.” Sorren sighed deeply. “I’m talking about the assholes who go out robbing and stealing and wreaking havoc that bring discredit to our uniform.” Sorren paused for a moment. “We have brothers and sisters who have died in these colors and if the soldiers don’t recognize that, then they don’t deserve the honor of wearing this uniform.”

  “Some of these guys have been through some bad shit downrange,” Ben said quietly. The scar on his stomach itched.

  “We’ve all been through some bad shit downrange, sir. We don’t all come home and freak the hell out.”

  Ben pressed his lips together into a flat line, wincing when his still tender bottom lip protested the pressure. “Yeah. I know.”

  Sorren said nothing and Ben appreciated his not piling on right then. Finally Sorren spoke. “We’ll do the article fifteens after lunch?”

  Ben looked up sharply. “You already had them reviewed by legal?”

  Sorren grinned. “I’m not above taking advantage of your relationship to fast-track certain things. I’d rather get this done early in the week so I don’t have sergeants supervising them over two weekends.”

  Ben shook his head as his first sergeant left the office.

  He needed to be careful. If Sorren had figured out something was going on between him and Olivia, someone else might, too. And while there were no rules against it, Sorren was right. He didn’t need to give anyone any reason to start looking into either of them.

  * * *

  Olivia’s blood was cold in her veins. She’d known this was coming. Had known for a few hours that the final paperwork on Escoberra was due in her inbox sometime that day.

  Still, knowing it was coming was not the same thing as seeing it.

  Two weeks of investigation came back with nothing. No ability to charge the man who’d put his daughter in the hospital. There was nothing she could do.

  The scars on her sides ached with the absolute failure.

  Another family was unprotected.

  And there was nothing, nothing she could do about it. She’d thought she would be okay with it. That she trusted Ben’s intuition. But right then, looking at the cold reality in her hands, her emotions welled up, threatening to overwhelm her.

  She swallowed the bitter frustration and gathered her paperwork before heading down to Gilliad’s office.

  * * *

  Olivia clenched her fist around her pen, refusing to lose the temper she held very tightly leashed as LTC Gilliad studied her carefully. She could not lose her shit in front of the battalion commander.

  It had been a long time since Olivia had needed to work this hard to keep her temper in check. But not nearly long enough.

  She stood silently while Gilliad read the paperwork she’d handed him.

  Finally he looked up at her. “What does this mean, Major Hale?”

  “Sir, it means that Child Protective Services are closing the case. Because his spouse refuses to testify against him and the children won’t either, I can’t recommend we proceed.” Her words were tight. Clipped. Controlled.

  Her hands shook by her sides. Rage was a live thing inside her but it was the sadness that threatened to choke her. Her throat closed off with frustration.

  “I see.” Gilliad steepled his fingers in front of him. “Is there anything we can do?”

  Olivia sucked in a deep, hard breath and held it for a moment. “No, sir. We have to allow him to move on with his life.”

  The words tightened in her throat. The scars on her side ached. She wanted to rail at the world and scream that it wasn’t fair.

  But instead, she kept her composure. Breathed deeply through her nose. In and out. Slow and steady.

  Gilliad was silent. “Have the personnel officer draw up the paperwork.” He tossed his glasses onto his desk.

  “Roger, sir.”

  Olivia turned to go, needing to get away from the office, from work, from the people around her who would shake th
eir heads quietly and whisper that women shouldn’t be in the army if they saw her cry.

  No one had believed a little girl named Olivia when she’d tried to report what was happening at home.

  She closed her eyes, hearing the police officer’s hard words scraping against her once more. “You shouldn’t make things up,” he’d told her.

  Her eyes filled with unshed tears. Frustration clawed at her. She got back to her office and shut the door behind her, needing her space, her solitude. Needed just a few minutes to keep herself from falling completely apart.

  How could the case have fallen apart so badly? She’d made her peace with it. Damn it, it wasn’t supposed to hurt like this.

  She knew exactly. Everyone saw the war-weary soldier, the veteran begging apology, telling everyone he’d never hurt his daughter.

  And everyone believed him, including the daughter he’d used his belt on.

  She ground the heels of her palms into her eyes. No. No. No. Not again. Oh sweet Jesus not again.

  There was a quiet tap on her door. Shit.

  She swiped her fingers beneath her eyes and hoped they weren’t red from the pressure. She scrambled to her feet and straightened her uniform before opening the door.

  Ben stood on the other side, packets in one hand. She met his gaze and his expression instantly hardened into concern.

  He stepped into her office, closing the door behind him.

  “What happened?” he asked softly.

  She tried to back away. Tried to put a barrier between him and the wall of emotions threatening to crash over her. She held up her hand to keep him from approaching, trying to rein in her emotions. If he touched her, she was afraid she might shatter.

  He collided with her palm and kept coming. He didn’t force her into his arms. Her arm simply collapsed and he was there. His strong arms around her. His chest a solid wall of living, breathing support.

  She tried to stay strong.

  She failed.

  “We’re closing the Escoberra case,” she whispered.

  She couldn’t fall apart. Not right then, no matter how good it felt to have his arms around her. To trust that she could lean against him and have someone stand with her.

  “I’m sorry, Olivia.”