“I know that. Have you accepted it?”
She shoved her hand in the pocket of her black pants, and finding the silver tear, squeezed it so tight it bit into her skin. “Dean . . .”
“Angel.” He sighed. “All right, I’ll let it go. But here.” The paper he held out had been folded into quarters.
Marlys opened the sheet and stared at the slick-looking flyer. “What’s this all about?” she asked, looking up at Dean.
“Juliet’s throwing her own launch party for your father’s book.”
“There’s already a party planned.”
“One she isn’t invited to attend, right?”
Marlys refused to feel the slightest pinch of shame. The only thing she felt bad about was that she’d confessed to Dean that Helen had left Juliet out at her request. “We’ve already been over that.”
Dean sighed. “You’re right. But Juliet wants to be sure you know that you’re invited to the party she’s throwing.”
Marlys glanced back at the flyer. “What’s this place? Malibu & Ewe?”
“A shop on the Pacific Coast Highway. I gather it has plenty of parking.”
“Well, thanks for passing the info along.” Marlys set the piece of paper aside, when she would have preferred to make a ball and send it straight to the round file.
“Unlike your friend’s, this party is open to everyone,” Dean said. “You could post the flyer in your window.”
Incredulous, Marlys stared at the man. “You must have the totally wrong impression of me.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so. I wouldn’t feel like this if you were . . .”
“A stone-cold bitch?” she supplied helpfully.
He laughed. “I think you’re scared. And it’s my job to boost your morale.”
“Oh, baby, I’ve got self-esteem to burn. Surely you can see that.”
“I can see the future sometimes, you know, thanks to my Cherokee forefathers.”
“Yeah?” She sauntered closer, intrigued despite herself. “My bullshit meter is quivering, but I’ll play. What’s this super-vision of yours foresee?”
He grabbed her close, grinning when she squeaked. “Me. I see me in your head, in your heart, and I’m burrowing deep, angel.”
She rolled her eyes, trying not to panic at the thought. Burrowing deep? He was
deploying
. “I suppose you see me naked, too.”
He looked off, apparently searching his inner crystal ball. “I guess it’s going to let me get that picture all on my own. You
are
going to get naked for me, aren’t you, angel?”
“Dean . . .” He kissed away whatever she’d been about to say. It was like every time before, which was like no time with anyone else. It was deep and wet and now she knew why they called it a soul kiss. He touched her there, her soul, and damn, she had one.
She stepped back, startled.
And worried a little, because it might mean she had a conscience as well.
“Why look so stricken?” Dean asked. His dark eyebrows drew together.
“How . . . why . . .” Her voice wouldn’t rise above a whisper. “I don’t think . . .”
“Stop thinking,” Dean said, pulling her close to press his forehead to hers.
She breathed him in and already it was familiar, and the familiarity was as heady as the scent itself. “How do you know . . . ?”
“That this is right?”
Man could see both the future and read her thoughts. God. But she nodded.
“I just . . . do.” He moved back but didn’t let go of her, a crooked smile she’d never seen before making her stomach clench. “I have a rep, Marlys.”
“You don’t have to tell me you have a way with women—”
“Not that kind.” He traced her mouth with two of his fingertips. “I’m known to be a little . . . impetuous.”
She laughed. “You think?”
“Reckless.”
The way he said the word was a clean kill to her laughter. “Reckless.”
“There are guys—other soldiers I know—who are so damn careful. It used to make me kind of nuts, if you want to know the truth. Because I thought it took a certain kind of rashness to do what we do.”
Her stomach clenched again. Impetuous. Reckless. Rash. Those were words she’d once used to describe herself.
“Before every mission, there are guys who whip out the photos of their girls and look at them like they’re making promises and saying prayers at the same time.”
Marlys was glad he was holding her up, because her knees were like pudding.
“When I opened my eyes that first day and I saw you standing there, I knew. I just knew. ‘That’s the picture I’ll have in my head every time I go into battle,’ I told myself.”
No
. She couldn’t do it! That couldn’t be her. She didn’t want to live a life waiting for a man to come back, just like she’d waited all her childhood for her father to return and take her away. He hadn’t, right? Instead, he’d left her with the lonely civilian childhood and the bitter woman that her mother had become. Marlys never got what she wanted most.
But she couldn’t help herself. With a little whimper, she pulled Dean close and buried her face in his shoulder. She should be running from him, she wanted to run from him, but she wasn’t strong enough to do it. Burrowing closer, she wondered how hard it would be to crawl inside his skin.
He drew her even nearer; they were pressed tight from chest to knee. Still, she moved into him.
“Ouch.” Dean insinuated his hand between their bodies and felt the lump in her patch pocket. “What’s this?”
Before she could stop him, he’d pulled free the silver pendant and chain. “Oh, Marlys.”
The phone jangled in the shop, and she ignored it, her gaze fixed on the silver tear that was swinging between her and her soldier.
Leeza’s voice reached her from the other side of the curtain. “Marlys, you need to take this. And don’t forget you’ve got that appointment in fifteen minutes.”
Marlys’s gaze jerked from the necklace to Dean. “I have things I’ve got to do.”
“I understand.”
He would never understand. But really, she couldn’t do this. That pendant proved the point. She couldn’t, wouldn’t fall in love with this man and she couldn’t, wouldn’t, let him fall in love with her.
He kissed her forehead, then looped the chain around her wrist.
“Wear this for me tonight, angel. When I get to your house, I’ll take it off. Before we make love, I’ll take all your tears away.”
Oh, God
. She had to figure out something to stop both.
There could be no love.
There would be no tears.
Seventeen
If it is your time, love will track you down like a cruise missile.
—LYNDA BARRY
Blackie went ballistic when the doorbell rang as he always did. Marlys’s heart reacted in the same way, slamming against her breastbone as she left her bedroom and made her way down the stairs. Before touching the doorknob, she cinched the belt of her robe more tightly. Then, with a last deep breath, she pulled open the door.
The dog rushed forward and his rambunctious greeting pushed Dean back a step, though he stayed well within the bright glow of the porch light. Then the man spoke in his usual firm tone, and Blackie obeyed, sitting as ordered, his gaze on his god’s face. His furry body shivered with delight.
Dean grinned over Blackie’s head at Marlys and she had to accept that he hadn’t turned ugly in the few hours they’d been apart. There was the same studly soldier’s body, the gleaming dark hair, the silver eyes. They narrowed, his smile dying, and then his gaze roamed over her, from her mussed hair and smudged lipstick, to the hint of bare legs exposed by the gap in her long flannel robe.
“I was planning on taking you out to dinner,” he said.
She swallowed to lubricate her dry throat. “I’m not exactly dressed in my restaurant duds.”
His gaze flicked over her again and he leaned a shoulder against the jamb. “Yeah, I see that. Everything okay?”
“Dandy.” She took a quick glance over her shoulder and wiped her sweaty palms along her flannel-covered thighs. “I just, uh, sorta lost track of time.”
“No problem. Why don’t I go out and get some food for us to eat here. Thai okay?”
Marlys hadn’t expected this to be so hard. The first part of her plan had been nothing, she’d divorced her mind from what was happening by thinking instead of how much safer she’d be when it was over. But damn, it wasn’t over yet, and looking at Dean, at his handsome face and honest expression—
“No Thai?” he asked.
Helpless, she shook her head. There wasn’t going to be a meal. Any second now he’d look at her with disgust instead of puzzlement and she’d go back to her man-free, emotionally strong life.
“My choice, then,” Dean said.
“S-sure.” It
was
going to be his choice. She’d known her unwanted but undeniable attachment to him meant that
she
couldn’t have walked away, so she’d manipulated the situation to provide herself with the opportunity and him with the means to make the cold, clean break.
Except, God, it didn’t feel clean at all. It felt dirty. She felt dirty. Her stomach roiled and placing her palm over it, she glanced up the stairs again. Shit, what was taking so long?
When she turned back, Dean was looking up the stairway, too, but there wasn’t anything to see. Yet.
Damn it all.
Straightening, he shoved one hand in his pocket and she heard keys jangle. “I’m off then—”
“No!” He couldn’t leave now. He’d miss the show and she was certain she’d never manage a repeat performance. “No. Just a minute . . .”
And then it came. The sound of footsteps jogging down the carpet-covered stairs, the little jaunty whistle that used to make her nuts, but now just made her queasy.
“There you are!” Pharmaceutical Phil said, in the happy tones of a man who’d gotten lucky without having to work for it. His hair was damp from his shower—God, she’d forgotten how annoyingly long he liked his showers—and he had his suit jacket hooked over one finger. “I left my tie somewhere.”
Marlys moved her gaze to Dean’s face. “Try the kitchen counter.”
“Good idea.” Phil’s stride hitched as he suddenly seemed to realize there was someone in her doorway. “Uh, hey.”
“Hello.” There wasn’t a hint of heat or ice in Dean’s response, but when no one moved to make introductions, Phil continued on his way, jaunty whistle restarting.
He’s such a sap
, Marlys thought.
I can’t believe he bought a ring and ever thought I’d say yes.
“He doesn’t deserve you using him,” Dean said.
Guilt had no place here. “Believe me, I don’t think he’d complain.”
Dean’s eyebrows rose. “That good, huh?”
The cheerful whistle emerged from the kitchen and approached them again. Pharmaceutical Phil looked oblivious to the tension in the entryway—and damn self-satisfied, too. Marlys cast him a look, then sent a more pointed one at Dean. “What do you think?”
Phil leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Thanks for the . . .” He let the sentence trail off as if, again, he only now realized there was an audience.
Marlys rolled her eyes. “Boffing you was just what I needed this afternoon,” she replied. “Good-bye, Phil.”
Maybe, finally, the thick atmosphere registered in Phil’s thick skull. “Good-bye, Marlys.” He sketched a little wave, then ducked past the other man and headed toward the street where she’d instructed him to leave his car. She’d wanted to make this moment a complete surprise for Dean.
She squared her shoulders. “Would you like to come in?” she asked the man. Or he could do the big scene in the doorway. His pick.
“I think I’ll stay right here, if you don’t mind.”
“Fine.” Better than fine. Because in closer quarters they would both smell the scent of Phil’s Armani cologne on her skin. She’d selected it for him herself, as she recalled, but now the fragrance was like rotting fish to her senses. Her palms slid over flannel again and she thought of the shower upstairs with longing. She wanted to wash in the worst way, but she’d put it off for just this reason.
And after Dean got through with her, she’d probably want to shower away his loathing, too.
But he wasn’t gazing on her with revulsion like she’d planned. Instead, he was shaking his head and looking at her with . . . she didn’t know what to call it. Pity?
“Angel. I knew you were scared, but this? Why didn’t you just say something?”
“Say what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Panic was fluttering in her belly, same as every time he kissed her, same as every time she thought of him soldiering in Afghanistan. Screwing Phil was supposed to put a stop to that! Screwing Phil was supposed to get Dean out of her life, but instead he seemed to have grown roots in her porch in order to give his X-ray vision another chance at looking inside her soul.
The one she didn’t have, damn it.
“You’re terrified,” Dean said. “I had no idea how much this thing between us frightened you.”
“Hah,” she started, but then couldn’t think of any follow-up that wouldn’t sound desperate and hollow. “Hah,” she said again, fainter. It was embarrassing as hell that tough-skinned, tough-talking Marlys Marie Weston couldn’t come up with anything better than that.
“Oh, angel.”
He was doing it again. Making her feel soft and vulnerable and female. Here she was, standing with some other man’s smell on her and because Dean wasn’t turning away, she was so ridiculously grateful she felt like crying.
Even though she knew there were only more tears in her future if she didn’t get a hold of herself. If she let herself care for the man, this man going off to his soldier’s world, she’d be powerless. He could forget about her, he could find someone else, he could . . . he could . . .
He could die.
And the thought of that just . . . just . . . She reached in her robe pocket and squeezed the small silver pendant. The thought of that just pissed her off.