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Other Titles by Katherine Owen

This Much Is True

Seeing Julia

Not To Us

Part One—My Girl

The last time we dance is nothing special, but I remember it now.

There's that.

~Jordan Holloway

Chapter 1. Can't help falling in love

Jordan

The distant notes of an updated version of "Can't help falling in love" plays from the stereo speakers, and we move along the grass slow dancing in the moonlight, but really not paying attention to the significance of the song or the romantic light shedding from the full moon or the whispered musings of our friends who watch us. We are in our own perfect world, like always. It's almost our last night together, and I have been a bitch about just about everything since nine this morning. He leaves in two days, and I have decided to make him pay for it on so many levels that I've lost count. Fear of abandonment is one of my character flaws. I tried to be up-front about it when we first met, but Ethan chose to ignore it. Now, almost four years later, I've begun to wonder if he has any idea of what my deepest fear really entails. Or, if he just doesn't see it and loves me anyway.

His lips brush my forehead, now. "Don't be mad."

"I'm not mad."

"Don't be mad, and don't lie to me, either," he says with a laugh. His charm almost undoes my anger, but not quite.

"Fuck you, Holloway." My ability to swear has been one of the biggest character attributes that I've gleaned and honed to perfection over the years from my best friend, Ashleigh.

Ethan just laughs again. "I promise. This is the last tour, Mrs. Holloway. I promise. The last one. Even old Brock is getting tired of it."

I glance around Ethan at his sniper partner, Lieutenant Brock Wainwright, who is busy trying to pick up the very single Ashleigh Blondell. A part of me feels guilty for not warning the man about Ashleigh's black widow ways. Yet, another part is secretly entertained by the thought of the charming Brock Wainwright being unceremoniously dumped on his ass by the end of the weekend by my insatiable best friend. Two notorious sex fiends that will probably outdo each other in short order. Both are legendary for their inability to commit to other human beings, because their idea of a relationship consists of no more than two consecutive dates or a long one-night stand.
Who can outlast who?
A mischievous smile spreads across my face.

Ethan looks at me with raised eyebrow. "What?"

"Looks like Ashleigh and Brock are going to get to know each other better." I nod in their general direction.

"Brock can handle it, and so can Ashleigh."

"Finally, we agree on something."

I fight the urge to actually smile. Ethan doesn't answer. He just lifts up my chin with his finger and kisses me—one of his let-me-show-you-how-much-I-love-you-baby kisses. His kiss threatens to undermine my annoyance with him.

A few minutes later, he's charmed me enough to allow myself to get pulled along into the shadows by him. We make our way down the twelve steps that lead to our little section of sandy beach and the Pacific Ocean.

Half undressed and moving beneath him, I finally let go of some of the reasons why I am angry at him. My insecurities at his leaving drift away in the ensuing minutes of our lovemaking, which I must admit has always worked with me. And, Ethan knows this.

I close my eyes and let him invade all of my senses and give myself up to him. How is it possible to still be this in love with him after so long? The man is the sun to my falling rain. He makes me want to believe in happily-ever-after's, even though I gave up on those long ago. He fills my world with so much love and profound joy; I feel guilty for having and taking so much. These thoughts rush at me, while he satisfies my body in ways that seem almost impossible. His hands run along my sides and caress my breasts. My breath comes in jagged gasps as he pitches into me with his familiar, frenzied passionate ways.

With his explorations of my body, I cannot keep up my guard against him. Again, my mind tries to summon up righteous anger at him for leaving me, but I fail. Undone, I lie back in the sanctuary of the cool sand dune. Under the magical spell of his traveling fingers, I finally give myself up to him.

"Don't be mad, baby," he says to me when we finish.

The last vestiges of the anger deep inside I've been holding on to melt away at his words. He truly does know me better than myself and I can only laugh as I process this revelation as he leans down and kisses me again.

Ethan lies in the twilight beside me breathing heavy. Out of the corner of my eye I watch his chest move up and down as he gasps for breath. I love watching him breathe. I always have. I roll up on to my side and just stare at his fine features outlined in the subtle moonlight. He looks like a Greek god—statuesque, perfect, bigger than life.

Despair at his leaving finds me again. I feel helpless all at once engulfed in silent desperation. His leaving feels likes the loss of my parents all over again.

"You win," I finally say.

"I always win," Ethan says back to me.

He looks over at me and gives me this confident smile. I can barely see his face in the diminishing light, but I trace the outline of his face with my finger. "I love you, Jordan, for always."

His words bring tears to my eyes.

"Then, don't go." My begging sounds frantic even to me and I lie back down in resignation. Turn my back to him so he won't see my sudden tears. He moves in behind me and cradles my head in his chest.

"Have to."

He sits up and leans over me, trailing his fingers beneath my dress.

"Want to."

I slide away from him, retrieving my panties as I go and slip them back on. I smooth down the folds of my party dress purchased especially for tonight's event.

"Sometimes, I think you love Brock Wainwright more than you love me. And Max." I bite my lip regretting my words. "Sorry. I shouldn't have said that. It's not fair."

"No, but you don't always fight fair."

"I'm not fighting with you," I say.

It's not fair that I've brought up Max. Ethan misses our son probably more than he does me. He's barely spent any time with our three-year-old. Max, who, right now, sleeps peacefully in his bedroom, despite the party taking place. Ethan shakes his head and looks sad for a moment and then grins at me. I push up to a stand, just out of his reach, and tower above him.

"Don't be mad," he says as if I haven't spoken. "You know I love you. And Max. I'll be back as soon as I can. Just know this, Jordan—"

The clear sound of footsteps coming down the wooden steps has us both glancing over into the darkness and the general direction of the stairs at the same time. "Ethan?" Brock calls out.

"Over here."

My husband gives me a pleading look. I quickly finger-fix my hair, then pull it back, and re-clasp the rhinestone ponytail holder, just as Brock comes up to us.

Ethan's best friend is all smiles. I blush in the semi-darkness, knowing he knows we were fooling around on the beach. What is wrong with me? Why do I care what Brock Wainwright thinks of me?

"Sorry, did I interrupt something?" Brock drawls.

His southern accent is somewhat charming and I find myself half-smiling, despite my embarrassment and general irritation at his ill-timed interruption. Ethan slyly grins over at me. His secretive smile promises that we will take up where we left off when we're alone again. He trails his hand along my bare leg. I automatically respond to his touch with a shudder getting even more embarrassed. My face gets hot.

"No, not at all," Ethan says. "We were just getting ready to come back."

I extend my hand and pull Ethan to his feet. He catches me in his arms and kisses me in front of Brock.

"Baby, don't be mad," Ethan says.

"I'm not," I say quietly.

The truth is I'm getting upset again. At Ethan. At his best friend, just for being here. I forcefully extricate myself from Ethan's tight grip around my waist and step back. All the while, Brock watches this interaction with a raised eyebrow. His quizzical look infuriates me further.

"I'm going to check on the guests."

"Don't go, Jordan," Ethan says.

I force myself to smile, to play it casual.

"Don't go," he says again.

"Have to," I say with a touch of irony. This inner anguish unfurls at his beseeching tone, but I start up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Their conversation drifts upward to me.

"What's wrong with her?" Brock asks.

"She's upset that I'm leaving again."

"Tired of being married to a Navy SEAL?"

I hear Brock's easy laughter and then Ethan's sigh.

"No, tired of the Navy SEAL not being here."

"Jordan, I love you for always," Ethan says.