Authors: Mila Gray
covered it yet.’
I smile at him. ‘Yes I have. You might think you’re a
badass soldier, but I’ve known you since you were four-
teen, Kit. You can’t fool me. I know who you are.’
He looks across at me, his mouth pulling up at one
side, a curious look on his face.
One of the reasons I fell for Kit in the first place is
because he’s not like normal guys. For a start, not many
twenty-one-year-olds are as physically fit as him or Riley.
The Marine Corps training is the toughest in the military,
and by the time they finished their sixteen-week basic
training they were both unrecognizable. They’d both
been fit before, but when they came home my jaw hit the
ground. They were pure, solid muscle, leaner, sharper-
angled somehow, their eyes quicker, their posture more
rigid, their bearing more confident.
But it’s not Kit’s physique that I’m talking about. It’s
the way he is, the confidence he has that’s beyond his
years. He speaks softly – I’ve never seen him lose his
temper or shout – and when he walks into a room it’s like
he’s a magnet and everything, including the air, is drawn
towards him. Although I know he can strip an automatic
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weapon in under ten seconds and is trained to lead men
into battle, I’ve also seen him singing lullabies to his baby
nieces while he cradles them in his arms, and jump off a
pier to save a drowning dog.
‘You remember the time you and Riley took me to the
movies?’ I ask.
Kit frowns, trying to recall it. I guess the memory isn’t
as deeply embedded in his brain as it is in mine. It was a
night my dad was throwing a fit – about dinner being late
or something equally trivial – and Riley and Kit bundled
me out the house and took me for a burger and a movie.
In my head I pretended I was on a date (handily ignoring
Riley’s presence).
‘You guys wanted to see
Iron Man 2
but it was sold out
so you took me to see
Eclipse
instead,’ I remind him.
Kit grimaces instantly. ‘Oh yeah, how could I forget the
sparkly vampires.’
‘Don’t give me that. You totally cried at the end. I saw
you.’
Kit opens his mouth to protest but then shuts it. ‘Well,
you know, I’m a little partial to stories about forbidden
love,’ he says. ‘Give a guy a break.’
We drive for another hour except it doesn’t feel like an
hour because we spend the whole time laughing and talk-
ing, and it’s only when I glance at the watch on Kit’s
wrist and see that it’s nearly midnight that I bother to
look out at the dark stretch of road we’re on and ask, ‘Are
we driving all the way across the country?’
‘No ma’am,’ Kit answers. ‘Five more miles and we’re
there.’
I look out at the empty dark desert on either side of the
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Mila Gray
car. It’s impossible to see anything beyond the twenty
or so metres that are lit up by the truck headlights. A buzz
of excitement hits me. I settle back in my seat, cocooning
myself inside his sweater, and he looks across at me.
‘That’s better,’ he says, taking my hand and squeezing it.
‘What’s better?’
‘You didn’t ask where we were going.’
I frown at him but he just keeps smiling.
‘You’re starting to trust me,’ he says.
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Kit
I guide the truck slowly over the rutted ground and kill
the engine. The sudden silence that fills the cab is louder
than television static. I glance across at Jessa who’s star-
ing out the window expectantly, a little line furrowing her
brow. I know she really wants to ask where we are and is
desperately trying not to. I put her out of her misery by
killing the headlights. Immediately blackness envelops
us, rushing in like a wave, swallowing the car whole.
Jessa gasps. The sky above us is lit up like a chandelier.
I crack open the door and get out the truck. ‘Wait
there,’ I tell her, but she doesn’t answer; she’s staring at
the sky with a look of total wonder on her face.
I hop up onto the flatbed of the truck and lay out the
blankets I brought, regretting not bringing pillows. Not
for me – I’ve slept on far harder ground than this – but for
Jessa. I hope it’s not too cold. The desert’s freezing at
night, even at this time of year.
Once I’m done I hop down and head around to the
passenger side to open the door. I take Jessa’s hand and
she slips down from the truck. She doesn’t say a word.
Her head is cricked backwards staring up at the night sky.
Putting my hands on her waist I lift her up so she can
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scramble onto the flat bed of the truck, then climb up
after her. Jessa’s kneeling down on the blanket and I lie
down on my side beside her.
‘This is amazing,’ she says, still not taking her eyes off
the sky.
‘It’s one of the best places in California for stargazing,’
I say, though I’m yet to look at the stars. Next to Jessa
they kind of pale.
‘I can’t believe I’ve never been here before,’ she says,
resting back on her elbows and stretching her legs out. I
take a deep breath, trying to tear my eyes off the smooth,
tempting length of them. I snatch the spare blanket and
throw it over us, then lie down beside her. After a
moment she rolls gently against me. I lift my arm and she
scoots even closer, resting her head on my shoulder. For a
long while neither of us moves, and I’m not sure about
Jessa, but I know that I’m not thinking about stars. All I
can concentrate on is the feel of Jessa’s body relaxing
against mine, the warmth of her bare legs pressed against
my thigh, the feel of her breasts against my side and the
cool silk of her hair tickling my neck.
The tension in her body gradually seeps away as my
hand gently strokes her shoulder and arm beneath the
blanket. Goosebumps prickle her skin and my gut tight-
ens in answer. I want nothing more than to kiss her, but I
don’t. I don’t want her to think I brought her all this way
just so I could make out with her. I mean, I do want to
make out with her, but I also want to take things slowly,
make sure she knows I’m not putting any pressure on her.
If all we did was lie here and look up at the stars, that
would be enough.
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‘That’s the big dipper,’ I say, pointing out the plough
shape of stars in the sky. ‘And this little one here, that’s
the little dipper, Ursa Minor. See the brightest star in it?
At the end of the handle? That’s the North Star.’
Jessa follows my hand with her eyes.
‘It’s always there, all night. Doesn’t rise, doesn’t set. All
the other stars revolve around it. It’s the one you look for
if you’re lost. It’ll take you home.’
Jessa is quiet for a moment. ‘How do you know all
this?’ she finally asks.
‘They taught us in basic training. We have to be able to
navigate without a compass at night.’
Jessa tenses a little and then her hand moves beneath
the blanket and comes to rest on my stomach. Oh man. I
hope to God it stays there and doesn’t wander any lower,
because I’m barely managing to stay cool as it is.
‘What else did they teach you?’ she asks, her fingertips
gently and slowly smoothing their way across my T-shirt,
tracing the bottom line of my ribs and then my stomach
muscles. Blood pounds in my ears like a hammer against
an anvil.
‘To iron. I have mad ironing skills,’ I practically stam-
mer. ‘And I also know which spoon to use for soup and
which to use for dessert.’
‘Useful in the heat of battle,’ she laughs. ‘Why do you
need to know about place settings?’
‘We work in an embassy. We’re guarding diplomats.
They give us etiquette lessons before they send us into the
field so we don’t go embarrassing ourselves at all the
fancy functions and act like grunts who’ve never seen a
knife and fork before.’
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Jessa leans up on one shoulder and looks at me
strangely, as though she’s checking if I’m kidding or not.
I’m not. ‘You get to go to parties?’ she asks.
I shrug, pulling her back down so her head rests on my
shoulder. I like feeling the weight of it there. ‘Yeah, some-
times. I mean, embassy functions, socials, that kind of
thing.’
‘And there I was imagining you living in a dorm with a
dozen guys, standing sentry all night and living on rat
packs.’
She’s talking about the foil pouches containing what
some guy with no taste buds who works in supply
believes constitutes food – the packs marines are forced to
eat in combat zones. ‘Nah,’ I tell her. ‘No rat packs for us.
We have our own chef.’
She tries to sit up again but I tickle her under the arm
and she collapses back down, this time almost right on
top of me.
‘You get your own chef?’ she asks, incredulous. ‘No
wonder you and Riley both wanted to become embassy
guards.’
It’s true. Both Riley and I trained hard and sat numer-
ous tests so we could be selected for embassy duty.
They’re pretty choosy, but we both made the rank of
corporal and then made the grade. But right now, it must
be said, I couldn’t pass a simple English proficiency test.
Jessa’s thigh is flung across my legs, her stomach resting
on my hip, and I can feel my body responding automatic-
ally. I try to think of my old drill sergeant screaming in
my face, to picture myself in the pit doing push-ups until
my body cramps, but when Jessa leans her weight on her
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arms and looks down at me, her hair trailing down on
either side of my face, her lips just an inch from my own,
all those images vanish, replaced with just one − her
naked beneath me.
It’s been almost a year since I’ve been with a girl. Usu-
ally marine security guards have the easiest time when it
comes to getting girls. We’re based in cities, guarding
embassies, we’re not infantry on deployment, so we go to
parties, find ways to sneak girls into our dorms, flirt with
embassy staff and have affairs, even though we’re not
supposed to. I’ve had several casual flings over the years
while based overseas, and a few here in between deploy-
ments, but in Sudan there wasn’t much in the way of
nightlife and all the embassy staff were male. Even if they
hadn’t been, though, I know I wouldn’t have been look-
ing, not with Jessa so much on my mind.
She presses her lips to mine and I have to suppress a
groan. I hold her hips lightly and then stroke a hand up
her back between her shoulder blades. My tongue
explores her mouth and even though I’m longing to
explore more than that, to run my hands over every curve
of her body, kiss every bare inch of her, I don’t. I’m happy
to go at whatever pace she wants to set. Besides, kissing
her is plenty. I bite her bottom lip and she lets out a gasp
and digs her fingers into my waist. I’m so hard that the
pressure of her weight is making things painful.
Eventually, unable to take it much more, I roll her off
my chest and onto her side, turning to face her. My pulse
is so elevated you’d think I’d just run a three-minute
mile, and I have to take a long, deep breath to try to
steady it. Jessa’s cheeks are flushed and she’s breathing
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fast. She places a hand on my face, grazing her palm
across my jaw, then traces the shape of my lips. I kiss her
fingertips and watch her as she takes in a sharp breath.
Her eyelids become heavy, her lips part. My mind fills
with the image of her lying naked in my arms, her head
thrown back with abandon. My imagination is most
definitely making up for lost time.
‘So,’ she whispers. ‘Are you going to tell me then?’
‘Tell you what?’ I ask.
She smiles slyly, her fingers delicately tapping my
collar bone. ‘Your dad asked if you were going to tell me
how you feel.’
I stare at her. Put me on the spot much? ‘Still thinking
about it,’ I tell her, enjoying the disappointment that flares
across her face. I wink at her. ‘Don’t want to mess things
up.’Jessa’s disappointment gives way to a smile. I kiss her
once more, then draw away, rolling onto my back and
pulling her under my arm. She sighs contentedly and
rests her head on my chest, just below my chin.
I think about what she said earlier, about how she sees