Home for a Soldier (5 page)

A whimper of pleasure escaped her
lips, but Rory didn’t react to the sound. Instead, he raised his left hand.
Moving slowly, to allow her time to follow his motion when the handcuffs
tightened, he swept aside the curtain of hair that brushed her shoulders, and
pressed a kiss on her neck. Fire sparked from the point of contact and rippled
through her.

His left hand caressed her throat,
feeling its way over the soft skin, exploring the hollow between her collarbones
where a pulse thrummed, while his right hand continued to stroke her arm.
Grace’s left arm, cuffed to Rory’s, was forced to follow his movements. As her
fingers brushed past her breast, another strand of pleasure radiated from the
tightened peak.

Rory trailed soft kisses on the side
of her neck, spreading warmth, stoking the need inside her. His mouth inched up
to the sensitive curve beneath her ear then edged along the line of her jaw. As
Grace turned her head toward Rory, his lips met the corner of her mouth.

She breathed in his scent, the musky
mix of man and dust and sweat. Her neck hurt from the effort of trying to reach
him, to feel his lips fully on hers, but he evaded her attempts to deepen the
kiss.

With a small sound of impatience, she
leaned back, until her body pressed against his. As she felt his muscles tense,
she emitted a muffled moan of protest, thinking he intended to pull away, but
instead he circled his left arm around her waist and anchored her close. She
could feel the heavy thud of his heart beneath her shoulder blade.

Rory switched his trailing fingertips
from her arm to her stomach, where they crept under the hem of her pajama top
and began a lazy exploration of her midriff. Circling, teasing, his hand drifted
higher, until he reached the underside of her breasts. The edge of his fingers
brushed the curve of her bosom and Grace drew an urgent breath, almost sobbing
as the heat inside her grew so scorching it threatened to blaze out of control.

“I’d like to touch your breasts now?”
Rory whispered into her ear. “Will you let me?”

“Yes,” she whispered back. All the
resolutions to keep her distance smoldered in ashes, burned by his delicate
touch.

Rory withdrew his hand and took half
a step back. “That’s my point,” he said in a rough voice. “I could turn every
‘no’ into a ‘yes’, all the way until you thrash beneath me on that mattress.”

Their bodies bumped as he swiveled
her to face the rumpled bedding. Grace felt his muscles against her, hard and
taut, like a spring coiled tight enough to snap.

“Now that I’ve earned the right to
sleep on the bed, can we settle down?” He urged her forward. “Do you want to
sleep behind me, with your arm around me, or in front of me, with my arm around
you?”

Grace blinked. Shame misted her eyes.
She wanted to run and hide in the bathroom, but with the wretched handcuffs, she
was going nowhere. How could she have acted so wantonly, allowing Rory to seduce
her? It wasn’t even that he’d managed to break her resistance. She
had
no
resistance against the physical attraction that radiated from him like
ultraviolet from the sun.

Sleep behind him? In front of him?
She finally understood why Rory had clipped their wrists together on the same
side, instead of the more obvious his left to her right. The impossibility of
the choice rattled around her brain, until Rory took an impatient step into her.
He wrapped his cuffed arm around her waist, flung the covers aside, and tumbled
upon the bed, pulling her down with him.

His forearm across her waist clutched
her to his chest, and despite her humiliation, Grace reveled in the sense of
safety that flooded her as Rory’s powerful frame curved in a protective cocoon
around her.

“Sleep tight, little bride,” he
whispered into her ear. “I’ll keep my clothes on, so you don’t need to worry.”

“Thank you,” Grace muttered. She
tugged at the bedding to spread it more securely around them.

Slow waves of arousal continued to
roll inside her, and she tried to focus on some difficult mathematical equation
to bring her unruly passions under control. Behind her, she could feel Rory, his
erection butting against her bottom, and she consoled herself with the knowledge
that he suffered his share of the frustration of unfulfilled desire.

“Shall I turn out the lights?” she
asked after a while.

“Aren’t you going to say your
prayers?”

“Stop making fun of me.”

His arm tightened around her. “I
wasn’t making fun of you. I wanted to hear you say your prayers.”

“I say them in my mind. Not out
loud.”

“Would you say them out loud for me
tonight?”

“As long as you promise not to laugh.
It’s a prayer I made up myself. I was eight years old.”

“I won’t laugh.”

Grace reached for the switch on the
wall, pitching the room into darkness. She waited a moment in silence. When Rory
didn’t say anything, she drew a long breath, and then murmured out her prayer.

“
Our Lord in Heaven, I thank you
for today. Please make the sun shine tomorrow, but if the fields need rain, I
understand. Please keep the world safe. Give the hungry something to eat. Help
the lonely find a friend. Heal the sick, and make bad people better. I’d like a
nice wedding tomorrow, and you should watch over Rory after he goes away
.”

She paused and then added, “The final
sentence varies every day, depending on what’s going on in my life.”

“Thank you, Grace.” Rory’s voice came
on a soft rustle beneath her ear, and then she felt his lips on her skin. “Good
night.”

Grace awoke to glorious warmth that
wrapped around her, making her feel as if tropical sun bathed her skin. She sank
back against the muscular contours that sheltered her and stretched out her arms
for a mighty yawn. The rattle of metal and a sharp tug on her wrist yanked her
back to reality.

“What the—” a sleepy voice growled
behind her and a firm grip tightened around her waist.

With a cry of alarm, Grace jolted
forward. She had little experience of spending an entire night next to a man,
but she understood what it was that nestled between her buttocks.

“What time is it?” She peered at the
digital alarm on the nightstand.

“How the hell should I know,” Rory
grumbled. “It’s dark as a tomb and my head’s killing me.”

Grace reached out with her free hand.
The bedside lamp flooded the room with light as she flicked the switch.

“Turn off the fucking light,” Rory
growled. The arm across her midriff threatened to cut her in half. “My head’s
killing me.”

“You already said that.” Grace shook
her wrist to rattle the cuffs. “Unlock me. I need to go to the bathroom.”

“For fuck’s sake.” His hold around
her shifted, and Grace rocked up and down over his body as he flipped her to his
other side.

Rory fumbled over the mattress. “I
can’t find the goddamn key.”

Panic seized Grace at the implication
of remaining chained to him. “What did you do with it?”

“I don’t know. I must have dropped it
on the bed.”

Rising on one elbow, Grace fumbled in
the sheets around her but found nothing. Anxiety stabbed a sharp pressure at her
bladder. “I need to go to the bathroom,” she whimpered. “I can’t wait.”

Rory muttered another curse. He
scooted forward behind her, his groin grinding into her rear. He pushed her
along, until he could swing his legs over the edge of the bed. Tightening his
arm around her, he stood up and lifted her with him. His arm across her waist
felt like the safety barrier on a fairground ride as he hauled her into the
bathroom, her feet dangling inches above the floor.

“There,” he grunted, dropping her to
her feet beside the toilet, after having briefly stopped outside the door to
snap on the light.

“I can’t,” she wailed. “Not when I’m
chained to you.”

“You can’t what?” He scowled at her.
Stubble shadowed his jaw, and red veins rimmed his dark eyes. “You lack the
manual dexterity to yank down your panties with one hand, or you’re too prudish
to pee with me standing next to you?”

“The latter.” Grace gritted her
teeth. “I can’t pee with you there, watching and listening.”

“In which case, I’m curious to see
how you resolve the situation.” His attention strayed to the three-sided mirror
that lined the alcove around the washbasin. He winced at his reflection.
“Christ. I look like something the cat dragged in.”

“Serves you right,” Grace muttered.
It didn’t escape her notice that even in his misery Rory managed to look
devastating, but her mind was too preoccupied for the sensual pull to play havoc
on her mental equilibrium.

Rory glanced down at her. “How can
you look fresh as dew?” He consulted his watch. “It’s goddamn five o’clock in
the morning.”

“Nine o’clock East Coast time,” Grace
informed him. “And I wasn’t drunk out of my skull yesterday.”

Rory squeezed his eyes shut. A pained
grimace flickered over his features. “The boys were down on R&R. They wanted to
give me a bachelor party, and I couldn’t say no. I don’t normally drink, which
is why I got so wrecked.” He swayed on his feet and cracked his eyes open. “Are
you going to pee or not? I want to get back to bed.”

“Close your eyes,” Grace ordered.

“Why? My back’s turned. I can’t see
you.”

“You can see me in the mirror.”

Rory’s reflection sent her a sly
wink, but he obediently closed his eyes.

“You’ll peek,” Grace complained.

A smile eased his waxen features.
“What are you going to do about it?”

“This.” She reached for the small
white towel suspended on a rail at the edge of the green marble counter and
flung it over his head. “Sing,” she demanded.

“Sing?”

“If you sing, you can’t listen.”

The towel moved as Rory shook his
head. Grace imagined him rolling his eyes. “Do it,” she ordered. “Sing.”

When the low murmur of a baritone
floated out from beneath the towel, Grace hurried to slide down her pajama
bottoms and panties and take care of her needs. Halfway through the act she
realized she was listening to the same verse repeated over and over again.
Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound
. She stood up and yanked her clothing to
order, incensed that the man had the audacity to mock her.

“I’m done.” She bit out the words.

“My turn.” Rory lifted his free hand
to pull down the towel and reversed their positions. “Can you put this back on
the rack?” He handed the white bundle of fabric to her.

“Don’t you want me to cover my head?”

He smiled. “Honey, you’re welcome to
inspect my equipment any time.”

Grace closed her eyes. “Please. Just
get on with it.”

She stood and listened, her body
rigid with embarrassment. Halfway through the endless sound of spray, she
sneaked her eyes open. The effort was wasted, since the mirror only gave her a
view of Rory’s back. The rumpled white shirt hung over the jeans that clung to
his lean hips, not leaving even a sliver of bare skin exposed. Heat surged to
her cheeks at how Rory would laugh if he caught her peeking, and she quickly
pinched her eyes shut again.

“All done,” he declared, although a
short silence, followed by the rustle of a zipper, had already conveyed the fact
to her.

He flushed the toilet. Grace blinked
her eyes open and met his gaze through the mirror. “I want to wash my hands,”
she told him.

“We’ll have to do it together.” He
snuggled behind her at the basin, his feet braced outside hers, arms reaching
past her sides, his body spooned around hers.

Grace felt as if her free will was
suddenly suspended. She observed Rory’s hands as he lifted the chrome lever to
turn on the water. He picked up the bar of soap from the white china dish on the
counter and rubbed his fingers over the slippery surface until a thick coat of
lather had formed. Then he replaced the soap and began to glide his hands over
hers.

The slow sensuous mating of their
fingers under the warm spray of water sent a shudder through Grace. Without
thinking, she leaned back against his chest. She felt him at the juncture of her
thighs, knew that he must have bent his knees in order to drop down in height so
his returning erection fit more snugly against her buttocks. Despite the
deliberateness of the act, she didn’t pull away.

“Anything else I can do for you?” he
murmured into her ear.

Grace swallowed. Even in her
inexperience, she recognized the invitation in the husky tone. After what she
had perceived as a rejection last night, it pitched her into a state of
confusion.

“I’d like to brush my teeth,” she
told him on a whisper of uncertainty.

“Sure, honey. Is that yours?” He
pointed at the toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste she’d left in the plastic
tumbler by the basin.