Home for a Soldier (11 page)

And then, as if he understood, Rory
shifted back. He brought her knees together and slid the almost non-existent
panties down her legs, until they fell to the floor.

“Are you all right with this?” he
asked as he nudged her knees apart again.

“Yes,” she breathed. “
Yes.
”
She didn’t understand what made every gesture, every touch so glorious. Perhaps
the fact that their union was sanctioned in the eyes of God and by the laws of
man had released some deep-seated inhibition in her reserved nature. All Grace
knew was that she desperately wanted him to continue.

Rory sent her a shadow of a smile,
his face taut with tension, reflecting the effort it cost him to keep the pace
slow, to make her seduction complete. His head dipped again. His lips found her,
this time without the barrier of fabric, and the heat from his mouth seared her
to the core.

A torrent of sensation burst through
her, drew a low moan from her throat. Her hands fisted over the bedspread, and
her breath rasped in tight gasps as Rory sucked her swollen bead into his mouth.

The climb to the peak happened so
fast it caught her by surprise. Totally unprepared for the hurricane force that
unleashed inside her, Grace jerked up on the bed. She shut her eyes tight and
let out a guttural cry. Somewhere in the back of her mind she registered how raw
and unfeminine the sound must have been, but the thought vanished, buried under
the pulsing waves that shook her, the pleasure reeling over her like a shock,
which for a brief moment stole her sanity.

Grace calmed to see Rory between her
open knees, his hands resting on her thighs, his palms stroking her as she
continued to shudder beneath his touch. He studied her with a look that awakened
her modesty. A fiery blush rose from her breasts to her face, and lids fluttered
down to shield her eyes.

“Grace,” Rory said, and from his
tone, she knew he wouldn’t be ignored.

“What?” she asked, defensive.

“Don’t close me out.”

Slowly, she raised her gaze and saw a
strangely vulnerable expression on his face. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “It’s
just— scary that you can do that to me.”

“I’m not doing something to you.
We’re doing something together.”

His words knocked down the shield of
reserve that had gathered inside her, had caused her to pull away. “I’d like my
husband to make love to me now,” she told him, feeling bold once more.

Rory hurried to strip out of his
remaining clothes, carelessly dropping the garments on the floor. He climbed up
on the bed, leaned over her and began to roam her skin, finding one tender
location after another, kissing, teasing, biting, touching, stroking, until
Grace trembled beneath him.

Her courage grew, and she joined the
exploration, running her hands over his ridged muscles, feeling the coiled
strength beneath. She pressed her lips to his neck and breathed in the musky
scent, so different from hers. When she reached down to his groin and curled her
fingers around his steely shaft, the harsh moan that burst from his chest made
her shudder with a sense of power.

It seemed the most natural thing in
the world when Rory stopped to cover himself with a condom. He settled above
her, his hips heavy in the cradle of her open thighs, and slowly inched into
her.

As Rory began to move, easing out,
thrusting back in, the slow rhythm wove a spell that pushed Grace’s anxieties
about the future aside. Her legs rose to coil around him, and her hips rocked in
a motion to match his.

Rory controlled his weight with his
elbows, pinning her down without crushing her. He raised his head, and his dark
eyes studied her face. “Ready for more?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Watching her, Rory increased the pace
and force of his thrusts. Grace gasped as she felt him stretch her. A tension
shimmered around her, inside her. The answer felt too far to begin with, but
like a miracle, the steady advance and recoil that seemed to go on forever
brought the elusive tightening closer, until a release burst inside her again,
and flooded her with a longing that rushed through her like a potent drug that
would forever remain in her blood.

She bowed under Rory, crying out. He
withdrew and surged into her once more. Then he reared up, and their bodies
pulsed together, as if speaking a secret language, making promises that their
conscious minds refused to contemplate.

After their shudders stilled, Rory’s
powerful frame curved behind her to form a warm shield, and for the first time
in her life, Grace didn’t feel the need to slip into pajamas before drifting off
to sleep.

* * * *

When Grace awoke, she didn’t have to
open her eyes to know that Rory was gone. Loneliness penetrated the room, like a
cold draft that whistles under doors and through the window frames. She flicked
on the bedside lamp and scurried up, oblivious to her nakedness.

No duffle bag lay in the corner. No
shirt or jacket hung over the back of the chair. No masculine clothing littered
the floor. Not a single sign remained of Rory, except for a sheet of paper on
the circular table, weighed down with a bunch of keys, and a small black velvet
box.

Grace snatched up the paper. It
contained a Manhattan address. Nothing else. Not even a scrawled “
Thank you
”
or “
Sorry
”.

Her movements slow and cautious, she
picked up the velvet box and balanced it in her palm while she flicked open the
lid. Inside, twin gold droplets inlaid with diamonds and sapphires glinted in
the beam of light from the bedside lamp.

Grace snapped the box shut, clenched
it in her fist, and burst into tears.

Grace lowered her suitcase to the icy
sidewalk and tucked the wool scarf more securely around her neck. Ahead of her,
dark buildings reached into the laden winter sky, and in the distance, traffic
roared along Fifth Avenue. 

She really ought to have taken a cab
from Penn Station, but every penny counted. The walk to Rory’s apartment across
Lower Manhattan was only a dozen blocks or so, and the train from Jersey City
cost a dollar and seventy-five cents. She could do the journey every day, and
move her belongings little by little.

As she plodded on, bitterness flared
anew inside her. Why had Rory sneaked out? He would only have needed to get
through a few more hours before she was due to fly home, and today he was
leaving for Iraq. She couldn’t chase after him there, even if she wanted to.

But instead of saying goodbye, Rory
had disappeared without a word. Faded into the night like a thief.

She wanted to hate him.

If only he hadn’t been so kind and
gallant with her. Or made every nerve in her body quiver with desire. Or beaten
up those soldiers who had mocked her. Or given her that lovely pair of earrings.

A kernel of something suspiciously
like love had settled inside her, and it scared Grace to think it might flourish
in the fertile soil of her lonely heart. If she didn’t watch out, soon her head
would be filled with foolish dreams of what could develop between them when Rory
returned—if he loved her too.

Which he didn’t.

Grace expelled a tired sigh and
stopped to check a street sign against her map of Manhattan. Her rent in Jersey
City was paid until the end of the month, but like a magnet, the apartment drew
her.

For the next two years, she was going
to live there and pretend that Rory belonged to her.

* * * *

Rory tossed his duffel bag on the
landing and fumbled for the keys. Damn, but he was tired. Whatever had possessed
him to fly home on the red-eye when his departure for Iraq had been postponed to
Friday? He could have spent the extra three days in Vegas, soaking up the sun,
fighting off the willing females that always seemed to cluster around him.

The lock clicked open and he shoved
the door wide, slinging his bag inside. He knew what had brought him home.
Grace.
Every time he closed his eyes, her image filled his mind.

Grace in her giraffe pajamas.

Grace nibbling at a stale
cheeseburger, sneaking careful glances in his direction while he pretended to be
asleep.

Grace in her shimmering white wedding
gown, her hand clamped over her mouth, her eyes huge with panic after she had
promised to love and cherish him
until death do us part
.

Grace beneath him on the bed,
writhing from his touch.

Rory gave his head an angry shake. It
was
not
a road he wanted to follow. Solitary life suited him best. He’d
made his choices ten years ago, and he would stick by them. With a defeated
sigh, he shut the front door behind him, picked up his bag from the floor, and
extracted the key to unlock his room.

But his imagination taunted him with
glimpses of what life could be like if he relented, compromised, reconciled with
his family, sought to make a different kind of life.

A life that included his wife.

* * * *

Grace clutched the bedding tighter
around her, unsure of what had woken her. She’d explored the apartment until
midnight, admiring the stately pieces of furniture in the living room, flicking
open countless books from the walnut armoire to study the dedications from
decades ago.
To Marjorie, with love, from Fredrick. To Fredrick, always
yours, Marjorie.

A trail of footsteps thudded through
the hall. Grace jolted up in bed and listened to the creaking sounds.  Panic
tightened her stomach. She flung the covers aside and jumped to her feet. The
room offered nothing she could use as a weapon, unless she twisted out a wire
hanger and attempted to poke the intruder in the eye with the metal spike. She
edged across the floor and silently turned the door handle.

In the hall, the locked door she had
assumed led to a cleaning closet stood ajar. She slipped out and tiptoed closer,
until she could peek inside. A small room opened before her, with a narrow bed
on the left, wall-mounted shelves on the right, and cardboard boxes stacked on
the floor beneath the shelves. A shadow crossed the room through an archway at
the far end.

Grace slammed the door shut and
turned the key in the lock until it clicked. She didn’t recall seeing a key when
she tried the door yesterday, but she brushed the thought aside. With so much to
explore, she was bound to have missed things.

Her pulse kicked into a wild gallop
as she scurried into the bedroom to get her cell phone and dial 911. Her hands
shook, and she pressed a wrong number. She raced back to the hall and tried
again, her gaze shutting between the keypad and the door handle that rattled as
the burglar tried to break free.

“Grace?” a muffled voice echoed
through the door.

“9-1-1 Operator, what is your
emergency?” said the voice on the cell phone.

“Rory?” Grace muttered.

“This is 9-1-1. What is your
emergency?”

Grace lifted the telephone to her
ear. “None.  It’s my…husband, not an intruder. Sorry to have troubled you.” She
pressed a button to end the call.

“Grace, let me out!”

She leaned against the oak panel and
touched it with her fingertips, as if to check for flames on the other side.
“What are you doing here?” she shouted. Nothing made sense any more. The whole
basis of her marriage had suddenly been yanked away. If there was a conspiracy,
someone had to explain it to her.

“Open up, Grace.”

“No!” Her hands clenched into fists.
Doug and Debbie had introduced her to Rory. If the whole thing was a cruel joke
at her expense, she would never forgive them.
Never
. “Why are you here?”
she asked, her voice tight.

“My flight has been pushed back to
Friday. I need to take out body armor and surveillance equipment. I’ve arranged
for them to be delivered to the New York office. They should arrive on
Thursday.”

“Are we married?”

“Yes, Grace, we’re married.
Until
death do us part
, remember?” The door shook with another rattle. “Open the
door, Grace, before I lose my patience.”

She twisted the lock and toppled into
Rory, who yanked the door open with her fingers still grasping the key.

His arms closed around her, clutching
her to his bare chest. A rumpled T-shirt hung from one of his hands, and the fly
of his jeans flapped open. “I’m sorry I scared you. I came in on the red-eye. I
was going to have a shower before I crashed. I didn’t realize you were here.”

“I thought you were a burglar. I
almost called the cops.”

“It’s my fault.” He eased one arm
from around her and smoothed her hair back from her face. “I should have called,
but by the time I decided to fly out, it was past midnight your time.”

Desperately trying to rein in her
rioting emotions, Grace leaned around his broad shoulders. “I thought this was a
cleaning closet.”

Rory moved aside to let her inspect
the cramped space. “I’ve used this room for the past ten years while I’ve been
in the Army. It’s mostly for storage, but sometimes I’ve stayed here for a few
weeks. There’s a small bathroom through the sliding door.” He released her and
raised his hands to scrub his face. “I need to get some sleep. Will you be here
when I wake up?”