Into the Night (39 page)
"Why would I want it?" he asked.
"Because of that picture of you running down the side of a mountain with—God—a broken kneecap," Joan said. "Because your name is all over the news. Because it's now common knowledge that you're a SEAL and that you spent time in Afghanistan."
He realized exactly what she was thinking. He might have been pleased at her concern for him—if she hadn't used him so completely.
"You think now I'm going to be a terrorist target or something?" He made a rude noise. "Just let them try. Come and get me, Osama."
"But—"
"I don't need it," he told her. "I don't need the hotel room, I don't need the Secret Service getting in my way, thanks but no thanks."
"But you said... When I wanted to set up a photo op with Kelly and Meg and some of the other wives..."
"That's a different deal entirely," Muldoon said. "We don't take any chances with our families. But as for us—believe me, we can take care of ourselves. Now, do you mind if we get this show on the road? I've got things to do."
Charlotte stayed in the car again as Vince checked in on Donny before they went out to a movie.
Tonight was some big important event over at the Del, something that Joanie had been worried about. She hadn't said as much, but Charlie knew her granddaughter quite well.
And then that news story broke—the one about Brooke Bryant dating that young man of Joan's.
After seeing Lieutenant Muldoon with Joan the other day, and knowing that it was Joan's job to help keep Brooke's mischief—if you could call it that—from the public eye, Charlie thought the whole thing smelled like a decoy story. It smelled like something made up to draw the reporters away from the real story, which—whatever it was—probably put the President's daughter in a far less positive light.
And if that was the case, poor Lieutenant Muldoon. He was probably going in circles right about now, trying to figure out which way was up.
Joan, poor dear, was probably still in intense denial. No doubt she wasn't being very much help.
Charlotte could relate. She'd spent quite a long tune in denial herself.
Yes, she had been kidding herself completely that night that she'd put on her nightgown—not her best one, but rather the cotton one that James had always loved most. It looked innocent and sweet in its simplicity. But if the light was shining from behind her, the outline of her body was clearly visible.
Her heart had pounded as she brushed out her hah", letting it fall loose and gleaming around her shoulders. Her hands and feet tingled with a mixture of fear and anticipation as she dabbed the tiniest amount of perfume behind her ears and between her breasts.
She wanted to be touched so very badly. But that wasn't why she was doing this, she'd told herself. Ah, denial! She'd convinced herself that this wasn't for her.
This was for Vince. To save Vince. To keep him from going back to that fighting and death.
Upstairs, Sally still hadn't returned to her habit of sharing her bed with the entire First Infantry or 101st Airborne or whoever was passing through D.C. at the moment. Still, Charlie had waited until after midnight. It was going to be hard enough to do this without having the bedspring serenade squeaking in the background. But when she heard Sally turn off her radio and go—alone—into her bedroom, there was no longer a reason to delay.
With a last silent and heartfelt apology to James, Charlie took a deep breath and went into the hall, turning on the light switch with a click.
Vince's door was closed.
She knocked on it softly even as she opened it. "Vince, are you still awake?"
He sat up in bed. "Is something ..." He saw her standing there. "Uh, is, um, something wrong?"
Charlotte felt herself blush, knowing that from where he sat, with the hall light streaming in from behind her, it was almost as if she were standing there naked.
At least he didn't seem to be too horrified. In fact, the expression on his face was a mixture of awe and disbelief and hope.
It gave her the strength she needed not to run away. This was going to work. She almost wept with relief.
"I need to talk to you," she told him instead. "May I come in?"
She didn't wait for him to answer. She crossed to the dresser and turned on the lamp that sat there before she went back and closed the door. Still strategically lit from behind, she moved toward him and sat down beside him on the bed.
He was trying to be polite, to keep his eyes on her face, but he couldn't keep his gaze from dropping down to her breasts. He didn't say a word as he looked at her. He just waited for her to speak.
There was no need to do anything other than get directly to the point. "Do you still want to marry me?"
"Charlotte, what are you doing?" he asked quietly, the muscles jumping in his jaw.
She put her hand lightly on the lump beneath the covers that was his leg. "I'm making you an offer that I hope you can't refuse. Marry me, Vince."
She was being shockingly bold, and she felt another rush of heat to her face.
He took her hand from his leg—his hand was warm, his fingers big and square and roughened from work. It was a man's hand. He may have been younger than she was, but his hands were that of a grown man.
"You're cold," he said, still in that same quiet, gentle voice. "Maybe you should get a robe. Then we can talk."
This wasn't happening the way she'd imagined. He wanted to talk. When she'd run this scenario in her head, he was already kissing her by now.
But he was definitely keeping his distance. And she was cold.
She pulled back the covers and slipped into bed beside him, shocking them both.
"Charlotte—"
"Please don't tell me to leave!" She reached for Vince and found the warm flannel of James's pajamas covering his hard, lean body. She fit against him perfectly, and his arms—as they went around her—felt so warm and solid, so familiar, just from the few times he'd held her in the past weeks. It shouldn't have been, but it was like coming home.
He was so different,-physically, from James. James, whose memory had started to blur around the edges. It was all she could do not to cry.
Vince held her tightly. "God, Charlie, I won't. I'm not that strong, I'm sorry to admit. I just... I really don't want you to do something that you're not ready for."
She may not have been ready, but he certainly was. At close proximity like this, his desire for her was undeniable.
"Do you really want to marry me?" he asked her.
"Yes," she told him. "I've thought about it, and yes, I really do." She might've sounded more convincing if her voice hadn't shook. "We can take the train up to Maryland and get married right away. Tomorrow."
He laughed. "You're serious." There was wonder in his voice, and he pulled back slightly from her so that he could look down into her eyes.
"I've never been more serious about anything in my life." Somehow she managed to hold his gaze.
"Ah, God, Charlie," he whispered.
And then he finally kissed her.
It was not the kiss that she'd imagined, however. Oh, it started that way—sweet and practically reverent. But she was the one who opened her mouth wide to him. She was the one who deepened that kiss, who came close to swallowing him whole. She was the one who took his hand and placed it upon her breast, who leaned into him, and who actually moaned aloud at the sensation.
For someone inexperienced in the ways of the flesh, Vince had her beneath him in a record amount of time. She could feel him, heavy against her leg, and knew that it wouldn't take much effort on his part for him to join them. God knows her body was willing even if her soul was stunned at the fact that this was actually happening.
She'd imagined this, but she hadn't dreamed she'd feel this way.
And if James were watching from somewhere in heaven, surely he understood that this wasn't about him, that she was doing this to keep Vince safe.
"God, I love you!" Vince kissed her face, her jaw, her throat. "I'll do everything in my power to make you happy, I swear I will. Tell me what to do. Tell me what you want. Tell me how to make love to you—how to make it last an hour."
He was dead serious and as he kissed her again, it was all she could do not to laugh. Or cry. Did she really want him to know what she liked? Did she really want him kissing her where only James had kissed her, touching her, stroking her where only James had touched and stroked?
Yes!
No.
"I don't know," she admitted. "It's different for women and men, and ..." She touched his face, hoping he couldn't tell how close to tears she still was.
His love for her was so clearly written in his eyes. "I want this to be perfect."
She didn't. She didn't want it to be anything close to perfect. She just wanted... relief. And the knowledge that Vince was going to be safe.
"It doesn't have to be perfect right away," she told him. "Really. We'll have a whole lifetime to get it right."
"I've only got a week."
"No," she said. "You see, that's just the thing. If you're my husband, you can still serve in the Marines, but the senator can pull some strings for us. I know he can. His influence, along with the fact that, well..." It was hard to choke out her husband's name while Vince lay between her legs. She rushed the words. "James won a Medal of Honor. We can keep you stationed here in Washington. It can be done. It's not talked about, but I know it's done."
But Vincent was shaking his head. "I can't do that."
"There are positions," she said, "important positions here in Washington, that need to be filled by someone. You'll still be serving your country, Vince."
"Sweetheart, I'm an experienced combat veteran."
"Yes," she said. "You are. It makes more sense for you to stay home then. You've done more than your share."
He sighed. "Charlie, come on. You know that's not how it works."
"Please." She kissed him, pressed herself up against him. "Please don't go back..."
But Vince rolled off of her to lie on his back beside her, his eyes closed. "Shit! Excuse me. I'm sorry. I'm ... God, you don't know how sorry I am."
She reached for him, but he pulled himself out from under the covers. It was rather obvious just how sorry he was, and he quickly sat down on the far edge of the bed. "I guess the big question now is, do you really want to marry a guy who could end up just as dead as James?"
Her eyes flooded with tears that she could no longer blink back, and the overflow escaped. She brushed them fiercely away. "I thought I could make you want to stay."
He turned to look at her. "There's nothing in this world I want more than to spend the next eighty years right here with you. But I'm not the only man in the Marines who's in love with someone incredible."
Charlotte held out her hand to him. "Please, will you let me try to convince you?"
He looked at her fingers, saw her tears, but didn't reach to take her hand. His face was so serious. "Will you marry me after, even when I tell you that I still have to leave?"
She couldn't deceive him and she let her hand drop to the blanket below. "No."
Vince nodded. "Do you ..." He cleared his throat. "Do you honestly love me, Charlie?"
She didn't want to answer that, but her silence was just as revealing.
"Ah," he said.
"I don't want you to die," she told him.
"That's what this is really about, isn't it?" he asked. He laughed softly. "Wow. You really don't want me to die, huh? My God."
"Is that so awful?" she said. "I care about you, Vince, I do—"
"But you still love James."
She couldn't deny that.
"And yet you're willing to ... to give yourself to me as some kind of prize. Some kind of virgin sacrifice. You're the sacrifice and I'm the virgin—that's a nice twist, huh? But I'm supposed to be so grateful to you and so enthralled that I simply throw away everything I believe in because making love to you is so great?"
"You're twisting it all around."
"Am I?" he asked.
She climbed out of bed, wanting him to understand. "You don't know what it was like, waiting for news after Pearl Harbor was attacked. I can't do that again. I can't spend the next five years or however long this awful war lasts terrified that I'm going to get another of those telegrams. And I am not going to bury another husband."
"You're not going to have another husband," he told her, quiet again, "until you manage to bury your first. God, you're beautiful, but I want more than your body, Charlotte." He turned away from her. "I think you better go."
She went.
Back to her room where, knowing how thin the walls in this house were, she cried as quietly as she could.
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