Dinner with his wife and kids had been near perfect, so close to what he'd planned for himself during his teen years. Nice house. Plenty of food. The conversation was a bonus he hadn't known he was missing until Rena came into his life. Sure he didn't join in much, but he listened. Enjoyed. Like tonight.
And then she'd started cracking those chicken wing bones. Bo's breaking hand had echoed in his head. And…
It was all too much. Too much emotion, noise. Storm.
He'd retreated. Except his quiet office, books, computer weren't offering him much in the way of relief.
A noise broke the silence.
He glanced up at the clock again, pendulum swinging. Rena was asleep—he'd checked. That one look at her soft body curved into her pillow was the source of most of his current frustration.
Chris was due home over an hour ago, but the office window showcased an empty parking spot.
Floorboards groaned. Old house-settling noises? Or something else.
Unease cranked along with his heart rate. He slid the key into the bottom drawer of his desk, opened, pulled out his M9 Beretta pistol.
The sounds could be nothing. The hit-and-run could be nothing. Or it could all be something, and no way would any of it get near his family.
Another squeak of boards and a rustle spurred him to action.
He edged out into the hall, following the sounds. Quiet, stealthy sounds. Should he have called the cops first? His hand fell to his cell phone in his back pocket, pulled it free and ready as he followed.
His footsteps led him to the kitchen. He slipped around the corner, socks silent on ceramic tile until he found…
His hungry intruder head deep in the refrigerator, a mighty fine and familiar ass pertly in view, clothed in a red satin nightshirt he'd given Rena two Christmases ago.
Chapter 6
J.T. lowered the gun to his side and feasted on the luscious sight of his wife's incredible ass while she feasted on whatever held her attention in the refrigerator.
Adrenaline surged through him alongside relief. Lust raged at Mach speed, leaving him totally at the mercy of memories from last summer when he'd returned home from TDY—temporary duty. He'd been on the road so much over the past few years with Afghanistan, Iraq, and regular TDYs to supply troops all around the world, he'd spent little time in his wife's bed. In his wife's arms.
In his wife's body.
He'd eased into the kitchen last summer after his return from Guam, dropped his helmet bag softly to the floor. She'd heard, her spine straightening as she stood on a ladder stenciling an ivy border along the walls.
A smile had tipped her profile, but she hadn't moved, just waited for him to cross to her. He'd stopped behind her, so damn grateful for his son's band camp because—oh yeah—now Rena was alone in the house and he could wrap his arms around his wife to lift her off the ladder. Slide her back along his front as he lowered her to the ground.
He'd taken the green-soaked paintbrush from her, cupped the gentle weight of her br**sts in his hands as she pressed her bottom against the already straining length of his erection.
Seconds later she'd been gripping the edge of the counter, her dress had been up, his zipper open, her thong snapped.
An awesome memory. No chance of repeating it anytime soon, though. He needed to stay his course. No risking sex until he convinced her he should stay.
He crossed, placed his gun on top of the refrigerator.
Rena jumped, glanced over her shoulder. "God, J.T.! You scared a year off my life." She blushed, thrusting the bowl forward like a peace offering. "Want some chili?"
Peace would be nice. Except he couldn't get past the temptation of her unrestrained br**sts against the satin nightshirt. Who turned the air conditioner on so cold? "Heard a noise, and since you shouldn't be up at all it never crossed my mind it might be you. What the hell are you doing up, anyway?"
"No chili? Okay, then. More for me." She popped open the lid on the Tupperware bowl, snagged a spoon and started shoveling. She shouldn't have appeared graceful in the midst of a feeding frenzy. But she did. "You seemed so intent on what you were doing in the study, I didn't want to bother you. Can you reach down there for the grated cheese, please?"
She'd been watching him, too? Adrenaline surged hotter, faster, throbbing low and south fast. Kneeling in front of her to find the bag of cheese didn't help. He was at the perfect level to hitch up that satin and—
"Thanks." She snatched the cheese from his hand and sprinkled some on top of her chili. "I woke up to, uh, go to the bathroom. God, I'd forgotten the seven thousand bathroom runs a night that come with being pregnant. And then I realized I was starving. In the morning I can't eat without being sick, and then I spend the whole rest of the day unable to eat enough. Crazy, huh?"
Crazy? He stood. Yeah, he was definitely going nuts talking about puking when all he could think about was pressing her against the counter and hiking up her nightshirt. Reenacting that memory of a better time before their world exploded. He'd known the split was coming, always expected the end. Considered every day with her another dodged bullet. Nope, he hadn't been in the least surprised when his hand weights sailed out the window and bounced off his book onto the lawn.