Under Siege (Wingmen Warriors 3)

"Thank you for the chili and the welcome-home smile... Zach."

His name whispered from her mouth and right through him.

Ah, damn.

What the hell had he done? Drawn a dumb-ass line in the sand that she'd stepped right over. And now there was no going back.

Julia stared at Zach, his name still warm on her tongue and swirling in her mind. Patrick stirred against her shoulder, reminding Julia of her priorities. Flirting factored way down on the list.

Determined to climb those steps, Julia secured her hold on her baby and herself. If only she could jump straight from the porch into Patrick's farm-theme nursery, the only room in the house that didn't carry memories of living there with Lance.

Zach's steady bootsteps followed. His shadow lengthened over her as she crossed into her living room.

For about ninety seconds, she thought everything would be fine. The familiarity of her home embraced her. Two overstuffed sofas in slate-blues and buttercup-yellows bracketed the fireplace. Frothy sheers allowed light to filter through and caress the honey-warm tones of oak furniture, some things her own work, such as a miniature playhouse under the window. Other pieces lovingly chosen flea-market finds, like the pie safe.

With her wedding picture on top.

>A Mickey Mouse diaper bag perched beside her where once a portfolio full of architectural designs for her playhouses would have rested.

The bag looked good there.

Cars whipped past on the bridge out to her barrier island bungalow. The hospital had demanded she sign a waiver before releasing her without someone to drive her home.

Somehow it had been important to do this herself.

Of course Kathleen would be blazing mad when she received the message that Julia had left alone. Any number of people would have driven her.

Like a certain tall, dark and studly Lieutenant Colonel Dawson.

Julia shoved an image of his broad shoulders right out of her mind and turned down the narrow street into her beach subdivision. Clapboard houses on stilts lined both sides of the streets. Older homes of Charleston natives claimed the waterfront property. Newer homes made to look like the old sprawled into the rest of the housing development where Julia lived.

Rounding a corner, she tapped the brakes, freshly painted toenails sparkling from her sandals. Seeing her toes again proved a real treat. Her glitter-specked rosy pedicure shone with a touch of femininity she needed after months of bloated pregnancy. She'd packed polish in her hospital bag with just that in mind. Except the simple pampering ritual had brought a greater resurgence of femininity than she'd expected.

Surely not because of Zach's hungry stare at her legs.

Her toes glistened a mocking contradiction she didn't want. There'd been a certain comfort in the numbness that had followed her initial grief. Perhaps she wasn't ready to wake up.

Too bad a six-foot-four testosterone-oozing alarm clock sat waiting on her porch.

Julia inched down the street. She shouldn't be surprised to see Zach Dawson there. No doubt he had called the hospital to check on her and they'd caved to his request for information in spite of regulations.

The man was persistent. Countless times over the past eight months she'd come home to find Zach in her yard tackling some fix-it project. The guy couldn't seem to get it through his head that she knew how to wield a hammer with the best of them. And, of course, there was the first time she'd come home to find him on her porch eight months ago—

Julia sliced off that depressing thought.

She slid her car into the driveway beside his red truck. Zach stood, slowly unfolding himself until he towered beneath her shaded porch. Yeah, his jeans and T-shirt rather than a flight suit made it easy to forget that other visit.

Dangerously easy.

"Hi, Colonel," she said as she stepped from her car, using his title as a reminder for distance.

He balanced his radio on the banister. Another reminder of his job. Did the man ever go anywhere without that thing?

Julia spun away, her achy legs protesting the fast move. More careful of her tender body, she unbuckled the car seat with her now-sleeping son inside. She couldn't resist pressing a kiss to the tiny sock-clad foot.

"Welcome home, sweetie." Lifting out the seat, Julia called over her shoulder, "Where are the girls?"

"Ballet and band. I figured you didn't need them climbing all over you just yet. We'll save their visit for when you're settled." He stopped beside her, taking the infant seat.