Home for a Soldier (10 page)

“Do you want to stop at the bar and
get a drink?” he asked.

“I don’t know—”

“We have practical things to
discuss.” He steered her through the entrance, past the potted palms into a
quiet corner of the lobby bar. A piano tinkled further back. They settled on a
low leather sofa. A candle flickered on the table, and the flame sent shadows
dancing over Grace’s dress as she slid his jacket off her shoulders.

“What would you like to drink?” he
asked.

She picked up the list propped on the
table and studied it in silence. “A Baileys please,” she said a moment later,
when a waiter arrived and hovered. “Ice, please, but could I have cubes, not
crushed ice.”

Rory ordered a Scotch, although he
rarely drank. He leaned against the cushions and watched Grace fidgeting with
nerves.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked
when she ran out of pages to study on the menu, and finally stole a glance at
him.

“Having a drink with you?”

“No. Marrying a man you don’t know.
You seem too honest for this kind of crazy stunt.”

She kept turning the pages on the
menu, although her eyes drifted to the piano player who sat hunched over the
keys, beating a crescendo on the white baby grand.

“I’m broke. Six months ago, the
insurance company I used to work for went bust, and I lost my job. Things went
wrong.” She paused, and after a moment she continued, her tone dry. “And of
course, Debbie was going to let you down, and I had to bail her out. I always
have to bail her out.”

“You’re nothing like your sister.”

“I know. Debbie is lively and funny
and beautiful, and everyone loves her.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Rory
frowned at her forlorn look. He gestured at the enormous bouquet on the table in
the centre of the lobby. “Debbie is like a bunch of mixed flowers. A bit of
this, a bit of that, always flighty, changing her mind. You’re like a single
white orchid. Pure and perfect.”

“Flowers?” Grace gave a nervous
laugh. “I didn’t figure you the type to know about flowers.”

“My grandmother loved flowers. I
always got her some for her birthday. She liked white orchids best.”

“Why did
you
decide to get
married?” Grace rushed out the question, but pleasure over the compliment
lingered in her nervous smile. “It’s such a drastic thing to do, just to hold on
to a cheap apartment, and to get the extra allowance your company pays.”

“It’s not just the money.” Rory’s
voice tightened. “My grandmother died two years ago. I planned to clear out the
apartment and sublet. I would have been allowed to, while I was in the Army, but
I didn’t have the heart. Too many memories. The place remains exactly as my
grandparents left it, although I’ve emptied the bedrooms of personal stuff. I’ve
let my buddies borrow the apartment while they’re out on leave.”

“Debbie says it’s in an old
building.”

“Rent control in New York City only
applies to old leases in pre-war buildings. My grandparents moved there in the
sixties. I was able to take over the lease because I lived with them.”

“You didn’t live with your parents?”

“Sometimes. Most of the time they
were…somewhere else.”

“I wish mine were.” Grace pulled a
face at him. “I haven’t told them about getting married, but I’m sure Debbie
will, and I’ll have some explaining to do. They live in Rochester. Dad keeps
nagging at me to move back home and apply for jobs up there.”

“Sorry.” Rory grimaced in sympathy.
“I’ll give you the keys to the apartment tomorrow. There’s a binder with
instructions on the desk in the living room, and the super helps if you have
maintenance problems.”

“Tell me about the place. Where is
it? What are the neighbors like?”

Rory shifted back to allow the waiter
more room to set down the drinks. He signed the bill and picked up his squat
glass. The scotch burned a smooth trail down his throat as he took a sip.

He described the apartment and
watched Grace relax beside him on the sofa, her tension easing as the alcohol
soothed her nerves. Candlelight reflected in her eyes, and every now and then, a
tentative smile brightened her worried expression.

Rory recalled how quickly and easily
she had responded to his touch last night. He suspected that underneath the
controlled exterior beat a sentimental heart. He knew that he wouldn’t be able
to resist her, but decided to protect his conscience by making it clear that
tonight was all they had.

He couldn’t handle emotional
attachments, not even to his wife.

* * * *

In the elevator, Grace caught her
reflection, saw the flushed cheeks and the eyes wide with apprehension. The
glass of Baileys had given her courage while they sat in the bar, but now the
warm glow evaporated, leaving her skittish. In silence, she followed Rory into
their room, her nerves coiling tighter on each step.

“So, Grace, do you want to make it
legal?” Rory sent her a lopsided smile and unbuttoned his shirt, tugging the
tails free from the waistband.

“It
is
legal…isn’t it?”

“No quite. I don’t think a marriage
is legally valid until—” His eyes flickered to the king size bed.

A wave of longing crashed over Grace.
The emotion had simmered inside her while they sat downstairs, talking and
listening to the solitary piano player.

“There’s something else as well.”
Rory fumbled inside the jacket he’d thrown over the back of a chair. When he
straightened, two gold rings glinted in his palm.

“I thought you had forgotten about
them,” Grace said. “Or changed your mind about wearing one.”

“No.” He took a step closer. “I was
waiting for the right moment. Until we were alone.” He dropped the larger ring
on the tabletop, where it made a rattling sound. He held the smaller ring
between his thumb and forefinger.

“If you accept this ring, it will be
a promise that despite the practical nature of this marriage, you’ll hold me in
your thoughts and include me in your prayers. Do you want make that promise,
Grace?”

Grace swallowed. Her heart pounded so
hard it hurt. “Yes,” she whispered, raised her hand and laid it across Rory’s
open palm. The ring chafed against her skin as Rory slid it into place.

“There,” he said. “Perfect.”

Grace picked up the larger ring.
“Your turn. If you accept this ring, it’s a promise to keep safe and come back
to me, and think of me while you’re gone.” She reached for his hand, struggled a
little, but managed to push the gold circle to the base of his finger.

Rory held her at arm’s length and
smiled down at her, a taut little smile that added to her confusion. “So, what
is it going to be, Grace? Are you going to hide in your giraffe pajamas, or are
you going to take off your wedding dress and let me see all of you?”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“No, Grace.” He dropped his arms down
his sides, suddenly serious. “I’m not making fun of you.”

“In which case, are you trying to
talk me into going to bed with you?”

“No.” Rory shrugged off his shirt and
tossed it over of the jacket. He spoke curtly, not looking at her, as if
fighting a mental battle. “But it wouldn’t be difficult to manipulate you if I
wanted to. I could give you all kinds of bullshit about how I’m going into a
dangerous place. That I might not come back. How I need your warmth tonight. But
I won’t do that to you.”

“Because I’m not sexy and seductive
like Debbie.”

Rory whirled about and stood in front
of her, bare-chested, his muscles bunched. “Are you mad, Grace? Do you have any
idea how hard it was for me to leave you alone last night? You probably think I
slept, but I didn’t. I lay awake all night, wanting you. It was torture, feeling
your body against mine, not being able to touch you, because it would have been
wrong.”

The need inside her flared, both at
his words, and at the sight of his naked torso glistening like a bronze statue
in the golden light. “Why would it be wrong?”

“Because of the kind of girl you
are.” His expression softened. “I’m leaving for Iraq on Monday. I don’t have
room for distractions in my life. I know you won’t give your body without giving
at least a little bit of your heart, but your feelings would go to waste with
me, because I’ll be gone.”

“They are my feelings to waste.”

“Grace.” Rory clasped her arms. “I
want you. With every thought in my head, every nerve in by body, but it has to
be your choice. I don’t get involved. There’s nothing I can give you apart from
this one night.”

She fidgeted in his hold, not daring
to look at him, afraid that the tender feelings she hadn’t admitted even to
herself might fill her eyes. “And you don’t want a bunny-boiler on your tail.”

“That’s right.” He traced one
fingertip along the edge of her white silk gown where it dipped between her
breasts, then brushed the back of his hand all the way down to her waist. “Are
you wearing anything under this?”

The sensations he’d awakened in her
during the previous night sprang to life. Although her brain screamed a sharp
warning about getting hurt, her body ached for Rory’s touch. Grace jutted up her
chin and sent her reservations scattering into the four corners of the room.

“Why don’t you find out?” she told
him.

For a second, Rory froze. Despair
filled Grace at the thought that he would reject her again. After a silence that
seemed to stretch forever, he asked, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Grace whispered. “I’m sure.”

She could barely breathe as Rory
swept his hands along her shoulders, nudging down the straps of her white silk
gown. The flimsy material fell into folds that caught over the slope of her
breasts.

“I could tell you didn’t wear a bra
underneath,” he murmured. His eyes roamed over her exposed skin with such
intensity it made her shudder.

“Not much else either,” Grace said,
and shimmied her shoulders, until the bodice slid down to gather around her
middle, baring her from the waist up, like a mermaid rising from a sea of foamy
whitecaps.

“What are you doing to me?” Rory let
out a groan and lowered his head to catch one peaked breast into his mouth.

“Ah!” The cry burst from her, sharp
and uncontrolled. Pleasure unfurled inside her, radiating all the way from the
tip of her breast to the valley between her legs.

Rory curled his hands around her
waist, steadying her, locking her into place. His teeth caught the nipple and
tugged. A fiery sensation streaked through Grace, stirring inside her a hunger
so savage she feared it might leave her starved forever. Her fingers tangled
into Rory’s hair and she arched her back, offering herself to him.

He transferred his attention to her
other breast. A low growl rumbled in his chest as he slid his hands inside the
silk that pooled around her waist. He cupped her bare buttocks. “You really
don’t have anything on under this dress, do you?” he muttered.

“You’ll have to see,” she whispered,
and guided his hands to slide the fabric down past her hips. His calloused
fingers brushed the sensitive skin at the curve of her waist. A shiver skittered
across her belly, tugging deep inside, and a gust of suppressed laughter made
her squirm beneath his touch.

Rory glanced up, his features taut
with concentration. “What?”

“I’m ticklish.”

A smile eased his stern expression.
“I’ll have to remember that. But not now.” He dropped to his knees in front of
her and carefully inched down the dress until it pooled around her ankles,
revealing a tiny white lace triangle with narrow straps. 

Grace heard his sharp intake of
breath. Rory lifted one hand and traced his finger along the lacey edge. Tilting
his head back, he sent her a dark look. “I’ve never seen a woman wear anything
so sexy in my entire life.”

He urged her to step back, his
fingers clasped around her waist. Grace toppled to sit on the end of the bed.
Still kneeling, Rory slid his hands down her hips and along the outer edge of
her thighs, until he could cup his palms over her knees and nudge her legs
apart.

“That’s it,” he murmured. He dipped
his head to trace his lips along the inside of her thigh. His warm breath
brushed her skin, and the moist heat from his lips found an answering echo
beneath the scrap of silk that hid her intimate folds.

Alien sensations unfurled inside
Grace. Her entire body throbbed. Rory worked his way along her skin, his head a
coppery shadow between her legs. Grace leaned back and steadied her hands
against the bedding, her knees spread brazenly wide. When Rory reached the apex
of her thighs, he straightened to give her a questioning look.

“Yes,” Grace said.

He bent to her, his tongue probing
against the thin silk. Soon the moisture from his mouth mingled with the
moisture beneath the fabric. Grace writhed on the bed, her hips rocking as she
sought to deepen the contact. Rory captured her swollen bud in his hot kiss,
sucking, teasing, always through the silk that made the touch so maddeningly
delicate Grace wanted to scream out her need for more.