Craving Her Soldier's Touch

“As of tonight he does,” she said.

“This woman, the one you set out to rescue tonight. She’s so special her safety is worth putting yours at risk?”

“You don’t know anything about me, do you?” she asked.

He knew everything that mattered. She was smart, funny, thoughtful, beautiful, sexy, and there was a time he’d rather spend his time with her than with anyone else.

She shifted in her seat to face him. “Come on, Ian. Tell the truth. You never looked me up on the Internet? Never gave in to that niggling interest people seem to have about just how much I’m worth?”

Eyes focused on the road, he shook his head. “Sorry to disappoint but I prefer to get to know people on my own terms rather than reading what others have to say about them, and I’m more interested in your body than your bank account.” Was interested. Was, as in past tense. He could not allow Jaci to distract him from what he had to do.

She smiled. “You always tell it like it is, don’t you?”

He glanced over and smiled right back. “That’s why you love me.”

Her smile vanished.

Wrong thing to say. Idiot. Because she didn’t love him. At the moment she barely liked him, her scorn totally justified. It was for the best, for both of them. That didn’t mean he had to like it.

He waited for her to lay into him.

Instead she said, “When you get home tonight, go online and keyword Piermont Tragedy, Scarsdale, New York. Then you’ll understand why I will do whatever I can to help women escape abusive relationships. And since I’m of legal age, no one gets a say in how I go about doing it.” She turned back toward the window. “This conversation is over.”

In the interest of peace between them, he let the topic slide. “I, uh, got your letter.” Perfectly formed cursive written on classy pale pink stationery in purple ink. Five pages front and back, upbeat, with no mention of her proposal of marriage or his rude, hasty retreat. The woman could make the simple act of doing laundry entertaining. And the scent. Her perfume. He’d stored it in a zipper-lock plastic bag to preserve the aroma, carried it in his pocket, slept with it, jerked off to it.

“If you’d left me a way to contact you before you took off, if you’d put forth the slightest effort by writing me back or e-mailing me or in some way letting me know it got to you, maybe I would have sent you more.” She spoke without moving, still looking out the window. But the emotion in her voice let him know he’d hurt her feelings.

So much for peace between them.

He tried to explain. “When I’m in a warzone I can’t be distracted by thoughts of home. I’m there to do a job, to complete the tasks I’m assigned and get out alive.” He glanced at her. “And I thought it’d be easier on you to not feel obligated to write me or think about me.” Or worry or search for lists of dead and wounded every time a bloody battle made the news. Like his mother had each time his father had been deployed overseas.

“So let me get this straight.” She turned to him and finally took off that ridiculous wig. “For the better part of four months we spent a portion of almost every day together. I ran with you.”

He’d timed his runs to make sure he’d pass by their parking lot at exactly six o’clock to facilitate their meeting up for the last five miles of his ten mile jog.

“I cooked for you.”

His mouth watered at the memory of her chicken with rosemary.

“We watched movies on my couch.”

His body ached to feel her cuddled up beside him.

“Our friendship progressed to the point I invited you into my bed, into my body, into my future. And in that feeble-minded head of yours you came to the conclusion if you fled my condo—in your boxer shorts you were in such a hurry—then scurried off to the base hours before you were scheduled to report and cut off all contact with me I would poof,” she flared out her fingers in front of her beautiful face, “forget all about you?”

Or hate him. Either way, a clean break.

“Maybe your attempt would have been more successful,” she went on, “if you hadn’t stolen from me. If each time I looked at the shelves in my living room I wasn’t reminded that the empty space where my favorite picture of Jena and me is supposed to be is empty because of you.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “All you had to do was ask, and I’d have happily given you a picture.”

But it may not have been the one he’d wanted. Jaci and her identical twin, standing arm in arm by what looked like the family swimming pool, wearing matching string bikinis so skimpy they wouldn’t have passed for bathing suits on most public U.S. beaches.

And had he asked to take a picture of her with him to war, she would have thought there was more to their relationship than there was. Or than he’d thought there was at the time.

Would she be less angry if he’d ripped the photo down the center and only taken the half with her in it? Because as much as he’d wanted to make a clean break, he couldn’t get himself to leave without having some piece of her to hold on to, and one glimpse of the snapshot in the light and he could tell the twins apart.

Jaci’s smile warm and genuine. Her eyes lit with laughter, fun, and mischief. Her sister’s smile shy almost forced. Cautious. Her eyes haunted and sad.

“Maybe if someone hadn’t e-mailed my brother and a dozen or so other men in our social circle that some soldier in Iraq was bragging about a threesome he’d had with me and Jena. God.” She threw the wig in a bag at her feet. “The thought repulses me. You repulse me.”

Ian fought for calm as he leaned out the window to punch in his code, waited for the metal gates to open and steered the car into the parking lot of their luxury high rise. “I never said that, Jaci. I swear.”

“Were we or were we not referred to as Ice melt?” she yelled. “That’s your nickname, isn’t it? Ice?”

Ian parked the car in Jaci’s spot, turned off the engine, and shifted to face her. “I didn’t tell anyone you, Jena and I had sex together.” He ran a hand over his face. Disgusted. “Guys are pigs. Get a bunch of them together on a military base, add in a picture of two, identical, hot, almost naked women, and it was the twin fantasy run amok.”

Apparently he was going about this explanation thing all wrong because Jaci thrust open her car door and jumped out like the interior of the vehicle had caught fire.

“Wait,” he called out, rushing through the rain, his left leg stiff, slowing him down. “I didn’t say it was my fantasy.” Well. Okay. To be perfectly honest the thought had crossed his mind—briefly—when they’d first met. But since honesty didn’t seem to be working out so well for him at the moment, he decided to keep that bit of truth to himself.

Bottom line, a few days in Jaci’s company and he’d had no desire to share their limited time together with anyone else. Male or female.

He caught up to her as she was scanning her key card in front of the security sensor. With a buzz the door unlocked and Ian opened it. In the vestibule he pushed on the inner glass door to stop her from entering the lobby. She wouldn’t look at him.

“In all the years my squad has known me, I have never once tacked up a picture on my locker,” he explained to the back of her head. Or gotten caught staring at one like some homesick teenager, unprepared for how much he’d miss her or how the idea of having a beautiful wife to return home to would start to appeal to him. “They made a big deal of it and things got way out of hand. You have to know I would never disrespect you by discussing anything that went on in private between us. And I would never disparage your or your sister’s reputation by spreading lies. I had no idea the rumors made their way back to the U.S. until I returned home and Justin told me.”

“My face is in the newspaper at least twice a month. You didn’t consider the possibility someone might recognize me?”

No. He hadn’t. “It’s a different world over there. I’ll talk to your brother.” Had already left four messages at his office requesting an appointment. “I’ll make a statement to the press.”

Jaci looked at him like he’d offered to don a pink tutu and tights. “Don’t you dare. All that will do is stir the whole thing up again and bring out the whack-a-dos who corroborated the stories and made up lies about Jena and me dating back to junior high school. Now if you don’t mind, I’m wet and tired and would like to slip into a hot bath and put this night behind me.”

At the thought of a naked Jaci, her slick body surrounded by bubbles, submerged in a candlelit tub, Ian felt the twinges of life return to Ian junior.

Ah, yes. Half an hour in Jaci’s presence provided Ian with glimpses of the man he’d been before the explosion, a man capable of feeling more than the anguish of regret, guilt, and loss, something weeks of therapy hadn’t been able to do. He opened the door and followed her through.

In the elevator she pressed the buttons for the fourth and fifth floors. He broke the uncomfortable silence by offering his most sincere apology, “I’m sorry.” Because he was.

She let out a breath and looked down at her black rain boots. “I’m glad you made it home safely.” The doors opened on the fourth floor. She took a step forward, and, standing between them she looked back at him and said, “But what’s done is done. It’s over. Leave it alone.”

He exited the elevator and followed her. God help him, he didn’t want it to be over. Which was why night after night he’d fought the urge to bang on her door, to explain why he’d run, to apologize for what he’d said, and beg her forgiveness.

But to what end?

He trailed behind her.

No matter how much he may have wanted to explore the possibility of a future with Jaci, the bomb blast that’d killed his men obliterated all possibility of a happily ever after for Ian. She’d never understand or accept what he had to do. What woman would? And the last thing he needed was one more person preaching to him about survivor guilt and overreaction due to grief and mourning. Few people understood the bonds formed in battle when soldiers entrusted their lives to the members of their team. The vow—spoken or unspoken—to look after a brother’s family should he be unable to do it himself. There was nothing Ian wouldn’t do for his men—overseas or stateside. And nothing they wouldn’t do for him.

If they were still alive.

But they weren’t. So it fell to Ian, the last man standing, to look after their wives and children, so they weren’t left to struggle like Ian, his mother and sisters had after his father’s death. To preserve their memory, honor their dedication to their country, and make sure no one tried to suppress, diminish or taint either out of anger, resentment or feelings of abandonment, like his mother had.

Their children would grow up with a man around. Ian. Not their fathers, but the next best thing. Their children would grow up knowing their fathers loved them and fought to make the future safer. For them. Their children would be allowed to remain children because Ian would do his best to fill the role of man-around-the-house.

For four households.

His life was no longer his own and the stress of the responsibility he’d taken on and the promises he’d made weighed heavily on his already overburdened psyche.

He’d reached his limit, could not deal with one more woman, one more responsibility in his life. And yet, seeing Jaci again, feeling her, remembering carefree times, Ian couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her, of returning to his condo. Alone. To the nightmares that awaited him whenever he closed his eyes. To the anxiety and tension and overall feeling of instability that plagued him since his return.

She stopped at her door.

His heart pounded. His chest grew tight. Sweat pooled in his armpits.

“Please,” he said. God help him he was begging her to let him stay in her presence, to keep him from retreating into the dark, torturous depths of his mind.

She took out her key. “You are not coming in.”

Desperation gripped him. Panic.

She unlocked the door and opened it.

A baby cried out from inside, clearing his head instantly.

Ian stood in shock unable to move.

Jaci had a baby? No way she’d been pregnant before they’d slept together. He’d monopolized every moment of her spare time for the four months beforehand. Could she have fallen into another man’s arms so soon after his deployment? Maybe. But not likely. Jaci teased and flirted. A lot. But she was very selective about who shared her bed, at least according to Justin who’d known her since high school.

It was one of the reasons their night together meant so much.

Which had to mean the baby was his.

Taking advantage of his stupor, she escaped inside, closing the door behind her.

Ian leaned up against the wall, his mouth suddenly dry, swallowing difficult. He was a man teetering on the edge of sanity, a man with no viable means to support himself, or replenish the savings he’d already spent to fulfill his commitment to his fallen brothers.

And now he was a father, responsible for a tiny, defenseless baby, in addition to everything else.

A baby no one had bothered to tell him about.

Justin was a dead man.

CHAPTER TWO

“YOU’RE here! Three days early.” Jaci’s conflicting emotions over seeing Ian vanished, replaced by jubilation at the return of her sister. She tossed her bag on the kitchen counter, yanked off her raincoat, and toed off her boots.

“I tried to call your home phone when we arrived. Luckily Brandon was at the concierge desk,” Jena said. “I didn’t think you’d mind us coming right up.”

“Of course not. How are you? How was your trip? Is everything okay?” She stripped off her wet clothes right there in the entryway, could not wait to hug her sister and meet her tiny, crying nieces.

“Why are you all wet?” Jena asked.

“Pick up for the crisis center.” No sense worrying her sister with the details. In nothing but a tee and panties, Jaci charged across the hardwood floor of her living room in bare feet. “You look fabulous.” A little white lie. She pulled her twin into her arms and squeezed her tight. “I missed you so much. Promise me you’re home to stay.” Her eyes filled with tears.

Jena hugged her back with equal vigor. “If you promise me that no matter what happens you won’t hate me.”

Hate her? “Are you kidding me?” Jaci tightened her hold. “I could never, ever hate you. I love you.” She stepped back. “Look at these adorable babies.” She rubbed her cold hands together. “I need to wash my hands and warm up before I touch them. Brrrrr it’s chilly in here.”

“Only if you’re wet and naked.”

“So I’m not complaining or anything.” Jaci hurried down the hallway to her bathroom. “But what’s with the surprise arrival?”

“I was worried about the weather. They’re predicting heavy flooding all along the east coast from the storm, and I didn’t want to miss the charity ball,” Jena called after her.

“So you can protect me from Jerry Three?” Since she’d stopped responding to all communication from the current head of the family—despite his threats—after that horrible night he’d received the e-mail from Iraq and summoned her to the estate. Where he’d proceeded to unload every negative, hateful thought he’d harbored against her. It’d taken over an hour, during which he’d blocked her exit from his office. And he’d ended his tirade with a smack to the side of the head she hadn’t seen coming.

Her own fault for underestimating his anger and overestimating how much he’d changed since she’d moved out.

“That’s Jerald Xavier Piermont the third.” Jena did an impressive impression of their pompous half-brother, a man who’d turned out exactly like the heavy-handed, business-focused, wealth-obsessed father they shared. “You disobedient, classless twit.”

“You’ve been practicing.” Jaci smiled, slid into her soft fleece robe and tied the sash. It was good to have her sister home. Where she belonged regardless of the secrets she kept. Like where she’d been for the past ten months, why she’d disappeared without a word of warning, and whose genetic contribution was partly responsible for her precious babies.

“He had the nerve to show up here two weeks ago,” Jaci said. Uninvited. Unwelcome. To demand she stop her childish silent treatment and agree to a date with ‘the most eligible bachelor in the tri-state area’ who Jerry had convinced to meet her. And if she could pretend to be nice for a few short weeks, marriage would unite two powerful families and solidify a highly profitable business merger.

Jaci was not a bargaining chip.

“You know he isn’t as bad as you make him out to be,” Jena said.

Maybe not, if you were sweet and accommodating and easily influenced like Jena. Jaci washed her hands in hot water. But if you, heaven forbid, dared to question him or disagree with him or ignore one of his many ridiculous, oppressive rules, he could be—and was—brutal.

Jaci returned to the second bedroom which she’d outfitted as a nursery in preparation for the twins’ arrival. “So if he’s not so bad,” Jaci said quietly. “Why didn’t you stick around and have the babies locally?”

Without looking up, Jena snapped the sleeper of the baby on the changing table and shrugged.

“He doesn’t know, does he?” Jaci asked.

Still looking at the baby, Jena shook her head. “I figured it’d be best to tell him in front of witnesses.” She looked up and smiled. “With my older, wiser, fearless sister by my side.”

“Two is always better than one,” Jaci repeated their mantra for dealing with Jerry’s nonsense.

“In this case one to do chest compressions while the other runs for the defibrillator after I inform Jerald he’s an uncle to two illegitimate little Piermonts,” Jena said.

“I call the defibrillator.” Jaci held up her hand. And if she should happen to trip and sprain her ankle on the way to get it … oh well.

Jena handed Jaci the baby from the changing table and lifted the other twin from the double stroller.

Jaci cuddled her niece close, rubbed her cheek over fine silky hair, and inhaled the scent of baby shampoo and powder and sweet, loving innocence. “Which of my adorable, unhappy nieces is this?” She rubbed her tiny back in an attempt to calm her.

“For the time being, I dress Abbie in pink and Annie in yellow, until I can tell them apart.”

“Promise me you won’t let anyone label them.” The quiet/sweet/shy one. The mouthy/wild/disrespectful one. Childhood labels were near impossible to outgrow no matter how much a person tried to change or improve.

Jena—who’d often complained of feeling stifled under the expectation of her labels—shook her head. “Promise.”

After Jena changed Annie, Jaci followed her into the kitchen, noting she’d lost all her pregnancy weight and then some. In the bright light she looked drained. Exhausted. Well Jaci would fix that with good food, lots of loving care, and a much needed second pair of hands. “Mom would have liked you naming one of your twins Annie.” After her.

Jena smiled sadly. “I know.”

Jaci settled into a kitchen chair. “I can hold Annie, too, while you make the bottles.” She held out her left hand. “After all, I can’t be the favorite aunt if I come off looking like I’m playing favorites.”

“They’re all of four weeks old, Jaci.” Jena put her free hand on her hip and gave Jaci the give-me-a-break look. “And you’re their only aunt.”

Was she? Without knowing the father’s identity, how could she be sure? Jaci reached for a yellow-socked foot. “Come on. You’ve been hogging them for weeks. Now it’s my turn.”

Jena placed Annie in Jaci’s available arm and she gave her second little niece some loving. “I was trying to clear my schedule before you got here, so I’m on call this week and have to head out for work early tomorrow morning. And I’ve got a full schedule after that. Will you be okay alone?”

“We’ll be fine,” Jena said with a tired smile.

“You know I may have mentioned you were coming home with the twins to Mrs. Calvin up on seven.”

Jena shot her an aggravated look. “I specifically asked you not to tell anyone.”

“How was I supposed to find a quality babysitter, who we are not friends with and doesn’t know Jerry, to babysit on Saturday night without telling them about the twins? She seems nice and always smiles at me when I see her. And she looks so sad sitting in the lobby after her grandchildren leave every Sunday. I wanted to cheer her up. Hey.” Jaci snapped her fingers. “I bet she’d love to come down and give you a hand if you need it tomorrow. It’d be a good opportunity for you to get to know her and show her how you like things done. I’ll leave her number on the refrigerator before I head out in the morning.”

After lifting Annie and handing Jaci Abbie’s bottle Jena smiled. “It’s good to be home.”

With each baby now voraciously sucking on her bottle, the room got suddenly quiet. “How long do you plan to stay?” Jaci couldn’t stop herself from asking. The stress of the next three months, of Jerry intensifying his crusade to marry them off to two of his business associates by their birthday, would be so much easier to handle with Jena by her side.

“Twenty-five years old,” Jena said, as usual, knowing the real question behind her question.

“It’d always seemed so far away.” Jaci stood, had to move. “Damn, daddy. It wasn’t enough to control our every move while he was alive. He has to do it from his grave.” Which he wouldn’t be in if not for Jaci. So many times she’d wished him dead. Death by car accident, bullet wound to the chest from random mugging, asphyxiation from some outrageously expensive food delicacy lodged in his airway. He probably died the way he did on purpose. So she’d be blamed. So she’d have to live with the guilt.

Abbie stirred in her arms. “Ssshhh.” She rocked the tiny bundle. “No one will ever hurt you, sweetie,” she whispered. “You or your sister. Not as long as Auntie Jaci is around.”

Ian couldn’t breathe. Something heavy lay across his chest. He tried to move. Couldn’t. His left leg caught in a vice. On fire.

Something dripped on his chin. He wiped it away. Tried to focus through the darkness.

Heat.

Another drop hit his mouth. He tasted blood. What the …?

Gunfire. In the distance.

Ice reached for his M16. Found a body part instead.

What the hell happened?

More gunfire.

He struggled to get free.

The vacant, lifeless eyes of his buddy, The Kid, stared at him from a blood drenched face. The picture of the man’s wife and one-year-old daughter flashed.

The smell of fire. Burnt flesh. Death.

A baby cried. His baby. He could not die.

A hand touched his shoulder.

They would not take him prisoner. Ian tore his leg from its restraint, pushed at the mass crushing his chest, and twisted free. He tackled his attacker, the enemy, responsible for the death of his team. He raised his fist, inhaled, and smelled … her. Jaci. Felt her warm, willing body beneath him.

Ian junior perked up with interest.

Oh how he’d missed her, dreamed of her, aroused and undulating beneath him. He rocked his hips, needed her, to escape. To forget.

“Ian. Stop.” Not the words he wanted to hear right now. Usually she was so happy to see him. So welcoming. “Wake up. Get off me.” Instead of pulling him close, she pushed at his chest, sounding … angry.

He opened his eyes to the shadowed greys of an overcast early morning—the wind and rain from last night still raging outside. He lay on his side between Justin’s sofa and coffee table, on the floor, partially sprawled over a fully clothed Jaci.

A skilled tactician, Ian quickly scrolled through his options.

1) Retreat with an apology

2) Engage with an explanation

3) Instigate with an accusation

4) Distract with arousal

Since, by his estimation, lucky number four held the greatest potential for a pleasurable outcome, and it seemed a shame to let his first hard-on in months go to waste, Ian leaned close and nuzzled Jaci’s ear. “About time you got around to welcoming me home properly. Like you promised.” He pulled her into his arms. “I’ve dreamed of holding you.”—At least he had until the explosion had blown every happy thought from his head. No. He would not think about that night or the war or all that had been lost as a result of a roadside bomb. Not when he had Jaci—the real Jaci—within kissing distance. Not when he had the chance to bury himself deep inside of her one last time.