Home for a Soldier (4 page)

“Cheeseburger,” Rory grunted. “Whole
wheat bun.”

The brunette raised her eyebrows.

“And lettuce.” He took another sip of
coffee.
Damn. Or was it no lettuce.

“Are you going to have an early
dinner?” The woman tore the top sheet off the pad and handed it to him.

“No.” Rory snagged the note. “I’m
getting married tomorrow. The cheeseburger is for my wife.” He nodded at the
bartender for the check and when it arrived, he added a generous tip and
scrawled his name and room number at the bottom.

As he got up and slouched off to find
somewhere more peaceful for his next cup of coffee, Rory stuffed the note in his
pocket.
Damn it. Was it with lettuce or no lettuce?
The best thing might
be to buy one of each, just in case.

He wanted it to be just right for
Grace.

The lock rattled. Grace jolted awake
with a surge of panic that instantly banished every trace of sleep. She jumped
up from the bed and crawled under the table by the window. Maintaining an
illusion of captivity might be an advantage. She barely managed to fit the table
leg through the handcuff before the door flung open and a trail of heavy
footsteps thudded across the room.

Peeking through the strands of hair
that spilled over her eyes, Grace watched Rory come to a halt beside her. “I
dropped the remote,” she muttered, and added weight to her claim by waving the
remote control she’d been clutching while she slept.

Rory’s brow furrowed as he surveyed
the room. His gaze lingered on the rumpled bedding but swept past the empty soda
bottle on top of the cabinet in the entrance.
He thrust a brown paper bag
at her.
“
Here’s your cheeseburger.”

“I can’t eat with one hand.”

He dropped the paper bag on the table
and waited for Grace to scramble up and sit on the chair. The scowl on his face
deepened as he watched her slide the handcuff along the table leg. With a shake
his head, as if to dismiss things he couldn’t explain, he fished a small key
from the hip pocket of his jeans and proceeded to unlock the cuff from the
table.

Grace attacked the paper bag,
ignoring the trailing steel ring that clunked against the tabletop with every
move. “This isn’t whole-wheat,” she pointed out as she uncovered the
cheeseburger. “And there’s lettuce inside.”

“They didn’t have whole-wheat. I
asked. And they don’t make them without lettuce.” Rory gave a tired shrug. “You
don’t have to eat it, if you don’t want to.”

Grace inhaled the savory smell of the
contents, the pangs of hunger retreating as anxiety knotted up in her stomach.
“I’ll save it for breakfast,” she decided. “With the time difference, I’ll wake
up early.” She wrapped up the food, bolted to her feet, and crossed the room to
deposit the parcel in the mini bar.

“You’d eat a cold cheeseburger for
breakfast?” Rory asked.

“Why not?” she countered, glancing
back at him as she crouched in front of the cabinet.

His shoulders shifted. “You seemed
kind of…picky.”

“I’m picky, but I’m adaptable.” Grace
raked her gaze up and down his body in a look of disdain she hoped wouldn’t be
too difficult to interpret. “I make do with what I’ve got, rather than wish for
something better.”

“I see.” Rory stiffened beneath the
white shirt. “I’ll try not to impose on your goodwill too much.”

Grace sighed. What was wrong with
her? Why did she feel such a compulsion to needle the poor guy? They had struck
a bargain, and Rory was justified to worry she’d be like Debbie, dashing off
when she changed her mind. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth as she
admitted what her problem was. Rory Sullivan sent her female hormones into a
frenzy of longing, and she was acting bitchy for her own protection.

“Let’s just get this marriage thing
done.” Grace straightened and yanked the wardrobe doors open to retrieve her
suitcase. “I’ll have a shower and get ready for bed. It’s almost midnight East
Coast time.”

“Past your bedtime?” He sent her a
smirk.

“That’s right.” Grace unzipped her
case. She extracted a toiletry bag and a pair of white cotton pajamas with
giraffes printed on them. “I’m the kind of girl who goes to bed by ten and says
her evening prayers every night before turning out the light.”

She extended her handcuffed arm at
him. “Will you take these off, so I won’t hurt myself with the dangling bit when
I take a shower?”

Her nerves rioted when Rory stepped
up to her. With a surprising gentleness, he adjusted the steel circle on her arm
before removing the handcuffs. “I’m sorry,” he murmured as he examined the
abrasions on her wrist. “You’ve scraped your skin.”

The feel of his thumb rubbing against
the pulse point on the inside of her wrist made Grace’s throat slam shut.
Tension coiled inside her. Low in her abdomen, excitement threaded along nerves
she’d almost forgotten, sending rays of sensual pleasure streaking all over her
skin.

“It’s all right,” she muttered. She
snatched her arm away and escaped into the bathroom, locking the door behind
her.

The mousy image in the mirror stared
back at her. Was she out of her mind? She was about to enter into a platonic
marriage to a man whose moral values had to be more distant from hers than Mars
was from Jupiter, but who made every cell in her body pulse with awareness and
need.

With a resigned sigh, Grace set about
taking care of her bedtime chores. She only had herself to blame for allowing
Debbie to talk her into the crazy arrangement.

* * * *

Twenty minutes later, Grace tiptoed
out of the bathroom. She would have liked to hide there until she could be sure
that Rory had gone to sleep, but worry that he might want to use the facilities
chased her out. Slowly, dragging out the chore, she arranged her folded clothes
and her toiletry bag in the suitcase before returning it into the wardrobe.

“What’s with the giraffes?”

Her eyes flicked toward the bed where
Rory sprawled against the pillows, his bare feet crossed at the ankles. Drinking
Coke from a can and scrolling through the channels on the television, he
appeared completely at ease. He had pulled the shirt out of the waistband of his
jeans and undone the buttons again.

Grace felt her mouth go dry as her
gaze lingered on the bronzed skin, sprinkled with coppery hairs that tapered to
a line over his ridged abdomen.

“I always sleep in pajamas,” she
explained, trying to keep her voice even. “I get cold otherwise.”

“I meant, why giraffes?”

She glanced down the cotton fabric as
she drifted closer to the bed. “Debbie gave me these for Christmas. She says I
remind her of a giraffe. Tall and clumsy.”

Roy took one final sip and discarded
the empty can on the nightstand with a careless clunk. “Why do you think
giraffes are tall and clumsy?” he asked. “Why not graceful and exotic?”

Grace shifted her shoulders, too
tense to even think of a reply. How was she supposed to get into bed with Rory
lying on top of the covers? How was she supposed to sleep in the same room with
him? How was she supposed to sleep on the same planet with a half-naked Rory
Sullivan?

“Have you ever seen a giraffe?” Rory
asked. “I mean, out in the wild, where they have enough space to roam?”

Grace shook her head in silence.

“They are the most amazing creatures
you’ve ever seen.” He raised his hand and made an undulating motion in the air.
“They stride along so smoothly, it looks like slow motion.” He met her gaze, his
eyes dark and serious. “Giraffes are graceful, not clumsy.”

A lump rose in her throat, and Grace
scolded herself for being such a sucker for a few kind words, but she couldn’t
stop the fine shaking that seized her hands. She tugged frantically at the edge
of the bedding and slipped in between the cool sheets. She wanted to ask Rory
where he was going to sleep, but she was too afraid of hearing the answer.

“I’m sorry about this.” Rory reached
over and curled his fingers over her forearm. He lifted the handcuffs from
beside him, where they’d lain hidden in the folds of the bedding. He clipped one
steel ring around her wrist and searched for somewhere to clip the other. The
bed had no posts. He stood up, circled to the other side, and pulled her arm
down to attach the handcuff to the leg of the nightstand.

“You don’t need to do this,” Grace
protested. “I promise not to run off.”

Rory raked his eyes over her. “I
can’t take the risk. There’s too much at stake.”

“A cheap apartment?”

“It’s more than that.” He
straightened, looking pained. “My grandparents had the lease before me. There
are…memories.”

Grace studied him, puzzled by the
strained tone. “What kind of memories?”

Rory’s face grew shuttered. “It’s
personal.” A shiver racked his body, and he made a visible effort to ease his
grim expression. “It’s ancient history. Another lifetime.” He returned to his
side and stretched out on top of the covers again.

Grace tried to settle down, but the
pull of the cuff twisted her shoulder and sent cramps shooting up and down her
arm. “I’m not comfortable,” she complained.

“You’ll get used to it in a few
minutes.”

“What if there’s a fire?”

“I’ll unlock you.”

“What if there isn’t time?  Or you
forget about me? Or you don’t wake up?”

“Then you’ll die,” Rory grunted,
impatience evident in his voice.

“I didn’t agree to die, only to get
married.”

With a sigh, Rory flung his feet down
and stalked around the bed once more. He removed the cuff from the nightstand,
and returned to stretch out on top of the covers. “Give me your left hand,” he
ordered.

Grace stared at the muscular body
sprawled on her right. She rolled onto her side and extended her left arm with
the cuff dangling from it. Rory clipped the opposite end to his left wrist.
“There. If there’s a fire, you’ll have to wake me up.”

“I can’t sleep chained to you.”

“Why not?” He picked up the remote
control and began to surf the channels.

“I—just—can’t.”

“What’s the problem?” Rory appeared
to be engrossed in the images that flashed up on the screen, but the corners of
his mouth tugged up, and Grace realized he was baiting her on purpose.

“I’m not used to sleeping in the same
bed with a man.”

“Are you afraid of what I might do?”
He turned to her, heat blazing in his eyes. “Or are you afraid of what you might
do?”

Grace inhaled a shaky breath. “You
know the meaning of the word ‘no’, don’t you?” She glowered at him, but beneath
the bravado, an odd sense of being adrift in dangerous waters buffeted her.

Rory lifted his free hand and placed
his index finger across her lips, as if telling her to be quiet. “Any man who
knows what they’re doing can easily turn a
no
into a
yes
.”

“You’re flattering yourself,” Grace
whispered, trying to hold on to her courage, although her pulse pounded in her
ears like the sound of a warning bell.

“Give me three minutes and I’ll prove
it to you.” Rory traced his fingertip around her mouth. “Three little minutes.”

A breathless trembling took hold of
Grace, and her eyes drifted shut. All her senses focused on that light touch
that made her lips throb, made her want to feel his finger inside her mouth,
close her teeth over it. Excitement surged inside her, reaching all the way down
to where heat pooled between her legs.

With effort, Grace lifted her heavy
lids and forced her mind to focus. She
could
control her body, wouldn’t
be so easily conquered, however attractive the man.

“And if at the end of three minutes I
tell you ‘no’, will you promise that you’ll release me and sleep on the floor?”

“That’s a deal.” Rory said with a
confident smirk. “Stand up.”

Grace scooted back and slid down on
her side of the bed. Rory followed her across the covers like a languid
predator. A sigh of relief eased her tension. She knew what would take place
next. An embarrassing tussle with Rory groping at her breasts and fumbling
between her legs. That’s what men always did, and nothing turned her off faster
than their greedy pawing.

Rory swung her around, so that he
stood behind her, their left wrists chained together. “Ready,” he said, his
voice low and soft. “Three minutes starts—
now
.”

At first, Grace felt no movement at
all. Then Rory’s fingertips traveled up and down her right arm, pushing the
sleeve of her pajamas out of the way. With gentle sweeps, he stroked her skin,
over and over again, lingering in the sensitive fold inside her elbow. His
feathery touch was like an electric current that charged every nerve in her
body, magnifying the glorious sensations that streaked through her.