Home for a Soldier (14 page)

“Grace,” Rory rasped. “Do you have
any idea how you look?”

“No,” she replied. To conquer her
inhibitions, she pretended that she was a showgirl on a Las Vegas stage. She
spun to face him, hands propped on her hips above the garters that held up the
black silk stockings. “Tell me how I look,” she said in a husky voice.

“You have the longest legs I’ve ever
seen. And the tiniest waist. The brightest eyes and the purest skin.” Rory
adjusted the zoom lens for a close-up. “You’re beautiful, Grace.”

You’re beautiful, Grace. Dear God,
thank you for this day, thank you for Rory, for letting him say those words, for
giving me the courage to wear this outfit, for allowing me one more night with
him.

* * * *

Blood pounded in Rory’s ears, like an
echo of distant mortar fire. In front of him, Grace tangled her hands in her
hair and arched her back. Eyes closed, lips parted, erotic appeal shimmered in
waves from her. His sapphire and diamond earrings glittered like a badge of
ownership in the flash of light as he pressed the button to capture her image.

He had tried to keep away from her.
Any further involvement would only bring grief to them both. His heart lay dead
in his chest, and it would hurt too much to let it come alive again.

He lowered the camera, stared at
Grace, saw her eyes flutter open and look into his, full of longing.
Tonight.
He would have one more night with her, something to carry with him for the next
two years. New memories, with hope in them, so he could try to blot out the old
memories, so stained with guilt that he could take no pleasure in a love that
had once been the force that kept him whole.

“Lie down on the bed, Grace.”

He watched as she crossed the tiny
room in two short steps, and yet managed a seductive sway of her hips.  By the
bedside, she turned to face him, and then in a graceful move she settled on top
of the covers, stretching out on her side, one leg folded at the knee, her head
wantonly tipped back. The creamy curve of her breasts spilling from the black
satin gleamed in the light.

“Like this?” she murmured. The sliver
of pale skin at the top of her stockings mesmerized him. His cock pulsed
painfully in his jeans. His unsteady hands barely managed the simple action of
adjusting the focus so he could capture her likeness.

Grace lying on his bed. Waiting for
him. Offering to be his.
Click-click-click.

“No more.” His voice caught in his
throat as he lowered the camera to the shelf behind him. “No more pictures.” He
crossed to the bedside and bent over her. She kept her leg folded at the knee,
her inner thighs framing the narrow center of her black lace panties. He reached
out, traced one fingertip over the thin scrap of silk, found it moist.

“
Ohhhhh.
”

The sound of Grace moaning with
pleasure filled his ears and broke the tight control he’d kept on his need since
the moment he found her in the apartment upon his arrival.

“I’m going to make love to you,
Grace,” he told her.

“Yes.”

“It’s going to be hard and fast. Not
like our wedding night. I’m too desperate for you.”

“Yes,” she said, and reached out to
feel his erection through the denim.

The zipper scraped his fingers as he
yanked it open and shoved the jeans and boxers down his legs, almost losing his
balance. The pressure inside him eased a little at the comical picture he knew
he made, standing on one leg, kicking the jeans down with the other, and a low
chuckle rumbled in his chest.

Grace rose to a kneeling position on
the bed and tugged at his sweater, swamping his head in the folds. Muffled
inside a cocoon of wool, he couldn’t see. A sharp breath hissed between his
teeth when he felt her fingers curl around his throbbing shaft.

Finally, free of the clothing, he
stood beside the bed, Grace kneeling on the bed in front of him. He wrapped one
arm around her waist to hold her close. Crushing a hungry kiss on her lips, he
bent to fumble at the black panties, but they wouldn’t slide down her legs.

“How do these come off?” he grunted.

“Oh.” She pushed him away to look
down. “I’ve made a mistake. I should have put the stockings on first, and the
panties on top. See?” She demonstrated how the garters trapped the panties in
place.

With a muttered curse, Rory released
her. He fisted both hands around the scrap of silk, ripping the panties apart.
He slid his palms up to her breasts and yanked down the edge of the tiny garment
to expose more of her pale skin. He lowered his head and captured one peaked bud
into his mouth, tugging it between his teeth.

Grace cried out, but it was a sound
of pleasure, not of pain. Her fingers tangled into his hair, holding him close.

He toppled her down on the bed,
barely remembering to stop and roll on a condom. As he climbed up to join her,
she wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him closer, guiding him into
place.

Every nerve in his body cried out for
penetration, but it seemed important not to touch her with his hands at all
first, not to do anything to detract from the impact of the hard and fast
possession he craved. Wanting to make sure she was ready, he steadied his cock
with one hand and rubbed the tip against her folds. Slippery heat surrounded
him. Grace wriggled beneath his weight, seeking to get closer, inviting him in.

Positioning himself for entry, he
rammed into her in one swift thrust. She closed around him, tight and hot,
holding him in. The ripple of pleasure reached all the way from the tip of his
cock to the base of his spine. Grace clung to him, her legs around his waist,
urging him deeper. Her hips rocked beneath him, demanding for more.

Rory closed his eyes. The past ceased
to matter, the future might never be. There was only Grace, his quiet and
serious wife, tonight turned into a seductress, making sure he would leave with
memories of her to fill every lonely night in a country where no guarantees
existed that tomorrow would dawn.

“Grace.” He murmured her name and
plunged into her, his entire body behind the thrust. Sensations exploded inside
him, some of them from his loins, but some from his heart. Again and again, he
surged in and out of her, buried to the hilt, power vibrating in his cock,
demanding to be released, but he fought to hold back.

If she comes with me, she’ll wait
for me.
The bargain with
fate burst from his subconscious, from the buried feelings he’d spent all day
trying to suppress.

Sweat beaded on his brow, despite the
chill in the room. Blood pounded in his veins and a black mist hovered behind
his eyes. When he thought he could no longer control the force inside him, he
felt Grace grow taut beneath him. The first small contraction inside her
triggered his own, and as Grace began to shudder, he leaned down to kiss her,
his mouth sealing her cries while his body pulsed in rhythm with hers.

Together. Sharing a little death, so
they could become one.

* * * *

Drowsy after a long night of
lovemaking, interrupted only by snatches of restless sleep on the narrow bed,
Grace scooted along the mattress to huddle into Rory’s heat. She almost tumbled
to the floor as she rolled over the empty space. Where was he? His clothes no
longer made a tangled mess on the floor. A full duffle bag rested on top of the
cardboard boxes stacked beneath the shelves, but he wasn’t in the room.

Thursday. Rory was flying out today.
Cowardly about their parting, she hadn’t asked what time. Grace scrambled to her
feet, picked up the black underwear on the floor that Rory had hook-by-hook,
stitch-by-stitch, peeled off her after their lovemaking calmed from the initial
stormy torrent into a gentler pace.

A blush rose on her face as she hid
the garments beneath the blankets. She had found the courage to wear them last
night, but in the cold morning light, she blanched at the brazen display she
must have made.

Grace covered her nakedness with the
white robe and tiptoed out to the hall. She found Rory, dressed in nothing but a
pair of loose cotton drawstring pants, squatting on the floor next to a gurgling
radiator.

“What are you doing?” she asked,
coming to a halt beside him.

“I’m fixing the heat.” He raised one
hand to wipe the beads of perspiration from his brow. His fingers curled around
the handle of a wrench.

“I didn’t realize it needed fixing. I
thought it’s simply a cold apartment.”

“No.” Rory fitted the wrench over a
valve near the floor and flexed his arm. A stream of air hissed out. He held a
rag underneath to catch the few drops of black liquid that trickled down. “The
radiators need bleeding. I wanted to do it before I go.”

“I could have asked the super.”

“I wanted to do it before I go,” Rory
said. His voice was deliberate, and he turned his attention to the radiator, his
broad shoulders forming a barrier that shut her out.

Grace swallowed. Was he angry with
her? Did he regret sleeping with her? “I—I think I’ll go and take a bath.” She
retreated, taking slow backward steps, her eyes lingering on him, her heart
beating in slow thuds that echoed in her ears like death bells tolling the end
of her happiness.

“Grace?”

“Yes?” she whispered.

“Thank you for last night.” Rory
examined the radiator, not looking at her. “I took out the memory card and
loaded the pictures onto my laptop, so there’s no need for you to email them to
me.”

“What did you do with the card?”

“It’s back in the camera.”

Grace gnawed at her bottom lip. She
stood in the centre of the hall, not daring to speak, but hoping that Rory would
say something more. A wave of heat blasted from the radiator, but it left her
cold inside.

“Grace?”

“Yes?”

“I’m useless at saying goodbye. Go
and take your bath, and by the time you come out, I’ll be gone.”

A pain kicked inside her chest. “I
thought that perhaps I might come out to the airport with you.”

“You can’t. I’ve got to go to the
office first, to pick up the equipment I need to take with me. There’s a van
full of gear. It’s going on the same plane, but I’ll have to check it in at a
cargo terminal.”

“I see. I didn’t know.”

“I’d like to keep in touch while I’m
gone.” The wrench clashed against the radiator as the tool slipped in his hand.
“I’ll email you, okay?”

“I’ll be here.” Grace hesitated.
Tears pricked her eyelids, but she made a heroic effort to keep them contained.
“Will you come back at all before the two years are up? Do you get any vacation?
Home visits?”

“I get plenty of vacation, but I
normally explore the area where I’m based rather than come back to the US.” He
turned a final twist with the wrench, his bicep bunching with the force of the
movement.

“I don’t want to make any promises
that I can’t keep. It wouldn’t be fair to you.” He gathered the rag and stood
up, keeping his face averted. “Goodbye, Grace. Take care of yourself.” He
crossed the hall and disappeared into his room, closing the door behind him.

Grace stood still, her eyes firmly
closed, her breath tight in her throat, until she could control the pain that
pierced her. Then she made her way to the bathroom with stiff steps and turned
on the taps.
Bubbles
. Lots of fragrant foam would make her feel better.
And the little yellow plastic duck she’d found at the back of the cluttered
cabinet, behind an ancient box of laundry detergent.

For several long minutes, she kept up
her courage, sitting like a statue amidst the drifts of foam, her insides frozen
numb. Then harsh sobs shook her shoulders. She cried out her loneliness and
longing, tears running down her face and mixing with the bath water.

She had promised not to expect
anything from Rory beyond a practical arrangement, and that promise bound her,
forcing her to hide her love.

* * * *

Rory flung the duffel bag over his
shoulder and surveyed the room to make sure he’d forgotten nothing. When he made
the bed, he found Grace’s black underwear beneath the blankets. Closing his eyes
and recalling how she had looked last night, he inhaled her scent. He planned to
power up his laptop and look at the photographs whenever he had the chance.

He knew that his behavior broke the
usual pattern. Most men on their way to a war zone would cram as much living in
the last few days as they could. When the fragility of life knocked on the door,
soldiers wanted to collect all the memories they could, before they faced a fate
from which they might not return.

He already had memories, and for the
last ten years, the failure and guilt in them had weighed him down. Like a
coward, he chose to run away rather than make his peace with the past and
attempt to lay down roots again.

Chapter Twelve

 
From: Rory Sullivan: