Under Siege (Wingmen Warriors 3)

He waited. Where had the whole name request come from in the first place? Strange, but he hadn't thought much about the fact that not many people used his given name anymore. As he had climbed the ranks, his circle of familiars narrowed. And then with the divorce...

He wanted to hear his name. From Julia.

She shuffled, scratching her toes over the top of her other foot. Pink. The polish was pink.

Soft, pretty pink—with those damned alluring sparkles. A lot like her.

"Well, Julia?"

"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.

In full-dress uniform, Lance smiled out of the crystal frame.

Her stomach gnawed on itself like the grinding tug of a saw chewing at a piece of hardwood. She was truly alone. Alone to bring up a precious child totally dependent on her for so much more than most children.

The awesome responsibility washed over her—along with a surprise surge of anger at her husband.

If only Lance hadn't convinced her to forgive him for doing the unforgivable, then died before she could finish reconciling her feelings. She had managed to accept that he'd had an affair. She hadn't, however, been granted time to find a way to forgive him for loving the other woman. The kind of woman he should have married.

Knowing her feelings were unreasonable didn't stop her from shifting some of that pent-up anger at Zach. How could he tempt her with thoughts of what it would be like to share responsibilities with someone again? To trust someone again—even if only with friendship?

She didn't dare think about the desire to touch him in a way that had nothing to do with friendship.

"Zach," she said his name, trying to ignore the thrill of it tripping off her tongue. "Please don't take this the wrong way, because I do think of you as a friend. One who's become too important. You have to go. We'll work something out later for the girls to see the baby like I promised, but you have to stop coming here."

"Damn it, Julia," he sighed with uncharacteristic impatience. "You can't do everything alone."

"I'm not." Already, his stoic face tugged at her. "My parents are coming for a couple of weeks. My friend Lori's flying in for another."

She scrambled for a persuasive reason to give him for why she would accept help from others, but not him. Her eyes landed on Lance's picture, providing her with an excuse not far from the truth. "It hurts too much having you around. Even without the flight suit or rank, there's no mistaking who you are. You're the Colonel. You carry yourself with the bearing of an Air Force officer. You walk with the confidence—hell the cockiness—of a jet jock, and I can't take the reminders right now."

Waiting for him to speak, she wondered if he might scavenge an argument that could sway her. Did she want him to? "It's not you. It's what you represent that I can't be around."

He took a barely discernable step back. But from a man who shared little of his feelings the gesture relayed bucketsful of how she'd rattled him. Forcing him out of her life hurt more than she expected.

Zach began shaking his head, and Julia braced herself for an argument from a man who could convince troops to follow him into hell.

His cell phone chirped in his back pocket.

As if in response, the military radio blared from the porch through the open door.

For once, Zach didn't bolt to answer.