Home for a Soldier (6 page)

Words deserted Grace as she watched
Rory through the mirror, his big body dwarfing hers, making her feel fragile and
feminine. She gave him a silent nod. He reached past her for the toothbrush and
toothpaste, handed the brush to her, and unclipped the paste to smear a dollop
over the bristles.

All inhibitions deserted Grace as she
brushed her teeth. Rory’s arm circled her, his free hand smoothing back her
hair, his eyes searching hers in the mirror.

“My turn,” he said when she finished
rinsing, and they swapped places.

He retrieved his own toothbrush from
the clutter on the marble counter. Instead of picking up the sample-sized
toothpaste, he used hers. Grace had to peek around his broad shoulders to catch
his reflection. A strange sense of possession gripped her at the intimacy of
sharing such personal chores. The unbuttoned shirt left Rory’s chest bare, and
she could see the muscles leaping beneath the golden skin. She knew that if she
stood closer, she could press her breasts against his broad back.

“Ready for bed now?” He arched his
brows at her in the mirror.

Grace nodded, not quite sure of what
she was consenting to, but willing to follow his lead. He moved to stand behind
her. His arm tightened around her waist again, and he lifted her up, her toes
barely brushing the carpet as he carried her. She sagged into him, tipping her
head onto his shoulder, breathing in the peppermint smell that lingered in the
air between them.

Rory yanked the covers aside, spotted
the tiny key on the sheet, and pointed it out to her. “Pick that up and put it
on the nightstand,” he instructed.

Grace obeyed, half wishing that she
could lose the key again, requiring him to spend the next day with her.

Rory toppled on the bed, his forearm
locked across her middle, hauling her with him. She thudded into his chest, and
he anchored her in place until she stilled. Then he raised their cuffed hands,
forcing her to follow his movements as he arranged the bedding over them.

“Are you hungry?” he asked. “Do you
want your cheeseburger? Or do you want to order something from room service?”

“I’ll wait.” Grace tensed with
anticipation as she expected that Rory would complete the emotional possession
he had set in motion in the bathroom with a physical one. He must be aware that
every ‘no’ had been turned into a ‘yes’ in those few electrified minutes when
his soapy hands had lingered over hers, their eyes locked in the mirror, his
body curved around hers.

But instead, he told her to turn out
the light and clutched her to his chest as he settled down to continue his
interrupted sleep.

Grace sighed. What was happening to
her? She was highly selective about sex and only willing to sleep with a man as
part of a committed relationship. So, why was she struggling to keep her panties
on in the presence of Rory Sullivan?

* * * *

Rory awoke with the instant awareness
a soldier develops after living in war zones. Something tugged at his wrist.
Remaining still, he maintained his even breathing and opened one eye a fraction.
Grace was kneeling on the mattress beside him, strands of hair hanging in her
eyes, her mouth puckered in concentration as she struggled to unlock the
handcuffs.

Disappointment flared in his gut.
She’d sneak out on him. He had judged her arrow-straight, had assumed that if
she changed her mind about marrying him, she’d confront him with the news, but
it appeared that he’d been wrong. She intended to fade into the early morning
light without a word.

His muscles tightened, ready to
pounce before she escaped, but regret held him back. He really had thought Grace
was something special. Innocent and awkward, yet full of spunk. He ached to make
her like him, seek his protection. Trust him. That was why he hadn’t touched her
during the night, despite the clear signals of her consent.

He had decided to wait, until he knew
that she wanted him with her conscious mind as well as her aroused body. That
she wouldn’t wake up regretting what she had done.

Needs battled inside Rory. Something
deep and basic wanted to reach out and grab Grace before she got away. Something
finer yearned to know that she had the opportunity to leave, but chose to stay.
Beyond all else, an instinct for self preservation told him that life would be
simpler if she left, even if it meant losing his apartment and the memories it
contained.

It would be wiser not to go ahead
with the marriage.

The cuff on Grace’s wrist sprung open
with a click. Her eyes flickered over him. Gingerly, stealthily, she crept back
on her hands and knees until she could slide down from the bed. She tiptoed to
the entrance, switched on the light that cast shadows into the room. Rory heard
a door creak open,
then close with a thud.

Despite his terse mood, he suppressed
a smile. Grace had no appreciation of the alert senses of a trained soldier if
she thought he could sleep through the noise that echoed around the room.

She reappeared carrying her suitcase.
With a worried glance in his direction, she set the case down on the floor and
unzipped it. After a quick rummage inside, she shook out a pair of fawn cotton
pants and a pink and white striped jersey top. Her eyes flickered to him once
more, and she lifted out a pair of white panties and a padded bra.

Rory held his breath.
Holy shit.
She was going to undress, right there, in his line of vision. His cock
stiffened. He knew he ought to stop her, but he couldn’t. The need to find out
if she would leave or stay required him to spy on her.

Any excuse would do.

He’d pay for his voyeurism with
physical agony, as his jeans would painfully restrain his growing erection but
he would have to remain still, feigning sleep.

Grace stood up, crossed her arms in
front of her, and lifted the pajama top over her head. Her small breasts jutted
out firm and high, rosy tipped, the skin so pale that Rory knew it would be
possible to trace the blue veins beneath. His hands clenched into fists at the
thought of doing just that with his fingertips.

In swift moves, Grace looped the bra
around her body. She fastened the hooks in front of her, spun the garment
around, and slipped the straps up her arms. With a jolt of surprise, Rory
realized that in the last ten years he’d never watched a woman dress, only
undress, losing interest as soon as his hunger was sated.

Grace bent to push the pajama bottoms
and panties down her legs in one smooth sweep. As she stood up, wearing nothing
but a white bra, cold sweat drenched him. She was finely made, tall and slender,
her shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist and flaring out again in gently
rounded hips. A triangle of brown curls, a few shades darker than her hair,
shadowed the apex of her thighs. With a nimble step, she balanced on one foot,
and slipped the pair of white panties up her legs.

Rory continued to watch while Grace
covered her body with clothing. Then she folded up her giraffe pajamas and
discarded panties, packed them neatly in the case, and carried the case back to
the wardrobe in the entrance.

She returned with her tote bag and
the small brown parcel she’d stashed away in the mini bar last night. Carefully,
trying not to rustle the paper, she unpacked the leftover cheeseburger and
proceeded to eat with careful bites, sitting where she’d been chained to the
table the day before. It took her a good few minutes to eat the food he’d have
dispatched in less than thirty seconds.

After she finished, Grace folded the
wrapper and threw it in the trash beneath the desk behind her. Then she took out
a book from her tote and settled down to read. Relief eased Rory’s tense
muscles.

Grace wasn’t preparing to escape.

She wasn’t leaving him.

* * * *

Despite his fatigue, sleep wouldn’t
return. Every few minutes, Rory peered at Grace through half-closed lids. She
sat with her head bent, her brows furrowed in concentration. Sometimes she would
flick back a few pages and read them again, so he assumed the book was some kind
of study manual.

The curiosity to know what went
through her mind as she waited for him to wake up occupied his thoughts. After
almost an hour, Rory gave up on sleep and decided it was time for him to stir on
the bed and flutter his eyes open.

“Good morning,” Grace said as soon as
she noticed the movement. “I’d like to make a plan for the day.”

“Can I wake up first?”

“You’re awake.”

“My brain isn’t.”

“Some other parts of you never seem
to sleep.” Her eyes drifted down to his straining jeans.

“All the better to keep you on your
toes, Goldilocks.”

“I think you’re confusing The Three
Bears and The Big Bad Wolf.”

“Can I hog the bathroom?” Rory
wriggled his hips to ease the pressure in his groin, surprised that Grace
appeared at ease with sexy banter. “I want to shower and shave.”

“Are you going out?”

He expelled a sigh, yanked up a
pillow to prop against the headboard, and leaned back. Planning was required,
whether he wanted it or not. “Yeah,” he drawled. “I need to take care of a few
errands.”

“Are you going to handcuff me to the
table again?”

“Do I need to?”

“No.” Grace inserted a metal clip to
mark the page and closed her book. “I promise to go ahead with the marriage, and
I always keep my promises. You can call Doug to verify.”

Rory arched his brows. “Doug would
vouch for you?”

Grace nodded, leveling a curious pair
of clear eyes at him. “Why Debbie? I mean, why did you ask my sister to marry
you, knowing that she was dating a friend of yours?”

“Well—” Rory shifted his shoulders to
get more comfortable against the pillow. “It made sense to pick an attached
woman, and if I married someone who was dating one of my buddies, with their
permission of course, I didn’t have to worry that the guy would go ape-shit over
the arrangement.”

“Why?” Her eyes drilled into him.
“Why did it make sense to pick an attached woman?”

Rory pursed his mouth as he
considered. He sensed trouble in Grace’s jutting jaw, but he wasn’t one to back
down from a challenge. “An unattached woman might get ideas. Think she can
stretch it out at the end of the two years when I get back from Iraq. An
attached woman is safer. I don’t want some bunny-boiler on my tail.”

Ignoring Grace’s angry glare, Rory
flung his hands up in defeat. “Hell, how was I to know that the thought of
Debbie marrying someone else would spur Doug into action and he’d take the
plunge himself.”

“A bunny-boiler?” Grace repeated, her
voice dangerously low.

“Yeah. You know, like the woman in
that movie who gets her claws into a man and doesn’t want to let go.”

“I see.” Grace folded her hands in
her lap. “You can rest assured that your freedom isn’t in danger. I promise to
never expect anything more from you than a fake marriage, and if you have any
furry pets, they’ll be completely safe.”

Rory said nothing. He could sense a
bomb of feminine outrage ticking beneath Grace’s calm exterior, and he didn’t
want to accidentally trigger the detonator.

“I’m calling Doug now,” she told him.
“He’ll put your mind to rest.”

“There’s no need,” Rory muttered, but
Grace had already picked up the telephone on the desk. He pointed to the cell
phone next to his keys and a few scattered coins. “Use mine. I’ve got loads of
free minutes left.”

She obeyed his instructions, but
didn’t look at him as she dialed. “Debbie? It’s Grace…I’m fine…is Doug there…can
you put me on the speaker so he can hear. I’ll put you on speaker too, so Rory
can hear.”

“Yo, Gracie!” Doug came on the line.
“What’s up?”

“Can you tell your friend that I keep
my promises?”

“Why? Is there a problem?” Doug
sounded alarmed, and Rory imagined a worried frown on his face.

“No. No problem. Apart from the fact
that Rory feels compelled to handcuff me to a table in case I escape before the
wedding. And he’s worried that I might decide I’m on to a good thing and cling
to him at the end of the two years. I’ve promised to marry him tonight and to
divorce him when he gets home. Can you tell him that I always keep my promises?”

Doug started to laugh, but Debbie
shushed him and came on the line. “Rory, Grace always keeps her promises.
Always. She isn’t like me at all. She is Miss Reliable. I remember once when she
was around twelve and we—”

“Debbie, let Doug talk,” Grace cut
in.

“Well, there was the time when Grace
promised to bring over some takeout.” Doug paused. “Her car wouldn’t start, so
she walked three miles from her place to Debbie’s.”

“It was snowing,” Debbie shouted in
the background.

“And yeah, she said she’d get me a
ticket to the playoffs for my birthday, but the guy who’d promised her one let
her down, so she bought one from a scalper instead.”

“She had to do a month of overtime to
pay for that,” Debbie piped in.