Back in the Soldier's Bed

“It’s fine.” She tried a bland smile. She knew he hadn’t missed her initial reaction by the smug expression on his face. She ignored it and tried to find a place for her gaze to land. She couldn’t lose sight of the reason for her visit. He had no right to assume anything.

Jonas adjusted the towel with one hand. Shannyn’s nerves were shot and she wasn’t sure if it was still the cause of her visit creating such a reaction or the fact that he was standing before her nearly naked. She was struck by a memory—a good one for once—of herself and a hot shower after a particularly nasty walk in the rain when his truck had broken down. They hadn’t slept together yet, so he’d let her have the bathroom first, and when he came out later after his shower with his towel wrapped around his hips, one thing had led to another and they’d finally given in to their bodies’ demands.

His smile seemed to flirt with her, and on top of the potent memory, it wreaked havoc with her intentions.

“How are you, Shan?”

And damned if she didn’t blush like a schoolgirl. She inhaled, shoring up her defenses against his unwitting charm. “I’m fine.” Dear God, if that towel happened to slip…

“Is Emma okay?”

She spun, again avoiding looking at him. “Emma’s fine. How are you?”

“I’m fine.” He deliberately parroted the word they’d already used several times, and her consternation grew as she realized he was still awfully good at getting around her without even intending it. “Right as rain.”

He spread his hands to demonstrate, and the towel slipped. He caught it quickly, revealing nothing beyond the hollow of his hip, but her eyes followed the direction and in that split second she saw the scar, long and angry and jagged, big enough she couldn’t possibly miss it.

“Jonas,” she whispered, unable to tear her eyes away from the rectangle of cotton that hid his wound once more.

His lips thinned to a hard line, all the earlier teasing wiped clean from his expression. “Stop. I don’t want your pity.”

She met his gaze evenly. “Of course you don’t, and that’s not what I meant. But it does look horrible, and I’m sorry for what you went through.”

“I’m alive, and there’s a hell of a lot more who aren’t.”

Shannyn paused as his eyes skittered away from hers. Any cockiness he’d exhibited had evaporated. But his with his last sentence, things became crystal clear. Survivor’s guilt. She didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of it before. But it all made sense now. He’d been hurt, but he’d made it out. Who hadn’t? And why did he feel so guilty about it?

He turned away, disappearing into a room on the right, she presumed to get dressed. She’d be a liar if she didn’t admit to herself that the sight of him nearly naked wasn’t an extreme pleasure. She’d been right about what she’d guessed was beneath those lovely T-shirts he was fond of wearing. Injury or not, his physique was splendid. She’d longed to caress the skin of his ribs, slide her hands over his firm chest.

But that wasn’t her place anymore. It was a physical reaction. It had nothing to do with the reality of their situation.

When he returned, he had covered his scar with denim and was buttoning up a light shirt.

“The scar is why you don’t wear shorts.”

“I don’t want questions. Or sympathy. Or revulsion.” He finished buttoning his shirt and his hands dropped to his sides.

“I wondered, when you wore jeans the other night when it was so hot.”

She put her purse down on the small dining table, wanting to sit but waiting to be invited to do so.

“Meeting Emma was hard enough. I didn’t want to have to answer questions about my scar. Although I ended up talking to her about it anyway.”

He stood several feet away, not inviting her to make herself comfortable and she felt more awkward with each passing moment.

“She had a wonderful time.” Shannyn’s lips curved a little, a slight invitation to make things more comfortable. Most of her temper had dissipated once she’d seen his scar. “Despite any mishaps. And she enjoyed our lunch out a lot.”

“Then why are you here?”

Her smile vanished at his blunt tone, bringing back her motive with distinct clarity. “I think we need to work out a visitation schedule.”

“A what?”

Shannyn blinked at his incredulous tone. She’d heard his voice on her answering machine and didn’t know what to think. She’d thought that he’d come over now and then, spend some time with Emma. But after their first meeting, he’d called with that lunch invitation, and now it was a plan for an air show. She didn’t quite know how to feel about that. She wasn’t sure Emma was ready for a one-on-one outing with Jonas. Wasn’t sure Jonas was ready for that either. And there was no rhyme or reason to his invitations. It made it awfully difficult to say no.

“Don’t you think we should? Set up boundaries, I mean?”

He ran a hand over his cropped hair and shook his head. “You’re serious.”