

Hearth, Holly, & Honor

By

Aliyah Burke
Hearth, Holly, & Honor

Copyright © 2013 by Sensual Romance Publishing at Smashwords

The publisher acknowledges the copyright holder of the individual works as follows:

BELIEVE Copyright © first released 2009 by Aliyah Burke

ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS YOU Copyright © first released 2010 by Aliyah Burke

THE STAR CAROL Copyright © first released 2011 by Aliyah Burke

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author. The unauthorized replication or allocation of any copyrighted work is illegal. File sharing is an international crime, prosecuted by the United States Department of Justice and the United States Border Patrol, Division of Cyber Crimes, in partnership with Interpol. Copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is punishable by up to five years in federal prison, a fine of $250,000 per reported instance, and seizure of computers.

This book is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author's imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is coincidental. All trademarks, service marks, registered trademarks, and registered service marks are the property of their respective owners and are used herein for identification purposes only.

Editor: Jessica Bimberg

Cover Artist: MMJ Designs

ISBN: 9781311588029
To all my readers. Thank you for the years of support. I am honored to have such a great reader base. I don't call you fans because to me, you are so much more, so thank you!

To my husband, as always, thank you for all you do! I love you!

And as I will continue to say until I can no longer speak:

To the men and women who offer themselves in the selfless sacrifice to this country—past, present, and future—to me, you'll never be forgotten and I thank you for your service. You and your families both, since when one in the family serves, the entire family does. From a Navy wife to all y'all...THANK YOU!!

Acknowledgments

To my editor, Jess. Thank you so much for making me better by pointing out what you do and for your suggestions. I'm always thrilled when I get the notes that you enjoy my heroes as much as I do. Thank you!

For those of you who have been in my yahoo group these stories will not be new to you. I gave them away for the holidays in years past. This is just all of them in an anthology.

Thanks to my cover artist who always knows how to create an image which goes with what I'm trying to convey with my story.
BELIEVE

by

ALIYAH BURKE
Chapter One

"In dreams and in love there are no impossibilities."

~Janos Arnay

Tristan Hallan Blade sighed heavily, took the final drag off his cigarette, and flicked it toward the ground. As it hissed from contact with the snow, he blew out a thin stream of smoke into the frigid air. Brushing his hands off on jean-clad legs, he opened the door to his truck and slid into the warm vehicle. With a groan, he shifted into gear and got back on the road.

Five years is a long time to be away from home. Rounding the final corner, he smiled as his gaze landed upon his hometown. The picturesque northern New England town of Starpoint, Vermont, was decked out for the holidays and covered by a pristine blanket of snow. It was early Sunday morning , the sun barely peeking up over the horizon, and his was the only vehicle on the road.

"It's grown some."

But not much. Tristan drove down Main and smiled when he saw lights on inside Mama Ruth's, the town's main diner. Parking his truck, Tristan got out and headed for the door. His nose was assaulted with the scent of freshly baked muffins and biscuits the moment he made it through the door. Without breaking his stride, Tristan moved to the counter and sat on a vinyl topped stool.

"Be right out, hon. I'm running a bit..." Ruth's voice trailed off when she stepped through the swinging door, a bag in hand. "Tristan," she said affectionately with a warm smile. "Well, this is a surprise. And what a pleasant one. Welcome home."

"Thanks, Ruth. It's been a while." He leaned over the counter, kissed her cheek, and gave her a hug.

She set the bag beside him and placed a hand along the side of his face. "Too long. Have you gone home?" Ruth moved to get him some coffee.

"Not yet. Just got in, and you're my first stop."

The door opened, and he turned when Ruth said, "There you are, dear. Wondered where you were."

Tristan's breath caught in his throat as he took in the woman at the door, currently removing the snow off her boots. Her smooth mocha skin flushed with cold. A knitted cap rested up on a mass of black whorls. A smile curved up her full lips, making him think seductive thoughts.

"Morning, Miz Ruth," she said in a velvety soft voice.

He gripped his hand into a fist so not to reach out and caress her. Tristan wanted her to look at him. Wanted her eyes focused on him. He stared unabashedly as she walked to the counter and reached for the bag, her body moving with some near invisible stiffness but no less enticing.

"Ivy, this here is Tristan Blade. He was born and raised here but hasn't been home in a few years. Tristan, meet Ivy."

Ivy? Why didn't Ruth supply her last name to me? "A pleasure," he said, stretching out a hand to her.

"Nice to meet you," she responded, shaking his hand and releasing it immediately.

Tristan got the feeling she only shook his hand because he initiated it. Not because she wished to make his acquaintance. He realized he was faced with a woman who kept to herself a lot. Tristan sat there and watched her pay Ruth and give the older lady a kind smile. She turned around and left without giving him a second glance. The moment the door closed behind her, Tristan spun on the stool and met the observant eyes of Ruth Wiggins.

"You just leave her alone, Tristan," Ruth commanded, shaking a finger at him. "She don't need you messing up her life just to turn around and leave for another undisclosed number of years."

He took a sip of his coffee and held the assessing blue gaze of Ruth. "Is she married? And why didn't you give me her last name?"

A frown marred her face. "If you're looking for a holiday fling, Tristan, stick to your usual taste. I'm sure Sable would be more than happy to be that for you."

Drinking more coffee, Tristan remained silent. What is it about this woman that makes Ruth so protective? "I'm not that kind of guy anymore, Ruth." Yeah, good job, Tristan. Lie to her about how quickly your thoughts dropped to the bedroom the moment you laid eyes on Ivy.

"I mean it, Tristan. Ivy doesn't need that."

"Tell me about her."

Ruth's gaze narrowed. "Nothing to tell. Now, go home and see your father."

Tristan drained the rest of his drink and stood. He dropped some money on the counter and headed for the door. "I'll see you later."

She nodded and sighed. "Of course. Now, go on."

"Yes, ma'am." He opened the door and stopped, looking back at her. "It's good to see you again, Mom."

Ruth just waved and turned her attention back to the task before her. Getting ready for the morning rush. Tristan left, knowing they'd have a longer reunion later at her place. It was odd for him to have his parents living in the same town and yet divorced. But neither of them had wanted to leave; they just avoided one another. Ruth wasn't his biological mother but she was the only one he knew.

He started his truck and headed off towards his father's house. As he drove by the gas station, he swore the second his gaze landed upon Ivy. She was outside snow blowing the sidewalks. Tristan turned in, pulled up to a gas tank, and jumped out to fill up. He leaned against the side of his truck as the pump did its job and watched Ivy. She still had a slight limp, but she moved the snow blower with the ease of someone who'd done so many times before. He couldn't understand his immediate attraction to her.

Women were merely a distraction to him which he used when he wanted one. Aside from his mother and Jacey "Blackjack" Thompson, a woman he worked with, he really had no use for them. But Ivy was different. Perhaps it's the way she didn't give me the time of day that has me so intrigued with her. Tristan looked again and watched her disappear into the building.

He grabbed his receipt from the pump and drove up to the door before getting out. Striding in through the door, he moved toward the candy aisle while his gaze honed in on Ivy. She stood behind the counter, stocking cigarettes. Grabbing two packs of gum, he headed for where she was and placed his items there.

"This all?" she asked, her voice just as soft as before. He searched for an accent but couldn't pick up on anything which would identify from where she hailed.

Tristan stared into her deep brown eyes and said, "I'll take a pack of Red's, too, please."

She ran her gaze over him, observing something only she could see. Honestly, it was a bit unnerving. Without a word, Ivy reached up and pulled down the pack he'd asked for. She wasn't very talkative while she rang him up. Professional and yet distant.

"See you around," he said with a smile, grabbing his items.

"Have a nice day."

The moment the phrase was out, Tristan knew her attention had moved from him to something else. While he wasn't a vain man, he figured he'd at least get a second look. Hell, a first look even. Ivy had barely glanced at him the two times he'd been in her presence. Back in his truck, Tristan popped a piece of gum in his mouth and backed out of the parking spot. Ivy was on his mind the entire drive to his dad's house.

⊗

Ivy shook until long after Tristan Blade left her presence. It had taken an inordinate amount of control not to show him how being near him affected her. Never before had a man made her feel such things, especially at a first meeting. But this man... Tristan Blade with his powerful body, sexy stubble, shoulder-length dark brunet hair, and thickly lashed blue eyes that belonged in a bedroom, along with a deep voice that seemed infused with sexual innuendo had accomplished precisely that very thing.

Licking her lips, she readjusted her stance and got back to work. Tristan Blade was not what she needed. Still, a few hours later, after the morning rush had subsided and she was nearing the end of her shift, Ivy found her thoughts back on that very man. She looked up and smiled at Matt when he entered.

"Hey, Matt," she said.

"Hey, Ivy. How was it?" he asked as he moved to the computer to log in.

"Same ole, same ole. I brought you two muffins from Ruth's; they're in the back in the fridge."

He sent her a grateful smile. "Thank you. I can't start my day without them, and we all know, by this time of day, she's out of them." Matt slipped out from behind the counter and headed toward the back. "Be right back," he said over his shoulder.

The second he was out of sight, she allowed the grimace to fill her expression. Wearily, Ivy rubbed the heel of her palm against her left thigh. I need to get home and get off this leg. By the time Matt made it back up front with his muffins warmed and on a paper plate, there was no trace of the pain on her face. It didn't take her long to count out her drawer and fill out the required paperwork.

"Okay, Matt," she said, sliding on her coat. "I'm outta here. Have a great day."

"Will do. Be careful out there."

With a wave over her shoulder, Ivy walked outside into the cold winter air. The chill bit at her, but Ivy was well prepared and had dressed for it. Shoving her hands fully into her pockets, she turned and began her trek home. The wind swirled around her, bringing with it more snow, but she just tucked her head and kept going.

Some days, a car would be nice. She continued moving down Main Street, waving to people who called to her. The closer she got to her house, the more extreme the pain in her leg became. Letting herself in, Ivy breathed deeply as the warmth from her home surrounded her. Soon, she was lying back in her tub as the jets did their work on her leg. It didn't matter that her skin began to prune, Ivy never got out until the pain was nothing more than a dull ache.

"I think I need to take Ruth up on the snowmobile."

Ivy moved slowly, getting out of the tub and wrapped herself in a thick terrycloth robe. She walked to her bedroom and sat on the hope chest at the end of the bed. Rubbing the back of her neck, she sighed before getting up and reaching for her lotion. Before long, she wore a tattered sweatshirt and some warm sweats as she began making herself some food. While it cooked, she picked up the phone and called Mama Ruth's.

"Mama Ruth's."

"Hello, Miz Ruth, it's Ivy. Sorry to bother you at work but I was wondering if that offer of the snowmobile was still there."

"Hi, dear. Of course it is. Are you home now?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Her huff was blatant across the line. "Don't tell me you walked again." A short pause. "Never mind. I tell you what, I'll have it over there this evening for you."

"I can walk over and pick it up. Just let me know when you'll be home."

"Nonsense. Are you home for the rest of the day?"

"Yes, ma'am. I have some work to do around here."

"Good. It'll be there in a while."

"Thank you, Miz Ruth."

"My pleasure, dear. I'll talk to you later." Ruth hung up, and Ivy did the same on her end.

She ate a quiet meal then sat in her spare room and picked up her brush. Ivy worked until the soft chime of her doorbell sounded through the house. Standing, she walked to the door and pulled it open. The cold air combined with the visual presented before her stole her breath.

Tristan Blade.

Lifting her chin, Ivy held his gaze. She fought back a shudder as his eyes dropped and scanned her body.

"Ruth sent me over with a snowmobile for you."

Her eyes widened, and she peered around him and saw one in front of the porch. "Oh...I...come on in."

She stepped back and inhaled sharply as he moved past her. Ivy shut the door and bit back a whimper as the smell of crisp outdoors, snow, and something totally masculine filled her senses. Longing grew within the pit of her belly, and she ground her teeth forcing it away.

"Thank you," he said in a deep pitch which made her toes curl in her socks.

"I didn't expect...um...it here so soon." She worried her lower lip and tried to think of something to say.

"She said to get it here as soon as possible, that you were out walking in this weather." He arched a brow. "Where's your car? I can take a look at it if you need."

"I don't drive."

Those damnable bedroom eyes of his narrowed. "Don't tell me you've been walking from here to the gas station."

She shrugged and cocked her head to the side. "I fail to see how that's any of your business. But if you can give me a second, I'll take you back on the snowmobile."

Ivy walked passed him without looking back and headed to her room, where in no time she threw on some more outdoor appropriate clothing. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she made sure it contained no emotion, no sign of the strain and stiffness her leg still felt. Her walls were firmly in place when she returned to the front of the small house. Tristan stood where she'd left him, hands shoved in his pockets, looking extremely relaxed and comfortable in her home. Ivy wasn't sure what to make of that.

His gaze peered intently at her, and she fought back a shiver. He sees too much. Reaching for her coat, she slid it on and opened the door. Tristan was silent as his strong body followed her back out into the cold air. Night approached quickly, and in the fading light, she stared at the snowmobile, waiting for Tristan to say something.

"You do know how to operate one of these, right?" he asked, his question a low rumble of warmth in her ear.

More of that heat spiraled through her. Ivy purposefully put weight on her weaker leg, knowing the sharp shaft of pain to follow would deter those lustful and wandering thoughts. Without looking at him, she said, "Yes. But since I don't know where you live I assumed you'd want to drive."

"Climb on. I don't have any problem letting a woman drive."

So much sexual innuendo infused his voice, Ivy felt her knees shake. Swallowing hard, she moved around to the right side of the sleek machine and lifted her left leg over, knowing this was the only way to do so without her leg giving out on her. She'd overworked it today, and it screamed in agony. The moment she settled upon the seat, his large body materialized behind her. Oh my. This isn't gonna be good. A sentiment which only increased the moment his arms settled about her waist, and he slid even closer to her.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Oh yeah," he purred in her ear.

Starting the engine, Ivy turned them around and headed down her driveway. Pausing at the end, she waited.

"Something wrong?" he asked in a low voice which made the cold of the night slip away.

"Waiting for directions," she muttered, fighting the urge to lean back against him even more.

"Left," he said.

The ride was done in silence except for his directions which, despite the wind rushing past them, were spoken in a low spine-tingling tone. When Ruth's house on the outskirts of town came into view, she sighed. "You could have just said you needed to get back to Ruth's."

"What fun would that have been? Besides, I'm not staying here; I just have my truck here."

Ivy maneuvered up to the side of his older model truck and let the engine idle. "Thank you for taking the time to bring this to me." She turned her head toward him when his heat left her back.

Tristan stared down at her, his blue eyes framed by those thick lashes, giving him a sleepy sensual look. It didn't matter; she still felt exposed to his sharp gaze. His eyes narrowed briefly before a grin curved up one side of his mouth. "I'll be seeing you, Ivy." The statement was simple and yet laced with nothing less than an iron-clad promise.

Ivy blinked and revved the engine before pulling away and heading home without a look back, even though for the entire trip Tristan was in her mind's eye. And remained there the rest of the night.
Chapter Two

Tristan had a smile on his face when he walked back into his father's house after parking his truck.

"What's got you smiling, son?" Dalton Blade asked, looking up from where he watched television with a beer in one hand. "Did you go see Sable? Is that why the scowl is no longer on your face?"

Sable? "No. Haven't even given her a thought." He sat on the couch and faced his dad. "Tell me what you know about Ivy."

Dalton stared at him and with a flick of one hand turned off the television. "Ivy? As in Ivy Wallace?"

"I don't know her last name. But if it's the one who works at the gas station and lives at the old Madison house then, yes, that Ivy."

His father took a drink of the beer in his hand. "Well, must say I didn't expect her to be your focus when you got here. I don't know much about her."

Tristan frowned. This was a small town; there wasn't much that went on people didn't know about. "You have to know something."

"I didn't say I didn't know anything. I said I didn't know much." A thoughtful frown crossed his face. "Why do you want to know more about her?"

A low growl rose up from within Tristan's chest. For a brief second, his mindset was one of the man he was when he was deployed on a mission. Nothing was forbidden to get the information needed. Shoving back that feeling, Tristan sighed and shrugged.

"I'm intrigued by her. Look, Ruth already told me to leave her alone." He brushed a hand along his jeans and continued, "I can't explain it."

"Doesn't she think my son is good enough for Ivy Wallace?" Dalton snapped.

Tristan bit back a smile, knowing full well that was all it would take for his dad to spill all he knew. Interrogation skills are a blessing, and of course, it doesn't hurt to know how to rub the one in question the wrong way. "I don't think so, Dad, but she wouldn't tell me anything which is why I came to you." Ivy Wallace.

"Well, she moved here about two years ago, before you ask I don't know where from. Very polite, quiet. Extremely quiet, in fact. Most of the time, I forget she's even in town."

"Have you ever seen her drive?" he asked.

"Nope. Can't say as I have. Ivy isn't very outgoing, Tristan. She's not going to be swayed by your good looks."

"Is she married?" he asked the question Ruth had declined to answer.

"I don't believe so but—" Dalton trailed off when the phone rang.

Tristan sat there and watched his dad talk on the phone. He couldn't get Ivy out of his mind. Getting up and walking to his room, he flopped back on the bed and closed his eyes. Ivy had looked so sweet and innocent when she'd opened the door.

Her hair cascaded down around her face, calling to him to slide his fingers through the multi-hued whorls. It wasn't strictly black as he'd first assumed but a mixture of colors from the darkest black to reddish browns. Her eyes had seemed even bigger, more tempting than before. And yet, he noticed the strain of pain around the corners of her full, lush mouth. Tristan knew most wouldn't notice it, but he wasn't an ordinary man. He was trained to be observant.

After lying on the bed for a bit, Tristan got up and walked to the kitchen where he grabbed a bite to eat then spent the evening with his father watching TV. He dropped his questions about Ivy, given it had been Ruth on the phone and his father was in another mood.

When he slid between the flannel sheets on the bed, Tristan realized he was already looking forward to his next meeting with Ivy Wallace. Morning couldn't come fast enough for him, and Tristan was up well before his father and had already finished one cup of coffee at Ruth's when the door swung open to admit Ivy.

"Morning, dear," Ruth said with a smile.

"Good morning, Miz Ruth," Ivy responded in that same tone that made his cock shift in his pants and harden. "Thank you again for the snowmobile."

"Morning, Ivy," Tristan drawled in a way that would make his Louisiana-born Creole teammate proud.

Her body jerked slightly, and he knew he's surprised her. Tristan found himself holding his breath until she turned to look at him with her pooling eyes.

"Good morning."

Her tone was polite, and just as fast as her eyes centered on him, they left him. And he felt empty, a feeling he didn't like much at all. One of his teammates, the Creole, Brian "Gambit" Arnoux, told him numerous times about how it was when you found the woman you knew was for you. There was nothing you could do about it, except accept it and hang on for the ride. Tristan had thought it was a bunch of Creole hocus-pocus, but the second he'd laid eyes upon Ivy, something within him told him she was his. And he wasn't about to let her go.

When her gloved hand grabbed the waiting paper bag, he stood. "Can I give you a ride?" he asked.

Both women looked at him. Ruth with a slightly narrowed gaze and Ivy with a bland expression. He ignored Ruth, keeping his eyes focused on the mocha-skinned beauty who he longed to divest of all her layers of clothing.

"No, thank you." Ivy faced Ruth again. "Good day, Miz Ruth." Without a word to him, Ivy left the diner and headed back out into the winter morning.

Shaking his head, Tristan held up a hand warding off the tirade he knew would be coming from Ruth and hurried out the door after Ivy. Gazing up the street, he saw her walking slowly along the sidewalk, the streetlights and falling snow creating a picture perfect moment, in his eyes.

Tristan jogged up to her. "Ivy," he said, slowing down beside her.

"Mr. Blade," she commented without looking at him.

"Tristan, please." He willed her to look at him and frowned when it didn't work.

"Very well, Tristan," she conceded without slowing her pace one iota.

"Wait a second," he said, reaching out to touch the sleeve of her coat. She froze colder than the ground they stood upon. Tristan refused to release her. He kept his expression as kind as he knew how. "Is there something that I don't know I've done to you?"

Her gaze flickered from his down to where his hand rested upon her arm and back again. "Mr. Blade...Tristan...please, I have to get to work." She shifted her weight, and again, he caught the slight grimace she damn near hid.

"Let me carry this for you," he said, taking the bag out of her hand.

Tristan didn't want to let go of her; he wanted to pull her in closer and take her plump lips beneath his. He longed to sink his tongue deep into her mouth and learn everything he could about her taste. Her refusal brimmed in her eyes but she remained silent, instead beginning to walk again.

He fell into step beside her, his curiosity even more piqued about her. As they moved down the sidewalk, he continually snuck side glances at her. Her face remained a clean slate but he wasn't fooled. She wasn't quite sure what to make of him or how to handle him. A slight grin tilted up the corner of his mouth. He liked that.

The warmth of the store was welcome after the walk from Mama Ruth's. Ivy stopped immediately inside the door and turned to him, her hand out.

"What?" he asked, staring down into her brown eyes.

"The bag, please."

He handed it to her and watched her move to the counter and slip behind it.

"Hey, Ivy." A masculine voice flowed up one of the aisles.

"Morning, Tom. How was the night?"

Tristan stared at her as she shrugged out of her jacket and hung it on a nearby hook. A small smile turned up her lips, and his heart caught in his throat. Beautiful. When Tom Lincone walked up into view, Tristan frowned. And she's mine! The look on Tom's face was entirely too familiar.

"Hey, Tristan," Tom said.

"Tom."

The brown-haired man stared hard at him before saying, "You're out kind of early. Everything okay?" An odd look filled his face. "Or are you just now leaving Sable?"

Jesus! Is that all people think of me? His gaze jerked over to Ivy whose eyes had gone harder than diamonds. When she realized he watched her, it was like a cloth wiped away all emotion on her face. Tristan arched a brow and held her gaze.

"I've not even gone to see Sable, Tom. And I won't be, either."

"Oh, okay." Tom focused on something else, and Tristan continued to hold Ivy's powerful gaze.

His heart wrenched deep within his chest when she blinked and turned away from him. He longed to hurdle the counter, pull her tight to him and feast upon her. Walking to the candy aisle, Tristan grabbed another two packs of gum and waited until Ivy had counted her drawer and removed the "Next Register Please" sign from her station. Then, he moved to the counter.

"This all?" she questioned in a voice that made him think thoughts which belonged in the bedroom. Or at least away from prying eyes.

"Need a pack of Red's as well, please, Ivy."

Her eyes snapped up to his at the use of her name. In their brown depths, he could see her attraction to him and fought down a grin. I've got your number, Ivy. She reached up; an action which pressed her breasts tighter against her sweater, and grabbed the box.

"Just one?"

"That's all I need. Aren't you going to tell me I shouldn't smoke?" he asked, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet and giving her some bills. The corner of her mouth lifted slightly, and he leaned closer. "Oh, you do know how to smile. Wonderful." Her slight grin grew, and his heart quadrupled in speed.

"I know how to smile, Mr....Tristan. And as far as telling you not to smoke, I hardly see how it's my business." She gave him his change.

"Well, how about this? You make it your business, and I'll make it mine why you walk from your house to here daily." He furrowed his brows. "Didn't I just drop off the snowmobile so you could use it?"

Ivy leaned toward him and murmured softly, "Don't know if I want to be in your business."

She's flirting with me! "You do, just like I want to be in yours."

The heat in her gaze told him she caught the underlying meaning in his words. "Have a nice day, Tristan." He winked and strode to the door with his purchases. At the door, he stopped when she said, "Tristan." He glanced back. "Smoking's bad for your health. You should quit."

Contentment flowed over him and made him struggle with the urge to grin like a fool. He inclined his head in Ivy's direction before pushing out into the cold winter day.

⊗

Ivy couldn't keep the crazy grin from her face no matter how hard she tried. Tristan Blade had managed to get under her skin in less than forty-eight hours and made her think about things she'd long since pushed out of her memory.

The slide of his voice over her skin was a lovely sound. She couldn't explain the silly little flutter in her belly when the door opened and in strode none other than Tristan Blade. Ivy chewed on her lower lip as she stared at him. Work boots on his feet, fitted blue jeans which highlighted the power in his legs, and a leather bomber jacket on over his shirt. His brunet hair held the evidence of some wayward snowflakes, and she had to clench her hands to keep from reaching out to brush them away.

"Matt," he said to her coworker before his incredible blue eyes turned to her. "Afternoon, Ivy."

She fought back a blush at the intimate quality to his tone. "Tristan."

He prowled closer, his moves reminding her of a wild animal. It was with an easy motion that had him leaning on the edge of her counter. "Ready?" he asked in a timbre that made it feel as if he were removing her clothing with his teeth.

"Ready?" Ivy tilted her head to the side. "For what?"

"I'm taking you," he paused and singed her with his gaze, "home."

"I don't need a ride home, but thank you."

Her heart sped up when his hand closed gently around her wrist. His finger moving in small circles over her pulse. "Look, it's dropped about fifteen degrees since this morning. You're not walking."

"Of course not, I have the snowmobile here. It's out back."

His eyes darkened briefly. "I didn't see it."

"Should I apologize for that?"

"Have dinner with me," he said, continuing his assault on her sense of touch.

Ivy could hardly form a sentence; her synapses were firing like crazy and making thinking extremely difficult. She shook her head, and his eyes narrowed slightly.

"Wrong answer. It's 'Yes, Tristan, I'd love to.'" He smiled and said, "Wonderful. I'll be to your house by 1830. Nothing fancy, we'll just swing by Ruth's." Tristan turned her hand over and pressed his lips lightly to the pulse in her wrist. "1830, Ivy. I'll see you then." He walked out before she had time to recover.

She stood there blinking until Matt's robust laughter penetrated her cloud of disbelief. Jerking her head toward him, she stared until he found a way to get his mirth under control. Matt cleared his throat and looked at her doing his best to appear innocent.

"What's so funny?"

Matt shrugged. "Just haven't seen a man manage to strike you mute. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you kinda liked him."

"I don't know him to like him or not," she retorted, grabbing her gear and sliding it on. Lifting the helmet, she tucked it in the crook of her arm and said, "Have a great night, Matt."

"You, too, Ivy," he said in a voice laced with a healthy dose of teasing.

Shaking her head, she pushed through the door and out into the night. Ivy cautiously made her way around to the back of the station and pulled the cover off the snowmobile. She swung her leg over and drew her helmet down. Before long, she was on her way out of town and heading toward home.

When the time came for Tristan to show up, she was nervous. Extremely so. She was wearing a hole in her rug when the chime rang through the house. And she jumped. Swallowing hard, Ivy wiped her hands off on her pants and moved to the door. One final deep breath and she opened it.

Tristan stood there, hands shoved in his coat pocket. "Ready?" he asked as in the glow from the porch light he scanned her body.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Come on, we'll talk on the way and over dinner."

He smiled at her, and just like that, Ivy knew she was a lost cause. How he did it, she hadn't a clue but there was a boyish innocence in the extreme depths of his gaze she longed to see more of. With a resigned sigh, she grabbed her jacket off the hook and stepped out onto the porch. Ivy didn't say a word when he held the door of his truck for her, just slid in to the running vehicle, grateful for the warmth.

She sucked her lower lip in her mouth briefly when his large body joined hers in the cab of the truck. He was just so...so...capable of making her lose all sense. Buckling her belt, she tried to remain relaxed when he stared at her before beginning the trek back into town and to Mama Ruth's.

"Why?" she asked again.

He glanced at her quickly before placing his attention back onto the snowy road. "Is having a meal with me such a revolting idea?" he questioned in return. The timbre of his voice was full of the lure of seduction, and yet, underneath she heard something else.

Ivy dropped her gaze in shame. He's right. It's just a dinner in a public place. "No, and I'm sorry for making it sound that way. I...I don't..." she trailed off. It was hard to explain.

At a stop sign, Tristan turned to her and said, "I'm not a bad guy, Ivy."

What about Sable? Bigger question would be why I'm feeling jealous about her? Did he mean what he said about not going to see her? Or has he already warmed her bed and I'm just the next on his list to get through? No, I can't think that way; he doesn't strike me as that kind of man. Whatever they had before me is his past and not my business. Besides, this is just dinner; it's not like he's taking me shopping for a wedding ring. However, she couldn't keep her initial question silent. "And what about Sable?"

A muscle twitched in his jaw, his eyes flashed, and she knew he was less than pleased with the question. But he didn't ignore her. "Fair enough. She was a woman I used to spend time with when I came home." Tristan began driving again.

Used to. "So I'm not going to dinner with a married man? Or a taken one?"

He shook his head, hair flying around his angular face. "Not at all." His blue eyes smoldered when he looked at her again. "Feel free to take me, though."

Ivy felt her body temp skyrocket. She turned away and stared out at the night. It didn't take too long before he parked in front of the restaurant. Tristan was there to open her door before she'd unhooked her belt.

"Thank you," she muttered, sliding off the seat and beginning to move out of the vehicle.

Ivy didn't get past the door for Tristan's arm blocked her. She waited, staring up into his intoxicating gaze. The snow fell around them, and their breath was visible in the cold air; however, she felt only heat. It unfurled from her belly and spread through her body. Her chest tightened, and her palms itched with the need to touch him. She had nowhere to go. Unless she planned to either crawl back into the truck to exit via the other door or press against his hard body, Ivy had to wait.

Pressing against him would be very nice.

Inhaling deeply, she ingested his masculine scent while holding his gaze. "Are we eating out here?"

"I'd like to," he muttered in a near indiscernible tone.

Tristan stepped back and offered her his arm. Licking her bottom lip, Ivy took it, and together, they walked to the front door. She pulled slightly, and he released her arm moments before they walked in. In her opinion, the entire establishment fell silent and all eyes were upon them.

Ruth stood at the front counter, and Ivy watched her gaze flick between herself and the tall man beside her. Then, a small smile crossed the older woman's face, softening her countenance. "Grab a seat," she said, seeming to break the cloud of silence which hovered around.

Ivy moved forward at the slight guidance from Tristan's touch on the small of her back. She allowed him to lead her to a booth near the back. Slipping off her coat, she slid across the seat and sighed heavily when the pressure was taken off her leg. She fought the urge to rub it. Today had been another hard day, with a lot of going up and down step ladders at work.

"So, Ivy Wallace," Tristan said, leaning forward and putting his eyes on her after they had placed their order. "Tell me about you."

"Not much to tell."

He grinned, and his eyes sparkled in the light. "Gotta be something. Tell me how long you've been here in Starpoint, Vermont."

Ivy paused to take a drink of her soda then answered him. "I've been here about two years now."

"From where did you move?"

She shifted on the seat. Tristan never took his gaze off her, and she knew he wouldn't relent. There was a hard glint in his eyes which told her he was a man used to getting what he wanted. Worrying her lower lip, she shrugged and said, "A big city. Full of noise, pollution, crime, you know...complete opposite of here."

"And what made you pick Starpoint?" he asked, leaning back to allow their waitress to place his plate down.

Why did I? "Thank you," she said to the woman delivering the food. "I...wow...I don't really know. I was looking, and when I saw this place, it was like...it felt like home." Ivy smiled shyly. "If that makes any sense."

"It does." Tristan held her gaze.

"Now you, I know who your father is, but it seems you don't come home much. Or else I just never saw you." She arched a brow. "What's your story?"

Barely a flicker crossed his expression. "Well, I haven't been home in about five years, so that would be why you hadn't seen me. Trust me, we would have run into each other." A sensual smile filled his face at that statement.

"And what is it you do, Tristan Blade, that keeps you from home for such long periods of time?"

"I'm in the military; I work in a special administrative unit. Basically, we, my team and I, go around to different bases and do security checks on the computers, data, et cetera."

Military. Well that explains the confidence he seems dipped in. "Military. And which...um...branch?"

He sent her a dazzling smile. "I'm a sergeant in the Marine Corps."

Sergeant Tristan Blade. Well, hell, that's got a very nice ring to it. Ivy narrowed her eyes and pointed a fry at him. "Don't you Marines usually have shorter hair?"

"Yes. And I'll get mine cut while I'm here. I've been away from work for a bit, and it grew."

"Uh huh," she said.

A full-fledged grin filled his face. "Don't you trust me?"

"I don't know you, but if you're being put along Sable, it does make me wonder." Ivy clamped her mouth shut. I don't believe I just said that. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. I had no right...none to say anything remotely like that." She shook her head and dropped her gaze.

"Look at me. Hey, Ivy, look at me," Tristan ordered.

Embarrassed beyond belief, she did as he'd commanded. "I'm—"

"No," he interrupted. "Don't apologize. My name has been mixed with Sable's. I admit to having a certain reputation when I come home."

She arched a brow. "Just when you come home?"

His husky chuckle flowed over her like liqueur. "If I answer, what are the chances I'll get a second date?" Tristan shrugged. "I mean, that's kind of a loaded question for me. No real way I can answer and still look good. So how about I plead the fifth on the grounds that I may incriminate myself?"

It was her turn to laugh. "Well, how about we let it go on the premise of I don't want to be all up in your business about it."

"You know Sable, don't you?" he questioned with no humor left in his tone.

"Let's say I'm acquainted with her."

Tristan nodded. "You're a very polite woman, Ivy Wallace. One day, you'll tell me what you really think of her."

"I didn't know hell was going to be freezing over anytime soon," she said, toasting him with her glass.

"Quick-witted and beautiful. I like you, Ivy."

She blushed and turned her attention back to her dinner. Tristan took pity on her and turned the talk away to a more neutral area for the rest of the evening. She answered his questions but did a good job of putting more on him, keeping her own life how she liked it. Private.
Chapter Three

Tristan drove slowly back to Ivy's house. Dinner had been enlightening. Ivy was good at spinning the conversation away from her. Very good. And to many, it would have seemed like she was just truly interested, but to him, it smacked of evasion tactics. He glanced over to where she sat looking out the windshield and sighed.

This woman is more than anything I've ever encountered before. I want to know everything about her. He longed to ask her about the pain in her leg she struggled so hard to keep hidden. Tristan ran over what he had learned about her. Ivy was very quick, polite to a tee, quiet, and one hell of an intriguing package wrapped up in nothing but off-the-chart sensuality.

He'd almost blurted out what he truly did. The familiar lie almost didn't make it out of his mouth. Being a member of an elite military force he'd long grown accustomed to telling the admin lie. But what he did was far from administration. Tristan "Mayhem" Blade was a member of Zulu Spectre. A group who went in to get the job done when no one else could. Or would. He worked in an eight-member team, with six men and one woman. It had been a shock to have Ivy call him out on the length of his hair, but he'd been on a mission before he came home and longer hair was what had been called for.

Bottom line was he had no desire for the night to end. At least not with me leaving her. Tristan bit back a groan of disappointment when he turned into her driveway. Pulling up close to her steps, he put the truck in neutral and set the brake before climbing out and going around to her door. His heart sped up when she placed her hand in his.

"Thank you for having supper with me," he murmured in her ear as she walked past him.

Her feet slid on the snowy ground, and he moved swiftly to keep her from landing on it. His breath left him in a rush the second her curvaceous form sank against his. His hair stood on end, and his shaft grew rock-hard. One hand was settled between her shoulder blades and one settled against the flesh of her delectable derriere. Their pelvises pressed together and he couldn't find the wherewithal to formulate a single word.

Looking down, Tristan found her staring up at him. Her large eyes full of uncertainty and something else. Desire. Need. Passion. For him. And that humbled him. He couldn't stop his next motion even if he had any care to do so, which he didn't. He lowered his head until he captured her plump lips. Gently, he traced them before slipping his tongue along the seam of her mouth.

"Open for me, Ivy," he whispered.

She did, and with a low groan, he slid into her warmth. Electricity shot through him like a bolt and, on its heels, followed a wave of possessiveness. Moving slowly though her mouth, Tristan learned her exotic taste. And he wanted more. So much more.

His skin burned with a fire not even winter's bite could stifle. He stroked his tongue along the inside of her cheeks and coaxed hers out to slide along his. Her arms stole up around his back, and Ivy arched into his touch. Tristan drew her closer, using the hand on her butt to direct where he wanted her pressed against him. A soft mewling slipped from her throat, and he grew harder.

With a groan, he thrust against her core, which gave him more whimpers from her. He nipped her tongue and drew back, staring down into her eyes. The light from her porch shone off her kiss-swollen lips and hazy gaze. The hand he'd had resting between her shoulder blades moved to cup a cheek.

"Go inside, Ivy, if you don't want this to go any further," he rasped, willing his body to let her go and step back. Even as he did, all he could see was laying her down before a fire and making love to her, slowly, thoroughly, and for a long, long time. He stood there and watched the heat leave her eyes and shame fill them. When her head dropped, he reached out with one hand and brought her chin back up.

"No, Ivy. No thinking this was wrong. This is me giving you a chance to walk away for the night. Lord knows I want nothing more than to undress you and learn all I can about your body." He stepped closer. "What you like, where you're sensitive." Tristan swiped his thumb over her lip. "I want to know what makes you purr in the back of your throat." Placing his mouth down near hers, he whispered, "I want you."

He knew she desired him; the rapid beat of her pulse, her dilated eyes, heavy breaths, told him all of that. And yet, Tristan knew Ivy wasn't quite ready to face what her body already knew. They were going to be together, but he wouldn't pressure her into it. So, he swallowed hard and stepped back.

"Good night, Ivy. I'll see you tomorrow."

He skimmed over her features one more time, memorizing how delicious she looked standing there, the snow falling on her, passion in her expression. Steeling himself, Tristan spun around and got into his truck, driving off without delay, knowing his control was damn near frayed.

Tristan was still wound tightly when he arrived at his dad's house. Another car sat in the drive, and it was one that brought a scowl to his face. He took a deep breath before he walked in out of the night. His dad sat there, the television on low, and on the couch staring at him was none other than Sable Crawford.

She pushed to her feet, a smile spreading across her creamy face. "Tristan," she cooed, walking toward him. "I'd heard you were back in town. Thought you would have come by to see me." Sable leaned up for a kiss but stopped when he frowned and stepped back. His father slipped away silently.

Tristan stared at the woman who had been as close to a continual relationship as he'd had. It was a wonderful no-strings-attached kind of thing. They'd both had an itch which needed to be scratched and that was what they they'd done for one another. Sable Crawford was a beautiful woman. Thick black hair and amazing pale brown eyes. But since he'd laid eyes on Ivy Wallace, he wanted no other woman's touch on him.

Sable stared at him, and a small frown tugged down the corner of her mouth before it was smoothed away. Understanding gleamed in her eyes. "That's why you didn't come to me," she commented. Her tongue slipped out to dampen her lips. Pulling on the hem of her shirt, Sable sighed. "I knew it would happen someday but I guess I was kind of hoping it never would, unless it was you making an honest woman out of me."

Tristan could see the pain in her eyes, and he was surprised. He hadn't a clue she'd felt like it was anymore than a convenience kind of thing. "I'm sorry, Sable."

"Don't be." Her tone had a slight bite to it. "I should get going. Goodbye, Tristan."

She sidestepped his reach and was out the door before he could say another word. He sighed and ran his tongue over his teeth.

"Well, I thought there may be more fireworks than that," his dad said.

He's not even heard his old man return and was slightly shocked by that. "Why? We've never held claim over one another."

Dalton popped some chips into his mouth and grunted noncommittally. "I wonder if she's truly going to let it go. We both know Sable can be extremely spiteful."

What his dad spoke was nothing but the truth. "What Sable does now is her own business." Tristan moved to the couch and sat down.

"Uh huh. And if that includes being mean to your dinner date?"

Rage flew like wildfire through his veins at the thought. His head snapped up, and he glared at his father. "No one," he growled low in his throat, "no one had better let me find out they were mean to Ivy."

"That's what I thought." With a smile on his face, Dalton left the living room and headed off to another part of the house, a cheerful whistle on his lips.

Tristan sat there in silence for a while, trying to get his anger back under control. He literally shook at the thought. No one will hurt her. Getting to his feet, he grabbed his cell off his pants and flipped it open. Scrolling through the numbers, he found the one he sought and pressed the call button.

"Bonjou." A deep Louisianan accent flowed to his ear.

"Gambit," Tristan said with a smile.

"Mayhem. Koman sa va?"

"I'm fine, Gambit. How are you? And your family?"

"Bon." They talked for a while about neutral things. "Now," Gambit drawled, "what can I do for you? Surely there is something else you'd prefer to be doing at nine at night than talking to me."

Well, yeah, Ivy. "I need some advice."

Rich laughter flowed followed by a stream of Creole. Tristan sat back and frowned, knowing full well he had to wait until Gambit was done.

"Who is she?" he asked.

Tristan rubbed his head. "Who said it was a she?"

"I may not be next to you, Mayhem, but I can hear it in your voice. You've been hit. Zetwal d Ezili. You met dah one." There was no more teasing in his voice, just the straight assuredness he knew what he said to be nothing short of the God's honest truth.

"Can I blame you and all your talk about this?" he questioned. He didn't need this. Zetwal d Ezili. After all, he had no ties to the remaining beliefs that had come over with many of the slaves on gods and goddesses. Ezili was a voodoo goddess of love.

"Blame me all you want, Mayhem, it don't change a damn thing. Now, tell me about her."

Tristan heard muffled voices before a feminine voice came onto the line. "Hey, Mayhem. Don't shut us out. We need to know who this woman is."

A wry smile curved up his lips. "Hey, Jack." The voice belonged to the one woman in his unit. Jacey "Blackjack" Thompson who was called "Jack" more often than not.

"Don't you 'hey, Jack' me, buddy. Spill." More mumblings before her sigh came over the line. "Fine. Gambit says its man-talk. Yeesh. Later, Mayhem."

Tristan didn't even say anything; he knew she was already off the line. "Gambit. Is this Zetwal d Ezili real?"

Gambit chuckled. "Well, I'd say so if you're already battling the results of being hit."

Closing his eyes, Tristan listened to Gambit tell him about the Zetwal d Ezili, or Star of Ezili. He'd heard it before, but this time, he listened.

"Wait," he interrupted. "What if she doesn't feel this?" Even as he asked the question, it left a sour feeling in the pit of his belly.

"She does. She may not know or be ready to accept it, but she felt it." Gambit paused and said again, "Tell me about her."

"I don't know if I can explain her, she's...she's...mine."

"I get it, Mayhem. I won't push it. Just don't kill me when I meet her and shake her hand." A slight pause. "Now that you know what it is, get off the phone with me and go get her."

"Thanks, Gambit."

"My pleasure, mon ami," Gambit said then hung up.

"I'm heading out, Dad," he called up the hall as he stood and hooked his phone back to his pants.

Dalton peeked around the corner and smiled. "Tell Ivy I say hello."

"Don't go there. Night, Dad."

Reaching for his coat, Tristan slipped it on and grabbed his truck keys. It didn't take long before he was back on the road, heading for his friend Steve's whom he'd promised he'd be there later on to catch up. He had to force himself to continue on to Steve's instead of turning off on the road which would take him to where he longed to be. Ivy's side.

⊗

Ivy groaned as she rubbed her left leg. The puckered and splotched skin rose and fell beneath her massaging fingers. The pain didn't subside; if anything, it increased.

"My leg looks like a damn withered up old shriveled prune was skinned and laid on it."

Her gaze took in the bright pink as opposed to the darker tone of the rest of her leg. The muscles up along the outer portion of her leg scream in agony. Sweat began to bead upon her forehead, and with shaking hands, Ivy reached for the bottle by her bed. Popping two pills, she swallowed them and hobbled to quickly get ready to sleep. The tears had gathered by the time she had made it back to the mattress. Sliding in between the sheets, Ivy rolled onto her belly and prayed the pain would fade enough so she could sleep.

A few evenings later, as she sat before her easel, the gentle chime of her doorbell echoed throughout the house. Moving slowly, she rose and limped to the door. She pulled it open, and her heart skipped more than a few beats.

Tristan stood there. And he didn't look happy. But he sure as hell looked good. Boots, jeans, and a leather jacket covering a dark shirt.

"Can I help you?" she asked, allowing the heavy door to help support her weight.

"Where've you been?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Invite me in, Ivy," he said in an intimate tone.

Funny how seeing him there made her a little bit giddy. Please. More than a little bit, girl. With her hand, she gestured to him and refused to move, inhaling deeply when he slid past her, that delicious scent filling her senses again. Shooting off a quick prayer for the ability to not act like a fool, she closed the door and looked at him.

"Have you been hiding from me?" His tone was calm and composed, mirrored by his expression.

She didn't sense any anger just pure curiosity. He tilted his body closer to her and ran a lingering touch along the back of her cheek.

"No. Why would you think that?"

"Because of what happened the last time we were together."

Her body flushed hotly at the memory of his kiss as well as the words he'd uttered in her ear before leaving her alone with her wanton longings. Standing straight, she welcomed the shaft of pain for it made her lust fade away.

"I wasn't hiding from you. I don't work at the gas station seven days a week."

"You weren't even at Ruth's," he said, prowling towards her.

"Should I be scared you're trying to figure out where I am every minute of the day?"

"No," he answered immediately. "I want you to feel a lot of things in regards to me; fear would never be one of those."

So much for keeping the pain at the forefront of my mind. "Did anyone tell you you're a very forward man?" she questioned, moving by him to head to the kitchen.

"Nope."

Stopping at the counter, she looked over her shoulder at him. "No? So what, now you tell me you're not like this normally?"

"Would you believe it?"

Putting water on for tea, she shook her head. "Not at all." Ivy looked over to where he leaned against the other side of the counter as if he owned the place and everything in it. Including her. "Would you like some tea?" She paused. "Or a soda?"

"A soda would be great. Please," he replied, moving into the kitchen and immediately making it feel smaller than it was.

Swallowing hard, Ivy gestured to the fridge. "Help yourself." Her eyes lingered on his ass when he opened the refrigerator and bent over to grab a drink for himself. Lord, give me strength. Ivy turned away and prepared her cup for her own drink.

Ivy had just returned the teapot to the stovetop when arms covered by dark sleeves settled upon either side of her. She stiffened and licked her lips. Focusing on the spoon, she stared at the movement of the tea.

"Are you ignoring me, Ivy?" Tristan whispered in her ear, his tone, decadent and sinful.

"I think what I'm doing is technically called making tea."

"Seems to me like you're trying to stir out the flavor."

Ivy closed her eyes and prayed for strength again. "Why are you here?"

"I came to check on you, Ivy-love. Why haven't you been to town?"

Ivy turned at the unexpected endearment and shivered from the look in his eyes. Possessiveness. "What does it matter to you? Surely you don't need me to hand you a pack of those cancer sticks."

He arched a brow but stepped back. "So smoking's out, what else?"

Ivy shook her head and walked by him, tea in hand to the living room. She sat on the couch, groaning in relief as the weight went off her leg. "What else what?"

"Well, hon, I need to know what you consider a deal breaker for relationships. I can't have habits you won't approve of." He sat across from her.

Drinking some tea, Ivy stared at him in confusion. "I'm sorry; I don't think I'm following. What do you mean 'smoking is out?' You smoke, or else you just like spending money on packs of cigarettes."

"Not anymore. I quit."

"This is insane." She shook her head.

"Why?"

She held her hand out, palm up. "Because we don't know each other, and you are talking like we're in a relationship."

Tristan leaned forward, his arms resting on his thighs. "We have something much more than a 'relationship,' Ivy, my love."

I need my pills. I'm hallucinating. "I don't want to know."

He held her gaze and never blinked. "That's because you already know." Tristan got up and moved to sit beside her on the sofa. "Tell me you don't dream about me and what it will be like when we make love."

She trembled. He was dead-on. I don't want to feel anything for him! Ivy knew it didn't matter. She'd felt something the first time he had entered her line of sight. But, damn it all, she was good at hiding things.

He reached for her and tenderly smoothed some hair back behind her ear then cupped the side of her face. His hand warm and comforting. "If you can tell me honestly, Ivy, I'll leave."

"This is ridiculous," she stammered. "I barely know you."

Tristan plucked her tea from her hand and placed it on the coffee table. When his bedroom eyes met hers again, they burned with determination. "That's not true, Ivy. You do know me; that's why it feels so right being with one another." He tilted his head to the side and said, "A good friend of mine told me something once, and I didn't buy it until now. Two halves of a whole must have what it takes to find another. They must move beyond all pain, hurdles, and setbacks. For to be one again, they must believe."

Her heart quadrupled in speed. "Why would you say such things?" That was eerily identical to what her grandmother used to tell her.

"Kiss me, Ivy-love. Kiss me, please. I've been dying to feel your lips on mine ever since I left you a few nights ago."

Her mind raced. How could he know that saying? Tristan slid his hand into her hair at the back of her head. Strong fingers gently massaged her scalp. All rational thought flew away, and Ivy leaned forward and kissed him. He remained still beneath her except for his fingers which continued to move in small circles.

Ivy sighed and began to explore at her leisure. She slipped her tongue into his mouth and groaned as his rich taste infused her taste buds. Delving and dipping, she continued her quest. Dancing with his tongue, she barely realized when their positions on the couch changed. She had begun to push him back. One of her legs sat wedged between his, and she could feel his hard length against her thigh. Still, he let her keep the pace she wanted.

Wanting more, she shifted so she could press into him farther. Sharp pain surged up her leg, snapping her out of the euphoric cloud kissing him gave to her.

Oh my God! She barely stopped the cry of agony from slipping out. Ivy realized she'd put too much weight combined with a bad angle on her leg. Her eyes began to tear up as she pushed back to flop on the couch away from Tristan.

"What's wrong, baby?" he asked, crouching beside her, worry all over his expression.

The first tear leaked over. "Pills. Bedside." Words were difficult to form, and she knew it was not very long before she would become delirious with pain. Sweat formed all over her, and she released a keening cry as Tristan disappeared. Ivy barely registered him coming back.

"Ivy. How many?"

Two.

"How many!"

Two. Give me two!

"Damn it, Ivy! Talk to me. Tell me how many you need!"

Staring at him through a haze of pain, Ivy licked her dry lips and croaked out, "Two." He put the pills in her mouth and held the lukewarm tea up for her to drink them down with. She closed her eyes and waited for the medication to kick in and start working. That was all she remembered.
Chapter Four

Tristan was freaked. Never before had he felt so helpless. He remained by the couch and kept wiping the sweat off Ivy's brow. When she stopped thrashing, he bent and lifted her in his arms. Tears still spilled from beneath her lids.

"No," she mumbled, almost incomprehensible.

"Shh, easy, baby. I'm just putting you in bed."

Tremors began to wrack her again. Tristan could tell she fought the pain. What can I do to help her? Looking through her drawers, he found a large t-shirt and brought it to the bed. He carefully took her sweatshirt off and pulled the lighter one over her body. Forcing himself to ignore her full breasts, he reached back up under the shirt and undid the bra before taking it off as well. Tristan reached for the waistband of her sweats and tugged them down. He couldn't help the gasp that escaped.

Her left leg had been severely burned. The pink and white splotches ran from her ankle up to her hip and appeared to be just on the outside, for the inside of her leg was the same mouthwatering, luscious mocha color the rest of her appeared. Around her knee, he noticed other markings that made him frown. As he stared, he could see the muscles contorting, and each time, she thrashed a bit more.

Tristan knelt by her bed and reached out slowly over her thigh. Gently, he settled his hands on her, prepared, and yet not, for the flinch she gave. He began to massage the leg, slowly and methodically, from her upper thigh down her calf and back again. Her breathing became easier, and the incoherent mutterings faded into nothing.

"What happened to you, baby?" he asked the air.

Time passed, and he continued to work the muscles in her leg, trying to keep them loose so they didn't create more pain for her. When he stopped, Tristan covered her with the blanket and got to his feet. Heading out to the living room, he picked up her mug of cold tea and his half empty soda can and put them in the kitchen. Locking the front door, he shut off lights and returned to Ivy's bedroom where he left the light on beside her bed before sinking in the gliding rocker she had in the corner. Taking off his boots, he put his feet up on the ottoman and stared at her while she slept.

You are a mystery, Ivy Wallace. Drumming his fingertips on the arm of the rocker, he thought about the marks near her knee. Surgery was obvious but there was something else. There was pebbling in her skin that was reminiscent of being shot with buckshot. He couldn't imagine how much pain she had gone through to get burns like that on her leg. And how did she get them?

Tristan allowed himself to lightly doze, but he woke each time she shifted or whimpered in her sleep. He rose when the sun did and left the room to find some coffee. When he poked his head in the door, Tristan found her awake.

"Good morning," he said softly.

"You're still here?" Her voice was soft and slightly slurred. She stared at him blankly, and he knew she was processing what she'd gone through.

"Where else would I be?" Pain filled her dark brown eyes, and he walked in the room, sitting beside her on the bed, being careful not to touch her leg. Stroking a hand along her face, Tristan pressed a light kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Are you feeling better?"

She frowned and looked under the blanket. He couldn't miss the panic on her face when her gaze flashed back up to his. "Did you...?"

"Undress you? Yes. You seemed uncomfortable in the heavier clothes. Since I wasn't sure how you slept, I put you in that."

Ivy swallowed and dropped her gaze, angling her body away from him. "So you saw my leg." The shame in her voice was such he could taste it.

"Yes. Will you tell me how it happened?"

"I'd really rather not."

Placing a hand on the other side of her hips, Tristan stared into her eyes. "Does this have something to do with why you left wherever you did?"

"Let it alone," she said.

"I can't do that. Ivy, you're hiding and running from something. Let me help you."

"I'm not running or hiding. I moved here because it looked like a great place."

Tristan moved his gaze over the rapid pulse in her neck. You're lying. "Is someone after you, Ivy?"

She hesitated a second too long before shaking her head no. Tristan clenched his jaw and struggled to stay calm. Ivy held his gaze, but he could see the fear in the deep recesses of her eyes.

"I've put some coffee on, would you like some?" he asked, changing tactics.

"Sounds great." Raising her brow, Ivy stared at him. "You need to move, though."

Tristan got to his feet and said, "You stay in bed, I'll bring it to you." When she made to get out of the bed, he blocked her way and put their faces millimeters apart, and uttered in a low tone, "I mean it, Ivy. You stay in this bed, or I'll make damn sure you're so tired you won't even consider getting out."

Her pupils dilated, and she inhaled sharply, dropping her eyes to his mouth then back to his eyes.

"And, yes, I mean it. Your ass had better be in this bed when I come back with your coffee." Kissing her fast and hard, he slipped from the room before he gave into the desire crawling all over him. Standing in Ivy's kitchen, he poured a cup of coffee for her, his hands trembling. He wanted to hurt someone. Composing himself, Tristan carried the mug and creamer and sugar on a tray to her bedroom and set it over her lap. Only half glad she listened to him.

"Thank you," she whispered, lifting the steaming drink.

"Would you like something to eat? I'm not a gourmet chef but I could whip you up some breakfast." He sat beside her, careful not to jostle the tray.

"No, thank you. I'm sure you have something else to be doing than staying with me."

"Nope. And, Ivy, I want the truth."

War raged in her eyes before she shook her head. "I've got nothing to say."

"You're scared, Ivy. I can see that as plain as I can see you right here before me. Let me help you. I won't let anyone hurt you." He could see the walls building up around her. Sighing, he licked his lips. "Okay, I'll let it go...but just for now." Skimming her lower lip with his thumb, he said. "I have to go grab some things from home." Her eyes filled with more pain. "I'll be right back, Ivy. You're not getting rid of me that easy. Stay in bed and get some rest."

At the door, Tristan looked back at her. Exhaustion all over her beautiful face. "No more than an hour, Ivy-love, okay? I'm not going to lock the door so I can just come back in."

"Okay," she said softly.

He hurried through the house and to his vehicle. Once inside, he whipped out his cell phone and placed a call while he started and cleaned the snow off his truck.

"Staff Sergeant Thompson," a woman with a sleepy voice answered.

"Hey, Jack, it's Mayhem. Sorry to wake you but I need a favor."

He heard the rustle of blankets. "What do you need?" she asked.

"I need you to look up all you can on a woman named Ivy Wallace."

"Is this the woman who has stolen your heart? Your Zetwal d Ezili?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Jacey queried. "Not a good way to build a relationship base."

"I need to know, Jack. She's scared. She's got scars, and it looks like she was also peppered with buckshot."

He could hear Jacey's deep sigh. "I'll see what I can find out about her and anything on injuries, but Tristan," she said using his real name, "ask her."

"She's putting up walls, and not letting me in."

"If she's scared like you say, it may take some time."

"What if there isn't any time?" he bit off, going down Ivy's driveway.

"How long has she been there?"

"A little over two years."

"Seems to me like she's pretty safe then. Go easy." She paused. "I'll get back to you soon."

"Thanks, Jack."

"Most welcome, Mayhem." She hung up, and he focused on driving safely home.

Tristan grabbed his bag of clothes and left immediately, heading for Mama Ruth's. He walked behind the counter and moved to the back where Ruth's office was. Knocking briefly, he stuck his head in. Ruth was on the phone but waved him in.

"Hey, sweetie," she said once she'd hung up, moving close enough to hug and kiss him.

"Hey."

Ruth stared at him, her gray eyes seeing more than perhaps he wanted her to. "Shut the door, Tristan," she ordered.

He did and sat on the edge of her desk, facing her when she sank back in her chair. "I need to know, Ruth." She sighed. Raking a hand through his hair he said, "Please, Mom. She was in so much pain last night, and I...I've never been so scared in my life."

"Is she okay?" Ruth asked, concern apparent.

So she does know about the pain, and she's not commenting on the fact I was there last night. "She was resting in bed when I left her. Tell me," he implored.

"I...I can't, Tristan. I promised her I wouldn't, and it's not my place do so anyway."

He bit back his litany of curse words. "Is she in danger?" I have to know.

"No. I don't believe so. Honestly, Tristan, I don't believe she's in danger." Ruth wrung her hands together. "She's scared, though. Please don't let her start to care about you then break her heart when you tire of her or leave."

Taking the hand of the woman whom he looked on as a mother, Tristan squeezed it lightly. "I won't tire of her, Mom. Ivy is it. She's the one."

Her eyes grew wide. "Are you sure?"

Tristan picked up on the slight tremor of hope her voice had. "The most sure I've been in my entire life."

Ruth's expression still contained a mix of happiness and sorrow. "I hope it works out, Tristan."

"It will." He kissed her cheek. "Can't argue with the Zetwal d Ezili." Going to the door, he paused and said, "I wish you could have told me more, but I'm grateful for you being such a good friend to her. I have to go; I don't want to leave her alone that long. Love you, Mom." Tristan left and hurried back to his truck and on to Ivy.

Tristan jogged up the steps to her house and let himself inside. It was quiet, and he rubbed his stubbled chin. Setting his bag down, he moved silently through the house to her bedroom and peeked in the room. The tray sat on the floor by the bed, and Ivy was sleeping. The blanket gathered around her waist, hands clasped under her chin, she slumbered like a little angel. He walked to the bedside and pulled the cover up over her shoulders and tucked her in. After stroking one hand down the side of her face, he left her there and headed back to the kitchen, tray in hand.

Content all was secure; Tristan made himself at home and took a shower. Once he had dried off and dressed, he returned to the kitchen and looked through her cupboards for something to whip up for her. While the soup warmed, he went to wake her up.

"Ivy," he murmured, touching her shoulder lightly. "Come on, honey, wake up."

Sleepy brown eyes stared at him. "You're still here?"

"Not gettin' rid of me. Come on, I've got some soup warming up. You need to get up, so your leg doesn't stiffen up." He could see the door slamming on her emotions with his comment. "Oh no. No hiding behind a wall of indifference, Ivy-love. Come on, get up."

"Can you give me some privacy?" she asked.

"Of course. I'll be in the kitchen."

Tristan left her alone. He'd just finished dishing up the soup when she came into view. Her hair hung around her face which combined with her heavy-lidded gaze gave her a rumpled, thoroughly pleasured look. She had put on a cutoff green sweatshirt and wore some loose black pants.

"I hope vegetable beef is okay," he said with a smile.

"It's fine." She sat and looked at him. "Tristan, thank you for doing this, but...really, I'm sure you have other things to be doing. I'm fine. I'm used to this and it will pass."

He sat and put some crackers in his bowl. "I'm not going anywhere, Ivy-love. You're stuck with me."

Ivy couldn't hide the flicker of a grin even though she tried. Tristan winked and began to eat. After lunch was over, he sat on the couch, Ivy's head in his lap.

"Ready to tell me how it happened?"

"No."

He continued playing with strands of her hair. "I'm going to keep asking. Just so you know."

"I'm... It's just hard for me to talk about."

"Okay. Tell me what you want to do then."

"I want to know about you."

Tristan swallowed. Tugging on a curl, he sighed. I can't expect her to tell me everything if I won't share with her. Normally, he wouldn't even consider telling a woman what he truly did in the Marine Corps but Ivy was different. She was his other half. He grinned slightly as he remembered Gambit telling him maybe he did have some Creole in him. Maybe I do.

"Okay. Let me see. I never knew my birth mother. She skipped out on us as soon as she could. Ruth is my step-mother."

⊗

Ivy stood in the bathroom and stared at her reflection. Her mind drifted over the past two weeks. Tristan had been with her every day, coming in to see her at work, taking her to Ruth's for meals, even went grocery shopping with her. She'd told him almost everything there was to know about her. Almost. There were times when she didn't believe what was going on between them. She wanted him, knew he wanted her, but she couldn't get past him looking at her leg. And Tristan didn't seem to be in a rush. He never pushed, never got upset when she stopped their heated and passionate exchanges.

She'd shared her painting with him, and he'd been very impressed. Every day, he'd ask if she was ready to tell him. Her answer never changed. Yet, deep in the back of her mind she wondered if it wouldn't be easier to tell him. It's not like he hasn't seen the scarring. What harm can it do to tell him how it happened? The harm was she'd have to relive the experience. Dealing with the pain and the look of her leg was one thing, but since the incident, she'd not gone over it in her head. And honestly, she didn't want to.

With a groan, she left the bathroom and slipped into some clean clothes. She and Tristan were going snowmobiling today, and it excited her. He waited out in the living room, already wearing his snow pants. Even that couldn't take away from his handsomeness.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Ready." I can't get over the way he watches me. It's almost like I mean the world to him.

He tossed her some snow gear. "Suit up; let's get going."

"Where are we going?" she asked, stepping into her own pair of bright green bib snow pants.

"A surprise. Come on." He sent her a million-watt smile and her insides melted.

Bundled up, they headed out into the cold afternoon. Settled, Ivy revved the motor and followed Tristan. They rode for a while, flying across the pristine countryside riding side by side.

"How you doing?" he hollered as they sped along.

"Fine."

"Just over this hill is where we're going."

"Okay." Skimming along the snow, she saw a cabin sitting a small grove of spruce and fir trees. Following his lead, she parked the sled by the front door and shut off the engine. "What are we doing here?"

"So full of questions, Ivy-love, just go inside."

Her insides trembled at the familiar use of his endearment. Stripping off her goggles, she proceeded up the single step to the door. She opened the door and stepped in. It was a small hunting cabin. One bedroom, kitchen/dining area, and a living room with a fireplace along one wall. Behind her, Tristan entered carrying a basket.

"Give me a second and I'll have a fire going," he said brushing his lips along her cheek.

Before long, a fire burned. Tristan emptied the basket, which contained food and sparkling wine. They had stripped off their outwear then stretched out on the thick blanket he'd spread in front of the dancing flames, munching on the food and sipping the drink. She was touched by his gesture of bringing nonalcoholic sparkling wine, being as she didn't drink.

"This is lovely, thank you, Tristan."

He placed a strawberry against her lips for her to eat. "You seemed like you needed something different for a day." Tristan tucked some hair behind her ear and smiled. "I'm glad you're enjoying it."

"More than you could ever know."

Tristan drained the rest of his drink and set his cup to the side before moving the rest of the fruit and other items away as well. "Come here," he said, drawing her close.

Ivy looked up at him from where she lay on her back. Tristan was propped on one arm staring down at her, the firelight reflecting in his stunning blue eyes. His expression bordered on tender, and he stroked a finger down the side of her face. For a while, they sat there without talking, the only noise their breathing and the crackling of the fire.

Licking her lips, Ivy stared at him. This man...he makes me feel so special.

"I used to live in San Francisco. I was dating the man who owned the gallery where my paintings were." Turning her head, she stared at the flames. Fire. The pain. The fear. She remained reclined; nearly mesmerized by the hypnotic flicker they created. Tristan kissed her temple. "One night I was there late, setting up for my gallery showing the next day. I don't know how they got in, or what they wanted. I only know the woman was very angry with me."

Her chest tightened as she recalled that day. Bile rushed up, and Ivy swallowed hard but forced herself to finish telling him. "She yelled at me for sleeping with her man—I don't even know who her man was. Maybe it was the guy with her that night. Anyway, I tried to tell her so but when it was obvious she wasn't believing me, I tried to run. She shot me. Most of it hitting my knee. After setting all of my work on fire, she turned her attention back to me. The guy with her must have been the lookout, because I really didn't see him much, just heard his voice. Anyway, she covered the outside of my left pant leg with paint. White, oil based paint. She slathered it on thick then mixed in a bit of turpentine. Then, she lit me on fire."

The tears could no longer be contained and began to fall down her cheeks. She could feel the tension radiating from Tristan behind her, but his lips continued their gentle caress. "When I woke, I was in the hospital. I have pins in my knee and my leg is... Well, you've seen it."

"Baby," he murmured. "I'm so sorry. What happened to the woman?"

"Not a damn thing." She shook.

"What?!" He jerked to a sitting position. "Are you kidding me?" His disbelief blatant.

Ivy wiped at her eyes, brushing away the liquid. "She said it was him, and apparently, the jury believed her. According to them, women don't do such things."

"What about your testimony?" he asked in a low tone which vibrated with anger.

"I was focused on her, and that's why I said it was her instead of him." She shuddered. "Anyway, after I got out of the hospital, my boyfriend decided that my limp and my patchwork-looking leg weren't good for his image. Not to mention he was mad about his gallery. So, he left me. Then, I left and moved here."

"Why don't you drive?"

"I never know when it will hit. Walking strengthens it, but on occasion I do too much, and then, well...you've seen what happens. It's temperamental but, I'm alive. So, can't complain." She pushed into his warmth even more. "I'm just scared she's still out there."

"What's her name?"

Ivy remained silent, instead looking back up at him. There was fury in his eyes turning them into cold, unforgiving dark blue sapphires. She reached up with one hand and sank it into the softness of his hair, tugging his face closer to hers. Ivy sighed when their lips met.

"Ivy," he murmured, licking along her lower lip.

Closing her eyes, she opened for him, meeting his tongue with her own. Passion poured through her. His hand stroked her arm, up and down as he made slow, sweet love to her mouth. She shuddered beneath his touch.

She lifted her other arm and slipped it around his neck. Tristan growled low in this throat and increased the intensity of the kiss. He readjusted and wrapped one hand in her hair. His other hand began lifting the bottom of her shirt. Ivy whimpered at the feel of his callused skin on her body. Moisture began to pool between her legs.

Tristan broke the kiss and moved along her jaw and down over her jugular. He nibbled, laved, and each touch, each stroke sent her closer to the edge of a frenzy. She was half delirious when he undressed her. But when he touched her leg, she flinched as if struck. Ivy reached for him only to have him brush her hand away.

"No, Ivy."

Squeezing her eyes tight, she waited for him to cover her back up. He didn't. His lips brushed over the scarred skin. He kissed his way from her ankle up to the top of her hip. She believed she was burning from the inside out, not from pain but from pleasure.

"Oh...God...Tristan...I..." She gasped when his hand closed around one breast, and an orgasm washed over her.

"Ivy," he whispered. "My sweet Ivy-love."

"Tristan!" she begged.

He kissed his way along her belly and up between the valley of her breasts before he moved over her, settling between her legs. His blue eyes gazed into hers, and he bent down briefly to kiss her lips before asking, "Are you sure this is what you want?"

"Yes." Her voice was faint for lack of a good breath but there was no hesitation.

"I've been waiting for this, Ivy-love."

She gasped as he slowly entered her. Tristan's thick length made her eyes roll back. Never before had she felt so full. He stopped once he was completely inside her.

"You okay?"

"Yes. Don't stop."

"Don't plan on it." He began to move. Slow, deep strokes. Stretching her, filling her. Ivy dug her fingers into his shoulders. "Watch me, Ivy," he ordered.

It was hard to keep her eyes on him but she managed. In and out, he slid. Never increasing his speed. Just creating a burn that made her toes curl. Heat licked along her skin, and Ivy shifted against him, her hips undulating against his thrusts. He picked up his pace. Tristan lowered his mouth to hers and matched the tempo of his hips with that of his tongue.

Fire grew. Flames licked. Heat spiraled from her toes up. Ivy could feel her body flowing toward the crest. Clamping down on his cock with her internal muscles, she gripped him. He rumbled low in his chest.

Harder, he moved.

Deeper, he sank.

Ivy came with a scream and arched into him. She'd barely come down from her high when he erupted within her, sending her right back over the edge. Heart pounding out of control, she whimpered when he gentled the kiss before ending it.

"Ivy-love," he murmured against her lips.

Warmth flowed through her. Ivy sighed contentedly when he withdrew and curved around her before pulling the blanket's excess up over them both. Her eyes closed again and she smiled the moment, his fingers began trailing up and down along her hip. Content and safe, Ivy allowed the heat from the man behind her and the fire to carry her off toward a world of slumber.
Chapter Five

Tristan stood at his father's kitchen counter and stared at the packet in his hand. It was from Jacey, and within it, laid the contents on the woman he loved. Jacey's words rang in his head, but he shook them away. I have to know.

Ivy was at her house, working on another painting. He'd left her there after helping set up her Christmas tree. They'd brought one back after their visit to the cabin. Tristan smiled as he recalled how it felt to be buried deep within her body. He'd made love to her three times before they left. Ivy was a very giving lover, and he never wanted it to end.

"Ivy-love," he muttered.

Grabbing a knife, he slit open the packaging and dumped out the contents. Tristan took a deep breath, picked up the paperwork, headed to the couch and sat to read. By the time he'd finished, he shook he was so angry. Ivy had seriously glossed over the details of what had happened to her.

"No wonder you're so unwilling to trust anyone again, Ivy-love."

Her boyfriend had accused her of trying to set his place on fire, claiming he'd told her there would be no more showings there and that he was breaking up with her. Luckily, no judge had believed she would do that on the exact night someone broke in there and shot her as well as lit her on fire. But the damage had been done. Ivy Wallace, his Ivy-love, was really well-known artist Iyeshia Wallace Vandeen. I thought I recognized her work.

He realized how come she moved here. Ruth had some of her work up at her house and in the diner. I'd bet anything they'd struck up a friendship even before this incident. Tristan sat forward and read over the incident report and the file on what had happened at the trial.

"I can't imagine what you went through, Ivy." He longed to go to her and hold her close. But he knew she had work to do. "Doesn't mean I can't surprise you with lunch, though, does it?" Stacking the papers back in the packet they arrived in, he got to his feet and headed out the door.

Before long, he was walking through the door of Mama Ruth's. Waving a greeting to a few people, he sat at the counter and placed his order to go. From where he sat, he had a shot directly back to Ruth's office, and he grinned when he saw his dad slip out from her office and go towards the back door. About two minutes later, Ruth appeared and headed up front. I never knew they were back together.

"Hey, sweetie," Ruth said, stopping before him.

Swirling his coffee around in its mug, he grinned. "Hi, Mom. How's things?"

"Can't complain," she answered.

"Wonderful."

Her eyes narrowed, and he turned his head to see his father walk in. "I can now," she muttered.

With a sip of his drink, Tristan looked back at her and commented offhandedly, "Too bad you two can't get along."

His observant gaze picked up on a faint flush on her cheeks. "Well, we could if he'd stop being such an ass."

Right. Good thing I didn't see him sneaking out of your office. "Uh huh." His food was placed before him, and he smiled at Kelly. "Thanks, Kelly. Got to go. Bye, Ruth." Tristan waved at his father before slipping out into the cold Vermont day. Walking to his truck, he looked around the place he called home. With a few more waves and hellos, he was soon on his way back to Ivy.

Knocking on the door, he tried the handle. It was open, and he slipped inside.

"Ivy?" he hollered closing the door behind him.

A few moments passed before she appeared up the hall. His mouth grew dry when he looked at her. She wore torn, paint-splattered jeans and a cute dog caricature shirt. "Hey," she said.

Holding up the bag, he grinned. "I brought lunch."

"You're beginning to spoil me, Tristan."

He moved to her side after hanging up his coat and kissed her. "That's my goal, Ivy-love. Are you at a place where you are okay with stopping?" he asked because she'd told him how sometimes the painting took over and she didn't want to break the momentum.

"I'm good. Just finished. I was cleaning up when you arrived." She pointed at the bag. "What'd you bring?"

"Hot roast beef sandwiches, mashed potatoes; you know, good food."

"Right you are."

"You are coming to the town party tonight, right?" he asked when they sat at the table to eat.

Her slight hesitation made him look up from his food. Her lower lip sat caught between her teeth, and an unsure expression filled her features. She met his gaze, and her face smoothed out. "Yes. I'll be there."

"Okay. Let's eat up so we can go see the parade."

Tristan watched her eat. She had the look of someone waiting for the axe to fall. After lunch, he helped her clean up, and before long, they were in his truck heading back to town. The ride was silent, and Tristan reached across the seat to grab her hand with his.

"You're awfully quiet. Something on your mind, Ivy-love?"

"Not really. Just kind of lost in thought," she said, squeezing his hand.

He glanced at her briefly. Still keeping me at a distance, Ivy. Why? Soon, he'd parked the truck and they were joining the crowd lining the street. He smiled at his friends as they walked passed them.

"Hey, Ivy," Mike said with a wave.

"Mike," she replied with obvious affection for him. "How are you doing?"

"Good, good. You?" Mike looked at him. "Hi, Tristan."

"Mike," he said, sliding an arm around Ivy.

They continued to talk but Tristan didn't pay it any attention. He focused on the crowd around them. A faint tingling crept up his spine. All his training kicked in, and he began to process those he saw. Who he knew and who he didn't. Something bad lingered in Starpoint, and he didn't like it. A feeling of foreboding fell over him.

"What's wrong?" Ivy asked.

Giving her a smile, Tristan shook his head. "Nothing. Just looking around."

"Come on," she said. "I want to see the float that Ruth worked on."

They spent the afternoon out in the cold, watching the parade. Tristan stood behind Ivy, keeping his arms wrapped around her. They drank hot cocoa and cider. The day was nothing but fun. He stood with a bunch of guys he'd grown up with. That, combined with the woman before him, put him in a perfect place. Even so, his senses never relaxed.

He drove Ivy back to her home to change for the party. As they stood in the shower together, he nipped her neck and asked, "How do you usually get to the party?"

"Snowmobile, walk, or I ride with Ruth." Ivy turned off the water. "Come on, we need to get going."

Tristan wanted to forget the party and just lower her back to the bed and make love to her until they were both too exhausted to do anything other than sleep lying in one another's arms. But instead, he dried off and dressed in his attire for the evening. While she was in fixing her hair, he walked to the living room and sat on the couch.

He thought over the past three weeks. Ivy. Even thinking about her made him smile. Tristan had no idea he could love another person so passionately, so completely. But he did. And it was Ivy. Leaning forward, he put his chin on his thumbs, fingers pressed together before him. The only question remaining was how. How did he explain what he truly did to her? How would she react? And, most importantly, how would she respond when he asked her to marry him?

"You're looking pretty serious," Ivy said.

Looking up, Tristan ran his gaze appreciatively over her. Black pants and a short sleeved shirt with a twist front that still fell free silkily from her body, shaping it and allowing him to easily ogle her figure. The shirt was hunter green and had silver dust all over it; making is sparkle in the light. Her hair was pulled back, and he could see green and silver ribbons threaded in the spirals and whorls he loved to touch so much.

"You're beautiful, Ivy-love," he said, rising to his feet to kiss her.

"Thank you." She ran her hands down her pant legs. "Ready?"

Skimming her cheek with his knuckles, he nodded. "I'm ready for something all right."

Her dark skin flushed, and she dropped her gaze. Tipping it back up, he brushed his lips over hers again. Stepping back, he got her coat for her and helped her into it. Then, they were on their way to the party at Ruth's.

It was well under way by the time they got there. Loud music, people laughing and dancing. Tristan took her coat and said, "I'll go put these over there and come find you."

"Okay," she replied with a wave.

Laying them down on a booth designated for coat holding, Tristan turned around to find Sable standing there. She wore a slinky Christmas costume that may have better suited for the bedroom. "Hi, Tristan," she purred.

"Sable." He looked her over. "Nice dress."

She smiled widely at that. "Thank you. Do you remember it? It's one I wore for you before."

He remembered. "I know you did," he told her, slipping past even as he scanned the bustling crowd for a view of Ivy.

"Come dance with me," she said, grabbing his arm and dragging him toward the floor.

"Sable," he muttered, pushing her back. "I don't want to dance with you."

"Really, Tristan," she snapped. "Just because we're not fucking anymore doesn't mean you can't dance with me." Sable dropped his arm like it burned her, and she stomped off.

He groaned. It was a party. So sue me; I don't want any woman's arms around me except for Ivy's. Tristan made his way through the throng, stopping to talk and visit with different people. He made it to the front counter and smiled at Ruth when she pointed behind him. Turning, Tristan was treated to the sight of Ivy dancing with his dad. She had a smile on her face and laughed at whatever Dalton was telling her.

"She seems happier than I've seen her, since she moved here."

Glancing to Ruth, he grinned. "I'm glad. Now, come dance with your son."

Soon, he danced with her. As they moved around the floor, he whispered to her, "When are you and Dad getting back together?" Her eyes grew wide, and when she opened her mouth, he added, "I saw him sneaking out of your office this afternoon." Tristan laughed when she turned beet red.

"Don't you dare say a word, Tristan Hallan," she demanded. "If you breathe one word of it to anyone, I'll gut you like a fish."

"Okay, okay. I was just thinking how nice it would be to have Christmas as a family again."

A wistful look settled upon her face. "It would be nice. But that man infuriates me."

"From the look on both your faces, when you left the office, I'd say that ain't all Dad does to you."

She narrowed her eyes at him, but Tristan just winked and spun her away into Dalton, and when he brought his hand back in, Ivy was there. Gathering her close, he nuzzled the side of her neck. "Hello, Ivy-love." Her delectable body shivered beneath his touch.

"I don't think your dad is going to forgive me for that," she said, pulling back a bit so she could look at Tristan's face.

"Well, thank you for it anyway. They are sleeping together again. They just need to accept it is fate, and that they belong together."

"Fate?"

Tristan watched his parents dance. "Yes, Ivy-love. Fate. Like it is for us." He put his gaze back on her face. "Never forget that."

She shook her head and pressed it against his chest, moving slowly with him to the slower music. Her hands sprawled on his back, filling him with warmth and love.

⊗

Ivy sat at the counter and drank some cider, stirring it idly with a cinnamon stick while she continued to watch the festivities going on around her. Okay, I'll admit it; this is the best Christmas I've spent in a long time. And she knew the reason. Tristan Blade. Turning her head to the side, she spied him with three other guys, talking and laughing, one hand shoved into the pocket of his pants. So handsome it almost hurt. He wore black slacks and a steel blue turtleneck that complemented his eyes not to mention his upper body. Almost as if he felt her gaze on him, he looked at her and winked, a sensual grin curving up his bow-shaped lips.

Smiling in return she put her attention back on her drink. Her mind drifted to her parents. Perhaps it was time to go home and visit them. It had been many years since she'd seen them. "Maybe I'll leave after Christmas," she muttered.

"Why wait until then?" a person with cold voice asked from the side.

Startled, Ivy jumped before facing Sable. The woman's cheeks were flushed, and her eyes didn't seem all that calm. Great. A drunk Sable. Sable and she never really got along anyway. They were such opposites.

"Excuse me?" she asked, finishing up her cider and getting to her feet.

"Leaving. Why wait until after Christmas; why not go now?"

Moving her eyes over the tight-fitting outfit, Ivy shrugged. "How is that any of your business, Sable?"

The woman stepped closer and hissed, "He was mine, you know. The one I could always count on for a good time when he came home. Until you!"

Ivy fought not to flinch from the alcohol reeking from her. "I'm sorry, Sable. Tristan is a grown man who made his own decision."

"Don't apologize to me, you bitch!" she snapped. "He is mine, and I will get him back."

"Sable, please. Calm down," Ivy begged. "Don't do this now at the party."

"You don't get to tell me what to do." She lifted the hem of her skirt and showed Ivy a black garter. "This, this is what he gave me. This is what he takes off with his teeth. He was mine, damn you." Sable stepped forward and bit off, "You stay the fuck away from him." Then, she pushed her.

Ivy stumbled back and got caught up by the leg of the chair she'd just vacated. Her left knee wrenched, and blinding pain shot up through her. Tears welled up as she hit the floor. Mouth clamped shut so she wouldn't scream in agony, she looked up at Sable. A look of perverse pleasure filled the other woman's features. In the background, Ivy could hear Tristan calling to her.

"Oh look," Sable sneered. "You fell down. Someone should help you up. It wouldn't do any good for famed artist Iyeshia Wallace Vandeen to be lying on the floor like that. Now would it? Bet your leg hurts too, don't it? I bet so, the gunshot and the burns. How ugly are your scars anyway?"

How had Sable found out? Fear and disbelief slammed into Ivy.

"Shut up, Sable," Tristan barked as he lowered himself beside her. "Ivy. Are you okay?"

"Tell her, Tristan. You know that's who she is. I got it from you," Sable chortled. "You have an entire file on her."

Pain of a totally different kind poured into Ivy. Tears leaked over the corners of her eyes, and she stared at Tristan. "Is it true?" she whispered, trying not to totally collapse. His eyes filled with sorrow, and she slapped him. "Get away from me!" Sliding back on her butt, using her one leg, Ivy could feel everyone staring at her.

"Ivy," Tristan said, reaching for her. "Let me explain."

Another shaft of pain flowed from her knee. Mike and Tom's faces filled her blurred vision. "Come on, darling; we'll get you home."

The men lifted her, and she could hear Tristan yelling for her. Ignoring him, she closed her eyes and cried. When her friends got her in her bed, she was still shaking. "Thank you," she whispered to them.

"We'll be here through the night, and we'll keep him away," Tom said.

"Thank you." She took her pills to keep the pain away and cried herself to sleep.

⊗

Tristan shook with the amount of rage that poured through him. His hands itched to close around Sable's neck and squeeze until no more air flowed in there. And she knew it, too; she kept people between the two of them. Dalton and Steve held onto him, and Ruth stood before him. His chest rose and fell with each shuddering breath he took.

"Get that bitch out of my sight," he growled low. Two people began to take her away but he held out his hand. "Wait a second." They did. "How the hell did you get a hold of that file, Sable?"

Her smile was purely evil. "Walked in your father's house and there it was lying on the table. So while I waited for you, I did a little light reading."

A roar raced from his throat as he jumped toward her, determined this time to make contact. The two men restraining him had to struggle to get him back under control.

"Calm down," Dalton said from beside him.

"Calm down? Calm down! How the hell can I do that? Let me go! I have to go see if she's okay."

Ruth spun around and faced him, flames poured out of her normally gentle gaze. "I warned you! I warned you not to hurt her. And you...you had a file created on her. I can't believe this. Not only that, you let Sable see it!" Her voice rose and her nostrils flared.

"I... It wasn't like that," he said.

"Shut up, Tristan. I told you to be careful with her. Not everything needs your damn military interference." She shook her head. "I've never been more disappointed in you than I am right now." Ruth turned around and walked away.

The life seemed to seep right out of him at her words. In a matter of moments, two of the three women he cared about were mad at him. "Let me go, Dad," he said quietly.

"Son?"

"Please, Dad. I have to think." He shrugged off their hands and strode through the crowd who still remained silent after the unfolding fiasco straight through out the door into the cold night. He couldn't feel it. None of it mattered. All he could see was the betrayal in Ivy's eyes, feel the slap on his face, and hear the words she'd hissed. Get away from me!

"Ivy-love," he whispered to the night.

"Here you go, Tristan," Steve said, handing him his jacket. "Getting sick won't help you get her back."

"Night, Steve," Tristan said, sliding it on and pulling out his keys.

He drove to Ivy's house and saw Tom's Durango there in the driveway. He went to the door only to be faced with not only Tom but also Mike.

"Let me in," he growled.

"No way," Tom refused. "She took a pill and is finally sleeping. Go away, Tristan." Then, he slammed the door.

He knew Mike and Tom a bit from growing up there. However, they weren't what he would consider good friends having been a few years ahead of them in school. And he also knew now, given how close they were with Ivy, any chance of increasing his friendship with them just pretty much vanished into the night.

Tristan knew from experience that if she took a pill, she was totally out for the night. The muscle relaxers had that affect on her. He didn't want to leave her, but he also wasn't prepared to spend the night out in his truck in her driveway in December.

⊗

When she opened her eyes in the morning, Ivy wondered if it wasn't just all a bad dream. Sitting up and seeing that she wore what she'd been the previous night, she knew it wasn't. Pushing up from the bed, she winced at the pain in her knee. Hobbling up the hall, she found Tom and Matt sitting up, coffee in hand talking to one another in hushed voices.

"Hey, sweetie," Mike said with a smile.

"Guys, you didn't have to stay the night."

"Yes, we did. Are you okay, honey?" Tom asked.

"I...I honestly don't know." Ivy sat at the table with them. Mike got her a cup of coffee.

"Is there a reason you didn't tell us who you were?" Tom questioned softly, covering her hand with his.

"I wanted...I needed a fresh start, and I couldn't have that as Iyeshia Wallace Vandeen. I didn't mean to hurt or deceive anyone."

"Please. You stop apologizing right now," Mike ordered. "You don't have a damn thing to apologize for. You're our Ivy, and we love you here."

He has a whole file on you. Panic lodged in her throat. What if he was with Lacy, the one who'd done this to me? Run! "Can y'all take me to the airport?" Ivy asked, getting to her feet.

Both guys lifted their brows at that statement. "Y'all?" Tom repeated.

"Y'all," she confirmed. "I'm a Mississippi girl. And I need to go. I need to go home."

"Okay," Tom said. "I'll take you. But, I have to tell you, Ivy. This is your home. You're part of our family. Don't let Sable run you off."

She hugged him. "Thank you, Tom. Hearing that means more to me than you could ever know."

"Do you need to pack?"

"Yes. Won't take me but a minute." She grabbed the phone and limped back to her room. True to her word, Ivy returned to the main part of the house in the matter of a few moments. A soft duffle bag in her hand. She'd changed into jeans and a sweatshirt. "Let's go."

Mike hugged her and said, "I'll close your house up. See you when you get back, Ivy."

"Bye Mike. Have a Merry Christmas."

"You, too, hon. You, too."

Tom and she climbed in his SUV, and as they drove down the road Tristan's truck went by the other way. In the direction of her home. Her heart fluttered but then hardened. She wrote out a note to Ruth as Tom drove her an hour and a half to the airport. He took it and gave her a kiss goodbye.

"Come home soon, Ivy," he said before he left her there in the loading/unloading zone.

Heart heavy, Ivy purchased her ticket and passed through security to sit before her gate. Nervous energy filled her, and she went to a small shop and picked up two books before returning to her seat. The plane ride was uneventful, and soon, a taxi was pulling away from the Biloxi airport to take her to her parents' house.

Bag in hand, she shoved a hand through her loose hair and knocked on the door. Noise from indoors filtered through to her, and Ivy almost lost her nerve when it swung open. She found herself face to face with her mother, Sarah Vandeen.

"Iyeshia?" she gasped. "Honey, is it really you?"

"Merry Christmas, Mama," Ivy said.

"Oh, my baby. My baby's come home!"

Ivy gave over to the tears when her mother's comforting embrace surrounded her. A strong pair of arms closed around them and she smelled the comforting scent of her father's aftershave.

"Welcome home, baby," he said, his voice graveled with emotion.

From her parents' hugs, Ivy moved on to say hello and be welcomed by family she hadn't seen in far too long. The heady aroma of the table laden with food made her smile. Home. For the rest of the day, she caught up with everyone and ate until she swore she was ready to burst.

That night, when she curled up into the bed from her childhood, her mind still lingered on Tristan. Why would he need a file on me? Ivy sat up to turn off the lamp.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Can I come in, baby?" her mom asked.

"Sure, Mama, I'm awake." Leaving the light on, Ivy lay back.

Her mother sat on the edge of the bed and reached out to touch her face. "I can't believe you're really here. It's been so long."

"I know, Mama, and I'm sorry."

"Hush, baby. We've all done things we may not be proud of. But all that matters is you've come home." She pointed to her leg. "Are you okay? In any pain?"

"Leg's fine, Mama. I have pills for when it flares up."

"You're running. Who you runnin' from?" Ivy furrowed her brows, and her mother tsked. "Please. I raised you, baby. I know you. So tell me who he is."

"Mama, do you remember grandmére telling about the two halves of the whole?"

"Yes. Why do you—ohh, you've found yours."

Ivy shook her head and clutched the pillow tighter. "I don't know. I thought I had."

"Honey. That thought only comes once. You were with Milton for six years; did it never occur to you why you didn't push the issue of marriage with him?" Sara touched the end of her nose. "That's why we never pushed the issue. You just know when you find the one. Tell me what grandmére used to tell you."

"Two halves of a whole must have what it takes to find one another. They will have to move beyond all pain, hurdles, and setbacks. For to be one again, they must believe." Ivy dutifully told her mother what she had never forgotten hearing her grandmother say. The exact words Tristan had told her.

"You do remember," she murmured with a small smile. "I'd often wondered if your name wasn't all you'd forgotten when you left."

"I never forgot, Mama. Never. Just I needed to be someone other than the artist."

"I know. Now, tell me about this man who will become my son-in-law."
Chapter Six

He spent a restless night, and in the morning, bright and early, he headed back out to her place. Tom's vehicle was on the road moving by him, and he had hope in his heart when he knocked on her door.

Mike opened it. "What do you want?" he snapped out.

"Don't get in this, Mike," he growled.

"Fuck you, Blade. Ivy is my friend. I already am in it."

"Where is she?" he bit out.

"Gone."

Fear settled in. "Gone where?"

"Away."

"You're lying."

"Nope. I'm staying at her house and getting ready to return Ruth's snowmobile to her. So you might as well just leave."

He wanted to scream. He wanted to hear her voice. Call her! His mind yelled. Ivy doesn't have a cell phone. Pushing past Mike, Tristan searched through the house and found she wasn't there. Mike was pulling on his coat.

No! No, no, no! Growling low in his throat, Tristan left and climbed in his truck. In his rearview, he noticed Mike shut the door and head for the snowmobile. He pounded his hands on the steering wheel. "No way, Ivy. I am not letting it go like this." Driving to his father's, he ran inside and grabbed the packet of information that had may have cost him the woman of his dreams. Yanking it out, he scanned the information for what he wanted.

Packed, Tristan headed back to town and sought out Ruth. She sat in her office, a very unfriendly look on her face.

"What do you want, Tristan?" Her question came in an icy tone.

"I wanted to apologize." Her expression didn't change. "I just wanted to know what she—"

"Wasn't telling you?" Ruth snapped. "I truly thought you would be smarter than that. Had she wanted you to know, she would have told you. This was low, even for you, Tristan."

He knew that. Her disappointment in him struck home harder than had she physically hit him. Even Jacey warned me about this. "I'll make it right. I'm going to go bring her home."

Ruth just glared at him for a few moments before her entire visage softened. "I don't know what to do with you. I want to strangle you, yet, I still love you. You had better make this right with her."

Tristan kissed her cheek and whispered, "Merry Christmas, Mom. I love you."

"Love you, too, son. And, this is just my opinion, take it as you will but you may want to," she gestured around her face, "clean up a bit."

He left to get ready to go. Tristan even took the time to get his hair cut, something he'd mentioned doing to Ivy when they'd had their first date.

His father dropped him off at the airport. Shaking his hand, Tristan said, "Thanks for driving me, Dad."

"Fix this. I've never seen you as happy as you were with Ivy."

"Yes, sir. I will."

"See that you do." Dalton got back in his vehicle and drove away.

Tristan headed into the warmth of the airport. When his flight landed in Dulles, there was a winter storm that delayed their takeoff so it was not until early Christmas morning before he landed in Biloxi. His belly was in knots when he walked to the counter to grab a rental vehicle.

He drove the speed limit, even though he longed to fly along the narrow two-lane roads. Slowing, he turned into the drive of the address he'd looked for. Trees lined it and they were covered in Christmas lights. At the top of the car lined driveway sat a large brick home with six pillars in front along with windows also decked out in Christmas cheer.

Parking in the first place he could, Tristan got out and walked up the one step to the door. He pressed the doorbell and raked a hand through his shorter hair. Hands in his pockets, he waited impatiently for the door to open.

"Merry Christmas," a small child said, pulling the door wide.

Tristan smiled at her. She was absolutely adorable in a red velvet dress and her hair up in two braids. "Merry Christmas."

A beautiful older woman came up behind the child and stared at him while nudging the child out of the way. Tristan fought the urge to fidget when she scanned him from head to toe.

"You must be Tristan. Figured you'd be showing up sooner or later. Come on in, she's in the living room."

"Yes, ma'am." Must be Ivy's mother.

The woman smiled tightly.

Tristan moved in the house behind her, taking in the warmth and wonderful smells in there. His heart leapt up in his throat when his gaze landed on Ivy. She sat in a chair on the far side of the room dressed in a dark purple off the shoulder silk shirt and charcoal gray pants. Her hair fell free about her face, and even though there was a slight smile on her face, he could see the sadness.

"Iyeshia," the woman called out. "You have a visitor."

Her head lifted, eyes widening before her face composed into a cool mask. He swallowed and stepped farther into the room. Around twenty people were in there staring at him.

"Do y'all need a moment?" the woman who met him at the door asked.

He wanted to say yes and spirit her away from all this but he kept that to himself. He had to do this in front of everyone. Tristan never took his gaze from Ivy but ran a hand through his newly shorn hair. "I don't wish to intrude. I won't take up much time. Please excuse the fact I'm in jeans but I came straight from the airport." Stepping across the living room, he stopped before Ivy and dropped to his knees.

"What are you doing here, Tristan?" Ivy asked in a hushed voice. It didn't matter; he could hear the hope in her voice, and in turn, it added to his own. She must still have deep feelings for him.

"Ivy, how could I not come for you? I'm so sorry about what happened. I never wanted to hurt you." He reached out to caress her face, groaning as her skin was once again beneath his touch.

Her gaze flicked to the left before returning to his face. He knew everyone watched them but he never took his gaze from her.

"Why'd you need a file on me, Tristan?"

"Something was scaring you, Ivy-love. I needed to know what."

Numerous murmurs came from those around them as they all commented on how romantic his gesture was.

"Why?"

"Remember what I told you before? Two halves of a whole must have what it takes to find one another. They will have to move beyond all pain, hurdles, and setbacks. For to be one again, they must believe. You are my other half, my Zetwal d Ezili, or Star of Ezili. I can't stand the thought of you scared or hurting. Most of all, because I love you."

The room fell silent.

"You love me?" Her question came after a lengthy pause. One which had him wondering if he hadn't been imagining the hope in her voice.

"More than my own life, Ivy-love. I know I have a lot of explaining to do but I have to know you forgive me."

"You love me?" she asked again.

Tristan smiled and leaned close enough to whisper against her lips. "So much so, I want to marry you, get you pregnant," he winked, "lots of times, and grow old with you. Will you marry me?"

She stared at him for a few moments, eyes searched his soul and he waited. Allowing her what she needed to do. As the seconds ticked by, he didn't move, just waited. It didn't matter to him that her family was witness to this. All that mattered was her.

"Oh, Tristan." Ivy threw her arms around him. "I love you, too. Yes, I forgive you, and yes, I'll marry you."

Holding her tight, he closed his eyes as his heart finally calmed down. This was the feeling of completion he needed in life. The feeling only one woman could ever give him. He reached up and kissed her. It was short but passionate. "Merry Christmas, Ivy-love. Thank you for making me the happiest man in the world."

As her family began cheering and welcoming him into their fold, Tristan kept his eyes on the woman of his heart. His friend was right; all he had to do was believe. And he did.

THE END
All I Want For Christmas Is You

by

Aliyah Burke
Love is all we have, the only way that each can help the other.

~Euripides
Chapter One

O that 'twere possible

After long grief and pain

To find the arms of my true love

Round me once again!

~Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Maud (1855)

Thunder rolled, close and heavy, shaking the very ground they stood upon. Lightning slashed the sky with angry bolts, echoing those who were fierce over the loss. Rain sluiced down, drenching everything. The ominous mixture a fitting soundtrack for the dreary manifestation of the grim day. Bleak. Cheerless. Mournful. Tempestuous.

A nasty, cold February day. One he would never forget so long as he breathed.

Rance "Quint" MacLean didn't take heed of the rain, thunder, or lightning. He stood rigid as a board, not even blinking away the water which streamed over his head, pressing his thick hair to his scalp and on down his face. Only two things mattered. One beside him and the other before him.

Beside him, she stood, refusing to be under any form of protection from the elements. Her luxurious hair, plastered to her head, much like his did his own. Her body, clad in solid black—like his own— as flexible as a shaft of rebar. Thanks to the deluge, he couldn't distinguish tears from raindrops, and yet, he knew—just as sure as he stood there—she was crying.

Why can't I cry?

He wanted to comfort her. Touch her. Assure himself that she still existed and wasn't being taken from him. Her hands were clenched in fists at her sides; he knew that pose well and what it meant.

Hands off.

He hated that posture. With a passion. The distance between them was miniscule, and yet on an emotional level, it loomed larger and deeper than the Mariana Trench. And he could see no way of bridging the gap, which only seemed to increase with each heartbeat. She blamed him.

He didn't hold that against her; he agreed it was his fault. Allowing himself one final glance toward the woman who owned his heart—his wife, Dana—Rance swallowed back the large lump in his throat and watched as the chaplain finished his speech over the closed casket. People walked by, touching Rance's arm and offering hushed condolences.

Dana's shudders grew stronger until Chaplain Avery arrived at her side to escort her and Rance's wailing mother to a waiting vehicle. His wife hadn't made a peep of noise. One by one, the people sought the protection of their cars. Not him. Legs locked, he remained until the casket had been lowered into the waiting cradle of Mother Earth. He knew who continued the silent vigil with him. There were only eight of them besides the gentlemen at the gravesite who would be filling in the hole. But they, too, began to leave.

Each touched him softly before continuing on to a large SUV. Finally, Rance was alone, and the tears still wouldn't come.

A failure. That's what he was.

"Come on, Quint, you need to get out of the rain." The soft feminine voice did nothing to ease the ache which swarmed him.

He blinked away more rain. "Bugger off, Jack."

"Think of Dana." Her voice smooth. The reprimand subtle.

Dana. His wife. His love.

"She blames me," he said, recalling her words from earlier that day. The pain and anger in them. The endless accusations.

"She needs time. You both do."

With a hard swallow, he scrutinized the woman beside him. Calm and sorrow could be found in her black gaze. He let her lead him to the car. In the passenger seat, he stared past the rivulets of water surging down the tinted glass to the grave.

Goodbye, Tavis.

Heart breaking, he fixated upon it until the corner removed the site from view. There was no looking back as he was driven away from the final resting place of Tavis MacLean. His seven-year-old son.

❦

Twenty-one months later

Michigan's Upper Peninsula

Psssst!

The airbrakes jolted Rance from dead sleep to fully awake. He sat up, his mind processing everything around him in seconds. He sighed and stared out the bus window. The snow turned the outside world into a brilliant pristine specimen. He used the end of one gloved fist to rub a clear spot on the fogged-over glass. Thick, fat flakes fell at a steady pace.

There's going to be a lot of snow soon.

He pushed to his feet and stepped to the aisle. Then, he reached for his bag which had been on the seat beside him. Without a word, he made his way to the front where the driver had already descended from the bus to open the baggage compartment. Moments later, Rance stood alone—for he'd been the only one getting off here—one bag slung over his shoulder, and the bag he'd received when he'd enlisted in the Royal Marines in one hand.

His heart already beating faster than it should, he turned in the direction of a hotel and carefully made his way across the snowy street. He could feel the stares of people following him as he progressed; it didn't matter. They didn't matter. He was a man on a mission.

Once he'd checked in, Rance sat in his room and withdrew his wallet. Opening it, he pulled out a photo and stared at the angel it contained. Dana. Dana Rachael Pozy MacLean to be exact. To him, there was no other woman in the world who could affect him like she did. Flipping it over, he stared at the address printed there. Not that he needed to check; it had been ingrained in his head. Memorized. There was no way he'd forget.

He got to his feet, shrugged into his leather jacket and left after making sure his key was in his pocket. Outside the door, he paused and almost rigged the door to alert him if anyone had entered while he was gone. Shaking his head, he sighed.

Down time isn't the same anymore. And it wasn't. Without Dana at his side, he'd forgotten how to relax. He'd hoped beyond hope she would come back to their house in California. Days turned to weeks and those to months. It was nearing the two-year mark since their son's death. He hadn't been able to take it anymore and had come to get her. They were married. They should be together.

He almost tripped when he recalled coming home from a training op and finding a note on the door. The second worst day of his life. The first when he'd lost his son, and that one when it was clear he'd lost his wife.

Rance swore and glanced around the snowy town. He had no clue where to look for her. It was the middle of the day; the chances she'd be home were slim to none. Spotting a diner, he headed toward it and inhaled deeply when he entered. Warmth and the scent of cooking food met him.

"Happy holidays. Good afternoon," a young blonde woman said from where she wiped down the counter. Her name, according to the white nametag she wore, was Janie.

"Afternoon, ma'am," he replied.

He sat at a table where the wall was at his back and he could observe those coming and going. Beyond the window he had a magnificent view of the Mackinac Bridge. A slight smile lifted his lips when he remembered having Dana correct his pronunciation of it. It was French and pronounced Mack-in-aw but spelled it with the "ac" while the British heard it "aw" and so spelled it that way, Mackinaw. However, no matter how it was spelled, it was always, always pronounced "aw." Never did he say it wrong again.

"Coffee?" Janie asked, sliding a perusing gaze over him. He nodded, and she walked to him, java in one hand and a menu in the other. "Here you go." With swift efficiency, she poured his drink. "Just holler when you're ready to order." Then, she headed away.

He mixed his coffee and skimmed the menu. Looking up, he caught Janie's eye, and she came back over. Placing his order, he struggled to be patient. Being in the same town as his wife quickened his heart rate. He ached to touch her silken skin, to be surrounded by her scent, that tantalizing smell of frosted winterberries.

Dana!

His heart cried out for her. His soul wasn't whole without her.

"You new here?" Janie asked, returning with his food.

The sharp and mouth-watering smells assaulted his nose reminding him how unfavorable fast food truly was to his stomach. "Yes, ma'am," he answered.

"Passing through, or do you have family here?"

Family. He salted his fries and said, "I'm looking for a friend of mine."

She propped her hip against the other chair. "Who would that be? Maybe I can point you in the right direction."

Maybe she could get some gossip was more like it.

He took the chance. "I'm looking for Dana Pozy."

A large smile crossed Janie's face. "Haven't seen her in a while, have you?" One hand brushed away her question. "I know Dana, but it's MacLean now, she's married."

His heart stopped for a moment just hearing that Dana still used his name. Although he knew no divorce decree had ever come, it didn't mean she wouldn't have gone back to using her maiden name. "I see."

Janie waved at another customer who came in the door, knocking the snow on his boots off on the rug. "Hey, Frank!" she hollered. "Be right with you." Her nondescript blue eyes stared at him. "Dana's down at the plant; her shift is over in two hours."

"Plant?"

"Yes, sorry. She works at Lyeden's. Out the door to the left and three streets over is Harper, go down it until you come to Merrimac. Take another left and follow it down. It'll lead you straight into Lyeden's."

"Thank you."

"No problem." Janie headed over to the man she'd called Frank, and seconds later, that man seemed to be staring at Rance even more. He ignored it.

Rance ate slowly despite the raw need for Dana swamping him. With a close eye on the clock, he paid cash for the meal and walked out into the cold and snowy afternoon. Four-by-fours with plows on the front were a common sight on the streets. The people of this town were well used to this kind of weather and what it took to keep the roads clear. The streets were lined with Christmas decorations. Thanksgiving had been three weeks ago, and like most places, they had gone all out with the next holiday. Which was in four days. Christmas. He wanted one thing and one thing only.

And he wasn't leaving Michigan until he'd gotten it.

It didn't take him long to find his stride over the snow-packed ground. Hands in his pockets, he responded to greetings when given and followed the directions from Janie. With ten minutes to spare before the time Janie had said Dana would be done with her shift, Rance found him examining Lyeden's. A nondescript building at first impression. Metal gray, two story. The parking lot modestly full with more people pulling in.

He trudged ahead, covering the remaining ground to the doors, which began to release people. Men and women both exited and moved by him. Inside, he angled to the right and found a spot against the wall, out of the way of those entering and leaving. Fingers tightened briefly before he forced himself to relax.

It was only a matter of time.

His body alerted him she was near, even before she came into view. A low gut clench and heightened awareness. Monitoring the approaching group, he nearly held his breath, his anticipation so great.

It was, to be honest, more than slightly disconcerting how this woman—hell, even the thought of her—affected him. He was a military man, part of an elite Spec Ops group known as Zulu Spectre. They were ghosts. He'd faced situations and odds most couldn't handle much less deal with them or survive under the conditions his unit did. He did. Hell, he thrived, addicted to the adrenaline rush the job gave him.

But Dana, his Dana, could do so much more with a single look. He picked up on the subtle and evocative scent she wore. A smell no other could begin to emulate. He knew it was naught but his imagination playing tricks on him, but it didn't matter.

Then, the group parted slightly, and there she was. Dana. At the back of the pack, she headed in his direction. His knees weakened. Her figure was a bit slighter than when he'd last seen her. Not that it mattered aside from the fact he worried she may not be eating enough. He stared at her like a famished man faced with an endless buffet of food.

Her skin never failed to remind him of a light brown sugar glaze with a hint of cognac. Smooth, intoxicating, and amazing to touch and taste. How could he forget how she looked lying naked on their bed, waiting for him? Sable locks were longer than before, and instead of being solid black, they were interspaced by highlights, the color of burnt almonds. Right now, it had been drawn back from her face and confined in a ponytail, which swayed with each step she took.

Dana wore jeans, a green shirt, a black coat, and she had work boots on her feet. What does she do here? He knew the moment she spotted him for her conversation with the others ceased.

His heart seized painfully when her cat-like eyes of lignite filled first with pain then wiped clean of any emotion. She licked her lips and moved toward him, her gaze moving up and down his body.

He wasn't sure what kind of reaction or welcome he'd expected. But this...emotionless state wasn't it. There was no hello, no shy looks, nothing which would indicate she still had feelings for him.

"What are you doing here, Rance?" she asked when she stopped a foot away. Her voice resonated through him, and he latched onto it desperately. How he'd missed her smooth vocalization.

There were many things to say. So many ways to handle this. He opened his mouth and said, "I'm here for you."

❦

Dana didn't know what to do. Before her stood her husband of eleven years. And damn if he didn't look as good as he had the last time she'd seen him. Her immediate desire for him cooled a bit as she recalled that final time they were together. The funeral for their son. Afterward, he'd had to go again, like usual.

Now, almost two years later, half a country away, and she was face to face with him again. And her body knew exactly what it wanted. Her heart and mind weren't as confident. She lowered her gaze and ran it up over his physique, doing her best to gather herself.

Rance "Quint" MacLean was a damn good-looking man. He stood a few inches over six feet and all of it was iron-muscled, not an ounce of fat lingered on the man. A fierce face sculpted from hard angles told the world he was a warrior. There was nothing feminine on him. He had bow-shaped lips which could kiss and deliver Dana to levels of pleasure she'd never known to exist before she met him. Tanned skin marred with a few scars here and there. His hair, the color of melted caramel, sat layered in a rakish cut. Then, she moved to his eyes.

When she'd first met him, they had, at times, reminded her of shark eyes, cold and indifferent. That expression was there today. She knew the look now to be his serious or business guise. He had orbs the color of deepening twilight, and when they melted or warmed, there was nothing she wouldn't do for him. And they had warmed for her, only for her. And Tavis. The people he worked for got some of it, too, but nothing like when he stared at her. The way he watched had this way of making her feel like the only woman in the world. Making her feel like she was his world.

Her pulse quickened as his gaze travelled over her easily segueing from his cold look to the hot hungry one she knew so well. Rance also had this way of making her feel like a teen dealing with her first crush, the way he stared at her. So hot, so primitive, so blatantly possessive. Truth be told, she loved it.

Crap. She took another breath, the smell of machines fading to the familiar scent of masculinity Rance owned. Keep it together.

Arching a brow, she asked, "Me? What are you talking about?"

Never once did that branding stare waver from her face. "You—"

"You coming with us, Dana?" a man questioned.

She flicked her gaze to Mitchell Hornsby. With a nod, she gave him a smile, despite having nothing to smile about at the moment. "Sure will. I'll meet you there."

It wasn't hard to see his eyes flit from her to Rance, and while she was touched for Mitchell's concern, she didn't say a word. Rance, however... She knew his look. Those eyes of his were almost soulless as he stared at the man talking to her, warning him away.

Mitchell grinned, either unaware of the danger or not caring. "Great. See you then." He walked away and vanished through the door.

A wry smile filled her face only to fade when she met Rance's gaze. "What?" she asked.

"We need to talk, Dana."

If only I could have heard those words earlier. She rolled her shoulders and stifled a yawn. "Really? What could we possibly have to talk about?"

A hard edge crept into his expression. "You left."

She nodded and continued on to the door, knowing he'd follow. "Yes, I did. What," she pushed through and sucked a breath at the chill of the afternoon, "you meet someone else and need me to sign divorce papers?" The real question would be why that wayward thought bothered her so much.

His hand closed about her wrist with steel trap-like quickness, halting her. She swallowed hard and ignored the palpitation his touch—through gloves and coat—gave her. Calling on the fortitude and strength which had gotten her through numerous deployments, endless times of "not knowing," and the death of their son, she stared at him poker-faced, one brow lifted.

"What?" she queried, slightly breathless from the glint in his eye. She'd always found his alpha male ways sexy.

"There's no one for me but you, Dana," he bit off. His Scottish accent leaked through. A sure sign of his agitation.

"Okay."

She knew better than to press some things. And she'd never had any cause to worry he may be cheating on her. That wasn't how Rance worked. All the same, she opted to ignore the relief that gave her, to know he'd responded in the present.

"We need to talk."

There was that phrase again. Anger surged up and spilled into her heart. The memories begging. No!

"I'm going out with people I work with," she informed him, jerking free of his grasp. "This is not the place for this discussion. I'll be at my house around five." Sad, I know he already knows where I live, but that's Rance. Know all you can about everyone. Their shift ended at two in the afternoon and more often than not, the group would head out for a few drinks before heading home. She strode off without a look back. Still, it wasn't hard at all to feel his penetrating stare upon her retreating figure.

Slipping behind the wheel of her older model Subaru, she regarded Rance who continued to stand and face her direction as she started the vehicle. Like the weather wasn't a factor in the slightest.

"Damn you, Rance," she swore before shifting and heading toward him, the wipers having cleared away the accumulated snow. Stopping by him, she fiddled with the heat as he climbed in. The air accessible seemed less when he closed the door.

Shoulda left him standing there.

But she couldn't. No matter the hurt or pain between them, she still loved him. Always had. Always would. So much so it hurt.

She skimmed her teeth with her tongue. "Where are you staying?"

"The Bridge Inn."

She didn't respond. If she did, it was bound to get loud real fast. Eyes focused on the road, she could still detect his regard of her.

I hate all I can think of is being held in his arms again. She muffled a groan as she pulled into the parking lot for The Bridge Inn. Without a word, she took her house key off the ring and handed it to him.

He sketched brow and she shrugged with feigned nonchalance. "I'd really prefer you not break into my house. So now you have a key. Use it."

His eyes darkened, and she struggled not to shift upon the seat. One more frank appraisal then he moved with agility, and just like that, she was alone. She drove off before she could stay there and watch him walk away.

Her mind a jumbled mess, she was grateful for the distraction waiting for her at Blazers. She waded through the crowd back to where her group gathered to hang out. Waiting for her was a beer and some appetizers.

"Dana!" they yelled and toasted her with their glasses.

She smacked Mitchell and James on the back before squeezing in between them. "What'd I miss?" she questioned before drinking some beer. This was their Friday routine, and she looked forward to it.

Four hours later—a bit longer than she'd intended to be gone—she found herself walking from her garage to the house. Darkness nipped hungrily at the heels of the retreating light. The snow no longer qualified as flurries. It was a snowstorm, and from the news report, it was going to stick around for a bit.

With a slightly more than cursory glance at her house, Dana hated the heat which spread through her lower body at the knowledge Rance waited on the other side of the door. For her. A noise which sounded a lot like a witch's cackle emerged from her, and she groaned. She understood the nervousness but didn't like it. Not at all.

Suck it up, Dana.

She did. One final deep breath of the frigid air, she depressed the latch and swung the door in. To the right, she could see the twinkling of her Christmas lights in the front room. To the left...she found Rance.

It was like electricity poured through her. Primal and ready were two words she thought of. From the expression on Rance's face, he knew her exact line of thought.

He looked delicious. His leather jacket had been removed, and he stood in a black body-molding shirt, blue jeans, white socks, and no shoes. His stance, deceptively relaxed, didn't fool her for a moment. His thumbs hooked his front pockets, directing her eyes to the blatant ridge in his jeans. Tearing her lustful gaze from his crotch, she stared at his hair. The ends a bit darker than the rest.

Like they're damp from a shower. Her fingers itched to touch. The hair, the rock-hard body, anything and all he'd allow.

Once her coat was off, she bent down and removed her boots. "I'll be back."

She went to her room, hot and bothered by a man who'd not even said a word since she walked through the door. All he'd done was stare at her. Burn her. Entice her. Touch and caress her with his gaze like she stood before him naked as the day she was born.

A shower and fresh clothes—a sweatshirt and simple cotton pants—improved her control, and Dana padded in thick wool socks back to the living room. She paused in the doorway and scrutinized Rance. He stood at the mantle of her fireplace. The flickering fire he'd built and the blinking lights from the nearby Christmas tree added an irresistible gleam to him. She knew what had his attention. The mantle was covered in pictures, one of which was Tavis. And Rance. Together.

Their son. A son who'd been taken too soon. Way too soon.

She drifted towards Rance, unable to stop herself. The fresh scent of soap permeated her, and she knew he'd showered. He rotated his physique so they were face to face. So many different emotions assailed her she didn't know what to do. She veered to the side and sat in the glider-rocker by the fire. He remained standing but continued to move with her so they were still facing one another.

"Why?" he asked. His thick burr, part of her attraction to him from the get go, skimmed along her skin, reawakening those pleasure stimulators.

Gaining her feet in a single motion, she lurched to the kitchen, needing to keep her hands busy. Kettle on the stove, she turned and found him there. Larger than life and quieter than any predator she knew. Watching. Waiting. For the prime opportunity to pounce.

"What was the point in staying?" she questioned.

Pain flashed in his beautiful eyes before it was swiftly and efficiently masked.

"To get through it together."

Her wish to do this in a calm and sensible fashion blinked away faster than morning mist beneath the sun's golden rays.

"Together?" she challenged, disbelief tingeing her tone.

"You are my wife, Dana. We lost our son. Yes, together."

A haze settled over her eyes. "You were the one who didn't want to talk about it. Not me. I cried, begged even, but noooo, you couldn't be bothered."

A muscle jumped in his jaw. "I had to work, Dana."

"No," she shook her head, "you don't get to use your fuckin' Zulu Spectre as an excuse anymore. You made the choice not to talk about his death."

"Damn it, Dana. I had to be focused on the mission."

She scoffed. Her heart breaking all over again. "I don't want to hear it. You chose to be with them over me. Griz, Jack, Mayhem, Gambit, Lights, Bam Bam, and Sweets. That was whom you picked. Not me. That's what I remember!" Her body shook and eyes burned with the cost of exertion it took to keep the tears contained.

He raked a hand through his hair. "It's not that simple."

"Yes, it is."

"I'm a marine, Dana," he growled.

Her lip curled. "Trust me, I'm well aware of that. Second Leftenant Rance 'Quint' MacLean, Royal Marine commando. I know what you are. That has nothing to do with what happened. It was your choice to clam up. You couldn't even mention his name, he's not just 'son.' His name was Tavis! Hell, knowing you, the big bad marine, you didn't even cry. Wouldn't do to show any emotion. Can't have them thinking you're weak, now can we?" she sneered.

She took several heaving breaths. "Well, I did. I screamed, cried, bawled like a baby because our son was taken away. And you," she snarled, "all that training, all those abilities to protect people, where were you? You couldn't protect your own flesh and blood. Some marine you are."

Tears ran unchecked down her face. Breaths came in short gasps as she fought valiantly for any semblance of control. "I know you're a marine, but did you ever stop to think maybe what I needed a husband and grieving father, not an emotionless machine-like marine?" She bolted for her bedroom, slammed the door, and collapsed in a sobbing heap on her bed.

Chapter Two

Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within.

~James Baldwin

Rance stood immobile as Dana's words reverberated through him. Her accusations hurt no less than the first day she hurled them. The whistle of the teapot snapped him from his reverie. He shut off the burner and leaned against the counter.

Did you ever stop to think maybe what I needed a husband and grieving father, not an emotionless machine-like marine?

No, he'd not. Obviously.

How did I manage to fuck up what we had so bad? His stomach growled, but he ignored it, locking up the house and banking the fire instead. In darkness, he made his way back to her bedroom and tried the door.

It opened smoothly, and he stepped through. The faint light from the street allowed him to find her bed. And her. He whipped off his shirt and crawled up the bed until he lay beside her prone and sobbing body.

He reached out and smoothed her hair from her shoulder. Memories swamped him at that simplest of caresses. He grew hard in his jeans. Focusing back on her, he allowed his familiarity of her figure to guide the way for his questing fingers. He didn't need light. There was nothing he didn't know about Dana's body, every dip, swell, and curve he was intimately familiar with.

"Sweetheart?"

She stiffened. "Don't call me that." Her order muffled by the pillow she buried her face in. He held onto a tiny shred of hope, given she didn't demand he leave or pull away from his touch.

"Dana—"

She rolled so they were face to face. They had spent many nights like this when they first got married. Staying up all night, talking, touching, and pleasuring. He kept his groan contained. It wasn't easy; he wanted her more now than he'd believed possible.

If only he could turn back time. Do this better. Be better. Be the man she deserved.

"Why are you here?"

Her tone resigned and tired. The winds picked up and totally obscured the meager light from the outside.

"I told you."

"You said you came for me. I want the truth."

His gaze narrowed. "It was nothing but."

Every inch of him cried out for her soft touch. He knew better than to push and so he contented himself with stroking a section of her silken hair.

"I can't...can't go through this again," she confessed, frustration and heartbreak lining her tone.

He furrowed his brow wondering...nae, dreading to hear there was another man in her life.

"Is...there someone else? One of those from work?"

Her sudden intake of breath gave away her shock. "Is that what you think? That I would...would sleep with someone else?"

He knew she was offended. His Dana had a fierce fire within her. Yes, his!

"Well, you said you didn't... You've been gone for twenty-one months."

She jerked back as if burned. The mattress shifted, and moments later, light flooded the room. Dana stood by the bed, arms crossed, and he'd bet everything her foot would be beating out a cadence.

"Is that supposed to make a point?" Her eyes were narrow slits.

"What am I supposed to think?" he growled, sitting up.

Her brownish-black eyes sparked with anger. "Oh, I don't know," she rebuked, "accept that I wouldn't cheat."

"You left!" he thundered, his volatile temper erupting.

"Explain to me how the twenty-one months I was gone is any different from the months I was alone when you were the one who left." She slashed her hand through the air. "I left, yes, Rance," her voice lowered, "but we are still married and I wouldn't...couldn't betray that." She sat back on the bed and buried her head in her hands. "Jesus, Rance, don't you know this by now. If I wanted another man, we'd be divorced."

She still wanted him. She must still love him; she had to. A thought which calmed his anger instantly.

No concern for the consequences which could be catastrophic, Rance fairly leapt across the full mattress and settled before her. He lowered her hands and stared into her beautiful heart-shaped face. Unshed tears made her eyes glitter like precious gems in the ambient light.

He knew the second she realized what he was about for her gaze became guarded and she shook her head. Like that would stop him.

"Rance," she murmured, her warm breath caressed his lips. "We shouldn't."

He cupped the side of her face tenderly, exploring her soft skin with his fingertips. He used his other hand to cradle the back of her skull, bringing her closer to him.

He inhaled her aroma immediately, a soothing balm to his soul. Rance could see the refusal in her eyes fade into nothing. Replacing it was lust, desire, and, dare he hope, love. The remaining distance between them wiped away as he lowered his head.

Her lips were so full and pliant beneath his; he groaned at the incommunicable pleasure of experiencing them again. With his tongue, he teased her lower lip, traced along the seam, and rumbled in contentment when her lips parted easily. He delved into her mouth, relearning all the nooks and crannies their time apart had kept him from.

Dana relaxed against him, her hands looped around his neck, and her fingers entangled themselves in his hair. Stroking the sides and roof of her mouth, he dragged his hands down so he could lift her onto his lap. The kiss never broke; she straddled him without missing a beat.

His growl was audible when she began to rock against the rod in his jeans. Spikes of harsh longing exploded up within him. It had been nearly two years since he'd experienced anyone's touch on his body other than his own hand. He had no reason to look for another woman. There was only one for him in the world, and she was in his arms this very moment.

Sliding his hands up beneath her t-shirt, he barely even slowed at the feel of her bra, just undid it with deft efficiency. She moaned and ground harder on him. He broke the kiss and yanked the shirt over her head. Her bra soon followed.

Her eyes hazy with passion, she curved her hands along the sides of his face for a brief moment. They moved back to his head and sank deep, nails scoring his scalp as she encouraged him towards her full breasts.

"So perfect," he murmured, covering one nipple, a dark Hershey's kiss, with his watering mouth. The tip pebbled tighter, and he grazed it with his teeth. Her gasp both new and familiar to him. He palmed her left breast, tugging and teasing the turgid point.

Dana's moans grew louder; she rocked faster on him, the friction between them almost too much to bear. Need for her had his shaft hard and heavy. His balls already drawing close to release his seed. He alternated breasts until he'd loved them both. His body ached, and he tore his mouth away with a fierce growl.

Her smoky eyes met his, and he read her want. He nearly ripped his clothes getting them from his body. When he stood there, naked, he found her lying there just the same. She'd removed her clothing as he had been. The nest of black curls between her thighs glistened, and his rod jumped with anticipation.

The desire to go slow and enjoy her at a lingering pace, allowing him to relearn all her secrets, was powerful. Something else trumped it, however. The raw masculine need to claim her.

No words were spoken as he lowered himself between her spread thighs and pressed the head of his cock to her wet entrance. His gaze glued to hers, he flexed his hips and slid deep in one continuous motion. Her sheath welcomed him into her body. Liquid heat and fiery sensations exploded around him. She was so tight.

"Ohhh," she moaned, rocking against him, guiding him deeper.

He ground his teeth so it didn't end so soon. Sweat popped up along his skin. Bloody fuckin' hell!

"Dana," he forced out from behind clenched teeth.

A siren's smile lifted her plump lips then her velvet muscles, which held him so snugly, rippled and tightened. He began to move. In and out. Back and forth. Pure bliss echoed in her expression as she came around his pistoning cock.

On and on, he continued, trying to prolong the sensation of being held by Dana. His Dana. His balls, painfully tight, alerted him to not lasting much longer. It had been far too long since he'd been buried to the hilt within her wet heat. Maneuvering so his hands were in her hair, he gripped the strands and plundered her. Mouth and body.

Dana didn't ask for quarter. No, she matched him, stroke for stroke with hips and tongue. Her nails tore the flesh on his back, and he continued to power within her slick core. Throaty moans filled the room. Unable to stem the tide any longer, he thrust as deep as he could and came hard, covering her womb with his release. She arched, her scream muffled by his mouth, and he could feel the tremors from her own orgasm.

They stayed joined as their hearts began to slow. Easing the kiss, Rance finally ended it. Pressing a light one on the corner of her mouth, he lifted his head and stared at Dana. She lay there, kiss-swollen lips, sweaty, and with a glow of total satiation about her. Languid eyes stared up at him from below double thick curved ebony lashes.

He withdrew from her and began to rise. Dana shot out an arm and halted him.

He lifted a brow. "I was going to get a rag and clean you up."

"Don't go."

That wasn't a plea from a woman who craved more of their shared intimacy. Hers was from the heart and raw, showing him a rare glimpse at her vulnerability. Without a word, he turned off the light and climbed back into the bed. When the blankets covered him and Dana, he allowed his lids to settle.

This was how it should be. The two of them against the world.

"Dana?"

"No, Rance. Not tonight. Please. Just...just let me believe for the night."

Gathering her as close as he could, he dropped it. He understood. The last time they'd slept like this was before Tavis had been killed in that accident. Lips brushing along her forehead, he listened to the howling winds that whipped around the house.

Two more times during the wintery night he made love to the woman in his embrace. When morning came, they were cuddled together on the floor which happened to be the last place they made love and decided to just sleep there, too exhausted to climb back into bed, the thick blankets keeping them warm. The light woke him. Streaming through the window, it shone directly upon his face. He didn't immediately move, just enjoyed the warm, naked body of his wife back in his arms.

I've missed this, sweetheart. More than you could possibly know.

Five minutes later, he got up, returned Dana and the blankets to the bed before heading to make use of her shower. Clean and dry, he snuck a peek in her bedroom and found her still dead to the world. It took some convincing before he managed to leave her in peaceful slumber.

He headed for the kitchen and the coffee pot. After familiarizing himself with her kitchen and the coffee machine percolated, he moved to the living room. Dana's place wasn't huge but it was immaculate. She always did keep a wonderful house.

A badge on an end table grabbed his attention and he lifted it. Her employee identification. He sighed heavily and replaced it. How do I convince her to come home? For that, he had no answer.

Back in the kitchen, he stared out the window and the whipping and swirling snow. A tingle along the back of his neck got him to turn. In the doorway, she stood. Clad in a robe and God knew what else beneath it, if anything at all.

His jeans grew tight. The robe was pink and blue and very familiar. Dana looked disheveled. Her skin hadn't lost its flush, her lips still a bit swollen, and her eyes slightly wide. Utterly desirable.

"Morning, sweetheart," he purred, stepping in her direction.

"I thought I dreamt you." Even her voice was a bit raw from her screaming.

He ignored the flash of panic which passed over her expression. "Flesh and blood."

She groaned and rubbed her temples with her polish free, short nails. That was new; she'd always kept them with weekly manicures before. "Then we really..." she waved a hand, "...last night?"

He prowled toward her, the state of her fingernails no longer a concern. She sidestepped but he pursued until the tan countertop prevented any further retreat on her part. One hand settled on either side of her, he lowered his head to hers.

"We really...last night," he replied smugly, his Scottish brogue thick and heavy. Leaning closer, he nipped the shell of her ear. He drew the lobe in his mouth and suckled on it before dragging his tongue along her jaw line until he backed off and stared at her. "More than once."

Her pupils dilated, and the pulse at the side of her neck throbbed faster. "Stop, Rance," she panted.

"I haven't done anything, yet," he uttered, pressing closer until her breasts barely missed scraping his chest. "I haven't even gotten a good morning kiss." Her eyes dropped to his mouth, and he held his breath, waiting.

❦

Dana gulped. She'd forgotten just how potent this man was to her system. Hands alighting upon his shoulders, she pushed. When he backed off, she almost sighed in relief but it was more like disappointment which flooded her.

What am I doing?

She ran her hands down the front of her robe; old and comfortable she'd not worn it in years. From the looks of things, he'd not even recognized it. That hurt.

"What are you hoping, Rance, that all will be okay and I'll follow you back to California like a good little wife?" She added bite to her tone, counting on the anger to keep her lusty feelings at bay.

Rance stepped farther back, spun around, and fixed himself a cup of coffee. She took advantage of that time to regain her wits. And, ogle her husband. He looked even better today than he had yesterday. Another pair of mouth-watering jeans, a tight shirt which magnified those rock solid arms with powerful biceps and triceps. Like normal, the shirt hung over his waistband. He'd always enjoyed being comfortable when not working.

Damn it but she'd missed him.

"You're my wife, Dana, not a dog who needs to be obedient," he said, finally facing her.

Was that disappointment at her question she saw in his eyes?

"Then what do you want? Really?"

"I told you. I want you."

He indulged in his coffee, and she followed the up and down motion of his Adam's apple. God, I'm horrid. I can't even be in a room with him and not think about sex.

"Why now? Why come for me now?"

"I thought you would have come back by now. I know I messed up, Dana. I know this but...you are my life." She shook her head, and he frowned. "What do you mean no? Don't tell me what's important to me." His timbre had gotten very cold and edged with daggers.

"I'm second in your life, Rance. Zulu Spectre is first." He opened his mouth, and she held up a palm to stop him. "I knew that when I married you, you'd just gotten asked to join them. And for the most part I was okay with it. Then, Tavis came along, and I saw you change. You loved him more than life which is why," she blinked away the rush of tears, "it tore me apart when he died and you didn't even say his name. Not ever. I needed to talk about it—"

Clamping her lips together, she shook her head and took a deep breath. And another. And another. Furious, she swiped at the tears lingering behind her eyes.

"Dana," he said, on a low expel of air.

"I can't do this again. It's taken me a long time to get...move beyond the pain of losing my son. I don't have it in me to open up those wounds."

His expression filled with self-loathing but he didn't say anything, just stared at her and drank his coffee. She began to chew on her thumb nail, a habit from childhood when she was stressed.

They stared at each other for a while. A veritable stalemate. Both longing for something, and yet, neither ready to be the first to step up and bare their soul. The shrill ringing of the phone jarred her. Withdrawing her thumb with a pop, she took a shuddering breath, another look at Rance whose gaze was still outright upon her, and picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Dana? Sorry to bother you at home, it's Steve."

"No problem, what's up, Steve?" He was her supervisor at work.

"Joe's not doing good this morning, is on his way to the hospital. I know this is your day off but, can you make it in?"

"Joe okay?"

"We're not sure."

She snuck a glance at the marine commando standing in her kitchen and swiped her tongue along her lips. "Of course. I'll get changed and be on my way in. See you in a few."

"Thanks, Dana."

"No problem."

"Drive carefully." Click. Steve was gone.

She hung up and glanced over her shoulder. Rance had a blank expression on his face, but she wasn't fooled. She knew he wasn't pleased. It didn't stop her though from heading to the bedroom. She jumped in the shower and got done in no time.

Rance sat on the edge of the sink when she stepped out. In his hands, he held the robe. His amazing gaze heated and deepened while it devoured her. Covering herself with a towel, she arched a brow at him.

"I remember when I gave this to you," he muttered, trailing his fingers over the pink and blue squares. His smoldering eyes never drifted from hers.

Her belly clenched with the craving she'd always had for him. "So do I," she admitted, her voice deep and husky with the memory. She also remembered that whole weekend. That robe had been the only thing she'd worn; the few times she had anything on her body other than Rance.

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask for it but decided to forgo it. What the hell, it's not like he's not seen me naked before. She tossed the towel beside him on the sink and strode to her bedroom, smiling over Rance's sharp intake of breath. His presence could be felt in the bedroom but she ignored him, focusing on getting dressed. When she sat to pull on her socks, she found him right there in her face.

"We're not done talking, Dana."

She gave him a small smile and walked by him to the front door where her steel-toed boots were. On the couch, she put on the left boot. "I have to go to work, Rance."

"What do you do?"

"I'm a machinist. And I'm a shift supervisor. Since the super on this current shift is on his way to the hospital, I was asked to come in and cover Joe's shift."

"A machinist? Like with the welding and everything?"

Right boot. "Yes, just like that." Take that, marine commando; I'm no docile little housewife.

"Okay, sweetheart. You go to work. What time will you be home?"

That, she hadn't expected. She jerked her head up and stared at him, searching for a hint of humor. There was none. Nothing but sincerity. Although she did witness questions flying around. She knew why. Back in California, she'd been a housewife, her time spent raising their son and working with charities. None of that paid, so when she'd left and come back to her hometown, she'd begun working at Lyeden's as she had in high school. Her father had been a Master Welder, and she was not half bad herself. Thankfully, she'd not forgotten what he'd taught her. She quickly made it to a supervisory position where she remained currently.

Not so confident with his acquiesce, she hesitated a moment before ascending to her feet. Those see-all eyes were fixated on her immediately. She was met by those twilight orbs which subsequently made her insides turn to mush. A hard gulp and she strolled to her coat.

His hands were there to assist her into the leather jacket. Once the weight settled upon her shoulders, she got spun around and found herself between two very solid structures. The wall and Rance MacLean. His gaze and entire semblance consisted of a raw combination of frustration, jealousy, regret, and fear.

She could see the muscles in his arms ripple as they flexed. His nose flared, and he had a tense jaw. The furrow in his brow barely covered by the lock of hair which had fallen forward. Without thought, she reached out and brushed it back, her fingertips smoothing out the furrow.

"Dana," he rasped.

God, she loved this man. "I have to go, Rance."

He came closer until the tips of their noses touched. "Time?" She heaved a sigh and told him. "Thank you, I'll make dinner."

She inspected the defined planes of his chest, touching and petting the ridges. "Christmas is almost here; shouldn't you be spending it with family?"

His fingers gripped her chin in an ironclad hold, yet immeasurably gentle, and held her immobile. "I am."

There was no response she could give. Her belly acted like she'd never gotten sweet words before with the way it clenched and flipped out of control.

"I have to go."

Fingers still captured her chin, and he tipped her head slightly then kissed her. Engulfed her.

Owned her.

Knees became rubbery as he swept commandingly through her moth, sharing his masculine taste. Her body reacted in a millisecond, nipples beaded tight and her core flooded with wetness. His lips were firm and intoxicating. The man knew how to kiss. Without trying, he'd fanned the flames of her desire leagues beyond the point where they raged nigh uncontrollable within her. How hot was it possible to burn? Masterfully, he toured her mouth, going where he wished and leaving her wanting so much more when it ended. Her hands had wound themselves tightly in his cotton tee. She was lightheaded.

"I'll see you tonight," he murmured in his confident way.

A few attempts passed before she croaked out her agreement.

"That's my girl."

One more fast kiss and he stepped away, her arms falling back to her sides and leaving her bereft. She stared at him, still in a haze of pleasure and desire. His mouth moved but the words didn't make any sense. A quirk of his lips made her glance up at his eyes.

"What?"

"I asked if you needed me to get your car started. But your mind seemed to be elsewhere."

With a scowl, more at herself than him, she brushed by the hard, oh so desirable physique and grabbed her badge. "I'm fine."

"No argument here, sweetheart."

She refused to respond, just huffed under her breath, grabbed up her keys, and walked out the door without a look back. When she pulled from the garage, he stood out on the porch, one shoulder propped against a pillar, standing with no coat as if it weren't winter and snowy. The urge to tell him to put one on rose swiftly. Swallowing it back, she drove out of the driveway and headed to work.

Her shift seemed to drag on forever. When she finished her one thing, she went to another task. And so on until the next shift finally arrived.

"Dana!" Big Mack said, walking up and giving her a one-armed hug.

"Mack," she replied with affection. "How are you?" Since she'd taken her supervisor position, she didn't see him very often but he was a sweet man. Like a father to her.

"Good, good. We're getting together over at Channing's later. About eight. Swing on by, kind of a Christmas party."

She paused and looked up at him. Mack towered over her, his face bore the scars of a childhood accident, but he had the most gentle soul on the planet. But...at home, she had Rance to deal with.

He must have noticed her hesitation. "Come on, Dana. Cindy is hoping you'll come."

Cindy. His wife. Dana smiled and nodded, understanding she really didn't have a choice. She couldn't disappoint Cindy. Or him. "I would love to stop by. I'll bring some cookies or something. I have a...guest at the house right now, can I bring him along?" May as well ask since Rance won't be happy to stay behind.

Baby blue eyes sparkled, and he nodded. "Of course you can bring him. I heard all about this mysterious man. Heard he stopped in at the diner and talked to Janie. About time we get to meet your husband." He waved and walked away leaving her there alone to digest his words.

Jeez. This so isn't fair. She knew she'd been had. Mack wanted her to bring Rance.

On the way home, she groaned. A Christmas party. A husband who showed up out of the blue. What else could happen before the New Year? She tried to ignore the flutter of warmth in her gut when she parked her car, shut the garage, and walked towards a house that winked at her with the flashing Christmas lights and smoke chugging from the chimney. Add to that the knowledge of who waited inside.

I'm hopeless. She shook her head and climbed the shoveled steps which were becoming covered again since the snow had yet to stop falling. At the door, she hesitated for maybe a second before pressing the latch and stepping inside.
Chapter Three

Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.

~Aristotle

Rance walked into Channing's with Dana on his arm and carrying the dessert she'd made for the festivities. It was not what he wanted to do this evening, but when she'd told him over dinner she was going, he had no qualms about accompanying her. Whatever it took to spend time with her and convince her to give them another chance. Channing's was a large sports bar which for the time had been converted into a festive Christmas party spot. The music was loud and seasonal—lights, goodies, and even a tree filled the building.

He could hardly keep his gaze off of Dana. She wore a purple and silver v-neck top which sat off her shoulders, exposing her soft skin to all. A vented skirt, the same colors as her top, covered her silver knee-high boots except for the toes. Her hair was drawn up in a simple yet elegant coiffure, one which highlighted her aristocratic cheekbones, dark sweeping lashes, and full, pouty, kissable lips.

She'd whipped up a Double Chocolate Snowball cake for the occasion. Just instead of having the chocolate cream for the outside layer totally white, she'd done it in rings of white, green, and red. Even added sprigs of marzipan mistletoe around the plate upon which it sat.

Then, while it sat, he got to watch her get ready. Dana was a woman who tended to downplay her own beauty, but he'd always seen it within her. He strolled easily beside her dressed in black. Slacks and mock turtleneck. Even with the heels she wore, she barely passed his shoulder.

Welcomes came their way as the door shut behind them, keeping out the increased fury of snow. He sized up the man who approached. Bullocks, the man was huge. A few scars marred his otherwise smooth face. Blue eyes twinkled as they looked down upon Dana. He smiled, flashing slightly crooked teeth, and tugged on his red sweater that, quite honestly, made him look like a Christmas ornament.

"I'm so glad you made it, Dana. Cindy is going to be thrilled, too. And what's this you brought? And who is this?"

The man spoke like he was taking a turn around an Indy track. Rance ground his jaw together when Dana kissed this man on each cheek.

"Mack, I said I'd come, and you know I wouldn't dare show up empty-handed. This is Rance MacLean, my husband."

Her statement warmed him. At least she calls me her husband, perhaps there's still hope for us yet. She released his arm, and he reached out to shake the paw offered.

"Well, I'll be. Finally, we get to meet the elusive Mr. MacLean. A pleasure, thank you. Call me Big Mack."

Rance shook his head, confused. "Thank you?"

"Dana told us you were in the service, so yes, thank you for that."

He released the hand and nodded. "My pleasure. Thank you for letting me come along tonight."

"Come on, let's introduce you around."

Dana relieved him of the cake and gave him a slight smile before she walked off in the totally opposite direction. He stared with unabashed admiration at the sway of her in a skirt until Mack, Big Mack, cleared his throat. With a laconic lift of one shoulder, Rance followed his host away from the woman he longed to be nearer to. Can't blame me for looking at my wife; she's hot as hell.

He relaxed as the night wore on, enjoying himself. Dana had a lot of wonderful people to call friends around her. Drink in hand, he leaned against a partition and allowed his gaze to drift over the crowd.

"So you're Dana's husband?" a male questioned from the side.

"Yes."

Sliding his gaze to the left, Rance saw a tall, well built man, swirling around a drink in his own glass. Good looking if he wanted to give a damn. He didn't.

"I'm Chris. Rumor has it you're in the military."

"No rumor," he replied.

"So...ummm...what do you do?"

Rance bit back his sigh. The man was obviously trying to make him feel like part of the group. "I'm a marine."

He kept it short and concise. Things tended to get a bit confusing if he told them he was a Royal Marine commando who worked with a group based in the United States. They wanted to know why and what, and that, he couldn't tell them.

The man took a drink and cleared his throat. "I was in the Army for four years." He shrugged. "Met my wife when I was in Texas. She got pregnant, and everything changed. She didn't have any family so we came back here so she'd have some support. Some days, I miss it but I wouldn't trade my Beka for anything in the world."

"Here's to wives," Rance said, lifting his glass.

"Amen."

They clinked glasses and each took a swallow. Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, Rance saw Dana across the room. She stood with two little boys, boys who would be the same age as Tavis were he still living. The smile on her face was pure and true, but he could see the pain in her eyes.

"Excuse me."

"Good to meet you, Rance."

"You, too, Chris."

He set his glass down and made a beeline for his wife. His determination must have been in his countenance for no one tried to stop him. Before her, he paused, and when her big eyes lifted to him, he expelled a breath he'd not even been aware he held. One of her brows rose in silent question.

He had no answer.

"Rance?" she asked, standing upright and cocking her head to the side. "Everything okay?"

He reached out with one hand and smiled when she didn't even hesitate just placed hers in his. "Dance with me," he said softly.

Dana almost said something but opted to stay silent. She moved closer, and soon, they were swaying close to the slow music which currently played. Their joined hands caught between them, his other on the small of her back, pressing her to him, he needed to feel her curves and warmth along the length of his body. She rested her cheek against his chest, and he could feel her deep sigh. Lowering his head, he brushed his lips along the top of her head. He closed his eyes and drifted back to the night they first met.

The party was in full swing as he and his mates stepped through the large open doors. Christmas was a wonderful time. The snow falling steadily didn't deter from the fun. The interior of the historical building was trimmed and decked out in all manner befitting the season. They had come in uniform, and he wore his proudly as did the others. Waving to his fellow marines, Rance stayed to the back, searching the room full of young women. All he had to do was pick one. He moved slowly, looking for a warm body with whom to spend the night, perhaps two nights. It would be a while before he'd have the opportunity to do so again.

It was a veritable smorgasbord of choices. Redheads, blondes, brunettes, some with jet black hair as well. Some had multi-colored hair. It didn't matter. Anything a man could want. He just had to pick the look he wanted; there was no shortage.

Not that he was a slime ball but he was a man who enjoyed a good woman, especially before a deployment. He was single and a red-blooded male. Tonight was for them, for the members of the military. He nodded to others he saw and knew, all the while perusing along the outer edges of the shindig.

The air rich with perfumes and the scent of spiced plums. He continued on, not entirely sure what he was looking for. The women stared at him; some sending subtle offers, others sent much more blatant ones. Not what he sought.

Along the back wall, he paused and cast a sweeping glance out over the dancing crowd. The air shifted a bit and brought a new scent to his nose. Lighter than the majority of stuff wafting around, not to mention more intriguing. Like frosted winterberries.

It was so soft, delicate even; he knew the woman who wore it had to be near. He narrowed his search and almost smiled when it landed on a quad of women sitting at a nearby table. There. Two white and two black. All beautiful, from what he could see. He'd just started to approach when one of the black women tossed her head back and laughed. A soft, gentle, yet completely honest laugh that nearly took him to his knees.

His heart didn't know whether to stop or beat even faster. It went faster. A hell of a lot faster. He watched without blinking as four men approached the table and asked the women to dance. A low growl rose as he watched her place her hand in one man's and walk to the floor. Rance stared at her and the way her blue dress fit her frame. Her hips swayed in a way that made his mouth dry.

Mine. Mine. Mine. His heart pounded. He didn't move until she was escorted back to the table and took her seat with a gracious nod. Her friends continued to dance but she sat alone, looking altogether serene. And stunning.

Tugging on the sleeve of his uniform, he strode toward her, nothing else in his line of vision other than her. Up from behind, she'd yet to notice him but the man approaching her from the front had no trouble seeing the shake of his head. The man gave Rance's mystery woman a smile and walked away.

A slow song began to play, and Rance paused behind her, inhaling sharply and realizing that she was the one who smelled so delicious. "May I have this dance?"

Her head roved on a swan-like neck, and he found himself held captive by charcoal eyes. Eyes which ran blatantly up and down his body. He felt it in his gut, a punch unlike anything ever before, leaving him breathless and hard. She had a heart-shaped face, dusky full lips, and eyes which watched him from beneath thick sooty lashes.

She pushed to her feet in an easy motion and took his hand. His mouth grew dry, and he had to remind himself it wouldn't be proper to spirit her away and kiss her. Everywhere. Drawing her in close, he settled one hand along her waist, their joined ones against his chest where she could feel his heartbeat.

"Rance," he murmured, drowning in her large eyes. As they barely moved to the song, he discovered her eyes weren't black as he'd first thought but an enticing mix of brown and black.

When she licked her lips, he nearly groaned. "Dana."

Not British, he noted her accent was that of an American. "What brings you to this fair country?" he asked, dropping his fingers so they rested along the swell of her ass.

She arched a brow at his tactic but had no comment on it. "A year abroad."

"That's it? Nothing more?"

She laughed and, like it had the first time he'd heard it, nearly took him to his knees. "Nothing more. Figured I should go out and see the world before I get married and all that."

Jealousy burst up. "You have a fiancé?"

"No. Not yet."

His mouth curved up in a sensual grin. "Wonderful."

He moved them around with a destination in mind. He wanted to get her alone. He wanted her. When the song ended, he didn't ask, just guided her to a small alcove in the large building and placed one hand by her head, giving her a way out should she wish to leave. She didn't go anywhere. Her gaze was straightforward as she stood there watching him.

"Dana," he whispered, using his free hand to trial along the curvature of her face.

He had to taste her, had to know if she tasted as good as he believed. Slowly, giving her the opportunity to stop him, he lowered his mouth to hers. So soft, so pliant. He moved lightly over her mouth, drawing on her lower lip until she sighed. Taking advantage of her open mouth, he sank his tongue in.

Nothing in his twenty-three years had prepared him for that moment. Romantics claim you could hear angels sing when you kiss your true love. He didn't just hear a few angels; he heard the harps along with an entire choir.

He delved through her mouth, tasting, learning, absorbing her taste. Her response was like an explosion. Her hands grabbed him near, scrunching his uniform; her tongue dueled with his increasing his own desire. He wrapped her in his embrace, her curves touching him everywhere they should. He was iron-hard for her but slowed down. It wasn't easy, but he managed to end the kiss and put some light between them.

Her eyes brimmed with inexhaustible passion, her lips swollen and parted as she panted sharp hot breaths. He dropped his gaze and moved it up and down her body. Her chest rose and fell with every inhalation she took. Their gazes locked, and he knew it was all over for him. This was her. The one the good Lord had created for him to complete his soul.

Dana skimmed her lips with her fingertips, still not having said a word. Her head tilted slightly to the side, and he waited for her to do something. She had every right to smack him for kissing her without permission. His heart pounded so hard he thought it might burst out when she used that same hand to slide up over his shoulder, around the back of his head, and draw him in close for another kiss.

With a low rumble of pleasure, he went willingly.

"Rance?"

Dana's voice brought him back to the here and now. Opening his eyes, he glanced down to find her looking up at him.

"Are you okay? You seem lost in thought."

"I'm fine, sweetheart. I was remembering the night we first met." He bent his head to her ear and whispered, "Do you remember that night?"

❦

Dana flushed. Damn him. There was no way she could have forgotten that night. And the blasted man knew it, too. That first dance had led to them not leaving each other's sides for the rest of the night. When they finally took their leave of the party, it led to a whole bunch of other things. Things which involved no clothes and lots of pleasure. She shifted and groaned when she brushed up against his erection.

"Do you?" he asked again.

Her breasts tingled, and she felt almost like panting, she was so hot for him. "I remember. I also remember the next day."

"And the day after that and so on?"

Did she ever. "Yes." The word was scratchy and huskier than it should have been. The sparkle in his eyes told her he knew it. Around them played "All I Want For Christmas Is You."

"This was the song when I first kissed you, Dana. Do you remember that?"

How could he do this? He had to know she hadn't forgotten any of their time together. "I...I do."

His hands lowered to settle on her hips, his fingers moving in a tantalizing caress. "I loved you from the first moment you tilted your head back and laughed, Dana. Possibly even before, when I smelled this scent that is only yours. You and frosted winterberries."

She recalled it all. Their hot, fiery exchanges, the whirlwind courtship. The dream wedding. All of it. "Please don't do this now, Rance."

His eyes showed his pain, and she knew he was hurting, too, but she had to stay strong. Didn't she?

"What is your favorite memory of when we were in Briton?"

"Rance," she pleaded.

"Dana, please." He trailed two fingers down the tendril she had at her temple.

"The kiss gates. You looked so, happy and carefree whenever we came across them."

"How could I not? I got to demand as many kisses as I wanted if you wished to pass through."

She smiled at the memory of times they spent on the public footpaths in the country. Worrying her lower lip, she opened her mouth to say something else, only to close it when Big Mack and his wife, Cindy approached them.

"Come on, you two, this is a party. Rance, I'm stealing your wife for a dance; treat mine with care." And just like that was plucked from Rance's arms and spun about the place in Mack's.

Dana took the opportunity to regain her composure. It would be so nice to be able to go back to how things were. She just didn't know if it was possible.

"Everything okay, Dana?" Mack asked.

"It's fine. I'm just a bit tired."

"I'm sorry I forced you to come. Had I known things with you and your husband—"

"No, no," she interrupted. "Don't apologize. I'm thrilled to be here, really. Thank you for inviting me."

"You know I...we worry about you."

She did. Squeezing him tight, she nodded. He smelled of pipe tobacco and whisky. Very comforting. "You and Cindy are wonderful to me, Mack."

"And you, my dear, deserve to be happy." He used one thick finger to turn her head toward where Rance and Cindy danced. Her husband was laughing at something Cindy said. "I can see how he looks at you; he loves you very much."

Rance took that moment to glance in her direction. His gaze singed her then he winked. She rolled her eyes and smiled while putting her attention back upon Mack.

"I know, Mack, I know."

"We just want you happy. I've known you since you were in nappies. If anyone is deserving of happiness, darling, it's you. I know there was trouble after...after Tavis, but he's here, give him a chance."

She flushed and dipped her head. It was true. Mack had been one of her father's best friends. Her parents had been taken from her at a younger age, and Mack and Cindy had filled in well as surrogate ones. They were the only ones in town who knew about her son's death.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Not much later, Rance returned to claim her for another dance. "I like them," he said, whirling her around the room. "I'm sorry they couldn't make it to the wedding."

"I saw you charming Cindy."

He chuckled, a deep rumble which vibrated through her and made her temperature increase. "Sweetheart, you know there's only one woman for me."

Instead of responding, she rested her cheek against his chest again and allowed his masculine scent to embed into her, bringing with it comfort, strength, and security. The rest of the night passed with fun-filled speed. Rance managed to trap her under the mistletoe a few times, and hadn't hesitated in playing games with the children.

At the end of the night, he held her coat for her, and they walked to her car, his hand resting familiarly along the small of her back. Ever the gentleman, he held the door for her. Only once she'd slid in did it dawn on her he'd put her in the passenger seat.

She almost argued then just let it go and relaxed back in the seat. Buckled in, Rance got them on the road back to her place. Head lolling on the headrest, she rotated it so she could see Rance. The faint lights from the console highlighted his chiseled features. A few daring snowflakes lingered in his hair, adding to the shine. She took advantage and just indulged in the opportunity to stare at him. There was a new scar along his neck, not too big but she spied it.

He noticed everything around him; his eyes continually scanned the roads, checking for hazards. He couldn't help it, he had a dangerous job, and there were some things a man didn't forget just because he wasn't in a "hostile" territory.

"What are you thinking, sweetheart?"

He settled one large hand upon her thigh, his fingers stroking, making her struggle to focus.

"A lot of things," she replied, covering his hand with her own.

Immediately, he laced their fingers and allowed his thumb to caress the back of her hand. It didn't matter she wore gloves; the simple touch brought along another wave of desire for Rance. The car slid slightly on the snowy streets but he brought it back under control with ease and calm. She barely moved except to stare out the windshield. Passing street lights glinted off the medallion she had hanging from her rear view mirror. It was the Michael the Archangel, patron saint of the Marine Corps. Rance had gotten it for her when they first settled over here in the United States for his new job with Zulu Spectre.

When had she lost her faith? She frowned at that thought. Exhaustion crept over her. Emotional more than physical. Before she knew it, a hand on her shoulder was shaking her awake.

"Wha...huh...Rance?"

He was leaning in over her on the passenger side. She glanced around, back in her garage.

"You fell asleep, sweetheart."

"I'm sorry."

"No, don't apologize. Come on, let's get you inside." He helped her out and swept her up with ease in his iron-infused arms.

She struggled until he leveled a look at her in the gleam from the overhead dome light and shoved her door closed with his hip. While he took them from the garage, through the dark snowy night to the beacons of Christmas cheer shinning from her porch and house, she snuggled into him, grateful for his large, warm body to help ward off the wet, stinging flakes and cold air.

After all, what could it hurt to let him do this?

Her house was toasty warm. He set her down, and immediately, his fingers went to work on her coat. She brushed them away.

"I can do this, Rance."

"I know, sweetheart. Let me."

He resumed his task, and she removed her gloves, dropping them to the floor. Rance stood there before her, head bent, caramel-hued hair spattered with a coating of snowflakes which had begun to melt, making the silken strands shine like they'd been glazed.

Her coat got pushed to the floor, and she found herself up against the wall, Rance's arms on either side of her head and one powerful thigh pressed against her needy core. Close enough to torment, not close enough for her, however. In the light, she could see his eyes were the color of darkening twilight, filled with desire and a demand she wasn't sure she was ready to address again. He held her gaze even as he trailed one finger along the V of her silken top.

Goosebumps sprang up along her skin, and she bit her lip to keep the moan contained. Back and forth, he ran his finger, skimming the tops of her breasts. Breathing became difficult as she widened her stance. Rance took advantage of that by pressing even closer to her, raising her up higher. Her hips flexed by their own accord, and fierce longing shot through her.

"I stared at you all night, wishing we were alone," he whispered, rubbing his face along hers. The roughness of his daily growth made more moisture pool and heat to ignite in her lower belly. "I wanted to undress you and lick you from head to toe. Do you have any idea what you do to me?" His question was rasped.

From the substantial erection digging into her, she had one. A real good one. He nibbled on the dip in her neck, and she tilted her head to allow him easier access, giving in with a sigh and closing her eyes. All rational thought fled. Nothing mattered but his touch on her body. A touch which had been colossally missed while they'd been apart. There were some things in which, doing it oneself, just couldn't replace.

Dropping one hand from where it rested on his broad shoulder, she slipped it between their close bodies to cup him through his slacks. He was hard and thick. His groan was music to her ears, and she began stroking him, her eyes mere slits through which she watched his face contort into a mask of agony.

"Dana," he rasped, all the while thrusting against her hand.

She sank her other hand into the wet strands of his hair and held him tightly to her neck, panting with raw longing for this man.

"Rance," she replied, her voice as husky as his rough.

He bit her neck, and the pain of the sting made her jump. Her nipples were drawn so taut they'd begun to hurt. His questing fingers swiped across them and she mewled, needing something...needing more.

She needed Rance.

He pulled back from feasting on her neck and stared at her, directly. Burning heat poured from his gaze. She felt moisture begin to run down the inside of her thigh.

"I need you," he uttered, his voice almost unrecognizable it was so deep and graveled.

Chapter Four

Young love is a flame; very pretty, often very hot and fierce, but still only light and flickering. The love of the older and disciplined heart is as coals, deep-burning, unquenchable.

~Henry Ward Beecher

Rance woke and rolled over to draw the woman in bed into his arms; he missed her warmth against him. There was no one there. He sat up with a frown and glanced about the room. The morning light pushed beyond the curtains, casting a soft glow about the place. He stayed there for a moment and took in her room. Clean and spotless like normal, but this, this was where she had numerous photos of Tavis along one wall, surrounding one of all three of them. Taken on his seventh birthday. The final birthday.

With a pained groan, he tore his gaze from the wall of images. She had very few knickknacks in her room. The pastel greens and blues of the walls gave everything a soft appeal. Turning his head to the chair beside the bed, he smiled at the image of his clothes there, neatly folded, and his shoes underneath the seat. His bags were beside the wingback.

He got out of bed and strode naked to the chair where he grabbed his bag, pulled out the clothes he wanted, and put the others in. Then, he left the bedroom and headed to take a shower. Finished with that, he began his search for Dana. The closer he got to the kitchen, the stronger the smells of cooking food became. His stomach growled with unabashed hunger.

Right before he turned the corner, he heard her talking. It wasn't her voice but the masculine one answering that had him narrowing his eyes. He peeked down at his wrist and saw it was a little before eight. With a deep breath, he walked around the corner and into the cheery kitchen. He skimmed his eyes over Dana, soaking up her beauty before focusing on the other man in the room. Her back was to them both as she mixed something in a bowl.

Tall, dark hair and fit. And staring at Dana in a way which set Rance's hackles to rising. The man sat in a chair at the table, cup dangling from his fingers.

"Morning, sweetheart," Rance said slowly.

The man jumped, obviously not expecting to hear another voice in the house.

Dana didn't miss a beat; she turned, bowl in hand, and gave him a smile. "Good morning, Rance." He flicked his gaze between her and the still unknown man. She got the hint. "Jason, I'd like you to meet Rance MacLean, my husband. Rance, my neighbor Jason Rytter."

The man—Jason—looked at him, brown eyes wide with surprise and...could it be disappointment? Rance lifted a brow and held his gaze.

"Nice to meet you," he said, deliberately walking toward Dana, and when he reached her, he leaned close to kiss her.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and the bowl, squeezed between them, didn't stop him from slanting his mouth over hers. Invading the warmth, he swept through her mouth like a maelstrom, taking everything from her. No light peck on the cheek or lips. No, this one claimed her, eradicated any doubt there may be lingering in the other man that Dana was available. When she trembled and sighed, Rance broke the kiss. Her eyes met his, hazy with desire.

"Ni...nice to meet you," Jason uttered.

Brushing his lips along her temple, Rance moved to her side so he could look at Jason. "Am I interrupting?" He trailed his fingers along the curve of her ass, holding Jason's brown gaze.

"No," Jason replied immediately.

He saw the man was close to Dana's age, and it was obvious Jason was getting a bit nervous, having seen him there. "Okay." Rance dipped his finger in the frosting Dana had in the bowl and licked it off. "Delicious, sweetheart."

And although he longed to toss the man out on his ear...or ass as the case may be, he headed for the coffee pot and allowed them to get back to their conversation. Coffee in hand, he leaned against the counter behind Jason.

They talked a bit more but he could see Jason shifting under the weight of his stare. He couldn't hide his smirk when the man pushed to his feet, rubbed his palms on the sides of his jeans, and cleared his throat.

"I should get going, Dana. Thanks for seeing me." Jason turned slowly. Rance waited, mug of coffee poised at his mouth. "It...it was nice to meet you."

He lifted the cup and afforded the man a slight nod. "You, too." Behind Jason he could see Dana glaring at him.

"I'll see you out, Jason," she said, putting the knife in the bowl and stepping away from the cake she was frosting. Dana pinned him with a look he clearly interrupted as "stay put!" He flashed a grin, as innocent as he could make it, and drank some coffee.

While Dana escorted their...her guest out, Rance moved back to the cake she'd been frosting. Marble cake with a chocolate frosting. But there were also bowls of red and green frosting.

"Did you have to chase him away?" Dana growled from behind him.

Wiping away the smile he had, he turned. "I thought I was very nice to him. I didn't chase him away, Dana."

She harrumphed and moved by him, then pushed him away from the cake. "Whatever. He looked practically fearful when he left. You were giving him that damn 'death' stare."

He reached around her to steal some more frosting, only to have his hand smacked. Damn, that hurt. Wincing, he retreated. "I wasn't even facing him. He had no idea what I was doing. Which, for the record, was drinking my coffee."

"Don't think you can snow me, mister. I know that look, and I'm sure he felt it." She pinned him with a glare, daring him to dispute her.

He shrugged without shame or repentance. "He was here for what reason at before eight in the morning?" Her gaze narrowed in warning. He tipped his head thoughtfully. She's mighty defensive. "I was merely asking a question, sweetheart."

"No, you were prying."

Another shrug. She had it right, he was. But he didn't feel remorse for it. "Call it what you will. I wake up, and there's a man in the kitchen with my wife. I'm curious." He kept his tone as even keel as he could despite the wave of powerful jealousy which ripped up from the soles of his feet to encompass him.

"Be curious then," she said with no inflection at all and turned her attention back to the cake before her.

A throbbing set up in his skull, and his eyes covered by a red haze. Setting down the mug, he moved to stand flush to her, pressing all along her curves. "Are you trying to make me jealous?"

"No." Her answer fell instantly and flat.

"Dana."

Nothing. She kept working on decorating the cake.

"Can you put that down and talk to me please," he forced out from behind clenched teeth.

She tensed slightly before she put the knife in the bowl and covered it with a plastic lid. Slowly, she moved away from him, wiped her hands on a rag, and leaned against the counter. Every inch of her posture screamed of frustration.

"What? I have three cakes to decorate today, Rance. What's so important it can't wait? I mean, come on here, you show up out of the blue, claiming to want me back. Never once taking into consideration how you showing up like this would affect me. So...come on then...let's get this bloody talk over with!"

His amusement at her use of the word bloody almost made him smile. But the rest of her statement kept it clear. How could she not believe he wanted her with him? They were married, damn it.

"I never lied to you, Dana," he began, fighting to keep his emotions under control. Losing them wouldn't help anything.

"No, you just let me deal with the death of our son alone!" she screeched, her body going rigid.

He ground his jaw. It hadn't been like that. Had it? "I did what I could, Dana."

Pain, much like what he'd seen as she knelt beside him on the ground, Tavis' bloodied body in his arms, filled her face. "I know. That's why I left, Rance. I needed more. I didn't want to forget his name, or anything about him. I needed to talk about it, put my feelings out there. Cry with you. Mourn with you. I got none of that from you."

He took a step toward her but froze when that damned "hands off'" look replaced the pain. "I gave you all I could, Dana. You have to believe that. As much as I could be there, in person, I was."

"I know. I know, Rance." There was defeat in her tone. "But like I said, that wasn't enough. I had to deal with your mother, telling me how if I had been a better mother who watched her child this wouldn't have happened. I had to deal with the endless condolences, the looks from the other mothers on the base, who had no reason to talk now that there was no child in common. Me. You were off somewhere, I don't know where," one hand waved airily, "I never knew where."

His stomach knotted in horror. Surely she was mistaken; his ma wouldn't have done such a horrific thing. Dana's never lied to me. But why? Why would his ma have said such a thing? Why wouldn't Dana have said something when it happened?

"No," he whispered, not wishing to believe it. His knees were a little weak, and he reached out for the counter beside him. "Dana, tell me she didn't."

Those gorgeous eyes shimmered with unshed tears she fought valiantly against shedding. "She did."

"Wh...why didn't you tell me?"

"Would it have made any difference?"

"Hell yes!" he bit off. "You...she had no..." He raked his hand through his hair, totally unsure of how to handle what he was hearing.

"As painful as that was, Rance, it was nothing compared to how I felt when you looked at...no, through me. Like I wasn't even there."

Her agony tore at his soul. She was wrong, though. He had never looked through her. But she seemed to think so. He didn't know what to do. Really, how could he make it better?

"All I wanted was you, Rance. To tell me you understood how I felt...was feeling...whatever."

"I missed him just as much as you, Dana. And I was there, every night I could be." He took another step and saw her stiffen. Ignoring it, he hauled her into his embrace. He didn't give her a chance to speak, just captured her mouth with his and kissed her. Kissed her with all his frustration, fear, uncertainty, and love.

"I was there, Dana. Every night," he vowed. Cupping her face in his hands, he refused to allow her to move away. "Every night when you left our bed, my arms, and laid in our son's bed. I followed you, stood there, over you and watched you sleep. I didn't know what to do to ease your pain. Every tear you shed, every sob was a dagger to my own heart. Do you know what that's like?" He stroked his thumbs down her cheeks. "Blame me all you want for his death, blame me for not being a better husband, but damn it, Dana, I'm not the only one who wasn't easy to talk to."

❦

Dana heard the words he uttered but they didn't seem to sink in. Not only had he known she slipped from bed every night and went to Tavis' bed, but he'd followed her and stood watch over her. She wasn't easy to talk to? That's not how she remembered it, but she had been in her own world of pain. Had she pushed him away as well?

She could recall the look of heartbreak on his face when she'd accused him of being at fault. He hadn't been. Tavis had been skateboarding in the street; he had been told not to many times. Rance had been under his truck, changing the oil, and she'd been inside baking. The screech of tires had been the sound which had frozen her blood. Somehow, she had known. She remembered bursting from the house, jumping the steps to the ground and running to where Rance knelt on the sidewalk, her son's dead body in his arms, both of them slathered in blood.

The memory brought a renewed wave of tears to her. The pain as fresh as it had been that horrific day. She shook, her entire body, as if it fell apart at the seams. Rance lowered his arms so they slipped around her and held her close and tight.

"You talked to other people," she whispered, the agony of reliving that day obvious in her tone.

"Who?"

"Jack." The word was sharp. "I saw you with her. You gave her what I needed from you."

"Jack?"

Jack or Jacey "Blackjack" Thompson was a member of the Zulu Spectre. The only female member, actually. If there existed a woman Dana would be jealous of when it came to Rance, it was Jack. A Marine who had earned a spot with this elite group of men. Beautiful, cunning, adept, and deadly, Jack had all the men's admiration and respect.

"Yes, Jack."

"I didn't turn to Jack. Why would I?"

"I don't know why you did. All I know is you did."

He drew back, and she could see the confusion on his face. "What did you see?"

"You spent time with her in the park across from the house. Heads bent together, hugs shared."

"The day after the funeral." It was a statement, and she knew he recalled the day. "There was nothing there. She wanted to know if there was anything she could do for either of us. She's a mother and wanted to express her condolences again."

"She's a mother." The words sounded bitter even to her. "And I'm not."

He shook her. "Stop this, Dana. Right now!"

Dana looked at him, and he seemed far away. Before her was a cliff, one she knew if she stepped over it would be all over. Nothing rational could happen then. "Why, Rance? Don't you want to know how I felt?"

"I didn't know how to approach you, Dana. After our son—"

"Tavis!" She shoved with desperation against his shoulders, breaking free of his hold. "Damn you! Use his name!"

Rance swallowed hard. "After he died, whenever I tried to approach you, you gave off that goddamn 'hands off' vibe you have. You flinched from me. Every action you had screamed you wanted nothing to do with me. I tried to give you space, and yet, I wanted to be close, which is why I watched over you at night. It was the only time I could have that luxury. I don't doubt I did things wrong, but Jesus, Dana, it's not like there is training for this."

She ignored that truth. "You can't do it, can you? You can't say his name." Tears fell over and down her cheeks. "It's like you don't want to acknowledge him." She shook her head, unable to do anything else.

"That's not true, Dana."

"Don't...just, don't Rance. I...I have to finish these cakes. Please, just go."

Wiping furiously at her eyes with the backs of her hands, she brushed by him and removed the lid. More traitorous tears fell when she heard his footfalls take him out of the kitchen. Eyes scrunched tightly, she stood frozen until the front door clicked. Then, she sobbed, dropped the knife, and collapsed to the floor, tears streaming unbidden and unstoppable from her eyes.

Why do I do this? Why do I continue to push him away? I know it wasn't easy for him either. She had no answer. After a while, she pushed to her feet, washed her hands, and got to work, counting on the activity to slow her racing mind.

While working on the third cake, she still had no idea where Rance had gone off to, how long he'd be gone, or if he'd even return. She continued to curse her hard-headedness while she filled a bag with green frosting. Will I ever get a second chance with Rance that I don't screw up? The radio began playing "It Could Happen Again," and she sighed. Worrying her lower lip, she stared out the window and saw a white feather floating softly along the air to the ground.

She almost dropped the bag of frosting. Feathers from an angel. That's what Tavis had called them. He used to collect them and give them to her.

Tavis!

Dana lay the bag down on the counter and hurried outside to where she'd seen the feather. The snow had stopped, but the weather was still below freezing. None of it mattered as she slid in her house shoes out to the spot. Snow sank into them, the chill stinging her flesh. Below her kitchen window, she paused and searched the ground. Nothing. She cast her gaze to the left and the right, hoping, praying, the wind may have blown it a bit off to the side. Still nothing.

I must be losing it. The snow swirled around with the onslaught of a stronger gust, and she shivered. Slogging back through the cold, wet snow, she stomped her feet off on the back stoop before entering the house.

Her legs were wet up to her knees, and she hurried to her bedroom to change. Once dry and mostly warm again, she entered the kitchen and returned to the task at hand. While she worked, she searched deep for some clue as to what her next step should be. Her love for Rance hadn't weakened; if anything it had gotten stronger. There was still that chasm between them though, no matter how she felt. And that had to be breeched.

Chapter Five

Immature love says: 'I love you because I need you.'

Mature love says 'I need you because I love you.'

~Erich Fromm

Rance walked through the town, not really seeing things. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and he felt lost. Holiday cheer was all around him but all he could feel was the dark loneliness of his situation. The physical between him and Dana was hot as ever. It was the deep vastness that seemed to surround her emotions. It was as if Dana sat on a small structure out in the middle of nowhere, and all around her was darkness, a void. And he had no way to get to her. But he needed to, because when all was said and done, when the sun set on everything that had been accomplished for the day, none of it mattered without her in his life.

His phone rang.

"MacLean."

"Hello, Rance." His mother's voice came through crystal clear, despite the snow and the fact she called all the way from Glasgow.

"Merry Christmas, Ma," he replied, turning up another street. "Is everything okay?"

"Of course. I just called now because it was morning. I hoped I would be able to reach you. I'm assuming you're not coming home this year?"

"Not this year." He frowned as Dana's words echoed through his mind. "How are you?"

"Wishing my son would come home for the holidays."

The reprimand was there. He rolled his eyes and kept on progressing to some unknown destination. I wish mine was alive for them. "Sorry, Ma." He scratched the rough growth he had on his face and cracked his neck. "I have something I need to ask you, Ma."

"Of course," she said.

"Why did you blame Dana for the loss of our son?" Her sharp breath told him all he needed to know. She'd not realized he'd found out.

"Is that what she told you?" Her tone fell like razor-edged daggers.

"Yes. Ma, Dana has never lied to me."

"And I have?"

"I don't want to make this any more difficult. Why did you say such a thing?" He clenched and unclenched a fist as he continued along.

"Don't want to make it difficult yet you still ask it." She sighed. "When did she say this?"

"Today."

"You're with her?" The tone was harsh and more than slightly disapproving.

Glancing to the heavens, he prayed for patience. "Ma. I love her, have since the day I first laid eyes upon her. And nothing will ever change that. Ever."

"She left you."

He clenched his jaw. "That's none of your business. And stop trying to get off topic. Why would you say that to her?"

"She's the mother. She didn't work outside of the home; it was her job to keep an eye on him. That's all. Raise and take care of him." A deep breath. "I merely told her what everyone was thinking."

White hot rage roared over him. "No, Ma, everyone wasn't thinking that. I was outside with him when it happened. Not Dana. Me. You...you should be ashamed of yourself for being so hateful." He longed to hit something. Shoot something. Anything to evict this fury boiling over within him.

"I was hurting, Rance. I just lost my grandson. I was not being—"

"Enough!" he thundered, causing people to stare. "Your grandson, Ma, was my son, our son. How could you not know those callous words would devastate Dana? You know what? I don't care. I have to go. Have a safe holiday."

He hung up and picked up his pace, encouraging the biting wind to sting his face. His eyes watered even behind the protection of his shades. He found himself wandering through a cemetery. The pristine white of the fallen snow broken up by the headstones. Different sizes and shapes, they made for an intriguing, and yet peaceful, landscape. He stayed on the ploughed path, just walked on until he hit a wrought iron fenced area of about ten square feet. A large stone which came to a peak sat in the centre. There were flowers carved into it along with the saying, Though they are gone from this Earth, their love is never forgotten, they watch over us still.

He gripped the iron bars, his gloved hands clutching tightly around them. Head lowered to the metal, he sighed, deeply. Slowly, he sank to the ground; head bowed, and closed his eyes. Images of his son streamed fast and furious before him. From the first day in the hospital when he'd been laid in Rance's arms by the nurse to that final day, when he lay in his arms, his life ripped away far too early.

Birthday parties. Scouts. Pee wee football and T-ball. Playing catch in the backyard. Evening walks through the base, while Tavis rode his bike. Trips to Scotland. Baseball and football games where they overindulged on hotdogs and cotton candy. The nightly story time and prayers. All of it. In each one, his son looked unconditionally happy.

A low, keening cry built up within Rance, and he clamped his lips together to keep it contained. He dug deep for strength and pushed himself up, dusted the snow off his pants and turned to leave the cemetery. At the last minute, something called to him to face the rock again.

He did an about-face and stared. From the sky, a single white feather floated down to land gently upon the peak of the rock. Feathers from an angel. He glanced around but could see no one, nor could he see where the feather could have originated from. The wind blew, and the feather gently moved down over the saying inscribed in the rock.

"Can it be?" he uttered, reaching for the bars.

A motor sounded behind him, and he whipped his head around to spot the intruder, only to see the groundskeeper plowing more paths. Focusing back on the rock, he could see no sign of the feather. For a second, he debated if he'd been seeing things, only to realize he should take it as it was. A sign.

My son sent me a sign.

Reaching into the inside coat pocket, he withdrew the medallion he carried with him when he could. It was identical to the one hanging in Dana's car. Archangel Michael. He brought it to his lips, kissed it and hung it over one pike on the fence.

"I miss you, Tavis. More than you can possibly know."

He swallowed before heading back the way he'd come. The urge to look over his shoulder was strong but he refused, just continued on. Back in the main part of town, he walked into the diner he'd entered the first day he was in town. And as it had been that day, Janie was there.

"Happy holidays," she said with a cheerful grin, her Santa's cap propped on her head at a jaunty angle. "You look cold. Can I start you off with coffee?"

"Please." He took the same seat, which enabled him to see the front door and those passing before it.

After he placed his food order, his phone rang again. Checking the caller ID, he frowned and flipped it open. "MacLean."

"You okay up there, Quint?"

Leaning back in the booth, he tried to work out some of the tension in his neck. His commanding officer almost never called unless Rance had to go somewhere. And since it was the holidays, he assumed he was going to be leaving.

"I'm okay, Griz," he replied, using the man's nickname, since he'd not been using rank with his address. "Something I can do for you?"

"Just wanted to make sure all was okay."

He stared past the front door. The snow had picked up again, whipping and swirling all around. "Should I be worried you're calling to ask about my wellbeing?"

"No." There was this pause. "Is there anything I can do?"

Rance shook his head. He should have known. His unit was close, and they had been, since Tavis' death and Dana leaving, been, watching him a bit more closely. "Where is everyone else?"

"Louisiana with Gambit's family. Well, except for Mayhem. He's in Vermont."

"And you?"

Another bout of silence. "I'm heading down there tonight. But, I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Griz was a hard ass of a commanding officer but he truly cared about the men, and woman, of his team. "I'm okay. Staying with Dana."

"You call one of us if you need anything."

The underlying message—Don't do anything stupid.

"Roger that, sir."

"Happy holidays, Quint." Griz was gone.

Closing his phone with a snap, he murmured, "Same to you, sir. Same to you."

He ate his food, his mind on his teammates. He missed them. They were all single, but him, and had this perchance for going off to do wild things during their down times. Except for Jack; she had a child. A son named Caleb. Younger than Tavis but the boys had gotten along well. Tavis had been pleased to have someone to follow him around and dote on him.

Drinking the last of his coffee, Rance saw a figure go by the door which grabbed his attention in a snap. He jerked to his feet, dropped more than enough money to cover the bill on the table, and headed for the door. Out in the snow, he glanced down the street and found his target. He caught up with her just as she stepped through into a small shop.

He followed, the jingle over the door announcing his arrival. Small and quaint, the collectibles shop was warm and had a soft background of Christmas music playing. Directly ahead of him, she stood, at the counter, talking to someone.

A man with a mission, he strolled right up behind her, nodded a hello to the old lady behind the counter, and said, "Hello, Dana."

She stiffened. It was slight, and he bet the other woman didn't notice but he did. "Rance," she replied without facing him. "This is for you and Mr. Colfeld." All her attention remained on the elderly woman.

The old lady beamed up at them both. "You, Dana, are truly a saint. Thank you so much. You have no idea how much we enjoy to your cakes. And this one looks to be no exception."

"My pleasure, Mrs. Colfeld. I hope you enjoy it. I have to get going; I have one more to deliver. Snow has started up again, so get home safe. I'll see you after the holidays. Have a wonderful Christmas."

He watched as they kissed cheeks then Dana turned. She took a deep breath before slipping by him and walking to the door.

"Dana, wait."

She did, but the moment he was behind her; Dana started again, taking them both out into the increasing cold and snow.

"Can you give me a second?" he asked, capturing her wrist in his hand.

"I have to walk to the library. Can you walk and talk?"

"I'm more than capable of multitasking, sweetheart," he purred. "Don't tell me you've forgotten."

The flush from the cold was overrun by a different kind. She swallowed, readjusted her hold on the container in her hands, and proceeded to walk on.

"I'm sorry."

"For what, Rance?" She nimbly stepped over a chunk of sidewalk salt.

"Everything. How it was handled. My mother. All of it."

"Okay." They paused at the corner, and he looked down at her. Face set and expressionless, he knew by looking she'd shut down and was waiting for something else. Something more.

"Okay?"

She didn't say a word as they crossed the street and entered the library. He hung back as she dropped off the last item she'd had in her hands. He smiled when the women looked at him but his attention remained primarily upon Dana. After hugs, holiday well wishes and polite chit chat had finished, she moved toward him, tugging on her gloves.

"Yes, Rance. Okay. I don't want to hash this out anymore." Her gaze oddly resigned as she strode by him.

Spinning on his heel, he followed. On the street, he asked, "What do you want?"

❦

What do you want?

Four relatively simple words which held a whole lot of potential for how the rest of her life would play out.

What did she want? Rance? Another chance at making their marriage a success? Both.

"I want to go home."

His eyes grew colder. He nodded and slid his glasses on. "Okay, then."

When he stepped away from her, she didn't even hesitate. "I want you to come with me." She hesitated at the arch of his brow. "Please."

Without a word, he offered her his arm. They ambled through the town, not speaking, just looking at all the decorations. She rested her head on his arm and sighed when his lips brushed her temple in return. The last time they'd done anything like this was before Tavis had been born. She'd been eight months pregnant, waddling like a duck—a fat duck—and he'd taken her for a long walk through the base, gazing at the decked out homes and holiday displays.

She breathed deeply, the cold prevalent in her nostrils but so was the rich, masculine scent of her husband. At the city's center, they paused before the tree. She stared at the star on the top.

"I saw a white feather today, outside the kitchen window as I finished up the cakes."

He stiffened briefly. "I did, too. I walked around and ended up in the cemetery. I was looking at the large fenced in rock with the saying. When I left, I turned back and saw it falling to the rock."

His words stunned her. For a brief moment, she debated if he was saying it merely because she had. But she pushed that away; his reaction had been too...raw...too real.

"Do you think he's watching us?" Her words were rasped as she forced the question past her lips.

"I know he is." His statement was made with the confidence of a man who did what Rance did with his life. And as it usually did, it gave her a batch of assurance she'd been missing previously. How could it not, her husband at times could just infuse her with some because of the amount of his own he wielded.

She tipped her head up to stare at him. Rance still wore his glasses so she didn't know if he looked at her but she thought he stared at the tree and the angels adorning it.

"Can I offer you two a ride?"

Dana recognized Sean Haversty and his team of draft horses. A beautiful duo of Clydesdales. The man ran a riding stable and offered sleigh rides in the winter, buggy, wagon, and carriage rides in the warmer months. She'd not even heard them approach, which was odd given their bells usually announced their arrival. "Hey, Sean."

"Dana," he replied. "Come on, what do you say?"

"Rance?"

"I'd love to," he said.

She made introductions as they got situated in the Vis-a-Vis sleigh with elegant rosemaling rose painting. The black diamond button tuck vinyl upholstery allowed her to slide along, making room for Rance to join her. Soon, thick quilts covered them and their feet rested before a warming box located under their seat.

"Where to?" Sean asked as he got himself ready.

"It doesn't matter," Rance said, tucking his arm around her and drawing her in close.

"Okay." Sean got the sleigh moving, and they relaxed while the snow fell around them, perfectly cozy under the blankets.

"I'm sorry I wasn't what you needed, Dana," he said as they glided along.

"You are what I need, Rance. I just...needed also to talk to you about what happened, work through it."

"Do you still love me?"

"I never stopped," she answered immediately.

"I think he's sending us a message, Dana." Sincerity warmed his tone.

She'd wondered that herself. It begged the question why had both of them seen something that unique in the same day, same city but in two different places.

"I think so, too," she admitted.

"Can you give me another chance? A chance to be a real husband and not...how did you put it...a machinelike, emotionless Marine."

She flushed at the reminder of her heartless words. "I'm sorry about that. I know you're not emotionless, or a machine. And you take pride, such pride, in being a Marine. That was uncalled for, and I have no excuse for such poor behavior."

He shushed her with a kiss. He nibbled along her lower lip and ran his tongue along the seam of her mouth. She opened, eager for his heated caresses. Rance didn't press too hard; he dipped his tongue in her mouth, slid along hers and retreated. His eyes, the darkest of twilight, shone down upon her.

"Let it go, Dana. We begin anew."

His hand beneath the blanket captured hers, and he placed it over his erection. She licked her lips, squeezing him gently as they sped through town, people calling out greetings to them as they passed.

"Christ, are you trying to kill me?"

She batted her lashes. "You are the one who put my hand there. I was just moving it to make sure it didn't freeze."

He chuckled, and she moved her hand to hold his. She could feel his strength and warmth through their gloves.

"I'm so sorry my ma said those things to you, Dana."

"Shh," she murmured against his neck. "Thought we agreed to begin anew."

She could feel his throat move when he swallowed. "We did. But I want you to know, if you need to talk about Tavis, I'm ready."

Dana jerked her head back to stare at him. Astonished to have heard the name falling from his lips. "You spoke his name," she said, still unsure she'd heard right.

"Long overdue. Tavis is a part of us forever."

Sean stopped the sleigh by her vehicle and glanced back at them. "Would you like to keep going?"

She never looked away from her husband. "No, here's just fine, Sean. Thank you. How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing," he said. "I was heading this way anyhow. You two have a wonderful Christmas."

Rance touched the side of her face before folding the quilts up and jumping down. He reached up to assist her, and she went willingly into his embrace. His hands settled familiarly around her waist, and he lifted her, sliding her down the full expanse of his body. When her booted feet hit the ground, he still didn't release her. Just continued to stare into her eyes.

"Thank you, Sean," she called.

"My pleasure. You two drive safe now." The jingle of the harness told her Sean had headed on to his next destination.

"Let's go home," Rance said before he angled his mouth over hers.

The kiss melted her, and she curved into him, depending on him to hold her up. When they broke, she was more than ready to strip him of all attire and have her way with him. His gaze smoldered, and she felt the response within her own body. Moisture gathered, and her nipples tightened as her pulse kicked up more in want for this man.

He took the keys, and she willingly sank into the passenger seat. At the house, he gathered her into his arms and took her directly back to the bedroom. Rance removed her clothing one item at a time, allowing his lips to skim along her skin. From her ankles, up her legs, along her belly and onward until not an inch hadn't been touched. Front and back, he kissed it all. Her breathing grew shallow and came in fast pants, and if not for the strength he possessed, her legs would have given out a long time ago.

Once they were both naked, he laid her back along the top of her comforter and climbed on top of her, settling his larger body between her legs. She couldn't find the breath to speak; her belly was tense as if unsure almost. There was something about him.

It was his eyes, intense and sharp—yet overflowing with love—that never left her face. As he pressed into her with a slow, single stroke, their gazes remained melded with one another. His touch was possessive as his hands dug into her hip, holding her still. He filled her and began to move with methodical strokes. Not fast. Not slow. Determined. Concentrated. Passionate. Powerful.

Her mind was a mess. She couldn't focus but on him. Even before, before Tavis, before the loss, before the marriage, he'd never watched her so powerfully. He didn't speak but she didn't need words. His look said it all and more.

Back and forth, he moved within her, never wavering from the pace. She burned. It grew and spread like wildfire. When she finally came, Rance came as well, his seed shooting deep inside her. Then, he kissed her, and for the first time in a long time, she recognized the peace within her.

They didn't leave for the rest of the day. Most of Christmas Eve was spent making love, cuddling, and talking. Things were worked out, and they realized they were ready now to move forward. Their relationship stronger, deeper, and more powerful than before.

Christmas morning, Dana woke to the most delicious feeling in the world. Rance brought her to orgasm with his mouth, and she screamed her release to the room. Then, he made slow love to her and left her boneless. When she finally made it up from bed, showered, and out to the living room she found he'd also made breakfast for them.

"Rance?" she asked, stirring brown sugar into her coffee.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"I really like it here."

He stared at her across the table, a thoughtful expression on his handsome face. "Then, you stay here. I can stay in BOQ while on base. When we're home longer, I'll come here."

Tears pricked her eyes. She forgot her coffee, forgot breakfast, and forgot everything except the man who changed her life. She moved to his side and sat in his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and placing them nose to nose.

"I love you, Rance MacLean."

"And I you, sweetheart."

Her fingers teased the back of his scalp. "I didn't get you anything for Christmas."

He gave her a wicked smile as he got to his feet, retaining her in his embrace. "I got everything I could want. All I want for Christmas is you."

"And you shall have me, for Christmas and beyond."

THE END

The Star Carol

by

Aliyah Burke
Many waters cannot quench love, neither can floods drown it.

Love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave.

~King Solomon
Chapter One

Touch passion when it comes your way...

~J. Michael Straczynski

New York City, New York

December

It looked different. How could it not? The New York skyline without the majestic Twin Towers was dramatic. Just goes to show what happens when one avoids a city for so long. And he had. The last time he'd set foot in New York City had been three months prior to the unforgettable 9/11. Before those bastards attacked our shores!

Yet, now, here he was. A few days before Christmas in the last place he wanted to be. Not that he hated it here. At one time, he'd loved this city; just now, he had no desire to be here. Hell, he'd been in Louisiana, enjoying the warm weather, willing women, and friends at a teammate's place. Then the call came. From his brother-in-law telling him his sister—his sole and estranged sister—had gone into labor—prematurely—and she wanted to see him. She was scared.

So, Jacob "Bam Bam" Tracey, a US Army corporal and member of a Spec Op group, more aptly called Zulu Spectre, shoved back his fear and concern, got on a plane, and left the warm, sultry days and nights of Louisiana to head for cold and snowy New York City.

He'd been on a redeye so the hospital's visiting hours hadn't started yet. Which explained why he currently ambled along the snowy streets. Not really any particular destination in mind, just needing to be out, stretching his legs. Being idle didn't sit well with him.

The air was crisp and cold, almost invigorating. He headed back for the hospital and had just entered the warmed interior when his wristwatch alerted him to the start of visiting hours. Hands in his pockets, he gazed at the signs until he located the arrows directing him toward maternity.

His steps were the only sound in the sterilized white hallway. He hated hospitals and took pains to avoid them. As he progressed, he tried to figure out what thing had driven him and his sister apart.

Oh, right. Her husband. While he'd not been the main thing, he certainly was a major player.

Jacob hated the man, hated how he treated his sister, but she'd picked her husband over him. Her choice. Just like it was his to have nothing to do with them.

He nodded at the nurse seated behind the desk as he entered the maternity wing. Room 531. The door sat cracked, and he paused. Muffled voices streamed to his ears.

Knocking, he waited a few seconds before pushing through. The room was small and the same sterilized white as the rest of the place. I thought maternity rooms were to be soft and warm for the mother.

His gaze drifted over the chair by the window and corner to the bed. Brad Chapman sat beside the bed, full beard that couldn't hide his tired and somewhat angry expression. He wore a rumpled suit and, honestly, looked like he'd not slept in a while. Jacob continued with his scan. Debra lay on the bed, her skin pale and drawn, her dark hair settled about her shoulders. Beneath her emerald eyes were large circles.

They looked up at him. Brad's eyes narrowed slightly while Debra's filled with tears.

"You wanted to see me?" Jacob said, returning the door to its original position.

"Jacob," she said, holding out her hand, beckoning to him.

On silent feet, he approached the bed and touched his sister for the first time in at least a decade. She felt frail in his larger, stronger hand. Her grip when she squeezed even seemed weak.

"Hello, Debra." A glance at her husband. "Brad."

"Jacob."

He released his sister's hand and put his in the front pockets of his jeans. Being touchy feely had never been his thing, but then growing up in the family he had, it made sense.

"What's going on?" he asked.

Debra met his gaze; the tubes running out of her made her appear even smaller. The years had been hard on her. Brad, too. She was no longer full of life. Yes, she may have been a bitch, but she had been cheerful about doing so. Now, that cheer was gone.

"An answer would be nice." He struggled to keep his tone modulated.

The couple shared a look, and Jacob knew.

"You're fine." It wasn't a question.

Debra nodded, shame filling her face. "I wanted to see you and—"

"You could have asked, Debra."

A bit of defiance sparked in her eyes. "And what, have you say no or give me a date way in the future? I'm having your niece; don't you think we can put this behind us and be civil for once in our lives?"

He wasn't moved. Hell, he'd not even known she was pregnant until Brad had called him. Honestly, Jacob hadn't believed she had his number. "So instead, you make it an emergency so I rush here. I'm not going to be manipulated by anyone, least of all you, Debra Ann."

Brad glared at him and rose from his seat. He didn't impress Jacob either. "Don't even think about it, Brad, I'm not the same boy you could intimidate. Do us both a favor and sit your ass back down." Deb's eyes welled up with tears, and he bit back his annoyance. "Why did you call me here?"

"It's Christmas, Jake."

"Jacob," he corrected. He'd always despised the nickname Jake.

"We're family."

He stared at her in silence. As far as he was concerned, he'd left his family back in Louisiana. His phone rang, and he flipped it open. "Corporal Tracey."

"Hey, Bam Bam." The feminine voice on the other end made him smile.

"Hey, Jack."

"You make it up there okay? And is your sister all right?"

"Made it fine, and I'm at the hospital with her now." He stared at his sole sibling who seemed way interested in his call. "Looks like all is fine."

"Wonderful. Have fun, and we'll see you when you get back."

"Thanks, Jack."

"You know where we are if you need us."

"I know." And he did. They'd never hesitate to help him or come to his aid if need be.

"Bye, Bam Bam. Don't forget to have some fun; it is Christmas, after all." A slight pause. "And yes, that's an order."

Click. She hung up.

His smile still lingered as he closed his phone.

"Who's Jack?" Debra asked.

The simple joy he'd felt talking to her fled. "A woman I work with."

"Girlfriend?"

He took his hat off and raked a hand through his shaggy hair. "No," he said. "Not my girlfriend. It's against regs to have a relationship with someone in your command." He put his hat back on.

Couldn't say he'd not wondered about her, though. Jacey "Black Jack" Thompson was an amazing woman. Hot as hell and more than capable of bringing a man twice her size down in hand-to-hand combat. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about her that way. Granted, it was when he'd just met her. Now, he viewed her as a fellow member of Zulu Spectre and one he'd trust at his back any day of the week. She was, on down time, the mother hen of the group, but when it came time to kick ass, she was always on point.

"You like her, though."

He didn't even hesitate. "I love her, and I trust her. She called to check on me."

He ignored the flash of pain on Debra's face.

"Enough stalling, Debra. Why am I here?"

"We're family."

"Bullshit. We haven't been a family for years. My family is who I left to come up here, so quit wasting my time and tell me what you want. What, you need money?"

She and Brad shared a look before she met his gaze again. He shook his head in disappointment. Although he wasn't sure why he expected anything else.

"Un-fucking-believable. I'll tell you what, I'm going to go take a long walk. While I'm gone, why don't you two find your balls, get your story straight, and be ready to tell me how much you need."

He left the room and took the elevator down to the ground floor. The cold air astounded him, and he waved for a taxi. Sliding across the leather seat, he said, "Closest hotel."

The ride was short, and he was within easy walking distance from the hospital. After paying his fare, he strode into the warm lobby and got a room. Alone in his quarters, he flopped back on the bed and groaned.

"My ass should be on another plane right back to Louisiana."

Jacob showered and padded in a pair of sweats to the queen-sized bed. He collapsed on it and soon had succumbed to the exhaustion upon him. When he woke, the clock read ten-forty-five.

After changing into black jeans and a long-sleeved heather gray Henley, he tied on his boots. Ensuring key and wallet were secure on his person, he slid on his leather and sheepskin Blouson jacket. As he headed outside to explore, he put his hat back on his head.

He walked along the snow-covered sidewalks taking in the massive Christmas displays in windows. Wind swirled around the freshly falling snow, and he turned up the collar of his coat.

This magnificent city had a pulse all her own, and Jacob could feel it as he continued to stroll along. He paused before a display and stared. Almost every other one showcased Santa and flashing lights or items he'd assumed could be purchased inside the stores'. This one, however, was different. Immensely so.

Sand and water instead of snow and icicles. There were no little wrapped gifts or ball decorations scattered about. Instead, there were helicopters, jets, ships, submarines, humvees, and more military items. Canvas tents representing their housing were dotted throughout as well. Across the back in large letters hung a sign. It read: Never Forget Those Who Allow You To Have Your Safe Holiday. God Bless The US Armed Forces. Merry Christmas To Them, May Their Gift Be To Return Home Safely And See Their Loved Ones Again.

Amen. He had to go in. With a final appreciative look at the display, he pushed through to the interior. He paused and glanced around. He'd been expecting something like a surplus store but found himself staring at walls covered in tattoo art. There were two chairs he could see, and he continued his perusal of the spotless shop.

"Be right with you." The voice came from the back, and it stroked along his skin, slightly graveled.

Jacob licked his lips, moved to a wall, and began inspecting the art. Damn good work. Some were photos of the actual finished product on a person while some were renderings on white paper.

Fanciful to dark. Tribal to Kenji. Animals to astrological. And more.

"Sorry about that. What can I do for you?"

He spun on his booted heels and froze. Another surprise. The woman before him took his breath away. She had her hip braced against a display case and watched him with both amusement and appreciation in her gaze.

She had short spiked hair, dyed red. A tiny jean skirt with the fringe hanging as if she had just ripped it off and a long-sleeved shirt. A man's shirt from the look of it. Similar to his Henley, but he'd be lying if he didn't think it looked much better on her. On her feet, she wore over-the-knee, stacked platform boots. Black with crisscross straps down the shaft of the upper part and smooth on the ankle and pointed toe. He'd heard of fuck-me shoes but these were boots of the same caliber. He bet they were about a five-inch heel as well as the platform. He could see the zippers on the inside of her legs, and he wanted nothing more than to lower them and touch her legs.

Christ! He swallowed. Then, did it again.

Her skin was nut-brown in color and flawless. Big eyes stared at him from behind thick lashes and they were...purple?

She licked her full lips, and he felt the answering jolt in his groin. When she walked toward him, he was mesmerized by the sway of her hips, and his heart thundered while his cock thought about punching free. She paused beside him, and he found himself inhaling the scent of fresh pineapple.

Shit! His mouth watered.

"Are you just browsing or was there something I could help you find?"

"Jacob."

She pursed her lips—lips he wanted to kiss—and shook her head.

"Can you be more specific? I can do the name Jacob on you if you want. I have a bunch of different fonts if you'd like to look and pick one."

It took a bit before her words made sense. She thought he wanted to tattoo a man's name on his body somewhere.

"No. I'm Jacob," he said, holding out his hand.

She laughed, and he felt it all the way to his toes. "Got it." She placed her hand in his and said, "I'm Astreah." She pronounced it, As-tre-yah.

That simple touch sealed his fate. There was something about her which filled the hole in his soul. He smiled at her without releasing her hand.

He was trouble, and she knew it. Astreah Sims picked up on that the very moment she ventured from the back to see him standing there, staring at the tattoos on the wall. Jacob, he'd called himself. Right before he took her hand. The one he happened to still be holding. As they stood there, touching, she allowed her gaze to take an investigative trip over him. He was hot. There was no denying that.

His hair, the color of black pearls, sat mostly covered up by his tatty blue baseball cap with a fish logo on it. The length, however, hung past his neck, stopping closer to his shoulders. His jeans made her think of stuff very unprofessional. The hem of his shirt hung down past the bottom of his jacket.

Did she say how hot he was?

Her platform heeled boots put her about an inch shorter than him. He looked strong. All over. The jacket couldn't hide the way he moved. She swallowed and continued on up over his sun-kissed face until she was locked in by potent eyes, the color of verdant sea mist.

Damn!

There was no way to ignore the current of electricity which pulsed between them. Still, she had to try. With a smile, she tugged until he released her. His expression told her he hadn't been aware he still held her.

Looks like I'm not the only one affected.

"See something you like?"

His eyes trailed over her again, and he nodded. "Oh, yeah."

"Which one?" She did her best to ignore his innuendo.

He removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. Shaggy, thick hair. She wanted to touch it. He looked at her and gave a disarming smile.

Yeah, right. She wasn't a fool. This man had an edge to him, a razor sharp one.

"What would you suggest?"

She shook her head and went to sit at one of the tables where more albums sat for people's viewing. "Sorry, tattoos are very personal."

"I know. I just wonder, if the decision was yours, what you would give me."

Myself wrapped up in a bow and nothing else.

His eyes glowed with a primal inner fire, launching his danger factor up even more. She squeezed her legs together to try and stop the annoyingly persistent pulsating her clit seemed content to do.

He placed strong-looking hands on the white tabletop. They were the same tan as his face but his hands were beat up. A few healing cuts and three bruised nail beds.

"That would be the best present I could ever receive." He spoke low, for her ears only, no matter they were the only ones in there. It was personal. Intimate.

"I'm sorry?" Please don't tell me I said that aloud.

His next words destroyed her meager hope.

"A nice silver bow. Or red to match your hair."

Her belly was in the midst of doing summersaults. "I'll keep that in mind," she said with as much dignity as possible.

The door chimed, alerting her to another's presence. Grateful for the reprieve, she jerked her gaze off this all-to-handsome Jacob to see who entered. A grin crossed her face, and she was on her way to him before the door closed behind him.

"Hank!"

Without slowing, she launched herself into his waiting arms, squealing as he spun her around.

"'ello, darlin'," he said with his deep bassy voice. "Let me get a good lookatcha."

He placed her down and took a step back. She twirled when he gestured her to. He grinned and gave her another hug and kiss before shrugging out of his jacket.

She turned to find Jacob sitting there staring at her with this odd look in his eyes. That sexual shiver overtook her again. She walked to where he sat. His eyes tracked her every step of the way, burning with possessiveness.

"Take all the time you need."

"You're busy?"

She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "Have to finish up Hank's tat. No rush, I'm here all day so let me know if you make a decision." With a flashed grin, she spun back. "Ready, Hank?"

He'd removed his shirt and sat in the chair, presenting her with his muscular back. She turned on some music as she went to where Hank waited.

"How are you?" she asked, drawing on her gloves.

"Few more wounds, few more scars. All good in my book."

She picked up the gun and got to work. "Did you see Charlie?"

"Sorry, darlin'. We were only in camp for two days. I didn't see much aside from my cot and the insides of my eyelids." Her sigh was audible. "I'm sure he's fine."

"You know me; I worry."

"I know."

"Excuse me, Astreah."

She gulped and dabbed Hank's skin clear before looking up. Jacob stood there, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Yes? Find something you like?"

"Yes."

"Wonderful. I'll be done with Hank in about twenty minutes if you want one today. Or we can make an appointment if that works best for you."

Hank grunted and turned his head toward Jacob. "Who are you with?"

She got back to work, the sound of the needle overshadowed by the music.

"Excuse me?"

"He wants to know what branch of the military you're with." She spoke without looking up.

"How'd you know I'm in the military?"

Hank laughed while she smiled. "Years of practice, man, years of practice."

She peered up and met Jacob's gaze. It waited for her. She winked at him. "Grab a seat; you two can talk shop while I work." He hesitated, and she rolled her shoulders. "Unless you were leaving before I get you your gift."

The scrape of a chair made her grin. She wanted him to stick around.

"What trouble are you causin', Trea?"

"None, Hank." She was glad to be working on his shoulder so she didn't have to face him, knowing full well he'd see past her line of bullshit.

He grunted but left it alone. At least for now. "So where?"

"I'm in the Army," Jacob said. "Corporal Tracey."

"Sergeant Hank Byers."

Astreah ducked her head and smiled. A euphoric feeling of calm and contentment filled her. She listened idly as the men chatted about all things military. It made her feel safe. It made things right in her world.

She recalled days like this with Hank and Charlie doing the talking and possibly some of their unit members. This shop tended to turn into a haven for some of the guys. Many times, guys would come in and say either Charlie or Hank had talked about her so much they had to come and meet her in person. She was the "den mother" for many of them, having sent over numerous care packages.

The smile remained intact as she filled in the eagle's wing. She'd been working on his tattoo for a while now; it never seemed to be the right time to finish. She loved her job.

"...my sister is in the hospital about to have a baby."

That got her attention. "How wonderful. A Christmas baby. A niece or nephew?"

Jacob cleared his throat. "A niece."

"Congratulations. So, what are you doing here if she's giving birth?"

"She isn't yet, just in the hospital?"

Glancing up she saw lines of strain in his facial features. Okay, sore subject. "I understand."

The men went back to talking while she concentrated on her task. She snuck a few glances at Jacob, only to find the sea mist eyes watching her. His would become like liquid and flow over her before he'd wink and carry on with his conversation.

Jacob still hung around when she sat up, finished with Hank's tattoo. "There you go."

"Thanks, darlin'."

Peeling off the gloves, she tossed them in the trash. "Anytime."

She watched him reach for his shirt and cover up his muscled upper body. Hank regarded her in silence before his lips twitched up.

"See now, darlin', keep lookin' at me like that and..." he trailed off, eyebrows waggling.

She snorted and went easily into his arms. "Come by before you go?"

He drew back and placed a kiss on her forehead. "Bet on it."

She watched him walk away, stop for a brief word with Jacob. Whatever they talked about had to do with her. The way they both looked at her briefly told her that. Then, Hank was gone.

And she, again, was alone with Jacob. She began to clean up her station, purposefully keeping her gaze down. His heavy boots filled her view, and she swore silently before swallowing and lifting her head.

"Make up your mind?"

"Most definitely." He moved closer, and her heart began pounding out of control.

"Okay. I have until sixteen-hundred free then I have appointments until I close."

He reached out with one hand and dragged his knuckles down the side of her face. Her insides quivered.

"When do you close?"

"Around twenty-thirty."

He grinned. "I'll be back then, and we'll go to supper."

"Are you asking or telling me, Corporal?"

"If I ask, you may say no." Jacob stepped closer still, his larger body tempting her to touch. "So think of it as a gentle order."

"Do I get ribbons?" The devil in her prompted the question.

Lord help her but she wanted him. Never one to hem and haw about what she wanted, she put the question out there.

"Shouldn't that be my question? After all, if it's my gift..."

The door opened, and she smiled sadly. "I think I'd be feeling like it was my gift as well." She stared past him. "Be right with you."

"I will see you tonight, Astreah."

She melted a bit, hearing her name on his lips. "Twenty-thirty."

"Yes, ma'am."

Another tender brush of his knuckles before he did an about-face and strode away. His walk had a hint of swagger in it, and she almost purred. Tonight. Jacob would be all hers, tonight. It was going to be a long day.

She'd been right. The day seemed to inch by. Even when she was busy slinging ink, she continually caught herself watching the clock. There was this deep-rooted need to see him again. It didn't make any sense to her but she had no other way to explain it.

Her final client left at five after eight, and she set about cleaning up. After a while with her back to the door, she froze when the chime announced a person entering. He's here. She turned slowly, a grin on her face, only to realize it wasn't him. Two younger men had entered.

Pants down so the crotches were at their knees and dark shirts with gold hanging around their necks. One wore a ball cap, and the other had a bandanna around his head. She contained her groan, wiped her hands off on her skirt, and addressed them.

"Good evening. Can I help you two with anything?"

Ball cap said, "Jus' lookin', mama."

Bandanna scratched his chest. "This your place?"

She sat on the edge of her desk and glanced between the two. "Yes." Her manner remained relaxed even as she waited to see what they wanted. She wasn't scared of them but she was cautious. She may be a lot of things but stupid wasn't one of them.

The men split, one moving to the left and one to the right. She gave a cursory glance at her watch. Ten minutes to closing. Lifting the remote, she turned down the music and hooked her ankles. She wanted to see Jacob come through the door. Wanted—

She shook her head and sighed. Now was not the time for fanciful thoughts. Where was Jacob? Maybe he wasn't coming. The thought saddened her, and she swung her legs.

Jacob. A man she barely knew anything about other than he was a corporal in the Army and his simplest touch shot fire through her veins. Jacob Tracey. Corporal Jacob Tracey.

The front door opened, and like she'd summoned him, Jacob strolled through into her shop. Her heart leapt up in her throat as her pulse accelerated. He looked just as gorgeous as he had before. Every motion told of his confidence. And, at the same time, it carried a hint of danger.

His eyes of sea mist stared at her from under the brim of his ball cap, and she shivered from the predatory look he leveled at her.

The next second he'd focused on the other two in the shop. When his gaze flashed back to her, she read the silent question there. Was there trouble? She replied with a subtle shake of her head.

The men both glanced at him, and she watched them go back to looking around. She stayed where she was as Jacob glided across the white floors to her.

He didn't speak when he paused before her. Stared and lifted one hand to drag it back down her face. Butterflies took flight in her stomach and pounded her insides. Jacob stopped when his large body could go no farther. His strong legs settled on either side of hers. He pushed back the brim of his hat and gazed at her.

The other two in the shop ceased to matter as she was swallowed up in the passion in Jacob's eyes. One hand stretched out to cup her cheek. She had the oddest urge to nestle closer to him.

"Hey," he murmured.

"Hey yourself. How's your sister?"

She caught the tensing of his jaw. "She's resting."

There was something more going on, but she let it go. It wasn't her business. He removed his hand and swung around to sit beside her on the desk. The feelings he brought to life gave her a bit of pause. It didn't make sense. She needed a moment to regroup so she stood and walked toward the two men.

"I'm closing up for the night now, gentlemen, so you need to get going."

Bandanna looked at her then beyond to where she knew Jacob sat. She could feel his intense gaze upon her.

"You're open tomorrow?" he asked, scratching his teal bandanna.

"From eight until two," she replied, switching into twelve-hour time like she spoke when the person may not be military. Tomorrow was her short day.

"Goodnight."

The two men left, and she locked up behind them. For a moment, she faced the door and took a much-needed deep breath. She made sure her display was still illuminated before she turned around.

Jacob continued to sit where she'd left him, ankles hooked and hands resting against the flat surface, his face giving nothing away. She slowly dragged her eyes up his body, realizing how handsome he was.

Surrounding him was an aura of capability. He seemed calm again after the brief moments of tenseness when his sister had been mentioned. Astreah dusted off her hands and said, "Ready for dinner?"
Chapter Two

Woe is me!

The winged words on why my soul would pierce

Into the heights of love's rare universe

Are chains of lead around its flight of fire—

I pant, I sink, I tremble, I expire

~Percy Bysshe Shelley

Epipsychidion (1821)

Jacob woke with a smile. Immediately and instinctively, he scanned the room. The moment it registered all clear in his hotel room, he allowed himself to relax.

Last night with Astreah had been amazing. She was funny, intelligent, and had this amazing ability to make him smile. Like right now.

She'd taken him to a Mexican restaurant, and they'd had a lovely time. Well, he had. All indications told him she'd had as well. It had taken control he didn't even know he had to not try and get her back to his hotel room. He liked her and didn't wish to use her to sate an itch.

Okay, that was a lie; he did, but he was trying to ignore that.

With a wry grin, he rolled out of bed and took a shower. Not much later. as he tried to figure out what to do for breakfast, he reached for his phone and made a call.

"Hello?" The sleepy and husky voice dragged slowly along his skin, causing his cock to stiffen.

"Did I wake you?" he wondered aloud, contrite. A quick glance at his watch told him it wasn't even oh-six-hundred.

"Mmm. I must be dreaming. I'm imagining I hear the voice of one Jacob Tracey."

"So I did wake you."

"Yes, you did." The sound of Astreah shifting sent his mind down the road of what if. "Do you feel bad?"

"Yes."

"You should." There was no heat to her tone, and he realized she was teasing. "I was having the most amazing dream. You, me, ribbons..."

His shaft stiffened, and he closed his eyes. "You're killing me here, Astreah."

Her laughter made him grin despite the pain his cock was in. "Come by for breakfast."

He leaned against the wall. "Where do you live?"

"Above the shop. Come by."

"On my way." Like anything would keep him from going.

"Wonderful," she said on a soft sigh.

He hustled from the room as he shoved phone, keys, and wallet into his pockets. Once in the cold outside, he waved for a cab. No, he wasn't that far from her place but he was in a rush to see her again. Thankfully, the streets weren't packed, and he even made a detour and picked up some donuts. At her shop, he paid and climbed out. The sign above the door said Fraser's. He knocked on the glass. Nothing.

His cell rang, and he answered without looking at the display screen. "Corporal Tracey."

"I forgot to tell you, come down the alley to the door which says Fraser's on it when you get here."

"Got it."

"Bye." She hung up.

He made his way down the alley, his mind scanning for several ways to improve the security of the area. He needed her to be safe. At the door, he knocked, waited. There was a button for a doorbell but she'd said knock. So he did.

Not even a minute later, the door swung open, bringing him face to face with Astreah. There were no purple eyes today, now she had medium brown ones which sparkled.

"Morning," she said with a wide smile. "Come on in... Ohhh, you brought donuts."

He chuckled as she relieved him of the box. They stood in a storage area. In the back, there was a set of stairs. He had barely finished looking around when she shut and locked the door then started for the stairs.

"Come on up."

He groaned at the sight of her worn low rise jeans as he trailed her up the steps. She wore a tight shirt which had a name he didn't recognize on it.

Luscious was the word that popped into his head.

They went through another door at the top. He could smell bacon and sausage the moment they entered. The warmth made him groan. He looked around. Her place was huge.

"Make yourself at home," she said as she went to the kitchen.

He tossed his jacket over the back of her couch. They'd entered into the living room but he could see through into the kitchen. A very open layout.

The colors were all earthy and made him feel right at home. "Very nice," he said, positioning himself in the doorway to the kitchen.

"Thank you."

"Can I help?"

"Nope, just have to pull the pancakes from the oven where I'd been keeping them warm." She bent over to do just that, and he had to force himself not to move. When she came toward the fridge, he stepped in front of her. "Yes?" He didn't speak just continued staring. "Oh no, please tell me pancakes are—"

"Stop talking."

Her mouth snapped shut, and he cupped her face with both hands. He leaned in to kiss her, giving her time to pull back. She never moved. With little light licks, he stroked along her lips until she opened beneath him.

They groaned simultaneously as his tongue slid into her mouth, and he almost lost it right there. Jacob realized why he hadn't kissed her like this last night. He didn't have the strength to be a gentleman any longer.

She tilted her head and released another sound which was much like a purr, and it shot him from semi to fully aroused. Her taste swarmed him, and he wanted to drown in it. She was fresh and clean. He didn't think he'd ever get enough. Her nails scored the back of his head as she tried to get closer. His meager control snapped, and he yanked control of the kiss.

God, she felt so good in his arms. She fit so perfectly against him. No, she felt right.

Her tongue dueled with his, and his lust kicked up even higher. She broke the kiss and said, "First door on the left."

He kissed her again, already addicted to the softness of her mouth. Any other time, he would have been fine with kissing her and letting her do the same for hours, but right now, he wanted her naked.

Her room told him one thing. Astreah liked comfort. She had a double bed covered by a deep chocolate and navy comforter and pillows. There were no frills, and the walls were covered with drawings. And he had intentions of checking it all out. Later.

He laid her back on the bed, kissing her all over again. Would he ever get enough? He trailed one hand along her side, learning her shape.

She snaked her arms around his neck, pressing closer to him, her curves and softness driving him to the brink. Their clothing was gone in an instant, and he maneuvered himself between her thighs, pausing only to cover himself.

Heaven.

That was his single thought when he pushed into her wetness.

She held him so perfectly as she undulated beneath him, encouraging him with moans and touches. Her heat burned him and had him wanting more. She dug her short nails into the flesh of his shoulders and back. When he thought he could take no more, she whispered his name. "Jacob." That singularly spoken word disseminated any and all remaining rational thought.

* * * *

Jacob knocked briskly on the door before entering. This room had been painted a warm honeyed color. Winter's sun upon them cast a golden glow about the occupants.

Debra sat in her bed, a bundle swathed in pink cradled lovingly in her arms. Her skin still appeared a bit drawn, and the circles under her eyes remained, but her green orbs sparkled as she glanced at him.

"Come meet your niece, Jacob," she invited. Her face had a tired but warm smile upon it.

Brad was not around, and Jacob wondered about that. Quiet steps took him to the bed. Debra drew back a bit of the blanket, and he stared down on his niece. Dark hair covered her tiny head, and her eyes were shut. His heart lurched a bit in his chest.

"Name?"

"We decided to call her Lauren Paige."

Lauren Paige Chapman.

"It's a wonderful name." He stepped back, skirted the bed for the chair facing the door. "Where's Brad?"

She continued to stare at her daughter. "Work. I told him I'd called you, and he should get to work."

He nodded. Debra had called him, a call which had interrupted him and Astreah as they continued to make love. Even now, he felt his body stir at the memory of Astreah's touch. He wouldn't have answered it but Astreah had told him that it may have been important.

"He's changed, Jacob. Honest, he has."

"It's none of my business, Debra."

Her expression fell slightly. "Would you like to hold her?" He hesitated. "Come on."

A bit unsure, he went to her side. He wasn't exactly a gentle man. His hands had killed many, not done much in the way of baby holding. In fact, the only child he really spent time with was Jacey's son, Caleb.

"Okay." He reached out and held his breath as his sister laid Lauren in his arms. "I'm not... I don't have much experience with kids, Debra. Babies, especially."

"I don't either but I know you, Jacob. That's your niece, and you wouldn't hurt her. I trust that."

He sat back in his chair, careful not to jostle Lauren. She fit so snugly against him, her tiny body so helpless. A rush of protectiveness ran roughshod over him as he stared at her. Blinking back the sting of unwanted tears, he lifted his head to find Debra asleep, a smile on her face.

Attention back on Lauren, he took a finger and skimmed it along one cheek, her pale skin so smooth and soft. At his touch, her eyes opened and a blue gaze watched him as if to assess his worth.

"Hello, Lauren. I'm your Uncle Jacob."

She released a buttersoft sigh as her eyes which hadn't stayed open long began to close. In that moment, she stole his heart. He held her as his sister napped. When Debra woke around three, he relinquished the baby for as little time as possible before reclaiming her.

"How much do you need, Debra?" he asked as she finished up her lunch.

"A few thousand." She wouldn't look at him.

"And that will cover it?"

Her emerald gaze finally met his. "It would help."

He sighed and stared at the innocent life he held. She would suffer if he didn't help. And he couldn't—wouldn't—allow that to happen. "How much does Brad owe?" He silenced her attempted protest with a pointed look. "Don't insult me by lying to me."

"Twenty grand."

Shit!

Lauren whimpered, and he relaxed immediately. She quieted.

"Jacob—"

"Drop it, Debra. I'll see what I can do. But I'm only doing this for Lauren."

His sibling swallowed but nodded. Brad showed up and had been there for about an hour when another knock came on the door. From his seat, he saw it swing open and a big balloon bouquet came in. It was the sexy clunky heeled boots on the person that made him smile.

Astreah.

"Hello," she said, stopping by the edge of the bed. "Congrats on your baby girl. I brought you balloons and a plant, 'cause I wasn't sure if you were allergic to flowers or not. And I brought a bag for your baby."

"Who are you?" Brad asked suspiciously.

Jacob watched her carefully for signs of hurt feelings that he'd not mentioned her to them. None. In fact, she didn't miss a beat.

"I'm Astreah. Astreah Sims. I met Jacob, and he told me his sister was here having a baby." She sent him a smile which warmed him right up.

"So you met my brother and came here with gifts for me?" Debra shook her head. "Why would you do that?"

"Easy," she said with a smile. "You're family." Astreah moved to his side. "She's beautiful. And look at you seeming right at home holding her. What's her name?"

Debra's eyes grew wide. "Wait a second. Family? Are you two..."

He waited curious to see how Astreah work this one. Her head snapped up as if her word choice had just dawned on her.

"Oh no. Sorry, let me clarify." When she went to step away, he captured her wrist and stroked his thumb over her pulse. She glanced at him, and he gave her a wink. "I meant that in a military sense. We help our own, and while I'm not as active in such things, I thought you may be able to use the things we usually give to new mothers."

Debra smiled. "It's wonderful; thank you. Jacob, let her hold Lauren."

And just like that, Astreah charmed his sister and the two of them began talking, Lauren held confidently by Astreah. He shook his head before catching Brad's eye. They stepped out of the room.

"I'll cover your debt, Brad. Not for your sake or Debra's. But for Lauren. You do this again, and I'll take care of you before any bookie or loan shark can. Don't you ever place my sister or niece in danger again."

Brad didn't speak. There was nothing he could say, and so, Jacob went back in. The women were talking still. Astreah stayed for an hour before saying she had to go.

Jacob escorted her to the elevator. While they waited for the car, he drew her close and kissed her. Devoured her and asked for more. She responded like a match to a flame. Instantly. Explosively.

She ended it, lips swollen and skin flushed. "You are a very lucky man."

He ran his hand through her hair. "I know."

Astreah grabbed the lapels of his jacket and dragged him in the elevator with her. They kissed all the way to the ground floor. "I want to see you tonight. I never got to show you my ribbon." A final kiss and she was gone leaving, him in the elevator with a dick doing it's damndest to punch free.
Chapter Three

Astreah locked up her shop and stood outside, taking in the night. Snow fell extremely lightly but enough to bring a smile to her face. Not enough to blanket the city in the hushed calm only snow can bring, yet she'd take it.

"Hello, beautiful."

She glanced over her shoulder to find Jacob approaching. This time her smile was wide and welcoming. "Hey there. How are you?"

He appeared almost pensive for a spell. "Better now."

"How's your sister?"

"Wishing she could go home." He propped a shoulder against the door. "Plans for the night?"

Other than going home and thinking about you? Not really. "No. Something you have in mind?"

"I do. Come with me."

She glanced at her attire. Thigh-high heeled boots, tee shirt, and a mini skirt. "Not sure I want to go around outside like this. Not exactly walking clothes. Not in winter, anyway."

"So you can change first. Let's go."

"Where are we going?" she asked as they went to the door leading to her place.

They climbed the stairs and entered. The only lights on were the Christmas lights, and she left it that way, heading to her bedroom. Jacob was behind her, and he leaned against the doorway as she tried to decide what to wear.

"You never answered me."

"Wear something comfortable."

"I am but not for long walks," she muttered with an eye roll.

Eventually, she decided on a sweatshirt and a pair of comfortable jeans. As she sat on her bed and pulled on her socks, her gaze drifted to the door where Jacob had vanished through before she changed. She could hear him doing something out there.

Lacing up her Chuck Taylor All Star Union Jack Converse, she took a moment. What am I doing? I barely know him.

Not entirely true but she was meaning more than just the physical.

Do I really want to get involved with someone in the military? I know how things usually end up. She'd watched her brother go through numerous relationships. It took a special person to be able to withstand the trials and tribulations that come with being in a relationship with a military member.

"Just enjoy your time with him, Astreah. Don't make more of it than it may be," she admonished herself.

She got to her feet and went to the main part of her place and found him in her kitchen. "What's this?"

"Dinner."

"You didn't have to do that." Yet the gesture was so touching in her estimation.

"I know." His smile was gentle, softening the harsh lines of his face. "I wanted to."

"Grilled cheese and soup." Comfort food. Especially on a cold winter night.

"Tomato soup." He put the bowls out on each platter then added the sandwiches as well. He cut hers diagonally, and she stared at him. "I remembered you said your mother used to do that for you."

He actually listened to something I said. "Thank you." His action touched her more than she could verbalize.

Jacob sat beside her, and they ate. All through dinner, he asked her about her day and the tattoos she'd done. She realized he had no wish to discuss his day so she didn't pry.

"Ready?" he asked after she put the dishes in the sink.

"I'd say yes but given as I'm not sure where you're taking me..."

"Gonna have to wait and see."

She made a face at him, only to find him holding her coat. Astreah grabbed her ID and some money before swiping her keys and allowing him to assist her on with her jacket.

Jacob flagged them down a taxi and had his arm around her as the driver took them through the snow-covered streets to Fifth Avenue. They stopped between Forty-ninth and Fiftieth Streets. Rockefeller Center. She exited while he paid and glanced around at all the decorations up. Truly was a magical time of year in her estimation.

"Can you skate?" Jacob asked in her ear.

"Can I? Yes. Am I good? Meh, I can make it around a rink without bruising my ass but I'm no Olympian."

"I promise to rub any bruises you may incur on this venture."

She chuckled as he guided her through the Channel Gardens and down the stairs at the promenade where they were met by a greeter at the Skate House. Astreah watched the play of lights in his dark hair as she waited for him to finish lacing up his own. The snow still fell at its earlier lazy rate, merely sprinkling a few flakes here and there.

They skated on to the ice and joined the others out there. Jacob reached out and took her hand. Her red glove was engulfed by his black leather one. The simplicity of his gesture and the innocence of it warmed her completely.

* * * *

Jacob reacted swiftly when Astreah stumbled. He had been skating backward and talking to her so when he caught her, they were face to face. Perfect.

"Oh, my God," she said, face delightfully flushed. Was it from the cold or his closeness? He wasn't sure but he hoped it had a bit to do with him.

"You okay there?"

"Embarrassed to fall, given I said I could make it around the rink without doing so. I mean, it's not like there was anything in my way."

"I don't mind," he assured her. "Having you in my arms is wonderful, whatever the reason which put you there." He brushed the back of his glove along her face. "I'd always embrace the opp of having you in my arms."

"Sweet talker you."

Jacob set her upright and glided back. "You know it. Come on." He beckoned her, and she pushed toward him. Making a circle around her, he grinned when she huffed.

"Show off. How come you skate so well?"

"My grandparents had a lake and I spent a lot of time out there in winter." He shrugged. "There were no hills for downhill skiing and going fast on the ice was addictive for me."

She could see it. A young Jacob Tracey racing along the lake, pretending he was flying. "Do you still visit them?"

"I lost them when I was in my teens."

"I'm so sorry." She reached out and placed her hand on his arm. The red of her glove adding a vibrant splash of color along his black leather jacket. "I didn't mean to pry. Nor bring up—"

He covered her mouth. "It's fine. They both lived long, wonderful lives."

She nodded and he removed his hand. Had anyone looked so innocently sexy? Her eyes were dark blue tonight and matched the knit cap perched at a jaunty angle on her head.

They skated for another hour before departing the ice. He crouched before her and tied on her shoes. Astreah didn't speak just watched him with a partial smile. Almost like she was lost in thought. Good thoughts.

For a moment, he remained on his knees before her. This woman filled a void in his heart and soul. He'd not known her very long but he couldn't change how he felt.

"Yes?" she asked.

He reached up for a quick kiss then stood and offered his hand. She took it, and he led them to get some hot chocolate.

Back at her place, he joined her on the floor before the couch. The Christmas lights offering the only illumination. Soft kisses were exchanged, eventually growing more and more lengthy.

Resting his arm on a cushion, he used his other hand to touch her hair and dragged a finger along the whorl of her ear, skimming over her earrings. She'd taken out her contacts so he got to stare at and enjoy her beautiful brown eyes.

"Why the colored contacts?"

Astreah drew abstract designs on the back of his hand before touching each of his fingers, rubbing the pad of her thumb along each nail.

"I enjoy being different. Besides, I always wanted to be able to change my eye color dependent on my clothes for the day. They allow me to do that."

"A kid at heart."

"Always."

As the night progressed, they talked about their childhoods and more. Always touching one another as the hour grew later and later. When he woke the next morning, they were lying on the carpet, fully dressed and limbs intertwined. Her warm body against his was such an aphrodisiac. Arousal spiked through him but he ignored it, wanting to just enjoy her in his arms.

She stirred and placed her hands under his shirt, palms flat against his torso. "What's the time?" she asked, voice husky with sleep.

He checked his watch and noted the time. "Early."

Her chuckle made him smile. "Is that an official time?"

"It could be. Oh-dark-thirty a better answer?"

"Yes." She burrowed closer.

"Today's your day off."

"Yes, it is."

"Spend the day with me?"

"Lots of hot, sweaty sex?"

His shaft pulsed, and Jacob knew its thoughts. "I'm not averse to that," he said.

"But?"

It amazed him how in tune she was to him. "I want to get to know more about you."

"Hmm. I'm very lazy."

"Sure you are," he replied sarcastically.

"I am when I'm lying against a hard male body." She raked her nails over his skin and lifted her head. "If I said I'd show you mine if you show me yours, would that get any reaction?"

He kissed her, thrusting his tongue deep. "Hell yeah." Jacob rolled so she lay beneath him. "Oh, hell yeah."

I could fall in love with this woman. If I haven't already.

* * * *

Astreah laughed as Jacob took a snowball to the face, launched by one of the children he engaged in a snowball fight with. They'd gone to two museums earlier then headed to enjoy Central Park. Now, her date had joined up with a group of youngsters having a snowball fight.

She sat on a bench with a large coffee and watched them play. Jacob may have called her a kid at heart but he truly was one. A woman beside her was the mother of one of the children.

"Do you two have kids?"

Astreah shook her head. "We're not married, just dating."

"He's very good with them."

"Yes, he is."

Astreah chewed on her thumbnail as she watched him. This was their last day together, and while part of her wanted to be selfish and keep him all to herself, she couldn't help but admire his interaction with the others. He helped the girls make snowballs, gave everyone pointers on how to better throw them, and just looked entirely at ease.

A man of many faces. When he'd suggested a museum this morning, she'd thought he was kidding. When he suggested the Museum of Sex, she laughed and shook her head. They'd gone instead to the Bronx Museum of the Arts and the Museum of Jewish Heritage – A Living Memorial to the Holocaust.

The snow fell harder today but it didn't stop the enthusiasm with which the group played. The group grew larger as a few more fathers joined in, and when Jacob beckoned to her, Astreah adamantly shook her head and held up her coffee.

"Come on," he hollered to her.

"I'm good right here, thank you very much."

He snorted. "You probably throw like a girl."

She toasted him. "Good thing I am a girl."

Jacob spoke the kids around him then strode toward her. He kissed her, and she stopped him inches away from putting snow down the back of her coat.

"Not nice, Jacob."

Swinging to sit beside her, he kissed her again. "I'm sorry." He spoke to the mother beside them for a few moments before returning his gaze to Astreah. "Let's go. I want you to myself for the rest of the day."

She wasn't going to argue that at all. They stood, and he wrapped his arm around her waist as they walked away, waving to the children as they departed. It sucked falling in love with a man who was about to leave.

* * * *

Five months later, early May

Washington State

Astreah rubbed her back as she stood after having been bent over for so long. But the stuff had been done, and she was good. The wind was warm as it blew over her from the window. She had just put up a windowsill herb garden. Fresh herbs were definitely the way to go.

If it would keep was another issue. She was visiting her brother in Washington and had done it for him. It was weird being back to a base. But her brother, Hank, and one other guy shared this house. It was near to the base, and she'd gone on post a couple of times.

Still being on or near a military instillation made her think about Jacob. Okay, so a lot of things made her think about him. It had been one hell of a Christmas, that's for sure.

"What are you doing?"

"Fixing you a place for herbs to grow," she replied without turning.

"You're here to relax, not work," Charlie admonished.

"I've been relaxing. I'm bored."

"Well, come on, we're ready to go to the beach house."

She faced her only remaining family. "Are you sure it's okay I come along? I know this is when you all cut loose and relax. I don't want to get in the way of that."

"Stop being a pain. Everyone's looking forward to it. Come on."

She hurried after him, swiping her prepacked bag, and climbed into the back of the black Yukon. Her spot was beside Hank. As the masculine voices floated around her, she stared out at the Olympic Mountains.

They had rented a house along the beach for a week. She just enjoyed the ride, eventually being lulled into a slight doze. The sun was low in the sky when she stirred again.

She got out slowly and stretched as cool air off the ocean blew over her. Three more vehicles parked beside them, men and women piling out.

"Come on, let's get settled," Charlie said with a grin.

Poking her head back in, she located and grabbed her bag before heading into the house. Claiming a small bedroom in the back with a single bed, Astreah joined the others in covering the short distance from the porch to the water's edge. She helped set up the net for a game of volleyball but declined to play. Instead, she made her way back to the porch where she sank with a groan onto a padded chair.

"Here."

Hank stood there, holding out a bottle of tea. She took it with a grateful smile. He lowered himself to a rocker beside her.

"Why aren't you playing volleyball, Hank?" She opened the bottle and took a refreshing drink.

"What's up with you, Trea?"

She tucked some stands of her hair behind her ear. "Nothing's up with me, Hank. Why do you ask?"

He arched a brow and blew out an exasperated breath. "You're different. What's up? And what's with the bum look?"

She frowned at him. "Bum look?"

"Yes. What's with the baggy clothing? You rarely dress like this. I mean, you don't even have your boots on."

She laughed and leaned back. "You want me to wear five inched platform boots to the beach?"

He shrugged and shook his head. "Well, no, but you know what I mean."

"I wore them yesterday. I had on my favorite pair. I'm just not wanting to wear them this week. I plan on staying barefoot. Maybe a pair of sandals."

Hank leaned closer. "Tell me true, Trea. Is everything okay?"

"I'm fine, Hank." She took another drink and got to her feet. The world shifted slightly on its axis, and she ingested some deep breaths while she waited for it to settle back down. He had his hand on her arm, watching her with his hellishly intent gaze. "I'm fine. I just stood up too fast here."

"I'm worried about you."

She knew that, and while she loved him for it, there was nothing he could do for her. "I know. But you have to believe me. Now, if you really want to continue to play big brother, come walk with me down the beach." With a punch to his shoulder, she added, "You know, to keep all those unruly military types away from me."

"You are such a pain in the ass."

They meandered down the steps to the sand. "I know. Good thing I'm so cute."

He laughed and tugged her hair. The simple familiarity of it made her began to breathe a bit easier. Perhaps things would fall into place and everything would be fine.

Please, let me be correct about this. She hollered to her brother they'd be back and walked off beside Hank. They passed children playing in the surf. Dogs barking and running around, chasing the children or frisbees. A few volleyball games also popped up along their walk.

They'd gone about a mile when they came near to another group of people. She counted eight people playing volleyball. Better make that nine. There was a younger child on one of the sides as well. She noticed three black women in the mix of men.

The wind picked up, and the hard hit ball sailed directly toward them. She stopped it with her foot and lifted it up. A lean, shirtless man jogged over and flashed her a grin.

"Thanks," he said.

"No problem," she replied handing the ball back.

Damn! Hot Damn!

The stranger had dark chestnut hair which hung in a shaggy yet attractive style around his tanned face. All of his hard body was tanned, telling her he spent a lot of time outdoors. Not to mention shirtless. He had sparkling hazel eyes and a sexy grin on his face.

"You here for awhile?" he asked both of them but his gaze never wavered from her.

"We're up the beach a bit. And yes, for the week."

"We...as in together we, or as in a group and you two are just walking together?"

She chuckled even as Hank grunted. "As in a group."

Handsome's smile got bigger. "Wonderful."

Before he could say anything more two more people jogged up. "Brian!" the woman said as she slowed to a stop by them. "Man, you have to give us the ball back."

"You know how he gets around a beautiful woman, Jace," the man with her said.

Cripes. The woman was stunning and the man... Holy crap, he was just as hot as the one who'd been called Brian. His hair was in a stylish cut, the hue of melted caramel and his eyes...oh boy...they were the color of deepening twilight.

"Very true, Rance." She faced them and held out her hand. "I'm Jacey."

"Hi, I'm Astreah." Hank introduced himself and she also shook the hand of the two men there.

"Would y'all like to join us?" Jacey asked.

"Oh, thank you, but we have to get back up the beach. But, we're having a cookout later on if you would like to stop by," Hank said.

Jacey grinned. "Are you sure? This group can sure put it away."

She laughed. "I think that's a military thing. Stop by if you want. We'll be eating in about three hours." Hank moved off to talk to the men, and she stayed with Jacey.

"That would be lovely. I'm sure we'd have a blast. Count us in. Can we bring anything along?"

"If you have anything you want grilled special, otherwise I'm sure we've got it covered." She paused. "Maybe some drinks."

"Got it."

She passed along how to find their house, and she and Hank walked off the beach with farewells and waves. She thought about the people they'd just met. She knew military men, and being as this place was often used by military personnel, she figured they were all serving. Which meant that with their longer hair or non-military regulation haircuts, they were Special Forces and had just come from—or were going to be going to—an operation in another country. She sighed and wished them all the best for what they did. Back in front of their rental, they discovered the game in full swing.

"Go play, Hank. I'm going to go lie down for a bit."

"Okay," he said. "I'll tell your brother you just invited eleven mouths to dinner."

She snorted and walked inside the house. Back in her bedroom, she sank gratefully to the mattress of her twin bed. She closed her eyes and let the cool ocean breeze combined with the noises of friends and family to accompany her to sleep.

"Wake up, Astreah."

She opened her eyes to find Charlie standing over her. "What, Charlie?"

"We're starting to cook. Your friends are here, too, so come out and be social."

"Okay, okay. I'm on my way. Did you put out the stuff from the fridge?"

He arched a brow at her and walked away. "I'm not dignifying that with an answer," he said as he left.

She chuckled softly as she got changed. While it wasn't winter, it was still relatively cool along the water here, so she tugged on one of her brother's sweatshirts and figured that would be enough. There would be bonfires not to mention the grill. She'd be fine.

The dog was the first thing she noticed when she stepped out onto the porch. A large black German Shepherd. He, at least she figured it was a he, ran around the young boy she'd seen playing volleyball.

"Hey there," Jacey said, popping up beside her.

"Hi. I see you all made it."

"Yes. We rarely turn down free food." The brilliance of her smile put Astreah even more at ease.

"Understand. How long are you all here for?"

"Just until the week's out. Y'all?"

"Same. My brother and his unit needed a bit of downtime."

"We did, too."

"Oh, you serve with them?"

"Sure do. And that one running around is my son, Caleb. And our dog, Shadow."

"He's adorable." She dug her fingers into her palms and continued to smile.

"I like to think so, but I've been told I'm biased on that front." Jacey hollered something to the child in a language Astreah didn't know, and he waved his hand in acknowledgement. "Can I help with anything? Your brother said there may be some more things to bring out."

Crap, she'd totally forgotten to check for anything left inside. "Let's go see."

They entered and walked back out each holding another bowl of food. Jacey carried some macaroni salad, and she carried some potato salad. Everyone seemed to be getting along just fine when they made it back to the tables.

Hank approached her and slipped an arm around her waist. "Are you okay?" he asked.

She frowned and glanced askew at him. "Why do you keep asking me that? I told you I was fine," she lied through her teeth.

He shook his head concern etching across his expression. "You don't know yet, do you?"

Her stomach clenched. Could Charlie know? She gulped and shrugged with more nonchalance than she felt. "Don't know what?"

Was her night about to get worse?

"Hey, Jack. I found it!" a male hollered.

A tingle raced up her spine, and her world tilted. It couldn't be. Could it? Turning her head slowly to the left, she watched the man jog up toward them. She wanted to run and hide. She wanted to hurry to him and jump into his embrace. What she did was neither, but she finally knew what Hank had been asking her. And the answer to his question was no. Emphatically, unequivocally no. She wasn't okay. Wasn't sure she would be ever again.

The man stopped and handed something over to Jacey, whom he'd called Jack then looked at Astreah and paused. She found herself captured and drowning in amazing eyes the color of verdant sea mist.

Jacob Tracey.
Chapter Four

In the midst of love I see one thing in everything within my gaze;

Not a tree, not a blade of grass, but a vision of you.

~Emperor Fushimi (1265-1317)

Jacob couldn't believe what—or rather who—stood right before him. Astreah Sims. The woman who had shown him the most amazing Christmas he'd ever experienced. He couldn't pull his gaze from her. He had missed her so much. Never had he spent a more pleasurable Christmas. So intent was he on her, he barely registered Jacey taking the bag he'd brought that she asked for.

"Astreah." Her name fell from his lips, almost a sigh.

She looked good. She looked damn good. Her hair, a few inches longer than it had been still bore the intense red color it had been before. Soft tendrils curled around her face, courtesy of the wind. Her eyes were light green today, and he wished they were her brown color. Even still, he could see a bit of shock in them combined with a slight bit of panic. But why?

"Hello, Jacob," she said softly. "It's good to see you again. How are your sister and niece doing?"

"Fine," he croaked. "Everyone is fine."

He focused on the way Hank's arm draped around her. It bothered Jacob more than he wanted to admit. He prided himself on not being a possessive man, but seeing this made him want to punch Hank in the face.

"You look great," he said.

Her smile was strained but present. A fact which bothered him, for the Astreah he remembered had been so much more vibrant and carefree.

"I take it you two know each other then," Jack remarked, deadpan.

He skimmed the growing crowd. Another man positioned himself on the other side of Astreah. Her brother, recognizable from the portraits she had of him in her apartment.

"I met her in New York City over Christmas. Hank, too."

"I see," Jack replied. And he knew she did see. Everyone in Zulu Spectre saw.

"Name's Charlie. I guess you know my sister. My baby sister."

There was warning drenched all over that statement. "I do," he stated, doing his damndest to refrain from putting his gaze back on the woman of topic.

Charlie nodded. "Cool. You up for a game?"

And just like that there was space created between him and Astreah. Space he didn't like or want. The only good thing was Hank left her side to play as well. They halted the volleyball game when a sharp whistle pierced the air. Astreah stood with another male by the food, talking and laughing.

Falling in with the others, he grabbed a plate and loaded it up with food. He grabbed a drink from the ice chest and pivoted around to find a place to eat. Folding chairs were set all around, and he almost went to one when he spied Astreah in the shadows. She stood alone, hands on her back, as if it was sore, and her head lowered. Exhaustion poured from her, and he began walking toward her.

"Bam Bam!"

He halted and searched for the man who'd called him. Another teammate, Dale "Lights" Curtayn, waved at him. Beside him were two very attractive women.

Stifling his groan, he stole a last look at Astreah and made his way to where his friend and the two women sat. He had a good time. The woman served in the army and where fun to be with. Music blared as people talked, drank and mingled.

Heading to the table which held the bottles of liquor, he spied Astreah again off by herself, lingering in the shadows. He swiped two beers and headed toward her, refusing to be away from her any longer.

He'd been watching her, surreptitiously, throughout the evening. There were some differences about her, other than her hair. She'd put on some weight. Not a lot, but he could tell her face had filled out.

"Hey," he said quietly, moving up behind her.

She whirled around, surprise obvious at his appearance. The same slightly panicked looked showed itself before disappearing behind a composed expression.

"Hey yourself."

He handed her one of the beers and grabbed a seat beside her on the large piece of driftwood. It was hell being beside her and not holding her, kissing her. He shifted so his thigh pressed along hers.

"So...Special Forces, huh?"

He took a drink and said, "What? What makes you think that?"

Her responding laughter made him smile.

"I've been around long enough to know. Is Jacey the same one you mentioned before?"

He nodded. "Yes, she is." He waved it off. "I don't want to talk about her. Tell me how you're doing."

She wedged the beer in the sand between her feet. "Biz is going really well. Hired another person so Hoang isn't the only one working there besides myself."

He'd met Hoang once. A very nice, extremely talented Vietnamese man. "Another guy?" he asked.

"Nope. A girl named Cherry."

"Cherry?"

She shrugged. "So she says. Seemed a little lost but she's got scary talent at slinging ink."

He tipped his head back and stared up at the starry sky. "Always helping others, aren't you?" Glancing at her again, he brushed some of her hair away from her eyes.

"If I can, yes. And what about you? Besides saving the world, of course."

He grinned and drank some more. "Of course. Well, you know filling in for Superman takes a lot of my time, but when I'm not doing that, I've been relaxing."

Another laugh. "Superman, huh?"

"What you can't see the resemblance?" He placed a hand over his chest, and she laughed harder, drawing gazes from the main group.

"I think I would need to see you in your tights and cape first."

This time, he almost spit out his drink.

"Trea! Come over here for a minute, will you?" Hank hollered.

She got to her feet and said, "Well, 'man of steel' would work for you. I can attest to that. Not sure if you leap tall buildings in a single bound and I don't know what your kryptonite is, so sure, I'll go with Superman. Later Supes." Then, she walked away her full hips swaying gently with her natural gait.

His kryptonite? All evidence pointed to Astreah Sims.

She stood near the fire offering him a side profile. The wind lifted and blew across them. He barely noticed for all his attention was on Astreah. More specifically, her midsection. The wind plastered her sweatshirt to her—only for a few hundredths of a second—but that was more than enough time for him to see. He saw the swell of her abdomen. She immediately pulled on her top to hide the evidence, but he knew. Astreah was pregnant. Her gaze flicked in his direction, the fear present again, before she looked away.

He surged to his feet, reached down for her drink and found it full. She'd not even opened it.

Christ! Could it be true? Maybe his eyes had played tricks on him. He strode toward her, ignoring everything but her. It barely dawned on him that everyone around them fell silent.

"Astreah." She met his gaze, and in the depths of hers, he read the truth. "We really need to talk."

"Hang on, man, I'm talking—"

"It can wait." He bit the words out.

Tension ratcheted up between the two groups as they backed their own teammate. Leaving Astreah in the middle with the fire at her back.

"Back off, Corporal," Hank warned.

Jacob ignored him. "Astreah, either you come with me or we have this out right now."

Her brother Charlie stepped up next to Hank. "You've got a lot of nerve, bud, trying to order my sister around." Astreah tried to speak only to be immediately silenced.

"Astreah?" Jacob asked again.

"You better leave before this gets ugly," Charlie said, crossing beefy arms over his barrel-like chest.

"No way. Not until she talks to me."

Griz stepped up and touched his shoulder. "Let's go, solider."

Like hell he was going. "Damn it, Astreah!" he hollered as Rance "Quint" MacLean and Alexander "Sweets" Greene began forcing him away from her, off down the beach. "Is it mine? I deserve to know if you are carrying my baby!"

Everyone there froze; silence descended over them except for the waves crashing on the shore and the crackling of the fire.

"Trea?" Charlie faced his sister. "Are you pregnant?"

Oh shit. None of them knew. Until Jacob had opened his big mouth. Her shame-filled eyes moved from him to her brother.

"Talk to me, Astreah," he said, jerking free and approaching her.

"Back off," Charlie growled ominously.

He bristled in response. "Hell, no. This is between your sister and me."

"Not if she don't want it to be, boy."

Boy. Boy? He hadn't been called that since he first entered boot camp. He took another step forward, ready to prove he was no boy.

"Stop it," Astreah said, stepping forward. "Just stop." She glanced at Jacob. "Let's go."

He tensed when Charlie grabbed her arm. She said something to him in a language he didn't know. But, apparently, it was enough to appease the scowling man for he released her. Jacob fell into step beside her and they walked away, heading up the beach in the opposite direction from his cabin. The moment they were out of sight of the gawkers, he captured her wrists and tugged her close to him. Pressed them together and groaned as her body aligned with his. Her curves enticed him to no end.

"Astreah."

"I can't believe you did that," she said harshly.

"Believe it," he snapped. He tightened his grip upon her arm. "Tell me."

Jacob was pissed. Astreah knew that. It wasn't hard to figure out. Gone was the man she'd been joking with earlier. She knew she had to tell him. And yet, still she couldn't quite bring herself to say those actual words. So she went a different route, tried a different tactic.

"How did you know?" she asked, keeping her voice calm.

"I know your body, Astreah. I learned every inch, every succulent inch of it while we were together. You are burned into here," he said, tapping his temple. "When the wind blew your sweatshirt..." he trailed off.

She shivered from the intimate nuance his words gave her. He had been burned into her as well. But not only her head; this man had been seared into the very makeup of her heart.

"The answer is yes," she said, ignoring her personal desire to have this man love her. Ten days, they spent together. Ten blissful, passionate, and incredible days.

Lightning flashed in his eyes, making them dangerous like a storm tossed sea. "You didn't think that would be news I might want to know?"

She licked her lips and wriggled her bare toes in the sand, cooled now versus earlier when it had the sun beating down upon it. What could she say? There was no claim that she had no way to get in touch with him. She had his phone numbers, both home and cell.

He released her and swore, low and furious. Fingers stretched, he rubbed the outside corners of his eyes then the bridge of his nose. She didn't say a word when he circled her wrist and tugged her down to sit beside him on the sand.

She leaned back against the large driftwood log. The breeze had picked up again, and she was glad to be clad in a sweatshirt. Although, she figured she should be nervous about his reaction, she wasn't. In fact, it was the opposite; a feeling of relief settled around her shoulders like a warmed blanket.

She'd been keeping this secret for almost five months now. Not even sharing the news with Hoang, who was pretty much her confidant in everything. Now, she'd finally been able to tell. If the reason was that the first person she told happened to be the father of the unborn baby she carried in her womb, she wasn't sure. All she knew was she felt better, regardless of the fact she knew there would be more stress later.

"I didn't know what to do," she admitted. "When I found out, I didn't want to believe it, and I made them run another test."

Jacob sat beside her, not touching her but instead, rested his arm over one knee. "It was that time right before I left," he stated.

She didn't bother to answer. It had been. That had been the only time they'd not used protection. Every other time, they'd been so careful, but that one...that one final joining, they'd been so lost in a passionate haze, it hadn't even registered until they'd finished. And neither of them said anything about it, just kind of ignored the elephant in the room.

Stretching out her legs, she sighed and gazed up at the moonless sky. The stars shone so brightly, though, one didn't need the moon. "I am sorry," she whispered.

"Why?"

There was no reason to pretend she didn't understand his question. "I didn't want you to feel... I just... Hell, I don't know. I have no clue. I really have no clue. I could spew a hundred different things, but in all honesty, I have no reason why I didn't tell you."

"At least you're honest about it."

She drew up one knee and rested her chin on it. "I'm not the type to lie, Jacob."

"So you may claim, Astreah, but it's pretty damn similar if you just omit it."

"So what happens now?" she asked with a wince as she was hit with a back spasm.

"What's wrong?" He faced her, and she could see the convergence of his brows as he stared at her.

"Nothing. Just a twinge. They happen on occasion."

"Come on," he said, getting to his feet and offering her a hand.

She took it and he pulled her up with ease. "Where are we going?"

"You need to lie down."

Her eyes narrowed. "I'm neither a kid nor an invalid, Jacob. I don't need you telling me what to do."

His laugh was harsh and not at all comforting. "Baby, I'm going to be all over you until that baby comes whether you like it or not, making sure everything goes as smoothly as it can."

She froze. What the hell did that mean? He tugged on her, forcing her to keep moving. "What do you mean?"

"You're a smart woman, Astreah. What do you think I mean?"

Honestly, she didn't want to think about it. Right about now, she wanted to go lie down and cover her head. In fact, heading back to New York seemed like a great thing. The nearer they got to the people around the fire at her house, the thicker the silence stretched between them. Every single person there fell silent and gazed at them as they walked into view.

Charlie approached. "Astreah?"

She could see the concern he had etched into his face. A shake of her head and a wan smile was all she could afford him. Jacob still hadn't released her, but he no longer held her by the wrist; now, they held hands. Or rather he held hers.

"What the fuck is going on here?" her brother demanded.

Jacob's tensing was as easy to notice as her own heartbeat. She licked her lips and said, "I'm pregnant with Jacob's baby. I'm almost five months along."

At her announcement, everyone began talking at once. From both sides, some offering congratulations, others asking if she was sure. Her brother was one.

"Are you sure, Astreah?"

She glared up at him, her only living relative. "Yes, I'm sure. I had them run the test twice. Besides, do you think I would be wearing all these baggy shirts if I wasn't sure?"

"Why are you?" he asked.

"Because I didn't want you to know. I didn't want anyone to know!" she cried.

Jerking free of Jacob's hold, she ran past them all to the house, stumbled inside, and made her way to her bedroom. She didn't need this. This...this had been why she'd kept her mouth shut. She curled up on the narrow bed and squeezed her eyes shut.

After a bit of time, she felt the bed dip beside her. A familiar touch on the back of her thigh brought her head up. A light was on in the room, and it allowed her to see every inch of Jacob's face. His black hair fell forward over one eye obstructing her view, and she almost reached out and smoothed it back.

"What are you doing here? You know what? Never mind, just go away."

He didn't. In fact, he came closer. He found a way to wedge behind her on the bed, and unless she wanted to fall off, she had to press tight against him.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said. "Unless you want to come back to the other cabin. I have a double bed there."

Her mind flashed to him at dinner when he was sitting with Ashley and Jennifer as well as one of his other teammates. "Why don't you go ask Ashley or Jennifer."

His lips teased the length of her neck. "Well, they are more than welcome to sleep in my bed. I'll be with you, so if you want to go to my bed, they'll have to stay here in yours."

She shook her head embarrassed by her jealousy. "I don't need you, Jacob," she said, ignoring the pain in her heart at those words.

"But I need to be a part of this, Astreah." His hand wound around her body to settle upon the swollen abdomen she had. "This baby is mine as well."

She rolled her lower lip in her teeth. She couldn't deny him being a part of this child's life. That wasn't her. "Okay," she finally said. "You are the father; I can't deny you that."

"That's all I ask." He paused for a moment and kissed her, right behind the ear, and she shivered with the onslaught of desire which hit her. "For now."

For now? Crap. What did that mean?

Bam. Bam. Bam.

"Astreah! I'm coming in!" Charlie hollered through the door seconds before he opened it and stood there, a glower on his face. "What is going on in here?" he demanded.

She narrowed her gaze at her brother and shrank back farther into Jacob's chest. "We just finished having sex, Charlie, that's why were scrambling to get our clothes on before you barge in... Oh wait, you're already here." Sarcasm dripped from her tone. "What does it look like we're doing? Could it be...oh, maybe, I don't know, we're just lying here?"

"I get it," he groused. "Can the sarcasm."

Jacob shifted, and she could feel him tense again. Patting the hand which currently resided over their unborn child, she stared at her brother. "I know we need to talk, and I'll meet you out in the living room in five minutes."

Her brother hesitated but gave a sharp nod and spun around leaving them alone. She slowly disentangled from Jacob's arms and got to her feet. "I have to go talk to him."

"What about me? Us? This situation."

"We can talk tomorrow."

He got to his feet and stalked her until she could go no farther courtesy of the wall. "If you believe nothing else about me, Astreah, believe me on this. If I show up here tomorrow and find you've run, it won't be pretty. Trust me, baby, I will find you."

She swallowed hard at the promise in his voice. "I'll be here."

His smile was strained. "Good." He gestured for her to lead the way up the hall to the living room.

Charlie waited, sitting in a chair, arms crossed, and what she was starting to believe was a permanent scowl on his face. Jacob looked at him and then walked by her to the door.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Astreah." She nodded and clasped her hands before her. He stepped out the door, only to come back in and stare at her for a brief moment. "I forgot something," he muttered.

"What's that?"

He strode toward her, barely slowly when he reached her. One arm slid around her waist and the other along her shoulders. She'd barely registered his touch before his mouth descended upon hers.

Oh shit! She'd forgotten what kissing him was like. Well, not forgotten, but her memories had nothing on the real thing. His tongue surged deep, sweeping along the top and sides. She whimpered, arching closer to him. His taste flooded her, and she instantly craved more, needed more, would beg for more. Their tongues danced with one another, teasing and tantalizing. Then, it was over.

"That," he whispered against her lips. "That was what I forgot."

He whirled around and was gone, leaving her aroused and desperate for more of his touch. Heart pounding hard, she glanced to her brother whose glower had deepened. She sat on the edge of a chair and placed her palms on her thighs. "It's like this," she said.
Chapter Five

Love knows not distance, it hath no continent;

Its eyes are for the stars...

~Gilbert Parker

Parables of a Province

Jacob sat on the porch steps and rested his head in his hands. So many different emotions warred within him, and he really felt overwhelmed. He'd not wanted to leave Astreah. Not at all, especially given the way her brother continually glared at her.

"Here you go, Papa."

A beer slid over his shoulder, and he accepted it with a grateful groan. He drank and slanted his glance to the man who settled beside him. Flight Sergeant Dale "Lights" Curtayn.

He was their pilot acquired from the RAF, Royal Air Force. Lights could pilot fast jet, multiple engine, and rotary-wing if the need arose. His brownish-blond hair shone in the porch light, and his brown eyes were full of concern.

"How'd it go with her brother?"

Jacob smiled over the English accent and reminded himself everything was okay. This was where they could be themselves. Accents didn't have to be hidden. They could just kickback and have fun.

"We're both still alive," he replied, well aware that something was bound to break between him and Astreah's sibling.

"So...a father is it then?"

"I don't know if the news has truly sunk in. I mean, I know it's true. But, damn it, man, there's part of me who can't quite wrap my head around it."

"What are you going to do?"

"That's what I'd like to know." The intruding feminine voice made him shake his head. He should have known Jacey wouldn't be able to leave it alone. With a sigh, he peeked over his shoulder and saw the rest of the Zulu Spectre waiting for his response. The only ones missing were the two other women. Tristan "Mayhem" Blade's fiancée, Ivy, and Dana, wife to their very own Rance "Quint" MacLean. And of course, Jacey's son, Caleb was asleep in his bed.

"I didn't know everyone cared so much," he commented, facing back to stare down the beach and out over the water.

"Of course we do, man," Lights said. "We're family."

"We had no idea things got so serious in New York." This from First Lieutenant Brian "Gambit" Arnoux.

Jacob hadn't either. Not until he'd seen her today and realized just how important she'd been to him. And all this was before he'd discovered her pregnancy. There'd been numerous times he had wanted to call her and see how she was doing. But he restrained himself. Long-distance relationships were difficult and complicated. Especially in his line of work.

"One time, just once, we had unprotected sex. I never thought..." He let his thought trail away.

"That's neither here nor there," Jacey said. "What are you going to do now?"

He turned his head and stared at her, her black eyes agleam in the light. "Take care of my responsibility."

She pursed her lips. "Is that all she is? A responsibility?"

"What do you want me to say, Jack? That I love her? That I can't imagine my life without her in it?" He clenched his hand into a fist.

"Only if it's the truth." Her voice rang calm. Like always.

"What about you, Jack? What about Caleb's father?"

He regretted the snapped question the moment he released it. Pain flashed in her eyes, only to disappear faster than it arrived.

"Not the same. You know who she is." He lowered his gaze as she continued, "It's no secret; everyone here knows I slept with a virtual stranger. And I got my son out of it as a result. I love him more than life itself, but you, Jacob, you know who is carrying your child, and I've seen the way you look when you talk about her. Hell, even the way you looked at her tonight. So say what you will about what I did, but don't think of it as a responsibility, not with the amount of emotion you watch her with." Jacey walked back inside, closing the door silently behind her.

Shit. Jacob shook his head. "I shouldn't have said that."

"Jack will be fine," their team leader, Major Jeff "Griz" Anderson informed him. "But you know she's right. You damn near came unglued tonight when her brother snapped at her. I've never seen you lose your cool like that before."

And he hadn't. Methodically. Calmly. Rationally. Those were the ways Jacob operated. Until today, when his world had taken an entirely different turn.

"Okay, so what do you suggest I do then?" He threw the question out there.

Silence reigned. He glanced around each member of Zulu Spectre out there with him. Griz, Sweets, Mayhem, Quint, Lights, and Gambit. None of them spoke, and none of them would meet his gaze.

"Seriously? No one has any suggestions? I would have thought you wouldn't be able to keep your mouthes shut about this."

"We can see how much she means to you, Jacob," Quint said, his Scottish accent thick and familiar. "A woman who leaves such an impression on you after only ten days is something special. We just want you to be happy."

He wanted to be happy as well, and he'd believed he was until he saw her again. She reminded him of the hole she left in him when they'd parted.

"I'm supposed to meet her tomorrow and talk."

"You know we have your back, Bam Bam," Lights said.

"Thanks, guys."

And he meant it. This group of people, Jacey included, was the closest thing Jacob had to a family. Sure, he and his sister had declared a bit of a truce with the birth of her daughter, but she wasn't "family" in the same sense as these were. They knew everything. Ups and downs. They didn't judge unfairly, just backed him up and always supported him. However, they also didn't hold back when they believed he was doing something stupid. So, they must truly like Astreah for no one to even suggest she may not be carrying his child, and to ask for a test.

Finishing his beer, he got to his feet. "I'll see you guys in the morning."

"Don't go breaking into her room," Gambit said with a slight grin. "We don't need a war on the beach."

"Promise. I'm going to go crash."

He waved at them and slipped inside the house and headed up to the second floor where his room was located. It didn't take him long to get ready for bed, and soon, he strode across the floor in a pair of boxers and climbed into bed.

Astreah. He closed his eyes, and immediately, her image popped into his head. Swallowing hard, he ignored his stiffening shaft and rolled over, waiting impatiently for the sandman to arrive.

He awoke early for a run and was joined by Lights, Sweets, and Gambit. Jack and Griz were absent, and he wasn't sure why. He knew why Mayhem and Quint were—they had women with them in their beds. Hell, if Astreah had been here in his bed, Jacob was damn sure he wouldn't be out early running. Not if he had the option of remaining in bed with her.

He showered after they returned and took his time dressing. Heading down the stairs, he tugged his shirt on over his head and paused when he heard female laughter coming from the kitchen, along with the scent of breakfast.

"What are you ladies doing this fine..." His greeting trailed off as he spied Astreah sitting there at the table, a mug of something steaming in her hands.

The laughter faded a bit but her smile welcomed him. "Jacob," she said. "Good morning."

Her hair hung unconfined, and he strode to her and sank his hand into it, tugging her head back for his kiss. Determined to keep it gentle, he licked along her lips and the seam before delving inside her warm haven. He tasted peppermint tea and knew what she drank. Still, beneath that lingered her own unique taste, and that was the one he craved. She moaned slightly and leaned into him more when he broke the contact.

"Morning," he said softly, dragging his thumb along her lower lip as he released her.

He glanced around the kitchen and witnessed all the smiles the women had on their faces. Jacey stood next to the stove, and he held her gaze the longest. She closed her eyes and gave him a small nod which told him she knew he was sorry for his comments last night. Better yet, all had been forgiven if need be.

"Astreah's been telling us how she runs a tattoo shop," Dana said as she finished mixing up a large pitcher of orange juice.

"That so?" He watched the women for a minute only to put his attention on Caleb when he stumbled in.

"I'm hungry, Mama."

"Manners, Caleb. You know better than that. We have company, and breakfast is just about ready."

Jacob watched the young man immediately go over and say hi to Astreah. He grinned as he called her "Ms. Astreah." Jacey had been raised in the south and had brought her son up the same way she had been. Always with respect for your elders.

Jacob helped the women carry food to the long table set up in the living room. Bit by bit, the others filtered out from rooms and in from outside to gather for their morning meal. Everyone welcomed Astreah, and soon, they had sat down to eat. Jacob sat beside her and watched her scoop a little on her plate. He frowned.

"You need to eat more than that tiny bit," he said in her ear. "Or are you feeling sick?" He knew some women went through morning sickness.

"I'm not sick."

"Then take more," he said, spooning more onto her plate.

She shook her head and tried to still his hand. "I wasn't expected. I'm not eating anyone's food."

He rested an arm along the back of her chair. "There's more than enough, baby."

His name was called from the table's other end and withdrew his attention from the woman to his left. When he got back to her, he watched her chatting with Ivy who sat across from her. Ivy Wallace was by far the quietest woman in their group, a sweetheart, just very quiet. He met Tristan's gaze, and they shared a smile. Tristan had been trying to get Ivy to do more things with everyone, but she just tended to prefer to be alone. If Astreah could draw her out of her shell more, that would be wonderful.

After the meal, Jacob managed to get her out of the house and all to himself. He guided her down the beach, and they strolled along, near the water. Astreah wore a guava-colored, ruffle-trimmed skirt and a hoodie with a rich waffle texture, zippered front, and reminiscent of brown sugar in its hue. She had no shoes on, and he could see her metallic silver-blue polish on her toes.

She didn't run from the approaching water, merely allowed it to rush over her feet. He gazed upon her as she bent over to pick up a shell; her lips curved up as she rinsed off the sand and stood, holding it up to the light. The morning's breeze tousled her hair, and his breath caught. Right here, right now, she looked so beautiful it hurt.

If he thought about it, she was perfect for him. Level-headed, fun, and yet, extremely independent and already aware he couldn't tell her where he would be going or say for how long he would be gone. If God had created a woman specifically for him, he'd bet everything he owned this was her.

She dropped the shell and sent him a smile, her full lips beckoned to him. All she embodied beckoned to him. He smiled back even as he realized something. He'd fallen for her in New York. He didn't just want to be there for the child growing inside of her. He wanted to be there for her, be with her, be hers.

Jacob headed toward her, needing to feel her against him. Craving something so simple as the brush of hands. She tucked some hair behind her right ear and watched him approach, never moving, just observing.

Astreah felt her body knot up. Jacob looked so serious as he walked to her. She knew there was a lot left to say and figure out, but he appeared even more serious than that discussion warranted. She'd had a fitful night, waking early only to have a row with her brother. So she'd left the house and had found herself knocking on the door to the one rented by Jacob and his team.

Dana MacLean had let her in with a welcoming smile. They were in the kitchen when the other women had arrived. Honestly, the one called Jacey scared Astreah. She was nice enough but she contained this edge about her which made the hairs on the back of Astreah's neck stand up. Ivy was an artist, and a damn good one; she was quiet too. Dana was married to Rance, the hunk who spoke with a Scottish accent. Still, all the women made her feel right at home and got her some tea to calm her stomach. She hadn't been sure if it was just nerves or the baby.

Now, she was alone with Jacob, and all she could think about was stripping off his black t-shirt so she could run her hands up over his chiseled torso. Trace her fingers along the defined ridges in his abdomen, lick along his pectorals and down...down...down until...

She gave herself a strong mental shake and tried to concentrate on what he said. Nope, didn't work; she'd missed all of it.

"What did you say?" she asked, hoping her voice didn't truly sound as breathless as it did to her ears.

"I asked you if you'd like to keep walking." He cupped her cheek, and she shivered at the feel of his callused touch. "What were you thinking about?"

She ducked her head to avoid his probing stare. No way was she going to share that with him. His raspy chuckle filled the air before he lifted her chin.

"If it's any consolation, Astreah, I'm thinking the same thing."

Was it? Nope. All it did was make her want even more. Want to remove those workout pants he wore, free his cock, and have it work its way inside her. A slight moan escaped her, and she gritted her teeth.

He brushed his lips over hers, an act which merely fanned the flames of her desire for him. But she wasn't about to jump him on the beach. Although...the idea did have merit.

Jacob must be able to read her mind for he shook his head. "Not happening on the beach, Astreah. I've not seen you in five months; I'm not taking you where I have to worry about people walking up on us. Not to mention we have no blankets to lie on."

It didn't matter. She wanted to yell that at him, her body strung so tight she didn't know how much more of his subtle caresses she would be able to weather.

"It will happen, baby. This, I promise you."

Her clit throbbed, and her nipples had drawn into tight points, eager for his touch. He took her hand in his and began walking again. Swallowing her disappointment and sexual frustration, she moved with him.

"I was going to come get you later on. What brought you out so early?" he asked.

"I had a fight with Charlie."

"He touched you?" The question rumbled from him on a low, deadly growl.

"No, no, never," she replied immediately. "I mean a shouting match. Don't worry about it, Jacob."

"The hell I won't."

She wanted to smile over the protectiveness in his voice, but she shook her head. "No, please. This is between Charlie and me. He's just frustrated I didn't tell him the moment I knew I carried your baby."

"He's mad?"

"No, frustrated, like I said. Charlie and I haven't kept secrets from one another. We're each other's only family, and until now, I've told him everything."

"Why didn't you? Tell him, that is."

Good question. One she'd asked herself numerous times. "I don't know. Maybe I didn't want to see him look at me in disappointment because I got pregnant without being married first." She snapped her mouth shut and stared at Jacob, wide-eyed. "Oh...I didn't mean it to sound like that. I...I just meant—"

He silenced her with a kiss. She hungered for him and met his searching tongue with her own. They stroked along one another as he gathered her tighter to him. She could feel his erection pressing against her, and she rubbed. Wanting him buried inside her.

She reached for his shirt and slid her hands beneath the material, groaning in satisfaction when she encountered heated skin. His muscles bunched under her seeking fingers. "Off," she panted against his lips.

His hands flexed on the flesh of her ass as he ground into her. "Shit!" he muttered, drawing back.

She followed him, not willing to let him go yet. She burned for something only he could assuage. The aggressor, she pressed tight to him, took his mouth, and thrust her tongue deep inside his mouth. Her nails dug into the flesh of his shoulders and rubbed her core against the ridge in his pants.

He almost gave in; she knew she almost had him. Then, he grunted and shook his head before setting her away from him. "Geez, Astreah, you're going to kill me."

"No killing, just fucking." Christ, if she got any hotter, she'd burn up.

"I'm not going to fuck you, Astreah. Especially not out here."

"Jacob," she panted.

"No, not out here."

She flexed against him. "Please." Christ, now, she was begging. A fact she didn't care.

In his eyes, she witnessed his yielding. "You're killing me here," he repeated.

"It's been so long," she whimpered, stroking her hands over his back.

He swept her up in his arms and strode up the beach to the house. There was no slowing as he took the two steps leading inside. She buried her head in his neck as he made his way through the living room and up the stairs to his bedroom. The door clicked shut behind them, and he lowered her to the bed.

She reached up and tugged his face down for another spine-tingling kiss. Arching into him, she purred as he cupped one responsive breast, his thumb and finger pinching the tip. This...this was what she'd needed, what she'd craved.

"Lose the clothing," he rasped against her mouth.

They both stripped in no time, and she ducked her head in embarrassment as he stared blatantly at her body.

"No hiding, Astreah. God, you're beautiful."

She remained on her knees on the mattress as he neared her. His hand reached out and settled along her pooch. The swell which housed and protected their unborn baby seemed so small beneath his larger hand. His skin almost as dark as hers.

"You've filled out, Astreah. You are lush and gorgeous," he said, pressing her back to the bed.

She lay there, eyes closed as he touched her, trailed his fingers along her hypersensitive skin. Goosebumps popped up in the wake of his caresses. She shifted, and he stilled her with the feather-like whisper of a hand. By the time he'd laved all along her, she was whimpering and begging for him to be inside her. Eyes open, she tried to convey her need without a word.

It felt like an eternity before he rose up over her, settling between her spread legs. His cock was long and turgid. Her fingers dug into the coverings on the bed to keep from reaching for him.

"Jacob," she mewled.

"Slowly," he said, nibbling along her jaw line.

She opened her mouth to say something, but he'd begun to enter her. Her breath caught as he inched his way inside her. His eyes held hers, and she was lost in a world of their own making. His hips pressed continually until he had sunk completely within her core.

"Yes," she hissed. A sound echoed by the man above her.

"Tell me if I hurt you, baby," he murmured right before he began to move.

All words escaped her; she couldn't find a single one. All her attention focused on the feelings of him back inside her. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to the myriad of emotions swarming through her.

"Watch me, baby."

It took him repeating the order twice more before she could find the energy to drag her heavy lids open. His verdant sea mist eyes waited for her, darkened with passion.

Those were the last words that passed between them for some time. Their eyes were locked on to one another as he moved within her. Her hips undulated and shifted beneath him, their timing once again in harmony. They came together, and Jacob lowered his mouth to hers, capturing her scream of release.

Afterword, he lay beside her and drew her close. Her eyelids drifted down, and she snuggled back to press tight to him. He idly trailed one hand up and down her arm. She was sated, utterly sated. She smiled when he brushed a kiss along her bared shoulder but didn't speak. There was no need.

Exhaustion from not sleeping well the previous night caught up to her, and she succumbed. When she woke, Jacob's arm still lay across her belly.

"Hello, baby," he said.

"What time is it?"

"Don't worry about it. Are you hungry? Do you want to sleep more?"

Against her hip, she felt his hard length and she moved one hand to curl about him. His gaze darkened, and he arched a brow. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. More, Jacob, more."

And that's just what he gave her.
Chapter Six

One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life;

That word is love.

~Sophocles (496 BC-406 BC)

California, three months later

Jacob rubbed the back of his neck and reached for his cell phone. This wasn't a call he was looking forward to making. His steps were sharp and crisp as he walked down the long hall.

"Fraser's."

"Hi, Cherry, this is Jacob. Can I talk to Astreah?"

"One moment," she replied.

He nodded to a man he passed in the hall and continued outside. It had been three months since he'd run into Astreah in Washington. They were doing the best they could to make things work. He wanted her here with him on the west coast, but she was content with her life on the east coast.

He'd heard she had a nursery set up in her place over Fraser's. Unfortunately, he hadn't been able to go out and see her. He did know that Ivy had gone down a few times to see her, and that's how he'd found out about the nursery and its look. He had a picture of the finished product. Ivy had taken down her tools and painted a mural along one wall. It was a beautiful representation of a grove of birch trees and a meadow with some woodland creatures scattered throughout.

They had decided not to know if it was a boy or a girl and to be surprised. But, honestly, the closer they came to the due date, the more Jacob wanted to know. Her brother Charlie had come around and the two of them had actually managed not to kill each other at the beach.

"Hey, Jacob," Astreah's voice snapped him back to the here and now.

"Hey, baby," he said, sitting on the top of a picnic table. "I'm sorry to do this, Astreah, but I can't come up there this weekend." There was nothing from her end, and he glanced at his phone to ensure he'd not lost connection. "Astreah? Baby? Are you there?"

"I'm here," she said. "I understand. And I know you can't tell me where you're going so just...be careful, okay?"

He swore to himself. He'd been looking forward to going up there; she couldn't fly to see him, so he would make the trip to her. However, now that wouldn't even be able to occur. Across the grass, he spied Gambit and Jack walking toward a waiting vehicle. Gambit spied him and waved him on.

"Look, I'm really—"

"Don't worry about it," she interrupted him. "It's not like I'm due tomorrow. Go, focus on your job." She hung up.

Shoving the closed phone back in his pocket, he jogged to the SUV and climbed in the back. Less than an hour later, they were wheels up and flying off to an unknown destination. Griz stood up and rolled his shoulders.

"Okay, ladies, this is what we've got."

Leaning forward in his seat, Jacob paid attention as they were briefed on what they were flying into. Gabon. Cristal Mountains. Rainforest. Rescue operation. After Griz stopped talking, Jacob settled down to get some rest. They would need it, and there was no guarantee where they were headed any more would be coming with the comfort they could get it on this flight.

Later, he stood with the others, double-checking gear before they stood on the steps where there were going to deploy from. It wasn't a C-140 they flew in; it was in a converted commercial airliner so no one would be the wiser. However, it meant a much more dangerous deployment out into the air since they had to use a rigged hatch to jump from versus the norm.

The cold night air sucked the air from his lungs. He relished it; he loved this part of the job. Freefalling until just the right time when he yanked on the ripcord, opening his square ram-air chute. Besides, this close to the equator, he knew the day would be a bitch and stifling in its heat and humidity, especially in the rainforest.

They landed silently, and he gathered up his nylon chute before stuffing it in a pack. A few of them would bring them just in case they needed some impromptu shelter. Touching his earwig, he readjusted how it sat before he was content.

They met up and hunkered down in a circle, a low light shining on the map between them all. Griz hadn't come along, but he was back running the op, so it was just the seven of them.

Jacob wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and scanned the group with him. All of them, all seven, had their game faces on. Field hats, no hats, bandanas, it didn't matter what they wore; they were ready.

"Let's go find us some lost Rangers," Gambit muttered.

He pointed at the last place the regiment had communicated they would be holed up at. Jacob smiled without responding. Gambit was like that, always with a joke ready, to lighten the mood.

So, they got to work and set off to find the men who'd needed an extraction. Early morning came before they stumbled upon them. The men looked like they'd been to hell, which they had. Two of them were severely wounded, one had a broken leg, and the others didn't look much better.

"Eat up," Jacob whispered to the ones not needing medical attention as he passed them some MRE's, meals-ready-to-eat, well aware they'd been stuck out here for close to two weeks now. He watched them stare at Jacey like she wasn't supposed to be there, but she never let it show on her face. This mission was reminiscent of another about six years ago, one of his first with this team. They'd gone in to rescue a group of marines that time.

They humped it through the rainforest covered mountains for eight long days and nights to reach their new extraction point, the parachutes used to carry those who couldn't walk for themselves. They popped smoke and waited for their ride to appear.

Jacob's heart thundered right along with the roar of the chopper blades as the HH-60H Seahawk powered into view and landed beside them. From out of nowhere, it seemed the jungle became alive with tangos.

They loaded up as fast as they could, and he heard Mayhem cursing as he cried, "Pilot's down, pilot's down."

Gambit's voice came next. "Get us out of here, Lights!"

"Roger that, sir!"

Jacob helped lift the final man in then climbed in which left only Jack on the ground, covering their six. "Come on, Jack. Go. Go. Go!"

She vaulted easily into the interior and crouched beside a gunner. Then, they were up and gone, Lights maneuvering them to safety. The last thing he remembered was hearing Jacey swear and shoving him down. He woke on the carrier with his head wrapped.

"Hey, stranger," Jack said from where she sat at his side. He stared at her and raised a brow. "Everyone is fine, except for the pilot; he didn't make it."

"What about this?" he asked, pointing to his head.

"Naught but a scratch. We just think you wanted to miss the debrief."

He smiled and shook his head at her grateful, the bullet that had grazed him didn't do any more damage nor was it causing him pain now. "When are we going home?"

"As soon as you get your lazy butt to the shower and change. Oh, and you need to see the captain."

He sat up and the sheet covering him fell down to his waist, and he lifted it to peer under it. Jacey whistled low. "Anything interesting down there?"

"Get out, you!" he growled playfully.

She jumped back and laughed on her way out of the screened area. When the curtain fell back into place, he tossed the sheet back and got up, clad in a pair of scrub bottoms only. He grabbed some clean clothing and headed to a shower. Staring at his reflection as he dried off he noticed the red welt beneath the butterfly bandages used to help put less strain on the stitches.

It had been a close call but he was lucky. They all were, except for the pilot, who like Jacey said, didn't make it. Jacob rubbed a hand over his week of growth and thought about shaving but decided against it. Bracing his hands against the sink, he took several deep breaths as the possibility of him not returning to Astreah or their baby weighed on him.

He swallowed and walked from the head to find Sweets waiting for him dressed in civilian attire. "You all set, mate?" he asked.

"Let's get off this floating city and get home."

Sweets grinned. "I like it here. It's home to me, but come on. We're flying into Hawaii before continuing on."

"Sounds like heaven to me."

He snorted. Sweets had been in the Royal Navy before recruited by Zulu Spectre, so it made sense. They boarded a COD and were taken to shore and put on another commercial flight. This one, however, they didn't have to bail from.

In Oahu, he walked around since their flight had been delayed courtesy of a severe storm blowing through. He walked into the USO to grab some chow and crash. Just finally having claimed a seat, he looked up when a shadow fell over him. Tristan stood there, eyes wide.

"What's up?" he asked in a hushed tone. There were a few members of the armed forces sleeping scattered around in there and he had no wish to disturb them.

"You need to book a flight to New York, man."

His heart plummeted. "What happened?"

"Astreah's in labor. Ivy left a message for me. They went in yesterday. She's not answering her phone so I don't know what's going on other than that."

Labor? Dear God, she wasn't due for another three weeks.

Jacob shoved to his feet and nodded. With a look of understanding, Tristan said, "Go. I'll take your stuff when we get to California. Don't worry about it."

"Thanks, man!" He bolted from the room and ran to the nearest ticket counter he could find. "I need the first flight to New York City, on any airline!"

* * * *

Astreah wanted to scream. Every ounce of her hurt. When the contractions began, she thought it was time and took a cab to her hospital. On her way, she called Ivy to let her know, since the woman made her promise to. The hospital was very busy, and it turned out it had been naught but a false alarm. She was not the least bit amused. It was her fourth one in a week.

This kid, be it boy or girl, was tap-dancing on her last nerve in his or her quest to get out. She didn't think she could take three more weeks of this. Her doctor told her everything looked fine and was ready to send her on her way. So, there she was waddling, because let's be honest, she couldn't do much other than that when Ivy came bursting in through the emergency doors looking for her. Not much later, Dana came through, and that's when her tears started.

"Don't cry, sweetie; it'll all be okay," Dana said as Ivy went to hail a cab.

Astreah made it to the curb before, yep, wouldn't you know it, her water broke. So, while Ivy called for a doctor, Dana helped Astreah back inside where they put her in a wheelchair and now, here she was in this bedroom, racked with powerful contractions, and no male to hit when it happened.

Dana and Ivy stayed, waving off her suggestion that they didn't have to stay. "You're stuck with us, Astreah. You're one of us now."

So they dabbed at her head, keeping the sweat away and cooling her down, while feeding her ice chips. Not to mention, holding her hand during contractions and helping her overall not lose her ever-loving mind.

"How are we doing in here?" her doctor asked as she came in the room.

"I think this kid wants out, doc," she forced out from behind clenched teeth. "What say we oblige whoever it is and get them the fuck out of my belly!"

"Let me just check and see how far along we are." The response came with a smile.

"We," she muttered. "Like she's going through this right now."

Dana smoothed her hair back and held up the straw for her to take a drink. "Just think, it will all be worth it when you're holding your child in your arms."

Astreah nodded, biting back her snappish comment. Dana didn't deserve her anger or pain filled comments. The woman had lost her own child, seeing this couldn't be easy on her.

"I know, I just wish..." she trailed off when the doctor stood again. "What? What's wrong?"

The shake of the head Astreah received did nothing to appease her suddenly growing fear. Now, the pain didn't matter, for all her attention and concern was on the baby. Her hand rested upon her belly, protectively.

"What's going on?"

"I'm concerned about the baby's heartbeat." Astreah slashed her gaze to the monitor attached to her. "It's nothing serious yet."

"But it's enough you're concerned now," Ivy broke in.

"Yes. And for that reason, I want to get you on the table if I don't see an improvement in another fifteen minutes."

Fear made it hard for her to breathe. One hand gripped each of the other women's in the room with her. They were her lifeline, and she would be forever grateful to them. Nevertheless, she wanted Jacob here, holding her hand, whispering words of encouragement in her ear.

"I'll be back to check on you then." The doctor left.

"Oh my God," she cried. "What did I do?"

"Nothing," Dana assured her. "You need to stay calm, Trea. She wouldn't have left if it was something which couldn't wait."

The words made sense, but she was being swamped with panic. The women talked soothingly to her as she laid back and did her best to stay relaxed. Time seemed to crawl by, and when the door opened, her heart leapt up into her throat. The doctor had arrived again.

"Let's see how we're doing," she said, going to check the readout.

Her breathing was shallow and fast while she waited for the prognosis from the young raven-haired doctor. The door swung open again, this time without a precursory knock. Everyone jumped and faced the door.

"Hey now," Doctor Storen said, a frown marring her pretty face. "You can't just barge into a patient's room."

Astreah gasped as she stared at the man filling the doorway. Jacob Tracey. He looked drawn and tired with a few bandages along the side of his forehead. His face covered by a beard and moustache but to her, no one had ever looked so good.

"Astreah," he said in a gruff voice.

She knew it took a lot for him not to shove the woman out of the way so he could get to her side.

"It's okay, Doc," Ivy said. "That's the father of the baby."

Astreah never took her gaze from his sea mist one. He shoved a hand through his hair and approached the bed. From her periphery, she watched Dana move back so he could take a place beside her.

He reached out slowly toward her face and gently cupped it with a callused hand. The pad of his thumb swiped along her lower lip before he kissed her. She closed her eyes at the feather light touch of his mouth on hers.

He was back. He was alive. And she couldn't stop the tears from leaking from the corners of her eyes. The kiss ended, and he drew back just enough so their gazes could meet.

"I love you, Astreah. With everything that I am. I don't want to just be a part of this child's life. I want to be a part of yours. Marry me."

Her tears fell faster, and she dashed them away with the backs of her hands. "Why?" she mumbled.

"Why now?" he asked. She nodded. "Because I was too much of a wuss to ask you when I saw you again in Washington. I think part of me fell in love with you here when you showed me what it was like to give of yourself. Everything about you, Astreah, makes me watch you in awe. I don't have much to offer you but I swear I'll always love you."

She gripped his hands as another contraction bore down on her. Biting back her cry of discomfort, she went to look at the beeping monitor only to hear him speak again.

"No, baby. Don't look at that, look at me." She did as he ordered and found herself breathing easier. His hand was strong around hers, filling her with nothing but love and support. "There you go," he said. "Look at you." He ran one hand along the side of her face. "You're so beautiful. Having our baby."

"Jacob," she said, her heart full of love for both him and the child ready to enter this world.

"Yes, baby?"

"I hate to break this up," the doctor said, "but we need to get you up on the table. I don't want this heart rate to drop any further. While you're fully dilated and we're ready for you to push, we're going to continue monitoring the baby and you need to be prepared for the possibility of a C-section."

Jacob's grip tightened on her hand, and she knew he was as nervous as she. Conversation stopped while a few nurses came and locked the side rails so she wouldn't fall off and began to wheel her out of the room. She saw Dana and Ivy there.

"Thank you." She couldn't begin to convey how she felt by them being here with her.

"We'll be right here to meet the newest addition to the family," Dana assured her.

Then, they were going down the hall, Jacob by her head, still holding one hand. "What did you need to tell me, Astreah?"

"Yes," she mumbled as another contraction descended upon her. "I'll marry you."

He was torn from her, and she reached for him. "Jacob!"

Her eyes were wide as she took in the numerous machines and people covered so she didn't know who they were. They moved her to the table, and although they talked to her, none of it made sense. All she knew was she wanted Jacob, and he wasn't there.

"Where's Jacob?" she asked.

There was a flurry of activity while they prepped her, and she wanted to scream with frustration. Then, from the sea of blue peered a pair of eyes she'd never forget so long as she lived. Verdant sea mist framed by thick dark lashes.

Jacob. She breathed easier as he took her hand and sat by her head.

"Watch me baby. Just watch me."

And she did. "I love you, Jacob Tracey," she murmured for his ears only.

"I know, baby. I know."

And with those words, she relaxed and knew everything would be fine. She thanked the music which had been playing when he arrived, The Star Carol, for it had definitely shown down upon them, allowing this happiness. She thanked everything which had led her to be here with this man she loved more than anything.

"Just one more good push," the doctor said. "You're doing great and so is the baby."

She swallowed, felt Jacob's strong hand about hers, held his gaze and did just that. Knowing from this moment on, her life would never be the same. It would be so much more.
Additional Books by Aliyah Burke:

Megalodon Team

Kincade's Rose

Harrier's Healer

Connelly's Flame

Greeley's Spyce

Vittano's Willow

Dimitri's Moon

O'Shea's Love

Chayton's Tempest

Haikon

A Love for Lera

Denim & Spurs

With This Ring

Serial

Keeper of the Stars Pt. 1

Keeper of the Stars Pt. 2

Keeper of the Stars Pt. 3

Keeper of the Stars Pt. 4

Keeper of the Stars Pt. 5

Astral Guardians

Chasing the Storm

Highlands at Dawn

Interludes

Temporary Home

Alone with You

In Aeternum

Casanova in Training

Harbour of Refuge

Protected by Shadows

Polar Opposites

Rakes & Rogues

What the Earl Desires

Her Reluctant Viscount

Code of Honour

A Marriage of Convenience

The Lieutenant's Ex-Wife

A Man Like No Other

When Stars Collide

Born to Fly

Landing in Love

You Save Me

Wild as the Wind

Zulu Spectre

Hearth, Holly, & Honor (3 in 1)

Standalone

Preconception

If You Dare

May You Always

Dutch & Lobo (in In the Trenches collection)

His Purrfect Mate

Under the Mask

That Fateful Ride

On the High Seas (in What White Boyz Desire collection)

The Detective's Lover

Just a Dream

Love Under the Endless African Sky

Add A Little Mistletoe

Something Tangible

Seducing Damian

Through the Fire

Sin is Not a Four Letter Word

Holiday Surprise: Unwrapped

Boxset collaborations

Scandalous Heroes

Co-written with Taige Crenshaw

Talios

Devi

Linc

Saffron

Taber

Ashia

Co-written with McKenna Jeffries

All the Wright Moves

The Best Thing Yet

Risky Pleasures

Pure Harmony

Irresistible Forces

Seductions Dance
About the Author:

Aliyah Burke is an avid reader and is never far from pen and paper (or the computer). She loves to hear from her readers and can be reached here. She can also be found on Facebook, Twitter: @AliyahBurke96, or Pinterest.

She is married to a career military man. They are owned by three Borzoi, and a DSH cat. She spends her days sharing time between work, writing, and dog training.

I hope you enjoyed reading, Hearth, Holly, & Honor. If you could help others to find and enjoy this book as well, I would appreciate that act of kindness. You can do this by recommending it to your friends and/or reader's groups. Also by reviewing it to let others know you liked it—and why—on Goodreads, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, ARe, and other places.

Thank you so much for your support!!

If you would care to be kept abreast of Aliyah Burke's news, release information and the occasional contest, please join her newsletter.

A preview of what's to come...

May You Always coming December to Passion in Print

*****

Unedited excerpt:

"You want to do what?"

Karma stood on the sidewalk and glared up at the man holding her purchases. Holt stared at her, the falling snow dotting his dark hair and black coat. Handles of her bags held in the smooth black supple leather of his gloves.

"Ice skating. The play isn't until tonight which gives us all day." His smile warmed her despite the chill of the early morning. "Or would you like to be indoors?"

"Of course I would, it's fucking cold out here."

He shook his head, amusement on his face. "Trust me, Karma. It will be fun."

She doubted it. The last time she had been on skates, she'd lived and attended school in this city. Holt began for his SUV and she trailed him, waiting for him to put the bags into the back. As the hatch lowered, he turned toward her. He reached out and grabbed the ends of her metallic lavender multihued scarf. With a tug, he drew her close.

"Skating. You and me. It will be fun and if you do it without complaining, I'll give you the gift I got you."

"Are you bribing me?"

"Absolutely!" He winked. "And if you must know, it's shiny."

One of her favorite words. Shiny. "What is it?"

His grin was pure sin. "Skate first."

"Fine. Let's go," she said with a false huff. "But when I freeze..."

"I will make it my personal mission to thaw you out and warm you up."

...

