They hadn’t been in love.

They’d been in lust, and she was all about lust in that moment. All about pleasure. For two weeks, he was here, the man who’d been the best sex of her life. She’d be a fool to run. She would enjoy him, and then she would say goodbye.

Starting with this kiss. The instant Jennifer’s mouth touched Bobby’s, he pulled her closer, taking her mouth, as if he feared she might change her mind. His mouth parted hers, intimately, full of demand. One of his hands tangled in her hair, the other slid up her back, pressing her close, molding her to all that delicious hard muscle. Her hands slid over his back as he pressed her against the car. Long, strong thighs entwined with hers.

Their kiss was…arousing. It made her thoughts spin and her heart race. Yet, still, he seemed unaffected, cool, confident, in control, with an edge that had always been Bobby and had only grown more frustratingly sexy with time and maturity.

“Peace offering,” he said, obviously offering so much more….

Dear Reader,

Welcome to the Hotzone—The Texas Hotzone—where three ex-members of the Crazy Aces Special Forces team have opened a skydiving operation right outside of my hometown of Austin, Texas.

Jump Start is book one in the trilogy, and it is a story about finding what you’ve lost. And no, I’m not talking about your car keys, but rather the key to your heart. Which consequently, in Jump Zone, is going to require a whole lot of seduction by the hero, Bobby Evans, because this key is buried deep. Of course, he gets help in the form of a combination bachelor/bachelorette party and a game of truth-or-dare. Read onward to find out if his heroine, Jennifer Jones, chooses the truth or the dare, and just how hot things have to get to find that key.

I hope you enjoy Jump Start, and look for book two, High Octane, in March. Please visit me at www.lisareneejones.com.

Enjoy!

Lisa Renee Jones

Jump Start
Lisa Renee Jones

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lisa spends her days writing the dreams playing in her head. Before becoming a writer, Lisa lived the life of a corporate executive, often taking the red-eye flight out of town and flying home for the excitement of a Little League baseball game. Visit Lisa at www.lisareneejones.com.

Special thanks to Casey and Ethan Maxwell for helping with my military research. Janice, once again, for proofing and proofing and proofing again while living the deadlines with me. And Diego—for driving the U-Haul from NY to Colorado so I could write this trilogy.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Epilogue

Prologue

QUICKSAND. That was what you called a mission that went from bad to worse with every maneuver you made.

Sergeant Bobby Evans sat inside a C-130 Hercules awaiting takeoff from the U.S. aircraft carrier Vincent with four of the twelve soldiers in his Special Ops team, “Crazy Aces.” It was a name they’d come by honestly, doing crazy things like today’s HALO, a high-altitude low-opening jump from thirty thousand feet. The mission was to extract the ten-year-old son of the newly elected American ally, Iraqi president Aban Kaleb Sadr, from Al Qaeda hostiles.

Free-falling at high altitudes came with risks, from unconsciousness to frostbite, but was necessary to stay off enemy radar. A HALO was a death-defying act that could give even veterans like the Aces a sense of quicksand, he supposed. But in seven years of Special Ops duty, and more than his share of HALOs, Bobby had seen quicksand only three times while a mission played out—and every one of those three times had been a bloodbath he’d have nightmares about the rest of his life.

Sitting next to Bobby, Mike Reynolds, the youngest of the Aces at twenty-eight, pulled out a picture of his fiancée, Jennifer, from beneath his jump jacket. “This is it, the last time I’m going to watch out for your sorry Texan asses,” he scoffed, referring to the roots that Bobby shared with Caleb Martin and “Cowboy” Ryan Walker, the two other Aces along for this ride with them. “I’m going home to damn good New York pizza and a hot woman. Adios muchachos.”

Both Bobby and Mike were up for reenlistment, and Bobby had no idea why he hadn’t signed, sealed and delivered his new contract. But Mike, lovesick puppy that he was, had already opted out. He was gone in two weeks and none of the Aces were complaining, but not because they didn’t love the guy like a blood brother—because they did. The Aces were tight. Family without the ancestry. But ever since Mike had met Jennifer six months ago on leave, he’d been operating with the wrong head in control.

And Bobby understood. He used to have his own Jennifer back home twisting his gut in knots. The irony of the shared name didn’t sit well with Bobby one bit. Not when his Jennifer had been, and always would be, the love of his life. The woman he would never forget, could never completely let go. The fact that a mutual, close friend’s upcoming wedding was stirring old feelings only brought that fact closer to light. He’d never stopped checking on his old flame, keeping up with her from a distance, but seeing her up-close and personal, facing what he’d left behind, wasn’t going to be easy.

“Put the flipping picture away and focus,” Bobby said sourly, that quicksand feeling sliding from his feet to his knees and threatening to climb. “I don’t want to ship you back to your woman in a body bag.”

Caleb sat beside Ryan, directly across from Bobby and Mike, his head against the wall, eyes shut. “I’d rather jump without a chute than be led around by my dick like you are,” he mumbled, lifting his head and casting Mike a damning, icy-blue look.

“You’re a dick,” Mike grumbled roughly, stuffing the picture back in his jacket.

“A happy-to-reenlist-and-be-single dick, at that,” Caleb agreed.

The engine roared to life, and Bobby flipped his headset on. The heavy thrum of engines filled the next twenty minutes until a buzzer sounded the ten-minute warning. Instantly all the men were on their feet, adjusting their equipment and preparing the oxygen masks they’d wear for their jump.

Ryan, Bobby’s closest friend, made his customary announcement in his headset. “Let’s go get ‘crazy,’ Aces.” His gaze shifted to Mike, as he added, “Soon you can be pussy-whipped all day and all night, and nobody but your woman is going to give you a hard time.”

Laughter erupted in Bobby’s ears, but there was a subtle tension lacing the air, and Bobby and Ryan shared a look. He felt the quicksand, too.

At the five-minute buzzer, all masks were in place and the doors slid open. Headsets were turned off. This would be a silent jump. They were ghosts, off radar, nonexistent to even their own government. All hands latched on to the rail on the ceiling as a wicked wind screamed a warning and then pounded against them with the force of being hit with a concrete slab.

The jump conditions were far from favorable, but neither were the Iraqi boy’s chances of making it through the night. At the one-minute buzzer, there was a final check of oxygen tanks and chutes in preparation for a jump that would end in a low chute pull that left no time for a backup if anything went wrong.

At exactly 0100, with the night as their cover, and a few mountainsides in view, Caleb saluted and exited the plane in a headfirst free fall. Ryan followed. As Mike started forward, Bobby shackled the younger Ace’s arm, for reasons he couldn’t explain. Instinct. Warning. He didn’t know. Bobby checked his chute. Then pointed to Mike’s chest and then his own before twisting two fingers together, telling him silently he would have his back.

Mike gave a nod, all jesting gone at this point. They did their jobs. They knew the risks and they took them seriously. The first few seconds of the jump were critical. The jumper had to claim control from the wind and find body position.

Mike jumped, and never got the chance at control. The wind gusted, smashing him against the plane. Suddenly, Mike was spiraling downward, his body out of position. Mike made no attempt at correction. He was either unconscious or paralyzed with panic. Either way, if Mike didn’t or couldn’t pull his chute, he’d be dead. There was no auto-pull for a HALO.

Bobby jumped after him, adrenaline rocketing through him, as he forced himself into the cool-under-fire mentality that would be a necessity if both he and Mike were going to survive this.

The wind beat at Bobby, but he worked through it, forced his position, and sent himself into a purposeful spiral. In twenty seconds, he came level with Mike and wrapped himself around him with a jolting collision of bodies. Mike didn’t react. He was out and Bobby didn’t have time to check for a pulse. They were thirty seconds from pull, which was only twelve hundred feet before the ground, and Bobby’s heart was thundering like that plane engine. One chute wouldn’t hold them both. He had to pull Mike’s and get away fast enough to pull his own. A near impossibility.

Struggling, Bobby tried to right their body positions, but Mike was dead weight. Somehow, he found a feet-first position, when Mike suddenly jerked and came awake, his eyes meeting Bobby’s. Bobby breathed a sigh of relief, as he shoved away from Mike. He had pulled his chute and was under canopy in seconds and so was Mike. But that quicksand kept coming.

Gunfire splattered across the terrain as Bobby’s feet hit the ground, and he instantly separated himself from his chute, dumped his oxygen tank and mask, dropping low to the ground. Mike was facedown and unmoving a foot away, and Bobby silently cursed. More gunfire chattered a deadly song nearby. Blessed returning fire followed. Ryan and Caleb were ground level, and they had his back.

Their landing zone positioned the Aces three kilometers from the enemy’s camp, which sat nestled inside a mountain range, and that enemy now knew they were here. So much for a surprise attack, but they would improvise. The Aces always did. If Sadr’s son was alive, they’d get him out of here.

Surrounded by mountains that could easily conceal shooters, Bobby felt like a sitting duck. He scrambled toward Mike. That twist of dread he’d felt in the plane returned, now more like a sharp slice of a knife.

Quickly, Bobby detached Mike’s equipment, going cold in the hot night as stickiness brushed his fingers. He kept moving. Mike would survive. He’d make him survive.

His best option was dragging Mike, staying low, though carrying him would be faster. It would also make them one big bull’s-eye target. Bobby started moving and gained assistance from Ryan. Caleb took up a position above them, holding off the enemy the best he could.

They were under heavy fire by the time Bobby and Ryan had Mike hidden behind the steep rock of the towering mountainside they’d landed nearby. Flipping him over, Ryan shined a light on Mike. Blood seeped from a cut in his head and a bullet wound in his upper chest. That quicksand that had been waiting for Bobby swallowed them up right then and there. He held his breath and felt for a pulse. Relief washed over him as he found a weak one. Mike wasn’t dead…yet. There was no help until extraction. Bobby made fast work of tying off the wound the best he could, with the limited medic supplies in his vest. When he was done, Bobby’s and Ryan’s eyes collided through the shadowy night as they united in the only emotion they could afford in the middle of enemy territory. Anger over Mike’s injuries. That he might die when he was about to go home for good. He couldn’t die. And both of them wanted some Al Qaeda ass and they wanted it now.

Suddenly Caleb appeared, sliding down the mountainside, machine gun in hand, gunfire echoing in the funnel of sweltering August heat. “We have to move! Now!” He looked at Mike and cursed.

“Go!” Bobby ordered Ryan. “Get out of here!”

Ryan hesitated only a split second before he was in action, already firing his weapon. Bobby dragged Mike to a dark corner, under a ledge where he’d leave him until backup arrived, though it was killing him to think about walking away, if only for a brief time.

Task completed, Bobby reached inside Mike’s flight suit and grabbed the picture of Jennifer, shoving it into his pocket. “I’ll tell her what a lovesick pup you were, Mike,” he vowed, just in case the unthinkable happened, and Mike didn’t make it, an idea that instantly soured his stomach, delivering a hard revelation. Bobby knew why he hadn’t signed those reenlistment papers. This wasn’t the life you asked any woman to endure, not fairly. And Mike wasn’t the only one with someone back home.

Bobby pushed to his feet and drew his weapons, resolve forming. The sooner he completed this mission, the more chance Mike had of survival. Mike wouldn’t die and this mission wouldn’t be for nothing. The Aces were going to rescue that captive little boy and return him home safely, Mike along with him. And then Bobby had a Jennifer of his own to go see.

1

“BOBBY’S COMING into town for the wedding.”

Jennifer Jones’s frothy, ruby-red daiquiri froze an inch from her lips, as she blinked at the bartender, her best friend, Marcie Allen, the red-haired, feisty bride-to-be herself. An onslaught of nerves assaulted her stomach as that name “Bobby” sliced through the air of the Tavern—the Austin, Texas, bar Marcie’s fiancé owned. The painful taunt had her heart drumming like a rock concert in her ears and a lock of blond hair floated across her face, appropriately mimicking the disarray that Bobby had left her heart in seven years ago.

He’d enlisted in the Army and shipped off without so much as a word of real explanation. Left her with nothing but a Dr. Jen letter. Oh, good grief. Dear Jen. “Joining Army. Better this way. Be happy.” Nothing else. Not even an “I love you.” Just thinking about the man scrambled her brain cells. Even her parents had been devastated over the loss of Bobby. They’d loved him like a son. Jennifer had loved him. Had, she reminded herself.

Jennifer set the drink down on the marble-slabbed bar that separated her from Marcie, but not without a loud clunk that slopped the icy concoction over the sides. “What did you say?” she managed in a froglike croak, sickly and pathetic.

Marcie simply stood there, looking pale and kind of pathetically like Jennifer’s croak moments before. Willie Nelson filled in for her, singing some sad Texas song that added insult to injury after the bad joke. Right. Bad joke! Nervous laughter bubbled from Jennifer’s throat, and she picked up her drink again.

Marcie was a great many things. A true friend, proven from the day they’d met at age eleven, twenty years ago on the school bus. Jennifer had tripped and busted her lip in front of the hottest guy at Burnet Junior High. The hottie had bubbled over with loud laughter, and the crowd had joined in. Marcie to the rescue, she’d smack-talked the jerk into shame, and turned the joke on him. Yes. Marcie was a friend. What Marcie was not…was funny. She’d never had that comedic timing thing so many people had.

“Bad joke, Marcie,” she said, so relieved she couldn’t even be angry. She’d kill Marcie after she finished her rare, but much-needed, alcoholic beverage. She sipped delicately before adding, “And this is not the way to get me into that lime-green dress you want me to wear.”

Marcie’s hazel eyes glistened with trepidation. Recognizing the source of that trepidation as having nothing to do with her comment about the dress, and everything to do with Bobby, dread twisted in Jennifer’s stomach.

“Please,” Jennifer said, her hand shaking as she set the drink down again. “Tell me you’re joking. Tell me Bobby is not coming to the wedding.” Just his name seemed to vibrate through every one of her five foot five inches.

“I wouldn’t joke about Bobby,” Marcie said, suddenly not only finding her voice, but her feisty redheaded attitude. “And the dress isn’t lime. It’s yellow-green, the color of communicative healing in meditation, which is how I want my relationship to be and why I’m happy Bobby is coming. You need to heal. To deal with Bobby once and for all.”

Emotions assailed Jennifer, a whirlwind of memories wrapped in prickly thorn-covered roses. “I do not need to heal!” She’d moved on seven years ago when Bobby had. She’d followed her dream, gone to vet school, and opened a small Hill Country office, albeit settling for a condo, not the cottage by Lake Travis she and Bobby had wanted. Instead her parents had sold their pet shop franchise and bought a lake house. Which she visited. Which was enough. She liked her condo. She liked her life.

“You don’t even date,” Marcie said.

“I date!” Okay. Not recently. But a girl could only take so many Nightmare on Elm Street, bad nights out. She pursed her lips, allowing anger and indignation to wipe away the Bobby memories blasting through her brain. “I can’t believe he has the nerve to show up here after being gone for all this time.” She paused for a heartbeat, and made an irritated sound. “Like he gives a damn or something.”

“He does care,” Marcie said. “I need you to know I’ve been communicating with him.”

Marcie might as well have dropped a sledgehammer on the bar because that admission shook Jennifer so deeply it darn near rattled her teeth. “You’ve been communicating with Bobby and didn’t tell me.” It wasn’t even a question. It was stunned disbelief.

The “feist” in Marcie’s feisty faded. “Yes,” she said softly.

“How long?”

“Several years now,” Marcie said, dropping her bombshell.

Had her heart stopped beating? Had the room gone utterly silent? “For several years?”

“He does care,” Marcie repeated. And then, softening her voice, she added, “He worries about you.”

Jennifer stared at her. Then she looked away, arms folding in front of her, memories refusing to be shoved away. Even after all these years, she could remember their first kiss as if it was yesterday. Bobby had moved from San Antonio, and like herself, was attending the University of Texas in Austin, or they might never have met. They’d met on the university campus—Jennifer walking her golden retriever, Bobby walking his German shepherd. The dogs had become fast friends; she and Bobby had become fast lovers. Her fingers raised to her mouth, remembering their first kiss, then dropped with that bittersweet memory.

The sound of snapping pulled her out of her reverie. “Hello?” Marcie said, fingers in front of her face.

Shaking herself mentally, Jennifer refocused on Marcie. Bobby had become like a big brother to Marcie; they were close. Of course they talked. Jennifer didn’t want to be selfish—that Marcie felt she had to hide her relationship with Bobby said she had been.

“I’m sorry,” Jennifer said, meaning it. “This is your wedding and if you want him here, you deserve to have him here. And I’ll wear the yellow-green dress with a smile.” Just don’t press me to deal with Bobby, she pleaded silently.

Marcie seemed to read between the lines, a look of understanding sliding across her face. “Thank you, Jen,” she murmured.

Reaching across the bar, Jen squeezed Marcie’s arm and plastered on a bright smile that didn’t quite make it to her eyes. “Two short weeks and you’ll be a married woman.”

Marcie all but glowed as she glanced across the crowded room to where Mark Snyder, her fiancé, chatted with a table of customers. Mark and Marcie, the two M’s, often joked about. The two lovers. “Yeah,” Marcie said in the midst of a dreamy sigh.

Mark looked up as if he felt Marcie’s eyes on him and then motioned for her to join him. Obediently, Marcie darted from behind the bar. Jennifer sighed in relief, happy to have a few minutes alone.

Grabbing her purse, she decided she’d go freshen up. A little mascara, a dab of powder, and she would have a new mind-set. Her plan intact, she swiveled around on the bar stool and started to slide off.

The minute her feet hit the wood floor, she was stopped dead in her tracks as she crashed into a rock-hard chest. She stood stunned for a long moment as strong hands, familiar and warm, settled on her arms and sent an electric charge pinging around inside her, awareness instant, hot. Her body knew what her mind desperately burned to reject. Bobby Evans was standing in front of her. Touching her. The scent of him, rawly male, intensely masculine, and so damn arousing, insinuated into her senses. Seeped through to her bones.

Slowly, her eyes traveled upward, taking in his towering six-foot-three frame—first sliding over denim-clad hips, then a soft black tee, a broad defined chest and finally his longish, fair hair that framed intense blue eyes. Those eyes now connected with hers. The impact was nothing shy of a head-on, steam-engine collision. Hot and hard. Just like his body and their sex life.

He was older now, a man fully developed and now thirty. Time had served him well; he was bigger, broader and even more appealing than before—tanned with fine lines around his eyes that spoke of experience, depth. And a life she hadn’t been a part of.

“Hey, Jen.” His voice was a deep baritone; his tone, intimate. Familiar. The same tone he’d used when he’d whispered naughty things in her ear during lovemaking.

She swallowed a sudden tickle in her throat. The things she had done with Bobby were, well…beyond pleasure. They were downright delicious. The man had a way of stripping away inhibitions and leaving nothing but the two of them, alone in the world. But that was then, and this was now.

“Bobby?” she asked, as if she were surprised. Well, she was, actually—surprised, that was. Which was something she’d be taking up with Marcie, wedding or not.

“You look good, Jen,” he said, in an embarrassing reminder that she had on her softest, most worn Levi’s and a pink T-shirt that said I love my cat, and that was about it. No jewelry. Not even fancy shoes.

It was that kind of day. A Thursday she wouldn’t soon forget. She’d put down a dog that morning, one she’d treated for years, and watched the owner bawl like a baby. Exactly why she’d been anticipating this daiquiri and some laughs. But she’d made it through that, and she would make it through seeing Bobby again.

Marcie was right. She needed to heal. She needed to put Bobby behind her, once and for all. New beginnings were upon them. Jennifer straightened.

“You do, too,” she said, managing a cool edge to her tone despite the tiny quaver, not quite suppressed. His hands still rested on her arms, making her skin tingle. She would have stepped away from him, but the bar stool was behind her and, besides, she wasn’t going to run. Or hide. Or let him believe she couldn’t deal with him being around her. She was an adult. She could deal. Casually, she added, “I’m surprised you’re here so soon. I thought you would arrive closer to the wedding.” The big day was a full two weeks away.

“Better early than late,” he said, his hands dropping from her arms, leaving goose bumps in their wake. He offered nothing more in his answer, and she asked nothing more in return. They just stood there. Staring at one another. Close. Too close.

What did he see when he stared at her? Was she what he remembered? More? Less? She told herself that what he saw mattered about as much as the peanuts on the counter. A lie she swore to make truth. But his gaze slipped to her lips, and she knew he was thinking about kissing her. She was thinking about kissing him, too, and hated herself for that weakness. It would be so easy to lean in close to him, to lift to her toes, to see if their kiss still tasted of wildfire and passion. The temptation rippled through her with such demand, she wanted to scream. And yes—run.

That was not what a grown, respectable, confident woman did. Not obviously, at least. Since running wasn’t an immediate option…

Delicately, she cleared her throat. “How long will you be here?” Inwardly, she cringed. Why had she asked him that? And why was she searching his expression for a hint of his reaction to both her question, and to seeing her again?

And she found what she was looking for. There was a familiar intimacy in his gaze that touched her heart and her body. There was warmth to their nearness, a subtle sizzle, forcefully demanding her acceptance.

His brow inched up slowly. “Were you asking because you want to know how long until I leave, Jen?” He paused a split second. “Or because you want to know how long I’m staying?”

She knew what he was asking. Was she glad to see him? Yes. No. She didn’t want to be, but she was. She didn’t want to feel like that. Her life was fine without him. She’d spent far too long asking why he’d left. Now she simply wanted him to go away. Again.

Marcie’s scream saved Jennifer from responding. “Bobby!” she yelled as she launched herself at him. Within seconds, she was giving him a bear hug.

Jennifer knew opportunity when she saw it. She ran. Darted toward the restroom. The one stall was thankfully vacant, and Jennifer quickly dashed inside, shut the door and slid the lock into place with a firm twist of her wrist.

Bobby had never been one to allow a girl her privacy. When he wanted to fight, he wanted to fight. When he wanted to talk, he wanted to talk. Even when she didn’t. Well, they just made love until she did.

That thought sent a rush of heat spreading through her limbs, and her hands shifted to her arms where he’d touched her, branded her. After all these years, she still wanted him. She wasn’t sure whom she was more angry with. Marcie for giving her all of three minutes of warning that Bobby was about to show up or Bobby for making her all hot and bothered after leaving her heartbroken.

“Neither,” she whispered into the wood-paneled restroom. She was ticked at herself for allowing Bobby to be such a big deal. He’d done her wrong, and she deserved better than him. It didn’t matter that he was long, strong and packed with sex appeal. It didn’t matter that old feelings had rushed over her upon hearing he would be attending the wedding. What mattered was what he had done to her and what she would not allow him to do again—hurt her. Right.

She was going back out there to show him she was not affected one way or the other by his presence, and darn it, it was going to be true. Okay. Maybe not true tonight, but at some point in the very near future it would be. For now, she’d settle for pretending.

Jennifer turned to exit and hesitated. Maybe she’d dab on a bit of makeup. Not because she wanted to impress him, but darn it, looking good was revenge in itself. Having him show up when she was looking beaten, broken and makeup-less was not helping with the confident, I-am-so-over-you attitude she hoped to convey.

She stepped to the mirror and tried not to cringe at the sight she’d made for Bobby. Hair in disarray, face and lips pale. She reached for her purse and then realized that if she returned to the bar with even one peep more of color, he’d decide it was on his behalf. And it would be.

Pursing her lips, she forced herself to let her purse drop back to her side. But the more she looked in that mirror, the more her hand itched to grab a tube of lipstick and some blush. She reasoned with herself. Looking like crap was better than being the stunning ex he’d lost out on. It would be her way of saying that he wasn’t worthy of a fuss. Right. She so hated this plan. But she was sticking with it. She turned away from the mirror.

Sooner or later she had to go back into the bar, and face Bobby. Better now than later so she could make her excuses and go home. Alone. And then allow herself one night of self-pity, perhaps a big bubble bath. Then, eat chocolate. Lots and lots of chocolate.

Yep, that was the plan. And it was a great one until she pulled open the door to find Bobby standing in the tiny, private hallway, waiting for her.

2

TALL, BLOND AND GORGEOUS, Bobby was a dominating presence in any room, let alone the tiny hallway outside the restroom with only a nearby stairwell up as her escape. And his eyes, crystal-blue with little specks of yellow, were downright spellbinding. Especially when they pinned her in an intimate inspection that said he remembered every last inch of her and was picturing those inches right here and now. It was…arousing. It made her head spin and her heart race. Yet, still he wore that unaffected, cool, in-control edge that had always been Bobby, and had obviously grown more frustratingly sexy with time and maturity.

“Your hair is longer,” he said. It had been to her chin when he’d left. It was to her shoulders now. “I like it.”

That observation upset her on some level she didn’t try to understand. Perhaps it was because he assumed he had a right to like or dislike anything about her life in the here and now. Or because of the fluff of his comment, addressing nothing but yet accentuating everything.

“Don’t,” she said flatly, wishing she couldn’t smell the spicy male scent that was so Bobby, filled with memories of hot nights and playful mornings. “Don’t do the small talk and compliments. You’re here. I’m here. Happy wedding to Marcie, and please let me out of this hallway.”

His eyes, those damn crystal-blue eyes, studied her all too attentively, heating her inside out. He didn’t immediately speak. Didn’t move. Or did he? A sway forward. Yes. If anything she felt as if he’d come closer. The tiny hallway shrank, if that were even possible, and judging from the claustrophobic, trapped feeling making her heart thunder in her chest, it was.

“We should talk,” he finally said in that deep voice he’d once used to whisper wicked promises in far too many public places. Like this one.

“Look, Bobby,” she said, grabbing the frame of the door to steady herself. The solid door behind her reminded her how locked into this up-close-and-personal encounter with Bobby she really was. “I know you want to smooth things over between us for Marcie’s sake. Done. Smooth. Nothing else to talk about. Welcome home. You look good. You like my hair. Great. See you at the rehearsal dinner.”

His expression didn’t change, nor did his body position, which remained close and radiating heat. “Just like that? The past is behind us?”

“Right,” she agreed, trying to smile but failing miserably with a weak attempt that was more a twist of her lips. “Behind us and all is well.”

His hand went to the frame above her head, and this time there was no question that he was removing the space between them. Mere inches separated them and she could barely breathe. “Then you shouldn’t have any problem coming upstairs and having a drink with me,” he suggested. “For old times’ sake.”

Jennifer’s mind was spinning. She’d lost a dog today. Then found out her best friend, whom she didn’t believe would ever deceive her, had been secretly conspiring with Bobby. This had been an emotional, confusing day, that clearly wasn’t over yet. Because now, standing in front of her was not only the man who had secretly always held her heart, despite breaking it, but also the man she’d lain awake worried for, many a night. Fearful of the day she’d hear Bobby had died on some Army mission.

“No,” she said firmly, her hand coming up and, Lord help her, almost resting on his chest. “I don’t want to do this, Bobby.”

He caught her hand and electricity shot up her arm. “Do what, Jen?” he asked, and then settled her hand to that delicious wall of muscled chest. “And you can touch me, Jen. I never bite unless you want me to. You know that.”

This time she did willingly touch his chest, shoving him away. “Damn you, Bobby Evans. I don’t know what you’re trying to prove. I don’t want to touch you. I don’t want you to bite me or not bite me, or tell me my hair looks good. You left. Fine. But there is nothing between us now, and I won’t be your local bedroom pit stop while you’re here.” She steeled her spine. “Now. Let me by so I can go home before I…” Do something embarrassing and cry. Her eyes prickled and that made her mad. She shoved his chest again. “Let me by.”

He released her hand but he didn’t move; he ran a hand through his hair. “Listen, Jennifer. This isn’t how I planned this.” There was something akin to real, raw emotion in his eyes now, all that coolness gone. And she knew she had to get out of here, before she did something foolish and asked exactly how or why he’d planned anything with her.

“Let me by, Bobby,” she repeated, her voice low, calmer than she felt. Way calmer than she felt. And to her total utter relief and displeasure, he did.

BOBBY HAD TAKEN his share of blows over the years, most of which had come from U.S. enemies. A few from his Army buds during drunken altercations. Being the sober guy who didn’t want to turn into his drunk father, in the middle of a bunch of drunks, turned into a bucket of laughs or a gutter of irritation. Sometimes both got the best of a guy. But being rejected by Jennifer hit him harder than any combination of those blows—like a Mack truck head-on.

He had a lot of explaining to do, including why the night before he’d enlisted pushed him over the edge, convinced him he was his father’s son and would one day become his father. Bobby doubted anything he could say would easily convince Jennifer he’d left because he loved her, to protect her. But the night he’d gone…it had been a bad night that had grabbed him by the throat and held on for years to come. Still did if he was honest.

Bobby dragged himself up the stairs, a beaten dog with his tail between his legs, only to find Marcie standing at the top, hands on her hips. “Bobby! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming tonight?”

“And here I thought the hug meant you were glad to see me,” he said dryly, stopping midway to the top, once they were eye level.

“I am,” she replied, sounding not the least bit convincing. “But your timing majorly stinks. Tonight, I told Jennifer you were coming to the wedding, and then a few minutes later, of all times, you pay a surprise early visit. Do you know how that makes me look?” He would have answered, but she didn’t give him the chance. “She thinks I planned this. She thinks I knew you were coming tonight and I didn’t warn her. She’s completely ticked at both of us, at me. She’s not supposed to be ticked at me, Bobby. She’s my maid of honor.”

Nothing like kicking a dog while he was down. “I know,” he said and then vowed, “I’ll fix it.”

“Eventually,” she agreed. “But I don’t have time for eventually, Bobby. My wedding is in two weeks.” She pressed her fingers to her temple. “Jeez. It’s Wednesday, Bobby. The combo bachelor/bachelorette party is Friday night and not only is Jennifer helping me set up, but now you’re also here. Look, if Jennifer shuts me out, it’ll tear me apart. You have to find a way to fix this right now.” She shook her head, crossed her arms in front of her chest. Her voice cracked as if she might cry. “She wouldn’t even look at me when she stormed toward the door.”

“I’ll go see her,” he said quickly. “Once I ex plain—”

“Don’t.” Marcie held up a hand and added quickly, “Not yet.”

“You said now, not later,” he reminded her, more than eager to charge after Jennifer. Damn it, letting her walk away had been hell. An excuse to see her again suited him fine.

“I know what I said,” Marcie fumed. “But not tonight. In case you forgot in your seven years away, she never responds well without some space to process. Let me call her and explain everything. Then you go see her. Let her sleep on this.”

“This meaning me.”

“Yes, you!” she said. “You broke her heart.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“But you did and now that you’re back she needs some space. That’s the way she deals with things.”

He remembered. He remembered everything about Jennifer; it had taken mere seconds once he’d seen her again.

“Bobby,” Marcie warned. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop. Please. Wait and let me talk to her.”

Seven years had been far too long to wait, Bobby thought, his mind tracking back to the gut-wrenching three days when Mike had been in ICU. Life was precious and short. When Mike had pulled through, he’d had his fiancée waiting for him. His Jennifer. Bobby had come for his.

“You have until tomorrow morning,” he conceded. “Then I’m going after her.” He walked up the stairs and didn’t give her time to argue, knowing full well she would.

Tonight, seeing Jennifer again, he knew the past and present were still one and the same. He’d been raised by a single drunk father, and one dark night, he’d let that father convince him he would be the same one day, that he’d destroy Jennifer’s life as his father had tried to do his. But that was then and this was now and it was clear neither he nor Jennifer had fully put their relationship behind them. And he wasn’t going to screw up and run from the future as he had the past. Nor was he giving Jennifer time to either. He had to know what could have been—and he knew now, she did, too. Even if she wasn’t willing to admit that fact…yet.

WITH A GRUMBLE, Jennifer hit the snooze button on the alarm clock. She glanced at the digital display in confirmation of the early hour, six-thirty, and grumbled again before shoving aside the blankets. She had to be at her vet clinic by eight-thirty to open at nine. Usually she’d snooze a little longer, but she saw no point in trying. Not after yesterday, a day where she’d endured the tragedy of putting down a beloved pooch, followed by a visit from the man who’d been the most important relationship of her life.

Suddenly, a furry, big-eared kitty was on top of her, purring with demand. “I know, Julie. You want your special morning food.” Jennifer ran her hand over the kitty’s fur, though at one year old, she was hardly a kitten anymore. A big, pampered baby was more like it.

She hugged her friendly pet. The two J’s. Jennifer and sweet kitty, Julie. Them against the world, and Jennifer was okay with that. Right. Okay. With. That. No Bobby. Mark and Marcie, the two M’s, slid into her mind.

With a sigh, Jennifer set Julie on the floor. Julie gave her a demanding meow, followed by several more, as in ready for that food—now. “Well,” she murmured, “you do have demanding down well.”

Julie meowed louder, as if proving that point.

Sternly, playfully, Jennifer warned, “Wait, you little fur ball!” She quickly reset her alarm, and snatched her cell phone from the nightstand. Reluctantly, she turned it back on.

Marcie had called a good half-dozen times last night but Jennifer had nothing to say to Marcie. Not now. Not until she cooled off. Obviously Marcie thought her upcoming wedding gave her the right to do whatever she wanted. To some extent that was true, but within limits. And Bobby hit every limit Jennifer owned. Of course, with the party tomorrow night, she’d have to face her sometime then, but that gave her a day with her work to get past any remaining hurt feelings.

Jennifer shoved her feet into hot-pink slippers, glad for a small smile Julie produced as she attacked one of them. Jennifer grabbed her hot-pink, knee-length robe, a shade lighter than her cotton boxers and tank top, and slipped it over her shoulders.

She didn’t do lack of sleep well, but when she was forced to, she did cranky exceptionally well. In fact, she could almost feel the crankiness rolling off her in big, powerful waves. Easier to deal with than the emotion beneath it, the ache of facing Bobby, and realizing, despite all he’d done to her, she still reacted to him. Still wanted him. She quickly brushed her teeth and considered the shower.

“Coffee,” she murmured, heading to the navy-blue, rectangular-shaped kitchen. Its shiny compact prettiness had sold her on the condo, despite her lack of skill in the cooking department. She eyed the dishes in the sink she’d forgotten the night before. “Lots of coffee. I’m going to need lots of coffee.” Thank goodness, despite sleep deprivation, she would have her animals to keep her busy and force more smiles today.

And on that note, Jennifer put the meowing kitty out of her misery, and filled her food bowl. Next, she snagged the coffeepot and headed to the sink.

Holding it under the water, Jennifer froze when a knock sounded on her front door.

Jennifer set the pot down on the counter and turned off the water, the thundering of her heart exploding in her ears. Another knock and she steeled herself to answer the door. She pulled the sash to her robe into place and tied it a bit more firmly than necessary. As if a cotton tie would somehow protect her from what—correction, who—was waiting for her on the other side of that door. She could do this. She could face Bobby and be strong. She was strong. She was happy. Bobby showing up didn’t change anything.

And because she was a smart girl, who’d lived alone her entire adult life, she did the smart thing, not to mention the thing that gave her a chance to stall, but that was beside the point—she called out rather than opened the door. “Who is it?”

“Man bearing gifts,” came the all-too-familiar voice, all-too-richly buttered with memories and heat. The kind of heat only one man had ever conjured in her. That he still got to her, that he stroked her into arousal so effortlessly, with a simple spoken word filled with memories, agitated her almost as much as the idea of a gift. Did he really think a present would erase seven years of silence?

“Go away, Bobby,” she said, her voice irritatingly raspy with uncontained emotion. “Whatever it is, I don’t want it.”

“You want this,” he assured her. “I guarantee it.”

“I don’t,” she said sternly. But I want you, she added silently, hating him for having power over her after all this time. She firmed her voice. “Go away, Bobby.”

A beat of tension-laden silence followed before he replied, “Venti White Mocha, no foam, no whip, extrahot.”

Her eyes went wide, jaw slack. The nerve of him to bring her favorite drink, to use the past against her. This was manipulation, and it was wrong.

Jennifer forgot the robe, the hair sticking up, the lack of makeup. Forgot the hidden fear of facing Bobby again and somehow shattering into the emotional wreck she’d promised herself she was not. She yanked open the door, fully intending a verbal attack and falling flat on her proverbial face the moment she brought Bobby into focus.

He stood there, a mere few feet away, dangerously sexy. Denim clad—God, how the man made denim look delicious—light blond stubble shading his jaw, crystal-blue eyes twinkling with awareness and mischief, holding a Venti Starbucks, a box of her favorite donuts and, damn it, her heart. He still had her heart. And she knew, in that moment, he’d had it for far too long. He didn’t deserve it. Not after the way he’d left her.

His coming home for the wedding was a good thing. Good because now she could face him and get over him. Now, she could take back her heart, once and for all.

3

HOT ON THE SPOT. That was Bobby when Jennifer opened her door in her skimpy robe, displaying miles of leg and sexy, slender curves. In fact, he was so hot, the Texas sun might as well have been at high noon—because he sure was. Hot. Hard. Aching with need well beyond the physical. With memories of Jennifer waking up in his arms, in his life.

“Peace offering,” he explained, indicating the coffee and the box of chocolate-covered Krispy Kremes she so adored. “For showing up unexpectedly last night. I have jelly-filled in the car for Marcie. She’s pretty upset at me for getting her in trouble with you and she’s still letting me stay at her place. She didn’t know I was coming into town early, Jen.”

She bit her lip, the full bottom one he’d like to bite himself. Oh, yeah. He remembered nipping that lip, then softly licking it. His gaze lingered on her mouth, then on the slow rise and fall of her chest.

“This isn’t going to work,” she said flatly.

His gaze lifted to the stubborn set of her jaw, the one telling him how desperately she was clinging to resolve to keep him at a distance. Translation. This was working.

He offered her a gentle smile and a verbal nudge. “Oh, come on, Jen,” he urged. “Let me in.”

She gave him a dubious look, and finally said, “Letting you in my door means I want the coffee and donuts. Nothing more.”

Yes. That was yes. “Understood,” he agreed, stepping forward before she could change her mind, with every intention of making this morning about far more than coffee and donuts.

Crowding the doorway, he forced her to either accept his nearness or back away. As predicted, she backed away, but not before his nostrils flared with her soft, floral scent, laced with jasmine. A scent he’d imagined a million times over the past seven years.

Once he was in the hallway, Bobby resisted the urge to turn to her. She was close, so close. But even if his hands weren’t full, reaching for her now, no matter how tempting, would be premature, a mistake sure to backfire. The time for that would come—sooner rather than later.

For now, he charged forward, down a short hallway, determined to reach deeper into her life, starting with the intimacy of being inside the place she called home. He wanted to know what her life had become, what she had become. Besides being more beautiful than ever, even at this early hour.

“Bobby!” she objected from behind him, a moment before the door slammed shut. “You can’t just barge in like this,” Jennifer said, sounding a bit breathless and a lot sexy, as she caught up to him. “We can eat the donuts at the kitchen bar.”

Bobby sauntered down a short flight of stairs to a sunken living room with Pergo floors. His chest tightened as the cozy little room drew him in, surrounding him with rich navy blues. Jennifer loved blue. Navy mostly, but all shades. Her dorm room had been a navy blue she’d insisted was “velvet blue.”

His lips twitched as he remembered kissing her and telling her that her lips were velvet soft, and then making love to her on the “velvet blue” comforter.

Bobby sat down on the overstuffed couch, placing the donuts and coffee on the table before him, and then ran his hand over the cushion. “Is this navy blue or velvet blue?”

Her eyes went wide and a pink flush touched her pale perfect skin, telling him she remembered that day on her velvet bedspread as much as he did. “Come sit with me,” he urged, rescuing her from a reply.

She crossed her arms in front of her, staring at the couch, his hand and the coffee. “Why are you back, Bobby?”

Why was he back? That was a loaded question. He could say for Marcie’s wedding—which was partially true—but overall, a copout, and they’d both know it. He’d never lied to Jennifer, and he wasn’t going to start now. Besides, there wasn’t an easy answer anyway. Aside from—he had to come. He had to see her. Still, too much too soon, he decided.

Instead, he simply replied, “What’s wrong with old friends sharing coffee and donuts?” And then added in a soft plea, “It’s getting cold.”

“Old friends,” she said softly. “Is that what we are?”

Their eyes locked and held, tension, both sexual and emotional, stretching between them. “Aren’t we?” he challenged. Friends and so much more.

Indecision flashed across her face. “I should go put on some clothes,” she said, clearly avoiding his question.

“I won’t complain if you stay in your robe,” he teased gently.

The pink in her cheeks flushed redder, as if he hadn’t seen her naked a million times over. “Bobby,” she chided.

“Sorry,” he said, meaning it. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. But he did want her. “I couldn’t resist. I promise not to look.” She gave him a disbelieving gape. He lifted a defeated hand. “Okay, I won’t look—much. Or I’ll try not to. Really.” Not really. He scrubbed his jaw in further defeat. “How about I promise not to stay long?”

She tilted her head, studied him. “I don’t know if I should grab something and throw it at you or just drink the coffee and eat the donuts.”

“While I’m sure throwing something at me might hold a certain degree of pleasure,” he commented, “I recommend caffeine consumption before making that judgment.”

“Valid point,” she conceded, and walked to the other end of the couch. “For the record, I reserve the right to throw something, or many things, at you, one or more times, during the next two weeks.”

He smiled. “I can live with that though your father will probably do it for you after the wedding.”

“True,” she agreed happily.

Her father was protective. Bobby had hurt her. He’d have some things to say to Bobby and Bobby guessed she wasn’t feeling too inclined to stop him. Jennifer picked up the coffee and sipped. Her lashes fluttered, dark circles on creamy white skin as she added, “Okay. For the moment, the coffee is way better than throwing something at you.”

“That’s good to hear.”

She blinked several times. “Thank you. I so needed this.”

“That’s what you used to say every morning.”

She breezed past the comment. “I’ve never been very human without my coffee, I guess,” she admitted and grabbed a donut.

“I guess some things never change,” he teased, barely containing the urge to reach for her. He wanted to kiss her. To taste her. To lay her down on that couch and feel her close.

She bit her bottom lip. “Bobby—”

“You have chocolate on your mouth,” he said. Taking advantage of her hands being full—one with coffee, one with a donut—he reached over and ran his finger to swipe off the offending icing, when he longed to use his tongue. He licked his finger. “Good.” Her. Not the chocolate.

“Stop,” she objected, setting the donut on the box and the coffee on the table. “I know what you’re trying to do.”

He arched a brow. “Which would be what?”

She glowered. “Bobby—”

He leaned a little closer. “I like hearing you say my name. Even when you’re mad.”

“I’m not mad,” she said and pushed to her feet. “And I’m not having sex with you. I’m not some two-week, wedding fling.”

He stopped. “Wait,” he said. “We’re talking about sex, and I don’t know about it? But okay on the two weeks.” He lowered his voice to a velvety-blue shade. She looked adorable, all flustered and ready to take his head off. “Two weeks would never be enough.”

Her eyes went wide and she opened her mouth to speak when her cell phone rang, from what sounded like the pocket of her robe. “You know it’s Marcie,” he said. “You should talk to her. Put her out of her misery. She thinks you’re mad, too.”

“I am mad, at her,” she said, her brows dipping.

“She didn’t know I was coming,” he said.

“I know,” she said.

He narrowed his gaze. “Why don’t I believe you?”

“She didn’t know you were going to be there last night,” she said. “But for ‘years,’ she admitted, you two talked and I never knew.” Her voice cracked, lifted. “And it shouldn’t matter she was talking to you and I didn’t know, but clearly Marcie was smart enough to know it would matter, because here I am, standing in front of you, wanting to throw something again—because it matters.” She flung her hands in the air and let them drop. “I’m going to shower. Please don’t be here when I get back.”

It mattered because she cared. Which meant Bobby had two options. Let her go and give her space, as Marcie had declared was necessary. Or he could do what he would have done in the past and launch a full-out assault. Make his intentions clear.

Bobby went for the all-out assault. He was on his feet, pulling her close in seconds. And though not his intention, before he could stop himself, he was kissing her.

She gasped into his mouth and he swallowed it, drinking her in like sweet honeyed tea on a sizzling summer day. And though she tried to resist, holding herself stiff, unyielding, the minute his tongue stroked hers, she surrendered. His hand slid up her back, molding her close, if only for a moment, when her cell phone rang again.

Bobby reached into her pocket and pulled it out, forcing himself to end the kiss. “Talk to Marcie,” he said. “You’re mad at me, not her. She needs you.” He pressed the phone into her hand, stared down at her, and then turned and headed for the door.

“Don’t come back, Bobby,” she called behind him.

He paused and turned to look at her only long enough to vow, “I’m already back.”

Bobby passed the kitchen, certain Jennifer wouldn’t follow him to the door. Not after that flipping amazing kiss that said they could easily rekindle the bedroom bliss and a whole lot more. Jennifer would wait for him to leave, and then analyze and plan a way to deal with him. For now, Bobby had to settle for repairing her friendship with Marcie.

But tomorrow was another day. And after that kiss, he was certain, he had to have another. For the first time in seven years, there was more than a mission, and some unnamed enemy. He felt like more than a machine. He felt alive.

4

“YOU KNOW YOU STILL WANT HIM,” Marcie declared.

It was near dark, hours after her encounter with Bobby, and Jennifer stood in Marcie’s kitchen, stirring chocolate mousse for the next night’s bachelor/bachelorette party. The two acres sprawling Lake Travis property, with the ranch-style house, that had once been Mark’s parents’ place, was a perfect location for such fun.

Jennifer grimaced and pointed at Marcie with the spoon. “I do not still want him. And I wouldn’t have called you to apologize if I’d be coming over here to be abused.”

Marcie reached over the counter and scooped some of the mousse off the spoon a moment before it would have dropped on the counter. She tasted it. “Hmm. Good stuff.” Her eyes twinkled. “And yes. You would have apologized. Because you might be stubborn, but you’re a good friend. And yes, you do still want Bobby.”

Jennifer glared at her, and because she couldn’t deny either of Marcie’s claims anymore, she ignored them and did the only respectable thing to do under fire. She licked the chocolate-covered spoon and had the naughty idea of licking the same chocolate off Bobby. She dropped the spoon into the sink as if it were on fire. “We need to have Mark bring in the rest of the champagne from our cars.”

“So you can have your car back and run away from this conversation?” Marcie challenged. “Forget it.” She leaned on the counter, smiling evilly. “Why don’t you just have sex with Bobby and get it out of your system before the wedding? It might be easier on all of us.”

“Would you stop?” Jennifer demanded, pressing her hands to her jeans-clad hips, her favorite black pair that matched her black tank top with a pink heart in the center—the jeans she had absolutely not picked because they made her butt look smaller than the blue ones and Bobby might show up to see said butt.

“If you stop avoiding,” Marcie countered. “Deal with Bobby and move on.” She held up a hand the second Jennifer started to speak. “And don’t tell me you have, because we both know you haven’t. You never got closure, Jennifer. Now you have a chance. Sleep with him, girl. If for no other reason but the satisfaction of knowing you can do it and walk away. You, not him this time. Sexual energy is very healing.”

“Oh, good grief,” Jennifer blurted. “Enough with the healing energy.”

“Okay,” Marcie said, grabbing a champagne bottle from a case sitting on the floor. “No healing energy. Let’s try alcohol-induced courage. Why don’t we pop one of these babies open and loosen you up?”

Jennifer pressed her hand to her face before fixing a glare on Marcie. “I don’t need to loosen up, because I told you,” she said, glaring, “I’m not sleeping with Bobby.”

“Ever?” At the sound of Bobby’s voice behind her, Jennifer’s heart stopped beating for an instant.

Her eyes met Marcie’s far too amused ones and she mouthed “I’m going to kill you” before whirling around to face the inevitable—Bobby looking like sin poured into denim and cotton. “Never,” she assured him, her knees weak.

And then damn him, his mouth twitched, the one she’d kissed that very morning.

“Never is a long time. I reserve the right to try to change your mind.”

The declaration sent a sudden flutter of butterflies through her stomach. She wanted him to want her. Wanted to kiss him again. It scared her how much, terrified her how easily she could once again have her heart broken.

Marcie cleared her throat. “Since you’re here, Bobby,” she said, “can you grab Mark and get the rest of the champagne out of the cars?”

“Sure,” he said. “Where are the keys?”

“Mark has mine,” Marcie said. “Is your car locked, Jen?”

She nodded. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll get my keys.” From her purse. By the door. That she couldn’t get to without squeezing through the slim hallway where Bobby’s big, muscular, too-sexy body currently resided. The same way he’d been in the back of her mind, blocking the way into the future. Damn. Marcie was right. She hadn’t dealt with Bobby. She’d simply ignored her memories.

“They’re in my purse,” she said to Bobby and motioned him onward. “I’ll follow you out.”

He stood there an instant, his eyes lingering on her lips, as if he were thinking of the kiss they’d shared, before he stepped backward, into the hallway, and motioned her forward.

“Ladies first,” he challenged, leaving her a tiny space to pass.

Bobby arched an expectant brow. It was then that Jennifer realized Marcie was right—whatever happened needed to be on her terms. Melting into the floor wasn’t on her terms. She had to face Bobby and face her past. For now, though, she’d settle for getting past him and to her car.

Jennifer drew her shoulders back and charged forward, self-consciously thinking about the black jeans she’d be strutting in front of him. Wondering if he still thought she was attractive. Telling herself he did or he wouldn’t have kissed her. Telling herself that it didn’t matter, but knowing it most definitely did.

She breezed past Bobby with a determined stride that brought her inches from touching him, but she stared forward, refusing to look at him. Oh, but she felt him, might as well have touched him, imagined touching him. Her skin tingled, her stomach did a funny, fluttery thing. And his scent. Her nostrils flared with his delicious, familiar scent. All spicy and male. She knew that smell so well; she knew the name of the cologne, and the hot way it meshed with his body chemistry and turned to an aphrodisiac that drove her insane.

Jennifer grabbed her purse from the table by the door and turned to find Bobby towering over her. She swallowed hard. He was close. Inches. Awareness tingled in her nerve endings.

She was so in trouble. Clearly, avoiding Bobby wasn’t an option. Definitely. Not. But she would not have sex with Bobby either.

Holding up her keys, she jangled them. “I’ll walk out with you.” And leave, but she didn’t say that.

Mark appeared in the hallway, his shoulder-length dark hair tied at his neck, a contrast to Bobby’s short blond locks. And where Bobby was tall, broad and athletic, Mark was simply tall and lean.

“I’ve been ordered to remove all boxes from the cars,” Mark said, his tone laced with a hint of irritation. He eyed Bobby and nodded. “Hey, man. Sorry I didn’t say much when you came in. I was on the phone with one of our liquor vendors.”

They shook hands, as if they’d just recently met. Then again, for all she knew, Bobby had been home before now, and she didn’t know. Marcie had only started dating Mark two years before, but they might have casually met before now. Though Bobby’s mother had died of cancer when he was in his teens, and he had no siblings, his father owned an auto shop outside San Antonio, a little over an hour away. It was hard to believe that in seven years he hadn’t been home once.

“Talk Marcie into jumping yet?” Bobby asked Mark.

“No,” he said. “She’s too chicken. But I’m all about giving it a go. When do you have in mind?”

“Jumping?” Jennifer asked, frowning, not sure if she’d missed something.

“You are so not skydiving right before our wedding!” Marcie said, rushing to Mark’s side, glaring up from her five-three to Mark’s towering six-three. “You’re a computer programmer turned bar owner, and while that shows impressive diversity, you are not Special Forces, like Bobby.”

Special Forces. Jennifer had not even known Bobby was Special Forces. Her stomach twisted a little.

“Still,” Mark said. “I’m going to jump while Bobby is here and can go with me. And you might as well come with us. I mean, if anything happens to me the wedding is off anyway.”

Oh, ouch. Jennifer knew that wasn’t going to go over well. And it didn’t. “Mark!”

Jennifer and Bobby exchanged a cringe and headed to the door. Outside, the hot Texas night encased them as assuredly as the tension, both sexual and emotional.

Bobby whistled as the door shut behind them. “I wish I would never have brought up jumping last night. They’ve been snapping at each other ever since. Not exactly what I call wedding bliss.”

“Wedding jitters,” Jennifer corrected. “It’s not uncommon, and it’s not your fault. And they’ve been at it a few days now.” Guilt twisted in her gut as they stopped beside her blue Mazda 626. She drew a breath and turned to face him. “Which is why I really want to put the past behind us, Bobby. The next two weeks is about them, not us. Let’s call a truce.”

He stared at her, his deep blue, beautiful eyes smoldering. “A truce it is,” he said. “Why don’t we start this truce by finding me a way out of inviting Mark to skydive. He’s determined to go. She’s determined he won’t. Why don’t you convince Marcie to come along?” He wiggled a brow. “A foursome.”

Ignoring the joke, and the undercurrent of “coupleness” or whatever real word one might call it that escaped her now, Jennifer argued, “Marcie is already upset over that idea, Bobby. Pressuring her isn’t going to help matters.”

“Well, I can see the look in Mark’s eye. He’s out to prove something and this isn’t over. But we can end it together, like I said. Come jump with us. Convince Marcie to come, too.”

She shook her head. “Me. Jumping out of a plane? Not in this lifetime. That’s way too out of control for me.” She opened her door and tossed her purse inside, before clicking the lock to the back door where the champagne was stored.

“You can tandem jump with me,” he said. “You’d be tied to me. I’ll have control then. I’ll keep you safe.”

He’d have control. There lay her problem. Bobby had control—when he’d left; for the past seven years, as she’d secretly wanted, needed and wondered; and now, because she was running from him. She had to take control, stop wallowing in the past. Deal with the right here and now.

“You can trust me,” Bobby said in a low, sandpaper-rough voice. “When I left—”

She did the only thing she knew to shut him up—she kissed him. She stepped forward, pressed her hand on the solid wall of his chest, pushed to her toes and kissed him. That was taking control. This was taking control. She was taking control.

They hadn’t been in love. Love endured. Love was honest. Love didn’t run away and never look back. They’d been in lust, and she was all about lust in that moment. All about pleasure. For two weeks, he was here, the man who’d been the best sex of her life. She’d be a fool to run from his flavor of pleasure. She would enjoy him, and then she would say goodbye.

Starting with this kiss. The instant Jennifer’s mouth touched Bobby’s, he pulled her closer, taking her mouth, as if he feared she might change her mind. His tongue parted her lips, intimately, full of demand. One of his hands tangled in her hair, the other slid up her back, pressing her close, molding her against all that delicious hard muscle. Her hands slid over his back. Long, strong thighs entwined with hers, his hips settling against hers. His erection, already thick, hard, pressing against her stomach.

She moaned into his mouth, heat pooling in the V of her body. She’d told herself she’d kissed him to shut him up, and while true, it had also been for pleasure. The same reason her hand was under his shirt, her palm absorbing warm, taut skin. Feeling pleasure was so much better than talking about the past. Feeling pleasure. Yes. Pleasure. He knew exactly where to touch her. She knew exactly where to touch him.

pImages** of their naked bodies entwined, their passionate, impossible-to-forget lovemaking sizzled in her mind and melted her body against his. Kissing him, tasting him, feeling him close.

“Jennifer,” he murmured against her lips, pulling back to stare at her. “I—”

She pressed her fingers to his lips. “Don’t talk,” she said. “Kiss me again.”

“Bobby!” came Marcie’s shout from the door. “Some guy called the house phone. He says it’s urgent.”

“Damn it,” Bobby cursed under his breath, closing his hand around hers and kissing it. “I’m sorry. I gave the Army an emergency number. I’m on leave but—”

“Duty first,” she said, relief washing over her. “Then fun.” She’d started this game without planning. That was a lot for Jennifer.

“Bobby!” Marcie yelled again.

He stared down at her, his dark lashes narrowing around intelligent blue eyes, as if he were suspicious of what she would do next. He hesitated, then kissed her firmly. “Don’t go anywhere,” he ordered, steel determination in his voice. “We have to talk.” And then he was half walking, half jogging to the house.

She watched him, the long, lithe way he moved—like a soldier she didn’t know, but a lover she knew all too well. A past she didn’t want to know at all if it wasn’t between the sheets. It was easier that way. No, there would be no talking. There’d be more kissing. They’d do more pleasuring. They’d do it on her terms, though.

Tomorrow night at the party, where champagne would be plentiful, the fun and adventure would be on high octane. She closed the trunk and slid into the car, deciding the case of champagne in the car would wait until tomorrow. A smile touched her lips as she turned the ignition. There might even be some of that chocolate mousse on Bobby. A simple plan of pleasure.

What more could a girl want? Okay, bad question, one that stirred the wrong emotions. As did the idea of that phone call perhaps ordering him back to duty, perhaps without a goodbye, yet again. She dismissed the thought and put the car into gear. Refocused on her plan. On the chocolate mousse, and its removal, one delicious, sensual lick at a time. Oh, yes. Lots of licking. No talking.

THERE HAD NEVER BEEN a woman that tasted like honey, sunrise and heaven the way Jennifer did. Not before her. Not after her. Heat, desire and readiness climbed through his limbs, burned molten heat in his blood. Bobby all but ran to the door, eager to get the call over with, and return to Jennifer. The sound of tires on gravel stopped him in his tracks.

“Damn,” he murmured under his breath, scrubbing his jaw, watching the car pull away. He’d had her—in his arms, kissing him freely, willing to kiss him again. And in a snap, she was gone. Kind of like he had been all those years ago. Damn again. He deserved to be worked up and left behind. He deserved anything she did to him ten times over, and he wasn’t above admitting it.

Bobby fought the urge to run to the end of the driveway, to cut her off before she departed, and to tell her that and more. But when the Army called, a soldier answered, even one close to walking away from reenlistment. Especially when he knew what the call was about—the same reason he’d been working on getting out to that skydiving operation.

He’d been in town all of a few hours, when Bobby had gotten “official orders” that trumped his leave. When he’d been told to check out some ex-Special Ops guy named Rocky Smith, who Bobby didn’t know from Adam, but apparently owned the skydiving operation Texas Hotzone, about thirty miles outside Austin, in the adjacent small city of San Marcus. Seemed Rocky was catching some buzz in connection to a Mexican drug lord, and the Army wanted Bobby to see what he could find out. Even on leave, he wasn’t on leave. He reached the bottom of the porch stairs to find Marcie waiting for him at the top, hands on her hips. “She left with the champagne,” she said. “What did you do to her?”

Bobby grimaced as he double-stepped to the top. “I didn’t do anything to her,” he said. But he wanted to do plenty. To kiss every last inch of her and do it all over again. And again.

Marcie gave him a skeptical look and offered him the phone. “Sergeant Walker,” Bobby said into the phone. The reply was simple. Call in on a secure line at 0800. He hung up.

“That was it?” she asked. “The call is over?”

He nodded. “Report orders.”

“Not now?” she asked urgently.

“The day after the wedding,” he said, though he had a few more days before he was actually due to report. But by then, he would have made his decision. He was staying or he was reenlisting. “You know. You’re all worked up and cranky, you’re going to run Mark off before he says ‘I do.’”

She opened her mouth to argue and then shut it. “I know.”

“You’re both nervous and excited,” he said. “If the man wants to skydive, to escape that for a day, don’t hold him back. Go with him.”

“I don’t want him to get hurt,” she said.

“He won’t,” he said. “And neither will you. Make up with him.”

“I have been kind of cranky,” she conceded.

“Kind of?” he asked.

She glowered. “Don’t push your luck, Bobby, because I’m still feeling real darn cranky.”

He laughed. “Then be cranky. At me. Not Mark.” He turned her to the door. “Go. Now. Talk to your man and whatever else you do when you make up with him. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She eyed him over her shoulder. “I don’t want to run you off.”

“Go,” he said, giving her a nudge to the door. “I’m fine. Make sure the wedding I came for takes place.”

This time she didn’t argue. Marcie disappeared into the house, and Bobby turned back to the driveway. He had to deal with the Army tonight, because he wasn’t about to risk another interruption with Jennifer. She’d be working tomorrow. So, that left tomorrow night at the party where he had a mission.

He was glad for the interruption tonight. He’d been about to confess his sins, explain the past despite knowing the timing was wrong. He had to make her listen, pull down her guard, before he unraveled the mess that had been in his head the night he’d left, and the years of justifying that followed. That meant a lot of loving, touching and kissing. And then they were most definitely going to talk. That was his mission and Bobby never failed a mission.

Nor was he going to fail Jennifer. Not this time.

5

FRIDAY ARRIVED AND the party was on. And so was the seduction as far as Jennifer was concerned. She might not be good at dating, in fact, some might say disastrous, but she was good at seducing Bobby. At least, the old Bobby, and she refused to consider the present-day Bobby might be seduced differently than in the past, because then her confidence would falter, and her plan with it.

Dressed in cowboy boots, slim-cut, faded blue jeans she’d bought earlier that day, and a pink formfitting, deep V-neck T-shirt accented by a Victoria’s Secret bra that lifted her C cup in an intentionally enticing way, Jennifer stood on the back patio of Mark and Marcie’s house. The unique blend of both bachelor and bachelorette party was in full swing.

With the nearest neighbor’s house a mile away, a DJ freely spun music. At present Carrie Underwood’s “Casanova Cowboy” filled the air, with about ten couples dancing on the small round dance floor in the center of the yard; moments before he’d played Aerosmith’s “Walk this Way.”

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