Between Duty and Desire (14 page)

“Same,” he said.

Her eyes widened in surprise. “I find that difficult to believe.”

“Believe it,” he said.

She met his gaze and the electricity between them hummed as if a power line ran straight through them. Her face turned pink and she lifted her hand self-con
sciously to her throat. “Watch out,” she warned. “It’ll go to my head.”

“That’s fair. You’ve gone to my head.” That was as close as he would get to telling her how he really felt about her. He wouldn’t make promises she wouldn’t want him to keep. He wouldn’t make a profession that would make her faint in disbelief.

She rolled her eyes and snagged his arm. “Come on. I don’t want you worrying about me while you go off on your new adventure,” she said as she urged him toward her cottage. “I’m going to be fine. I have another luncheon date and I’ve somehow gotten myself committed to working with kindergartners once a week.”

“I guess that means you’ll at least start your car once a week.”

She tossed him a dirty look then continued with a driven air. “Don’t pull that innocent routine with me. I know you’re behind it. I’m also going back to the retirement center. But I have something I want you to take with you. There were actually two things I wanted to give you, but I didn’t know you were leaving so soon.”

Brock shook his head as they entered the back door of the cottage. “I don’t want anything, don’t need anything. Really. It’s not—”

“This isn’t anything that big, just a reminder,” she said, guiding him to the kitchen. “I’m glad I went ahead and got them developed.” She grabbed a packet of photographs from the counter and flipped
through them. “Where is it…here it is!” she said, pulling out one and thrusting it at him.

“What was I saying?” she murmured, lifting her hand to her head. “Oh, it’s a reminder. Not of me,” she said firmly, “but of you.”

Distracted by the unusual frantic pace of her conversation, Brock looked down at the photograph and wrinkled his brow in confusion. It was the photo of him and Callie and all those kids who had worked on the sand castle. His gaze automatically returned to Callie, with her sunburned nose, windblown hair and laughing smile.

“Are you looking at yourself?”

He nodded, lying, his gaze still fastened on her.

“See how relaxed you look, how happy,” she said, pointing at him.

Brock glanced at himself in the photo. She was right. He looked happy. “Yeah,” he muttered.

“Don’t forget the sand castles,” she said.

He looked at her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you are one of the most driven men I’ve ever met. You’re intense, sometimes too serious, and almost always too hard on yourself. Don’t forget what your dreams were when you were a kid.” She took a quick breath then lifted her lips to his in a kiss that didn’t last nearly long enough. “Draw some high-rise sand castles during some of those endless meetings.”

A terrible knot formed in his throat, but he smiled over it. “I’ll do that,” he said, and lifted his hand to
touch her cheek, memorizing her features one more time. “Call me for any reason.”

She shook her head. “This is your new adventure. I refuse to butt in.” She bit her lip. “Thank you for everything. Good—”

Unable to bear hearing those words from her, he covered her mouth. “Don’t say it.”

“What do you want me to say?” she asked, her voice reflecting a hint of the desperation he felt.

“See you soon,” he said.

“What if that’s not true?”

“Say it anyway.”

“See you soon,” she said, and he pulled her into his arms and held her in silence for two and a half minutes. It took him that long to get himself squared away enough to walk away.

Marine Lingo Translation
Semper Fi: Marine Corps motto—
Always Faithful.

T
he late November rain pounded against the window of Brock’s corner office. His leg always ached when there was a cold rain and today was no different. Reports waited for his review, but he picked up the photograph of Callie and him with the super sand castle instead. He’d touched it so often, the edges had started to show some wear, so he’d put it in a Plexiglas frame. If he closed his eyes, he could smell the ocean and hear her laughter.

“Brock?” a male voice called from the doorway, interrupting Brock’s trip to the South Carolina shore.

Sighing, he turned toward the door. He knew the
voice belonged to the managing partner’s intern. “What do you need, Eugene?”

“Mr. Robertson just wants your opinion on this as soon as you can take a look at it,” Eugene said, setting down a thick file and glancing over Brock’s shoulder. “Pretty lady,” he said. “I didn’t know you were married.”

Brock set the picture down. “I’m not.”

“Significant other? Fiancée?” Eugene paused. “Sister? She doesn’t really look—”

“No, she’s not my sister,” he said, feeling irritated. “She’s just a woman I know.”

“An acquaintance,” Eugene clarified, nodding his head.

“Yes,” Brock said, knowing the description wasn’t right. “And—”

“More,” Eugene said, waving his hand. “A friend.”

“Why are we playing charades?” Brock asked.

Eugene shrugged. “I’ve never noticed that photograph before.”

That was because Brock had kept it in his drawer until he’d put it in a frame. “You can tell Mr. Robertson I’ll get this done by tomorrow.”

Eugene scratched the back of his neck. “If you’re not romantically involved, I know a woman who would like to meet you for a drink.”

Brock immediately rejected the idea. He wasn’t interested. He wasn’t sure when he would be interested again. He was starting to wonder if he might as well become a monk. “I’ve got a lot of work—”

“Before you say no,” Eugene said, “remember, it’s just a drink. I’ll pay.”

Brock frowned in confusion. “Why?”

Eugene sighed and looked over his shoulder as if to make sure no one was listening. “Because I want Linda in Accounting to go out with me. She said she would meet me for drinks if I could get you to come along for Beth. We could all go together.”

Brock couldn’t remember meeting Beth personally, but she looked exactly like the kind of woman who would have attracted him before Callie. Killer body, clearly experienced, hot. Not feeling a lick of interest, Brock shook his head. “Sorry, Eugene, you’re gonna have to—”

“Oh, come on. It’s no skin off your nose. One drink.” Eugene pointed to the pile of papers on Brock’s desk. “It’s not like you’ll be doing anything better. It looks like all you do is work.”

In other circumstances, Brock would be tempted to deliver a kiwi-injection—otherwise known as a swift kick in the rear—to Eugene, but he couldn’t ignore the pinch of truth in the graduate student’s words. Was he becoming a hermit, buried in his work? Disliking the thought, he frowned. “Okay, tomorrow after work. One drink.”

Eugene immediately brightened, swinging his fist through the air. “Great. You won’t regret it.” He lowered his voice in a confidential tone. “I hear Beth is downright easy for the right guy. You could get lucky.”

Quit while you’re ahead,
Brock thought, but stifled the words. “One drink tomorrow after work,” he repeated. “If you don’t mind, close the door on your way out,” Brock said, scowling as the young man left.

Scrubbing his hand through his hair, he picked up the photo again and drank in the sight of Callie. His gut twisted with longing. What he wouldn’t give just to see her again, but she’d made it clear he was temporary. She didn’t want anything permanent with him.

He missed her.

Yes, he could function without her. Yes, he was able to feed himself, get his work done and even watch a ballgame. But nothing was half as much fun.

Heaven help him, he was one sorry sonofabitch. He shoved the photo into a drawer so he wouldn’t see it. Maybe he needed to forget her. Maybe he needed to go out with Beth and have a few too many and then maybe have Beth, too.

The following afternoon it rained again. His leg was killing him as he held an umbrella and escorted Beth Pritchard to a trendy bar two blocks away from the office. He and Beth followed Eugene and Linda. She had great legs, a killer body and a voice that made him want to chew glass. He’d only noticed her across the room before, so he hadn’t known she possessed such a nasal, grating tone.

She chatted about her family and college back
ground and attempted to engage Brock in conversation. By the time the foursome arrived at the bar, Brock was ready for a double of anything hard to drink.

“Eugene tells me you were a Marine,” Beth said, scooting her bar stool close to his. “Did you see any action?”

Brock nodded. “What do you want to drink?”

“A sour apple martini,” she said.

“Whiskey,” he said to the bartender. “Double.”

“Tell me what it was like being a Marine,” she said. “I have a thing about men in uniform.”

“I don’t wear it anymore,” he said.

She slid her hand onto his thigh. “That’s okay. It’s what’s underneath that really matters.”

Caught off guard at her brazenness, he swiveled toward the bar, away from her touch. “The drinks are here.”

“Do you like to dance?”

I did with Callie,
he thought, remembering dancing with her and how she had felt like magic in his arms. “I haven’t done much dancing since I left the Corps. One of my legs was injured and—”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” she said. “I bet you could slow dance, though.”

With the right woman,
he thought.
Aw, hell, this wasn’t going well at all.
He downed his whiskey in two gulps. “Listen, I don’t really feel like being here tonight, so—”

She leaned closer and slid her hand onto his thigh again. “We can go to my house.”

He sighed. “Beth, I’m—”

“Excuse me,” a familiar female voice said from a few feet away. “Pardon me. Is Brock Armstrong here?”

Unable to believe his ears, he swiveled around to find Callie standing in front of the bar looking like a drowned rat as she gripped a drooping bouquet of roses in one hand and the heel of her shoe in the other.

“Callie?” was all he could say.

Her gaze swiveled away from the bartender to his and his heart tripped over itself.

“Surprise,” she said with an unsteady smile. “It’s me. I got a makeover at one of the salons this morning, but the rain washed it away. I broke the heel of my shoe on a manhole.” She glanced at Beth. “Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” he said.

Beth frowned. “I’m Beth Pritchard. Brock and I work together.”

Callie nodded. “How nice for you. I’m Callie Newton. Brock and I got to know each other this summer.” He saw the moment she noticed Beth’s hand on his thigh. She bit her lip, looking suddenly uncertain. “You know, maybe this is a bad time. Maybe this was a bad idea.”

Feeling a slice of desperation cut through him, he stood and reached for her arm. “No, it was a great idea. I’ve picked up the phone to call you too many times to count.”

She glanced at Beth again. “Uh-huh,” she said,
clearly unconvinced. She squeezed her forehead. “I think I’ve been way too impulsive and—”

“Callie,” he interrupted, putting his hands on both her shoulders and gently shaking. “Why are you here?”

She met his gaze and opened her mouth, then closed it. Her gaze slid to Beth and back to Brock. “Are you and her—” She broke off and shook her head. “Oh, I shouldn’t ask. I have no right to ask. It’s none of my business and—”

“We’re not,” Brock said. “We’re not anything. This is the first time I’ve been out since I moved to Atlanta. Eugene twisted my arm because he wanted to get with Linda. This was part of the trade-off.”

Brock held his breath while Callie paused and studied him. “So you’re not involved,” she said.

“Not at all,” he said. “Why are you here, Callie?” he asked, unable to take his gaze off of her.

She took a careful breath and lifted her chin as if she were fortifying herself. “I want to ask you a favor,” she said.

“A favor?” he echoed, confused as hell.

“Well I wasn’t going to say favor,” she amended and swore under her breath. “I had this all planned out and practiced it on the drive down and I can’t remember a freakin’ word of it now. Here,” she said, thrusting the roses into his arms. “These are for you.”

Touched and surprised, he gaped at her. “For me?”

“Yes, and this, too,” she said, pulling a CD from the purse hanging on her shoulder.

“Whoa. What’s—” He glanced at the CD. “Jimmy Buffet?”

“I’m here to kidnap you. I’m going to the Caribbean and I would like to take someone very special with me.” She bit her lip. “That someone very special would be you.”

Too shocked for words, all he could do was stare at her, his heart pounding so hard he could hear it throb in his brain.

She pulled back slightly, color rising to her cheeks. “See? I told you it was impulsive, insane, crazy. I shouldn’t have—”

“When does the plane leave?” he asked, finally finding his voice.

She blinked. “Tomorrow.”

“You want to go back to my place and help me pack?”

Her turn to be speechless. She opened her mouth and her jaw worked, but no sound came out. “Are you sure?”

He lifted his hand to cup her jaw. Her skin was so soft, her heart so sweet and his chest squeezed so tight it hurt. This was his chance with her and he was going to take it. He hoped Rob wouldn’t mind. “I’m sure,” he said.

Twenty-four hours later, they were sharing a chaise lounge watching the sun set. He was drinking a beer. She was drinking a Hurricane.

Sitting between his legs with her hair against his chest, she gave a long sigh. “I’m glad I did this.”

“Me, too,” he said, burying his face in her hair and inhaling her scent. They’d made love three times, but hadn’t talked about anything important.

“I was scared you would say no.”

“What gave you the
cojones
to do it then?”

She turned slightly and looked at him. “Well, you did tell me to call you for any reason.”

“Yeah,” he said with a nod, wanting more from her, but not wanting to ask.

“Regrets?” she asked, searching his face.

“I regret that we’ve been apart for the last three months,” he said quietly, finding it more and more difficult to cover how deep his feelings were for her.

Setting her drink down on the balcony floor beside her, she turned the rest of the way around onto his lap so that she was facing him. “I do and I don’t,” she said.

He frowned in confusion.

She lifted her hands to his shoulders and traced them with her fingertips. “I know it sounds strange, but I was such a mess when I first met you. You helped pull me out of my black hole and I think I needed to be by myself for a little bit.”

His gut tightened. “And now?”

“I want to be strong enough for you,” she said, meeting his gaze.

“What?”

“I don’t want to always be leaning on you. I don’t want you to always lead with me always following.” She bit her lip. “I’ve done that before.”

Her eyes were dark with an emotion he sensed was almost as deep as his, but he was almost afraid to hope. “So what do you want, Callie?”

“I want to take turns.” She searched for his hand and laced her fingers through his. “What do you want?”

“I don’t want to be temporary,” he said, hearing the huskiness in his voice, but unable to do a damn thing about it.

“Oh.”

Brock put it all on the line. “I’m in love with you,” he said. “I want to marry you.”

Her eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I am. But I’m not sure how you feel about me, how you feel about Rob.”

She took a deep breath. “I’ll always love Rob and he’ll always be a part of me. I didn’t think I could love again, but I was wrong. This may sound strange to you, but I kinda feel like Rob gave me you.”

Something eased inside Brock. Maybe Rob wouldn’t hate him for loving Callie.

He lifted her hand to his lips. “When you’re near me, it’s like the sun is shining even if it’s pouring down rain.”

“Really?” she asked, her smile lighting her face.

“Yeah, really.”

She threw her arms around his shoulders and hugged him. “You’re so strong. I had to make sure I was strong enough for you.”

“There’s brute strength and there’s magic. You’re the magic.”

Twelve months later, Brock kidnapped his wife and took her on a trip to the Caribbean. She was sipping lemonade and he was drinking a beer. It was afternoon, and she lay between his legs on a chaise lounge with her gorgeous seven-months-pregnant belly exposed to the waning afternoon sun.

She touched her belly and gave a breathless chuckle. Brock had watched her often enough to know what that meant—the baby had moved.

He slid his hand over her stomach and felt a kick. He smiled and stroked her hair with his other hand. “How does cupcake like the Caribbean?” he asked.
Cupcake
was Callie’s name for the baby.

She turned slightly and looked up at him with loving eyes that still made his heart turn over. “Cupcake loves the Caribbean. Cupcake is going to be a weekend beach baby.”

“Just like Momma,” he said. “Have you hated the city as much as you thought you would?” He’d worried about that. She’d been so emphatic about detesting the traffic and noise.

She shook her head. “How could I hate it when I’m with you? Besides, you lured me with such a nice house in a nice woodsy neighborhood and tucked me into a cul de sac. You come home every day and love me every night, and sometimes you even cook dinner. You made peace with my cat and let him move in with us, too.”

He lowered his head to taste her lips. Heaven help him, he still couldn’t get enough of her.