Friendly Fire (The Echo Platoon Series, Book 3) (6 page)

Juliet was used to men. She dealt with hardnosed cops and smartass lawyers on a daily basis. But none of them had ever caught her interest—which Tristan apparently had, whether her sister wanted to admit to it or not.

Furthermore, Jeremiah's absence had been glaring. If he hadn't shown up by then, he wasn't going to. His decision to avoid her made her want to throw in the towel on having fun.

With no desire to hamper Juliet's good time, she'd returned to her cabin, stopping at the ship's library on the way back to check out a book. Then she'd changed into her nightie and started reading. It had been easy to lose herself in the non-fiction account of the Mayan culture, especially since she would soon be visiting the ruins of Tulum.

But with the hour so late and Juliet still out, Emma supposed she ought to dress again and fetch Sammy from Kids' Zone just in case Juliet found herself... indisposed.

"After all, what happens on a cruise ship stays on a cruise ship," Emma muttered, squashing a prick of envy.

As she slipped into the sundress she'd worn earlier that day, she was conscious of the faint rocking of the ocean under her feet. It was hard to believe the
Escapade
was surging across the waters of the Gulf. Harder still to grasp that Jeremiah Winters was aboard this same floating cosmos, bound for the same sandy shores.

Of their own accord, her thoughts drifted back to the day they'd become acquainted. She'd been sitting at her desk in her office at GMU grading essays. A knock at the open door had drawn her gaze to where he'd stood with his backpack over one shoulder and an easy grin on his face.

"Hello," she'd said. "Mr. Winters, right?" That early in the semester, she could only recall his last name from her class roster.

"Jeremiah," he'd reminded her. "It said on the syllabus that you have office hours now?"

"Yes. Come on in. Have a seat."

He'd dropped into the chair next to her desk stretching his longs legs out before him.

"How can I help you?"

Unzipping his backpack, he'd pulled out their text book.

"I've been reading some of the poems we skipped over." He'd cast her a sheepish smile. "And I really wanted to talk to you about these."

With long, sensitive looking fingers, he'd flipped to the section allotted to William Wordsworth and pointed to a collection of poems entitled
Ode on Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood
.

"They reminded me of William Blake's
Songs of Innocence
." His eyes shone with introspection as he lifted them to her. "This one especially." Reading it, he offered his interpretation. "Or am I way off?" he'd asked.

"Not at all. That's an excellent comparison." She'd noted his shaped thumb nail.

"You play the guitar?" she guessed.

Pleasure lit his hazel eyes. "Yes, do you?"

"No, only piano. But I listen to guitar music all the time, especially Brazilian."

"Do you know Baden Powell?" he asked.

"Of course." She marveled that the young man had even heard of the deceased musician. "He was the best classical guitar player who ever lived. I love his music."

"I have every song he ever recorded on my iPod," he attested.

"No way. And I have all of his CDs," she said, thinking that fact highlighted their age difference.

His mobile mouth quirked at one corner. "You're not much older than I am."

What an odd thing to say! Had he read her mind? She laughed self-consciously. "Oh, no? How old are you?"

"Twenty-two."

"You didn't go to college straight out of high school?"

"No, I backpacked through Europe doing odd jobs."

"Lucky you." She'd been to Europe on her honeymoon and had ached to return ever since.

He looked down at the book. "I
am
lucky. My parents insisted on it. Traveling puts everything I'm studying into perspective."

"Are you an English major?"

"Philosophy with a minor in French. But I really like your class."

"Well, if anything else in the textbook grabs your imagination, come by and discuss it with me. I'm always available at this time," she invited.

"Awesome." He started to put his book away then stopped and looked her in the eye. "You didn't say how old you are."

His deep-set, slightly tapered eyes seemed to be teasing her.

"Twenty-eight," she'd said, wishing she were younger—and not married.

"Do you believe in soul mates?"

Surprise had kept her tongue-tied.

"You said in class the other day that Wordsworth and his sister were considered soul mates. That made me wonder if you believe in them."

Her thoughts had gone to Eddie, whom she'd met in her junior year as an undergrad. Having lost both her parents two years prior, she had latched onto him with relief. He was steady and reliable. But she wouldn't have called him her soul mate so much as her pillar of strength.

"I guess so. I teach Romantic lit, after all," she'd said, though she'd explained on the first day of class that the term "romantic" had nothing to do with romance.

Standing up, he'd slung his backpack over his shoulder and sent her a slow smile that put a dimple in his left cheek. "Great," he'd said. "See you in class." And then he'd turned and walked out of her office.

Rousing from her daydream, Emma slipped her feet into her sandals and left the cabin to get her daughter. She hadn't taken five steps down the hallway when the object of her obsession rounded the corner up ahead of her. They both slowed to a stop. Their gazes locked.

"Hi," she said, starting forward again.

He did the same. "You decided not to go," he stated. The breadth of his shoulders seemed to block the light from the recessed lighting in the ceiling overhead.

How could he know that, unless...? "Well, I saw that you weren't there, so I decided not to intrude on their tête à tête," she explained, deciding she might as well be honest.

His mobile mouth gave a sardonic twist. "That's pretty much what I did, too."

So, he
had
showed up. But he seemed distracted, like something else was troubling him. Had he been thinking of her just now, the way she'd been thinking of him?

He took a sudden step toward her, making her gasp softly. Then it struck her. After all these years, he still smelled the same—like balsam.

Raising a hand, he startled her by stroking the side of her face with fingers that used to be smooth but were now lightly callused. His touch elicited a response deep down inside. Nearly overwhelmed, she backed against the side of the corridor's paneled wall, and he followed, not losing the connection of his fingers to her skin.

She tried to keep her eyes open, to stare into his hazel and gold-flecked gaze, but he was moving closer, and she had to slam her eyelids shut to stop him from seeing how vulnerable she felt.

"English," he grated, calling her by the nickname he'd once given her. And then he lowered his head and crushed her mouth under his.

His intensity electrified her. He kissed with a desperation she didn't understand, pressing his lips to hers with a mix of frustration and anguish. Imprisoned by the vortex of his emotion, all she could do was reel under his power.

But then a child's voice floated toward them, causing him to release her suddenly. Emma straightened, moving away from the wall and a step away from Jeremiah, just as Juliet rounded the corner with Sammy in tow. Her heart pounded erratically as they approached her.

Jeremiah had already moved past her, continuing toward his cabin.

Emma forced herself to ignore him while gathering her composure.

"Thanks for fetching her," she said to her sister, surprised by the hoarseness of her own voice. "I hope you didn't cut your evening short."

Juliet divided a discerning gaze between her flushed face and Jeremiah's retreating back. "No problem."

"Did you have a good time, honey?" Emma focused on her daughter as she led them all into their room.

"Awesome! I want to go again tomorrow."

"I think that's possible." She kept her tone upbeat, while confusion stormed her heart. Why the turbulent kiss? Was something serious troubling him? Or was he simply exploring what had been between them to see if it still existed?

"Sorry about my timing," Juliet said under her breath.

"No problem," Emma replied, supplying the same response her sister had used a moment before. But if that kiss hadn't been interrupted, where would it have led?

To heartache, of course. She was glad Juliet had rescued her. Her attraction for Jeremiah obviously hadn't dwindled in five years. If anything, his maturity made him that much more appealing. But knowing what she knew now about love, she'd be a fool to get involved with him again.

Chapter 4

Popping the last bite of toast into his mouth, Jeremiah realized Emma's sister, Juliet, was headed toward his and Tristan's table. Scanning the Fiesta Galley for Emma, he found her taking a seat on the other side of the buffet-style cafeteria. Just then, she glanced up. Their gazes collided, giving rise to a high-voltage charge that zapped him to his toes.

Emma jerked her gaze toward her daughter, pretending indifference, but color that bloomed in her cheeks heartened him.

Maybe his impulsive kiss the night before hadn't scared her away. Wearing a white sundress and backlit by a window filled with sky and sea, her beauty called to him.

He should not have kissed her so intently, letting his frustration over the impending doom he sensed get the better of him. Not only that, but he'd violated his resolve to wait for her to make the first move. His aggressive behavior might have pushed her away irrevocably.

"Hi." Juliet laid a tray of pastries and coffee on the glossy wood surface, then sent him a pointed smile. He immediately pushed back his chair.

"Oh, you don't have to leave," she protested insincerely.

"Bye." Tristan shot him a grin.

Picking up his coffee, Jeremiah headed doggedly toward Emma's table. He wished he could explain his premonitions to her without scaring her. He owed her an apology for kissing her so roughly last night. But, more than that, he felt compelled to raise her awareness of the threat barreling down on them. After all, she had her daughter to think of.

"With all this food available, you're eating Raisin Bran?" Emma asked Sammy. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Jeremiah heading for her table, and her pulse doubled its beat.

"Unh-unh. I'm having ice cream next."

With an inward sigh, Emma swallowed her protests. Sammy was already dressed in her swimsuit intending to spend her morning in the pool. A scoop of ice cream wouldn't do her a bit of harm.

"Mind if join you?" The SEAL loomed over them carrying a cup of coffee and wearing an apologetic expression.

Sammy glanced up in surprise.

"Not at all." Emma moved her tray making room.

He dropped into the chair across from hers, and their knees bumped, keeping her pulse erratic.

"Hi," he said to her daughter.

"Sammy, this is Jeremiah Winters." Emma made a formal introduction, though they'd met in the safety drill. "He used to be a student of mine."

Jeremiah held out a hand to her, but Sammy ignored it in order to smother a burp.

"Excuse me," she exclaimed, sounding so prim in contrast to the belch that he laughed. "Can I go to the pool now?" she implored.

"I thought you were going to have ice cream," Emma said, pained by her daughter's rudeness.

"I'm going to take it to the pool and eat it there," Sammy declared, jumping up.

"Don't forget your pool bag." Emma snatched it off the floor and handed it to her. "And you need to put on sunscreen first thing, especially on your nose and shoulders."

Sammy took the bag and scampered off without another word.

Emma hid her chagrin behind a sip of orange juice.

"How long have you been divorced?"

The unexpected question caused her to choke on a swallow. With citrus burning her throat, she put her glass down and met his gaze. "Almost three years."