Sugar (22 page)

But it was Joe all right, or what was left of him. The dancing girl crowning the corpse’s left bicep proved it beyond a doubt. The stupid tattoo was perfectly, pristinely intact, go figure.

Moaning brought him whipping around. It was Sam, his other teammate, or at least the upper half of him. Cole barreled over, squatted and scooped him up, bemused by his legless body’s lightness.

“My legs!” Sam wailed as Cole rushed them toward waiting arms and clearer air.

Lungs burning, Cole swore, “Don’t worry, buddy. I’ll go back for them.”

He handed Sam off and wheeled around, intending to make good on his word. Hands caught at him, arms gripped him, towing him back to safety.

“Hold, you crazy motherfucker.”

“Shit, Canning, he’s gone. He’s
gone
!”

“Jesus, you have a death wish?”

Gasping, he struggled against them. “I have to go back. Joe’s head . . . Sam’s legs . . . I have to go back. Motherfucker, lemme go. I have to go back. I have to go back!”

“They wouldn’t let me go back in.”

Swiping at his damp eyes, Cole finished his story. Only now did he notice that Sarah had flipped on the bedside lamp. The weak trickle of light wasn’t much, but it was something. His sweating had stopped; the shaking subsided. He eased himself out of her arms. The T-shirt she’d thrown on to sleep stuck to her, damp not with her perspiration but with his.

He leaned back against the headboard and sank hard fingers into his hair. “The bastards put nails inside the bombs to make them more . . . lethal,” he explained, his voice sounding detached, clinical, far away. “And bomb dogs . . . Well, using animals that way goes back to the Second World War, maybe the first.”

Understandably horrified, Sarah shook her head. “A strange dog would have been horrible enough, but Kirby was your pet.”

“Yeah, well, like they say, war is hell.”

Christ, he couldn’t believe he was telling her any of this, stuff so deadly dark, so soul-splitting he’d never so much as breathed it to another human being.

She exhaled a heavy breath, her face nearly matching the sheet for whiteness. “The lab that ran up to us in the park last week, that’s why—”

“I grew up with dogs, but now, I’m not sure if I can ever . . . Well, I guess you get it.”

Rather than respond, she followed him to the top of the bed, propping pillows and pulling the damp covers up around them both. Settling in beside him, she patted her shoulder. “Lay your head.”

Cole hesitated. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go . . . back to my place?” He’d almost said “home,” but his empty apartment hardly felt that. These days the only place that felt anything close to a home was Sarah’s.

“Positive. Why, do you want to go?”

Cole answered honestly and without reservation. “No.”

All these weeks, he’d worried about breaking down in front of her, and now that he had, the world hadn’t ended. Sure, he felt embarrassed to think how he’d balled in her arms, but mostly he felt . . . relieved. For the first time, it occurred to him that what went down in Iraq didn’t have to define the rest of his life. Fuck the Canning name, maybe it was time to give talk therapy a chance.

“Then stop being a hero and lay your head.”

Cole slid down and rested his head on Sarah’s shoulder. Her arm went around him. She brushed her lips over his forehead. “Better?”

“Yes.”

Tightening her hold, she asked, “Too much?”

He burrowed closer. “No, just right.”

Cole closed his eyes. For the first time in more than two years, he felt just about right, or close to it.

Cole fell asleep almost immediately, filling the room with uncharacteristic heavy snoring. The nightmare and its retelling had exhausted him. Not wanting to wake him, Sarah lay still, watching as the sky showing through her skylight lightened, early morning shadows creeping across the ceiling. As glad as she was that he’d finally confided in her, it was a lot to process. Stroking his big, shaking body and fighting back tears, she’d felt as if her heart might burst. She’d known what had happened to him in Iraq had been bad—the military didn’t give out those medals for desk duty—but before now she hadn’t realized the horror he’d been through. Having gotten a glimpse of it, she couldn’t seem to hold him tightly enough—not that he seemed to mind.

She pressed a kiss atop the dark head pillowed on her shoulder. “Good night, baby.”

Stretching out a hand to switch off the lamp, Sarah settled back down beside him.

The knock on Sarah’s apartment door three nights later was Cole. She was running about five minutes behind, he about five minutes early. It was the first time they were seeing each other since the nightmare. They’d had one short phone call between his meetings and a few text messages to firm up details, but that was it.

Wondering what his state-of-mind might be, she met him at the door, shower fresh and wearing her robe, a black silk one this time instead of her trusty white terry cloth.

“Sorry,” she said, stepping back from his kiss, a nonthreatening peck on her lips that still sent her senses spinning, “I’m running behind, pun intended,” she added with a nervous laugh.

Tonight’s meet up would be a reenactment of
Kink Ass
. Despite all the discussions they’d had in preparation, she was nervous about doing anal. She hadn’t lied about her previous bad experience. The actor, a buddy of hers, hadn’t set out to hurt her. It was the director’s fault for being an asshole and rushing the shoot, as well as hers for being a martyr and not speaking up. But she’d been new to the business, the film was her first lead, and she’d felt desperate to make a good impression. The director’s rushing them had only added to her nervousness. Despite the lube she’d slathered on, Joe had breached her badly. For a week afterward, sitting down hadn’t been much fun. Neither had going to the bathroom.

Still, the other night Cole had trusted her, and she was inclined to do the same. She actually believed him when he swore he’d stop before hurting her. Not many men could muster that kind of self-control once they were that far gone, but from their previous times together Cole had shown he could and would. More than felt, she
believed
. Maybe she hadn’t left behind as much of that starry-eyed girl from Brooklyn as she’d once supposed.

“I’m in no rush,” he said with a shrug, his warm gaze running the length of her, his eyes clear and his clothes free of any cigarette scent. “Want a glass of wine?” He walked in and set the bottle of wine down on the counter.

Following him over, Sarah spared a glance for the label, a beautiful Chilean Sauvignon Blanc that would pair really well with the poached salmon she meant to serve later—assuming she could make it back down the stairs.

The thought landed a nervous flutter in the pit of her stomach. “Thanks, maybe later.”

He turned to face her, settling warm hands on her shoulders. “If you’re having second thoughts—”

“I’m not. Well, maybe a little. But not really second thoughts, more like jitters.”

One black brow lifted. “Jitters?”

She shrugged. “Sorry, I spent several hours yesterday talking Peter down from the proverbial ledge. He used the word, and I guess it stuck in my mind.”

Planning her friend’s dream wedding, it was hard sometimes not to slip into dreaming herself. Only in her version she was the bride and Cole the handsome, tuxedo clad groom, waiting for her at the end of the processional aisle with a smile that promised a shared lifetime of Happily Ever After. If only . . .

“Everything coming along okay?” he asked, uncorking the wine. Owing to their previous impromptu meet up, he was familiar with the location of not only her wine cork but also the full array of her kitchen utensils and cutlery.

Warmed by his interest, Sarah nodded. “Yeah, it’s going great. Just the usual snafus and last-minute details to smooth out, nothing I can’t handle. I’m enjoying it—really,” she added when he looked like he didn’t quite believe her. “And Alger House is such a gem. I can’t thank you enough.”

He shrugged off her thanks, as though securing the elegant yet affordable venue was nothing. “You’ll let me know if you need me to step in?”

She nodded. “I will, but really, you got us the venue. That’s the main thing,” she assured him.

Along with the anal, she’d been working up her nerve to ask Cole to be her date. Even if they were only fuck buddies, going with someone she knew and liked—a lot—was bound to make the day more fun and meaningful. Even though she’d be among friends, going solo would seriously suck.

He poured the wine and tasted it. “Not bad,” he said. “Are you sure you don’t want one. It might help you relax.”

Sarah shook her head. “I’m good for now, thanks.” She had so many butterflies in her stomach it would take something a lot stronger than wine to settle them. “Shall we?” she asked, looking toward the stairs.

Setting down his glass, he said, “Ready anytime you are.”

The boner pressing against the crotch of his jeans confirmed it. Reminded of his length and breadth, Sarah swallowed—hard. His was a lot of cock to take anywhere but especially . . .
there
.

Anxious though she felt, she was excited, too, as well as prepared. She’d set her trusty vibrator out on the nightstand, fueled with fresh batteries, along with an untouched tube of the flavored lube they both liked and several condoms, the latter an absolute must. The bed-sheets were changed, the bathroom immaculate. She’d paid special attention to scrubbing out the tub, assuming that she at least would want a long, soaking bath later.

She drew a deep breath, channeling her movie character, a gamine-like girl about to be awakened to the kinkier pleasures. Though no longer an ingénue, the role felt like a better fit than it had eight years ago, when she’d first breathed life into “Evette.” At thirty-four, she knew and respected her body, both for its possibilities and its limits. This time if something hurt, she wouldn’t hesitate to speak up. Reaching for her confidence, she started up the stairs, shedding her robe on the way, as she’d done in the movie.

You can do this. You will do this. You
want
to do this
.

Cole’s heavier footsteps echoed hers. Without turning, she knew he would be shedding his shirt as well. Heart quickening, she reached the loft. He followed her inside the bedroom, his arms closing around her, an inescapably firm grip that pinned her arms and sent her pulse racing. Through his pants, his erection pushed into the small of her back and then lower, brushing her buttocks. Sarah shivered.

Holding her against him, he angled his hot mouth to her ear. “Let me take you someplace, someplace you’ve never been before,” he said, repeating the lines of the actor in the film. “You know you want it; we both do.”

Only this time her partner was no nervous junior actor jonesing to put on his best performance for the camera. This time her lover was Cole, and when she opened her mouth to deliver her scripted response, “You’re right. I do want it—you,” the husky, trembling tenor resonated with truth.

“Then get on the bed,” he said, dropping his arms. “I want you to be ready for me.” He ended the order with a playful push.

Limbs shaking, she made it onto the mattress. Facing toward the headboard, she got onto her knees. Behind her, she heard a belt being unbuckled, and then the jangle of metal as it struck the floor. Footsteps, heavy and measured, brought him over to the bed. The mattress dipped as he joined her. Bare legs, warm, muscular, and fuzzed with dark hair, spanned her. His cock teased along her thigh, stunning her with its heat and hardness. Sarah squeezed her eyes closed, girding herself, a habit from childhood she’d never been able to break. Most little kids were scared of the dark, but early on she’d convinced herself that if she couldn’t see something, it must not really be there.