“Well, take it slowly or you won’t be sleeping tonight.”
Yeah, that doesn’t sound paternal at all
. He tried not to imagine activities they could fill the hours with if she wasn’t sleeping.
“I’m not going to be sleeping tonight. I have too much cooking to do.” She glanced around him at some new arrivals as if searching. Her gaze dropped to the coffee cup and her expression clouded.
“I’m sorry you don’t see him when you hear someone come in.” The fist around his heart didn’t relax. He didn’t have to ask. He’d do the same thing if he were somewhere his brothers should have been—had been—and he wouldn’t be seeing them again.
“Thanks.” She didn’t look up from her food, locked in a struggle with her sadness.
Not dwelling on why, he reached over and covered her hand with his. “What can I do to help?”
She didn’t answer immediately, and he worried she wouldn’t. Then she looked up from the table and gripped his hand. “Tell me about being here, the truth of it. What it’s like, what you feel, what you think about…?”
It wouldn’t be pleasant, but he could do that.
“Okay, you eat, and I’ll tell you.” Giving her hand a squeeze, he waited for her to pick up her fork. After she took the first mouthful, he exhaled a long breath. “It’s lonely….”
Listening to Charlie hurt Jana all the way down to her soul, but in a strange way, it also helped. He told her the days were long and sometimes the nights were worse—the darkness increased the sense of isolation, reminded him about what he missed and it didn’t matter when his deployment ended. Guys went home all kinds of ways, body bags included.
She expected melancholy, but the plain acceptance in his voice arrested her sadness and gave it a poignant perspective she couldn’t have imagined when she’d boarded the plane the day before. As much as she wanted to keep talking to him, she needed to check the food and get turkeys started. Morning would arrive soon enough, and they planned to serve the first shift their Thanksgiving meal by ten hundred hours.
Back in the kitchen, Charlie’s words lingered in her mind. Robbie had loved being a Marine, but never shared that side of his life with her. The more she thought about it, the more she realized all of his letters home focused on items she mentioned to him—her school, her projects, her love life—or lack thereof. He always heartily approved of the latter. But he didn’t share his loneliness, his pain, or his fears. When they talked about plans for him, it had always been in the abstract.
At twenty-two hundred hours, the sergeant actually kicked her out of the kitchen. He brought in two Marines who would watch over the cooking food, both of whom apparently volunteered, and as much as she wanted to stay and do her job, she wavered on her feet. So far no one she encountered had known her brother. They knew
of
him, they’d seen him around, but they hadn’t known him well.
Hadn’t he had any friends?
She fumbled with the buckles on her jacket when a pair of hands pushed aside her fingers and took over. Blinking, she stared at Charlie.
When did he get here?
“You’re tired.” No judgment hung on the words, but a tiny frown creased his brow. It was a sexy frown. Not that frowns were typically anything.
Wow, my brain is muddled
.
“A little.” She dragged her teeth across her lower lip, the pinch of pain helping to clear some of the fog from her brain. “I didn’t know you were coming back.”
“I told Hall to call me when you were ready to go, remember?” He secured the jacket flaps around her neck and buckled her helmet on for her. “Come on, let’s get you to your room. When is the latest you absolutely need to report in here?”
“Hmm.” She studied the ovens. The Marines in charge of basting and watching over the slow-roasting meats worked cheerfully enough. All of the breads and desserts were ready. That left veggies, which really wouldn’t take that long, if someone else peeled the potatoes. “Sergeant Hall?”
The man glanced up from the paperwork he filled out. The kitchen was already spotless, the evening crew having scrubbed it down and put away any remnants from the meal. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Would it be too much trouble to have someone peel all the potatoes we have so I can make a couple of pans of roasted to go with the mashed and sweet potatoes?”
His solemn face broke into a smile. “Not at all. Private Miller will take care of all of them for you.”
The other men grinned quickly before their expressions sobered. She almost felt sorry for Miller, but too tired to get him out of whatever earned him the assignment. “Thank you.”
“Our pleasure, and thank you, ma’am, for the meal. We’re all looking forward to it.”
A dim glow of satisfaction warmed her belly and chased away the chill of her darker thoughts. “Honestly, the pleasure is mine.”
“Only if you get some sleep.” Charlie nudged her toward the door. “Ma’am.” A layer of teasing buoyed the last word, as though he tweaked her on the nose.
Trudging after him obediently, she couldn’t quite smother a yawn. “Do you guys add bricks to this jacket every time I take it off?” It definitely seemed heavier than earlier, and the helmet itched. She’d joked once that she could never follow her brother into the military—camo wasn’t her color—but the heck with the fashion of it, it weighed too damn much.
“Could be. We like to protect our valuables.” Despite the light quip, he halted at the door to the outside. “Remember,
stay
right behind me.”
As before, three fully-armed, uniformed men waited right outside and fell in around her. She’d barely gotten a real glimpse of the base since arriving, and it didn’t seem like she would get a look now, particularly the way Charlie hustled her along. The air had turned a lot cooler, almost nippy, and she suppressed a shiver. The setting sun seemed to have stripped away any remaining warmth. Pops echoed through the night, a muffled rumble snapping through the quiet, as regular and disregarded as crickets on a summer night and yet not at the same time at all.
Fortunately, the trip between the mess hall and the building housing her room didn’t take long, but she still stuffed her hands into her pockets. Their escort peeled off after Charlie got her inside, and he led her through the maze to her room. She didn’t try to sightsee. She really wanted the helmet off and the faster they got to their destination, the sooner that could happen.
He opened her door and shuttled her inside, pausing to study her. “Sleep in. I’ll come get you closer to eight.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t get to be here that long and I really want tomorrow’s food to go well.” A few hours of sleep and she would be fine.
If I can sleep
.
Charlie frowned and she thought he wanted to say more, but instead he glanced at her chest. “Do you want some help getting out of that?”
“I’m good. I can apparently unbuckle, it’s buckling I suck at.” She laughed. Poor choice of words on her part.
He nodded but didn’t step out.
Pulling the helmet off and setting it on the bed, she reached back to loosen her braid. Her head ached a little from how tautly she’d weaved it. “Charlie? Do you want to come in for a bit?”
Another frown tightened the line between his eyebrows.
“It’s okay if you want to go get some sleep, but I don’t really want to be on my own yet.” She
didn’t
want to be. Everything seemed surreal there, from her actual presence to the conversation over dinner, to her wardrobe of bulletproof vest and flak jacket. This wasn’t a dorm room—hell, her dorm room was nicer than this little hole in the wall with its sparse, utilitarian furnishings. But she couldn’t get past what he’d said to her at dinner.
It’s lonely
….
Still, he hesitated.
Combing her fingers through her hair, she rubbed at her tender scalp. Maybe the request hadn’t been fair. “Sorry, you do not need to babysit me. Go get some sleep, Captain. I’m a big girl.”
Applauding her ability to handle the potential rejection smoothly, she fled into the bathroom and closed the door. The microscopic closet of a room would probably give a claustrophobe nightmares, but, right then, she needed the box and the alone time it provided and was profoundly grateful for the solitude. She’d asked a man to stay and talk to her—a virtual stranger, even if he was a Marine.
Worse, the Marine had been involved in her brother’s death.
But it isn’t and wasn’t his fault.… Accidents happen, bad intel happens, and it costs people
. She understood it on a level she couldn’t quite explain and, strangely enough, her heart accepted it. He suffered; she’d seen it bleed through every sentence of the letter he’d sent her family—and all their subsequent communications. Maybe that explained why he answered her letter when she wrote him back. Every response earned another one. She’d spotted the hurt in his gaze, revealed for a few brief seconds when he’d said,
It’s lonely
….
She struggled to get out of the flak, almost making a liar out of herself. Setting it on the back of the toilet, she stripped the rest of her clothes off and hung them to air out in the little room. The shower, still lukewarm, helped sluice away her embarrassment. By the time she finished and pulled on an oversized cotton shirt with the single word, Marine, emblazoned across it, and a clean pair of undies, she felt almost human again. She packed her dirty clothes into the duffel and shoved the whole thing under the sink.
Brush in hand, she padded back into her room and stopped.
Charlie sat on the room’s only chair, his helmet and flak missing along with the weapon he’d carried earlier.
“Oh.” She blinked.
“You asked me to stay, right?” He rose, appearing uncertain for the first time since she met him.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, and she wished she’d grabbed a bottle of water before they left the mess because her mouth went very dry. “I did.” The cooler air brushed her legs and reminded her of her lack of pants. “I just didn’t think you would.”
“I can go and let you sleep.” He turned the chair around and put it back precisely.
But he’d stayed—or maybe gone back to his room and then returned while she lingered in the shower? “Wait.” Her words caught him with his hand on the doorknob. “I really do want you to stay.”
Maybe he was the connection she’d come here to find—she’d formed one with his e-mails. Or maybe the bleak reality of this place had gotten to her. Somewhere between dinner, the shower, and the craziness of her entire trip, she’d made a decision and it all snapped into focus for her. She didn’t want him to go. He hurt—like she did.
“I think you know what’s going to happen if I stay.” He didn’t turn around.
“Are you married?” Her pulse rabbited faster.
“No.” The word was almost too soft to hear.
She swallowed. “Seeing someone?”
“No.”
Tension clenched her belly. “So….” She exhaled, gathering her courage.
See the hill, take the hill
. “Stay.”
He bowed his head and went so still maybe he sought a gentle way to turn her down. Dangling on the edge of disappointment, she tried to shove it all back down.
“A few hours—it’s all I’m asking….”
Let him go gracefully, girl
.
But he pushed away from the door and crossed the room in two swift steps to crush her against his chest, claimed her mouth, and she forgot all about letting go.
From the moment she closed the door to the bathroom, Charlie recognized the correct choice lay in leaving her alone. Go to his room next door, strip out of the gear, and sleep. But real rest eluded him anymore. He slept in brief snatches of moments, fifteen minutes here, thirty minutes there. If the dreams didn’t wake him, the pop of gunfire filling the darkness like crickets on a summer night would.
Back in his room, he’d set his gear aside and secured his weapon. But she’d asked him if he wanted to come in and seemed so damn vulnerable with her hair spilling over her shoulders and her beautiful, sad eyes begging him to make it better. Returning to her room, he intended only to tell her good night, but she was in the shower a long time, and he waited for her.
I’ll just make sure she’s okay
….
He paved a road to hell with intentions, because when she walked out of the bathroom, all fresh-smelling, with damp hair, and long legs, and wearing only a T-shirt, every single one of his honorable plans crumbled to dust.
She’s young…. Hell, she’s younger than Naomi
. He wanted to kick himself square in the nuts for even considering a woman his little sister’s age, and it took every ounce of his willpower to get to the door.
His hand didn’t turn the knob, and she asked him if he was married or seeing anyone. She didn’t shy away when he said she knew what would happen if he stayed.
“Stay. A few hours—it’s all I’m asking….”
The invitation, coupled with the wild need to be clean and free of it all, even for a brief time, eroded the last traces of his will. He abandoned his noble intentions and swept her up. Her mouth opened to him from the first brush of his lips.
Everything about her was sweet and soft, from the hint of sugar on her tongue to her decadent curves. Cupping her face, he tried to focus only on how their mouths met. Maybe if he took enough from it, he’d be able to let her go. Somehow, between one stroke of his tongue and the next, she worked her hands under his shirt, her palms cool on his overheated flesh.
She moaned low in her throat, demanding his kiss. Relief flooded him.
She’s not an inexperienced virgin
. Worries about taking advantage of the situation fled, and he wanted to rush, take her hard and fast. Unwilling to release her mouth, he tilted his head, deepening the contact and slid his hands down to cup her ass.
Soft cotton panties stood between him and sinking into her—well, those and his own clothes, which she tugged at impatiently. Growling, he stepped away and pulled off his shirt. His boots came off swiftly and he reached for his belt, pausing only long enough to make sure he’d locked her door.