Oh God, she was so weak around this man when simply exchanging body heat across air turned her on. Rena backed toward the steps. "I really need to go. Chris has my car. I was hoping he'd come home sooner so we could trade, but I'm supposed to be at the base hospital in a half hour to head the support group meeting." Babbling again, damn it. "I'll just take Chris's car."
Then she wouldn't have to go inside with J.T. where no doubt they would end up n**ed on the floor in under two seconds. Maybe she needed to learn to be away from the house when J.T. picked up their son for weekend visits. Every meeting put her heart, her sanity, at risk.
"Rena?" He stopped her with a hand on her upper arm just below the sleeve of her peasant blouse. Skin to skin. Her bracelets tinkled in time with wind chimes to ride the magnolia-scented air in a sensuous serenade of more want, and God yes, she could see the desire smoking through his gray eyes, as well.
It wasn't enough. Not anymore.
Had he ever loved her? Somehow she thought maybe she could handle his leaving better if, for at least part of their time together, he'd loved her. If she'd been more to him than the woman he felt honor-bound to marry because the condom broke.
Yes, J.T. was all about honor, which made him even more admirable in her eyes after her father's "imports" business dealings. A cover for laundering Mob money, not that the feds could ever nail him.
J.T. was a man of honor to trust, and trust had been rare for her growing up.
"Rena?" he said again, his grip tightening.
"Oh, uh…" She startled and stared up at him, a long look even in her heels. "What did you say?"
"Is it okay with you if I wait inside? The temp's cranking up out here."
Just as when he'd rung the bell to the home he'd helped restore, this request to enter their house tore at her. They would need to talk soon, but now wasn't the time, when their son could walk in at any minute.
And not when she was seconds away from losing it. "Of course. Make yourself at—" Home. She swallowed down the word like lemonade without sugar.
A flicker of anger snapped in his eyes, a rare display of emotion from J.T., therefore even more potent. Well, damn him, he could get mad all he wanted. At least he would be talking.
The storm clouds in his eyes dispersed, distance reestablished. "Thanks."
"There's tea in the fridge." She inched away. From him. From herself, too, for that matter. From wanting him, hating him, even loving him still a little, which made her resent him all the more. "I need to head back to base. I'll pick up Chris on Sunday."
"I'll bring him back by tomorrow to swap cars."
"Thank you." No arguing. They would be civil about their offspring.
Nodding, J.T. turned away, twisted the doorknob, left her. Her shoulders sagged with her sigh. Rena blinked back tears blurring the setting sun and J.T.'s broad shoulders. She'd already cried countless tears over this man—many of them bathing his bruised body after his return from Rubistan. Yet still he'd rejected her offer of reconciliation. Zipping up his flight suit on the way out of their bed and her life, he'd made his position clear.
They really were over.
She'd spent three months trying to get through to him, to make him talk about something more meaningful than painting a car, if not for a reconciliation, at least to assure herself he was okay. Now, life had left her no choice but to move ahead and make plans for her children.
No question, they would have to talk soon, when Chris wasn't due home and her eyes weren't threatening to overflow. And when the time came for that talk, she would be stronger than the teenage version of herself.
Head held high, she sprinted down the steps on legs more wobbly than her purple high heels.
Punching numbers on the cordless phone, J.T. watched his wife through the lace curtains covering the living-room window. Wind whipped at her white blouse and long purple patchwork skirt, plastering fabric to her gentle curves. Rena's wild dark curls sailed behind her as she unlocked the driver's-side door.
She couldn't get away from him fast enough.
Yeah, that bit. More than it should. He wanted to bury his face in her hair, his body even deeper in hers. And she was running like hell.
He pressed the phone to his ear. It rang once, twice. Ended.
"Flight scheduling. Lieutenant Rokowsky."
Bo? J.T.'s brain stuttered for a second until he remembered the lieutenant had just started working in scheduling to mark time until he recovered from his injuries sustained in Rubistan.
J.T.'s hand gravitated up to his ribs, rubbed over bruises long faded. Bruises bathed by his wife's tears when he'd come home. So much damn emotion, too much to process then or now. He'd only known that no way in hell did he want to put his wife through that again. Since they'd already split, leaving seemed the obvious answer.
"Hi, Bo. Tag here," he said while watching Rena slide behind the wheel of Chris's twodoor Cavalier. "I didn't get a chance to check the schedule since we landed late and I needed to pick up my son. What's on the boards for me next week?"