The Colonels' Texas Promise. Caro Carson

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      It was the college green all over again. The night air, the string music. The impossibly soft mouth of a very hard man. She might have made a sound, an unintentional mmm of delicious recognition, like that first bite of homemade food after months of army rations, or it might have sounded like a whimper at just how overwhelming it was to taste the real thing after years of trying to remember a flavor.

      He spoke over her lips. “The courthouse it is, then.”

      This close, she could feel what she couldn’t see. Under that easy confidence, his heart was pounding, too.

      “You think this is a good idea?” She’d meant to state it as a fact, but her tone of voice had taken on a girlish kind of wonder.

      “I do. I have no intention of waiting another sixteen years for the next kiss.”

      He kissed her again, and she lost herself in that midnight feeling. Kissing him felt so very intimate. No tongues, no tasting—but oh, his mouth felt so sensual against hers.

      She’d had her arms around his neck back then. Today, her suit was too constricting, but she wouldn’t have reached up to throw her arms around him anyway. They no longer saw one another day after day, semester after semester, so although he still seemed familiar, they lacked that casual familiarity. But she felt weightless and wobbly, so she held on to him, a hand on each of his upper arms. His body warmth carried through the camouflage fabric. The flex of his biceps felt insanely sexy as he moved to cup her face in two hands.

      His fingertips were warm and gentle along her jawline, while the bulge of his arm muscle felt like steel. She breathed in at the contrasting sensations, parting her lips, and then he was tasting her, and she was tasting him. The instant rush of arousal—a throb, a wanting, a contraction low in her belly—was so strong, it was almost painful.

      This wasn’t why she’d come. This wasn’t the point. This wasn’t supposed to be about feeling sexy or—hell—even remembering what sex was, or how they’d once talked about having babies together. No, this was about...something...

      She dug her fingers into his biceps a little harder.

      Something...making babies...

      Matthew. Her son was the reason she was here.

      Her gasp ended the kiss.

      Evan Stephens, strong and terribly handsome, this more fierce version of the Evan she’d once known, laughed against her lips. “I can’t tell you how glad I am that I am single on the day of your promotion.”

      She backed away in one jerky step. Evan let her go, lowering his hands in an almost lazy way to settle on his hips.

      She forced herself to breathe slowly. She would not pant. She was in her thirties, she was a divorcée, she was the mother of a middle schooler, she was a lieutenant colonel, for crying out loud. She was not going to be flustered by a kiss, no matter how long it had been since she’d felt so aroused.

      How long had it been?

      An eternity.

      Sex was like riding a bicycle, maybe. Once you knew how, you never forgot—but she hadn’t come here to ride a bicycle.

      “You should meet my son first.”

      “Yes, I should.” Evan smiled, a real smile, a flash of white teeth to go along with those sexy, smiling eyes. How many times had she seen him flash that cocky smile? Every time a cute blonde girl cheered for him at a baseball game.

      Three knocks sounded at his office door. Evan had his back to it. He didn’t stop smiling at her, didn’t change the way he was standing with his hands on his hips, but he called out, “Enter.”

      The door opened. “Sir, the brigade S-3 is requesting to schedule a commanders’ roundtable for Monday morning.”

      Evan looked over his shoulder at the sergeant. “Put it on my schedule.” Then he reached for the patrol cap he had sitting on his desk, a sure sign that he was ready to leave the building. Everyone in uniform had to wear their cover—their hat—when outdoors. He handed Juliet her hat, its dark blue crown decorated with a gold eagle and the oak leaves of a field-grade officer. “What time is Matthew done with school? Does he have an aftercare program, or does he take a bus home?”

      “I’ve been picking him up. We’re still in temporary housing. We’ve been at the Holiday Inn for two weeks.”

      Evan shot her a look—she couldn’t guess the meaning of that one, either—before he headed for the door. He nodded to his sergeant as he gestured for Juliet to precede him out the door. “I’ll be out the rest of the afternoon, Sergeant Hadithi.”

      “Yes, sir. Good afternoon, ma’am.”

      “Good afternoon,” Juliet replied by habit.

      She left the office with Lieutenant Colonel Evan Stephens by her side, matching her step for step.

      They were really going to do this.

       Chapter Three

      Evan followed Juliet down the stairs and out into the crisply cool and brightly sunny Texas afternoon.

      He followed Juliet.

      Juliet Grayson was here.

      He’d kissed her, and everything was still there. Everything that he hadn’t known how to handle at twenty-one. Everything he’d recognized too late at twenty-seven. Everything he’d tried to bury at twenty-nine. Everything he’d thought he’d never have in this lifetime.

       Because I don’t deserve to have her.

      He shoved the guilt deep down, where it had been locked away with his memories of Juliet. Now he could allow the memories of Juliet, but he wanted to keep the guilt buried deep. Maybe he’d inadvertently pushed the wrong man her way, but he’d done the right thing and stayed out of their life once he’d heard Rob Jones had gotten her to the altar. Evan hadn’t had anything to do with their divorce.

      She’d gotten divorced anyway. She was free. Single. And she’d come to remind him of their marriage pact on the very day the conditions of that pact had come into play.

      She’d come to do more than remind him.

      You should meet my son first, she’d said, and he hadn’t been able to contain his smile. First. Before the actual ceremony, she’d meant, as if it were a foregone conclusion that they would be married. She had come not to say hello, not to reminisce, but to fulfill the pact they’d made the night before their graduation.

      He needed to touch her again, to feel her skin so he’d know this wasn’t a miraculous mirage dredged up from subconscious dreams. He wanted to give her hand a squeeze of excitement or reassurance or something.

      He could not. It would break regulations. There was no hand-holding between soldiers in the US Army, not even if they wore one another’s wedding rings. If Evan were wearing the more formal blue service uniform and if it were after dark and if they СКАЧАТЬ