Full Surrender

* * *

SLIDING INTO ONE of Danny’s T-shirts, Stephanie paused to bury her nose in the cotton at one shoulder. Granted, she probably only smelled laundry detergent. But there was something about wearing a man’s clothes that made her feel sexy and safe at the same time. Like having some of Danny’s strength around her 24/7.

Wouldn’t that be addicting if she wasn’t careful?

She pushed the wicker basket full of clean shirts back into the closet cubby, reminding herself that part of the reason Danny seemed like a safe choice right now was that he’d only be home for a few weeks. She hadn’t known that his stay would be quite that short, but she’d realized it was inevitable he’d go back to sea for his job. No chance of getting in over her head with a guy due to leave before the month’s end.

Pulling through her tangled hair with a wide comb she’d found in a drawer by the sink, Stephanie peered into another wicker basket and found a stack of running shorts. She dug deeper until she spied a gray pair with a drawstring waist that might cinch enough to fit. Her underwear was soaked, so she’d have to go commando. Which might be fine down below, but up top? She stepped from the closet back into the bathroom and checked her reflection. A second T-shirt was definitely in order if she wanted to give the girls halfway decent coverage.

Snagging a second white T-shirt, she pulled it over her head, determined to enjoy her time with Danny from this moment forward. She’d freaked out in the water, but she was done with that now.

Yes, she’d been traumatized when her assignment in Iraq had turned hellish. The family who’d grabbed her and reporter Christina Marcel had been coerced into doing so. Apparently, the family had angered Iraqi insurgents the week before when their oldest son had met with Christina to be interviewed for a story on the effects of the war on the Iraqi people.

Furious that the young man had talked to American reporters, insurgents had killed him and demanded the family use their connections to abduct and hold the reporters or risk seeing another one of their sons gunned down. Her captors hadn’t been as cruel as seasoned rebel soldiers might have been, but Stephanie had still been terrified of them, knowing they would do whatever the insurgents wished.

She hadn’t been raped, although she’d been beaten when she was first taken, to keep her from trying to escape. She’d been scared to death and she still had nightmares about being kept in the dark.

But she’d dealt with it. Put it behind her. And now, years later, she was finally ready for this. For Danny Murphy, the last great memory she had before she went to Iraq. Keeping that in mind, she padded through the hall toward the big, open kitchen.

“It smells fantastic,” she observed lightly, hoping to get this day back on track. She’d survived the worst of her awkward request of Danny, so now she only had to enjoy the fruits of her embarrassment.

He’d said yes, after all. She shivered just thinking about what that meant.

“I hope you brought your appetite.” He stood by the coffee table, arranging plates and glasses on the heavy plank top so they could eat on the sofa. Steam wafted from the plain white dishes loaded with manicotti and red sauce. Salad bowls were heaped with fresh greens and grated cheeses. And a bread basket held several slices of the baguette, some that were plain and some slathered with butter and lightly broiled.

He’d changed into dry shorts and a worn black concert T-shirt for some obscure band, the lettering peeling. His dark hair was still damp and sticking up in a few places as if he’d just used his fingers to shove it out of his eyes.

Her mouth watered for the man as much as the meal.

“I didn’t realize I was hungry until now.” She edged around the sofa to take a spot in front of the low table. “The view is pretty great, too.” Realizing she happened to be staring at him at the moment, she pointed hastily out the window. “I mean, of the bay.”

He sat beside her on the sofa.

“I like the view, too.” He never took his eyes off her. While that comment sank in, he lifted a glass of water and handed it to her, then raised his own. “Here’s to old friends.”

Her heart beat fast. She resisted the urge to tug at the layered T-shirts she wore, knowing her body would be sending obvious signals about how much he affected her. The soft cotton created a pleasurable friction against her breasts.

“Cheers to that.” She clinked her tumbler to his and sipped the water, hoping it would help cool her off. “Don’t let me slow you down, Danny. You must be starving.”

She gestured toward his plate and he grinned.

“I’ll try not to inhale it,” he said as he picked up a fork and dug in.