A Few Good Men

He grasped her hips and withdrew, wondering at the sight of his tanned, rough skin against her pale softness. She clasped his wrists and wriggled against him, hungry for what he’d only given her a taste of. He sank into her to the hilt again, gritting his teeth to keep from coming too soon.

She felt so good. Hot, wet, inviting.

“Please,” she whispered, moving her head from side to side. “Please make love to me…”

And he did…

Chapter 4

SARA ROLLED OVER IN bed, pressing herself against the warm body next to her.

“Andy...”

It was a dream she’d had a thousand times before. Of waking up next to her husband…only to find he wasn’t there. And she always cried.

But this was the first time someone actually comforted her.

“Shh.” Arms encircled her.

Sara burrowed her nose against a rock-hard chest, clutching to the impenetrable wall that could protect her from everything. Her grief, her fears, the world.

Then she realized whose arms held her. And what name she’d said in her half sleep.

She rolled quickly away from Eric, the night before rushing back in snippets of sweaty flesh, soft cries and red-hot passion.

“I’m sorry,” she said, reaching for her robe.

“Don’t be. I miss him, too.”

She looked over her shoulder at him. He looked so damn sexy lying against the pillows, the top sheet draped dangerously low across his hips.

“Yes, but I don’t think you’ll be calling anyone else by his name.”

He glanced away, and she glimpsed the pain he must be feeling but was trying to hide.

“I’m going to be late for work,” she said.

“It’s Saturday.”

“I work Saturdays.”

Liar. Worse, she suspected he knew that. They’d talked about their hours during their many conversations and she’d complained about the nine-to-five grind and how she wished she could work from home with flex hours because sometimes she was best inspired during her time off.

Truman came in, toenails clicking against the wood floor, tail wagging, tongue lolling.

“I’ll make breakfast and take Tru for a walk,” Eric offered.

“I don’t eat breakfast and I’ll take care of Truman,” she countered.

She gathered the clothes she needed and headed for the bathroom. Before closing the door, she turned to look at where he still lay, grinning at her as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Neither of them said anything for a long moment. Sara watched as the smile slid from his face.

He cleared his throat and propped himself up on his elbows, almost causing the sheet to drop lower. “Would you like me to leave?”

“Yes.”

ERIC FELT LIKE HE’D taken a rifle butt to the gut.

Last night…well, last night had been one of the best nights he could remember experiencing in a long, long time. Merely holding Sara postsex and listening to her soft snores had made him feel more of a man than the past five years in the service.

Of course, her calling out Andy’s name this morning he could have done without.

He ignored the pain that made it almost impossible to breathe, trying to conjure up a response.

Sara’s brow wrinkled. “Did you just expect to stay here your entire leave?” she asked.

Yes, he realized, he had. They’d made such a connection that despite the considerable obstacles they faced, he’d assumed that once she let him into her house, she’d let him in all the way.

How wrong he’d been.

He scratched the back of his head and stripped the sheet off, moving to sit on the side of the bed. He noticed the way she watched his movements, especially a particular area of his anatomy with which she’d become quite intimately acquainted the night before, yet now apparently appeared embarrassed to see.

“I don’t get it,” he said under his breath. “You’re like a faucet alternately running hot and then cold.”

“Would you prefer lukewarm?”

“I prefer a consistent temperature.”

“Sorry if I’m not made of metal with knobs you can adjust.” She picked up his clothes with jerky movements and tossed them to the bed. His T-shirt hit the side of his head and stayed there so that he had to drag it off.

“What did you think when I disappeared from the Internet?” she asked, giving up her efforts and stopping to stare at him. “That I was playing hard to get? That if you showed up on my front step I’d throw open the door and welcome you into my bed?”

Her cheeks pinkened at her words. Eric didn’t speak the obvious because both of them knew that in the end, that’s exactly what she’d done.

“I don’t need…” She gestured with her hand. “Want any of this, Eric. I’m not up for a relationship with anyone, much less my late husband’s best friend.”

“So you’d rather continue to play the role of grieving widow?”

“What?” she whispered. What color had seeped into her cheeks drained out.

Eric sighed and ran his hand over his close-cropped hair. “That didn’t come out the way I meant it to.”

“Well, what way would you have preferred it to come out? Because from where I stand, there aren’t very many ways to mean what you just said.”

“Then let me take it back.”