Page 11 of No Sweet Goodbyes

“You were gone for a month and you didn’t say anything. I thought… I just thought I annoyed you or something and made you run away. You vanished and didn’t say anything, and I was too chicken to ask anyone where you were because that means I care. And I don’t care. Not really.”

At that, I snort. “You are annoying. Who brings flasks of alcohol strapped to the insides of their thighs to a wedding? And then you almost flashed the wedding party. It was all I could think about while I was gone. The way your dress lifted up and I almost had to blind my friends for seeing the perfection you’re hiding.”

I should have known Emma Hayes is smarter than she lets on.

“Your mom said that you’re still serving.” She relaxes a little more in my hold, sinking into my side and letting me cover her, even while she does her best to ignore the blatant admission of my desire for her. “Is that where you were?”

One question, and I’m a wreck. A silent wreck who doesn’t have a clue what to say. What to give her, because she deserves the truth. A truth that will ensure that she never truly belongs to me.

“Of course that’s where you were,” she murmurs. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“Reserves,” I correct her absently. “I’m not active duty anymore.”

“I wanted to dance with you at the wedding,” Emma says quietly, more bashful than I’ve ever imagined she is capable of. “And then you were gone.”

Shoving off the porch and struggling to keep from groaning at the aches the sudden movement cost me, I turn to face a surprised Emma with an outstretched hand.

“Dance with me now?”

She stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “What?”

“I missed the dance before because I got called to work and I couldn’t not go. Will you dance with me now?” When she looks like she’s going to reject me, I practically beg. “Please, Emma. Dance with me.”

Emma looks around, her eyes wide like she’s trying to figure out what the joke is or if anyone’s watching. I can’t blame her, either. What I’m doing is absolutely batty. Dancing in the dead of night, with everything that’s happened, seems like an insane idea. Still, my hand never wavers as I wait for her to take it.

Slowly, hesitantly, she reaches out and her slightly trembling fingers come to rest in my palm. Without missing a beat, I close my hand around hers and lead her to the barely illuminated grass.

“This is ridiculous. I hope you know that.” Her words slide over me, a soothing balm for the crazy that I’m pulling us both into.

But she doesn’t pull away.

“I know.” That’s all I say. All I can say.

Nerves, anxiety, whatever I’m feeling all compound together and I’m left feeling like I did when I was sitting behind the scope of my weapon during my first deployment. Except Emma isn’t my enemy, meant to be watched for days. She’s so much more than anything I ever even dreamed possible.

“I hope you have some sort of song in your head, because I don’t.” She’s babbling, and it’s kind of cute. The way she’s trying to brush this moment off.

I know the truth, even if she’s not able to face it.

She’s the only thing I want in my life. An obsession I haven’t been able to kick. I can’t get her out of my head, and I’ve never even held her in my arms before tonight.

So when I have the chance, when her defenses are down and we aren’t at war, I take the opportunity to pull her body against mine. Then I dance with her to the sound of the wind blowing through the trees. The quiet symphony of the night air offers the only serenade that I need while I lead Emma through the steps of a simple waltz. Our muffled steps are only heard by the sound of the grass beneath our feet crunching in the damp night.

Silently, I thank my mother and father for insisting that all of their children learn how to dance.

When Emma leans forward and lets her head rest on my chest, even the faint sounds around us vanish. Only the steady rhythm of our combined breathing can be heard over the roaring of the blood pumping through my veins and my heart racing.

We stop moving, the dance forgotten in the comfort of our embrace, but she doesn’t pull away.

Shit.

I can’t not touch her.

I need more.

Without letting go of her body, I move one hand to the side of her face and gently lift it so that I can look into a pair of eyes that steal my breath, even with red and blotchy streaks on her cheeks from when she’d been crying.

“You’re beautiful,” I tell her.

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