“I don’t think any of us did, honestly. Sarah’s my friend and I’m terrified for her.”
He shifted, leaning against her shoulder to look at the map. Heat radiated off her body, wrapping around him and sliding through his clothes to caress his skin.
“We’re so limited on time. I feel like we’re cutting too many corners,” she mumbled, moving a pushpin to another area outside a town on the map.
He laughed, low and deep in his throat. Scowling, she glanced up at him and he realized how close he’d managed to get to her. “Now that’s funny, coming from you.”
* * *
Claire looked at him sharply, the quick retort dying on her lips as Evan rotated his shoulder, the motion slipping the T-shirt up his biceps, revealing more of the tattoo. Warmth flooded between her thighs as she remembered licking the edges of that hidden tribute.
She wanted to ask him more about it. About the sister he’d loved so much he’d permanently marked his body for her. But the way he’d stood, head bowed, as she explored the branches etched into his skin told her he wasn’t ready to talk about that. He rotated his shoulder and she frowned. “Sore?”
“It stiffens up if I don’t work out regularly.”
“You skipped the gym today?”
“Yeah.”
She wasn’t used to being uneasy around a man and everything about Evan made her uneasy. She needed to put it away, needed to get things back to what they had been. Her Super Woman to his Captain America. It was much easier that way.
He looked at her then and she saw just how serious he was. Very, very serious. Something was eating at him, more weighty than their argument or their kiss. He looked at her sharply, the torment in his soul etched into the lines beneath his eyes. Maybe it was the storm that had kept him up. Maybe it was something else.
Whatever it was, he did not want to be alone right now.
And neither did she.
Chapter Eight
The storm pounded against the walls of the lodge. Wind whistled through the spaces between the buildings, howling like a banshee.
The T-shirt Evan wore clung to his chest like a second skin, revealing hard angles and sharp planes that disappeared into the belt around his jeans. Claire breathed in and caught the scent of … laundry soap?
Never in three combat tours had she figured out how to get her laundry to smell like something other than the sterile, pungent odor of dirty water and cheap detergent. One thing she missed when she was traveling was the smell of warm clothes fresh from the dryer. Tonight that smell mixed with the scent of Evan’s skin and it sent warmth spiraling through her.
She shifted so that she could look up at him.
He sat too close, close enough that she could see a smudge of shaving cream below the line of his jaw. She reached for it before thinking about it, swiping her thumb over his pulse. He swallowed, his dark gaze capturing hers. “Do that again,” he said, his voice rough.
The temptation to touch him, to feel his hot skin beneath her fingertips, was too strong to resist. She traced her index finger beneath his ear, down the strong line of his jaw to the sensitive skin covering his pulse.
He slid one hand into the hair at the base of her neck, his fingers strong and hard against her skin. She tipped her neck, tacit permission for him to touch her. Hot sexual tension ripped through her, slicing any hint of restraint to shreds. Heat pooled between her thighs and she was suddenly, achingly aware that they were alone.
He nuzzled the sensitive skin beneath her ear before cupping her face and urging her to turn to him. She smiled against his mouth, flicking the tip of her tongue over the full edge of his bottom lip, acutely aware that she was doing more than just teasing him. She was crossing a line she’d set for herself years ago. She was lowering barriers that had been guarding her heart for what felt like a lifetime. And it felt good.
She opened her mouth and kissed him. His surprise was a burst against her tongue, his taste a potent, raw hunger. He moaned low in his throat, his fingers clenching the back of her neck.
Her fingers curled into his chest of their own accord, the chain of his dog tags biting into her skin through his T-shirt.
* * *
He couldn’t resist the urge to push the boundaries of this new aspect of their relationship. A sensation rose inside him, a longing so fierce and primal it nearly dropped him to his knees.
He craved Claire, but more, he respected her strength, her determination. And he wanted her complete and total surrender.
The boundaries of appropriate conduct had long ago fallen away between them and damn the consequences, he wanted more. There were no rules against what he wanted with her, at least no formal rules. They were unwritten, impossible to navigate, but he no longer cared. He wanted to be reckless for the first time in his adult life and do something completely unplanned.
He wanted … he wanted no barriers. No hiding behind uniforms or rank or customs. He wanted her to look at him, just him, and still want what she saw. It was a needful thing in him, growing and demanding more than, perhaps, either of them was willing or able to give.
Claire said nothing for a long moment, and Evan felt the silence pressing against his soul. Her palm slid against the back of his hand, a gentle, firm touch that said so much more than any words could hope to convey.
“Do you ever cut loose? Ever truly let go?” she asked, tracing her tongue over his bottom lip.
He swallowed. “Not really. I don’t like to do things if they’re not going to be done right.”
“A perfectionist,” she murmured. “I knew it.” She shifted so that she was standing between his thighs. Her fingers skimmed over his forearm, a touch of silk.
“I don’t want to be perfect,” he admitted.
She smiled gently. “No, you just want to be in control,” she murmured against his mouth. Her breath traced across his lips but they did not touch.
“Bad things happen when I lose control,” he said.
“Bad things happen regardless. You can’t control everything.” Her fingers traced up the sides of his neck, a light, teasing touch.
“I’ve been fairly good at it so far.” He was strung out and tight, afraid that she would destroy the fragile remnants of his restraint.
She licked her lips, her eyes dark with promise. “If we were to get naked, would you lose control? Or would you stay wound too tight?”
She rubbed the tip of her index finger along the seam of his lips.
“There’s only one right answer, Evan.”
* * *
She sighed softly as his palms skimmed the swell of her breasts, an electric, erotic shock to her system. She slipped from his embrace, circling him. Raw power surged through her—whatever this was, he would let her set the pace.
His stomach tightened beneath her touch as she raked her nails down his sides, sliding her fingers beneath his shirt to claw gently at his skin.
“Claire—”
She met his gaze, her green eyes glittering darkly. Not once in a decade had she done this. Not like this. Not when she would have to face the man the next morning.
This was more than just sex. There would be consequences. Evan would not be a reckless lover, she thought, shifting against him slowly.
His arousal was hard and thick between them, rigid against her belly. A temptation. A seductive pressure. Her hand moved then, sliding from his hips to the bulge in his pants.
* * *
Her mouth was warm and wet and so incredibly soft as she sucked his tongue, even as her palm stroked him. He struggled not to thread his fingers into her hair and tear control from her.
“I’m going to die if you keep that up.” A ragged moan ripped from his throat as she squeezed him.
She flicked her tongue against the seam of his mouth. “That would be a disappointing end to the evening.”
The laugh tore from somewhere deep inside him, unexpected and … welcome. And then he was done thinking. She took his mouth again, circling her tongue w
ith his and driving him closer to the edge.
His stomach flexed beneath her touch, and his cock tensed and tightened beneath her wandering touch. With a gentle kiss, she stood, her mouth a whisper from his. “Tell me. Does Captain America carry condoms?” she whispered.
He kissed her then—fierce and hard and deep—his tongue sparring with hers in a wild release of wicked tension. His fingers dug into her hips and he tried to guide her to the bed, but Claire slipped from his grip.
Someone was pounding on the door as if the lodge were on fire. Evan dropped his forehead to hers. “Someone needs to die,” he murmured.
Arousal faded from his blood, leaving him aching and hard. But Claire was already gone, answering the door in the middle of the night.
Because that’s what good soldiers did.
* * *
Claire wasn’t exactly sure when her room became Grand Central, but at some point in the last hour, Sarah, Engle, Reza, and of course Evan had all ended up in the living area of her suite. It was a testament to how worried Sarah was about the training that she’d dragged her lieutenant out in the dead of night in the snow. Sure, it was late and they’d been working all day, but apparently none of them could sleep. Irritation ran thick through the group and the consensus was that they were wasting their time.
The briefing slides were displayed on Sarah’s computer and there were half a dozen empty bottles of alcohol sitting around the suite. For once, Reza wasn’t pounding the hard stuff, sticking to beer, and thankfully he was staying away from Engle, too.
Engle swore and threw her pen down. “This is stupid, Ma’am,” she said to Sarah. “Maybe I’m just not cut out for the army, because doing what the colonel says is dumb if he’s got a bad plan. We need to be on the ranges, practicing driving in convoys, not talking about safe traveling distances between vehicles in the convoy.”
Sarah studied her lieutenant for a long moment, and Claire waited with interest to see how she would handle Engle’s snit fit. Granted, she agreed with this particular fit, but still.
Sarah’s words were a quiet dose of reality to the group of malcontents. “You know, I might have disagreed with him when he said it, but when the Secretary of Defense said you go to war with the army you have, not the army you wish you had, he was right. We’re going to war with Colonel Danvers, LT. We can piss and moan about it or we can figure out how to deal with it and keep our soldiers alive.”
Engle opened her mouth to speak, but Evan held up a hand, silencing her.
“Your commander is right,” Evan said. “You have to make do with what you have.”
Engle frowned and glared at the slides, as though the answer to the problem was going to magically appear from the PowerPoint gods. “This is bullshit,” she mumbled.
Evan continued easily but there was tension in his voice, a deep disquiet that he probably didn’t know was there. Claire watched him closely, wondering what demons he wrestled. “We’ve got to focus more on what we can do and less on what we can’t.” He glanced at his watch. “Otherwise, we’re wasting what little time we do have.”
“Can I ask a stupid question?” Engle asked, glancing between Claire, Evan, and Sarah. Claire noticed she deliberately did not look at Reza. “Why are you so hung up on doing this the way the brigade commander wants? I mean, if no plan survives first contact, why are we so hung up on doing it his way instead of improvising and making the mission happen? Doesn’t it matter more that it gets done?”
A shadow crossed Evan’s face and Claire felt a punch of shared emotion in that single look. She cleared her throat.
“When we were getting ready for the initial invasion—” Claire said quietly. All eyes turned to her. “—we spent days developing the commander’s plan. Mission analysis about routes and tribal identities and enemy capabilities. All of it went to shit about thirty minutes after the first troops rolled into Baghdad.”
Engle latched on to the wrong point. “Right. So why spend so much time on it?”
Claire’s voice was quiet, hoping she got the words right. “There comes a point when the commander’s plan becomes the be-all and end-all. An eighty percent solution now is better than a ninety-nine percent solution an hour too late. And when you’re going to knowingly disobey orders, you’d better know why you’re doing it and what the consequences are.”
“When you break the rules,” Reza said, finally adding to the discussion, “you better have a really good reason for doing it. Just disagreeing with your commander doesn’t qualify as a good reason.”
Sarah shook her head. “That doesn’t help me figure out how to get everything done. You heard Colonel Danvers: if I can’t accomplish the mission, he’ll find someone else who can. And I’m not leaving my team.”
Claire pulled her knees up to her chest. “Sarah, I don’t know how to help you,” she said, fear tainting her words. “Because, honestly, I think the focus of this plan is all wrong. It would almost be worth it to check the block on the unimportant stuff so we could focus on the important things.”
“So you’d falsify training reports?” Engle asked.
Claire started to speak, but Evan cut her off. “No, LT, no one’s going to falsify training reports. There has to be a reason why the brigade commander wants things done this way. We have to figure out how to get it done.”
Claire stood, fed up with Evan, the whole mission and the helplessness of knowing there was little she could do to make a difference. “Look, Sarah, go home. You too, Engle, get some sleep. The first day of field training is tomorrow. You all need to be on your game.”
It wouldn’t do any good to keep this conversation going in front of Evan. He’d simply shut it down. She hugged her friend and, for once, was sociable to LT Engle as they left the room. She didn’t bother to look and see if Reza followed Engle or simply went to bed. At the moment, she didn’t care what he did or with whom he did it. Too many sleepless nights were finally catching up to her.
* * *
The door closed behind Iaconelli, leaving them alone in the silence. Evan turned back to see Claire picking up the papers and stacking them neatly in piles. Busy work.
“What’s wrong?” Evan asked.
They were alone in her suite again and he could see the conflicted emotions written all over Claire’s face. She looked exhausted, but more, she looked like a ghost had risen from the dead and was howling on the wind outside.
“Nothing, Evan.” She turned away, looking out the wide bay window, which was white with snow.
“Talk to me, Claire,” he whispered, wanting so badly to approach but the relentless barriers between them were back, higher than ever.
“Not everything requires psychoanalysis.”
“I was just asking a question,” he said quietly. “Forgive me for confusing you with someone capable of rational conversation.”
Anger flashed in her eyes. “Do we really need to do this tonight? I don’t have any energy left to fight with you.”
Evan stepped in front of her, frustration clawing at him that she continued to shut him out. “You know what I’m not in the mood for? For you encouraging young officers like Engle to play fast and loose with the rules. You’re teaching them to be reckless and reckless gets people killed.”
Claire held up both hands, fatigue written across her features. “Look, I’m just tired of having to kiss the boss’s ass just because he’s the commander. Commanders aren’t God, Evan. They make mistakes. Danvers is making a mistake, and I think you know it but you’re too much of a play-by-the-rules guy to argue with him. I just want out of this ski lodge and I want to go blow something up. Is that reckless enough for you?”
“You know what’s reckless, Claire?”
She released a sigh, heavy with resignation. “Yeah, I do. And I’m asking reckless to leave my room right now so I can be a true daredevil and go to sleep. There’s no point in arguing about this any more. I can’t win. Not with you. Not with Colonel Danvers.”
“You’re giving up?
” It was such a simple question, but her unwillingness to fight sparked a deep, unsettled concern in him.
* * *
“I’m going to bed. Alone, if you don’t mind.” She folded her arms over her chest, keenly aware of his closeness. But the sensual connection between them was gone, replaced with a long-standing familiar argument about how an officer was supposed to lead, supposed to act. Supposed to genuflect before the will of the commander, regardless of whether that commander was right or wrong.
Evan refused to back down. “I can’t believe you’re giving up. Just because it’s not going your way?”
“It’s got nothing to do with my way, Evan.” Fear gripped her, denying her the escape she so desperately needed. She knew what she’d do if Captain America wasn’t there. She’d do exactly what she suggested to Engle: check the block on the stupid stuff and spend time doing the important training. But she couldn’t do that with Captain America looking over her shoulder. He’d never let her lie, even if it would save lives. “I just don’t know what else to do. We’re wasting time on bullshit training and these guys are leaving unprepared. And I can’t keep fighting with you or Colonel Danvers. I’ll do my job and I’ll do my best. But I can’t keep going through these mental gymnastics because it hurts too much.” The admission pained her but he needed to hear it.
“And sometimes, you need to find a way to get the best out of a shitty situation.” He approached her then, stepping too close, and traced the tip of one finger down the side of her neck. “I never took you for a coward, Claire.”
“I’m not a coward. I just don’t see the point in fighting a losing battle.” She didn’t flinch away from his touch, but it was a close thing. “I’ll do my job. Isn’t that what you wanted? No more arguing? No more fighting about how to train?”
But her words were filled with defeat. Maybe it was time to admit that there was nothing she could do to help her friend’s team. The helplessness galled her, but it was the fear that she would be standing at Sarah’s memorial that threatened to drown her.
Until There Was You (Coming Home, #2) Page 10