Jamie fiddled with his silverware for a moment. “Did he treat you right?”
She’d had too much wine, loosening her tongue, washing away her filter. “He was good,” she said. “Really good. He was patient. Gentle. Said he was honored,” she added before she got a good look at Jamie’s eyes, simmering dark pools of regret and a little anger.
“Did you love him?”
“Yes,” she said. “And he loved me.” The difference somehow seemed profoundly beyond her ability to explain, even before she had two glasses of wine in her system. She’d loved Leo. She’d been in love with Jamie.
“What happened?”
“We weren’t in love. There’s a difference.”
“I know,” he said, quiet, meaningful.
“What about you?” she said, bouncing the ball back hard.
“I’ve never really dated.”
“Just hooked up?”
The look in his eyes stopped her heart. It was so easy to forget or underestimate Jamie’s competitive streak. He hid it well, masking it with the values his parents taught him: the gentleman’s code, honor and respect and teamwork. But underneath it all was the soul of a man who would take no prisoners when it came to working off a deployment. She didn’t feel sorry for the women who’d been on the receiving end of Jamie’s pent-up sexual energy. If anything, she was jealous.
“I was waiting for the right woman,” he said.
Her heart gave an odd skip, waiting for whatever he was going to say next, but he just signaled for the check. “What’s my share?” she asked when the waitress handed him the leather folder.
“I’ve got this.”
“Jamie.”
“Finish your coffee, Stannard,” he said as he thumbed through his billfold.
She was too full to argue with him, so finished her coffee while he paid, then let him pull back her chair and guide her to the door with one hand at the small of her back.
It was twilight again, the sky filling with vivid blues and purples as the stars flicked on overhead. “I can’t play,” Charlie said.
“Too full?”
It wasn’t that. She’d worked all week, been steamrolled by a fashion dynamo, had a good meal, a couple of glasses of wine, a cup of coffee. Right now she didn’t feel like competing against Jamie. “Just not in the mood,” she said. “Want me to take you home?”
They’d reached her car, but rather than walking around to the passenger side, he backed her into the driver’s door. “Yes,” he said.
Her brow furrowed, because she’d been hoping he’d say no. Then he closed the last couple of inches between her mouth and his, and kissed her, his tongue hot, slippery, suggestive. “Take me home, Charlie.”
Oh. Oh, oh, oh.
His eyes were dark, wild, passionate as Charlie drove them back to her house but his behavior was completely sedate, even gentlemanly. She parked in the driveway and loaded herself up with her purse and laptop bag, then reached for the bags from Taylor’s shop. Shaking his head, Jamie unloaded her purse and bag, shouldering her bright green purse without a hint of self-consciousness. “You really won’t ask for help, will you?”
For most of her life, there hadn’t been anyone to ask. She flashed him a quick smile. “Thanks,” she said, and led the way up the walk to the front door.
“Where do you want these?” he said when he shut the door behind them.
“One of the dining room chairs is fine,” she called from the bedroom. She hung the cocktail dress over her closet door and ran her fingertips down the bag, the silk’s slightly rough texture teasing her fingertips. She really couldn’t imagine the next couple of days. She’d been to awards banquets before, receptions, given speeches. But none of it carried the freight of the next couple of days. Being a member of the European Women’s Championship Team didn’t matter when the slightest disdainful look from a member of the Lancaster Garden Club could cut her to the bone.
Even that would pale beside the pain she’d feel when Jamie left again, if she didn’t guard her heart as carefully as she guarded the basket.
Chapter Six
She rubbed her forehead, off-balance, worn-out, lost. But she couldn’t blame the tangle of emotions slowly knotting in her belly on life. That was all Jamie. And her. If it were just Jamie, she’d cut through the knot and end it. The only thing that hadn’t changed in the last decade was that the problem was them.
“Hey,” Jamie said softly. He was leaning against the bedroom doorframe, his arms folded, his feet bare.
She tried to imagine him in the white uniform she’d seen on television shows, his jaw ruthlessly shaved, his shoulders broad and straight in the tailored coat, shoes polished to a sheen so bright they’d reflect the lights at the Metropolitan Club. “Do you have many…?” she asked, vaguely gesturing to her left shoulder, her brain shorting out on the image.