Back In The Enemy's Bed

“Do you have a date for the Welcome Home fund-raiser this weekend?”

She rarely took dates to charity functions, but a social interlude in a very public place sounded like a good idea. Though Roman had always hated formal affairs, and having to wear a “monkey suit.” But Welcome Home was an organization to assist wounded vets and their families, and being a wounded vet himself, he might make an exception.

“I’ll ask him to join me,” she said, then added, “but only as a friend. I will not lie to him, or lead him on in any way. And if he says no, I’m done. I won’t beg him.”

“Trust me, Princess,” he said, with that rare tenderness in his eyes. “He isn’t going to say no.”

* * *

How in the hell had he ended up here?

Roman sat in the back of the limo, watching the lights of Chicago whiz by through the tinted window, but the view inside the vehicle was the one getting him all hot and bothered.

Gracie was seated opposite him, with one tanned, shapely leg peeking out from the slit of an apricot silk evening gown. She was on her cell phone, speaking fluent French. She’d always had great legs, but they hadn’t come from hours of working out in the gym. She was one of those naturally thin women who could eat whatever they wanted and whom other women loved to hate.

Roman wasn’t fluent in French, but he knew enough to understand that it was a business call. After several minutes she said goodbye and slid her phone into her clutch.

“Sorry about that,” she said.

“That’s okay,” he told her, lowering his gaze to the leg playing peekaboo with her gown. “I’ve just been sitting here enjoying the view.”

She shot him a look dripping with exasperation. “Really.”

He grinned and gestured out the tinted window. “The view of the city,” he said, though she knew damn well what he was really looking at. And he couldn’t help but notice that she made no attempt to cover her leg.

She liked that he was looking. And he liked that she liked it. Clearly the past seven years had done nothing to douse his desire for her. The musky scent of her perfume enveloped him like a warm blanket, heating him to the core. It was the same brand she’d always worn. Her silky hair, pulled up in a mass of blond curls, revealed a long, slender neck he would love to kiss, and diamond-studded ears he was dying to nibble on. As a young woman she’d been cute and spunky with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Now, at twenty-seven, she was a knockout. And despite all the time that had passed, and all the discord between them, he still felt a familiarity and a closeness that puzzled him.

“So, are you ready to tell me what all this is about?” he asked her.

“All what?” she asked innocently, but he could see her squirm a little. She had always been a terrible liar. Which made what he’d put her through seven years ago even worse. Though she had never given him a reason not to, he hadn’t trusted her, and he’d paid the price.

“Tonight,” he said. “Your text was very...elusive. I was surprised when I got it.”

“I was a little surprised that I sent it.”

“Didn’t get enough of me the other day, huh?” he asked with a grin, which seemed to make her even more uncomfortable. “Or you just couldn’t get a date.”

“Just to be clear, this is not a date. This is two acquaintances sharing a ride to a social function. And as I already explained, since it’s a fund-raiser for wounded vets, I thought you would be interested in attending.”

He shrugged, shooting her a knowing smile. “If you say so.”

“Some of the most influential people in the state will be there. You’ll make good connections.”

“You sure this nondate has nothing to do with the fact that you wanted me to kiss you in the library the other day?”

She blinked. “When did I say that?”

He grinned. “Sweetheart, you didn’t have to. It’s been seven years, but I can still read you like a book.”

“I seriously doubt that,” she said, but her eyes told a different story. Like maybe she worried that he was right. “I’m not the same naive, trusting woman I was back then. And don’t call me sweetheart.”

“How about Princess? Can I call you that?”

She glared at him.

He shrugged. “Sorry, Gracie. I thought you liked terms of endearment.”

“But that’s not why you said it. You’re not nearly as charming as you think you are.”

“But I am charming,” he said, waiting for a kick in the shin.

She rolled her eyes instead. “I know you think so.”

“Honey, I know so.”

She let the honey comment go. “Funny, but I don’t recall you being this arrogant.”

He grinned. “And you’re as stubborn as you ever were. Just like my sister.”

“How is April? I seem to remember that she was getting married.”

Yeah, and Gracie was supposed to be his date, but he’d screwed that up. “She’s living in California with her husband, Rick, and their twin boys, Aaron and Adam.”

Gracie softened into that gooey-eyed look that women got whenever children were mentioned. “Oh my gosh! Twins?”

“Yep. She has her hands full.”

“How old?”

“They’ll be a year on Christmas Day,” he said, hearing the pride in his own voice. He’d never imagined himself ever having children, so he spoiled his nephews any chance he got. He had held them both just minutes after their birth, so there was a close connection. He would lay down his life for them. And for April—not that she needed his protection. She was one of the most competent women he’d ever known.

“I was in town visiting for the holidays when she had them. Her husband was deployed at the time so I went through the entire labor with her. It gave me a whole new respect for mothers.”

“Do you see them very often?”

“We Skype weekly.”

“She was always such a great person,” Gracie said with genuine affection in her voice.

Four years his junior, it had been exceptionally difficult for his sister when they lost their parents. And even harder for him to be away at college while she grieved alone, though she’d been taken in by a close family friend. He’d considered dropping out of school until she finished high school, but she wouldn’t let him. She did visit him often, though, and she had taken to Gracie instantly. They were only a year apart in age and were both strong, capable women, though they couldn’t have been any more different in their interests. April was a rough-and-tumble tomboy capable of drinking any man under the table, and she chose the armed services over college, marrying young. Gracie hadn’t been interested in marriage—at least not until she finished school—and they had never really talked about a family. He wondered now if she had ever considered it. Her ambition to be a fashion designer had always been her main focus. From what he’d seen in the media, she was a raging success, and her philanthropy was legendary.

“Is she still in the navy?” Gracie asked him.

“She and her husband both,” he said. “They’re both stateside right now, but tomorrow, who knows?”

“It must have been difficult for her when you were a POW.”

“It was.” At the mere mention of his capture that familiar sense of dread worked its way up from someplace deep inside him. But he instantly shoved it back down. It had taken intense rehabilitation to heal the physical trauma of his ordeal, and even longer to conquer the PTSD that had tortured his soul. To this day he still suffered nightmares, and occasionally woke in a panic, drenched in a cold sweat, his mind convinced he was still in the Middle East. But he was back to being a fairly centered and functioning human being. Giving in to his demons had never been an option, and he’d fought like hell to be well again.