Anything, Anywhere, Anytime

"What do you mean, you can't do this?" She needed him. A scary thought, but true. Private Santuci's words from earlier kept echoing through her head about living now or risk never getting to live at all because there was no guarantee their lives would ever get any easier. "Sure as hell feels like you can to me."



She shaped her hand to the length of him.



He laughed. A pained, choked sound. "I almost wish that was the problem."



Her fingers crawled up to his chest. "Then what's going on here?"



She arched into him, closer, even though the e-mail pager on his hip bit into her skin as much as his steely erection. Just when she thought he might answer her, the pager buzzed between them.



Relief splashed across Jack's face so damned obviously she wanted to punch him. Did he have to be that pleased about the interruption?



He nudged her away, yanked the handheld e-mail pager off his web belt. His thumb scrolled down as he read.



Unease itched along her already oversensitized skin. "Jack? What is it?"



His hand clenched a second before his forehead thunked to the door. Hot puffs of breath fanned down her neck, into her gaping flight suit.



"Jack? Damn it. Talk to me."



"Hang on a sec." His throat moved with a long swallow. "Nothing to worry about. Just a little good news for a change. A report from a SEAL recon run. The hostages are all where they should be. Sydney's where she should be."



"You had doubts?"



His eyes opened, fell away from hers then back. "There are always doubts until the minute we have them out of there."



Too many emotions churned inside her, faster, searching for a release. With Jack. "Then let's take comfort in this bit of good news right now, for heaven's sake, and let's celebrate, because there has been little enough of that lately."



"I want to be with you so damned much it hurts." He bit the words out through gritted teeth. "But it's still not right."



"I heard what you said about needing more from me, from us. I'm trying here, Jack."



He hit his head against the door. Once. Twice. "I know you are. God, this would be so much easier if we could go back to simple. I have to be straight up with you. There's something I haven't told you."



Her doctor mind-set immediately started clicking through horrific possibilities...



She grabbed the collar of his flight suit, twisted her fingers in the fabric until he met her face-to-face. "You're scaring me, Jack. I don't know what to expect. Stop stalling, okay? Just go for the Band-Aid yank approach and get it over with. Quick."



"I was married before."



Talk about stunned stupid.



Shock hit her first, followed by a stab of disillusionment. Jack had been married before? And he hadn't told her.



Never would she have guessed that would be his confession. Jack, the squadron player. The man who never got serious about anyone. His reputation had kept her at a distance for a long while. She might not have been searching for marriage, but didn't want to be a bedpost notch. Now to learn he hadn't shared even such a basic part of his past with her?



It hurt.



She'd condemned Jack for his cheeseburger-and-Elvis definition of love, but she'd thought at least it was open and honest and full-out. Now she knew otherwise.



"I realize I was wrong not to tell you. That's probably the only thing that kept me from exploding over the Yasmine deal. Still boggles my mind how we ever ended up in that chapel."



His regret slapped her. He'd chased her so hard and fast she hadn't considered his second thoughts. Her numb fingers unclenched from around his flight suit and she couldn't will enough feeling back into them to yank up her own zipper.



She tucked past him and dropped on to the edge of her cot. "Why did you two get divorced?"



"Divorced? Thanks for the vote of confidence on my staying power." He sagged back against the door, his flight suit gaping open, his black T-shirt rising with a ragged breath. "She died."



She couldn't stop her gasp. Or the ache. The pain etched on his face spoke volumes.



He wasn't over losing his wife. Easygoing Jack, who never let anything bother him, was still mourning the woman. The proof of that stained his endlessly brown eyes, overwhelming her with how much grief he'd been holding inside that he'd never shared.



So much emotion. For someone else. Something that shouldn't have bothered her this damned much after she'd spent three and a half months shoving the man away.



"Oh my God, Jack," she whispered, "I'm so sorry. When?"



She could see his reluctance to talk. The shutters closed down on his eyes and only now that she'd seen into his soul did she realize she'd never been let inside before. But she had a right to her questions, and something within him must have known that, too, or he wouldn't have opened this door she suspected hadn't been so much as cracked for others. "Jack, is this what your 'shitty mood' has been about?"



He jolted. "You know me pretty well even when I don't tell you everything."



"Us being together—" she swallowed "—getting married has made you think about her?'' Come on, Jack, talk. She needed a lifeline, some order restored.



He hauled his hands through his hair, still sweaty and swirled from hours in a helmet. "We were young, got married right out of high school. We were working our way through college. Two years before graduation—" he paused, cleared his throat, studied the top of his boots ''—she had one of those fluke heart attacks and slipped into a coma."



The doctor within her couldn't help but question, "A heart attack? So young?"



"In childbirth. The baby didn't make it." His foot pounded back against the door. "And damn it, she shouldn't have even been pregnant. We were going to wait until after we both graduated, when I would be on active duty... Shit."



His foot rammed back again.



Nothing about his words or stance invited her closer. A scowl slashed his face. For an easygoing guy, he did brooding damned well. Which left her imagining how much practice he'd gained while alone.



"A month later, we had the doctors take her off life support." His booted foot slid to the ground. "I had them take her off life support."



Loss hardened his face. Jack wasn't a traditionally gorgeous guy by any stretch with harsh angles and a nose a little too big to be classic. But he was all man and somehow his grief cut through her with a jagged-edge tenacity because it had brought down someone so strong.



Hints of insecurity scratched over the vulnerable, open part of her, and she resented that most of all. It hadn't escaped her notice that Jack didn't share his first wife's name or even whether his child had been a girl or boy. She didn't want these vulnerable feelings that were so very selfish in light of what he was feeling.



Monica gripped the edge of her cot. Tighter. She hated being anything other than in control of her environment and emotions. So she did what she always did when the world around her spun out of control.



She found someone to heal.



Jack watched Monica's knuckles whiten with her tightening hold on the edge of her cot, her restraint evident in the increasing bloodlessness of her fingers. He waited for her anger. Or even tears. Anything. What he'd kept from her was far worse than failing to mention some half sister she rarely saw. He understood that. Accepted his guilt.



He deserved her anger and almost welcomed the idea of a confrontation so he could storm out, crawl back to his room, shut his eyes. Reestablish his blank wall of forgetfulness.



Jack started to zip his flight suit, all the while in tune to the sound of her shifting on the cot, standing, her footsteps coming closer.



Her arms went around him.



Surprise stilled him half-zip. He'd expected any number of reactions from her. Except this one. "Aren't you pissed that I didn't tell you?"



Her cheek fell to rest on his shoulder. "It would make things easier for you if I got mad, wouldn't it?"



A harsh laugh scraped his throat. "Oddly enough, yes."



"Well, I am.. .more than a little upset about what you've told me, and the fact that you didn't tell me before." She stroked the nape of his neck, soothed.



"And hurt?"



Her fingers paused, resumed. "Oh, yeah."



"Then why aren't you booting me out on my ass?" Hell, he married her and she kicked him out. He lied to her and she hugged him. When would he ever understand this woman?



She eased back to stare up into his eyes. "Because you're hurting more."



Monica arched up and pressed her mouth to his.



No doubt she meant it to be a tender, comforting kiss. She didn't move or even mold herself against him.



She didn't have to.



The ever-present combustible emotions and passion between them flamed to life, still barely banked from their earlier kiss. What damned inconvenient timing with the past scrambling his brain and wrecking rational decisions, the ability to strategize.



Her lips parted under his and he threw away rationale, took the healing forgetfulness that she offered. Warm, hot, moist Monica, and still he wanted more, had missed her, missed this so damned much. He banded his arms around her back and she melted against him with a familiarity and intensity that numbed his brain.



Hell, yeah. Immersing himself in Monica's soft curves and needy sighs seemed like a mighty good plan at the moment. Except the past three and a half months had taught him the hell of losing her. He didn't know what to do to keep her, or if he even deserved to have her.



Nipping once, twice on her bottom lip, he eased back, guided her head to rest on his shoulder. "It was easier when it was just about the sex." He anchored her to him. Anchored himself with the feel of her lush body against him, her aloe shampoo scent rising to greet him as he buried his face in her hair. "I'm a mess right now, Mon."



"So am I." Her lips moved against his neck, inching him closer to the edge of total loss of control. "I was a mess before we met, and no doubt I'm going to be a bigger mess after all this is over.''



Over. Them or the rescue? His arms twitched possessively around her.



Monica cupped his face in her cool hands. "I know all of that, but I also know we're married, for God's sake. Will we be tomorrow? Who knows? But today this is legally our right. Yes, our lives are screwed up. And yet I just keep remembering what Private Santuci said about how there are so many crises lately. Do you remember?"



"Something about losing his troubles with the Goo-Goo Dolls in concert?"



She chuckled against his mouth. "Close. He said we have to live life even in a crisis. We can worry about regrets later, and you know me well enough to know I certainly will. But right now I'm hurting so damned much for you and over you and over a thousand other things I don't want to think about. Let's make it stop for at least a while."



Damn but he wanted to believe her. "You're sure?"



Hints of amber streaked her green eyes, eyes wide open and not hiding a vulnerability that threatened to level him. "Jack, I only have one question. I need to know you're not using me as a substitute for her."



Christ, how could she even doubt him on that?



Because he hadn't been up front with her. And now he had to make that right. Even if he didn't end up in her bed now, he had to reassure her he'd known exactly who he was with in the months before.



He stared down at this proud woman who'd knocked him flat since the first time he saw her at a squadron cookout and knew what it cost her to ask that question. "You turn me inside out with the way you've taken up residence in my head. I'm confused as hell about a lot of things when it comes to us. But you can be damned certain I know exactly who it is I'm with right now. No substitutes. You're an incredible one-of-a-kind woman. I wish I could come up with better words to reassure you that I need to be inside you, with you right now...just you."



He let his knuckles glide along the side of her face and wondered if he'd said the right things so this wouldn't bite him on the ass later.



"Hell, Mon. This deep-water stuff is new for me. I'm not good at reading nuances and don't know if I've given you what you need here. I'm already being a selfish enough bastard by not walking out the door. The next move has to be yours."



A slow smile eased over her face in time with her fingers pulling his zipper tab all the way down. "Then just so you're clear on any nuances, how about I be bossy and tell you exactly what I need?"



Chapter 13



The stunned look on Jack's face was priceless. Any other time and Monica would have laughed.



She refused to feel guilty about needing Jack tonight. Her carefree lover had offered her more of himself in the past five minutes than he had in seven months. And now, by God, she was eagerly embracing the mantra of Private Santuci. Live, even in the midst of a crisis.



Yes, it hurt that Jack had held back something so vital from her. Thinking of him loving someone else was somewhere she damn well didn't want to go. She focused on the fact that he had told her the truth when he could have so easily had her flat on her back.



Or against the door.



Giving herself a second to gather her tattered control, Monica turned away, facing the room, searching for the perfect setting in her sparse quarters. Flat surfaces were limited with only a narrow cot, the tile floor, the desk completely covered with her gear. No nifty hot tub or queen-size bed. But if she waited for those...



Her eyes landed on the oversize office chair. Not flat, but with definite possibilities.



She gripped the back of the chair, wheeled it out of the cluster of furniture in the corner and spun it around to face Jack. "For you," she ordered. "I want you...here. Now. Will that do for a clear enough first move?"



His shock faded to a scowl, not that she was fooled. Instead she read his wariness.



She'd certainly given him cause with all her talk about needing a definite understanding of how they would work through their problems. Yet only a few days spent back with Jack and he'd already filled her life and mind again to the point where the thought of just quitting knotted her stomach with as much tension as the notion of pressing ahead on faith.



"Well, Korba? Are you ready to let me be in the driver's seat for a change? Because I definitely have some plans to fill the next hour."



"I'd say that's one helluva move, Mon."



She held out her hand, heart thudding. Three lazy, loose-hipped steps brought him to her. Chair between them, he cupped the back of her neck and sealed his mouth to hers. Her knees went wobbly, her control not any steadier.