Under Siege (Wingmen Warriors 3)

She stood, cuddling Patrick to her chest as she turned to the crib nestled under the window. After covering him with a black-and-white cow blanket, Julia clicked on the monitor, closed the door and headed for the kitchen. Consolation food was a must tonight.

Why did Zach have to fly today of all days?

Julia dug deep into the cabinet for a bag of caramels. Ripping the bag open, she unwrapped two and popped them both in her mouth.

She'd tried to stay busy helping Bronco decorate his house with pink balloons and ribbons for Kathleen and baby Tara's homecoming. She was happy for them, truly, but the whole happy-family, new-baby celebration stabbed her at the worst time. Which made her feel even crummier for envying them.

Julia stuffed another caramel into her mouth and chewed, already tearing the wrapper off the next one. Lights swept across the window, an engine growling in the driveway.

Her eyes flew to the clock. Nine-oh-three.

Julia chewed slowly while looking back to the kitchen door. She couldn't see through the window with her sedan blocking the spot. Probably just a car turning around. Not that she could make herself look away from the window.

The car shut off. The bag dropped from her hand, thudded and spilled on the counter.

She wouldn't answer the door. She didn't care that it was probably just Kathleen on the other side. Or maybe Ivy coming home early. No way would she go anywhere near that damn door.

The hell of finding the ominous trio of chaplain, doctor and commander waiting on her porch a year ago washed over her again. Julia inched two steps to the side, just three inches until she could see...a red truck. Zach's truck.

Relief turned her knees to mulch.

For five unrestrained seconds, she devoured the sight of him so big and alive. Thick, dark hair gleamed in the porch light. Broad shoulders ducked out of the truck, his brown leather flight jacket zipped up a chest she desperately wanted to climb all over so she could listen to the steady reassurance of his heartbeat.

Julia squeezed her eyes closed and slumped against the counter. Slowly, she slid down.

Okay, so he would find her sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor. Better that than having him find her knocked out on that same floor if she pitched over.

Frenzy and fear whipped within her. What if that hadn't been Zach pulling into the driveway? What if another routine mission went bad tomorrow or the next day? Stupid, torturous thoughts hammered her, images that didn't accomplish anything more than to start her shaking all over again.

She needed something to make the fear stop. Tomorrow, she would be strong for the children. Right now, she needed momentary relief from the pain of the past thirty seconds and from whatever insanity had grabbed hold of her the past months.

She needed to lose herself in a raging hot night of sex with her husband.

* * *

He had a raging headache.  Not surprising, since he no doubt suffered from a lethal case of deadly testosterone build-up months in the making.

Zach dropped his flight bag on his motorcycle seat and considered heading out for a long ride. Only around forty degrees and cloudless, it would make the perfect night for speeding under the stars. He could if he wanted, without worrying about the squadron since the last plane had landed.

He backed from the bike. Forget the ride, he would just lose himself in the kids as he'd done a hundred times the past two months to avoid looking at Julia. Talk about holiday mania.

The kids had enjoyed a blow-out Christmas.

He had a mind-blowing headache.

Zach eyed the kitchen door. With any luck, Shelby would have pierced her nose, or something equally as aggravating to keep his mind off Julia.

Marrying her was the smartest—and the most dumbass thing he'd ever done. Sure, the children were happy, but he was slowly losing his freaking mind.

Images bombarded him, so many accidental glimpses of Julia that turned him inside out.

Julia in his bed. Julia leaning over the bathroom sink wearing nothing but a sheer slip so short it displayed miles of legs.

Other images no less torturous kicked over him. Julia singing to Patrick. Sawdust glinting in her blond curls as she taught Ivy to hammer nails. Julia wrangling a smile out of Shelby at Christmas by doing nothing more than starting kitchen wars with cans of whipped cream.

Home-life intimacy was killing him and there wasn't a thing he could do about it. If only he hadn't just flown. At least they would have their very own rugrat chaperones in residence.

Zach yanked the kitchen door open. He flung his helmet bag on the counter and turned toward the refrigerator.