Sean’s lips. The second one was tall, thin, athletic looking, with straight, silky, unfussy blond hair. Obviously a gymnast or runner—a fine-looking woman. Next came a medium-sized redhead with a curvaceous figure, twinkling eyes and a bright smile. A feminine smorgasbord, he thought appreciatively. Sean did not discriminate—he was attracted to all kinds of women, not just one type. Next was—
Franci?
Nah, couldn’t be, he told himself. He was just hallucinating again. He thought he’d seen her many times before but it was never her. Besides, Franci wore her hair long and straight and this woman’s mahogany hair was in one of those hyper-short cuts that, on anyone else, might look butch, but on her? Oh, man, it just couldn’t get any sexier. It made her dark eyes look huge. The woman shed her coat and she was thinner than Franci, but not by that much. But her eyebrows were exactly the same as Franci’s—a nice, thin, provocative arch over those big, heavily lashed eyes. It got him missing Franci all over again.
She slid out of her coat and revealed a filmy dress. Maybe not filmy, but certainly silky. It was dark purple and fell loosely from her shoulders and was belted at the waist, then flowed again to her knees. The dress accentuated her perfect breasts, narrow waist, slim hips and long legs. Franci had rarely worn dresses but Sean hadn’t minded—her long legs and tight butt in a pair of fitted slacks used to blow his mind. But this dress was good. Very good.
The four women took a table near the front of the restaurant by the window. They were carrying boxes, shopping bags and party bags—a birthday dinner out? The one who looked like his old girlfriend crossed her legs and revealed a slit in the skirt of that dress that exposed a scrumptious thigh. Whoa. His eyes were glued to that shapely leg. His groin tightened.
Then she laughed. God, it was Franci. If that wasn’t Franci, it was her twin. The way she tilted her head back and let go was a laugh with passion. Franci had always laughed from deep inside her. That was how she cried, too.
Sean was suddenly infused with mixed emotions—remembering the wonderful laughs they’d shared in bed after their typically great sex counterbalanced with how he remembered making her cry, and he was sorry he had ever made Franci cry.
Well, hell, he might have made her cry, but hadn’t she infuriated him until he wanted to punch a hole in the wall? She could be maddening. Why was that again? He’d think of it, given a minute. That had been almost four years ago. What was she doing here in Arcata? After the breakup—which had been ugly—he’d looked for her. But he had let too much time slip by before doing so and she wasn’t where he expected her to be. They’d met in Iraq when he was deployed in the F-16 and she was an air force flight nurse who regularly appeared to take the injured out of the theater. Later, when he’d been transferred to Luke Air Force Base in Phoenix as an instructor in the same jet, she was there, assigned as a nurse in the base hospital. They had dated exclusively for two years when a big shift occurred in their individual lives—her service commitment was up and she was planning to separate from the air force and return to civilian life. He was going to cross-train in the U-2 high-altitude reconnaissance aircraft—the spy plane. He didn’t see how either of those events should effect any change. He told her he’d be relocating to Beale AFB in Northern California. He thought she could probably find work there if she was interested.
That had been the beginning of the end. After dating for two years, she, at twenty-six, was ready for a commitment. She wanted marriage and a family, and he didn’t. Well, there was nothing new there—she’d been honest about that since the beginning of their relationship. Franci had always hoped to marry and have children. And that wasn’t something he needed more time to consider—he really didn’t see himself settling into that sweet little domestic trap. Ever. She’d been good about not pushing that too hard, but she’d never backed down, either. For Sean’s part, he was monogamous. He told her he loved her because he did. If he occasionally glanced at and appreciated a pretty girl, it went no further. Even though they each maintained their own home, they spent every night together unless one of them was away from the base. But when it came to marriage and children, she was in, and he, at twenty-eight, was out.
She had said something like, “It’s time to take this relationship to the next level or end it completely.”
You don’t want to be drawing a line in the sand in front of a young fighter pilot. Jet jockeys didn’t take orders from girlfriends. Of course, it was no surprise that they fought and he made her cry with senseless, stupid comments like, “Not in this lifetime, babe. If I were interested in getting married, we’d be married,” and, “Look, I’m just flat-ass not doing the rug-rats thing, all right? Even with you.” Oh, yeah, he was brilliant.
She had said things, also in anger, probably things she didn’t mean. Well, that wasn’t exactly correct, as he recalled now, looking across a crowded room at her as she laughed and talked with her girlfriends. “Sean, if you let me go now I’ll be so gone—you’ll never see me again. I need a committed partner or I’m taking the walk.”
And Sean, being the cocky genius he was, said, “Oh, yeah? Don’t let the door hit you in the ass.” He winced at the memory.
They had gone their separate ways, bitterly. He went to Beale because it looked as if getting a promotion and command position in the U-2 was more likely than in the highly competitive F-16. He was an Air Force Academy graduate; becoming a general was in his sites if he made the right moves. Franci had exited the air force.
Sean assumed, incorrectly, that he’d be able to find her at her mother’s, or at least near her mother’s, in Santa Rosa. A few months later, when his training in the new aircraft was complete and he was ready to talk about their situation, sanely and calmly, she was long gone. So was her mother. And there appeared to be no forwarding address.
So, flash-forward four years. Arcata, California? It really didn’t make sense, but that woman across the room was definitely Franci Duncan. He could tell it was her by the way his heart pounded and he felt hot all over. And by the way he was fighting an erection just looking across the room at her.
She and her friends had all ordered frothy after-dinner drinks, and were joking with the young waitress. They leaned toward one another to whisper, sitting back to laugh—they were gossiping and having fun. One member of the group pulled a silky wrap out of a colorful bag and put it around her shoulders, admiringly. The birthday girl? There weren’t any men around them and he could only pick out one wedding ring in the group, and it wasn’t on Franci’s hand. Not that it meant anything; people didn’t necessarily wear wedding rings all the time these days.
“You still okay on that drink, pal?” the bartender asked to no avail.
As Sean watched the proceedings he missed her so bad he ached with it. Letting her get away was one of the great tactical errors of his adult life. He should have found a way to convince her they’d be fine together without marriage, without a bunch of ankle-biters. But at twenty-eight, pumped up on his fighter-pilot prowess, he’d been overconfident. He had especially not been ready for some woman to be calling the shots. Now, at thirty-two, he realized how stupid he’d been at twenty-eight. In those four years there had been other women, and not one of them had come close to what he’d felt for Franci. For what he’d felt with Franci. And he was willing to bet she hadn’t found anyone as good, either.
He was hoping that. He probably shouldn’t bet on it. Franci was incredible; there had probably been a long line of able-bodied, good-looking, more-than-willing men lined up at her front door—wherever that was.
“You still on my planet, pal?” the bartender asked.
“Huh?”
“Seems like something besides my skill at pouring a drink has your attention.”
