Between Duty and Desire (13 page)

Marine Lingo Translation
Crucible: A grueling 54-hour training exercise for recruits during boot camp characterized by lack of sleep, little food, forced exercise and teamwork.

W
ithin twelve hours, Brock drove to Atlanta, turned in his rental car, bought an SUV and signed a three-month lease for a furnished executive condo. He wanted to live somewhere temporary and convenient, so he could take his time figuring out where he eventually wanted to settle. Everything he did, everything decision he made, he wondered what Callie would choose.

She would probably turn her nose up at the SUV, preferring something smaller and more fuel efficient, but she might approve of the executive condo. She
would change the furnishings, but she would like the skylights and generous expanse of windows.

She would, however, hate the traffic and the busy pace. She would miss the ocean.

He would miss it, too, he thought, as he returned to South Carolina. But he would miss Callie a whole lot more.

As he returned to the small coastal town, Brock gave himself a harsh lecture, reminding himself of the mission he’d intended to complete with Callie. He had accomplished his goal of prying her out of her hermitlike existence. She was able to work now. When he left, she would go out with people. She’d already met the kindergarten teacher for lunch once. He was confident she wouldn’t hide away in her little cottage like she had before. He wondered when she would start dating again, and the prospect bothered him so much he turned the radio on full blast to drown out his thoughts.

Instinctively drawn to her place instead of his, Brock pulled into her driveway and noticed that her car wasn’t there. She hadn’t returned. He wondered how the weekend had gone for her. It was silly as hell, but he wished she had let him join her. More than that, it had stung when she’d told him not to come.

Noticing he was tapping his foot against the floor and drumming his thumb on the steering wheel, he shook his head at his restlessness and got out of the car. He walked toward the beach. It was dark outside,
but the smell of salt filled his nostrils and the breeze moved over him with a cleansing rush.

The wind, however, couldn’t wash thoughts of Callie from his mind. He hadn’t realized how deeply she’d burrowed her way under his skin. Before he’d met her face-to-face, he’d been drawn to her. He’d envied Rob, then when Rob had died, he’d been tormented by visions of her. When he’d become her lover, he’d thought she would quickly lose appeal. He kept waiting, but it wasn’t happening.

His gut tightened at the realization. The reflection of a headlight flashed to his left and he turned, spotting a car pulling into her driveway. His heart picked up. She was back.

Brock walked to the house just as she got out of her car and stretched. “Long drive?”

She stopped midstretch and looked at him. “Oh, I thought it might be you. New wheels?” she asked, tilting her head in the direction of his SUV.

He nodded as he moved toward her. “Yeah. I decided it was time to ditch the rental and make a commitment.”

“Definitely a guy car,” she said.

He’d predicted this. His lips twitched. “You don’t like it. Too big, and bad gas mileage.”

“Exactly,” she said. “And I would have preferred you choose a different color than black.”

“Why? Not artsy enough?” he asked, inhaling her scent and wanting to get closer so he could smell her more.

She shook her head. “Safety reasons, knucklehead,” she said, gently stabbing her finger against his chest. “Black is one of the least visible colors for cars. There’s a time for stealth and a time to be seen.”

His heart twisting, he grabbed her hand and held it against his chest. “Aw, Callie, I didn’t know you cared,” he said, making sure he used a playful tone.

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t get excited. I care for my cat, too.”

“Thanks,” he said dryly. “I’ll remember that.”

He looked at her for a long moment that stretched into two and told his stomach to unknot itself. “You okay?” he asked in a low voice.

She sighed and her eyelids fluttered down, shielding her gaze from his. “Yeah.” She swallowed. “It hurt, but I didn’t feel so lost.” She shrugged and looked up at him. “It’s hard to explain.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want,” he said, lifting his hand to touch her hair.

“Let’s go inside. I’ve been sitting in that car a long time and I need to tinkle.”

Brock chuckled. “You go on in and I’ll unload your car.”

“Don’t forget the wine. I picked up some on my way into town,” she said as she dashed for the front door.

“You did?” he muttered in surprise, not sure what to make of that. Not sure he should make anything of it. Maybe she’d planned to drink a glass of wine in solitude after her long drive. Maybe the wine purchase had nothing to do with him.

Brock swore under his breath. He was overthinking stuff way too much. Grabbing her overnight bag, a backpack and the small grocery bag, he took them into her cottage. He set her overnight bag and backpack in her bedroom then took the grocery bag into the kitchen. He stuck the wine in the freezer, setting his mental timer for twenty minutes. He was about to throw away the grocery bag when he spotted four chocolate chip cookies from the deli.

“I had a burger on the way home, but I thought cookies and wine sounded good,” she said from the doorway. “Two for you and two for me.”

He chuckled. So she had thought of him after all. “You could save the other two for tomorrow night.”

“I can share,” she said, almost flirting with him. “Tell me about your trip.”

He shrugged. “Not much to tell. I bought the SUV and rented a furnished condo.”

“Furnished,” she echoed, wrinkling her nose in disapproval.

“It’s temporary,” he said. “It’s pretty nice. Got skylights and a Jacuzzi.”

“Ooh, I could be a little jealous of the Jacuzzi, but I’ll console myself with my ocean and lack of traffic.”

“Your ocean,” he returned, laughing. “When did it become yours?”

“Okay, my access to the ocean.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I know I’ve been a pain in the butt fix-it project for you, but you’ll miss me more than you plan on.”

He sure as hell hoped not, Brock thought. He’d missed her so much this past weekend it had taken his breath away a few times. “Sure I’ll miss you. Like a toothache,” he teased her as he pulled her against him. He was tired of waiting to hold her.

She thumped his chest with her fist. “It’s gonna be weird not having you around.”

“I’m only a phone call away. Just a four-hour drive.”

She bit her lip and shook her head. “I’m not going to bug you when you’re starting your new adventure.”

“What if I don’t think of it as bugging me?”

She shook her head again. “That’s just your over-developed sense of responsibility talking.”

He wanted to argue, but shelved it for another time. Now, at least, she was in his arms. “I’m not feeling responsible right now,” he said and lowered his head.

“Oh, really? Wha—”

He took her mouth with his, stopping her words. She immediately lifted her hands to the back of his neck and his heart turned over. He took his time with her mouth, kissing her so long he had to pull back for air.

“You feel so good,” she whispered. “The whole drive home, I thought about how good you feel.”

The sensual need in her voice pulled every chain inside him. “I thought about you a lot, too,” he muttered.

“You don’t sound happy about it,” she murmured, running her lips over his throat.

Brock wasn’t happy about it. He felt his body temperature rise another degree. Impatient with her clothes, with his clothes, with anything between
them, he slid his fingers over her nipples and approved the ripple that raced through her.

He felt her tug his shirt loose and slip her hands underneath. He felt so hot he wondered if his skin sizzled at her touch. A groan escaped his throat when she pulled at the buttons on his shirt.

“I was planning on wine, cookies then you, but…” Her voice trailed off as she pressed her open mouth on his chest.

Brock groaned again. “We can have the wine. It just needs to chill a little longer.”

“That’ll take too long,” she protested, lowering her mouth to his belly.

Brock swore. “No, it won’t. I put it in the freezer.”

She glanced up at him. “How long?”

“Fifteen or twenty minutes,” he said, his heart pounding at the dark, wanting expression in her eyes.

She bit her lip and lowered her palm to the front of his pants. “I think you’re ready now.”

Unbearably aroused by her boldness, he held his breath. “Seems like I’m always ready around you.”

She closed her eyes and pressed her mouth against his chest. “But I’m ready, too. I’ve been ready for you for hours.”

Brock started to sweat. “You’re making it impossible for me to go slow with you.”

“I don’t want slow tonight,” she said, pulling her shirt over her head and tossing her bra aside. “I just want you.”

Something inside him snapped. He felt hard and
urgent, almost desperate. No almost about it. He felt lust and something more. He wanted to give and take, to possess. He couldn’t rebel against the primitive need. He wanted Callie to be his and no one else’s. He wanted to mark her as his. Feeling his muscles twitch from the strain of restraint, he argued with himself. Until she took his mouth. And then he was lost to everything but her.

Sliding his hands under her bottom, he picked her up and strode to her bedroom. It was dark except for the light streaming in from the hallway. He tumbled her onto the bed and immediately followed her down. His mouth seeking hers, he helped rid her of her clothes and his. Her skin felt like the softest satin beneath him—hot satin. He touched her between her thighs and found her damp and ready.

“Do I need a con—”

She shook her head. “I took care of—”

Unable to wait one more second, he thrust inside her. Her sigh mingled with his.

“Take me,” she pleaded. “Let me take you.”

She already had taken him, he thought, as he began to move inside her in a rhythm guaranteed to send him over the edge in no time. He held her as she urged him on and from the corner of his eye, he saw her bedside table with Rob’s photo, his medals and his cover…Even as Brock tumbled over the edge, something inside him whispered
you’ll never really have her.

That didn’t keep him from trying. Remembering
the bottle of wine in the freezer, he collected it along with some glasses and toasted every inch of her starting with her hair. He toasted her eyes and nose, which made her giggle. He toasted her lips several times, then her chin. He spilled a little wine on her and kissed it away. She returned the favor, and pretty soon he ditched the wine. She tasted better anyway.

He made love to her again and again throughout the night, trying to get enough of her, trying to fill himself up enough that maybe he wouldn’t want her so much.

When dawn slipped through her bedroom window he was sexually satisfied, sated. Sighing, he looked at her, but she was turned away from him. He felt an odd gnawing sensation in his gut. He wanted to see her face. Her hair spilled over the pillow behind her and she was very still. Sleeping, he thought, until he saw her chest rise in a jerky movement and heard a tight choking sound.

Alarmed, Brock sat up. “Callie?” He glanced in the same direction she was looking and his heart sank. She was looking at Rob’s medals and his cover, his photo. He heard her sniff and his stomach twisted. “Callie,” he said, reaching for her.

She flinched away from his touch.

That slight movement sliced him.

Pulling the sheet with her, she sat up, swiping at her cheeks. “I’m sorry. It just hit me all of a sudden.” Her voice was strained and tight. “I kept it together all weekend. I got a little sad at the memorial when
I thought about Rob and me and some of the things we did when we were kids, but—” She broke off and closed her eyes, taking a steadying breath. She opened her eyes and met his gaze. “I’m really starting to lose him,” she whispered, desperation oozing from her. “I don’t think about him every other minute anymore.”

He took her hand in his even though it hurt not to pull her into his arms. “You’re not losing him, Callie. You’re just starting to live again. He’ll always be a part of you, your art, the way you look at people. He’ll always be with you even when you’re not thinking about him.”

There was so much more he wanted to say, more he wanted to be to her. Rob may have been Callie’s history, but Brock wanted to be her future. The desire was starting to consume him. He was beginning to think that going through the grueling Crucible training in boot camp had been nothing compared to what he’d gotten himself into with Callie.

He met her for a midmorning walk. It was a windy, sunny day and she chattered excitedly about how much progress she was making with her art. Her voice sounded like music to him. One more thing he would miss like hell. He hated the way his gut felt, like it was being twisted and torn out of him.

She reached for his hand and pulled him to a stop, laughing. “You haven’t said a word and you’re walking like you’re headed for Egypt. What’s up?”

He paused, memorizing how her hand felt on his—soft and small, yet firm. “Not Egypt,” he said, meeting her gaze. “Just Atlanta.”

Her smile fell and she brushed her hair out of her face. “How soon?”

“Today.”

Her eyes widened and she looked away. “Wow.”

“Callie,” he began, wanting to reassure her.

She lifted her hand and shook her head. “No, no, no. You don’t have to baby me. I knew this was com ing. I’ll be okay. I
am
okay,” she corrected, lifting her lips in a forced, but determined smile. “You don’t have to worry. I won’t weep and wail. I won’t act like Velcro. I won’t be plastic cling wrap around you.”

What if that was what he wanted?
“You know you can call me for anything,” he said. “I can be here in no time if you need me.”

“But I won’t,” she insisted, lifting her chin. “I appreciate everything you’ve done. You pulled me out of my hole and—” She broke off and shook her head smiling. “God rest Rob’s soul, but you gave me the best sex I’ve ever had.”