A Long Way From Home
I REALLY LIKED Jackson’s friends. They were easy to talk to, fun, and teased the hell out of Jack, which made me laugh. I got the impression that they hadn’t met many of his girlfriends before. I wasn’t sure if I fell into that category—it was too early to say.
I also spent an hour interviewing Gray about his time in the Marines, what it was like being a civilian now, and how he’d built up his ceramics and pottery business. We touched on the issues surrounding his double-amputation after the IED attack, too, but the focus of the article was going to be on his life since then.
And talking with Jules, she gave me an insight into being the wife of a Marine. She’d felt as much a part of the service as he did, so when Gray had left, they both felt like they’d lost their family, to some extent.
“It was hard, at first,” Jules said thoughtfully. “Well, none of it’s easy, because you’re not just marrying your husband, you’re marrying the whole team. Sometimes it feels like I married the whole darn Marine Corps.”
“So long as I’m the only one keeping your bed warm at night,” Gray laughed.
Jules winked at him. I could see the love they shared, and I felt a small frisson of jealousy, even though I was not the marrying kind.
“But seeing as you’re here with our boy Jack,” Jules said to me, “you’d best have Julia’s Crash Course in Dating a Uniform.”
Gray and Jackson both groaned.
Dating? Is that what we were doing? I shot Jackson a look, but he just smiled at me.
“Counting down to the next deployment is part of the deal—they’re always around the next corner. So if you can’t cope with that, your life will be hell,” she said. “Simple as that. A lot of military wives get swept away with the whole romance of the uniform, but there’s nothing romantic about being a single woman with a ring on your finger for six months, or nine months, or a year—however long the deployment is. And you’ve got to be prepared to move around with a few weeks’ notice, or even a few days’ notice. Add kids into the mix . . . well, you get the picture.”
I nodded, understanding what she said.
“And they can be hard to live with when they’re home.”
I could hazard a guess that it wasn’t easy.
“I get it. I’ve interviewed a lot of men and women in the armed services. It’s a strange dichotomy: when they’re away from home, they can’t wait to come back, but when they’re home . . .”
“We’re always waiting for the next mission,” Gray finished with a nod. “At least you understand that, Maggie. Most stay-at-homers don’t.”
“Because I’m the same. When I’m away, I’m focused and professional, but also longing for home. When I’m home, life seems to move in slow motion, and I’m waiting for the next assignment. Hell, I go searching for the next assignment.”
Jackson nodded his agreement.
“It’s addicting.”
“Yes, it is.”
He met my gaze unblinkingly.
“It’s a good life for a single person . . . the military.”
I wondered if he was sending me a message; it certainly wasn’t a subtle one.
“It’s tough for the ones left behind,” Jules added. “You’ve got to be resourceful. There’s no use whining on to him about a clogged gutter or ants in your kitchen when he’s 5,000 miles away. So it’s tough—like make or break tough. Deployments are mostly planned well ahead, but shit happens, you know? So you’re never sure if the next one will be in six months or sixty minutes.”
“In some ways you’re describing my life, Jules,” I explained. “I never know where the next story is going to break. I need to be able to throw some clothes in a bag and get on a plane within a few hours. My body armor is under my bed and I pack portable solar power cells so I can keep my phone and laptop charged. I could be away a few days, or maybe a couple of months. I might even get offered the job of foreign correspondent for the Middle East, which would mean I’d have to go live over there.”
“Is that likely?” Jackson asked, looking serious.
I shrugged.
“It’s possible. It would be great for my career.”
I didn’t tell him I’d been lobbying for that job for more than two years now. I was in line when the current incumbent retired, but there were two or three equally qualified journalists.
His lips pressed together, but he seemed thoughtful rather than irritated, which was my usual experience of how most men viewed my job. The guys I’d dated before had liked the idea of being with a journalist, but when it came to working late on a breaking story or missing a date at the last moment because I was booked on a flight, they didn’t like it so much.
I gazed at Jackson.
“That’s my life, my job, and I love my job. So I guess it has similarities since not everyone can deal with my lifestyle and career choices.”
Somehow the conversation had turned serious, and I saw Jules glancing at Gray apprehensively.
I didn’t know what this was with Jackson. He intrigued me and I’d begun to imagine that a relationship might be possible, but I needed to lay out the realities of my work. But perhaps now wasn’t the right time.
“Anyhow,” I said, trying to lighten the tone, “I try and make the most of my time when I’m home—make memories, you know? So I’d like to propose a toast: to new friends and good times.”
They all raised their beer bottles and saluted the toast. As we clinked our bottles together, I almost missed Jackson’s softly spoken words.
“I can deal.”
Jackson was pensive during the rest of the afternoon, quieter than usual. I felt his eyes on me frequently. He didn’t look away when I caught him watching me, but his smile seemed tinged with sadness. I didn’t know why.
Shortly after 5PM, we heard a car pull up outside and the sound of children’s voices. The front door flung open and two children ran inside.
The boy was the spit of Jules, but the girl looked more like Gray. They went from talking at a hundred miles an hour to nearly mute when they saw me.
I waved as Jules introduced me, then Jack came and stood beside me.
“Wow, you got so big!” he grinned, reaching out to shake hands with a suddenly shy Josh, ruffling his hair kindly. “And look at you, little lady. That sure is a pretty bow you’ve got in your hair.”
Becca obviously didn’t remember him, but nodded seriously and shot an angry look at her brother.
“Josh said it was stupid and that soccer players don’t wear bows in their hair.”
“If it helps you see out from all of those curls, I guess it makes sense.”
Jack picked up a soccer ball and bounced it.
“Anyone want to play?”
“You’re not allowed to play soccer in the house,” Becca chastised him, and Jules agreed.
“Yeah? Waal, maybe we can play in the backyard.”
Jackson led the children outside, all shyness gone in the face of his warmth and enthusiasm.
I watched him playing with them, and Jules came to stand next to me.
“He’s great with them,” she said quietly.
“Yes, he is,” I agreed.
I was roped into helping later, when bath time turned into story time, and Becca asked me to read to her.
Jack, of course, was having ‘man talk’ with Josh.
Jules was right—he was really great with children; certainly these children.
I’d never been particularly maternal. I don’t know if that was because my own mother had died when I was young. I’d been close to my father, but having a family of my own? Only one of my close friends had children and she was so busy, we rarely had time to hang out.
Besides, work had always been more important to me. I couldn’t imagine being tied down by having children. Although that didn’t mean I couldn’t see the happiness and pride that shined in Jules’ eyes as she watched her husband with their children.
“Waal,” Jack said, interrupting my musings as the sun began to set, “we should be getting going now and . . .”
“Jackson Connor!” snapped Jules, her eyes flashing with annoyance. “Do not tell me that you drove all this way just to be heading back so soon!”
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair as I watched the exchange with amusement. I wondered if Jules was the only woman who bossed him around.
“Maggie needs to get back to the city . . .”
I smiled beatifically.
“Nope, I’m not working tomorrow, Sarge. I’m good.”
He gave me a look that said he didn’t appreciate being thrown under a bus.
“Then that’s settled,” Jules said decisively. “I’ve made up the bed in the guest room already.”
Jackson grinned ruefully, looking at both of us.
“Guess you weren’t planning on taking no for an answer, huh?”
Jules threw him a stern look.
“It’s taken you two-and-a-half years to get your ass to Scranton. You’re not getting away that easily. Besides,” she said, her smile softening the words, “the kids would be so disappointed if you weren’t here in the morning . . . and I’m making buttermilk biscuits with gravy, sausage, eggs and fried potatoes for breakfast . . . if you’re interested.”
Jackson’s eyes lit up.
“Why didn’t you say that to begin with?”
“An army marches on its stomach,” I said drily, quoting Napoleon (or Frederick the Great, depending on which source you’re using).
“Ain’t that the truth,” laughed Gray.
“I’m just saying one thing,” Jackson said grumpily. “MREs.”
Gray nodded seriously.
“Three lies for the price of one: it’s not a Meal, it’s not Ready, and you can’t Eat it.”
“Truth,” nodded Jackson. “Meals Requiring Enemas.”
“Meals Refusing to Exit,” sniggered Gray.
“Meals Refusing to Excrete,” Jackson added with a grin.
“Massive Rectal Exp . . .”
“Enough!” Jules bellowed, her face turning red while I put a hand over my mouth, holding in the laughter. “It’s like having a couple of sixth-graders!”
She was yelling, but I could tell she was pleased to see Gray so light-hearted. Disgusted, too, but I was used to grunt humor and I didn’t mind. Seeing Jackson laugh was good enough for me.
“You kiss your momma with that mouth?” she asked furiously.
“Sure do,” Jackson grinned, planting a kiss on Jules’ cheek as she smacked him on the shoulder.
We sat late into the night chatting easily as I listened to stories of Jackson and Gray at boot camp and all the trouble they’d gotten into. But when Jules started yawning, we all agreed it was time to throw in the towel.
As we climbed the narrow stairs, I felt Jackson’s eyes on me.
“Are you staring at my ass?”
“Yeah, it’s kind of mesmerizing. Like two juicy watermelons.”
“You did not just say that!” I huffed over my shoulder.
I was slightly self-conscious about my ass. I had a decent rack and trim waist, but my ass and hips were on the generous side.
“Aw, sugar! Don’t be sore!” And he lowered his voice so it wouldn’t carry. “You know I love holding your beautiful butt in my hands when I’m pounding into you.”
My face flamed and I felt the first tingle of arousal. God, the man turned me on with just a few, well-chosen if crude words.
“Why, Maggie Buckman! Don’t you have a single word to say, darlin’?”
“Yes, actually I do. You’re wearing too many clothes.”
He laughed quietly.
“Waal, maybe if you take yours off, I’ll make it worth your while.”
“How long is a ‘while’ exactly?”
“Long enough,” he said, his voice low and rough.
He locked the door to the guest room behind him and made good on his promise. For several hours.
After a magnificent breakfast that probably added ten pounds to my waistline and ‘juicy’ butt, we said goodbye to Jules, Gray and the kids, promising to visit again. I didn’t know if it was a promise I’d keep, but I hoped so.
Jackson hadn’t said anything to me about another date or even staying in touch, and I vowed that if he hadn’t brought it up by the time we were back in the city, then I would. My heart beat a little faster at the thought. Being rejected in person was never fun. Being rejected when I had a strong suspicion that I was falling for Jackson was an even less pleasant thought. But either way, I wanted to know where I stood. For my own sanity.
My phone rang when we were just over halfway home, and I frowned. It was my editor’s number, which meant something had happened: a story, somewhere in the world.
“Ben? What’s up?”
“Where are you, MJ?”
“About 90 minutes from home.”
“Good, I need you on a flight to Amman leaving at 9AM. We’ve got permission for you to join an MSF contingent traveling to Zaatari. Swing by the office first—Allison will have your visa. Please tell me all your shots are up to date?”
“Yep, fully medicated,” I said, and Jackson gave me a quizzical look.
“This is going to be a big one, MJ.”
“I know. Thanks, Ben.”
I hung up, watching Jackson’s face.
“That was work?”
“Yes. I’m on a flight to Jordan first thing in the morning. There’s a group of Médecins Sans Frontières doctors going to one of the biggest refugee camps on the Syrian border. Ninety-three thousand people, Jack. That’s like a city the size of Albany. Living in tents, hardly enough food or clean water.”
Jackson was silent.
Was I asking for his approval or just hoping that he’d understand?
He sighed and his shoulders hunched with tension. I waited for him to speak.
“Damn,” he said quietly. “I thought we’d have more time.”
I bit back the words I’m sorry. This was my job, and I wasn’t going to apologize for it.
“How long will you be away?”
“A couple of weeks. Maybe a month . . .”
“What time’s your flight?”
“Nine. I have to go to the office first to pick up my documents.”
He nodded.
“I’ll drive you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I’ll drive you.”
I gave him a small smile.
“Hmm, does that mean you want to spend the night in my apartment?”
He gave me a serious look.
“I want to spend every goddamn second with you, Maggie.”
I swallowed and looked away.
“I’d like that.”
It was strange having Jackson in my apartment. His large body dwarfed the place, filling it in a completely masculine way. My homey space seemed diminished with him there, and yet it seemed right.
Part of me felt like I’d known him forever, but I had to be realistic. I didn’t know him and he didn’t know me. What I did know, I liked a lot, but I’d noticed that there were subjects he deliberately avoided. That didn’t make me nervous exactly, just . . . aware.
He stood in the middle of my small living room, examining the photographs on my walls. Most of them were from assignments, but there were a few family ones, too.
“Is that your dad?”
“Yes, that’s him. Mike.”
“You look like him. You have his eyes.”
“Thank you.”
“Just sayin’ what I see,” he said, his own eyes warm with compassion.
“So, what are you going to do tomorrow? You’re welcome to stay in my apartment, if you like?”
I felt as though I should offer, but it would be strange having Jackson living here without me. He smiled briefly.
“Thanks for the offer, sugar, but I’m going to see my family. Mama has been asking when I’ll come visit. Maybe we can hook up when you’re back?”
Hook up? Although at least it sounded like he wanted to stay in touch. Sort of. Did he just mean a booty call?
“Sure,” I said, and I knew by his raised eyebrows that my lack of enthusiasm surprised him.
It wasn’t lack of enthusiasm for him—of course it wasn’t. But a hookup wasn’t dating—it was simply an offer of more sex. Wonderful, life-changing, heady, earth-shattering sex. But nothing emotional. I wasn’t sure I could do that—in fact I knew I couldn’t. But I wasn’t ready to end it with him either.
He cocked his head to one side.
“I’d better go and pack,” I said. “Can you order a pizza or something? There’s a bunch of menus in the kitchen drawer and there’s beer in the fridge.”
“Damn if you aren’t the perfect woman, Maggie,” he said with a grin.
I couldn’t help smiling. He certainly made me feel that way. That was new and unexpected, but very wonderful.
I pulled together everything I needed for my trip, pushing it into a large duffel bag that I’d kept after an embedment with USAF a couple of years back. The body armor went in last, because although it was the heaviest, I always ended up having to take it out at airports during security checks.
I piled the clothes I’d need onto the bed—all things that could be rinsed and dried easily. Plenty of underwear, tampons and unlubricated condoms. Not that I was planning on having sex, but they had a range of off-list uses, including storing water. They were also surprisingly useful to put over the lids of difficult to open jars—added traction. Who knew? (And when you were eating MREs every day, spicy sauce could make a hell of a difference.) Condoms also made very useful waterproof cases for cell phones and microphones, or even bandages.
The front door buzzer rang while I was finishing my packing, and immediately the smell of Thai curry filled the room.
“Wow, I’m impressed!” I smiled, walking into the living room. “You ordered my favorite! How did you know?”
Jackson grinned and tapped his forehead.
“Need to know, Maggie. Need to know.”
“Let me guess, you picked the menu that looked the most used.”
“Aw, you’re spoilin’ the surprise!”
I kissed him on the lips quickly.
“Thank you. It’s a lovely surprise.”
His blue eyes darkened with desire, but then he pulled back and waved a hand at the boxes of food spread across my living room coffee table.
I tossed a bunch of throw cushions on the floor, and we sat cross-legged to eat our food.
I felt more comfortable now I was getting used to seeing him in my space. He was easy company, liking having an old friend over that you haven’t seen in a while. An old friend that I badly wanted to have in my bed.
Eventually, we pushed the plates away and I finished packing while Jackson took out the trash and cleaned up in the kitchen.
When my bags were ready and waiting by the front door, I walked into the kitchen and put my arms around Jackson’s waist while he stood at the sink, pressing my cheek against his broad back.
“You’ve got an early start, Maggie,” he said softly. “I guess we should turn in soon. To sleep.”
“Are you sure about that, Jack? Your lips say no, but your body says yes,” and I rubbed the front of his jeans, feeling his hardness grow under my fingers.
He groaned and turned around to face me, his wet hands landing on my hips.
“I can’t help that,” he said, gesturing to the bulge behind his zipper. “It’s like feeding a stray dog—he keeps coming back for more even though you’ve told him to go home.”
I laughed lightly and pushed my hand into the front of his jeans, feeling his dick hot and hard and straining against my clutching fingers.
“I think we should go to bed now, Maggie,” he hissed.
“Not up for some kitchen action?”
“Oh yeah, I’m always up for some kitchen action,” he said, rocking into my hand, “but right now I’m craving a soft bed, so I can spread you out and take my time kissing every part of you. Slowly.”
The man’s mouth was wicked lethal.
I grabbed his hand and pulled him toward my room. But he stopped me so he could open the door, giving a little bow as he turned the handle.
“Thanks for getting the door open for me. Tricky things, doors.”
“Learned it all from my grandpappy,” he whispered huskily in my ear. “He said if I was going on dates where I planned on opening a condom wrapper, then the least I could do was open the door for a girl as well.”
I choked on a laugh.
“Good to know you have standards, even if they’re low ones.”
“They’re the best kind. Although I wouldn’t call you ‘low’ exactly,” he said with a wink.
I punched him in the arm, shaking out my fingers when I hit solid muscle.
“Ow,” I said, unnecessarily.
“Want me to kiss your boo-boos better?”
“I want you to kiss something.”
His eyes flared with excitement.
While he was busy undressing me with his eyes, I pushed him hard in the center of his chest so he fell backwards onto the bed.
“You don’t always have to be the one in control, Jack. I might even say that watching you lose control is hot. Very hot. I think I’d like to see you lose control again.”
His eyes burned with intensity and he licked his lips, a slow smile drawing his mouth into a sexy smirk.
“Is that right, sugar? Waal, there’s a 100% possibility of you getting what you want.”
What I wanted? Now there was a loaded statement. What did I want from Sergeant Jackson Connor?
His expression became serious, no doubt matching my own.
“I don’t know what this is, Maggie, what’s happening here, but it feels good. Real good. And I don’t want it to stop. I have absolutely no fucking control when I’m making love to you. And that’s what I want to do. Right now.”
The sweet intensity of his words touched me. Everything he said made me want to hold him and never let him go. And that was a foolish thing when his first priority, his first love would always be the Marine Corps. I was also aware it made me a hypocrite—my career was everything to me. And I was leaving first thing in the morning.
“I’m on board with that idea,” I whispered, pushing away my darkening thoughts as I concentrated on running my fingers down his broad chest, watching his muscles clench and release.
He yanked his t-shirt over his head, exposing all that deeply tanned smooth skin, looking as perfect as the day I met him. More perfect, because he was here in my bed, not just starring in my dreams.
I pulled down the zipper of his jeans, and he sighed with pleasure as his dick sprang free. I took him in my mouth and his sigh turned into a groan, as if I was pleasuring him to death.
“Maggie, you gotta slow down,” he said, his voice strained. “Otherwise this is going to be over fast.”
“We have all night,” I reminded him.
And maybe his mind moved on a parallel road to mine, acknowledging that this would be our last night together in who knew how long. Maybe ever. A shadow passed over his eyes, clouding the sparkle, but then he forced a smile as I took him again.
He could have tossed me onto my back at any time, but he let me have control. Because I wanted to, because I’d shown him what I wanted, what I needed. And because he was enough of a man not to feel the lesser for it.
I took him to the brink and beyond, luxuriating in the moment when he gave me complete control as he lost his own, the moment his body tensed and his hands fisted the sheet beneath him. And then, when his breaths had evened out and his eyes told me it was time to return the favor, he undressed me slowly, kissing every part of me, showing me with his body if not with his words that this meant something.
He started with the tips of my fingers, kissing them softly and sweetly, then sucking them into his mouth and tickling my palms with the stubble on his chin.
Gentle fingertips grazed my arms, raising goosebumps wherever and whenever he touched me. I stretched out, naked and flushed with desire, exposed, willing and trusting.
How foolish to trust this man—not because he was bad, because he was so obviously good, his soul bright despite everything he’d seen and done. No, it was foolish because he already had the power to hurt me. I prayed the pain would be over quickly.
He kissed, stroked, touched and teased every part of me, and I let him. I gave back the control he’d willingly ceded to me, enjoying every touch, every taste, every stroke of his tongue or press of his soft lips.
His face was taut with strain when he finally kneeled up, his mouth pressed in a thin line as he rolled a condom down his shaft, then his dark eyes met mine, burning with need and intensity.
And when he sank into me, his eyelids fluttered, desire tightening his whole body.
“I’ve waited all day for this.”
He started circling his hips, arms at full stretch as he gazed down at me, his spine curved. Hot, rough amusement shone in his eyes as I linked my ankles behind the globes of his ass, digging in with my heels.
He began to thrust harder, willingly losing control, his thrusts more savage, almost brutal, until he came with a feral intensity that shocked and gladdened me.
We slept, we woke, we made love, again and again, the whole night through.
The next morning came too soon. We shared a quick shower, a quicker breakfast, and then Jackson drove me to the office.
Allison, my PA was waiting for me at my desk.
“Morning, MJ. Here’s your visa, letters of introduction, emergency plan, checklist, money for bribes, spare flash drives, plus all the usual things. Anything else you need?”
“No, that looks good. Thanks, Allison.”
She stared at me impatiently.
“Well? How’d it go with Sergeant Hottie on Friday? You can thank me by telling me everything. I want details.”
I smiled serenely.
“We had a very pleasant dinner. Thank you for asking.”
Allison was a fantastic PA and someone I considered a good friend, but that woman liked to gossip more than the average twitterholic.
“Is that all you’re giving me?”
“I had pepperoni pizza. He had chicken wings.”
“Oh, come on! Really?”
“Yup.”
“You know you want to tell me!”
“See you when I get back!”
“Tease!”
She threw a balled up piece of paper at me, then pulled me into a tight hug.
“Safe travels, boss.”
The drive out to the airport was silent and full of tension. There was so much to say. A lifetime of things, maybe. And here I was, the wordsmith, living by my writing, unable to form a single sentence.
Jackson pulled into the drop-off area and hauled my duffel out of the trunk. Then he grabbed my shoulders and pulled me against him, burying his face in my neck as his large body curved over me.
“This feels so wrong, leaving you here like this.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You’d better. Just . . . be careful, Maggie.”
“I always am.”
“Is that right? You forgettin’ already how we met?” He hugged me tighter. “Do it smart and safe. Maybe you could call me sometime . . . if you want to.”
“I will, Jack. I promise.”
His voice was uncertain, hesitant.
“I’ll be waiting.”