“I hate this.” His jaw flexed. “I want to keep you safe.” Giving him a smile, she picked up his other hand, opened it. She bent his middle and index fingers inward, leaving the other fingers straight. Tapping those two fingers on her chest, she curled her hand over his. Her fist barely covered his, but she squeezed him hard nevertheless.

“That’s sign language for heart. You’ll hold my heart safe until I see you again.” She swallowed, whispered the next word. “Master.”

His eyes became molten at the title, spoken outside the restrictions of the club, making her glad she’d dared that much. Rising on her toes, she pressed her cheek to his strong jaw, closed her eyes and let herself be totally vulnerable this blink in time, holding their locked hands between them. “Keep your ass down, too. I haven’t seen nearly as much of it as I want to. But . . . if you change your mind about us, thanks for everything.”

“I’m not changing my mind.”

“I hope so. But no obligations, Captain Peter Winston.” It was so hard to move out of that embrace. Somehow it tied into everyone and everything to whom she’d ever had to say good-bye. She was blinking back freaking tears. Shouldering her bag, she gave him a quick nod and moved toward check-in.

Instead of making forward progress, however, she was brought up short, the strap of her bag used to haul her back up against him one more time. He invaded her with a kiss that reached all the way to her toes, caused her to cling and sigh into his mouth, perilously close to saying words that would make her a romantic fool.

When he let her up for air, he held her gaze like an oath.

“You got an obligation to me, Sergeant. And I won’t be forgetting it.”

Four

TWO MONTHS LATER

“Man, I can’t believe I’m in this fucking oven on wheels with you two when Gary Sinise is coming to visit our platoon today. I wanted to squeeze Lieutenant Dan’s fine, tight ass.” Specialist Leslie Sykes peered out over the rocky desert terrain. “I see you snickering back there, O’Neill. I know you’re still chasing that tail up at Battalion, so don’t think you’re better than me.”

“Nope. No more. I realized a man has to be an idiot to get involved with a heavily armed woman.”

“Good thinking. No woman in her right mind could hang out with you for more than ten minutes and not want to shoot you,” Dana said, keeping her eye on their right perimeter, tracking the vehicles behind them. “Of course, you’d best remember women are resourceful. If they don’t have a gun, a blunt object works mighty fine. More personal that way.”

Leslie laughed. “Sounds like you might be better off switching sides of the fence, O’Neill. Come squeeze Lieutenant Dan’s ass with me.”

“Hey, hey, hey . . .” O’Neill gave her a mock scowl. “Don’t ask, don’t tell, soldier.” He jerked his chin at Dana. “She’s just running a diversion. She doesn’t want us poking at her about that guy she’s been mooning over ever since she got back.” Dana shifted in the passenger seat, adjusting her helmet. “I only want you poking at me, Sergeant O’Neill. You and all your fine manly stuff.” Leslie snorted. “Like I believe that. I think he’s got your number, girlfriend. What’s this boy like?”

Dana smirked. “A tall, blond captain with an ass that would put anything you’ve ever imagined to shame. The ass of all asses.”

“Ooh, she’s gone to the white-boy side.” Leslie chuckled. “Your grandma would be spinning.”

“No. I think she would have liked him.”

Her own certainty about that surprised her. He’d written her, as he’d promised. Once a week, without fail. While those letters should have come with a fire-hazard warning, they were devastating for far more than the sexual innuendoes. . . .

I can’t believe I agreed to this shit. One minute I feel like some lovesick fool; then I remember that kiss, the way you ran to me at the airport, and I can barely breathe. Yeah, it’s crazy. I know you’re trying to convince yourself it’s hormones, that I’m writing this because I’m seeing way too many sweaty guys and not enough soft, female flesh, but it’s you, Dana. I don’t want to be a dick, but that night was far from the first time for me. But it was the first time I was left with this hurting ache inside. Letting you go was a mistake, leaving an emptiness that won’t be filled until I see you again. Are we both crazy? I want to find out. I intend to find out.

I know you were scared, and that’s part of why you decided to make us do it this way. I don’t want you to be scared, sweetheart. I want to know everything about you, why you’re so scared of loving and losing. But I’m thinking you’re also pretty smart, because I’m writing all sorts of things I wouldn’t normally share with a woman, especially if I want her to remain impressed with me. For example, I like little dogs. Particlarly the scrapper ones, the Jack Russells, who won’t give up and are so tough they won’t back down from anything. Kittens are pretty irresistible, too. My buddy Lucas and his wife, Cass, just got a couple from the shelter and they’re maniacs, tearing up everything while making them laugh their asses off.

I guess I’m pretty predictable. Beer and pizza is my favorite meal, and I like falling asleep in my boat on the bayou. I once woke up beached on a sand spit next to a couple alligators. They apparently figured I was too dumb to mess with. I’d like to fall asleep in my boat with you in my arms, let the sun bake us and not wake up until the mosquitoes try to drive us in . . . no alligators that trip, though.

If I told you I started falling in love with you the first moment I saw you, the kind of fall that could turn into a long, spiraling lifetime of love worth having, it would scare you to death, wouldn’t it? So I won’t say it. I’ll just think it.

Her lips curved in a small smile, remembering. They’d had nothing more than sex between them, right? But as if that was a battle already fought and won, his letters cut right past the bullshit, letting her into his mind, telling her his thoughts. He was drawing her in, making her want to be with him on all levels so bad that it hurt, just like he said.

I’ve always wanted to drive across the country, stop wherever we wanted. See those sights that nobody ever takes the time to see. The best ice cream shop in a small town in the middle of Iowa, run by two people who started it back during the fifties. Or a historical marker where some famous Civil War general watered his horse and sat under a tree, writing a letter to his wife. I think you find out a lot about someone when you travel with them. And though our initial trip was way too short, I already know I’d like to take a much, much longer one together. Don’t shake your head. I know that’s what you’re doing. So how about it? I’m going to finish every letter with a question, because I want you to have all sorts of answers for me when next we see each other . . . but one will be more important than any of the others.

“I’ve got movement to the left,” O’Neill said sharply.

Dana’s attention snapped fully back to the present, though even with the distraction of Peter’s letters, the forefront of her mind had never left off surveillance of their surroundings. Vehicles moving supplies between towns were too rich of a target, and Combat Logistic Patrols ran every day to supply Combat Outpost Posts. The up-armored FMTV lumbering behind them carried medical and food supplies. In front of their vehicle was Sergeant Sinclair’s up-armored Humvee, and two more followed behind the FMTV.

“Where?” Leslie asked, and then the question became moot. Dana shouted out the warning as the RPG round whistled through the air. The rear vehicle of their convoy exploded, the flash illuminating the area.

In a matter of seconds, everything was chaos. They’d hit a straight stretch between two curves, and the insurgents had set their ambush well. The sergeant and his detail ahead barely made it out before their vehicle exploded, blockading forward progress. A hail of AK-47 gunfire rained down from the ridge on their three o’clock. It was a sure bet they’d mined the sides of the road with IEDs to keep them from going around.

Fortunately, they hadn’t gotten the Humvee that mounted a 50-cal, right behind the FMTV. Those guys were firing hot and heavy up into that ridge.

“Go, go, go,” O’Neill was barking. Dana slid out after Leslie and they hit the hard-packed ground, running for the meager ditch on the opposite side of the road.

“Straighten up.” Dana grabbed Leslie’s vest and hauled her along. Leslie rarely got out of the Battalion S4 shop and had made a newbie mistake, trying to crouch down as she ran.

The body armor was too heavy to allow for that. She’d trip and land on her face. “Move your ass!”

The dirt kicked up around them as they ran, but Dana heard the M-4 fire as O’Neill covered their six. In the corner of her eye, she saw the men in the Humvee and supply truck doing the same, a gradual fall back to this ditch line.

“Targets ahead.” Dana heard the shout, saw the insurgents waiting in the ditch, guns raised, dark eyes wild, faces wet with nervous sweat. She swung her own gun around, braced for recoil and let it go, sending them scattering. One got punched through the head and flipped back, and then she and Leslie were in the ditch and she was shoving the body out of the way.

“Breathe, girl, breathe,” she counseled Leslie, hunkering down. “Just keep it together, shoot straight and wait for orders. They’ll call for air support.” And please God, let them get here in time.

“God, no women in combat. Yeah, right.” Though Leslie’s voice was cracking, Dana was glad to see she was keeping it together, checking her ammo with shaking fingers. Then her gaze landed on something else sharing the ditch with them.

“Les, look.”

Her friend followed her gaze, saw the RPG left behind by the fleeing insurgents on this side. “I’ve never shot one.”

“Me neither.” Dana firmed her chin. “We’ll sure as hell figure it out. That Humvee only has a few minutes before someone throws a mortar on it.”