Georgetown March 2015
“I only get two days with you, and you want to spend tonight at a bar?” Izzy shouted over the pounding beat of the bass in the club as we surveyed the grinding bodies on the crowded dance floor.
“I promised your sister I’d take you out,” I replied. “That was the deal for her keeping my trip a secret.” My pulse leapt at the crush of the crowd around us, its proximity, its numbers. There were too many people between us and the exit. Too many people to keep track of whose hands were where, who might be reaching for what. Too many fucking people in general.
This had been a bad idea, and yet I’d fought tooth and nail for special permission to take a weekend pass before completing reintegration training with the rest of my unit. Not like that shit helped, anyway.
“I know you must be exhausted after not sleeping last night,” she started, two little lines appearing between her brows. Damn, I’d almost forgotten how long her lashes were. Pictures didn’t do her justice.
“I’m okay. We’re not spending your birthday worrying about me.” Guess I hadn’t been as stealthy as I’d thought during my sleepless hours, but at least I’d kept my personal promise to rack out on her couch and keep my hands to myself. Looking at her now, in that V-neck wrap-style blouse, and jeans that looked like they were created with the sole purpose of hugging her ass, I was pretty sure I deserved sainthood. Hell, I deserved sainthood the second she’d invited me to sleep in her bed and I had managed to decline.
There was nothing I wanted more than to pull her against me and pick up where we’d left off nine months ago, with my tongue in her mouth and her legs wrapped around my waist. But there were things she didn’t know, and I had the feeling that once she did, she wasn’t going to want me in her bed, even if we were only sleeping.
It didn’t matter how badly I wanted Izzy, when I logically knew I could never have her. She was out of my league in every way. She would be out in the world soon enough, changing lives, and the only thing I was good at was ending them. I was turning out to be immeasurably more violent than my father was. At least he’d never killed anyone.
“Come on,” I said, holding out my hand. “Let’s get you the drink I promised Serena.”
“One drink and we’re out.” She laced her fingers with mine, and just like we were back on that plane, tumbling toward uncertainty, I felt the unmistakable warmth of home.
“Agreed.” I led us through the crowd, fighting the rise of my blood pressure that seemed to spike a little higher with every person who brushed against us, then claimed the only two empty barstools at the counter.
Izzy took the one closest to the door, and I sat so I faced her, casually looking back over my shoulder to see how many people were behind us. There were only a half dozen or so between the corner of the bar and the wall, so this was definitely the lesser of the evils.
But it was all still pretty fucking evil. There were people between us and every exit in this place.
“So, what’s it going to be?” I asked, lowering my voice now that we weren’t in the direct blast radius of the speakers. “Beer? Tequila? Cosmo?”
“Nope.” She drummed her painted fingernails on the counter and looked over the shelves of liquor as the bartender approached.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked, flashing me a smile. A few years ago, the brunette would have been just my type.
But I’d found out over the last year that my type was now Isabeau Astor. Not just blonde. Not just brown eyes. Not only quick wits and an infectious laugh. Not just a tendency to talk about fourteen subjects at once through lips softer than silk. Only the complete package of Izzy seemed to do it for me. No one else. I’d fallen for her a little harder with every letter, every secret she shared, every time she made me laugh. And it wasn’t that I hadn’t had offers while we were in the sandbox, or that I’d deluded myself
into thinking she was back here waiting for me, especially after I’d told her not to. It was just that no one was Izzy.
Which put me—both of us—in a damnable situation. “A glass of champagne,” Izzy ordered with a grin.
“Champagne?” the bartender asked, leaning in like she’d misheard.
“Yep,” Izzy replied, reaching into her purse and handing her driver’s license to the bartender. “It’s my birthday.”
“So it is. Happy birthday.” The bartender smiled and handed back Izzy’s ID. “And for you?” she asked, turning toward me and leaning in even though I hadn’t spoken.
“Yuengling, please,” I ordered, reaching for my wallet. “And we’ll take the bottle of champagne if you don’t serve by the glass.”
“I’ve got you,” the brunette said, getting to work.
“So what was your favorite part of today?” Izzy asked. “When I dragged you to my favorite pizza place? My favorite bakery for my favorite cupcakes? Or when I hauled you through campus?”
“Everything about seeing you,” I answered honestly. The ability to speak my mind around her was my favorite part of our . . . whatever this was. There was no need to play games, to play coy or even flirt. I could be exactly who I was and say exactly what I was thinking when it came to Izzy.
Today had been everything I’d traveled from Savannah to give her, and I had to give Serena major credit for making it happen. The second I’d messaged her from the Instagram account Izzy had insisted I set up, telling her I wanted to surprise her sister, Serena had happily flipped her lid. She’d also slipped in the fact that their parents had bailed on Izzy as usual, and that she wasn’t seeing anyone, into the brief conversation.
Not going to lie, I’d been . . . relieved—about the boyfriend situation, not her parents. Not that Izzy didn’t deserve someone. She did. I was just selfishly glad that I’d get her to myself for the weekend.
Her smile was instant and heart-stoppingly beautiful. “Just wait until we get home and I make you watch Ladyhawke.”
“Your namesake?” The corners of my mouth curved. “Can’t wait.” I would sit around and watch someone read a phone book if it meant I got to be with Izzy . . . I just wasn’t sure I was going to last in this bar much longer without losing whatever was left of my sanity.
“If you could only watch one movie for the rest of your life, what would it be?” she asked.
“That’s a tough one.” My eyes met hers, and I knew what she was doing—the same thing I’d done for her on the plane, distracting me with the questions.
“Take your time.”
“Lord of the Rings: Return of the King,” I answered. “But maybe my answer will change to Ladyhawke after tonight. Who knows?”
She leaned in and brushed her mouth over mine, and every nerve in my body went on high alert. “Thank you for today.”
I threaded my fingers through her hair and pulled her in, deepening the kiss but keeping my tongue firmly behind my teeth. The first taste of her was a rush that flooded every cell in my body. Keeping myself in check was a struggle, but I managed. I wasn’t about to kiss her the way I wanted in front of all these people, so I pulled away before we headed that direction.
She smiled against my mouth as we broke apart, her hand rising to her chest. “You should feel the way my heart is pounding.” Her fingers brushed over the little lock necklace I’d bought her for her birthday. The shit that came in the little blue boxes was expensive, and she’d protested, but I figured classy girls wore classy jewelry.
“Mine too.” Maybe the admission wasn’t smooth, but I didn’t feel that kind of pressure around Izzy.
“Here you are,” the bartender said as she returned, putting our orders in front of us.
Izzy leaned back, and I instantly mourned the loss of her mouth. “Thank you.” I put my debit card on the counter before Izzy could
even try. “For a tab.”
“We won’t need a tab.” Izzy shook her head as she took the slim stem of the champagne glass between her fingers. “We’re only staying for one drink.” She glanced my way. “And thank you.”
“I’ll get your check.” The bartender nodded and took my card to the register.
“You sure about only one drink?” I lifted my brows at Izzy. “It’s your birthday. I’m down for whatever you want.”
“I don’t want to be drunk on the last night I get to have you with me.” She shrugged.
I would have argued, but I knew exactly how she felt. I wanted to remember every single second. “Happy birthday, Isabeau.” I lifted my beer.
“Thanks, Nate.” She smiled and clicked her glass against mine. “I’m so glad you came.”
“Me too.”
After the bartender brought my card back, Izzy and I sat there talking about her classes for the better part of a half hour while she sipped her champagne, and I barely touched my beer. Every time she tried to steer the conversation to how the deployment had gone for me, I carefully altered course right back to her. I tried to sit still, to focus only on her smile, her laugh, the light in her eyes, the overwhelming way I wanted her and didn’t have a damn clue what to do about it. But the walls closed in tighter and tighter, and the people came closer, reaching around us to get to the bar, bumping into my back, reaching into their pockets for . . . wallets.
Just. Wallets.
Not weapons.
Because I was stateside, not in Afghanistan.
Fuck. It wasn’t this bad last time. Then again, I hadn’t spent nine straight months in hell, facing extension after extension. Rangers were supposed to have shorter, more frequent deployments, but that hadn’t been our luck. I hadn’t been wounded this time, but I hadn’t stood in four separate formations in front of makeshift memorials of boots and rifles last time either. Hadn’t—
Not here. I took as deep of a breath as my tight chest would allow and shoved all that shit back in the box where it belonged. I glanced back at Izzy to see her watching me in that way she had, like she could cut through all the bullshit with nothing but her beautiful eyes.
“If you had to pick a zombie-apocalypse partner, who would it be?” she asked, then threw up a finger. “Present company excepted. That’s just an easy way out.”
“Rowell, I guess.” Torres would have chosen his girlfriend, and it felt wrong to deprive the man of his love life, even in a hypothetical situation. “We’ve fought our way out of some shit together.”
“Fair answer. Now, let’s get out of here,” she said.
“You haven’t finished your drink.” There was no way I was forcing her out of her birthday celebration because I couldn’t hold myself together.
She rolled her eyes, downed the last quarter of the glass, and set it on the counter. “I have officially finished the drink you promised Serena.” Slipping off her barstool, she held out her hand for mine. “And I’d honestly rather spend the rest of my night at home. With you.”
“Not even a dance?” I glanced toward the crowded floor, and every muscle tensed reflexively.
“Not even a dance.” She wiggled her fingers, and I couldn’t resist her.
If she wanted to go home, I’d take her home.
Our fingers twined, and I led us back through the crowd and out of the club. The brisk March air was a godsend as it hit my face, filling my lungs as I took my first full breath since walking in.
“You okay?” she asked as we started walking down the sidewalk, heading the half-dozen blocks to her apartment.
“Okay is a relative term.” I picked up her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. The touch was innocent enough, but the scent of her perfume had my thoughts dipping into flat-out carnal territory. I wanted to stretch her out underneath me and kiss every curve she possessed until that scent was branded on my brain, replacing every bad memory I’d gained over the last few years.
“You haven’t talked about the last nine months for you,” she said, her finger flexing around mine as we started to walk again. “Even in the letters.”
I looked both ways before crossing the first street with her and fumbled for the right words, if they even existed. “Writing you was my escape. I wasn’t exactly eager to put all of that on you.”
“Even if I want to know?” She flinched. “Crap, that came out weird. I mean, even if I want to listen?”
“I know what you meant,” I replied softly, pulling her closer against the bite of the cold. She’d been against bringing a coat, but I guess it gave me an excuse to hold her. “But it’s not a conversation for birthdays.” Or ever.
“Oh.” She nodded slowly. “Right.”
We passed the rest of the blocks in an awkward silence that I loathed. Everything with Izzy had always been . . . easy, and I’d just put up a barrier. It was for the best. I didn’t want the ugliness of what went on over there to touch her in any way. But I felt that wall I’d erected like a tangible fence between us as we made our way into the apartment.
I followed her into the kitchen, and she dropped her purse on the counter, grabbing the box we’d carried home from the bakery earlier. “Cupcake?” She put the box on the counter, then braced her hands and hopped up to sit next to it, her feet swinging gently. “I always like sugar with my movies.” Flicking open the box top, she revealed the ten cupcakes we hadn’t eaten earlier.
Taking the olive branch, I leaned in to see what we had left.
“You don’t seem like a vanilla guy,” she teased, looking over the contents. “Maybe a carrot cake one?”
I shook my head, a smile tugging at my mouth. “Those were always Torres’s favorites. I swear, he had one every day for an entire year. I can’t stand the smell of them anymore.” It took me a second to realize she’d stopped breathing. “Izzy?” My gaze shot to hers.
“Torres. That’s your best friend, right?” Fear widened her eyes.
“Yeah. One of them.” I nodded, my brow furrowing at the look on her
face.
“Oh, no. Did he . . . while you were gone . . .” She pressed her lips in a
tight line, and the pieces clicked for me.
“No, Iz. No. He’s not dead.” I shook my head and squeezed her knee in reassurance. “He just had to give up the carrot cake cupcakes when he decided to go for Special Forces selection.” He’d spent the last few months trying to talk me into it, too, since I’d been wavering during the deployment.
Her entire body relaxed. “Okay. That’s a relief.”
“Fitz died, though.” I took the one that looked like lemon, making sure there was another just like it before lifting it from the box. Fitz would have gone for the chocolate. I breathed through the stab of pain I recognized as grief, then shoved it in the box with everything else.
“What?”
Shit. I should not have said that.
I paused in peeling the wrapper from the cake and found her staring at me. “Fitz. You met him—”
“On Tybee. I remember,” she whispered. “He . . . died?”
I nodded. “About a month in. There was a firefight—” My mouth snapped shut. Those were the things I deliberately kept separate, and here I was, shattering the only peace I had.
“Nate, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, lifting her hand to my shoulder.
“Don’t be.” I continued peeling the wrapper, concentrating on the sight of the cake and blinking away the memory of the blood pumping out of Fitz’s body. “You didn’t kill him.” The subject had to change immediately. “Which flavor is your favorite?”
Silence stretched between us.
I looked up and found her watching me with a look I’d never seen before. She looked like she didn’t know what to say or how to act, like I’d destroyed the ease between us for the second time that night. “Which is your favorite?” I asked again. “Movie time, remember?”
“Red velvet,” she answered, slowly taking one of those.
I put my cupcake down and then helped her off the counter, even though I knew she didn’t need it. Her curves slid against me as I lowered her to the ground, setting my body on fire, but the way her eyes darkened was even hotter.
We stood there for a long moment, my hands on her waist as she stared up at me, color rising in her cheeks, her chest rising and falling a little faster.
“Movie,” I reminded her—reminded myself.
“Right.” She drew her tongue across her bottom lip, and I bit back a groan. “Prepare for greatness,” she said and led me to the couch. She rested her head on my shoulder, and I savored the absolute peace.
I hadn’t ruined everything by keeping her out.
Two hours later, she looked up at me with expectation as the credits rolled. “What did you think?”
“I think it’s bullshit that they only got to see each other at dawn and sunset.” I glared at the screen.
“They win in the end,” she replied with a laugh, tucking one leg under her and turning to face me on the couch, her knee brushing my thigh.
“Doesn’t mean the years they spent like that weren’t bullshit.” I shook my head.
“Aw, Nate.” She grinned, taking my face in her hands and pulling my attention from the credits. “You’re a romantic at heart.”
I scoffed. “I’ve been accused of a lot of things, Isabeau. Being romantic isn’t one of them.” There were only two people in the world I even remotely softened for. She just happened to be one of them.
Her gazed dropped to my mouth, and I fisted the cushion by her side to keep my hands from reaching for her. “You know what I’ve decided?”
“What?” My palms itched to feel the curves of her body.
She leaned into my space until her lips were only a matter of inches from mine.
Fuck, I was going to break. I could already taste her, already hear the little gasps she made between kisses. The memory of her had been my constant companion these last nine months.
“Fiji,” she whispered against my lips.
“I’m sorry?” The blood had definitely fled my brain.
“Fiji.” Her smile was contagious as she swung one knee over and settled into my lap, straddling me. “That’s where we should go for vacation. It’s warm. It has sandy beaches. It’s remote, so you won’t worry about crowds.”
“I like beaches.” The last time I’d been on one had been with her. My hands rose to her hips as arousal hummed through me.
“Good. Then Fiji it is.” She ran her fingers through my hair, and I leaned into her touch. Her lips ghosted across mine. “You can kiss me in the water.”
Yep. I was done for. The strands of my good intentions were unraveling by the second. It was all I could do to keep from flipping her back to the couch.
“Nate?” Her lips blatantly teased mine. “Hmm?”
“I’m going to kiss you now.”
They were the same words I’d said to her back in Georgia, but fuck me if they didn’t sound a million times sexier coming out of her mouth.
I kissed her first and groaned when she opened for me. She was so damned sweet, her tongue rubbing against mine as I relearned every line of her mouth. Kissing her was just as explosive as I remembered, and a thousand times more addictive.
My fingers speared through her hair as I tilted our heads for the perfect angle, the kiss spinning out of control. Her breasts pressed against my chest. Her hips rocked over mine. Her breath became my own. This was exactly where I belonged, wherever she was.
The connection between us was as undefinable as it was undeniable. “I’d almost forgotten how good at this we are,” she said between
kisses.
“I thought about it every single day.” I angled her hips and rolled mine so she could feel exactly what I was thinking right now.
“I missed you.” She kissed my jaw, my neck, as her hands swept down my arms, then my torso. “And I know I shouldn’t have. That it’s completely illogical—”
I fisted my hand in her hair and brought her mouth back to mine, using my lips and tongue to tell her that I felt the exact same way. My fingers drifted from her hip to the small of her back, slipping under her shirt to stroke the hollow of her spine.
She gasped at the light touch, and I swallowed the sound.
“I bet you’re sensitive like this everywhere, aren’t you?” I asked, trailing my fingers up and down the smooth skin of her back.
“Why don’t you find out?” Her hands worked at her waist and her blouse fell open to the sides, revealing a pale-blue lace bra that cupped her breasts with an expertise that made my mouth water.
“Fuck.” The word escaped as a guttural groan. “You are so goddamn perfect, Isabeau.”
“Touch me.”
She didn’t have to tell me twice. My hands stroked up her sides, caressing the dip of her waist, and then up and over her ribs before cupping her breasts over the lace. She was more than enough to fill my hands. “See? Perfect.”
She laughed, then kissed me, and I lost myself—and every good intention I’d had—in the taste of her mouth, the sound of her little moans, the feel of her nipples hardening beneath the fabric under the stroke of my thumbs.
I licked and sucked a path down her throat and across her collarbone, then grasped her ass with one hand and lifted her slightly so my teeth could test the buds of her nipples. The lace was too thick for what I needed, what I craved. I tugged one cup down and savored the sound of her soft cry as I sucked the peak into my mouth.
“Nate!” Her fingernails bit into my shoulders.
My dick strained at my zipper, but I was thankful for the barrier. It kept me in check as I moved to the other breast, exposing it so I could give it the same treatment. “So sensitive,” I said against her skin as she shuddered.
“Or maybe I only respond like this for you,” she replied, her voice all breathy and sexy as hell.
I didn’t want anyone else touching her like this.
Mine. Fate, God, whatever energy ruled the universe had brought her to me. And she. Was. Mine.
Except she wasn’t. There was a reason we shouldn’t be doing this, but I couldn’t remember what it was.
I shoved that thought aside, kissing her deep, then banding my arm around her back and flipping us so she was underneath me. Bad idea. My hips settled into the cradle of hers like they’d been created to fit mine.
Her hands stroked down my back, then tugged up my shirt and took the same path along my bare skin. My common sense fled as I rocked against her, eliciting the sweetest moan I’d ever heard.
“Again,” she demanded, sliding her hands to my ass.
I pressed a hot kiss to her throat and gave her what we both wanted. White-hot need raced down my spine. Kissing her felt like I was sixteen again, with no control, no experience, just blind, primal want.
“Tell me what you need,” I said between kisses as I moved down her neck to her breasts, flicking my tongue over the peaks one at a time.
“I want you to touch me,” she said, arching up for my mouth as I rolled my hips against hers again. There was too much space between us. Too many clothes. Which was a good thing . . . if I could just remember why.
“Tell me how.” I wanted the words as I pressed my mouth to the sensitive skin beneath her breasts and then the hollow just under her ribs, where her stomach planed, kissing every line of the scars from the plane crash.
“Or you could tell me how you want to touch me,” she challenged, smiling even as her back bowed the closer I got to the button of her jeans.
I lifted my head and met her gaze. “I want to unzip your pants and slide my fingers between these sweet thighs to see just how wet you are for me.”
Her lips parted and her eyes glazed.
“And then I want to dip those fingers inside you so I can stroke and tease.” My hand moved across the waistband of her jeans, and I watched her for any sign of hesitation. “But I’m going to need you to tell me that’s what you want.” Her dilated pupils and stuttered breaths weren’t enough.
I wasn’t going to screw this up over a lack of clear communication or push her further than she wanted to go.
“That’s exactly what I want,” she said, covering my hand with hers and putting it right over the button.
Fuck yes.
Eyes locked with hers, I flicked open the button and drew the zipper down.
She nodded, tugging her lower lip between her teeth.
The motion snapped my self-control, and I rose up over her, sucking the tender curve free, then kissing her breathless. She sucked my tongue into her mouth as my fingers slid under the lace of her underwear, and I groaned.
She felt like heaven, hot, slick, and softer than satin.
“You’re so fucking wet that you could take all of me in a single thrust.” I circled her clit with my middle finger, and her back bowed again.
“Nate!” She pushed her hips against my hand.
The sound of my name like that on her lips made my dick throb.
Make her do it again.
“So hot,” I whispered with another kiss, sliding a finger inside her. “I bet you’d burn me alive.” It would be a hell of a way to go.
I trembled like a teenager at the feel of her heat, the way her muscles clamped down tight around my finger as I stroked in and out as I watched her, cataloging exactly what made her gasp, and what made her hips swivel for more.
“Oh my God,” she moaned, her fingers digging into my back with a bite of pleasure when I pumped a second finger into her, wishing it was my cock.
I wasn’t a stranger to lust, but this was something else entirely. I’d never lived for the sound of a woman’s gasp, never had my next breath depend on hers, never been so focused on her pleasure that mine didn’t matter. My world narrowed to Izzy. I didn’t just want her to come; I needed her to.
My thumb stroked her clit, working her relentlessly as my fingers curled after every thrust, hitting over and over at the spot that made her hips jerk upward and her breath catch.
“Beautiful, Isabeau.” I kissed her softly as her thighs locked, then quivered. “You’re so beautiful.” It only took a little more pressure from my
thumb, and she danced to the edge of her orgasm. I felt it in her quick inhales, the squeeze of her inner muscles around my fingers, and the tightening of her body under mine.
“Nate . . .” She rocked back into my fingers, riding my hand, seeking out what she needed, and I pressed my dick into her thigh to keep from stripping off what clothes she had left and taking her.
I couldn’t take her.
She’d never forgive me because she didn’t know—
Her back bowed and she cried out as she came, her walls fluttering against my fingers, her back arching over and over.
Watching her come undone and knowing I’d been the one to take her there was the highlight of my entire fucking life.
I buried my face in her neck, kissing her soft skin and inhaling the sweet scent of her perfume as I eased her down. Only when she fell limp underneath me did I slide my fingers from the warmth of her body and kiss her mouth one last time before sitting up.
I’d remembered exactly why going any further would make me an asshole.
She looked at me through hazy eyes and sat up with me, reaching for my jeans.
“We can’t.” I flew off the couch like it was on fire and nearly tripped over the coffee table. Smooth.
“Why not?” She arched a brow and glanced meaningfully at my dick. “I’m not blind, and you clearly want to.”
“Trust me, I want to. That’s not the problem.” I shook my head. The knowledge that I was about to disappoint her was all that held me back. She deserved so much more than someone who flew in and out of her life like a hurricane. She deserved someone who could give her everything.
“Is it because I suggested Fiji?” she asked, and it took every ounce of self-control I’d ever had, or ever would have, to keep my eyes on her face, and not her bare breasts rising above her bra.
“No. I would love to go to Fiji with you.” Damn it, I could still taste her skin, and I was pretty sure that for the rest of my life, I’d be instantly hard the second I smelled her perfume.
“Okay, then what’s wrong?”
I looked into those big, brown eyes and debated lying, preserving the tiny breath of happiness that existed in this moment, but I just couldn’t. “I
can’t go until 2017.”
She clutched the sides of her shirt and tied it, covering her incredible body. “Because you don’t have time? Do you need to go home instead? Because I get it if you need to see your mom.”
“No.” I shook my head. “She actually flew out when I got home a couple days ago.” Besides, Mom knew that as much as I loved her, I wasn’t ever going back there while he could still breathe. “We can’t do this because as much as I would love for now to be the right time for us, it isn’t.”
“It isn’t?” She drew her knees to her chest, and my stomach twisted. “It can’t be. I’m on orders to a new post. Three months from now, I’ll
be stationed at Joint Base Lewis-McChord. It’s in Washington State.” “That’s not the Washington I was hoping for.” Her shoulders slumped,
and she tucked her long blonde hair behind her ears.
“Yeah.” I swallowed. “I wasn’t going to tell you on your birthday, not that . . .” Fuck. What was I trying to say? “Not that it should bother you—”
“Of course it bothers me that you’re being sent across the damned country.” She stood, wrapping her arms around her waist. “And I know that I don’t have a right to expect anything—you were really clear in Savannah that we’re not together—but I was hoping . . .” Her eyes closed, and she blew out a long, frustrated sigh. “I don’t know what I was hoping.”
“I do.” I moved toward her and cradled her face with my hands. “I was hoping I’d be a hell of a lot closer to you than twenty-eight hundred miles. I’d hoped that we could actually be more than a possibility.”
She lifted her hand to my chest. “Me too.”
There it was. Everything that needed to be said and everything we couldn’t.
“How long will you be there?” she asked. “Probably three years,” I said as softly as possible.
Her breath caught, and the war of emotions that waged in her eyes was enough to crumple my chest. “Three years.”
“And that’s not all.” Shit. I’d avoided this since I’d walked through that door, and yet here I was, walking right into it. “The unit I’m headed to is already on the patch chart for rotation in a few months. Another deployment.” I could barely get the words out when it looked like each one sliced her to the quick.
“You’re . . .” Her lower lip trembled. “You’re going back?”
I ran my thumb across her lips and tried to ignore the crushing feeling in the center of my chest. “I’m always going back, Isabeau. They’re just shorter, more frequent deployments, as long as we don’t get extended. You’re in law school. You have more important things to focus on than someone who can barely get within three thousand miles of you on a regular basis.”
“And we agreed not to start something long distance.” A sad smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “We’ve already covered that topic once.”
“Right. I won’t do that to you. Even when I’ll be in the States, I’ll probably be at some school or another for professional development. All we’d ever have are weekends.” Weekends I would live for, but I wouldn’t accept the same for her.
“Maybe I could do weekends.” Her hand fisted in my shirt.
“Until you couldn’t. Until we couldn’t. Until it got to be something that broke us both. The last nine months felt like an eternity. I missed you every single second of every single day, Izzy, and we weren’t even in a relationship. Imagine what three years would feel like.” I leaned down, putting my forehead against hers. “We’d kill the possibility of us before we even had a shot at succeeding. I don’t want to waste our shot by taking it before we’re ready.”
“So why even come here?” she asked quietly, her eyes searching mine. “Because I couldn’t stay away.” The truth of it was simple, and yet it
complicated everything.
“And is this what you want for us?” One of her hands slid up to hold the back of my neck. “To be what? Pen pals? Friends? You want me to date other guys while you date other girls?”
My jaw ticked. “Of course that’s not what I want,” I somehow managed to say. She’d told me all about the guys she’d dated while I was gone. All law students. All here. All infinitely more capable of making her happy. “But that’s where we are. I want you to live, Izzy. I want you to go to class and get excited for your Friday nights. I want you to smile and laugh and not spend your months locked away in your room, waiting for me. It would kill me to watch you waste your life like that. I want us to get the shot we deserve, which means we both have to agree the timing is right, and it’s just . . . not. Not yet.”
“Have you thought about getting out?” The question was barely a whisper and only words away from a request.
“And do what?” I lifted my head.
“Oh, I don’t know.” She shrugged, her smile anything but happy. “You said on the plane that you wanted to teach.”
That dream felt a lifetime away.
“We could move someplace where we could watch pine trees sway,” she continued. “Like a ski resort. Or one of those towers where you watch the wilderness for fires.”
“Because that’s a good use of your education,” I teased.
“Come on. Play along.” She tugged at my shirt and looked at me with pleading eyes. “Just pretend with me for a minute.”
I dropped my hands to her waist and tugged her against me, then ignored the pulsing of my dick, which hadn’t given up hope that I’d change my mind. I wouldn’t.
She meant more to me than a single night, and I was in this for the long haul. The far-distant long haul.
“We could open a restaurant.” I grinned. “Can you cook?” she asked.
“No.” My shoulders shook with wry laughter. “I can make a mean grilled cheese.”
I kissed her forehead. “Then there you go. We’ll open a grilled cheese restaurant.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.” Going to sleep meant we’d be hours closer to me leaving.
“I’m so sorry to ruin your birthday,” I whispered. “That was never my intention.”
She gestured at the clock on the wall. “It’s eleven thirty, which means it’s still salvageable if you agree to come to bed with me. Even if it’s just to sleep.”
“Just to sleep,” I repeated, knowing that lying next to her was only going to result in a sleepless night where I imagined acting out every fantasy I’d had over the last nine months. It sounded like the most exquisite form of torture, and I was down for it.
She backed away slowly. I followed.
