The pictures that flashed across the screen were of the very men and women sitting around her with their significant others at their sides. Pictures of them in combat uniform, with weapons strapped to their bodies. Some pictures were of missions, some were of the locals, and some were just of them smiling and making the best of the time away from their families as they fought for their country. She’d seen similar pictures before, but it gave her a whole new perspective seeing those same faces right in front of her, hearing their voices. Humbled. Honored. Those words felt insignificant compared with the joy she felt to be allowed a glimpse into this band of brothers and their families.
She smiled when she recognized the uneven smirk peeking from beneath a pair of goggles and a Kevlar in a few of the pictures. Even in full combat gear Rafe stood out to her—his confident, secure posture and his beautifully flawed smile. She imagined she could pick it out anywhere.
The music softened and slowed and the voices quieted as photos of soldiers emerged onto the screen. These images included their date of birth and date of death below.
It was a strange feeling for her to experience unequivocal sadness for these men and their families. Just as before, she’d seen images of fallen soldiers, but being around the men who fought next to them and the friends and loved ones who were there in their honor, mourning them—it was heartbreaking.
For a woman who was adamant about keeping people at arm’s length, adamant about not caring—not feeling—she was feeling more than she had in a long time.
She heard Stella sniffle next to her and she looked at her and offered a small smile.
Stella nodded toward the screen. “He was in our men’s unit—he was one of my husband’s guys. Young kid, got married right before he left and was killed a few months before the tour was over.”
Looking back at the screen, Fallon watched the picture fade away as she inhaled a deep breath. Most definitely humbling.
• • •
“Are you bored yet?” Graham asked.
“Not completely.”
“You’re a horrible liar, and I’d like to tell you that it will get better once this political part is over, but it usually doesn’t. CO’s getting ready to do his speech and then we can leave.”
She nodded and watched as a tall, lean man approached the podium. Chants and hollers and a couple of “hooahs” echoed through the room, cheering their respect for their commanding officer.
Grabbing her phone from the table, she sent a quick text to check in with George at the club and to tell him that she would be back before closing.
“Good evening, everyone,” the man said, and Fallon’s head snapped to him at the sound of his voice.
“Fallon, you okay?” Stella asked.
Crossing her legs beneath the table, she shifted her weight in her chair. “Uh, yeah. I’m fine,” she assured, but every muscle in her body had gone stiff and her palms became sweaty. Would he recognize her? Did he know she was here?
She sat silently at the table, her eyes unable to look away from him as she listened to him talk about army values and duty and family. What a joke. If she was the type of woman to stand from her chair in the middle of a speech and laugh in his face, she would have.
And a large part of her wished like hell she was that type of woman. He was a fake and an asshole who couldn’t care less about values and family. His aspiration for success and his ability to rise to the top stomped on those so-called values he preached about.
The commanding officer no sooner ended his speech and was stepping away from the microphone when Fallon stood, reaching for her purse to leave. She’d never wanted to bolt from a room more than that very moment.
Until she felt the air still around her.
Until she felt him. His hands on her arms. His mouth next to her ear. His breath heating her skin.
And everything else faded away.
The tightness in her chest loosened and was replaced with a flutter she hadn’t realized she missed. His warm hands melted away the tension in her muscles, and the unbridled desire she had for his touch consumed her at the small contact. She needed more. Always more.
She stood there and allowed the steady beat of his heart thumping against his chest to vibrate over her back as his breath continued to bathe the side of her neck. It was taking every molecule of strength she had to keep her traitorous body from softening against his hard chest. She’d missed him, and the nearness of his body was morphing her longing into a torturous ache. This was harder than she thought . . .
She sucked in a sharp breath as his lips just barely swept over her neck. “Dance with me, gorgeous?”
• • •
Rafe didn’t wait for her to answer him; he wasn’t going to give her the opportunity to tell him no. His hands skirted down her arms until he felt her wrists beneath his fingers.