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

  “You look like you’d rather be walking patrols in Fallujah right now.” Claire’s spine stiffened automatically at the sound of his voice, and Evan smiled. He’d snuck up behind her on purpose, remembering that first night he’d met her.

  He studied her failed attempt at a poker face. The flicker of emotion that danced in her eyes reminded him that sometimes, jokes about combat were too soon. Fallujah had been bad—really bad—both times he’d been there. And Evan hated doing shoot houses to this day, because the reality was so much worse than anything they could do in training.

  “Pretty much” was all she said in response. He wondered if she’d almost choked on that unusually restrained remark. She shivered and pulled the neck of her coat tighter around her throat. “Whose brilliant idea was it to have a bonfire in the middle of winter? A bonfire, period.”

  Evan smirked. “There is always time to rub elbows,” he said dryly.

  “Yeah, well I’d rather not do it while freezing to death. I can’t get used to being cold all the time,” she said. Her eyes danced with flames from the firelight.

  “It’s not just you. I grew up here, and I’m freezing my ass off.” He wasn’t sure why he’d shared that with her. Some part of him just wanted her to know.

  “You’re from around here?” Claire asked.

  Evan breathed out a sigh of relief, determined to keep the tentative truce between them. Talking about home seemed to be a safe enough subject. For now. “Yeah, I grew up a few miles away.”

  She frowned and tipped her chin, studying him. Old memories swirled beneath his simple statement, closer to the surface than he preferred. “Huh. Never figured you from Colorado.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It means I figured you were hatched from an egg or carved from stone.” He almost took offense, but her lips curled in a slight smile, and he realized she was teasing him.

  She always put on such a façade, hiding the real woman beneath the uniform. She always kept her distance from people, and had for as long as he’d known her—which was a while now, he realized. More than three years. He hadn’t seen her much that first deployment. But on the second, they’d both served operations duty after he’d left command.

  They’d never been friendly during those long hours in the TOC, but every so often, in the relentless hours of day-to-day operations, a slice of personality would sneak through past the barriers of egos and spikes of adrenaline when they’d had troops in contact with the enemy. He’d just never allowed himself to pay attention before now.

  “Is that what’s bothering you? Being home?” Her question caught him off guard. The words were smooth, lacking the vitriol she normally reserved for him. “You’ve been … off your game since we got here. Unhappy childhood?”

  You have no idea. He swallowed back the comment and searched for anything else to avoid acknowledging the riot of emotions inside him. “No. It’s just … I don’t like being bored. We haven’t done jack shit since we came home from the war three months ago.”

  She smiled. This was a safe subject for them. “Yeah. Sometimes the only thing that feels right is being at work. Like fifteen-hour days in the tactical operations cell is what’s normal now, you know?”

  “Normal is relative,” he said quietly. “You look nice. You should try to wear civvies more often.”

  Her eyes were cast in shadows as she studied him. “What do you want, Evan?” There was no acrid bite to her words. Just a simple, loaded question.

  Evan said nothing. Until he’d come home to Colorado, he’d thought he had what he wanted. He loved being an officer in the army. The brothers he’d made in uniform had filled the hole in his life where his family had once belonged. He’d been satisfied with the occasional date, the occasional social outing. He’d thought the uniform completed him, filling the void inside him.

  Now? Now he looked at Claire, at the firelight dancing over her skin, and everything he’d been missing in his life stood before him in aching, vibrant clarity. It wasn’t as though he suddenly wanted to settle down and get married, but he couldn’t ignore that he wanted more than the regimented existence he’d allowed himself. For the first time since that kiss, he wanted to act on the lush fantasies he’d entertained about her.

  Claire braced one arm over her stomach, resting her other arm against it and holding a beer in front of her. He wondered briefly if she knew that standing that way plumped her cleavage, accenting the soft curves of her breasts. That, or his imagination had entirely too much time on its hands, because she was wearing a winter coat.

  When had he started thinking about her like this? Why the hell couldn’t he stop?

  A crash at the end of the pavilion in the vicinity of the bar caught his attention, saving him from having to answer her question.

  “Iaconelli is going to get arrested,” Evan muttered. “He should be more professional than that.”

  Claire shot him an odd look. “Are you going to tell on him? He’s not out wrecking his car. Let the guy relax.” She took a sip of her own drink, appearing calm, but her words were laced with sarcasm. “You should try it sometime. Relaxing? Might do wonders for your personality.”

  She’d meant it as a joke. He knew that, but it did nothing to stop the powerful memories of twisted metal and burning leather. His beer suddenly tasted sour.

  “There’s a fine line between relaxing and being unprofessional,” he said shortly. He threw his beer in the trash with a clink of broken glass. “You of all people should know that.”

  * * *

  Claire was still simmering from Evan’s caustic remark a few hours earlier. Unprofessional? Who did he think he was? She hadn’t seen Evan for much of the rest of the evening, but she hadn’t been able to shake the deep, seething anger that had settled over her heart when he’d stalked off. It was probably for the best that he’d left. She’d been about to tell him where he could shove his attitude, and telling off the officer in charge was never a good plan. The last thing she needed to do was get into yet another argument with Evan.

  Pressure had long ago started wrapping around her lungs, squeezing the air from them along with her ability to keep her temper in check. Mandatory fun had long ago petered out for all but the most devoted ass-kissers. Or, in Claire’s case, for those who were tailing the drunks while they continued to party. Reza was still chatting up the cute blonde, and he was the only reason Claire hadn’t left yet. At least he’d stayed away from Engle tonight. Evan already thought Claire was a shitty officer. If he found out she was covering for Reza, it would only cement her status as a bottom-rung captain who didn’t follow the rules.

  Claire just wanted to get Reza home and locked safely in his room before he showed his ass and got in trouble. At least two men who Claire would have bet money were command sergeants major were currently giving him the hairy eyeball. If she could just get him out of here, she had a snowball’s chance in Texas of getting him safely to bed and keeping Evan from seeing him piss drunk.

  Claire sighed and tried to figure out the best way to get him out without looking like she was babysitting him—or taking him home herself. This was turning into one of those pesky times when it would have been better if she were in uniform.

  “Crap,” she mumbled beneath her breath. She tossed her drink into the trash and started weaving through the picnic tables toward Reza and the giggling blonde. She offered up a silent prayer that he wasn’t going to make a scene. Though it wasn’t really a question of if he would make a scene. Only how big.

  Reza swayed on his feet as she approached, and the woman next to him laughed and leaned into him to help prop him up. Claire narrowed her eyes, wondering if the cute young thing even realized he probably didn’t know her name.

  Reza chose that exact moment to stagger into the tiny blonde, and the two of them went crashing to the floor. Claire rushed across the rest of the space and pulled the big man off the squirming female, who appeared to be enjoying herself a little too much. She bit back a horrif
ied laugh as Reza mumbled, “Stop wiggling,” while Claire struggled to heave him to his feet.

  After she finally managed to get him upright, she jerked her chin at the small blonde, who was brushing off her white pants. “You okay?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” She stiffened and looked at Claire as if she were stealing her date. Not in this lifetime, sister, Claire thought darkly.

  Trying not to look like she was staggering beneath his weight, Claire maneuvered Reza out of the pavilion. Silence hung around them as she struggled to get him outside without tripping over his feet or her own. She shivered, and it had nothing to do with the cold. No, the chill was laced with a slithering fear that Reza was closer to the edge of a breakdown than she’d ever wanted to admit.

  The full moon hung heavy and pregnant over the mountain, casting the snow-covered path in soft silver light. They were making steady progress when Reza shifted too quickly and Claire barely got out a “damn it, Reza” before the big man stumbled and went down, dragging her with him. Reza landed with an elbow in her ribs, knocking the air from her lungs. She barely managed to keep her head from smacking against the wall as they landed in a pile of limbs and muffled curses.

  “Get off me.” She struggled to keep the panic from her voice as the air fled her lungs and rational thought flittered for an escape route. Memories rushed in. “Reza, get off!”

  Chapter Three

  Evan was moving before the last panicked words left Claire’s mouth. Not once in three years had he ever heard panic from Claire Montoya. He’d been watching with interest from a distance as she tried to maneuver the big platoon sergeant home but when they’d fallen, it was the panic in her voice that had his feet moving before he’d given it conscious thought. He shoved Reza off her, not caring where the big man landed on the frozen earth so long as he no longer held Claire down.

  Her eyes were wide, her lips parted just a fraction of an inch. Her throat worked convulsively as she swallowed, staring at memories only she could see. Her breath came in short, quick huffs. His heart ached for her. He knew the reaction to trauma all too well. There was too much adrenaline spiking through her system for her to process it all at once.

  A dark and powerful emotion rose from a deeply buried place inside him. She was not his to worry about. Not his to protect. She complicated everything. Evan didn’t like complicated things.

  He stood for the longest moment, unable to move. Unable to offer comfort. Unable to break free from the torment of his own demons. Still, his hands hung clenched and useless. Just like always. Just like before, with his sister. Until her panic overwhelmed him, and he pushed aside the bleeding memories to kneel by her side. He forced his voice to work. “Claire?”

  All at once, she came back to herself with a single, sharp inhaled breath. A pink flush crept up her neck and she sat for a moment, visibly adjusting her clothing and pulling herself back together. She pushed abruptly to her feet, ignoring his outstretched hand. “I’m so done with this. Let’s get him to bed so I can go back to my room.”

  Her voice was sharp, but for once, he recognized it for what it was. Defensiveness. And sheer stubbornness. And behind all of that, he saw Claire’s sheer determination to put Reza to bed and nothing Evan was going to do would stop that. He might as well help out.

  Shifting, he stepped under Reza’s other side, ignoring Claire’s surprised expression. Hell, she surprised him when she didn’t argue.

  Sighing, she started fishing around in Reza’s pockets for his wallet. “A little to the left,” he mumbled.

  She slapped Reza’s back. “Knock it off, pervert. Where’s your room key?”

  “Wallet. Front pocket,” Reza mumbled. He frowned and leaned up, squinting at her. “Aw shit, Claire. You went and cock blocked me, didn’t you?”

  After much swearing, banged extremities and dropping Reza at least once, they managed to get him into bed.

  Claire stepped back and folded her arms over her chest, looking down at her prone friend. Evan watched her carefully, looking for any trace of the panic he’d seen earlier. Instead, there was fierce determination. Stubborn, he thought and almost smiled. Yes, Claire was certainly stubborn.

  She rubbed her hands down her arms as she scanned the room, then pulled the plastic liner from the trash can. “I feel like we’re in some weird alternate reality where we’re a couple of privates instead of a pair of captains.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Saving him some money on hotel damage fees. Help me get this under his ass.”

  “Maybe he needs to pay for some damages. Does Iaconelli drink like this all the time?”

  Claire froze. “So what if he does?”

  “Do you do this all the time? Put drunk NCOs to bed?”

  Claire visibly flinched at his words. She might have been cracking morbid jokes but it was all an act, a valiant attempt to hide the wounded creature he’d just caught a glimpse of. She shifted then and caught him watching her. The war—specifically the Surge—had etched its way into Evan’s soul. Maybe permanently. What had it done to Claire? Who had she been before she’d gone to war and come home again?

  “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

  She smirked, and he saw a trace of the familiar smart-ass starting to surface. “Did you choke on that apology?” he asked, keeping his voice light.

  She breathed deeply, and Evan braced for whatever she was about to say. Instead she turned and left Reza’s room silently, placing his room key on the dresser near the television where he could easily find it in the morning. Evan followed her.

  They stood in the hallway outside Reza’s room and Evan finally could take a full, deep breath. In the soft light, Claire looked vulnerable and tired. But not weak. Never weak.

  “I’m worried about him.”

  “I can see that,” he said quietly, wishing he had more to offer. Wishing he knew how to do this, whatever this was.

  At that moment, the vulnerability he’d seen in her eyes overrode any thoughts of self-preservation and he reached for her. A light touch, her shoulder beneath his palm. Evan felt her tension in the space between his gesture and her surprise. Her mouth opened, just a bit, and she didn’t move for a long moment. His blood bolted through his body like a razor, slicing any trace of his composure to shreds. He’d never before had the joint desire to throttle someone and hold that person close. But Claire tended to bring out the strangest reactions in him. He should be used to the dichotomy by now. He’d never been very smart when it came to Claire Montoya.

  Touching her after all those years was stupid. Yet there was nothing else he could do, nothing else he desired more than to simply touch her, to find some way to offer comfort.

  “What happened back there?” he said. “When you fell.”

  They stood in silence for several moments, and Evan was certain that she’d turn away from him—that she wouldn’t answer his question.

  Then there was a subtle shift as Claire leaned into him. She didn’t turn. She didn’t look up. She simply leaned against him. And Evan, fool that he was, held her up.

  “I don’t like being pinned down,” she finally admitted.

  Evan frowned, leaning away from her to peer down at her face. “But you do combatives. Several of those fighting positions involve being laid on. Crushed, even.”

  She lifted one shoulder in an absent shrug, an infinitesimal move away from his space. “That’s different. I’m fighting back against a fully conscious opponent.” She sighed quietly.

  “That’s not really an answer.” He stepped closer and for once, she didn’t dance away in retreat. She stood her ground, lifting her chin and meeting his gaze.

  “When the TOC got blown up at the end of our last deployment, I was pinned down. I don’t know for how long, but I panicked.” Her voice cracked. “While the building burned around me, I did nothing but lie there and scream.” She swallowed and looked away. “I couldn’t do anything but scream,” she whispered.

  * * *

&nbs
p; “Combat brings everyone low, Claire,” he murmured.

  He was close enough that she could see the shadow of a beard along his jaw. She had the intense urge to see if it was soft or rough. His scent wrapped around her, whispering for her to do something incredibly stupid like stand there and breathe in the spicy heat from his body. His words were a caress, a subtle sweep of emotion over her skin.

  They were alone in the late-night hallway. For once they weren’t ripping each other’s heads off. She expected him to chew her out for her hasty decision to rush into the blown-up building. To echo the harsh criticisms she’d levied against herself since the day she’d gotten blown up. Claire waited, searching his eyes for a trace of the stoic arrogance she’d come to expect from him. But she saw nothing she expected.

  “I didn’t know you were hurt when the TOC blew up,” he said quietly. And with those simple words, he challenged everything she’d thought she’d known about Evan Loehr.

  She frowned at a not-so-distant memory and at the unexpectedness of his words. “I walked away. More or less. You got hurt though, right?”

  “Yeah. Just a flesh wound.”

  She swallowed and glanced at him then. She opened her mouth to speak but he shocked her when he lifted his hand, tracing his thumb over her bottom lip. A violent shiver wracked her body, stunning her with the force of her reaction to this man’s touch.

  “I’m sorry you were scared,” he murmured. “But that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  Right before he kissed her.

  * * *

  It was a gentle kiss. Hesitant and soft and unexpected. Her lips were parted the barest of fractions before his mouth even moved against hers. Her breath huffed against his mouth as he tasted her, an easy, light caress of lips. He nudged her top lip with his and she opened for him. His breath caught in his throat as his tongue flicked out, stroking hers, coaxing past the barrier of her teeth. Shields crumbled as he deepened the kiss, overcome by the honeyed taste of this woman. Of Claire.