“Maybe.” His expression didn’t budge. “Did it make a difference?”
“I’m on assignment. Does that answer your question?”
“Not entirely.” His voice was low, dangerous. “Where did he put you on assignment?”
She thrust the letter of reprimand at him and felt like a fool for doing it so quickly. He glanced down but didn’t raise his hand to accept the piece of proffered paper. “Answer the question, Claire.”
“He offered me a second command in the military police brigade. They’re deploying in three months.”
Evan wiped his hands on his T-shirt and turned away, but not before she caught the flash of hurt on his face. “Good for you. Congratulations. I’m sure you’ll love being a commander again.”
“I’m turning it down, Evan.”
He stopped. His shoulders rose with a shuddering intake of breath. It was a long moment before he turned back slowly to face her. “What?”
“I’m turning it down.”
“Why? A successful second command will practically guarantee your promotion.” His voice was tainted with disbelief and something else she couldn’t identify.
“I’m going across post. To the Armored Cavalry Regiment.” She smiled weakly. “Ai-ee-yah,” she said, the regiment’s slogan feeling strange on her lips. “I’m staying on at Fort Hood. I report to the ACR next week.” Evan’s eyes were dark, his expression unreadable, and she barreled on, afraid she’d lose her courage. “Maybe keeping my career isn’t everything that’s important,” she said quietly. “Maybe I’ve been worried about the wrong things. Maybe the thing that’s the most important has been missing from my life the entire time.” She paused, watching emotions flicker across his face. “Until there was you, there was no reason for me to try and make a home out of anywhere the army sent me. I didn’t even realize what I was doing.
“My dad couldn’t stop drinking.” She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I always thought that if I’d been a better daughter, if I’d done better in school or kept the house cleaner … maybe he’d have loved me more.” Her eyes filled and she blinked rapidly, but she didn’t wipe away the tears that poured out of her. She shrugged. “You know the rest,” she whispered, biting her lip. “Reza said I should just tell you I’m crazy and ask you to put up with me.” She pressed her lips together, biting back the sting of emotion. “But that’s not really the entire truth.” She breathed deeply, smiling tremulously. “I miss your cock when it’s not around. And the rest of you isn’t half bad, either.”
He choked suddenly, then broke out laughing. Relief raced over her skin and she let herself smile. He walked toward her then and wrapped his arms around her. She rested her head against his chest, the warm, wet T-shirt clinging to her cheek.
“My cock comes with conditions,” he said against her hair.
She tipped her face up to his and dragged his mouth down to hers. “Are you going to tell me what they are?”
She didn’t give him the chance. She kissed him, pouring everything she couldn’t say into the stroke of her tongue, the glide of her lips against his.
* * *
Capturing her jaw with one rough palm, he urged her neck back until she rested against his shoulder. With the other thumb, he traced a line from the bottom of her chin down her throat to the collar of her T-shirt. Again, he traced the line of her throat with feather-light strokes, his fingertips teasing her skin, sending shivers of pleasure flowing over her. He nibbled on her ear, sucking gently as he finally peeled her T-shirt over her head, revealing all that was not sensible about her.
She’d turned down the second command, a job he knew she’d craved, a job she should have taken. He had a chance to make a life with her. He was going to hold on to this as long as he could. He lifted her against him, carrying her the short distance into his home. He didn’t give her a chance to look at the mess of his kitchen or the unmade bed. He simply laid her down on the twisted mess of his sheets and stripped her with fevered urgency.
He couldn’t name the moment when Claire had become the object of his dreams, only that she had. It was a chance at happiness he’d done nothing to deserve but he was going to take it. For as long as he had it, he’d take it.
She rolled until she straddled him, then threaded her fingers with his and slid her heat against his erection with a tiny movement of her hips.
After a moment she pulled back, stroking his cheek with one hand, loving the scrape of his two-day shadow against her palm. She cupped his cheeks in her palms. “I love your cock, Evan.” She traced her tongue against his bottom lip. “But I love you more.”
He laughed and she felt it deep, deep inside of her. “I’m asking you to give me a shot. I’m not an easy person to love and I don’t really know how to do this whole relationship thing, but I’m asking you to take a chance on me. To help me learn to trust.”
And then she moved and Evan sank home, deep into her lush, wet heat, and in that moment, he held her tight in his arms, no barriers, no walls. Just him. Just her.
She brushed her lips against his as she slid down his length once more. “Because I do love you. I don’t know how to do that, but I want to try and learn.”
Beautiful and unbound, Claire rose over him, her hips twisting in the darkest pleasure until she shattered and came apart around him.
* * *
Later, when he held her against him, her hands stroked idly over his chest and shoulder. They lingered on the scar over his shoulder before drifting down beneath the sheet that covered them. Her hand drifted lower again, finding him already aroused. “So about these conditions your penis comes with?”
“Why don’t we talk about those later?” He grinned against her mouth and cradled her face in his hands, marveling that this woman was finally his. “I think we have time.”
“Yeah. I think we do.”
EPILOGUE
Claire walked into the house and dropped her body armor next to Evan’s near the front door. Every muscle in her body ached from spending all day on the range during the last day of a two-week-long field training exercise and she wanted nothing more than to collapse into a heap and sleep for a week.
“Evan?” Silence greeted her shout and she frowned. His truck was in the driveway so he couldn’t be far. Figuring he was somewhere around, she walked into the bathroom and stripped off her sweaty uniform. Her bones creaked as she stepped into the shower, holding her head beneath the steady steam. Pulsing heat penetrated her sore muscles and she rotated her neck, trying to ease away some of the soreness.
She’d been gone to the field for a week with her new squadron and she was flat-out wrecked. She’d thought there were some grade-A pricks in her previous team, but they had nothing on the first-class assholes she was working with now.
She loved it. It was a challenge, and Claire loved nothing more than a challenge.
The shower stall opened and she glanced up, a smile pouring over her. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Evan left the door open and started stripping in front of her. She marveled at the beauty of the man, watched the fresh black ink of Casey’s name ripple across his back as he moved.
“How’s the tattoo?” she asked as he pulled off his boots.
“Healing well.” He looked up at her, his gaze dark and intense. “I talked to my parents today.”
She smiled, feeling a starburst of joy that he’d managed to finally reconnect with his family, followed quickly by terror at his next words. “They’re coming down next weekend.” He finished getting naked in three seconds flat and he stepped in behind her. His fingers sought her shoulders, instantly finding her sorest spots. “They want to meet you.”
She rolled her neck at his ministrations. “You have no idea how terrifying that is for me to hear.”
“You’ll do fine.” His quiet laugh rumbled through her body as his hands continued to explore. “So later, I have something for you.”
“Oh yeah? That’s not fair. I didn’t get you anything.” She f
rowned, tipping her head back to lean it against his shoulder. “Wait, what are we celebrating?”
“Couple of things,” he murmured, nipping her ear. “Me getting you to move in, for one. You not freaking out for a full six months.” He cupped her breasts, nibbling on her neck. “And me asking you to marry me.”
His arms tightened around her as she stiffened. “Don’t freak out,” he whispered, holding her close, his body cradling hers. “It’s only a matter of time before one of us comes down on orders. The army doesn’t recognize life partners.”
He turned her gently, cupping her face. “This isn’t just about the army, Claire. I like coming home to you. I like knowing you’re there, even if you’re better at blowing shit up than you are at cooking chicken.”
“That’s not fair. I followed the instructions,” she said, her voice breaking.
“And no one died from food poisoning.” Evan smiled as water sluiced between their bodies. “I want you in my life, Claire. Today. Next week. Next year.” He pressed his lips gently to hers. “Say yes?”
She smiled against his mouth, fighting to keep her voice from breaking. “What if I say no?”
“You won’t.” He leaned back. “Will you?”
Shaking her head slowly, she reached between their bodies. Slowly she slid her hand over his erection. “Does this mean I get to keep your penis around?”
“You can do whatever you want to it, so long as it doesn’t involve hot wax or shaving.”
“I shaved for you.”
Evan laughed. “You’ve never seen a bald cock. It looks like a plucked chicken.”
In all her life, she’d never imagined laughing during a marriage proposal. She’d never imagined any marriage proposal. Still smiling, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him fiercely. “Yes, Evan, I’ll marry you.”
About the Author
PHOTO CREDIT: COURTESY OF BUZZ COVINGTON PHOTOGRAPHY
Jessica Scott is a career army officer, mother of two daughters, three cats, three dogs, and two escape-artist hamsters, wife to a career NCO, and wrangler of all things stuffed and fluffy. She has commanded two companies, served in Germany, Korea, Fort Hood, and Iraq, and been lucky not to get fired. She is a terrible cook and an even worse housekeeper, but she’s a pretty good shot with her assigned weapon. Somehow, her children are pretty well adjusted and her husband still loves her, despite burned water and a messy house.
THE EDITOR’S CORNER
Welcome to Loveswept!
Next month, Loveswept is offering our first ever historical e-original title: Samantha Kane’s THE DEVIL’S THIEF. We’re incredibly excited about this sexy tale of wicked passion, where the clever wit and engaging banter shine through in the most captivating way. We believe Samantha Kane is an author to watch – and after reading THE DEVIL’S THIEF, I think you’ll agree. Look for the next book in her Saint’s Devil’s series, TEMPTING A DEVIL in 2013.
We also have a great selection of incredibly sensual and endlessly entertaining classic romances for you to enjoy.
PARADISE CAFÉ … Beloved author Adrienne Staff’s sensual story of reckless desire.
THE PERFECT CATCH … Linda Cajio’s playful book about the sexy game of love.
TEASE ME and BAYOU HEAT … two sizzling novels from Donna Kauffman.
And if you’re already anticipating the holidays, don’t miss Debra Dixon’s DOC HOLIDAY, a touching and humorous story about the magic of Christmas.
If you love romance … then you’re ready to be Loveswept!
Gina Wachtel
Associate Publisher
P.S. Watch for these terrific Loveswept titles coming soon: December brings these fantastic releases: Juliet Rosetti’s charming ESCAPE DIARIES, Juliana Garnett’s enchanting medieval THE MAGIC, and four more breathtaking stories from Donna Kauffman: BOUNTY HUNTER, TANGO IN PRADISE, ILLEGAL MOTION, and BLACK SATIN. We start 2013 with a fantastic new e-original from Wendy Vella, THE RELUCTANT COUNTESS, Donna Kauffman’s captivating WILD RAIN, Karen Leabo’s moving MILLICENT’S MEDICINE MAN, and three fantastic titles from Linda Cajio: SILK ON THE SKIN, HARD HABIT TO BREAK, and THE RELUCTANT PRINCE. Don’t miss any of these extraordinary reads. I promise that you’ll fall in love and treasure these stories for years to come.…
Read on for excerpts from more Loveswept titles …
Read on for an excerpt from Elisabeth Barrett’s
Blaze of Winter
CHAPTER 1
Of all the possible pranks a person could pull in the Star Harbor Library, putting a dead fish in the heating vent ranked high on the list of ones to try. And Theodore Grayson would know. He’d played that very trick twenty years ago, with his brothers Cole and Seb as his partners-in-crime. Still, the risk—considerable, given that every wall vent in the main room was visible from the circulation desk—had been worth the payout. His large frame tucked into a carrel at the very scene of his youthful misconduct, Theo smiled at the memory.
They had done the deed in the middle of one of Star Harbor’s coldest winters, and with the heat on full blast, it had taken precisely thirty-seven hours for the smell to become overpowering. Even better, he and his brothers had all been present to witness the prank’s outcome—the unholy stench, a furious search for the source, and finally, a full evacuation of the library. And as any good trickster—Theo himself included—would acknowledge, a key component of every good prank was the payout.
The payout. The completion. The end. If only he could achieve the same with this damned book he should be writing. His smile faded fast.
“What the hell am I doing back in Star Harbor?” he groaned, shoving his chair back from the desk and abruptly standing up. An octogenarian seated on a nearby love seat flipped down Wednesday’s edition of the Boston Globe and gave him a disapproving look from beneath her tightly curled blue-tinted locks. In return, he gave her a dirty grin, and she let out a small gasp as her head disappeared in a rustle behind the Arts section.
Glancing around the library, he noted that nothing much had changed in twenty years. Same taupe walls, same signs over the reference desk, same green-shaded banker’s lamps on each long table. Only the posters displaying the covers of the latest bestselling books were different. Wryly, he noted that his own book wasn’t represented. Theodore Grayson, better known as T. R. Grayson—Star Harbor’s native son, bad boy made good.
But perhaps not good enough to warrant a place on the hallowed walls of the library.
No one met his eyes as he glanced around, so he sighed and slouched back down into his seat, pulling it forward until his fingers were once again aligned with the keyboard of his laptop. Then he took off his glasses—the stylish frames had been a gift from his publicist—and rubbed his eyes, willing the thoughts, phrases, and sentences to come.
They didn’t.
What the hell was wrong with him? In a few short months he’d gone from literary darling to feeling like a hack. He was in a funk, unable to make the stubborn words emerge from wherever they were hiding in his brain. A change of scenery—more accurately, a change of coast—hadn’t made a whit of difference. Trying to plot and write his latest book was just as slow-going here as it had been in San Francisco.
Worse yet, it wasn’t just the writing. He couldn’t quite put his finger on the problem, but it was obvious he was in some sort of a slump.
Over Labor Day weekend, Cole had mentioned that he might be able to find renewed inspiration in Star Harbor. At the time, he’d thought his brother’s idea was brilliant. Ditch his bohemian, intellectual lifestyle in San Francisco and reconnect with his roots by spending the fall in Star Harbor. It was the most beautiful time of year in his hometown, and he’d been certain it would give him the fuel he needed to write his book. Plenty of stimulation, ideas, and solitude.
But he hadn’t made it to town until just before Thanksgiving. Now it was December, Star Harbor was freezing, he hadn’t written a word, and the quiet was beginning to weigh on him like a millstone around his neck. Plus, he
was bunking down with his brothers Val and Cole on Val’s small houseboat, which didn’t help matters at all. He’d known it would be a far cry from his spacious artist’s loft in San Francisco’s Mission district, but he hadn’t realized quite how bad it would be. How was he supposed to think, let alone write, when he couldn’t get a decent night’s sleep in that tiny berth? The two months he’d planned to stay in town suddenly seemed like a life sentence.
“Crap,” he said a bit too loudly.
He glanced up, expecting the old lady to cluck at him again. Instead, he found himself face-to-face with Emma Bishop, Star Harbor’s librarian and his friend Jimmy’s new wife. She and Jimmy had gotten married a couple of months before, but Theo had missed the wedding due to a book tour commitment. Emma looked good—shiny russet hair, sparkling blue eyes, and wire-rimmed glasses perched on a pert nose. Dressed in a tweed skirt and silk blouse, her small figure reminded him of an elegant little bird.
Before she could say anything, he raised his hand in apology. “Let me guess,” he said. “I’ve been reported.”
“You could say that,” she confirmed, shooting a quick glance at the love seat. The old lady had her face buried in the paper. Though Emma looked apologetic, there was a little twinkle in her eye. “Could you please keep it down? I’d hate to—”
“Kick me out?” Theo laughed. It wouldn’t be the first time. Except now he was thirty-two, not twelve.
“I don’t think it’ll come to that,” she said. “You’ll behave.” This was said with the hint of a smile. She knew how to handle him, all right. No surprise, given that her husband had been almost as much of a troublemaker as the Grayson boys back in the day.
Until There Was You (Coming Home, #2) Page 22