The Russian Billionaire’s Secret(171)

“I'm ready to go home.”

“Okay,” she smiled, “it's time for my back up plan. Here's how it is, solider. Your family is planning a big welcome home party and they asked me to keep you out of the house until three. That means we still have three hours to kill.”

“So that's why she insisted I come out today. I thought she was trying to kick me,” Eric laughed. “Then I saw you and thought she was trying to play matchmaker.”

“Why's that?”

“Mom knows how much I love red heads.”

For a moment, tension filled the car. It was an unfamiliar feeling to Eric and it took him a moment to realize that it was sexual tension tugging at his muscles and rubbing against his senses.

“Okay, solider, so what do you want to do until three?”

“Honestly? Take a nap,” he laughed.

“We'll go back to my place. We can go through the back door and you can nap on the sofa until its time for your party.”

Thirty minutes later, Eric found himself laying on Celeste's sofa. Before the war, he'd never taken her up on the offer. In the Middle East, he learned he could sleep almost anywhere if he was tired enough and the ongoing war efforts and threats were enough to keep any man exhausted. Celeste had made herself scarce and Eric appreciated the privacy and the thought of not needing an armed guard while he dozed.

For awhile, he lay awake staring at the ceiling. His mind would wander to the Middle East and he'd have to force himself back to the present. As he drifted off to sleep, a feeling of normalcy cloaked him as he tried to imagine what Celeste's red curls might smell like.

His dreams carried him away back to the Middle East. A sandstorm was moving over the small base he was stationed at. Earlier in the day, a call had come in about suspicious activity in the area. It included no further information and he and his comrades were all on guard. Within hours, they would be on the road moving supplies to their next destination: the men on the front line.

Eric had taken the job of supply transport to ease his mother's worries about his safety. He never brought it up in letters, but from what he had heard, supply transport had seen more action than some of the front lines had. The enemy knew that without the supplies the army would be crippled.

The men piled into the truck. He rode shotgun with his weapon at the ready. Eric sat with both hands tightly wound around the weapon to hide the fact his fingers were trembling. His eyes and ears strained seeking out signs of danger and hoping not to be the one who let out a false cry. Stopping the vehicle if it wasn't necessary could mean death for them all.

“We're being followed,” the driver said quietly. “They were watching us back at the camp too. Keep your gun at the ready. I'm changing course. They haven't made their move yet and they could be pushing us into a trap. My daughter turns six today. I want to live to see her turn seven.”

Eric swallowed hard as the truck turned off the specified path. As its engine rumbled, all of his senses strained to figure out where the threat was. His gut was telling him something was deathly wrong, but his other senses couldn't locate it. Then the world went silent and the truck turned on its front. Eric looked over his shoulder to see that the men that had been sitting in the back of the truck were nothing but charred flesh.

Ahead of them, a woman was running away with her two small children. Men with guns appeared their faces wrapped with muslin cloth to keep the dirt and grit out of their eyes. When he looked back to the woman she was no longer wrapped in burqa but had long flowing red curls.

“Celeste!” he cried out as the men took her and the children down in a rain of bullets.

Chapter 2

The Softest Touch

“Shh...” Celeste cooed touching Eric's face softly. She had heard his fitful sleep all the way upstairs in her office. Then the cry of her name rang out through the house and she had bolted down the stairs. Kneeling by the sofa, she stroked his thick brown hair. Her brother had done a tour in Iraq and was still recovering from the nasty side effects of war-induced PTSD.

Eric's handsome face was contorted in pain and fear, but it did little to take away the masculine beauty and strength of his features. His muscular chest and abs fell and rose rapidly and she could feel his pulse racing through his body. She wasn't sure how to wake him or if she even should.

Celeste was well aware of how prideful men could be after her last marriage fell apart when she began to make more money than her husband. Eric jerked in her sleep drawing her full attention back to him.

“Shhh..” she cooed again trying to gently wake him. “You're back on American soil. You're safe.”

“Celeste!” Eric startled awake. “Sorry.. I..”

“You don't have to explain anything,” she said keeping the concern from her voice.

She watched as Eric surveyed his surroundings and then his cheeks began to tint red. His eyes went stoic and she took a deep breath. She wanted to tell him not to be embarrassed, but knew that would only make the situation worse.

“Care for drink?”

“Bring me the strongest you've got.”

“You'll have to settle for a beer for now,” she laughed. “If I bring you home trashed, I'll never hear the end of it. After the party if you want something harder I'll hand over the key to my liquor cabinet.”

“If the driveway is just the beginning of guests arriving, I might have to take you up on that offer.”