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Craving Her Soldier's Touch
Wendy S. Marcus
Feisty nurse Jaci Piermont’s heart was crushed when Staff Sergeant Ian Eddelton walked away from their passionate night together.But letting him know? Not an option! Now Ian’s back – as gorgeous as ever, but with dark secrets in his eyes. Her head might be screaming Keep away, but Jaci’s rebellious heart has a very different idea…!



About the Author
WENDY S. MARCUS is not a lifelong reader. As a child she never burrowed under her covers with a flashlight and a good book. In senior English she skimmed the classics, reading the bare minimum required to pass the class. Wendy found her love of reading later in life, in a box of old paperbacks at a school fundraiser where she was introduced to the romance genre in the form of a Harlequin Superromance. Since that first book she’s been a voracious reader of romance—oftentimes staying up way too late in order to reach the happy ending before letting herself go to sleep.
Wendy lives in the beautiful Hudson Valley region of New York, with her husband, two of their three children, and their beloved dog Buddy. A nurse by trade, Wendy has a Master’s degree in healthcare administration. After years of working in the medical profession she’s taken a radical turn to write hot, contemporary romances with strong heroes, feisty heroines, and lots of laughs. Wendy loves hearing from readers. Please visit her blog at www.WendySMarcus.com

Craving Her Soldier’s Touch
Wendy S. Marcus

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
BEYOND THE SPOTLIGHT
Uncovering the real Piermont sisters …
Identical twin nurses Jaci and Jena Piermont grew up in society’s limelight but their glittering lifestyle hides dark secrets—money has never bought them love.
What these reluctant socialites want are men who can see past their wealth to the real women beneath … but they’ll have to be very special to deserve these sisters!
In CRAVING HER SOLDIER’S TOUCH feisty Jaci comes face to face with a man from her past—and he’s as dangerously delicious as ever!
Shy Jena is reunited with the father of her twins in SECRETS OF A SHY SOCIALITE … but what will happen when he discovers her greatest secret of all?
Sexy, glamorous and emotionally powerful—don’t miss this thrilling new duet by Wendy S. Marcus!
Dear Reader
After spending so many months writing the three books in my Madrin Memorial Hospital series, it was difficult to move on from the familiar characters I’d grown to love like family—especially with reader requests for books on Dr Starzi and Polly. Maybe some day. For those of you who know me, you know I am not a fan of change. Yet I make every effort to embrace it because I realise with change comes new opportunities, growth and—dare I admit?—a bit of excitement in trying something new.
So, with an encouraging nudge from my lovely editor, Flo Nicoll, I set out to create two new stories surrounding Jaci and Jena Piermont, identical twin nurses and members of New York’s social elite. With Jaci’s story I delved into home healthcare, abused women, and PTSD—post-traumatic stress disorder. With Jena’s story I explored BRCA genetic testing for breast cancer, treatment options for those positive for the genetic mutation, and the impact of both on a single mother determined to live for her daughters.
As I began to write it didn’t take long for me to fall in love with Jaci and Jena—two strong women who, each in their own way, overcome family tragedy to triumph as adults. And now they are both a welcome addition to the family of characters already established in my mind.
I hope you enjoy reading Jaci and Jena’s stories as much as I enjoyed writing them.
To learn more about me, or my Madrin Memorial Hospital series, please visit my website: http://WendySMarcus.com
Wishing you all good things
Wendy S. Marcus

PROLOGUE
IAN CALVIN EDDELTON, aka Ice to his army ranger buddies, looked up at the vision of blonde-haired, blue-eyed, bare-skinned loveliness now straddling his naked thighs, her palms pushing down on his pecs, forcing his back into the plush sheets of her bed. As if a tiny thing like her could hold him down if he didn’t want to be held down.
“You don’t have to do this.” He forced out the words despite his brain’s best rationalizations to suppress them. A fun bout of banter turned sexual challenge had never resulted in either of them shedding their clothes before. He needed her to be sure.
Beautiful, determined eyes met his. “Yes. I do.”
Looked like the woman who didn’t want sex to ruin their friendship, and the man who didn’t want friendship to ruin their sex, were both about to get screwed. Literally.
He caressed the smooth skin of her perfect ass, usually hidden by a pair of skimpy running shorts or some fitted designer duds, and eased her closer to Ian junior who stood tall, sheathed, and eager to explore her internal terrain. To learn the secrets of what gave her pleasure and exploit them until she screamed his name over and over. Like he’d bragged he could on their many long runs rife with blatant flirtation and sexual innuendo.
But, “Why?” Why tonight, of all nights, when he’d been trying to lure her into bed for months, when by this time tomorrow he’d be on a plane headed back to the war in Iraq?
She smiled. Damn she was beautiful. “Consider it my bit to support our troops.”
Tease.
Ian ran his fingers along the outside of her firm thighs. “There are thousands of us.” Rounded her hips, followed the curve of her narrow waist, up to her ribs. “You do this sort of thing often?” He slid his thumbs across her taut nipples.
She trembled.
“You,” she lowered her luscious breasts to his chest and leaned close to his ear, “are lucky number one.” She rocked her hips until she had him poised at her entrance.
The urge to tell her there’d better not be a number two, that she should mail out brownies and holiday cards instead, came out of nowhere. Because she could do whatever the hell she wanted. They weren’t going together, would never be anything more than friends—although an ongoing friends with benefits type deal was looking mighty appealing from where he lay. Hooah.
He tilted his pelvis, gave her a small taste of what was to come. “So it turns out you’re a sucker for a man in uniform after all.”
“I’m a sucker for you, Staff Sergeant,” she whispered, circling the perimeter of his inner ear with her tongue, sending rippling waves of arousal throughout his body. “And when you’re lying on your cot in the dead of night, exhausted, your mind reeling from the events of the day, I want to be your oasis in the desert, the calm that relaxes you before you drift off to sleep.” She lifted her upper body, shifted her hips, and took him deep. “I want you to think about us. Like this.”
Getting himself to stop thinking about them like this was going to be the problem.
She rode him slowly, their eyes locked, their bodies in total sync. “I want you to fight hard and stay safe and look forward to the day I will welcome you home. Just. Like. This.” She punctuated each of her last three words with a swift thrust of her hips before collapsing onto his chest, sliding her hands around his sides and hugging him. “I’m going to miss you.”
An odd sensation squeezed his heart. At the same time, an unsettling concoction churned in his gut.
Could it be guilt? Because, to avoid a protracted, teary goodbye, he would slip away as soon as she fell asleep.
Maybe remorse? Because he’d gone overseas and returned home enough times over the past ten years to know nothing ever remained the same. By the time he came home she’d probably be settled on one of the well-bred, successful business associates her brother seemed hell-bent on fixing her up with.
Or a hint of longing for what he could not have? Because he was career military and refused to put any woman through what his mother had suffered as the spouse of an active duty soldier.
Nah. A simple case of agita from his double order of farewell steak fajitas made more sense, since Ian Eddelton did not succumb to emotion. Ever. On the battlefield, emotion, distraction of any kind, gave an enemy the advantage, and got good men and women killed. On a personal level, emotion made men weak and vulnerable. Never again.
Ian flipped Jaci onto her back and took control, pushing all thoughts from his mind except how unbelievably amazing she felt beneath him, surrounding him, and how he was going to spend the next few hours in heaven … before he returned to hell.

CHAPTER ONE
Almost thirteen months later
SOMETHING had gone wrong.
Two male thug-looking types in dark baggy pants and oversized sweatshirts exited the rear door of the rundown, graffiti ridden brick building. Community health nurse and Women’s Crisis Center advocate Jaci Piermont slid further down in the front seat of the clunker she’d borrowed from the center, trying to melt into the darkness. Even in broad daylight, when entering Nap Tower to visit her patients, Jaci never came unaccompanied, and never went near the rear door, a known hangout for drug dealers and troublemakers of every variety.
But tonight it was raining. Pouring actually. The beginnings of a hurricane expected to slam the northeast coast of the U.S., Westchester County in its projected path. They’d specifically chosen this night figuring no one would be outside.
Jaci’s phone rang.
She checked the number. Carla. Assistant Director of the Women’s Crisis Center.
“Hey,” Jaci said, peering out the bottom portion of the driver’s side window.
“You were due here twenty minutes ago,” Carla demanded.
“She didn’t show.” She being Merlene K., twenty-five-year-old white female in need of assistance to escape a controlling/abusive relationship with the father of her unborn child. No local friends or family willing to intervene.
“Get out of there, Jaci. You can’t help her if she doesn’t follow the plan.”
That they’d been working on for weeks. “Everything was set.” Every detail worked out with their contact who resided in the building. Merlene’s boyfriend’s work schedule checked and verified and rechecked. His accomplice, who kept an eye on Merlene while he worked the night shift, distracted. A duffel for her meager belongings. A change of clothes and a wig so she could alter her appearance and slip away unnoticed.
The door opened again. “Oh no,” Jaci said.
“What’s happening?”
“It’s Merlene. She’s not alone.” In the one working light over the door, through the blur of the rain spattered window, Jaci could still make out Merlene’s battered face, and that of her bastard boyfriend, pure evil, gripping her arm tightly in one hand, dragging her, carrying a stuffed duffel Jaci recognized as the one she’d dropped off last week, in the other.
Merlene shuffled behind him, hunched over, her right arm clutching her abdomen. Damn him.
Jaci straightened her short, bob-styled black wig, pushed in her false teeth, and adjusted her faux eyeglasses.
The couple was approximately twenty feet away, walking in her direction.
“Do not get out of that car,” Carla cautioned.
“She needs medical attention,” Jaci whispered as if they could hear her. “Who knows where he’s taking her, if we’ll ever have another opportunity to help her.”
Ten feet.
Jaci reached for the door handle.
“Do not—” Carla started.
“You’d better call Justin.” She never did a pick-up in this area unless Justin was on duty. “Tell him to hurry.”
Jaci ended the call. After a deep calming breath, she stuck the phone in the pocket of her black rain slicker, pulled the hood up over her head, and pushed open a door.
Rain pelted her in the face.
“Excuse me,” she yelled.
Merlene jumped. Her boyfriend stopped and pulled the woman he treated as a possession, to do with as he chose, close.
“My car won’t start,” Jaci lied. “You got any jumper cables?” The wind tried to blow off her hood. She held it in place, thankful she’d remembered to slip on a pair of knit gloves to cover her manicure.
“No,” the abuser said, and pulled Merlene away.
Please let Justin be on his way.
“Excuse me, miss,” Jaci said to Merlene. “Are you okay?”
“She’s fine,” a deep, irritated voice snapped. He didn’t bother to look back at her.
“I’m sorry. But she doesn’t look fine. Maybe I can …”
Merlene turned around, squinted against the raindrops, and studied her face. “Ja …”
Jaci shook her head, warning Merlene not to use her real name. “Are you in need of assistance, miss?” Jaci yelled over the wind.
“Mind your own business,” the large man all but growled, jerking to a stop beside a shiny new black SUV almost glowing in the overhead light. While his girlfriend, the mother of his unborn child, couldn’t afford maternity clothes, was forced to wait hours at the free clinic for prenatal care, and wandered the building offering to clean apartments and do odd jobs to earn money for food.
Which is how Jaci had learned of her.
Where the heck was Justin?
Merlene’s boyfriend released her long enough to open the rear door of his vehicle. And that’s all it took. With a look of absolute panic she lunged at Jaci, clamping her arms tightly behind Jaci’s neck. “Don’t let him take me,” she cried out.
Jaci slid her left arm around Merlene’s waist and plunged her right hand into her pocket to retrieve the canister of pepper spray she’d placed there earlier. “You are not going anywhere without me,” Jaci said. Meaning it. Prepared to do anything within her power to keep Merlene safe.
The first blow struck Jaci in the left posterior ribs, an intense, stabbing pain only minimally less severe than the closed-fisted punch to the right upper arm that felt like it shattered her proximal humerus.
The pepper spray clattered on the asphalt.
He was strong. Angry. And not wasting his time with words.
Well, Jaci was no stranger to the pain of abuse. And if Merlene could deal with it day after day, Jaci could put up with it until Justin arrived. She wound her other arm around Merlene’s waist, locking her fingers together, and took a stand.
“Don’t hit her,” Merlene pleaded, releasing Jaci, trying to push her away.
“No.” Jaci tried to hold on. The over-sized bully grabbed her by the wrists, wrenched her hands apart, and pushed her to the side in the same manner he’d probably treat a pesky toddler. The force made her stumble. Her heel caught the edge of a huge pothole filled with water and she went down with a splash. Both hands slapped the cracked, pebble-ridden pavement. Stung. Pain shot through her right arm, which gave out.
Merlene screamed.
The flashing lights of a police cruiser lit up the sky, its headlights illuminating Jaci where she lay.
She tried to get up. “Stay down,” Justin yelled, running from his vehicle. His weapon drawn, aimed at Merlene’s boyfriend. “Release her,” Justin ordered.
Once free, Merlene ran to Jaci and dropped to the ground beside her. “I’m sorry. So sorry,” she cried.
“It’s not your fault,” Jaci said, putting her left arm around Merlene’s shoulders. “You’re safe now.”
Another car sped into the parking lot.
Carla ran toward them. “Are you okay?”
“How did you get here so fast?” Jaci asked.
“When you didn’t show up on time I thought you were in trouble. I was already on my way when I called.”
And that’s why she loved Carla. “Merlene needs medical treatment,” Jaci said.
“What about you?”
“I’m fine. Sore, but fine.”
“Let me help you,” a vaguely familiar masculine voice offered as large hands grabbed her from behind and lifted her to standing position.
Jaci couldn’t control a yelp of pain at the pressure on the exact spot where she’d been punched minutes earlier.
“I’m sorry,” he said, releasing her. “I didn’t mean—”
“You are not fine,” Carla yelled.
“He hit her,” Merlene sobbed. “Her arm might be broken.”
“That son of a bitch hit you?” the man asked with rage in his voice.
“Nothing’s broken. See.” She lifted her arm overhead and across her chest, despite the pain, to prove to Carla she was fine.
“Stay here.” The man stormed over to Justin who yelled, “I told you to stay in the car.”
That’s when recognition dawned. The broad shoulders filling out his dark windbreaker. The confident stride, camouflage pants and short military-style haircut.
Another one-two punch, this one invisible, knocked the wind from her lungs.
Ian Eddelton.
A good friend and, when he was in town, an occasional roommate of Justin’s, making him her on-again, off-again upstairs neighbor. He’d been her good friend, too, or so she’d thought. Until she’d thrown sex and the word ‘marriage’ into the mix and he’d run like she’d asked for a kidney donation then whipped out a salad fork and a steak knife intending to harvest the organ right there on her bed.
That was the last time she’d seen or spoken to him, supporting her brother’s claim that no man in his right mind would willingly marry her without a monetary incentive. Men wanted her money and/or her body, but no one wanted her.
Jerk.
Jaci wiped the rain from her face. “I’m going home,” she said to Carla. “I’ll stop by the center tomorrow to exchange cars.”
Carla touched her wrist gently. “Are you sure you don’t need an X-ray?”
“I’m sure.” Even if she did, she wouldn’t go to the hospital now, couldn’t risk anyone recognizing her or associating her name with an actual crisis center rescue. Because anonymity kept her safe. Because socialites on the fundraising circuit didn’t dirty their hands with actual in-the-trenches work. Because Jerald X. Piermont III would have an absolute hissy-fit if his wayward sister wound up in the online gossip blogs. Again.
Knowing Carla would see to Merlene, and Justin would see to Merlene’s butt of a boyfriend, Jaci headed for the car. Suddenly chilled, she needed to get home to warm up with a hot bath and a cup of tea.
She wrapped her arms around her middle to contain a shaky, uneasy feeling.
“Funny,” Ian said from behind her. “I never took you for the type to slink off under the cover of darkness.”
“No. That’s your M.O.” She picked up her pace.
“I told Justin I’d drive you home,” he said, ignoring her retort. “He’ll stop by your place tomorrow to take your statement of what happened.”
She turned on him. “Why are you here?”
“Justin asked me to bring him some dry clothes down at the station. I was there when your friend called.” He held out his hand. “Give me your keys.”
Home from Iraq for at least three weeks and it’d taken a coincidence and a call for help to get him to talk to her? “Go to hell.” Jaci turned, took the last few steps to the car, and opened the door.
Ian stopped her from climbing in with a gentle hand on her waist which he used to ease her back into his chest. “I’ve already been there,” he said just loud enough for her to hear. “I’m sorry I left the way I did.”
No one was sorrier than Jaci.
Because Ian Eddelton had turned out to be a slug who’d slimed all over any hope she’d had for a palatable solution to the kiss-her-new-husband-or-kiss-her-trust-fund-goodbye dilemma. And the deadline for ‘I dos’ was fast approaching.
Ian held her close, relieved she was okay, mad as hell she’d come to this area alone, put herself in danger. He’d seen the horrors, the atrocities. Women beaten, raped, and worse.
“You’re hurting me,” Jaci cried out, trying to twist out of his hold on her.
Ian turned her to face him. “What the hell were you thinking? Coming here at night. Alone. You could have been—”
“But I wasn’t. Now let go of me.”
“What if Justin wasn’t available when your friend called?” He held her tighter. “What if he was miles away from here? What if he had no cell service?”
She sucked in a breath and winced in pain.
He’d forgotten how delicate she was. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” She looked away.
Rage flowed through his system, the urge to beat that miscreant in Justin’s custody so bad he was incapable of ever raising a hand to a woman again was hard to contain. “Where else did he hit you?”
She didn’t answer.
He scooped her into his arms, with the utmost care, and carried her to the passenger door. “When I get you home I’m going to strip off your clothes and examine every inch of you.” Objectively. Impersonally. With complete focus on his mission: To identify injury and evaluate for need of medical treatment. Oh, who the hell was he trying to kid?
“You’ll have to knock me unconscious to do it.” She struggled to get free.
“The only place you’re going is from my arms into that car seat. Now hand me the keys because I’m wet and angry and not in the mood to get shot or knifed by any of the scumbags who frequent this neighborhood.”
She gave him the keys.
As he slid her into the car he gave into the urge and whispered, “For the record, I’m not a fan of the new look.” If he hadn’t known it was Jaci, he never would have recognized her.
“Good,” she snapped. “First thing tomorrow I’ll make it permanent.”
He closed the door and smiled, remembered the stimulating, entertaining banter between them, the companionship, friendship and lust, and felt almost normal. But since his return from Iraq, his life had been anything but.
After adjusting the driver’s seat to accommodate his six foot, probably down to one hundred and eighty-five-pound frame, Ian turned the key in the ignition and the old car sputtered to life. “This is your choice for a getaway car?” Thing probably wouldn’t reach fifty miles per hour without a good push and the benefit of a downward slope.
“It’s not like I was robbing a bank.” Jaci turned to look out the window, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “It blends in,” she added quietly.
Yeah. More than her little red BMW would.
Ian turned right out of the parking lot. A few more turns and he was on the highway heading home. A tense quiet filled the car broken only by the rapid slap of the windshield wipers. Most definitely not the kind of quiet the shrink at the rehab had recommended. A bomb blast echoed in the deep recesses of his mind.
Not now.
He imagined Jaci chatting. The way she spoke so fast and used her hands when she got excited. The melodic fluctuations in her tone. The movement of her sensual lips. Her smile. The way she elbowed him or punched him when he made a snide comment or teased her.
The yelling of soldiers filled his ears. Chaos. “Medic. I need a medic over here!”
Deep breath. Keep it together Ice.
Focus.
He searched for something to say, to keep him in the present, and homed in on the first thing that came to mind. “Do you have a death wish or something? Showing up at the most dangerous housing complex in the south side of Mount Vernon, in the dark, alone. It was a total rookie move. One that could have gotten you killed.” He tightened his grip on the steering wheel to keep from reaching over to shake some sense into her. Anger boiled deep in his gut. Not good. Convincing wealthy benefactors to part with their cash in support of her crisis center was where she belonged. Not on the front line, dealing with reprobates and confronting danger.
His heart pounded. A trickle of sweat wove its way down his temple.
“I’ll have you know I’ve been doing this for three years,” she said, “since I started the Women’s Crisis Center. And I have never run into a problem until tonight.”
Three years? “Pure dumb luck.” His heart skipped a beat. “At some point your luck will run out.” Just like his had. He wanted to hit something. “Did Justin know?”
“As of tonight he does,” she said.
“This woman, the one you set out to rescue tonight. She’s so special her safety is worth putting yours at risk?”
“You don’t know anything about me, do you?” she asked.
He knew everything that mattered. She was smart, funny, thoughtful, beautiful, sexy, and there was a time he’d rather spend his time with her than with anyone else.
She shifted in her seat to face him. “Come on, Ian. Tell the truth. You never looked me up on the Internet? Never gave in to that niggling interest people seem to have about just how much I’m worth?”
Eyes focused on the road, he shook his head. “Sorry to disappoint but I prefer to get to know people on my own terms rather than reading what others have to say about them, and I’m more interested in your body than your bank account.” Was interested. Was, as in past tense. He could not allow Jaci to distract him from what he had to do.
She smiled. “You always tell it like it is, don’t you?”
He glanced over and smiled right back. “That’s why you love me.”
Her smile vanished.
Wrong thing to say. Idiot. Because she didn’t love him. At the moment she barely liked him, her scorn totally justified. It was for the best, for both of them. That didn’t mean he had to like it.
He waited for her to lay into him.
Instead she said, “When you get home tonight, go online and keyword Piermont Tragedy, Scarsdale, New York. Then you’ll understand why I will do whatever I can to help women escape abusive relationships. And since I’m of legal age, no one gets a say in how I go about doing it.” She turned back toward the window. “This conversation is over.”
In the interest of peace between them, he let the topic slide. “I, uh, got your letter.” Perfectly formed cursive written on classy pale pink stationery in purple ink. Five pages front and back, upbeat, with no mention of her proposal of marriage or his rude, hasty retreat. The woman could make the simple act of doing laundry entertaining. And the scent. Her perfume. He’d stored it in a zipper-lock plastic bag to preserve the aroma, carried it in his pocket, slept with it, jerked off to it.
“If you’d left me a way to contact you before you took off, if you’d put forth the slightest effort by writing me back or e-mailing me or in some way letting me know it got to you, maybe I would have sent you more.” She spoke without moving, still looking out the window. But the emotion in her voice let him know he’d hurt her feelings.
So much for peace between them.
He tried to explain. “When I’m in a warzone I can’t be distracted by thoughts of home. I’m there to do a job, to complete the tasks I’m assigned and get out alive.” He glanced at her. “And I thought it’d be easier on you to not feel obligated to write me or think about me.” Or worry or search for lists of dead and wounded every time a bloody battle made the news. Like his mother had each time his father had been deployed overseas.
“So let me get this straight.” She turned to him and finally took off that ridiculous wig. “For the better part of four months we spent a portion of almost every day together. I ran with you.”
He’d timed his runs to make sure he’d pass by their parking lot at exactly six o’clock to facilitate their meeting up for the last five miles of his ten mile jog.
“I cooked for you.”
His mouth watered at the memory of her chicken with rosemary.
“We watched movies on my couch.”
His body ached to feel her cuddled up beside him.
“Our friendship progressed to the point I invited you into my bed, into my body, into my future. And in that feeble-minded head of yours you came to the conclusion if you fled my condo—in your boxer shorts you were in such a hurry—then scurried off to the base hours before you were scheduled to report and cut off all contact with me I would poof,” she flared out her fingers in front of her beautiful face, “forget all about you?”
Or hate him. Either way, a clean break.
“Maybe your attempt would have been more successful,” she went on, “if you hadn’t stolen from me. If each time I looked at the shelves in my living room I wasn’t reminded that the empty space where my favorite picture of Jena and me is supposed to be is empty because of you.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “All you had to do was ask, and I’d have happily given you a picture.”
But it may not have been the one he’d wanted. Jaci and her identical twin, standing arm in arm by what looked like the family swimming pool, wearing matching string bikinis so skimpy they wouldn’t have passed for bathing suits on most public U.S. beaches.
And had he asked to take a picture of her with him to war, she would have thought there was more to their relationship than there was. Or than he’d thought there was at the time.
Would she be less angry if he’d ripped the photo down the center and only taken the half with her in it? Because as much as he’d wanted to make a clean break, he couldn’t get himself to leave without having some piece of her to hold on to, and one glimpse of the snapshot in the light and he could tell the twins apart.
Jaci’s smile warm and genuine. Her eyes lit with laughter, fun, and mischief. Her sister’s smile shy almost forced. Cautious. Her eyes haunted and sad.
“Maybe if someone hadn’t e-mailed my brother and a dozen or so other men in our social circle that some soldier in Iraq was bragging about a threesome he’d had with me and Jena. God.” She threw the wig in a bag at her feet. “The thought repulses me. You repulse me.”
Ian fought for calm as he leaned out the window to punch in his code, waited for the metal gates to open and steered the car into the parking lot of their luxury high rise. “I never said that, Jaci. I swear.”
“Were we or were we not referred to as Ice melt?” she yelled. “That’s your nickname, isn’t it? Ice?”
Ian parked the car in Jaci’s spot, turned off the engine, and shifted to face her. “I didn’t tell anyone you, Jena and I had sex together.” He ran a hand over his face. Disgusted. “Guys are pigs. Get a bunch of them together on a military base, add in a picture of two, identical, hot, almost naked women, and it was the twin fantasy run amok.”
Apparently he was going about this explanation thing all wrong because Jaci thrust open her car door and jumped out like the interior of the vehicle had caught fire.
“Wait,” he called out, rushing through the rain, his left leg stiff, slowing him down. “I didn’t say it was my fantasy.” Well. Okay. To be perfectly honest the thought had crossed his mind—briefly—when they’d first met. But since honesty didn’t seem to be working out so well for him at the moment, he decided to keep that bit of truth to himself.
Bottom line, a few days in Jaci’s company and he’d had no desire to share their limited time together with anyone else. Male or female.
He caught up to her as she was scanning her key card in front of the security sensor. With a buzz the door unlocked and Ian opened it. In the vestibule he pushed on the inner glass door to stop her from entering the lobby. She wouldn’t look at him.
“In all the years my squad has known me, I have never once tacked up a picture on my locker,” he explained to the back of her head. Or gotten caught staring at one like some homesick teenager, unprepared for how much he’d miss her or how the idea of having a beautiful wife to return home to would start to appeal to him. “They made a big deal of it and things got way out of hand. You have to know I would never disrespect you by discussing anything that went on in private between us. And I would never disparage your or your sister’s reputation by spreading lies. I had no idea the rumors made their way back to the U.S. until I returned home and Justin told me.”
“My face is in the newspaper at least twice a month. You didn’t consider the possibility someone might recognize me?”
No. He hadn’t. “It’s a different world over there. I’ll talk to your brother.” Had already left four messages at his office requesting an appointment. “I’ll make a statement to the press.”
Jaci looked at him like he’d offered to don a pink tutu and tights. “Don’t you dare. All that will do is stir the whole thing up again and bring out the whack-a-dos who corroborated the stories and made up lies about Jena and me dating back to junior high school. Now if you don’t mind, I’m wet and tired and would like to slip into a hot bath and put this night behind me.”
At the thought of a naked Jaci, her slick body surrounded by bubbles, submerged in a candlelit tub, Ian felt the twinges of life return to Ian junior.
Ah, yes. Half an hour in Jaci’s presence provided Ian with glimpses of the man he’d been before the explosion, a man capable of feeling more than the anguish of regret, guilt, and loss, something weeks of therapy hadn’t been able to do. He opened the door and followed her through.
In the elevator she pressed the buttons for the fourth and fifth floors. He broke the uncomfortable silence by offering his most sincere apology, “I’m sorry.” Because he was.
She let out a breath and looked down at her black rain boots. “I’m glad you made it home safely.” The doors opened on the fourth floor. She took a step forward, and, standing between them she looked back at him and said, “But what’s done is done. It’s over. Leave it alone.”
He exited the elevator and followed her. God help him, he didn’t want it to be over. Which was why night after night he’d fought the urge to bang on her door, to explain why he’d run, to apologize for what he’d said, and beg her forgiveness.
But to what end?
He trailed behind her.
No matter how much he may have wanted to explore the possibility of a future with Jaci, the bomb blast that’d killed his men obliterated all possibility of a happily ever after for Ian. She’d never understand or accept what he had to do. What woman would? And the last thing he needed was one more person preaching to him about survivor guilt and overreaction due to grief and mourning. Few people understood the bonds formed in battle when soldiers entrusted their lives to the members of their team. The vow—spoken or unspoken—to look after a brother’s family should he be unable to do it himself. There was nothing Ian wouldn’t do for his men—overseas or stateside. And nothing they wouldn’t do for him.
If they were still alive.
But they weren’t. So it fell to Ian, the last man standing, to look after their wives and children, so they weren’t left to struggle like Ian, his mother and sisters had after his father’s death. To preserve their memory, honor their dedication to their country, and make sure no one tried to suppress, diminish or taint either out of anger, resentment or feelings of abandonment, like his mother had.
Their children would grow up with a man around. Ian. Not their fathers, but the next best thing. Their children would grow up knowing their fathers loved them and fought to make the future safer. For them. Their children would be allowed to remain children because Ian would do his best to fill the role of man-around-the-house.
For four households.
His life was no longer his own and the stress of the responsibility he’d taken on and the promises he’d made weighed heavily on his already overburdened psyche.
He’d reached his limit, could not deal with one more woman, one more responsibility in his life. And yet, seeing Jaci again, feeling her, remembering carefree times, Ian couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her, of returning to his condo. Alone. To the nightmares that awaited him whenever he closed his eyes. To the anxiety and tension and overall feeling of instability that plagued him since his return.
She stopped at her door.
His heart pounded. His chest grew tight. Sweat pooled in his armpits.
“Please,” he said. God help him he was begging her to let him stay in her presence, to keep him from retreating into the dark, torturous depths of his mind.
She took out her key. “You are not coming in.”
Desperation gripped him. Panic.
She unlocked the door and opened it.
A baby cried out from inside, clearing his head instantly.
Ian stood in shock unable to move.
Jaci had a baby? No way she’d been pregnant before they’d slept together. He’d monopolized every moment of her spare time for the four months beforehand. Could she have fallen into another man’s arms so soon after his deployment? Maybe. But not likely. Jaci teased and flirted. A lot. But she was very selective about who shared her bed, at least according to Justin who’d known her since high school.
It was one of the reasons their night together meant so much.
Which had to mean the baby was his.
Taking advantage of his stupor, she escaped inside, closing the door behind her.
Ian leaned up against the wall, his mouth suddenly dry, swallowing difficult. He was a man teetering on the edge of sanity, a man with no viable means to support himself, or replenish the savings he’d already spent to fulfill his commitment to his fallen brothers.
And now he was a father, responsible for a tiny, defenseless baby, in addition to everything else.
A baby no one had bothered to tell him about.
Justin was a dead man.

CHAPTER TWO
“YOU’RE here! Three days early.” Jaci’s conflicting emotions over seeing Ian vanished, replaced by jubilation at the return of her sister. She tossed her bag on the kitchen counter, yanked off her raincoat, and toed off her boots.
“I tried to call your home phone when we arrived. Luckily Brandon was at the concierge desk,” Jena said. “I didn’t think you’d mind us coming right up.”
“Of course not. How are you? How was your trip? Is everything okay?” She stripped off her wet clothes right there in the entryway, could not wait to hug her sister and meet her tiny, crying nieces.
“Why are you all wet?” Jena asked.
“Pick up for the crisis center.” No sense worrying her sister with the details. In nothing but a tee and panties, Jaci charged across the hardwood floor of her living room in bare feet. “You look fabulous.” A little white lie. She pulled her twin into her arms and squeezed her tight. “I missed you so much. Promise me you’re home to stay.” Her eyes filled with tears.
Jena hugged her back with equal vigor. “If you promise me that no matter what happens you won’t hate me.”
Hate her? “Are you kidding me?” Jaci tightened her hold. “I could never, ever hate you. I love you.” She stepped back. “Look at these adorable babies.” She rubbed her cold hands together. “I need to wash my hands and warm up before I touch them. Brrrrr it’s chilly in here.”
“Only if you’re wet and naked.”
“So I’m not complaining or anything.” Jaci hurried down the hallway to her bathroom. “But what’s with the surprise arrival?”
“I was worried about the weather. They’re predicting heavy flooding all along the east coast from the storm, and I didn’t want to miss the charity ball,” Jena called after her.
“So you can protect me from Jerry Three?” Since she’d stopped responding to all communication from the current head of the family—despite his threats—after that horrible night he’d received the e-mail from Iraq and summoned her to the estate. Where he’d proceeded to unload every negative, hateful thought he’d harbored against her. It’d taken over an hour, during which he’d blocked her exit from his office. And he’d ended his tirade with a smack to the side of the head she hadn’t seen coming.
Her own fault for underestimating his anger and overestimating how much he’d changed since she’d moved out.
“That’s Jerald Xavier Piermont the third.” Jena did an impressive impression of their pompous half-brother, a man who’d turned out exactly like the heavy-handed, business-focused, wealth-obsessed father they shared. “You disobedient, classless twit.”
“You’ve been practicing.” Jaci smiled, slid into her soft fleece robe and tied the sash. It was good to have her sister home. Where she belonged regardless of the secrets she kept. Like where she’d been for the past ten months, why she’d disappeared without a word of warning, and whose genetic contribution was partly responsible for her precious babies.
“He had the nerve to show up here two weeks ago,” Jaci said. Uninvited. Unwelcome. To demand she stop her childish silent treatment and agree to a date with ‘the most eligible bachelor in the tri-state area’ who Jerry had convinced to meet her. And if she could pretend to be nice for a few short weeks, marriage would unite two powerful families and solidify a highly profitable business merger.
Jaci was not a bargaining chip.
“You know he isn’t as bad as you make him out to be,” Jena said.
Maybe not, if you were sweet and accommodating and easily influenced like Jena. Jaci washed her hands in hot water. But if you, heaven forbid, dared to question him or disagree with him or ignore one of his many ridiculous, oppressive rules, he could be—and was—brutal.
Jaci returned to the second bedroom which she’d outfitted as a nursery in preparation for the twins’ arrival. “So if he’s not so bad,” Jaci said quietly. “Why didn’t you stick around and have the babies locally?”
Without looking up, Jena snapped the sleeper of the baby on the changing table and shrugged.
“He doesn’t know, does he?” Jaci asked.
Still looking at the baby, Jena shook her head. “I figured it’d be best to tell him in front of witnesses.” She looked up and smiled. “With my older, wiser, fearless sister by my side.”
“Two is always better than one,” Jaci repeated their mantra for dealing with Jerry’s nonsense.
“In this case one to do chest compressions while the other runs for the defibrillator after I inform Jerald he’s an uncle to two illegitimate little Piermonts,” Jena said.
“I call the defibrillator.” Jaci held up her hand. And if she should happen to trip and sprain her ankle on the way to get it … oh well.
Jena handed Jaci the baby from the changing table and lifted the other twin from the double stroller.
Jaci cuddled her niece close, rubbed her cheek over fine silky hair, and inhaled the scent of baby shampoo and powder and sweet, loving innocence. “Which of my adorable, unhappy nieces is this?” She rubbed her tiny back in an attempt to calm her.
“For the time being, I dress Abbie in pink and Annie in yellow, until I can tell them apart.”
“Promise me you won’t let anyone label them.” The quiet/sweet/shy one. The mouthy/wild/disrespectful one. Childhood labels were near impossible to outgrow no matter how much a person tried to change or improve.
Jena—who’d often complained of feeling stifled under the expectation of her labels—shook her head. “Promise.”
After Jena changed Annie, Jaci followed her into the kitchen, noting she’d lost all her pregnancy weight and then some. In the bright light she looked drained. Exhausted. Well Jaci would fix that with good food, lots of loving care, and a much needed second pair of hands. “Mom would have liked you naming one of your twins Annie.” After her.
Jena smiled sadly. “I know.”
Jaci settled into a kitchen chair. “I can hold Annie, too, while you make the bottles.” She held out her left hand. “After all, I can’t be the favorite aunt if I come off looking like I’m playing favorites.”
“They’re all of four weeks old, Jaci.” Jena put her free hand on her hip and gave Jaci the give-me-a-break look. “And you’re their only aunt.”
Was she? Without knowing the father’s identity, how could she be sure? Jaci reached for a yellow-socked foot. “Come on. You’ve been hogging them for weeks. Now it’s my turn.”
Jena placed Annie in Jaci’s available arm and she gave her second little niece some loving. “I was trying to clear my schedule before you got here, so I’m on call this week and have to head out for work early tomorrow morning. And I’ve got a full schedule after that. Will you be okay alone?”
“We’ll be fine,” Jena said with a tired smile.
“You know I may have mentioned you were coming home with the twins to Mrs. Calvin up on seven.”
Jena shot her an aggravated look. “I specifically asked you not to tell anyone.”
“How was I supposed to find a quality babysitter, who we are not friends with and doesn’t know Jerry, to babysit on Saturday night without telling them about the twins? She seems nice and always smiles at me when I see her. And she looks so sad sitting in the lobby after her grandchildren leave every Sunday. I wanted to cheer her up. Hey.” Jaci snapped her fingers. “I bet she’d love to come down and give you a hand if you need it tomorrow. It’d be a good opportunity for you to get to know her and show her how you like things done. I’ll leave her number on the refrigerator before I head out in the morning.”
After lifting Annie and handing Jaci Abbie’s bottle Jena smiled. “It’s good to be home.”
With each baby now voraciously sucking on her bottle, the room got suddenly quiet. “How long do you plan to stay?” Jaci couldn’t stop herself from asking. The stress of the next three months, of Jerry intensifying his crusade to marry them off to two of his business associates by their birthday, would be so much easier to handle with Jena by her side.
“Twenty-five years old,” Jena said, as usual, knowing the real question behind her question.
“It’d always seemed so far away.” Jaci stood, had to move. “Damn, daddy. It wasn’t enough to control our every move while he was alive. He has to do it from his grave.” Which he wouldn’t be in if not for Jaci. So many times she’d wished him dead. Death by car accident, bullet wound to the chest from random mugging, asphyxiation from some outrageously expensive food delicacy lodged in his airway. He probably died the way he did on purpose. So she’d be blamed. So she’d have to live with the guilt.
Abbie stirred in her arms. “Ssshhh.” She rocked the tiny bundle. “No one will ever hurt you, sweetie,” she whispered. “You or your sister. Not as long as Auntie Jaci is around.”
Ian couldn’t breathe. Something heavy lay across his chest. He tried to move. Couldn’t. His left leg caught in a vice. On fire.
Something dripped on his chin. He wiped it away. Tried to focus through the darkness.
Heat.
Another drop hit his mouth. He tasted blood. What the …?
Gunfire. In the distance.
Ice reached for his M16. Found a body part instead.
What the hell happened?
More gunfire.
He struggled to get free.
The vacant, lifeless eyes of his buddy, The Kid, stared at him from a blood drenched face. The picture of the man’s wife and one-year-old daughter flashed.
The smell of fire. Burnt flesh. Death.
A baby cried. His baby. He could not die.
A hand touched his shoulder.
They would not take him prisoner. Ian tore his leg from its restraint, pushed at the mass crushing his chest, and twisted free. He tackled his attacker, the enemy, responsible for the death of his team. He raised his fist, inhaled, and smelled … her. Jaci. Felt her warm, willing body beneath him.
Ian junior perked up with interest.
Oh how he’d missed her, dreamed of her, aroused and undulating beneath him. He rocked his hips, needed her, to escape. To forget.
“Ian. Stop.” Not the words he wanted to hear right now. Usually she was so happy to see him. So welcoming. “Wake up. Get off me.” Instead of pulling him close, she pushed at his chest, sounding … angry.
He opened his eyes to the shadowed greys of an overcast early morning—the wind and rain from last night still raging outside. He lay on his side between Justin’s sofa and coffee table, on the floor, partially sprawled over a fully clothed Jaci.
A skilled tactician, Ian quickly scrolled through his options.
1) Retreat with an apology
2) Engage with an explanation
3) Instigate with an accusation
4) Distract with arousal
Since, by his estimation, lucky number four held the greatest potential for a pleasurable outcome, and it seemed a shame to let his first hard-on in months go to waste, Ian leaned close and nuzzled Jaci’s ear. “About time you got around to welcoming me home properly. Like you promised.” He pulled her into his arms. “I’ve dreamed of holding you.”—At least he had until the explosion had blown every happy thought from his head. No. He would not think about that night or the war or all that had been lost as a result of a roadside bomb. Not when he had Jaci—the real Jaci—within kissing distance. Not when he had the chance to bury himself deep inside of her one last time.
He slid a knee between her legs and shifted on top of her, resting his upper body on his elbows, settling his pelvis in between her thighs. “Of making love to you.” He rocked the length of his erection along the seam of her slacks. “Being inside you is like visiting paradise.” And Ian was in serious need of a vacation.
Jaci let out a shaky breath and softened beneath him.
Excellent.
“I can’t do this, Ian.”
Not so excellent. But Ian never surrendered without a fight. “I know you want me as much as I want you.” He could tell by the change in her breathing, the way she’d bent and opened her knees to accommodate him, and the tiny, almost unnoticeable up-tilt of her hips to give him better access. “You don’t have to do a thing.” He knew what she liked. Resting his weight on one elbow, he freed up his right hand to caress her breast and tease her tight nipple all while continuing his slow, calculated assault on her sex. He let out a deep, heavy, hot breath in her ear. “I can have us undressed and on our way to Pleasure Town in under a minute.”
All he needed was the slightest indication of agreement.
A smile.
A nod.
Anything.
“Except for last night,” she said, sounding perturbed. “We haven’t seen or spoken to each other in over a year. You’ve been home for at least three weeks without any attempt to talk to me. I walked into your condo to find you half wedged into the sofa, groaning as if you’re in pain, and fighting to get free. You attacked me when I tried to wake you. And you think the next few minutes would be best spent having sex?”
He didn’t answer immediately for fear that was a trick question. Because he was a guy who hadn’t been with a woman in twelve months, three weeks, two days, and approximately twelve hours. Who, as a result of his current position had just returned to the rank of fully functioning male—and a great big hallelujah to that—who was a pair of sweatpants, a pair of slacks, and a pair of panties away from sweet, nightmare eradicating, ecstasy. So hell Y-E-S he thought the next few minutes, the next few hours, would be best spent having sex.
Jaci set her hands on his chest and gave a push. “Please, be the gentleman I know you are capable of being, and get off of me.”
Even though the thoughts scrolling through his head and the urges surging through his body were anything but gentlemanly, Ian rolled to the side and Jaci stood.
“We need to talk,” she said, straightening her sweater.
He’d rather gnaw on a handful of habaneros.
“Was our friendship all a ploy to get me into bed? Did we even have a friendship?” She crossed her arms over her chest and stared down at him. “At the time I’d thought we did. But now I’m not so sure.” She shook her head. “The more I think about it, the more I can’t help wondering if you invested hours of your time, being your most fun and entertaining self, for the sole purpose of charming me out of my panties.”
Jaci’s panties. The visual, pink and sheer, skimpy, with lace, and the tiniest of bows, had him wanting to peel off her clothes, oh so slowly, to get to them. In that instant, he’d have gladly bargained away a decade of his life for a chance to see her naked, to touch her and hold her close for a few undisturbed minutes. Hours. Days. Weeks. Months. Years.
Focus, Ian.
“Was I an item on a list?” She held up an imaginary pad and read from it. “Things to do before I deploy. Laundry.” She made an air check. “Pack.” Another air check. “Have sex with Jaci.” Triple air check.
Yeah. That’d been an extraordinary night.
Ian’s left leg throbbed so he opted to move up to the couch rather than stand. Elbows on his knees he stared at the ground. “No, you weren’t some item on a list, and our friendship wasn’t a ploy to get you into bed.” It may have started off as one, but quickly transformed into the real thing. Maybe even something more. Not that it mattered now.
“Well you have an odd way of showing it. Friendship requires some degree of effort, Ian. A phone call. A card now and then. An e-mail. Look at me so I know you’re listening.”
She was talking so loud, how could he not listen? He looked up.
“While I can convince myself that my proposal shocked you into running, and I can let you off the hook for being incommunicado while you were in Iraq, you’ve been home for at least three weeks. If someone hadn’t parked in my spot, forcing me into the visitors’ lot, I wouldn’t have seen your SUV. It’s like you snuck back into town and hoped I wouldn’t find out.”
Exactly. His plan had been to strengthen up—mentally and physically—before finding a place of his own in closer proximity to the four separate houses he would soon start visiting weekly. He’d figured one month tops, which, added to the three months he’d been hospitalized, equaled four months his men’s wives had been on their own, with him capable of little more than telephone and financial support.
He needed to get out there, to become more of a presence in their lives. It’s what’d kept him from giving up during endless setbacks and complications, during hours of excruciating treatments and therapies.
An image of The Kid’s baby daughter flashed.
Which reminded him. Jaci wasn’t the only one with a reason to be angry. “So if you didn’t come up for sex,” he pushed off the sofa and stood, fighting a wince when pain shot down his leg. “Why are you here? Finally getting around to congratulating me on the birth of my baby?”
Jaci’s jaw dropped open but no sound came out. No apology or explanation. She stood totally still, staring up at him, with a look of absolute shock on her face. “You—” She cleared her throat. “Who? When?”
Nice try. “Cut the crap, Jaci.”
“You bastard.” In a move that caught him, a decorated staff sergeant in the U.S. Army, completely off guard, she lunged forward and slapped his cheek.
What the …? He grabbed her hand.
“Who is she? A fellow soldier? While I was here wasting my time worrying about you, even after all the crap you pulled, you were sleeping around with another woman?” She sucked in a breath. “Or were you seeing her in the months before you left? While I was at work?”
The woman made no sense.
She fought him. “Let go of me.”
This time he was ready and caught her up in a bear hold with no intention of releasing her until he figured out what the heck was going on. “I heard the baby. Last night. When I walked you to your door.”
“The twins?” she asked.
Lord help him. Twins. He hadn’t thought of that. Two of everything at the same time. Visits to the doctor. Boyfriends. Cars. College educations. The cartilage in his knees turned to pudding. And while he concentrated on remaining upright, on the verge of disgracing himself by collapsing to the floor, Jaci jammed the heel of her rubber boot on the top of his bare foot, escaped his weakened grip and started to chuckle.
“You thought—?” She laughed so hard she couldn’t finish. “You thought—?” She doubled over, stumbled to the couch and plopped down. After about a minute of trying to regain her composure, Jaci inhaled a deep breath, pushed it out and asked. “You thought I had your baby?”
She made it sound like such a ridiculous assumption he decided not to answer.
Then all humor fled, and like she suddenly realized she’d been insulted, she got mad. “You honestly thought I wouldn’t tell you if I’d gotten pregnant? That I wouldn’t include you in the birth of our child or introduce you to your son or daughter at the first opportunity?”
Obviously he hadn’t done a thorough job of thinking things through because Jaci was straightforward and not at all the type of woman to lie about a pregnancy.
“The babies you heard,” she stood, “are my nieces. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention them to anyone because Jena doesn’t want people to know she’s back in town until this weekend.”
“What’s this weekend?”
“The second annual benefit gala for the Women’s Crisis Center.”
“Is that the ritzy shindig Justin’s running security for on Saturday night?” Her brother was an outspoken supporter of the crisis center. Hmmmm … The perfect opportunity for a little man to poor-excuse-for-a-brother chat and to take care of the asses who’d been giving Jaci a hard time.
Jaci nodded. “This year we’re having a silent auction coordinated by Millicent Parks with items worth tens of thousands of dollars.”
“So if you didn’t come up here to welcome me home,” he said, “or tell me about the babies, why are you here?” And while he was asking the questions, “And how did you get in?”
“I knocked. When you didn’t answer I,” she held up a key, “used this.” At Ian’s grimace she added, “I have a key to Justin’s condo and he has a key to mine. For emergencies.”
“So what’s your emergency?” he asked.
“The storm uprooted that massive oak by the parking lot which is now resting on top of nine cars, one of them the vehicle I was supposed to drive back to the crisis center this morning to pick up my car which, as it turns out, is sitting in two feet of water in their parking lot thanks to the Bronx River spilling over its banks at some point in the night. Streets are flooded, trees and power lines are down all over the county and there’s a state of emergency in effect so taxis aren’t running. I came up to ask Justin for a ride to work.”
“Do you hear yourself? There’s a state of emergency. The roads aren’t safe. Yet here you are ready to forgo the warnings so you can traipse around town.”
“For the record, I never traipse. And please spare me the lecture. I have two patients I must see as soon as possible, others depending on me for treatments due today, and some I’d like to check on to see how they made it through the storm.” She turned toward the hallway leading to Justin’s bedroom.
“He’s not here,” Ian said. “Mandatory overtime because of the weather.” Which gave Ian the perfect opportunity to play hero. “Give me a minute to get changed, and I’ll drive you wherever you need to go.”
“I don’t need you to—”
“Yes you do, sweetheart.”
Luckily, Jaci’s cellphone rang because she looked to be gearing up for one major league verbal smack down. She checked the number and answered. “Hi, Mrs. Lewis. Yes. Don’t worry. I said I’d be there and I will.” She listened. “If I have to walk a little that’s no problem. Uh huh. See you soon.”
She ended the call and looked up at Ian. “What are you waiting for? I need to get on the road. Meet me in the parking lot.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Ian hurried to his room, for the first time in months meeting a new day with a sense of eager anticipation.

CHAPTER THREE
“THIS is unbelievable,” Jaci said. An honest to goodness lake rippled where the heavily traveled thoroughfare of Westchester Avenue should be. After two failed attempts to find a passable road to get to her office to pick up her work car, each wasting valuable time, Jaci had agreed to let Ian drive her around today. And boy was she glad she had.
At the orange barrels blocking entry, Ian turned around. Again.
The annoying GPS voice said, “Recalculating route.” Again.
Jaci started to wonder if she would, in fact, be able to keep her promise to Mrs. Lewis.
“I have an idea,” Ian said, pulling onto a side road. The man was completely unflappable. While she stared at the horror of murky brown water raging along swollen riverbeds and flowing down roadways into shops and homes, he kept focused on the street ahead of him, steering around downed tree limbs, debris, and standing water, avoiding hanging power lines—some still twisting and sparking.
He sounded official when interacting with law enforcement and emergency personnel who routinely stopped them and cautioned against being out on the roads. A few words from Ian and they were offering directions and detours.
Jaci’s phone rang. She looked at the screen. Mrs. Lewis. “Hi, Mrs. Lewis. It’s taking a little longer than I expected—”
A male voice interrupted. “This is Barry, Laney’s husband. She’s frantic. The doctor told her to take her insulin around the same time each morning. She was due at seven and it’s almost seven-thirty. She says she feels her heart racing.”
“Tell her we’re very close. Maybe five minutes. Ten tops.” But who knew what they’d find around the next corner.
“Problem?” Ian asked when she ended the call.
“The patient is very anxious about her new diagnosis.” Gestational diabetes, on top of being an already nervous, first-time pregnant, soon-to-be new mom.
The car accelerated.
“Thank you for offering to drive me,” Jaci said. “This is much worse than I’d imagined.”
Ian cut through a grocery store parking lot. “This is nothing. In Iraq there were sand storms and mud storms that made driving next to impossible.”
“A mud storm? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“It’s when it starts to rain during a sand storm. Clumps of mud fall from the sky.” He swerved to avoid a plastic garbage can blowing in their direction. “I’d rather deal with the remnants of a weakening hurricane than the IEDs and RPGs intent on killing me,” he mumbled.
She’d read about IEDs—improvised explosive devices—and RPGs—rocket propelled grenades—and the threat they posed to the armed forces.
“I think we’re here.” Ian made a left turn and shot his arm over to hold her in her seat as he slammed on the brakes to avoid a front-end collision with a huge tree that blocked the road. About ten feet beyond it lay a huge pool of dark water that completely obscured what, according to the sign on the corner, was supposed to be Ashley Court. Luckily the houses were up on small hills so only the bottom portions of the driveways were affected.
“Good thing I wore my rain boots,” Jaci said, pulling up her hood and opening her door.
Ian put the Jeep in park and asked, “Where’re we headed?”
“I’m going to house number thirty-seven, which if the description I was given is correct, is that yellow colonial with blue shutters just before the cul-de-sac.” She pointed. “The one with the American flag on the mailbox. You’re going to wait for me right here.”
As Jaci reached in the backseat to retrieve her nursing bag, Ian turned off the car and climbed out which gave him a perfect view of her expression when she lifted the heavy bag with her right hand and received a very sharp, very painful reminder of the large bruise on her upper arm.
He rounded the front fender. “Let me carry that.”
“I’ve got it.” Jaci slid the straps onto her left shoulder and the bag connected with her sore ribs. She sucked in a breath, her discomfort a reminder, reinforcing her commitment to help women out of abusive relationships because no one should suffer pain at the hands of another. Ever.
Ian lifted the bag and eased it down her arm, his touch gentle, his eyes concerned. “You okay?”
“What I’m feeling is nothing compared to what I’m sure Merlene is feeling this morning.” And thousands of other women.
Ian closed the door and held out his hand. “Come on. We don’t have time to argue. Your patient is waiting.”
“You can’t come with me.” As if she hadn’t spoken, he took her hand and guided her up a lawn and around the large root ball of the tree that’d fallen. “Patient privacy. Patient confidentiality.” The grass bubbled and squished under her feet. “And your leg.” She’d been too angry to care about his limp last night. But this morning … What’d happened to him?
Ian gripped her hand and walked faster, pulling her along, his expression fierce. Determined. “Okay, then.” Apparently he felt quite strong about accompanying her. “But only to the driveway.”
About halfway to their destination, a tall blond-haired man ran toward them. “Are you Jaci?” he yelled over the wind.
“Mr. Lewis?” she called back, holding on to her hood.
“You have to hurry. Laney’s chest feels tight and she can’t catch her breath.”
Jaci started to run. A sure-footed Ian took the lead, holding tightly to her hand.
“What if she needs to go to the hospital?” Mr. Lewis asked, keeping up beside them. “We’re surrounded by water. How the hell am I supposed to get her there?”
“If she needs to go to the hospital, we’ll transport her,” Jaci said, confident because Ian was there to help. They reached the driveway and ran up it. “But I’m hoping it’s an anxiety reaction, and once we calm her down she’ll be okay.”
Mr. Lewis opened the front door and Jaci entered into a small, dark foyer. “I’m here, Mrs. Lewis.” She took the bag from Ian, who remained on the porch.
“Please. Come inside,” Mr. Lewis said to Ian.
“I’m fine out here,” Ian said. “Go take care of your wife.”
Jaci removed her boots and coat.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mr. Lewis said. “I’m not going to leave you standing in the rain. If not for you, Jaci wouldn’t have made it out here.”
Ian laughed. “You don’t know her,” he said. “She’d have found a way.”
He’d grown to know her so well in such a short period of time. But rather than comment, Jaci left the men and approached her new patient, a dark-haired beauty in obvious distress, sitting at the edge of the couch, her fist clutched to her chest. Despite her rapid, deep, gasping breaths, her color—though pale—was without any signs of cyanosis.

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