“E
LI’S FLYING IN
this afternoon. Greg’s picking him up at the airport and they’re heading straight to the rehearsal,” Lisa Mosley said as she strolled into Tara’s now-empty classroom after a cursory knock.
Tara knew he was coming, that he was one of the groomsmen, but hearing Lisa say it, sent her stomach somersaulting. Tara was a bridesmaid. She’d be at the rehearsal. He’d be at the rehearsal. The situation had disaster written all over it. But then, she’d known Eli had disaster written all over him from the first minute she’d seen him in high school and felt her heart drop into her stomach…and he hadn’t seen her at all.
She glanced up from the pile of essays her eighth graders had turned in last period. Despite the upheaval inside her, she strove for calm nonchalance. “And I care, why?”
Lisa settled on the edge of Tara’s desk. “Hel-lo. I distinctly remember what happened two years ago when Christy and Matt got married.”
Good Lord, Lisa would be insufferable if she only knew that it had been the second time Tara had slept with
Eli. In a moment of weakness, she’d confessed that second indiscretion to Lisa, but thank God, had the good sense to not tell her it was bedroom romp numero dos. “Everyone’s allowed one mistake—” or two “—in a lifetime.”
Lisa stared her down, continuing her interrogation Spanish Inquisition–style. “Are you bringing a date to the wedding?”
Tara abandoned the essays. Grading them wasn’t going to happen today. She leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms and returned Lisa’s stare. “I don’t need to bring a date to the wedding. I’m an independent woman who doesn’t have to have a man attached to her side to prove anything, thank you.”
“Anthony was busy?”
Smirking really wasn’t attractive on Lisa, but Tara held her tongue.
“Well, yeah.” Okay, so Tara
had
known a moment of last-minute panic. True enough, she didn’t need a man, but having a human shield between her and Captain Hard Body had suddenly struck her as a prudent move.
Eli Murdoch was her Achilles’ heel. Her weak spot. If she could keep him at arm’s length then he couldn’t get close enough to get around her. She just didn’t think she could put herself through another great-sex-and-then-he-never-calls episode again.
Hence, she’d made an emergency plea to Anthony Caldwell, who was nothing more than a friend and
totally, blindly in love with Trish McGee, who’d stupidly moved in with the good-for-nothing Mac Taylor—the intricacies of small-town relationships could be mind-boggling. But Anthony was out of town on business.
Which meant that Tara had to face Eli Murdoch on her own.
“Eli’s going to be your escort.” Lisa shot her an arch look.
“I wish you hadn’t…”
“Where there are sparks, there’s fire. Look at me and Greg. We’re the last two people you’d expect to get married.”
Wasn’t that the truth? Lisa was the smart chick with the smart mouth and Greg was your typical Tennessee good ol’ boy—but what they had worked. Still, Lisa, who always thought she knew best, was wasting her time having Eli escort Tara.
Whatever.
“I think I can handle hooking my arm through his without throwing him to the church floor and having my wicked way with him.”
“Are you sure about that?”
Actually, she wasn’t altogether certain—but she was darn sure going to try. For some crazy, totally frightening reason, all of her self-control seemed to desert her whenever she was close to his dark-haired, dark-eyed, chiseled-lipped, breathtakingly broad-shouldered, hard-bodied six-foot-two self.
Willpower? Gone.
Common decency? Out the window.
She remembered every inch, every nuance of him in excruciating, maddening detail even though it had been two years. The way his fingers had curled through hers when he held her hands above her head, against the smooth cotton sheets…the low, guttural sound he made in the back of his throat when she traced her finger along the muscled ridge bisecting his hip.
“It shouldn’t be a problem,” Tara said.
“You do realize that if Eli wasn’t a problem for you, you wouldn’t have had to turn to Anthony as a stand-in date? You’d have a real date.”
Now Lisa was just getting ridiculous. As if Eli Murdoch had any bearing on her love life or immediate lack thereof. “Please. I’ve dated guys. I just happen to be in between.”
She’d had two lovers since the last time she’d slept with Eli. One guy a year didn’t seem excessive. They’d been competent, and one would think that one man’s warm breath against her neck would feel the same as another’s, that the rasp of male stubble against her bare skin shouldn’t vary much from man to man. But it did. Neither of her subsequent lovers had come close to measuring up to Eli—literally or figuratively.
Unfortunately, Eli was the wrong man for her. She’d always known it—from the very first moment she’d laid eyes on him when she’d transferred to Jackson Flats High School as a sophomore. Her breath caught
in her throat as she recalled the very instant she’d seen him, a senior, decked out in his ROTC uniform, so commanding with his broad shoulders and height, so compelling with his piercing dark eyes, so handsome, it was as if everything inside her melted.
He’d clearly been eager to shake the dust of Jackson Flats from his heels and embark on a military career that meant moving often. She’d just arrived, desperate to settle into one place and call it home, after being dragged over the great state of Tennessee by her mother since the time she was a small child. Tara craved stability, she needed to put down roots.
“Well, I’m betting you wind up back in the sack with him this time, too.”
Falling into bed with Eli, yet again—and at a damn wedding once again—wasn’t going to happen. She hadn’t heard a single word from him in two years—no phone call, no e-mail, no message via friends. God, she’d have to be flat-out stupid or desperate—and she was neither.
“I’ll walk down the aisle with him—” Whoa, that came out all wrong. “—in your wedding, but that’s it. Nothing else. Not even a kiss.”
Ohmigod. Why’d she mention a kiss? The man kissed like heaven—regardless of where or what he was kissing. White-hot heat flashed through her.
Lisa shot her a knowing look. “Uh-huh.”
Tara ignored the clamor of certain body parts that
were already waving a white flag of surrender in anticipation. “Absolutely. And I’ll make sure he knows it right up front.”
E
LI LEFT HIS DUFFEL BAG
in the trunk of Greg’s ride and sauntered toward the First Methodist Church of Jackson Flats. A brisk wind whistled through February’s bare branches.
“Lisa was all nervous that we’d be late and here we are with—” Greg checked his wristwatch “—three minutes to spare. I’ve still got time to get in a smoke.”
Eli laughed, pushing his buddy toward the front steps of the steepled, stained glass building. “You need to give that up, man. It’s gonna kill you. And if you’re late, Lisa’s gonna kill me. Keep walking.”
Greg shot him a pitiful glance that didn’t even begin to disguise the sudden onset of “oh-shit-I’m-about-to-give-up-my-freedom” jitters. “You’re whipped and she’s not even your fiancée.”
“Nuh-uh. There’s a difference between being smart and being whipped. You’ve got about eighteen hours left to figure it out.”
Eli climbed the first step and his heart slammed against his ribs. Damn but he needed to get a handle on himself. He’d recently completed a number of night
jumps and managed to stay calm, cool and collected. So how had one woman managed to tie him up like this? He had to get a grip. It was all the more reason not to do something stupid like hook up again. No…not, just no, hell no.
Greg had filled him in on the other members of the bridal party. Traci Rowell, one of the bridesmaids, had always been cute and as far as he knew, was still unattached. Tara wasn’t the only game in town. He’d send a clear concise message he wasn’t interested this time.
Then suddenly, it was showtime. Greg pushed open one of the front double doors and announced in his booming voice, “Look who I found loitering at the airport.”
There was a sudden pause in conversation and then everyone headed toward them, pretty much all talking at once. Part of Eli’s training included making snap situation assessments. He noted everyone in the wedding party, but his gaze immediately sliced through the crowd to Tara, like a laser locking onto a target.
Some women didn’t age well. Unfortunately, she wasn’t one of them. She looked even better than he remembered, and he’d remembered her looking pretty damn good. Her honey-blond hair that had been cut in a chin-length bob two years ago, now hung past her shoulders…long enough to brush against his skin if she leaned over him…A new pair of square-shaped glasses framed her green eyes—very sexy. Her mouth, however, had remained unchanged—wide, generous,
tempting. And the lush curves of her body he’d so enjoyed were still enough to send his pulse into overdrive.
Lisa, Greg’s outspoken bride-to-be, launched herself at Eli, enveloping him in a sisterly hug. “Hey, you. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
And then the rest of his old schoolmates greeted him, exchanging hellos and handshakes. He didn’t miss the fact, however, that Tara held herself apart, even though he could feel the heat of her green eyes scanning him from head to toe, covering all the interesting spots in between.
After a few minutes, Mrs. Cantrell, the wedding director, took over. “Okay, since we’re all here now, let’s get started. First, I’m going to pair up the groomsmen and bridesmaids so you know how to line up and who’ll be escorting whom out. Just move to the side when I call your names.” She glanced down at her notepad and began to read off her list. Third pair down she announced, “Eli Murdoch, Tara Swenson.”
As they moved to the side, Eli whispered, “Hi, Tara.” He was in imminent danger of drowning in her sea-green eyes.
“Hello, Eli.” She tucked her hair behind one pink-shelled, double-pierced ear. Dammit, even her ears were sexy. He remembered nibbling at that delicate little lobe, and Tara making the softest moan in the back of her throat…“Stop it,” she hissed under her breath.
“What?” He hadn’t done anything. He hadn’t even touched her. Still, her scent wrapped around him, evoking the memory of her smell on his skin after sex, her taste against his tongue.
“Quit looking at me like that.” Her eyes were taking on that smoky, glazed look he knew so intimately.
“Like what?”
“You know what.”
“I wouldn’t ask if I knew, would I?”
She turned her head away from the rest of the wedding party and said in a low voice that cut right through him, “Don’t look at me like you’d like to eat me up.”
Okay, so maybe he
had
checked her out when he came in. Last time he noticed, he was still a red-blooded American male, but what the hell. She’d given him the once-over, too. “Well, then maybe you shouldn’t look at me that way.”
“You wish.” She crossed her arms over her chest and shot him a smoldering look that didn’t do a damn thing to bank the fire she’d started inside him. Because, quite frankly, her actions just showcased her well-rounded assets. “And just for the record, I’m telling you up front, I’m not going to—” she lowered her voice to a husky almost-whisper “—make the same mistake I’ve made at the last two weddings.”
Exactly his thought. They were on the same page. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“You are?” She looked…shocked. She quickly re
covered her aplomb. “Well, of course you are. We’re both using better judgment this time.”
“Yep. You’ll be relieved to know I’m not planning to…follow that path, either.”
“That’s…great,” she said, her smile overly bright, a tad strained. “It’s a big relief.”
“Glad we got that out of the way.”
“Yep.”
“Okay, everyone.” Mrs. Cantrell clapped her hands together. “Ladies, if you’ll move to the rear of the church. Gentleman, I’d like you to gather at the front pew.”
“She said gentlemen, but I bet she wants you up there, too,” Tara said with a sassy smirk before heading to the back of the church.
He stood momentarily transfixed by the bounce of her blond hair against her shoulders and the sensual sway of her hips as she took a shortcut through the pews.
Good thing they’d cleared the air. Because right now, he wanted desperately to kiss the top of her head and her feet and every space in between.
“L
ET’S TRY THIS AGAIN
. We’ve got to get things right before we can finish up,” Mrs. Cantrell intoned from the front of the church.
“Again?” Tara said, her stomach bottoming out.
How long would they spend going through the exit routine? This was the third time Kathy Farland had missed her cue. Which meant it was the third time Tara had to link her arm through Eli’s.
She knew it shouldn’t be a big deal. The problem was, she couldn’t link her arm though his without feeling the play of all those hard muscles, getting caught up in the incendiary heat that seemed to roll off of him, surrounding her with his scent, his heat, him. It was a rapid plunge into lust-driven madness. Two lousy, long years and simply standing next to him made her body hum.
Again?
Was he remembering, too?
His eyes, so dark when he was aroused it was difficult to tell where his pupils began and ended, snared hers. The slow slide of a smile across his well-shaped mouth held a feral edge. “Again.”
God, yes, he remembered. The last time. She’d still been riding the final wave of an orgasm when he’d slipped one long, talented finger inside her, curving it to find and stroke the spot on the front, inside her…She’d looked at him and gasped, “Again?” He’d smiled that same smile, all the while his finger stroked against the magic spot he’d found, winding her up tighter and tighter. She’d cried out “again” just as she shattered a second time.
Every time he touched her, looked at her, something inside shifted, melted. She was ready to scream. How long could one wedding rehearsal take? And they still had the dinner to get through. It felt as if the night would never end. On the other hand, she was dreading that end. There was a sad pathetic part of her that wanted to spend as much time as possible with him, near him, because she had no idea how long it would be before she saw him again.
The really frightening part was she hadn’t felt this alive in years. It was as if every sense, every part of her body had gone on red alert.
She retraced her steps to the lineup left of the altar and waited with the other bridesmaids until it was her turn—their turn. With a measured step she walked toward Eli with his smoldering eyes and his sensually chiseled mouth. The gleam in his eyes sent a shiver through her.
He held out his arm and she slipped hers through. Even through two layers of clothes—his and hers—the
contact sizzled. A slick hot moisture gathered between her thighs and her nipples tightened, a purely instinctive response on a cellular level to the memory of the slide of his bare, hair-roughened skin against hers. It was as if she was programmed to respond to him with an intensity she could never know with another man.
Finally, mercifully, Mrs. Cantrell was content everyone could manage their way through the ceremony and they all headed to Lambert’s, the nicest restaurant in Jackson Flats. Tara welcomed the bracing cold of the February night. It sobered her, helped her get her head back on straight.
The tables had been set up in a T formation. Greg, Lisa and their parents were all seated at the top part of the T, with the rest of the wedding party at a long table running perpendicular. Somehow, she wound up seated across from Eli, which was actually worse than if she’d been next to him.
Even though she, Traci and Mark Elliott were wrapped up in a discussion about Jackson Flats’s town-square renovation—they were all committee members—only part of her brain was engaged. Every time she glanced up, she couldn’t seem to avoid looking at Eli. She could feel his eyes on her, as if he couldn’t ignore her, either.
“So, Eli, I understand you’re a big dog now,” Greg’s father said as everyone was being served a shrimp-cocktail appetizer. Megaphone voices must run in the Waddell family, Tara assumed. Greg was as loud as anybody’s business.
Eli nodded and his smile was different—it spoke of accomplishment, of a goal realized. “Yes, sir. I finished jump school today. I report to Fort Bragg on Monday for Special Forces training.”
How had she not heard this? Everyone knew everyone else’s business in small towns, especially one as small as Jackson Flats. Her belly clenched and an icy dread slid down her spine. “But that’s dangerous, isn’t it?” Tara blurted before she even stopped to think. It was one thing to know he was in the Army but Special Forces…
Eli shrugged his impossibly broad shoulders. “It’s all a matter of perspective. What’s dangerous is going into a situation you’re not equipped to handle. But with the proper training—”
She interrupted him, cutting to the chase. “Will you be sent in to places where people are trying to kill you?” She knew he’d been stationed in Europe for a while but so far, he’d avoided being sent to Afghanistan or Iraq. Special Forces? That was about to change in a heartbeat.
“Easy, Tara,” Greg said.
Tara held Eli’s eyes and the entire table was quiet, waiting on his answer.
“Yes.”
She nodded past the lump in her chest. “And Airborne Special Forces? That means you’ll parachute into bad situations?”
He didn’t have to answer, she saw it in his eyes.
Bad
situations
was giving it a positive spin. “Yeah,” he admitted. “But hey, look at what inner-city cops face every day. Or firefighters like Danny.” He nodded toward Greg’s brother who sat halfway down the table. “It’s really pretty much the same kind of deal. You train to handle what comes your way and then you go out and do it.”
Danny nodded in silent acknowledgement and Tara caught the look that passed between Danny and Eli—a shared camaraderie of men who put their lives on the line every day in service to community and country.
He could’ve taken the opportunity to boast, to impress the table with the level of danger he could handle, but instead, he’d quietly deflected talk away from himself.
“I don’t think I could jump out of a plane, and sure as hell not when some sucker’s shooting at me.” Greg whistled under his breath. “Man, you must have a set of brass ba—”
“Greg,” Lisa cut him off with an elbow to his side. “Your mother. My mother.”
Greg nodded in apology. “Sorry, Mrs. Mosley, Mom.”
The rest of the table laughed and the tension lightened. Conversation began to flow around them again. Tara broke eye contact, her hand unsteady as she reached for her water glass, realizations washing over her. There was a part of her that wanted to scream
no, no, no don’t do it, don’t go to the Special Forces
training,
and there was another part of her that felt as if she might burst with pride in his accomplishments, his discipline, his willingness to serve their country.
Underlying both those parts was the knowledge that she was sunk, lost, a goner. She’d sensed it the moment she saw him in his ROTC uniform ten years earlier. It was the reason she couldn’t keep her panties on and her legs together at those other two weddings.
She was stupidly in love with Eli Murdoch.