“Which translates into English as …?”
“Sergeant first class.”
She didn’t know anything about military rank, beyond the basic enlisted and officer ranks. “Am I impressed?” she asked warily.
He gave his stifled, sand-papery laugh. “Not really. A sergeant is like an office manager who makes the vice president look good, but catches all the shit when things go wrong. The only difference is, in the army there are weapons and explosives and other interesting shit to help make up for the paperwork. My main job was training lieutenants.”
She had the feeling he was understating what he’d done, otherwise he wouldn’t have those shrapnel wounds. “You have to train an officer?”
“Like any other newbie in any other job. They come in, they’re young, they don’t have any experience, haven’t seen combat, and they make stupid decisions. The smart ones listen to the sergeants. If we’re lucky, the stupid-ass ones decide they don’t really want a career in the military and get out, before they either end up dead or cause a lot of other people to die.”
Angie had gone her entire life without thinking about life in the military, but abruptly she found herself trying to imagine what it was like. She wanted to know what he’d done, how he’d filled his days, the friends he’d made. She wanted to know how he’d been hurt, but didn’t want to ask. The sharp turnabout in their relationship wasn’t even thirty-six hours old yet. Granted, a lot had been packed into those hours, but some things, such as personal questions, still took time.
“Did you like it? Being in the army, I mean.”
“I had a lot of fun. Good times, bad times.” He tilted his head back, his eyes half-closed as he revisited memories. “There are guys I served with who’ll be my friends until the day I die. But I never meant to make a fucking career of it. When I enlisted, I thought ten years max. I’d get a college degree, see something of the world.” He gave his rough, stifled chuckle. “I did that, all right. But after my last encounter with sharp metallic objects, I reassessed my position. I’d already been in five years longer than I’d planned. So I got out.”
He’d brought the subject up, so Angie felt perfectly justified in pursuing it. “Is that when you got the wound on your throat?”
“Yeah. For the first couple of weeks I couldn’t talk, but that was because of swelling. The docs had told me I’d be okay, so I didn’t sweat it. It was frustrating as hell, though. After I got my voice back, it was hoarse, but shit, if that’s the worst thing that ever happens to me in my life, I’m one lucky son of a bitch.”
She rolled her head sideways to smile at him. “I bet it was a real strain on your nervous system, not being able to swear.”
“Damn near drove me nucking futs.” He looked completely raffish and so masculine he made her hurt inside, with that black stubble on his face and those wicked blue eyes glinting at her, his mouth curled in a smirk.
She burst out laughing. She’d thought he was so dour and grumpy, but he was proving to have a side to him that really appealed to her own sense of humor. He considered her for a moment, then looped his arm around her neck and pulled her in, his mouth closing over hers, stopping the laughter.
Angie couldn’t help it. She kissed him back. Kissing was like anything else; after you’ve done it once, doing it again became easier. She put her hand on his bristly jaw and let herself savor the taste of him, the pressure of those firm lips, the undeniable surge of excitement when he made a low, rough sound in the back of his throat and abruptly deepened the kiss, changing the angle of his head so that she found herself giving way, sinking back. His arms cradled her, supported her, then his heavy weight settled in place on top of her and all she could do was cradle him in turn, her arms and legs opening to accept and hold him.
The weight of a man on her … she had enjoyed that, missed it. She slid her hand up the back of his neck, her fingers sliding into his hair as she clasped the back of his skull. Still, she felt compelled to free her lips long enough to warn, “Just because I’m kissing you doesn’t mean I’m going to have sex with you.”
He lifted his head a little. Blue eyes glinted down at her, heavy-lidded with sexual intent. “Yet,” he replied, and she let the word stand unchallenged.
He gripped her hip, his fingers tightening, then relaxing and gently massaging before sliding up her side, under her shirt. Almost before she knew it his big warm hand was closing over her breast, his palm rough against the exquisite sensitivity of her nipple. She felt a moment of anxiety because her boobs were so small, but then his eyelids lowered even more and he made that rough humming sound again, the one she was coming to associate with pure pleasure, and with one swift motion he jerked her shirt up and dipped his head to her breasts.
There was a dizzying split-second of combined surprise and anticipation, then his mouth, hot and wet, closed over her nipple. His tongue swirled around the nub, lightly, gently, making it harden and extend. Pleasure spread through her, pleasure that made her abdominal muscles contract, made her skin feel electrified. With his lips and tongue and teeth he played with her, moving his attention to the other nipple while his fingers gently kneaded. Then he pressed her nipple against the roof of his mouth and sucked hard; she clutched at him, bucking under the lash of excitement and desire. He bore down on her, controlling her with his weight; she could feel his tongue rhythmically working the extended bud, the suction of his mouth pulling at her and sparking an echo of the same sensation between her legs, deep inside her.