Until There Was You (Coming Home, #2) Read online

  “I wasn’t planning on sleeping with anyone, let alone with you,” he said dryly.

  She laughed out loud and just like that, the tension snapped and fizzled into an almost comfortable silence. “Well played, Captain America. Well played.” She paused then. “Do you have any issues with this training plan?”

  He studied the chart that outlined the key measures of success for the convoy operations. After a long moment, he glanced up at her. Shadows fell across her face, casting it in a soft, subtle glow. “No. The timeline sucks, but the convoy stuff is a good plan.”

  “All right, that does it,” she snapped.

  “What?”

  “You’ve never said ‘good job’ to me on anything. Why are you suddenly signing off on this without an argument? What’s wrong with you?”

  He stared at the simmering anger reflected in her features, his body tightening at a sudden, vibrant image of Claire rising above him, her body glorious as her hips spread over his. It slid through his veins insidiously, taunting him with Claire and suddenly so much more. No more tight hair and harsh angles. Lush hips and full, heavy breasts and wild, unrestrained passion.

  Claire the woman, not Claire the soldier.

  “Nothing.” Abruptly, Evan pushed away from the table and walked from the room. He had no idea where this massive error in judgment was coming from, but there was no way in hell he was attracted to someone like Claire.

  Except that he was. And it shook him to the core of his soul to admit he had been from first time he’d first met her. He’d just spent every waking moment denying it since then.

  It unnerved him to think Claire was suddenly more than a woman in uniform. He didn’t date army women. He didn’t bring many women into his life or his bed, and invariably, they left, and it was always the same story. He was cold. He was distant. He was too rigid, too controlled.

  Maybe that was true. But it hadn’t mattered to him until now.

  What he saw when he looked at Claire was a dark and primitive being. It was Evan surrendering to the wild need burning inside him.

  * * *

  An hour later, Evan closed the door to his room, wishing he could appreciate the understated luxury. High-vaulted ceilings made the room feel bigger than it was. The wide bay windows disappointed him—a gnarled old oak blocked his view of the mountains. Dead branches swayed gently in the evening wind. Snow coated the grey bark, creeping down the branches and dripping into the white mound below.

  For a moment he was thrown back into a field soaked with blood, to another oak tree twisted with smoking metal and dusted with ash.

  He wished he could blame the trembling disquiet inside him on Claire’s distracting presence, but he couldn’t. He’d be lying to himself if he tried. Giving himself a shake, he yanked the curtains closed. He needed to get another room. One where the trees didn’t spark such painful memories.

  It wouldn’t help. The room wasn’t the problem.

  It was this place—too many memories and not nearly enough sleep collided with a single resurrected ghost. Turning his back on the window, he walked into the bathroom. It felt tiny compared to the high ceilings of the main room, but it beat the hell out of the tin trailers he’d called home on his last deployment to Iraq. He washed his face and brushed his teeth, then ran his wet fingers through his hair. Hell, he was just happy to have running water.

  Still, he couldn’t rein in the emotions churning in his gut. Panic? No, not by a long shot. But the feeling was so foreign and unsettling, he didn’t know what to call it. He felt … like the boy he’d been once upon a time. Like the kid who’d stood in his parents’ living room and listened to his mother’s heartbreaking sobs.

  He stretched his arms over his head, easing the tendons and focusing on what he could control. The tight pull of muscles across his damaged shoulder forced him back to the present.

  Just weeks before they’d been scheduled to come home from the latest deployment—and wasn’t that always the way?—their brigade tactical operations cell had been blown up and a freak piece of shrapnel had sliced across his upper back. Four months later, the wound had healed, leaving a jagged scar. It still ached if he didn’t take care of it.

  Taking over a brigade readiness exercise with less than two weeks’ notice was going to limit his ability to take care of it. But what the hell. The entire Iraq war was run on less planning and even less preparedness.

  He’d survived burning command posts, blown-up trucks, and complex attacks by an enemy they were supposed to easily subdue. His entire experience, from West Point through Armor Officer Basic Course to his four tours in Iraq, had instilled in him one thing: purpose. Training had readied him for the fog of battle. He knew how to react to sniper fire and how to hit the deck when the whir of a rocket blew up overhead. From the moment he’d turned seventeen, his life had had a direction. A purpose. To lead soldiers. And he was good at it. That wasn’t arrogance, it was fact. But nothing had prepared him for the single act of coming home.

  He was not used to feeling so unmoored and off balance. Having Claire here didn’t help matters, either. But he was a professional and he wasn’t going to let Claire distract him from the reason they were here: to prepare the soldiers of Golf Forward Support Company to face that same war, that same chaos.

  It was a no-fail mission, and Evan Loehr did not fail.

  Chapter Two

  An hour later, Evan stepped into the hallway and came to a grinding halt. Claire, it seemed, was staying in the room next to his.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered when she saw him. She sounded so disgruntled, Evan almost laughed. “My life is a cliché,” she added, but then shot him a smile he recognized. “I promise not to turn the music up to eleven if you promise not to have drunken orgies.” She snapped her fingers and wagged her finger at him as if she’d just had an epiphany. “No, wait. That would require you to have some kind of personality other than Captain America. Never mind.”

  “I’m not Captain America.” Evan started walking, irritated by the nickname that he should be used to by now.

  “What, that’s it? No snappy comeback?”

  “I’m not in the mood. So sue me.” He couldn’t even take a moment to appreciate the stunning transformation of Claire into civilian clothes. Her eyes were as deep as midnight in the shadows. Her hair tumbled down her back, reflecting the hallway lights like red star-cluster flares. He was fascinated by the change in her, a memory of another time mixing with the sight of her now. His blood stirred with latent arousal, making him want to feel her body pressed against him again.

  And if he kept up this line of thinking, he was going to end up in the gym tonight or taking a cold shower. Holy crap, he was a disaster.

  They rounded the corner, and Claire froze. Evan could practically see the hackles rising on the back of her neck. “Oh, perfect.”

  Evan stopped and frowned at the tiny woman coming out of the stairwell. Dim light made it hard to distinguish her from any other generic brunette, but he was pretty sure he recognized her. “Is that Lieutenant Engle?”

  Claire breathed out heavily and kept walking, her shoulders stiff. Mildly curious about the strength of Claire’s reaction, Evan followed her. He must have missed the part where the professional disagreement between them had morphed into active hatred on Claire’s part. This ought to be interesting.

  First Lieutenant Mallory Engle stopped in her tracks when she saw them. Engle was the kind of cute and perky that gave female lieutenants a bad reputation. Back in Iraq, Evan had barely tolerated the ditzy officer, who seemed to care only about the latest brainless celebrity scandals. Claire’s patience had been significantly less than Evan’s on a good day.

  “So this is where she disappeared to,” Evan said under his breath as they approached. He’d barely noticed her absence from the headquarters back at Fort Hood.

  “God hates me. All the lieutenants in the army and I can’t get away from this one.” She folded her arms over her chest. “
I’m going to slap the shit out of Iaconelli if he’s the reason she’s at the lodge.”

  Evan glanced sharply at her, wondering what exactly she was getting at. She didn’t honestly suspect Iaconelli would violate army policy by sleeping with the lieutenant, did she? Relationships—especially sexual ones—between officers and enlisted were forbidden.

  “Why are you here, Lieutenant?” she asked Engle. Only another officer could make the rank sound like a dirty word.

  Engle’s eyes widened a little bit, and she stiffened, attempting a slightly more military bearing. Which was pretty difficult, considering that her cleavage was helping to prop up the box she carried. “Well, um, I was looking for Reza—I mean, Sarn’t Iaconelli asked me to take him to get some food, but then he said he had some briefing, so he asked me to bring it upstairs for him and—” The words tumbled out in a rush, with absolutely no reservations whatsoever. With abrupt clarity, Evan remembered why he’d hated listening to her briefs.

  Claire’s words were laced with bitter cold. “I think you could better spend your energy with your current team, Lieutenant. It sends the wrong message that you’re in an enlisted man’s room when he’s not even present. Leave the food and go home.”

  Engle’s cheeks flamed red, and she dropped the food in front of Reza’s door before she disappeared back down the stairs. He waited until they turned another corner before broaching the subject with Claire. “What’s with the attitude? You’d have thought she was the Antichrist disguised as a lieutenant.”

  Claire was the one to keep walking this time, and Evan was certain it was to avoid his gaze. “She is.”

  Deeply curious now, Evan followed her. Tension radiated off her in waves, and while he was no stranger to Claire’s temper, this seemed different—far beyond normal competition or rivalry—and he wanted to know why. “Are you going to tell me what that was all about?”

  Claire sighed heavily. “Inquiring minds want to know, huh?”

  Everyone knew she and Engle had a personality conflict. Hell, it had been perfectly obvious every time the two of them were in a room together. This was somehow more. “Try me” was all he said.

  “Engle went to the brigade commander while we were still in Iraq. Told him that I was being mean to her. And while he told her to pound sand, the battalion executive officer, my boss, entertained her bullshit because she made it sound like it was a female thing instead of a senior officer correcting a junior. The XO told me to back off. And since I’m so good at obeying orders, I did. I’m not ending my career over some trashy lieutenant who can’t even spell LT.” Her words dripped with sarcasm and latent hostility. He’d never heard her sound more jaded or cynical.

  Evan said nothing for the length of an entire hallway, unable to reconcile the Claire walking next to him with the reckless officer from Iraq. He caught himself looking at the strands of copper-red hair that had fallen across her forehead, remembering that long-ago night when he’d kissed her and nearly tumbled into a dark mistake. He cleared his throat roughly. “Well, then. That explains the hostility.”

  Claire’s smile could have cracked glass and she walked off, leaving Evan alone with uncomfortable thoughts. And for the second time in the three years he’d known her, Evan allowed himself to be intrigued by the woman he saw behind the fractured smile.

  * * *

  Claire walked through the cavernous lobby of the ski lodge, heading out into the crisp, cold Colorado evening. Alone. She couldn’t figure out what was going on with Loehr and he was freaking her out. Reza melted out of the shadows, startling her.

  “So you do own clothes besides military uniforms. I’d wondered,” he said by way of greeting.

  “Funny. Real funny.” She offered a smart-ass smirk to her friend. “You know, you have serious ninja-like qualities. How does someone your size move so quietly?”

  “I’m a man of many talents. So how long do we have to stay tonight?” His smile dazzled white against the deep mahogany of his skin.

  “Why? Anxious to get back to your deployment snuggle bunny?”

  “Not funny,” Reza said dryly. “You need to lay off Engle.”

  “So do you,” she shot back. “We’re not in Iraq anymore. Things that might have been overlooked downrange will get you rung up back stateside.”

  They walked out into the cold night, crossing the village of ski shops and coffee nooks that made up the base of the resort. The bonfire was supposed to be at some pavilion near the edge of the running trail that Claire had been enjoying since she’d arrived. It might be cold, but that didn’t mean she didn’t need to work out.

  “How’s life with my favorite TOC roach, anyway?” Reza asked after a while.

  Ever since Claire had gone over to the dark side and earned her commission, she spent more of her life in the tactical operations center, or TOC, where commanders controlled their troops on the ground. Reza harassed her incessantly about leaving enlisted life behind. From anyone else, it would have gotten old, but Reza was family in every way that counted.

  “You’re just as much of a TOC roach as I am these days. The master gunner spends all of his time planning ranges and gunneries instead of shooting them.”

  “Ha ha fuck you, ha ha.” Reza stuffed his cell phone into his pocket. “Look, Engle isn’t as bad as you think she is,” he said.

  “I knew this was coming,” she grumbled. “You’re going to ruin your career over this girl. That or your drinking.”

  The sheer magnitude of her hypocrisy did not escape her. Her own relationship with Reza bordered on a violation of army policy, after all. Then again, she wasn’t sleeping with him and while it might be splitting hairs, there was a distinct difference.

  “No, I’m not, because it’s not like that. But you very well could if you don’t let it go and leave her alone. It’s not like you don’t have a track record there. Engle was looking for a friend downrange. I’d think you could understand that.”

  “Yeah, well, Engle is and always has been an officer. She needs to be looking for friendship in the officer ranks.”

  “Pot, meet kettle. Did it never occur to you that you and I are not supposed to be friends because you’re an officer now?”

  “Did it never occur to you that as a former enlisted soldier, I could give a shit about that rule? I’m not turning my back on my friends just because of my rank. It’s different, dammit.”

  When they’d gone through combat together the first time back in ’03, she’d developed a strong appreciation for what this man was capable of, despite his best efforts at ruining his career every single time he came back from the war.

  They walked into the pavilion, where the bonfire licked the night sky with brilliant oranges and golds and reds. “Stay out of trouble tonight, will you? All the combat awards in the world won’t help if you get caught with your pants down,” she said lightly. But Reza was already moving off, zeroing in on a cute blonde who looked positively miniature next to him.

  Personally, Claire hated these kinds of military social events. Attendance was strongly encouraged, but that was just a nice way of saying mandatory. Hail and farewells. Right-arm night, where commanders typically bought their first sergeants a drink. None of those things appealed to Claire in the slightest. But she was an officer, and mandatory fun was in her duty description—or so she’d been told.

  She refused to listen to the nagging voice in the back of her mind that said it wasn’t so different for her to hang out with Reza than it was for Engle. In truth, being friends with him was a risk to her rank. Officers and enlisted weren’t supposed to have close personal relationships. And Reza was one of her best friends—which was why she was so worried about him. Considering the sheer amount of alcohol he drank on a regular basis, she couldn’t help it.

  But no matter what, she could not—would not—report her friend to the army’s drug and alcohol program. She knew the seductive pull of addiction and she knew she could never compete with the sweet relief at the bottom of a bottle. And
it terrified her to think she might lose Reza the way she’d lost her father.

  Reza would kick her ass if he knew she worried about him as much as she did. She hated the way he chased his demons away with women and alcohol. But for Reza, it was always one or the other. Tonight, she hoped it would be a woman. Because if it was alcohol, she might not be able to find him in the morning.

  Claire spotted Evan near the bar at the edge of the pavilion, nursing a drink. He sat with his back to the bonfire, but every so often he’d glance in the massive oak mirror behind the bar. Who hung a mirror over a bar in an outdoor pavilion? Still, in the flickering firelight, it was beautiful. Intricate branches wove around the edge of the glass, giving it an aged, gothic look.

  He caught her watching him. He studied her now, his gaze dark and haunted. For the longest instant, their eyes met, and Claire could not look away. Frozen in the moment, echoes of torment lashed out at her from those dark depths, a violent storm she had never, ever expected to see in Evan Loehr.

  Loss. A deep, soul-crushing loss that he did not, for the barest flash of a moment, try to hide.

  Then he blinked and looked down at his drink and just like that, the spell was broken. And Claire turned away, before she did something infinitely stupid.

  Like ask him what was wrong.

  * * *

  Evan had already done the glad-handing with the commanders. As the party ground on, he waited for a good time to slip out and head to his room while trying not to freeze to death.

  At least the fire helped heat the frigid Colorado night. The pavilion was wide open on three sides, filled with tables that had small candles floating on gel. Everyone who wasn’t huddled around the fire congregated around the bar at the far end. A flash of red caught his eye and he paused, struck by the sight of Claire in her civilian clothes. He watched her from a distance, stealing glances at that beautiful red hair.

  Evan pulled his faded Patagonia jacket closed as he watched Claire. She stood at the edge, scanning the crowd of mostly unfamiliar faces. He had never considered himself a coward before, but approaching her took a different kind of strength. As he walked across the pavilion, he recognized it for what it was: a test. Facing someone who teased the edge of his control.