His hand moved in the dark, a shadow streaking up toward her face and she flinched involuntarily, angling her chin away from him and squeezing her eyes shut. When she reopened them he was staring down at her, his expression inscrutable.
“Did you think I was about to hit you?” His tone was a fraction softer.
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“That ain’t me, sugar.” He raised his hand again, smoothing his thumb over her cheekbone. “I can’t swear to much, but I promise I’ll never hurt you. I promise you’re safe with me.”
A bone-deep shudder ran from her toes to her skull, shaking her so hard she was surprised not to hear her skeleton clattering against the tree. She knew she should say something—toss back a self-defensively dismissive comment, offer a wry quip to move them away from this dangerously personal territory.
But one look into Chance’s eyes, one glimpse of the intent she saw there made her throat dry, her brain cloud over. After a second she wasn’t sure she could spell her own name, let alone make a strategic move in this high-stakes duel. She swallowed hard, bracing herself for the defeat to come.
He shifted where he stood, pressing almost imperceptibly closer. He pushed a lock of hair off her forehead; instantly it swung back into place.
“Do you believe me?” He was so close she could feel the heat of his body, the rip-stop fabric of his jacket whispering against her fake-leather bomber.
A highlights reel of former lovers scrolled through her mind as she considered his question. The University of Arkansas student she dated in high school who cheated on her with a fifteen-year-old freshman. The high-functioning alcoholic cop who was twelve years her senior and routinely whimpered his ex-wife’s name in his sleep. The shale driller with the gorgeous face and hideous personality who shoved her into a dresser so hard she wore a book-sized bruise on her hip for weeks.
From the moment he smiled at her in the bar she’d sensed Chance’s difference, not only to the other men she’d dated but to everyone, everywhere. He had that slightly detached, outsider’s manner she knew defined her as well, and when their gazes locked for the first time it brought the certainty that they were the same, the odd ones out who’d finally given up on trying to wedge themselves into life’s grid.
As she looked up at him now she remembered the unfamiliar contentment that drugged her as she’d dozed in his arms in that sterile hotel room, under that ugly beige blanket. She’d never felt so secure, so accepted. She’d never fit so well.
The pain of his abandonment, her doubt about the decision to come here, the nagging uncertainty of the future still clawed at the edges of her happiness, but for one minute she chose to ignore them. Chance was waiting for her answer—did she believe she was safe with him?
She nodded.
He kissed her.
It was everything she wanted, everything she remembered from those two whirlwind days together, everything she imagined on the long drive to Fort Preston. He smelled like honeysuckle and seawater, tasted like beer, and the hand gripping her waist did so with exactly the same barely restrained urgency she’d felt back in December. The warmth of his mouth, the callused pads of his fingers were so achingly familiar she had to choke back a lump in her throat and tighten her lids against the tears gathering behind them.
She’d missed him so damn much.
Her hands found his tight haunches, her palm snuck beneath the hem of his jacket and crept under his flannel shirt to trace the ridge of his spine, fingers nestled safe and cozy against his bare skin. At her touch he pushed his tongue between her lips, its fervent explorations reminding her so vividly of the way it had licked and thrust between her legs that she moaned out loud, tightening her fist in the denim over his hip.
His own hand left her waist to explore her side, her ribs, his thumb following the wire semi-circle of her bra until she seriously considered tugging her top over her head and telling him to go for it there and then, partying witnesses be damned.
As if he could sense her approaching loss of control—or maybe trying to prevent his own—Chance pulled back, briefly pressing his forehead against hers before straightening to look at her. His shoulders heaved, his erection strained his jeans, yet she could tell from the tension in his face that he was drawing the line, that she wouldn’t be able to push him any further that night. Like a stern bartender confiscating her half-full glass, he was cutting her off.
And just like a drunk ready to grudgingly admit she’d had one too many, she couldn’t find it in her to be annoyed. They’d rushed things once and nearly lost each other forever. She still needed to understand why he’d left her in December, but she didn’t want to risk scaring him off again if their runaway-train courtship was the reason. This time she would be patient and calm, flexible. Because this time she wasn’t letting him go.
She crossed her arms, fixing him with a smug smile. “That’s more like it.”
“Good. Does that put an end to your career at Rock’s?”
“I won’t agree not to take a bartending job, but I promise I won’t work for Rob. How about that?”
“That’s fair.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and took a step back, freeing her from where she’d been pinned against the tree. “Sorry about my caveman moment. Of course you should work if you want to. I guess it’s important to me that you know you don’t need to.”
He started walking in the direction of the fence where they’d parked the car, and she fell into step beside him. “I appreciate that. Lord knows there’ve been enough days of obnoxious customers and power-tripping bosses that I’ve prayed for some billionaire oil tycoon to sweep me off my feet so I can spend the rest of my days drinking Lynchburg lemonades by the pool.”
“You don’t drink whiskey cocktails by the pool.” He laughed, white-toothed grin visible in the darkness that thickened as they moved away from the bonfire.
“No? What do you drink, then?”
“I don’t know, pink fruity shit with little umbrellas.”
“Sounds like an expert opinion to me,” she scoffed.
He didn’t reply, and as the silence stretched between them she worried she’d said something offensive. She was halfway through her mental replay of what had just come out of her mouth when he spoke, his voice soft and serious.
“Thing is, my family’s always hitting me up for money. My mom drives home drunk, dents her car on a light pole, doesn’t want to tell the insurance company so she calls me to ask if I’ll cover the repair. The next day it’ll be my oldest sister on the phone, crying about breaking up with her kid’s dad for the fifteenth time, spinning this whole story about how she moved all her stuff to his house and had to walk out without any of it and my nephew has nothing to wear to school and could I just spot her enough for new gym shoes, oh and can I wire it first thing in the morning?” He shrugged. “I guess I’m used to taking care of everyone, even if I resent it sometimes, so the idea of my wife having to go to work in some dive with a creep like Rob for a boss— What I’m trying to say is it’s been a long time since anyone told me they didn’t need my money, that they could earn their own.”
“Which is a good thing, right?”
“Definitely.” He shot her a quick, reassuring smile. “Just caught me off guard.”
“I specialize in unpredictability.”
“Tell me about it,” he grumbled, but there was humor in his tone.
They walked another few feet in silence, the light and noise of the party now so distant and the wintry blackness so complete the bonfire might as well have been in another time, on another planet. Tara liked that feeling—that they were totally alone in this field, suspended, impervious to interference.
She reached across to close her palm around Chance’s wrist, tug his hand from his pocket and lace her fingers through his. He didn’t speak, and he didn’t pull away.
She smiled into the conspiratorial nighttime. Maybe this lunatic marriage experiment was going to work out after all.
Five
Tara peered through the windshield at the low-slung stone building and the all-caps declaration COMMISSARY etched on its façade. The parking lot was busier than she would’ve expected for a Wednesday morning, but then again she supposed a lot of army personnel didn’t work nine to five so the normal rules didn’t apply.
