something more, instinct urging him to stamp every inch of her with his scent and feel, to make her his again in the most basic way there was.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, squirming with discomfort. “I had a couple of stitches after Bridget was born and—”
“Shh,” he said, kissing away a tear that trailed from the corner of her eye. “It’ll be okay. We’re in no hurry here.”
She was taking deep, fast breaths, her breasts heaving as she fought to cooperate, and he knew he needed to help her. He didn’t want her first time after Bridget’s birth to be something she just wanted to forget.
He lifted himself a little away from her and stroked one hand between them, down her belly to the spot where they were joined. His fingers found the tiny, tender button hidden in her curls. Lightly, hoping that she would enjoy his touch, he rubbed a finger over her. And nearly had a heart attack when her body jolted involuntarily beneath his, driving him even deeper into her tight sheath.
She sucked in a sharp breath and he said, “Did you like that?”
He felt, more than saw, her nod in the darkness, so he did it again, starting a small circular pattern that massaged the little nubbin gently. Her hips began to move beneath his and he felt her muscles quiver. His own muscles were trembling with the effort it took to hold still when everything within him was urging him to thrust forward, but still he resisted. Her hips were moving steadily now, creating a delicious rhythm in time with his circling finger and he locked his jaw, holding on to his control by the slimmest of threads as her motions drew him in and out, in and out.
“Oh, yeah,” he said through clenched teeth, “Oh, baby, I’m sorry—I can’t—I can’t—”
Wait was what he’d meant to say, but he never got the chance. Without warning, she arched beneath him and he felt an incredible sensation as she came in heavy waves of completion, her inner muscles squeezing his aching flesh over and over again. Control fell away and he shoved his hips forward, then withdrew and hammered into her again.
She was still shaking and jerking beneath him as he felt his body gather, gather, gather—and then release in a hot, drenching burst of pleasure that went on and on and on until both of them lay spent, gasping for breath.
His head was on the pillow beside hers and he smiled as she turned her head and pressed her lips briefly to his.
The sweetness of the gesture humbled him. How had he left this woman without telling her that he intended to return and make her his forever? He’d been so wrapped up worrying about what he’d done to her when she was grieving and vulnerable, so determined to give her space to think, that he’d nearly lost his opportunity forever.
What if she’d met and married someone after she’d thought he’d been killed? The idea didn’t bear thinking about.
Instead, he focused on the one thing that had been nagging at him since their discussion over the weekend. “So when do you want to get married?” he asked.
He felt her smile against his throat. “Sounds like you already have a time in mind.”
“Yeah.” He snorted. “Yesterday. How long will it take to get a license here in New York, anyway?”
“I have no idea what the law is here,” she said. “Since you’ll be home this week, why don’t you find out? I assume that once we have a license we can just go to the courthouse.”
“All right. Is that what you want?” he asked. “A civil ceremony?”
She shrugged and the motion sent a pleasurable chain reaction rippling through his system. “I don’t need a big church wedding, if that’s what you’re asking. It would seem sacrilegious, given that we already have a child.” She stopped, then said, “Unless you think that would be important to your dad. Will you invite him?”
He was warmed by the concern she showed for his father’s feelings. “I’ll invite him, but I doubt Dad is about to get on a plane. Not even for that. He’s not going to care if we get married here.”
“All right.” She nodded, as if that were settled. “You find out what we need to do and we’ll set a date.”
He nodded. “Leave it to me.” Then he moved his hips experimentally and grinned when her body clenched around him. “Hmm, wonder what we can do until then?”
She laughed as she drew his head down to hers. And as he began to kiss her again, he thought of an idea for a unique wedding gift that he knew would mean a great deal to her. It was time to lay some ghosts to rest.
But he could pursue that tomorrow. Right now, he had better things to do.
A week passed, then two. They decided to get married in the first week of December, a simple ceremony at the county courthouse, and Phoebe planned ahead to take a personal day.
One evening in the beginning of November, he said, “I applied for a job in the private sector today. The thought of being stuck behind a desk working for the Department of the Army, having to move every couple of years, doesn’t appeal to me.”
She looked up from the papers she was grading. “What kind of work is it?”
He lifted a glossy dark folder that he’d been reading and passed it to her. “Private security.”
“As in being a bodyguard?” She tried not to let her dismay show. Wouldn’t a bodyguard need to live with or near his employer? Possibly travel with the individual, as well?
“Not exactly.” He smiled. “I heard about this company from a friend of mine who got out of the service and went to work for them. This firm performs a number of different specialized services. They are called in when kidnappings occur, they’re quietly hired for operations that the government wants done without any fanfare, they set up protective services for people and property. Last year they provided security for a huge gem exhibit at the Met.”
“What’s it called and where is it?” “Protective Services, Inc.” He hesitated. “The main company is located in northern Virginia, but they’re planning on starting up at least one branch operation. The first one will be in L.A.” “So we’d move back out there?” He nodded. “If you wouldn’t mind.” “No.” She smiled. “I wouldn’t mind.” Then she said, “Do you know what type of work they’d want to hire you for?”
“Actually, I’m hoping to run the whole branch,” he said. “That’s the position they need and if nothing else, being an army officer equipped me for organization.” Then he grinned again. “The Long Gray Line is everywhere.” She stared at him. “What?” “The Long Gray Line,” he repeated. “The U.S. Military Academy grads are called that because of the uniforms we wore as cadets. Graduates of West Point have networking contacts all over the world. A retired soldier who works for PSI graduated a few years ahead of me. One of Walker’s buddies talked to a friend of mine who knew I might be job hunting and word got back to them.”
“That’s amazing. You didn’t even go looking for this job, did you?”
“Not exactly. But I had already decided to take medical retirement so it might work out well. And I think I’d enjoy the challenge.” He made a wry face. “I’d be bored to death doing the same old thing over and over every day.”
“That’s
