Home for a Soldier (3 page)

When Grace straightened, the tote
safely in her grasp, Rory hauled her to his side. A contrary sensation of being
protected and under threat at the same time flooded her. She ceased struggling
in his hold, disconcerted by the sparks of awareness that his masculine shape
ignited inside her.

“See you tomorrow, buddy,” shouted
the crew cut behind the wheel.

“Be gentle with the bride,” yelled
someone else.

After a few more rowdy cries, the
band of brothers took off in their jeeps. His arm crushing her close, Rory led
the way toward the entrance and Grace followed, unresisting as the force of
attraction clouded her senses. She appeared to have no control over her physical
reaction to him. Her skin tingled, and a breathless excitement fluttered in her
stomach. Instinctively, her body leaned into his. As the doors slid open, Rory
pulled her inside. He continued through the crowded lobby and bundled her into
an empty elevator.

“I need to check in,” Grace
protested.

During the drive from the Marriage
Bureau to the hotel, she had limited herself to grunted monosyllables. Rory’s
friends had surrounded her like a team of bodyguards, as if they suspected she’d
escape if offered half a chance.

Grace gritted her teeth. She might
have, if she hadn’t given her word. This was
not
what she had agreed to.
She had arranged to marry a disciplined soldier, not a deranged lout high on
testosterone, drunk as a goldfish in a bowl of vodka.

“I’ve already checked you in.” Rory
released her long enough to jab his finger on the button numbered fourteen, then
instantly hauled her to his side again. The elevator doors slid to block the
exit.  Grace shuddered. Was this how convicts felt when the jailhouse gates
clanked shut behind them?

“Are you cold?” The pressure of
Rory’s arm eased and Grace knew he was looking down at her.

No. Petrified.
“The air conditioning is too high,” she told him.

“We can turn up the heat when we get
to the room,” he replied and gathered her closer.

Grace drew a sharp breath as she
fought the panic that the double meaning and Rory’s nearness ignited inside her.
“We’ll have to go back down first. You can’t have checked me in. You didn’t have
my ID.”

“They only need one ID per room.”

“Per room?” she echoed, glancing up
in alarm.

Rory contemplated her with a lopsided
smile. “Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan. You didn’t expect separate rooms, did you?”

“I’m not marrying you until tomorrow,
and you wouldn’t be the first man to be jilted at the altar.” Grace rammed her
elbow into his ribs and clawed at the solid arm that circled her waist.

The elevator came to a smooth halt,
but there was nothing smooth in how Rory Sullivan grabbed her wrist, yanked her
out, and hauled her along the corridor. He didn’t utter a single word as he
stopped outside the third door on the right, dumped her case on the floor, and
inserted a plastic keycard in the lock. He thrust her into the room and bent to
sling her case inside. Then he followed her in and slammed the door behind them.

“Let’s get this clear.” He lowered
his face to hers. “Your sister has already dropped me in the shit once. I’m not
going to let it happen a second time.”

Grace held her breath and stared into
the dark eyes beneath the russet brows before allowing her gaze to drift lower.
Although Rory’s hair glinted with red hues, his skin glowed with a deep tan, and
not a single freckle marred the smooth expanse. The wide cheekbones and straight
nose gave him an arrogant look, and his full mouth added a sensual edge that
caused a nervous twist in Grace’s stomach.

“And how exactly are you going to
prevent me from escaping?” she asked, but her voice lacked the defiance she
aimed for.

Rory crossed the room to a duffel bag
on the floor by the mahogany desk and returned swinging a pair of handcuffs. He
caught her right hand and carefully fastened one of the steel bracelets around
her wrist. Then he ushered her toward the window, toppled her into a chair next
to the small circular table, and clipped the other cuff around a table leg.

“That should do it,” he said and
retreated to the door.

“Wait!” Grace cried.

He looked at her over his shoulder.

“What if I have to…go to the
bathroom?”

Rory stalked back and unlocked the
handcuff from the table leg. “Bathroom.” He pointed at the door to the left of
the entrance. “If you’re not out in three minutes, I’ll come and get you, no
matter what state you’re in.”

Grace gasped and bolted into the
bathroom, paying no attention to the splendor in green marble. Perching on the
toilet seat, she pinched her eyes shut, barely able to manage the simple bodily
function of emptying her bladder as she counted the seconds ticking by.

What
had
she done?

And how could she stop the nightmare
from escalating?

The classically handsome face of Rory
Sullivan formed against the back of her eyelids, and in a blinding flash of
insight, the added benefits of the arrangement dawned on Grace.

She was a wallflower. Had always
been. During their teenage years, her lack of admirers compared to those of her
sister Debbie had been a constant source of embarrassment. All her life, she had
felt like an outsider in social gatherings where men and women congregated to
find a mate.

Rory Sullivan would give her feminine
prestige beyond anything a new wardrobe or hairstyle could achieve. She would
get some photographs. For the next two years, she could produce them at
opportune moments.
This is my husband
. Being married to such a fine
specimen of masculinity could be worn like a badge of honor.

With a sigh of relief, Grace pulled
up her baggy jeans. It would be foolish to escape. The advantages of the
situation were on her side, including the not inconsiderable financial benefits.
As she washed her hands, she drew a few calming breaths and practiced an
innocent smile in the triple mirror.

How hard could it be to keep one dumb
soldier under control?

* * * *

“I’ll be back by seven,” Rory told
her as he clipped the handcuff to the table leg once more. He drew the curtains
to block out the light, strode to the flat screen television on the desk facing
the bed, and swiveled the panel toward Grace.

She watched in silence as he returned
to drop the remote control in her lap, then glanced at his watch. “You can
charge a movie to the room. Do you want me to bring you something to eat?”

“A cheeseburger. With Swiss cheese.
Ketchup and pickles, but no mustard or lettuce. And a whole-wheat bun if they
have one. And if you can’t get Swiss cheese, then—”

Rory raised his palms to silence her.
“I’ll get you a cheeseburger. If it’s not what you want, you don’t have to eat
it.” He bent to test the handcuffs, struggling to keep his balance as he
straightened. “I’ll put the
Do Not Disturb
sign on the door.”

He swept his gaze around the room.
Satisfied, he moved the telephone further from her reach. “I’m sorry about this,
but I can’t take any chances. If you let me down, I don’t have the time to find
someone else.”

Grace shifted her shoulders in a
resigned gesture. “Make sure you’re back by seven,” she called out to Rory as he
exited the room.

When he was gone, Grace waited a few
minutes. Then she pushed back the chair, dropped to her knees, and lowered the
handcuff along the table leg. She crawled under the circular table and arched
her back against the top, inching it up until she could slip the handcuff free.
She edged out backward and stood, massaging her tender wrist.

Men
.
Either this particular specimen was stupid or too inebriated to think clearly.
Grace inspected the room. The bed, as vast and white as the polar ice cap, had a
green stripe of satin stretched across the foot, to coordinate with the green
leaf pattern on the walls.

She flicked through a stack of
promotional literature on the circular table and inspected the contents of the
mini bar. After checking the price list, she took out a club soda and gulped it
down. Instead of discarding the empty bottle in the trash under the desk, she
left it in clear view on top of the cabinet that housed the mini bar. She might
as well give Rory something to puzzle about when he returned.

Next, she transferred her overnight
case from the floor into the wardrobe. After a moment of hesitation, she picked
up the phone and dialed Debbie’s number in New Jersey. Her sister wasn’t in, but
Grace left a message. A grin tugged at her mouth as she lowered the receiver.
Figure that one out when you pay the room charges.

Satisfied, she stretched out on the
bed, switched on the television, and tuned in to an economic review on
Bloomberg. While the man on the screen lectured on about the recession, Grace
drifted off to sleep.

* * * *

Rory planted his thumb over the
down-arrow to call the elevator and held it there to keep his balance. Beneath
him, the swirls in the dark green carpet seemed to undulate in a manner that
caused turbulence inside his stomach.

Why the hell had he allowed the boys
to pour all that whisky into him after the training session on the makeshift
assault course set out in the Nevada desert? He should have known better than to
start drinking at midday. Sobriety was like a religion to him, a guiding light
he’d sworn to follow.

When the elevator arrived, Rory drew
a deep breath and stepped inside. A middle-aged couple shrank into a corner and
eyed him with a suspicious look. He stole a glance at the mirror, saw his shirt
flap open outside the jeans.

Damn.

Trying to keep the action
unobtrusive, using the distraction when the elevator stopped to let in a family
with a bawling toddler, he buttoned up the shirt and tucked the tails in his
waistband. What must Grace think of him? He hadn’t even had time for a shower,
and sweat and dust itched on his skin. A small wonder she hadn’t had a fit of
hysterics and fled to the nearest police station, asking for protection. But no,
she had simply jutted up her chin and accepted responsibility for a bargain
struck.

And his response had been to handcuff
her to a table. Guilt clenched inside him, sending his stomach into another roil
of protest. 
Poor Grace.
She must be frightened and bored and lonely up
in the hotel room. He really should have stayed with her, but the feeling of
being hemmed in had sent him into a tactical retreat.

Not that he had anywhere to go. The
boys had returned to their lodgings, and he was too drunk and disheveled to make
an appearance at the offices of Colossus Security. He glanced at his watch.
Almost five. The best use of the next two hours would be to sit somewhere quiet
and consume a gallon of black coffee.

And get a cheeseburger. He mustn’t
forget. Whole-wheat bun and no lettuce. That’s the least he could do. Get Grace
exactly what she wanted.

“Cheeseburger, whole wheat bun,” Rory
muttered as the elevator reached the lobby and he made his way to the dimly lit
bar.

He had barely settled down and
received a cup of the thickest and blackest coffee the bartender could manage
when a brunette wearing a revealing dress settled on the bar stool next to him.

“Hi there,” she drawled. “Is this
seat taken?’

“No.” He turned back to his coffee
and downed a scalding mouthful.

“You a soldier?”

“Why?”

“Hairstyle grown out of a crew-cut
and military bearing.”

“I used to be in the Army.” He didn’t
look at her face, not until he felt a feathery scrape of a fingernail on the
back of his hand. Then he glanced over, saw the heavy makeup and the come-hither
pout.

Why did women slap that stuff on
their faces? An image formed in his mind.
Grace didn’t.
She didn’t need
to. Her glowing skin and sparkling eyes did a lot more to a man than a jar full
of muck.

“Are you alone?” the woman asked.

“I was until you sat there.”

Her shrill laughter grated on his
nerves. He hadn’t heard Grace laugh, but he bet her laughter was dark and
throaty, the kind that sent a shiver down a man’s spine.

“You could buy me a drink,” the
brunette suggested.

“I’d be happy to, if you need a drink
and can’t afford one.”

This time, her laughter didn’t sound
so bright, but she waved over the bartender and ordered a Sea Breeze.

“Could I have a pen and paper?” Rory
asked the bartender.

The young man with dark eyes and a
movie star smile reached beneath the counter and laid out a small square notepad
and a promotional pen. Before Rory had time to pick them up, the brunette
reached over, and with a playful gesture confiscated both.

“I used to be a secretary. I can take
dictation.” In a coquettish move, she pushed her chest forward and poised the
pen in the air above the pad.