Battle for the Soldier's Heart (8 page)

For a moment he saw all the things he’d seen too many times before: boys on the cusp of becoming men, thinking of challenging him. Their expressions were momentarily belligerent, sullen. There was a moment, right here, that he felt, wearily, he had visited a thousand times.

Two teenage boys. Something about them.

It was that microsecond of decision when a bright day could suddenly be marred by darkness. Rory was aware of being completely relaxed, and completely alert at the same time, like a large, predatory cat. He altered his stance only slightly, ready.

The boys saw it. He had sculpted boys their age into men, that he had then sent to die, and they read that history in his stance and his eyes as if he had spoken it out loud. The belligerence fell away.

They mumbled apologies and in a flash had slipped into the water and were gone.

But even so, the magic was completely gone from the day. This was what he carried inside him.

Grace in her world of perfect Christmases and planning birthday parties, did not need it.

Gone, too, was the moment when that kiss had shivered in the air between him and Grace. When he looked at her, he was aware there would be no returning to it. He was not so sure if he saw that as a blessing or a curse.

Grace’s eyes were on his face, and he knew she had seen precisely what those boys had seen.

History. Mess with me at your own risk.

Looking at her, suddenly self-conscious again of her skimpy bathing suit, he was very aware it was not what she needed out of life. Grace Day did not need someone like him.

No, she needed someone solid and dull, who would give her afternoons like this one unmarred by the shadows of what they had seen and who they had become.

Not that being with her and playing in the water had been as dull as he had hoped it would be.

No, instead it had been pure. He had been refreshed. He had felt carefree and young.

It had given him a moment of purity, connection, happiness that he had not experienced for a very long time.

And then those boys had come along and reminded him that this kind of life belonged to someone else.

Rory was aware of needing to get away from her. From the sunny perfection of the day, from her wholesomeness.

From the feeling in his chest—what was that feeling?
A heart heavy with yearning.

The thought astounded him. He eyed the water, looking for escape from the unexpectedness of that thought.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said.

That’s where she was wrong. “Yeah,” he said. “I did.”

“I don’t need you to protect me,” she said. “I would have told them myself if they were bothering me.”

“Right.” She could have handled it, just like she was handling Serenity.

He felt himself drawing away from her, forming another plan. He suddenly didn’t like the way Grace made him feel.

As if he could tell her anything. Worse, as if he wanted to.

After he dropped her off, he’d head out to that land Serenity had set up camp on. He’d ask her point-blank what she was doing, demand answers, a DNA sample.

Bridey could look after his contribution to Warrior Down. On the way home he would confirm with Grace that his company would provide the perfect day—of her choosing—for silent auction.

And then, with relief, he would turn over the details of making that happen to Bridey. She could do a better job on it than him anyway.

Their roads—his and Grace’s—could part right here. He had a million ways to deal with the astonishing discovery of the yearnings he harbored without involving her.

Melbourne, Australia, seemed to be calling his name.

He looked at her, her flawless skin, the bathing suit showing off her perfect womanly curves, the wide eyes, the tangle of her wet hair, the droplets of water pebbled on her skin.

He wondered if Melbourne was going to be far enough away.

“It’s getting late,” he said. “We’d better go.”

He didn’t like the way she was looking at him. As if she could see everything about him that he didn’t want anyone to see.

What she didn’t seem to be seeing? That he would never be worthy of a day like this or a girl like her.

The drive back was sadly silent. He answered her questions with monosyllables. Pulling away. Saving her. Protecting her.

From him.

Finally they pulled up in front of her now-darkened office windows. He got out of the car, held open her door for her.

She didn’t hurry by him as he had hoped.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Sure.”

“We didn’t talk much about Warrior Down.”

“Just let me know what you consider a perfect day.” He gave her a business card. “Call me at this number, and I’ll make it happen.”

“There couldn’t be a more perfect day than the one I just had.”

He wasn’t getting sucked into her gratitude. He wasn’t even going to look at the warmth spilling out of her eyes. Why couldn’t she respect the fact he was pulling away for the good of both of them?

“Well, try and think of something that someone might part with a few thousand dollars for. Helicopters. Yachts. Caviar. You know.”

And even though she dealt with what people thought was the perfect day all the time, aggravatingly, she did not look like she knew.

Then she did what he least expected. She refused to accept that distance he was trying to put between them.

She reached up, stood on the tips of her toes. Her hair was dry now, but it had dried in a rumpled pile of curls that made him want to touch it. She had put on her uptight suit again, but it was rumpled to the point of ruination, and it didn’t hide the woman she had been on that float.

He thought he had never seen a more beautiful woman. And maybe that’s what made him helpless to pull away from her, to do what needed to be done.

He saw it coming. He could see it coming from a mile away. Her half-closed eyes, her deeply inhaled breath, the bow of her mouth drawing into the most adorable little pucker.

He had plenty of time to get away.

But he didn’t. He let her.

He let Gracie Day kiss him.

And it was everything he knew it would be. Her lips touching his contained a sweetness he had never known, a delicious innocence.

But when her kiss deepened he detected something else in there. Her hidden Ferrari dreams, her passion, the place in her that old Herbert or Hoover or whatever the hell his name had been would have killed for good.

He pulled back from her, touched his index finger to her chin.

He fought the temptation to take her lips again, to tangle his hands in her hair, to pull her to him, to coax her wild side to the surface.

He’d done hard things his entire life. But nothing quite as hard as walking away from Gracie.

“Don’t settle,” he said.

“What does that mean?”

It meant not to settle for someone boring and stupid like Harold.
But he didn’t say that. He said, “It means get rid of that gas-guzzling old-people car you are driving and get something a little spiffy. Don’t settle for anything less than your dreams.”

Rather than looking appreciative of his advice, she looked annoyed. A good note to leave her on. He went to turn away.

And stopped. Something caught his attention, something not quite right. In the darkness of her door stoop a paper was fluttering on the window of her office.

Cars parked where they shouldn’t be. Teenage boys with a certain look on their faces. Papers fluttering on windows. Things out of place unnerved him, and he went and yanked the paper off, and scanned it briefly.

It should have made him relax, it should have allowed him to register,
no threat, stand down.

No phone,
it read,
Did you still want me and Tuck to come for supper at your place tomorrow? Love,
Serenity.

Love.
As if Serenity had a clue what that was.

Of course, neither did he.

Instead of standing down, he felt he was on red alert. Wordlessly he handed Grace the note, and saw the little smile tickle her lips when she read Tucker’s name.

“You invited them over to your place? For supper?” He folded his arms over his chest and glared at her.
Melbourne seemed to be fading by the second.

“Yes.” She looked defiant, having correctly read by his tone he did not approve of Serenity and Tucker being invited to her house.

“I don’t think you should.”

The last of the dazed look left her face. “Don’t think that just because you gave me a perfect day and an okay kiss, you can boss me around.”

An okay kiss?
“You didn’t have to invite them to your house, for God’s sake. If you’re worried about the kid being hungry, you could have taken them for a pizza.”

Shoot.
He had not played that one very well. He could tell by the stricken look that crossed her face it had not occurred to her that Tucker might be hungry.

That’s what you got when you grew up in a perfect world. Despite what she wanted to believe, Grace had been sheltered. A home where there wasn’t enough food on the table had never crossed her mind. And never would have if he hadn’t opened his big mouth.

The stricken look was quickly replaced with one of pure stubbornness.

“I’ll invite whomever I please for dinner. And what’s more, Rory Adams, I am not looking for anyone to run my life. I would only be interested in a relationship of equals.”

“A what?” he sputtered.

“Never mind.”

“A relationship?” he said, incredulous.

“I didn’t mean it the way you are taking it.”

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m sunburned.”

“You should know I am not a guy who is interested in a relationship of any kind. Not equals. Not unequals.”

For a moment she scanned his face, and he steeled himself, daring her to see the yearning that had nearly swallowed him earlier.

“I’m not looking for a relationship, either!” she protested.

“You just said—

“That just slipped out. I meant it generically, as in no kind of woman with any sense of her self would tolerate being bossed around.”

“Directed,” he inserted.

“Whatever! Personally, I’m not looking for a relationship of any kind. I’m done with that sort of thing. I’m a career woman. And a very successful one.”

“That’s not true, Grace.”

Her jaw dropped. “It is. I can show you my financial statements!”

“I wasn’t referring to your success at business. I don’t believe you’re done with that sort of thing, the big wedding followed by the cute house followed by a baby. And then another one. Three. I bet you want three.”

“I don’t. I’m done with those dreams!”

“I can see in your face that you’re not. I can see in your face exactly what you’re looking for. What you’ll always look for—what your mom and dad had. A perfect family to go with your perfect days. The cottage in the summer. The Thanksgiving turkey. The big
Christmas hoopla.”

“After the breakup of my relationship I’ve decided none of that is for me.”

“I can clearly see what is making you such easy prey for Serenity.”

“I am not her prey! What an ugly thing to say!”

Ugly. Raw. Cynical.
That’s what he was. It made him unworthy of her kisses, but maybe it also made him the perfect one to deflect Serenity.

“You think you’ve given up on your hopes and dreams, but you really haven’t.”

“I have!”

“They’ve just gone underground. Serenity knows what you want. You’d give your right arm for Tucker to be Graham’s. A substitute for that baby you thought you and Henry were going to have.”

“Stop it!”

He could see angry little spots of color on both her cheeks. Good. He had succeeded at nipping any attraction she was feeling for him in the bud. So he shrugged. “Okay.”

Just as suddenly as it had come, her anger was gone. “Don’t you want Tucker to be Graham’s son?”

The truth was it was much easier to contemplate Tucker
not
being Graham’s, and that’s how he was playing it until he had cold, hard proof that showed him differently.

“I’m coming for dinner tomorrow,” he announced.

“You’re not! I haven’t invited you.”

“I’m not letting you deal with Serenity on your own. You’re naive. You’re way too innocent.”

“I am not innocent,” she sputtered. “What on earth would give you that idea?”

The fact you could barely wear that bathing suit. Your kiss.

“Let me help you deal with it,” he said quietly.

For a moment she looked stubborn. But then she looked at the note in her hand and he saw the doubt on her face.

“I won’t say anything to Serenity,” he said, playing that doubt. “I’ll let you handle it. But I’ll be there, gauging what she says, running it through the meter of my cynicism. I’ll offer you my opinion after, but I won’t force it on you.”

And if I pocket a spoon with a little saliva sample on it, who’s that hurting?

“All right,” she said, clearly unhappy with the surrender, unhappy that she was accepting what she needed most and wanted least.

Not to do this alone.

“Where do you live?” he asked.

“I bought the house from my parents when they moved, so I live where I always lived,” she said with stiff pride, as if the fact she had never left her family home proved everything he had just said about her.

And it did, didn’t it?

He sighed. “What time should I be there?”

“Fiveish?”

In the world he had started moving in, dinner didn’t happen at five. It happened at eight or nine. After cocktails. And hors d’oeuvres. After endless small talk, and sometimes a little careless flirting with people who were no more interested in relationships than he was.

The banality of it all suddenly made him feel like his world had become unbearably lonely.

He was being pulled into her little world. And he didn’t like it. But he was just going to have to suck it up until this Serenity situation was cleared up.

And then nothing, but nothing—not even the memory of the way Grace’s lips had tasted crushed beneath his own—was going to keep him from personally supervising that job in Australia.