Once Her Man, Always Her Man (1 Night Stand Series) (2 page)

“Dad’s leaving tomorrow. He reports to Camp Pendleton. I’m going with him.” His words struck her like a body blow.

They’re moving. A hell of a long way from Lowell High School and Rockwall, Texas.

“Luke….” She squeezed his hand. The chill icing her heart suffocated the unseasonably warm Christmas air. “Wait.”

He’d avoided direct eye contact since walking up to the picnic table and he’d been stiff when she’d hugged him. He looked at her then, and it wasn’t her Luke, but a stranger, cool and remote. “I’m not sorry. And I’m not going just because Dad got called up. I enlisted in the Marines yesterday.”

I enlisted…. The words knocked around like a silver pinball caught bouncing between two objects, pinging against her soul. Enlisted in what?

“I’m eighteen. I took my GED this morning. Dad has some pull, so basic starts the week after Christmas. I don’t have to wait.”

Confusion added a second ball pinging around with the first. Luke enlisted. He joined the Marines. “When did you…?”

“Last month, after my birthday. Dad drove me down to….” His words drifted away, muted by the static in her brain. “…and that’s that. You’re great, but you’ve already gotten your acceptance letters to Brown and you’re going to school.”

“You’re breaking up with me?” She hadn’t meant to blurt it out, but shock cut off her good sense.

“Becca, America is going to retaliate. We’re already going into Afghanistan, and if I can get done with basic fast enough, I’ll be going with them. Bin Laden needs to die for what he did. Those fanatics need to understand that they attacked us. We have a duty to defend our country, to speak up for everyone who died.”

“Luke, I know. I know how you feel.”

“No.” He pulled his hand out from under hers. “You don’t know how I feel. And I don’t want you to ever know how I feel about this. A clean break is better. You’re great. Some guy is going to snap you right up and you’re going to have a great future. It’ll be easier on both of us if we make it a clean break now. I don’t want you to have to wait, to worry or to wonder.”

Nothing she said after that got through. He’d made up his mind. He’d taken her home, not even kissing her as he left her on the sidewalk in front of her house. He wasn’t home the next day.

Or the day after that.

A week later, the Dexter house had a For Sale sign in front of it.

A month later, a new family moved into it.

Rebecca didn’t know where he’d gone, so she addressed her letters to both he and his father, in care of the Marines.

She wrote him weekly.

Studying any news reports coming out of Afghanistan, she was terrified that one day they’d include a tidbit: local Rockwall boy dies overseas.

She didn’t go to Brown, sticking it out at the University of North Texas and commuting. She wanted to be where he’d left her.

So he could find her again.

A week before she graduated, an email blast from their high school graduating class’s annual newsletter caught her eye. Lieutenant Luke Dexter, former Lowell High football star, had been awarded a medal for bravery in combat. He remained on assignment in Afghanistan after a brief visit to speak at the school.

A brief visit.

He had come home.

But he hadn’t called.

She never sent him another letter.

***

Her chest squeezed unbearably tight at the scent, the woodsy vanilla as familiar to her as her own skin. She’d never forgotten how he smelled. Even now, the rich warmth of it rolled over her, carrying her back to more carefree days—breakfast at the football field, late afternoons lying in a tangle, trying to study. Long, wet, tongue-stroking kisses.

Painful cracks spider-webbed across the ancient headstone burying her heart. She’d mourned him and stopped visiting him in her heart a long time ago. The scent dragged the roots of her teenage passion, screaming and clawing, out from under the debris of years.

“Rebecca.” His voice washed over her and she closed her eyes.
It can’t be him.

Not now
.

She didn’t turn. She couldn’t. She squeezed her eyes shut, closing out the abandoned seventeen-year old girl who’d dared to hope, pray and dream that one day he would reach out to her again. Let her be there.

Instead, the twenty-eight-year old woman shook off a teenage melodramatic gasp and forced her eyes back open, glancing toward the mirror behind the bar. Hooded, hazel eyes met hers and her heart belly flopped, pain smashing through every nerve.

Chapter Two

Luke’s chest hurt, but he braced himself against it. Shock wrinkled the line between her brows, the emotion far more brutal to him than a firefight in Kandahar or Kabul. She didn’t turn to look at him. But her reflection in the mirror didn’t soften. The familiar, flirtatious smile fled from the cool, firm line of her lips. Color drained from the face of the woman who shifted on the bar stool. Movement to his right caught his attention. A man approached, intent on her, but meeting Luke’s iron expression, the would-be interloper diverted to another table.

Satisfied, his attention returned to the girl—no, the woman—gazing at him, pain etching the softness of her lips. The memory of her lips got him through Paris Island. He’d thought about them, about her smile, every single, damn day.

“Hello, Luke.” Her voice poured over him like warm honey.

Life doesn’t always offer second chances
….

“May I join you?” He nodded to the stool next to her.

“It’s a free country.” And just like that, she turned her back and the warm honey chilled, hardening over his chest.

“Thank you, ma’am.” He tacked the ma’am on as an afterthought. But the steel wrapped in her velvety voice jabbed his kidneys. Perching on the edge of the stool, he motioned to the bartender. “Two more of whatever the lady is having.”

She watched him from the mirror. Hungriness reflected in the gold flecked, tawny brown eyes, a perfect contrast to the tight jaw and stiff fingers wrapped around her wine glass. She tossed back a third of a glass like a shot of vodka.

A shot of vodka sounded like a great idea. But he needed his wits about him. IEDs laced the battlefield in front of him and patience and procedure and about eighty-five pounds of protective gear weren’t handy. But the trick to survival was to examine what was right in front of him and to react to it. He could do that in the field, he could do that with her. It was what he did best.

After the bartender served the drinks and took his credit card, Luke shifted to sit sideways, intentionally brushing his leg against hers. She didn’t recoil—exactly—but did shift away after a few seconds. Definitely treading in dangerous waters.

“How are you?” Lame, but it beat the first thing that came to mind. Dragging her off the icy perch and kissing her until she became that soft, warm, dewy-eyed girl he remembered wouldn’t go well. He ignored that savage need.

For now.

“I was sorry to hear about your father.” The words brushed over him, smoothing away the long years stretching between them.

“He died exactly as he intended.” Luke had no illusions. Not anymore. His father had been a Marine through and through. After their family loss, he returned to the Corps with a vengeance. He stopped being Dad and simply became Sir. His work in Afghanistan and Iraq saved a lot of lives, but a roadside bomber claimed him. The old man was at peace, hopefully with Luke’s mom and Brianna.

“You didn’t go to the funeral.” Every inflection carefully measured, she cradled the wine glass and avoided looking at him directly, watching via the mirror instead—a distancing technique—the PSYOP guys would love her. The modulated tone and her expression created a cocktail of distance and intimacy that left the listener eager to bridge the empty spaces.

“I was still overseas. I wasn’t aware there was much of a funeral.” Had she gone? Had she gone hoping to see me? He could have returned for the it, but a near miss on a personal assignment left him laid up for six weeks and the doctors wouldn’t let him fly.

“Mrs. Carter hosted a wake, and half of Rockwall attended the funeral.” Irritation crept into her words. “Protestors posted that they planned to demonstrate. Bastards. So the Carters and the Phelps called home everyone who could make it.”

The town showed up to protect his dad. Something heavy shifted off Luke’s heart. Rebecca showed up to protect his dad. The armed forces defended the rights of the people including those protesting. They didn’t like the protestors, but they’d been trained to ignore them and let them exercise their God-given freedoms.

“Thank you.” Her words echoed through him. “Dad would have appreciated it.”

She nodded, clearly done with speaking. The silence stretched taut between them. He considered all the angles. A loss for words was not a familiar handicap.

“Rebecca.”

“Why are you here, Luke?” She turned then, the full force of her gaze striking him. Nothing prepared him for her, the woman, poised, self-possessed and prettier than a runway model. Her head tilted to the side, she stared at him openly. He leaned forward, closing the distance between them. Once upon a time, he could boast no secrets existed between them because her shining face echoed every thought, every emotion. But that book was closed to him. He couldn’t tell what feelings raced through her, whether happy, sad, or terrifyingly indifferent to seeing him.

“I came home.”

Surprise skittered across her face, cracking the indifferent veneer. Another stone slid away from his heart. Maybe she hadn’t realized it yet, but she was happy to see him. And a little upset. But he could work with both.

“Not to Rockwall, I would have heard if you’d moved home.” No artifice existed in those words. They’d grown up in Rockwall’s bedroom community long before the superhighways extended their reach and the franchises moved in. Their tight neighborhood and Lowell still sent out a newsletter to graduates every year.

He relied on those dribs and drabs of information to keep up with her. She’d graduated from the University of North Texas with a 4.0 and offers from multi-billion dollar corporations. She hosted movie stars at her parties in Texas and around the world. The glamorous graduate never released any information about her personal life, just her success. But is she in love or happy?

“No, not to Rockwall,” he agreed easily, shifting until he set a foot on the bottom of her stool, caging her away from the rest of the bar. The smoky jazz, the hushed atmosphere, even the bartender chatting up some regulars faded away. She passed the wine glass from her left hand to her right and set it down.

His gaze zeroed in on the left hand.

No ring.

No line where a ring might have been
.

A third rock tumbled away, unearthing his heart from the tomb he’d locked it away in.

“No, not Rockwall. Allen. I had a house built there. I’m opening a rehabilitation center not far from the Village at Allen, specializing in psychiatric and physical disorders for veterans.” The longest string of words he’d managed since seeing her in the bar, but he could talk about Mike’s Place all day.

“Mike’s Place. You’re opening Mike’s Place?” Interest surged in Rebecca’s voice.

“You’ve heard of it?” They’d netted a fair piece of media attention, but the doors weren’t open yet.

“I’m planning the opening gala in three weeks.”

“We have a company hosting that gala. You work for Intimate Introductions?”

“I own it.”

And just like that, the blocks of information tumbled into place. The company’s representatives had taken a huge interest in Mike’s Place, including a prospective fundraiser for the physical therapy wing. The promised funds allowed him to put more of his resources into other areas. James Westwood from his unit had already put him in touch with more than a dozen solid therapists, all with military backgrounds, who’d leapt eagerly at the chance to work with their own, even those who’d be picking up sticks and moving cross country to set up shop in Allen, Texas.

His Rebecca owned Intimate Introductions.

He owed the lady at 1Night Stand a bottle of wine and a box of chocolates.

“I had no idea you were involved with Mike’s Place.” Her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, setting off the warning bells in his head. He jerked his attention back to her as she slid off the stool, away from him. “I’m sorry. I’ll have my assistant manage the onsite coordination. You won’t have to see me.”

Won’t have to see her….

“I’m glad things are going well for you, Luke. It was good to see you again.” A tight smile betrayed anything but and then she walked away, her too-tall heels clicking against the floor like nails being driven into the coffin he’d just busted out of.

The hell she’s walking away.

He tossed a couple of bills on the bar and strode after her. He caught up to her at the curb and handed a hundred to the girl she gave her claim check to. “My car, not hers.”

“Excuse me?” Rebecca wheeled around, but not before he saw her wiping away glittering tears from her eyes.

“My car. Not yours.” His heart constricted. He’d made her cry and that made him the lowest form of life. He’d have to take himself out back to get the shit kicked out of him for that. He knew a couple of guys who’d help him out.

Later.

“You can’t just order me around, Luke.” The wash of tears thickening her voice evaporated in a blast of anger.

“I didn’t order you around. I ordered her.” He nodded toward the valet who’d already disappeared with his money. Rebecca’s sweet mouth rounded into a silent O and he grinned. That was his girl, emotions running riot across the smooth, pristine face. Anger, irritation, sadness and yes, lust, all paraded through her expression. As if aware of his delight, she faced away, her shoulders stiff and jerky.

“That’s semantics.”

“No, that’s fact. I’ve never given you an order.”

“No, you just took the choice out of my hands.” She folded her arms across her chest, a shiver trembling through her tight frame. Shrugging out of his suit jacket, he draped it around her, closing his hands on her shoulders when she would have pulled away.