sort of missing Tyler, she puttered around the house until her normal bedtime.
Since she didn’t have to be up at four thirty, she didn’t have to turn in early. But old habits died hard and Anabel had always taken comfort in a routine. So she got herself ready to turn in.
Tyler didn’t return, not even when she turned out the lights and climbed into bed. Counting her blessings, she closed her eyes with a smile on her face, waiting to fall asleep.
That night, he invaded her dreams. The instant Anabel realized it was his arms holding her close rather than David’s, she struggled, trying to wake herself up. But sleep gripped her tightly, refusing to release her. So she settled for pushing Tyler away.
But her body, so long untouched and alone, craved his, and every touch brought a thrill of electric longing pulsing through her. And truthfully, when she pretended to twist away, and he came in for the kiss, molten fire seared her lips as his mouth claimed hers.
Deep within her, desire flared, tugging at her, turning her inside and out. But she’d pledged herself to one mate and had sworn not to ever betray him. Not even in death.
“No.” Meaning it, she broke the embrace and pushed Tyler away. The hurt look on his handsome face gave her pause. But then, it was her dream and she had the right to control it.
Except...a little voice whispered in her mind. It was only a dream. And more than eighteen months had passed since she’d allowed her body to experience the thrum of physical need, the heady thrill of desire. Only a dream. Not really betrayal.
So she let herself flow forward, back into his strong arms. In her dream, Tyler was no longer ghostly. No, he was a man and had substance. She ran her fingers over corded muscle, her breathing hitching, while her lips ached to kiss him again.
And so they did. Kissing and touching, nothing more. No sin, this. Her clothes stayed on, even if it seemed the heat blazing through her veins might melt them off. And so it went, endless in the way of dreams. Until she woke and the dream vanished like a puff of smoke.
The guilt struck her the instant she opened her eyes. Unreasonable, unfathomable, but there nonetheless. The tangled sheets looked as though someone had actually been there, and her body ached with a heaviness that had nothing to do with reality.
She told herself it had been only a dream, that she hadn’t really been unfaithful to David, as if you could be with a ghost anyway.
Still, first thing after getting up, she reached into the nightstand drawer and pulled out the photo of her deceased husband she’d always kept there. Once, she’d kept it right beside her bed so it would be the first thing she saw in the morning and the last at night. A year after his death, she’d finally put it away, finding the pain still too unbearable. Now she needed to gaze at David’s beloved face, as if doing so could erase her memory of her sinfully sensual dream.
“Is that a picture of your husband?” Tyler’s deep voice made her jump. And blush, instantly hot all over, as if he might somehow know about her nighttime subconsciously lustful thoughts.
“Yes.” Short answer, while she stared at the photograph and waited for the familiar grief and agony to consume her. When it didn’t immediately slam into her, she nearly panicked.
“I miss him so much,” she whispered. And then, with the words, came the familiar throat ache. “We loved each other, you know. He was a great husband.”
“Let me see.”
Heaven help her, she started again. While she’d been intent on her former husband’s face, Tyler had glided so close he was looking over her shoulder.
Wordlessly, she held up the frame. “This was right before he left for his last tour.”
Tyler swore, shocking her. “I know that guy. Or knew him, I should say.”
“What?” Not sure she’d heard correctly, Anabel spun around to face him. She felt numb, except for the slow, insistent beat of her heart in her chest. “You knew David? Are you sure?”
“Let me see the picture again.”
Slowly, she turned the frame around. “Where were you stationed?” Her voice seemed to come from a distance.
“That’s classified.” Grimacing, he shook his head at what had apparently been an automatic response. “Sorry. It doesn’t matter now, of course. I was stationed at Tangi Valley, Maidan Wardak Province. As was your husband.”
“Eighty klicks from Kabul. He told me that, even if he couldn’t tell me the exact name of the place.” Hearing the defeat in her tone, she sighed. “David said the troops called it Death Valley.”
“It wasn’t a pleasant area. Lots of Taliban.” He winced, as if the memory was unpleasant. “It’s where I died.”
“David too.”
“Roadside bomb?” He sighed, not waiting for an answer. “We dealt with that a lot. Our presence has always been a bone of contention among the locals.”
She nodded, unable to think past one thing. He’d known David. Finally. Someone who could speak of her husband as a living, breathing person rather than a mere statistic. Desperate to hear more, she sat down on the edge of her bed, still clutching the frame. “How well did you know my husband?”
“Dave?” He scratched his head. “Not all that well. We were on different shifts, so I didn’t see him all that often. But we played cards a couple of times.”
“He didn’t like being called that,” she said. “Dave. He always made everyone use his full name, David.”
“Really?” He shrugged. “Out there in hell, formality and civility die with every explosion. We called him Dave. Everyone did. Heck, my name is Tyler and everyone referred to me as Ty.”
That made sense. “I wish you’d known him better. In the last month or so before he died, I hardly heard from him. What few letters he was able to get out didn’t even arrive until after he’d been killed.” She swallowed to get past the lump in her throat. “I’d love it if you could share some stories about him.”
“I’m sorry. I wish I could too.”
Almost afraid to ask, she did anyway. For months she’d been plagued by nightmares, picturing various scenarios in which her mate had been killed. “Were you there when he...died?” Her voice came out a whisper. “All I know was that it was a bomb. They—the military—told me there was nothing left of his body to send back. So I didn’t even have that.”
For once, Tyler went silent. She watched him, praying with every fiber of her being that he would be able to tell her something. Anything. When she’d pressed for more information, all the military did was give her their apparently standard line: “killed in the line of duty.”
“No,” Tyler finally answered, crushing her hopes. “I was not there when he died. At least, not that I know of. When I try to reflect on my last memory of that place, I’m pretty sure he was still alive. So I must have died before him. How long did you say he’s been gone?”
“A little over eighteen months.” Which meant Tyler had been dead longer than that.
“I
