The Soldier's Twin Surprise

“Actually,” she said, “I just flew in from Houston.” It was the truth, of course. And it supported her comment about having two days left of her vacation. But she’d actually just returned from bereavement leave.

Several weeks ago, she’d gotten an early-morning call from the Texas hospital where her parents had been taken after the accident. Her father had suffered a massive coronary while driving home from church. The car had crashed through a guardrail and rolled down an embankment. He was pronounced dead on arrival, and her mom died from her injuries a few hours later.

Erica sucked in a deep breath and slowly blew it out. It had been a long month, a sad and lonely one. She’d gone to Texas to bury the parents who’d adopted her.

But the worst was past. She had two days left of her leave before she had to report to duty at Schofield Barracks, so she’d rented the bungalow through Airbnb, where she hoped the warm sun, the soft tropical breeze and the sound of waves lapping on the sand would provide a healing balm.

She and Bullet sat there awhile, both caught up in their own thoughts. Or so it seemed.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

She could have told him anything at that point—Jennifer, Heather, Alexis. She’d heard that it was a game some women played. They’d create fake careers and backgrounds, too. But Erica wouldn’t go that far. Instead, since he and his friends referred to each other with nicknames, she’d offer him one, too. The one her twin sister had given her years ago. “My name is Rickie.”

He nodded, as if making a mental note, then took a chug of beer. Since he hadn’t offered up his real name, she didn’t ask. What was the point? She didn’t expect to see him after she checked out and returned to base.

It was weird, though. She hadn’t been called Rickie since the night Lainie had gone to the hospital for the surgery that failed. At the memory, at the thought of the final words they’d shared with each other, a pang of grief shot through her, reminding her that she’d lost her entire family. Two of them, in fact. Not many people could claim to be orphaned twice, but this time around, at twenty-five, it was a lot easier than when she and Lainie had been eight.

Under the circumstances, she probably should keep to herself tonight so she could dwell on her emotions and come up with a good game plan to face the future. Wasn’t that why she’d come to North Shore this weekend?

For someone determined to keep to herself, she couldn’t explain why she’d let herself be enticed by the hunky, football-playing tourists. Maybe it was some sort of coping mechanism preventing her from dealing with her own issues, her own sadness.

If she could distract herself with the antics of a trio of strangers reliving their glory days on the beach, then she wouldn’t be forced to think about her recent loss.

But she’d much rather laugh than cry. And these guys were playful and entertaining. Intriguing and handsome. Especially Bullet. Besides, she didn’t have to tell him that she was in the Army and actually lived nearby.

Why get so personal when, after Sunday morning, she’d never see him again?

Chapter Two

By the time the sun went down, and a couple of automatic porch lights from the nearby beach house kicked on, Clay’s buddies had moved closer to the blonde and the redhead. But Clay was right where he wanted to be, sitting on the sand and enjoying a second cold beer with Rickie. Things seemed to have clicked between them, which was a little surprising.

He hadn’t planned to hook up with any women this week, but he also hadn’t expected Rickie to be so easy to talk to. She was a little on the quiet side, but she was bright. And her laugh, which he’d only heard a time or two, had a mesmerizing lilt.

Hey. The night was still young...

Of course, that didn’t mean he wasn’t being realistic. She’d be returning to her life in Texas soon, and after he drove his buddies to the airport Sunday morning, he’d head back to Wheeler Army Airfield. Still, that left them thirty-six hours. More or less.

“Are you ready for another beer?” he asked.

She looked at her nearly empty bottle. “No, I think I’ll switch to soda—if you have any left.”

Clay got up, headed for the ice chest and retrieved two cans—one cola and a lemon-lime. Then he took a moment to walk to the grassy area near their beach house, where Duck had set up the small grill about fifteen minutes earlier. The coals were coming along okay.

He glanced over at his buddies. Duck, who’d just said something to make the redhead laugh, glanced up and caught Clay’s eye. Clay nodded at the grill, gave him the thumbs-up sign and returned to Rickie.

He offered her both cans. “Take your pick.”

She chose the cola. “Thanks.”

“We’ll be putting those dogs on the grill soon,” he said. “Are you getting hungry?”

“A little.” She scanned the beach, her gaze landing on the others, who’d moved over to the grassy area, near the grill and within the perimeter of light coming from the porch. “You know, even though I said I’d join you guys tonight, I’m not really in the mood for a party.”

Neither was Clay. In fact, he’d rather sit here all evening, enjoying what little time he and Rickie had left. “Why don’t I bring over a couple of hot dogs for us once they’re cooked?”

“That’d be nice. Thanks.” She made a little hole in the sand, one big enough to hold the bottom of her can. Once she set it down, she turned to him and blessed him with a pretty smile. “So what was it like growing up in Wexler?”

“I doubt it was much different from your neck of the woods. I lived on a ranch, though. So I had a lot of chores to do each day, plus a cow to milk and a couple of chickens to feed.”

“That’s cool. I never had any pets.”

Clay wouldn’t call an old milk cow or four harpy hens pets.

“Do you still live in Wexler?” she asked.

“No, after high school I moved on.” He nearly added, to bigger and better things, but there was no reason to share his West Point experience. And his military career was still off the table.

“Do you miss it?” she asked.

“The ranch? No, not at all.” He didn’t consider himself a small-town boy anymore. He was a soldier now. And Army proud.

“When I was in high school, I lived on a quiet street in Jeffersville,” she said. “The houses were all two-story and pretty similar, except we were the only ones who had a pool in our backyard. Actually, I guess I still have one.”

The comment struck him as a little odd. “So you live with your parents?”

“No, they both passed away recently. In a car accident. So the house belongs to me now.”

“I’m sorry. That must have been tough.”

She shrugged. “It was, but I’m dealing with it.”

He was about to say something, but the shadow that touched her gaze passed faster than a ghost, so he let it go at that. He didn’t want to stir up any sad memories for her.

Apparently, she didn’t want to dwell on them, either, because, after a couple of beats, she asked, “Does your family still live on that ranch?”

“My mom does. My dad died when I was young. When I was a teenager, she and I moved in with my paternal grandfather and my step-grandmother.”

Rickie turned toward him, her knee drawn up and bent, her hands clasped around her shin. “Tell me about her.”

“Who? My mom?” He hadn’t seen that coming.

“Yes, I’m curious about her. My real mother died when I was really young, so I never had the chance to know her.”

“I thought you said your parents died recently.”

“They did. I was orphaned the first time when I was eight and then adopted when I was nine.” She cast a glance his way. When their eyes met, she seemed to reel him into her story. Into her life. “My adoptive mother was good to me, but she wasn’t very maternal. At least, not the way I imagined a mom should be. Know what I mean?”

Not really. But he nodded just the same.

“I’m not complaining. It’s just that I had a super-cool foster mom once.” She seemed to brighten from the memory, rebounding easily, which was a relief. Clay didn’t like the sad, pensive look that had touched her expression a few moments ago.

Hoping to prolong the happier thoughts, he asked, “What was cool about her?”

“Pretty much everything.” Rickie’s smile deepened, her mood transformed. “Her name was Mama Kate—at least, that’s what we called her. I have no idea how old she was. Probably in her sixties. She was heavyset with an easy laugh and a loving heart. She never turned down a kid needing placement, so her house was packed with children. Yet she always found special time for each of us. And she was a whiz in the kitchen. She made the best meals—healthy and tasty at the same time. And her cookie jar was always full.”

Clay’s mom was a good cook, too, although she didn’t do much baking anymore. At least, he didn’t think she did. It had been a long time since he’d seen her face-to-face. They talked on the phone, of course. Usually on Sundays. But he didn’t go home too often. Just for Christmas—and only if he wasn’t deployed or stationed too far away.

“How long did you get to live with Mama Kate?” he asked.

“Not long enough.”

She didn’t explain, but Clay sensed a sadness about her. Without a conscious thought, he reached out and placed his hand on her bent knee, offering his comfort and support. Or maybe he just wanted an opportunity to touch her.

“It sounds like Mama Kate set a good example for you,” he said.

Rickie smiled, and this time, when their eyes met, something warm surged between them. If he didn’t know better, he’d think they’d made some kind of emotional connection, one that might linger indefinitely. But they really hadn’t. How could they? They’d just met. And they’d never see each other again.

Yet the longer they sat in the soft glow emanating from the porch lights, the more surreal the evening seemed. Sure, Rickie was just as pretty, just as sexy as ever, but there was so much more to her. And if she lived around here...

But she didn’t.

Reluctantly, he removed his hand from her knee. “I grew up without a father, but my granddad tried to set a pretty good example for me. He was tough as nails, but he also had a soft side.”

Again, she smiled. “So you grew up with a lot of love.”

“Too much at times.”

Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“My mom was one of those helicopter parents. She hovered over me, hell-bent on keeping me safe, close to home and under her wing.”

At that, Rickie drew up both knees. Her smile deepened, sparking something in her pretty brown eyes. It felt pretty damn good to think that he’d done or said something that had caused her pleasure. But for some reason, he didn’t want her to get the wrong idea about him or his mother.

“You might think that’s cool,” he said, “but you have no idea how tough it was to live with a mom like mine. Our relationship was pretty strained most of the time, which caused me to rebel every chance I got.”

Rickie cocked her head to the side, causing her curls to tumble over her shoulder. He was tempted to reach out, to touch them, to see if they were just as soft as they looked. But this time, he kept his hand to himself.

“In what ways did you rebel?” she asked.

He thought for a moment, wanting to choose the right example to share. For some dumb reason, he didn’t want to tell her about the time he and Duck got caught drinking Granddad’s Jack Daniel’s behind the barn. Or when he and Poncho lit up cigars in the old lot near the ball field and set the dried grass on fire.

“When I was just a little kid,” he said, “maybe four or five years old, my grandparents came to visit. It was right before Halloween, and Granddad’s wife made me a purple superhero cape to go with my costume. Even days after I’d gone trick-or-treating, I wore that silly thing all the time. And whenever I’d see my mom standing at the kitchen sink and gazing out the window, I’d climb one of the nearby trees and jump out of it. I knew I couldn’t really fly, but I’d pretend to. And my mom would really freak out.”

“Surely you don’t blame her for doing that. You could have broken your neck.”

“Yeah, I know. But she used to hit the roof about a lot of things. And the older I got, the more protective she seemed to get. I can’t tell you how many camping trips I missed because she couldn’t go and didn’t want to let me out of her sight.” Clay took a sip of his cola, wishing he’d gotten another beer instead.

“I’m surprised she let you play football,” Rickie said.

He laughed. “I grew up in Texas. We love high school football.”

“You’re damn straight,” Rickie said. “Friday Night Lights and all of that. Did your mom go to your games?”

“Hell, she sat in the front row for every single one. And once, when I was sacked especially hard, she ran out on the field to make sure I was okay. The coach had to tell her to back off and return to the bleachers.”

Again there went that pretty, heart-strumming smile that lit her honey-colored eyes. “Your poor mom.”

“Maybe so. But she would have been better off having a girl.” One like Rickie, who would have enjoyed baking cookies with her or sitting in a cozy chair reading storybooks. A girly-girl who wouldn’t mind sticking around the house all day instead of messing around with the guys and getting ready to jump on any wild-ass idea that Clay or his friends thought would be fun and exciting.

“Hey, Bullet!”

At the sound of Poncho’s voice, Clay looked over his shoulder to see his buddy manning the grill. The ladies had moved over to the grassy area, too. And from the looks of it, the evening’s festivities had begun.

“The hot dogs are just about ready,” Poncho called out. “Come and get ’em.”

“I’ll bring a couple of plates back for us,” Clay told Rickie.

When he returned, one plate was loaded with hot dogs. The other held a couple of paper cups filled with condiments.

“Oh my gosh.” Rickie laughed. “Who do you expect to eat all of that?”

He shrugged. “I thought you’d want more than one.”

“No, I’m not very hungry—or a big fan of food that comes wrapped in a bun.”

He handed her the empty plate. She took it, then reached for a hot dog from the stack. When he sat beside her, this time sitting on the edge of her towel, he asked, “So what kind of food do you like?”

“Anything served in a tortilla.”

“Tacos and burritos, huh? I like Mexican food, too.” Clay reached for a hot dog, just as Duck turned up his iPod, which he’d programmed with all his favorite country-western tunes.

“Ooh,” Rickie said. “I love Toby Keith.”

“Me, too. Apparently we have a lot in common.”

“We do?”

Clay nodded. “We both grew up in small Texas towns. And we like football, Mexican food and country-western music.”

“That’s true,” she said.

Rickie was a girl after his own heart—at least for the rest of the weekend. He was batting a thousand when it came to finding things to like and admire about a woman he wasn’t ever going to see again.

Yet that didn’t matter. Not on a night like this. Maybe it was the tropical breeze, the moonlight glistening on the water or the soft sounds of a sultry ballad that played in the background.

Hell, maybe it was her. Or just him.

Whatever it was, the air was filled with sexual promise.

A glance at his buddies proved that. They’d already formed couples.

Had Rickie noticed? Was she feeling it, too?

As another tune began to play, something alluring and suggestive, Clay cut a glance at Rickie and tried to read her mood. She was still seated, but she’d closed her eyes and was gently swaying to the music.

Clay got to his feet, and when she looked up at him, he held out his hand. “Dance with me.”

Her lips parted, and for a moment, he thought she was going to decline. But she surprised him by slipping her hand in his and letting him draw her to her feet, away from the light—and the others.

* * *

Clay couldn’t believe his luck. He’d wanted to get his hands on Rickie ever since he first laid eyes on her, and now he was dancing with her in the sand.

She felt so good in his arms. Their swimsuits left little to the imagination and didn’t provide much of a barrier, so he held her skin to skin.

The coconut scent of her sunblock mingled with the tropical fragrance of her shampoo, something floral. It was an interesting combination. And intoxicating.

Her breasts, soft and full, pressed against his chest, and her cheek rested on his shoulder. But they weren’t just swaying to the music, lulled by the beat. There was a lot more than that going on. Pheromones filled the night air, and his hormones were pumped and at the ready.

He ran his hands along her back and over the tiny bow she’d tied to hold her bikini top in place. It wouldn’t take much to remove it. Just a little tug on one of the strings.

It might be a tempting thought, but it wasn’t one he’d put into action. Instead, he continued to caress her sun-kissed skin until he came dangerously close to the small piece of red fabric that barely covered her lovely backside. It took all he had to refrain from moving lower, from stroking her...

Watch yourself, man. Don’t ruin the moment.

He wished it would last forever, but it wouldn’t. Minutes from now, the last chords of this song would fade. Then they’d return to where they’d been sitting in the sand. Or maybe Rickie would say good-night and leave him out here alone.

If that happened, he’d deal with it. Like they said, all good things must come to an end.

And then they did. All too quickly. The music that followed the love song had a lively beat, one that lent itself to a Texas two-step. Something better suited for a crowded dance floor on a rip-roaring Saturday night than a moonlit tropical beach.

Rickie was the first to draw away, breaking their embrace and dashing the romantic mood—until Clay took a close look at her face in the soft amber glow of a distant porch light.

When she looked up at him and smiled, his body hardened with desire for her, and he damn near stopped breathing.

“What do you think?” she asked. “Should we take this inside?”

“Good idea.”

Granted, she might only be suggesting that they go indoors, turn on her favorite playlist and dance in private, but right now, with his hormones raging, he’d follow her anywhere.

She took him by the hand, led him across the grass and to the front of the bungalow. After opening the door, she stepped inside and flipped on the light switch. He followed her in.

He still wasn’t sure what she had in mind until she crossed the room, headed for the sliding glass door that provided a beach view and drew the shutters, securing their privacy.

Apparently, they were both on the same page. He scanned the single room that provided a sitting area, a kitchen and a double bed. It was small, but nice. Clean and cozy.

He took a moment to check out the simple island decor, the framed surf posters, a watercolor of a sailboat on the high seas, a display of conch shells on a shelf near the wall-mounted television.

“This place is pretty small,” Rickie said, “but big enough for me.”

She’d implied earlier that someone might join her here. He suspected she hadn’t wanted him to think she was all alone. But apparently, she felt comfortable with him now.

She closed the distance between them and studied his face, his mouth. She lifted her index finger and wiggled it at him. “You have a smidge of mustard on your lip. Do you mind if I...?”

He probably ought to be embarrassed and swipe his hand across his face to remove any smears or brush off a lingering crumb, but he longed for her to touch him. “Go ahead.”

She placed her finger against the side of his mouth and gave it a little rub. If he had anything there, it wasn’t much.

As her hand lowered, he reached for her wrist and held it firm. “I’m not sure where this is heading, Rickie, but I know where I’d like it to go.”

She gazed at him for a couple of beats before tossing him a breezy smile. “Looks like we’re both in agreement.”

He could have swept her into his arms right then and there, but it wasn’t that easy. He released her wrist. “There’s only one problem. I don’t have any condoms.”

She bit down on her bottom lip and furrowed her brow, apparently stymied by their dilemma.

He supposed they could walk into town and look for a drugstore. But that was going to put a big damper on the mood.

Suddenly, she brightened. “I just remembered. I have one in my overnight bag.”

“Then we’re in luck.” And not just because of the condom. Rickie was a sexy little package, and he was glad she was prepared.

“I’ve had it for a while,” she confessed. “I don’t make a habit of inviting men home.”

He believed her. And somehow that made tonight even more special. He opened his arms, and she stepped into his embrace. As she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed their nearly naked bodies together, he cupped her jaw and drew her lips to his.

The kiss began sweet, but within a heartbeat, it deepened. She opened her mouth, allowing his tongue to mate with hers, dipping, twisting and tasting as if they were so hungry they’d never get their fill.

He let his hands slip along her neck, to her shoulders and down to her waist, where he stroked her skin and explored her curves. When he reached her breast, his thumb skimmed against the red fabric, across a taut nipple, and her breath caught. A surge of desire shot right through him. With one hand still kneading her breast, he used the other to reach around to her backside, cup her bottom and pull her close, against his erection.

She pressed back, rubbing against him and heightening his arousal until he was tempted to lift her into his arms and carry her to bed. But before he had the chance, she ended the kiss.

“I’d better go find my tote bag. We’re going to need that condom.” She strode across the room and to the sofa, where a blue canvas bag rested, and reached inside. Moments later, she turned to him with a smile, holding the small packet like a prize. “Got it!”

Silently thanking whatever island god was looking out for them, he took her by the hand and led her to the bed. She placed the condom on the small nightstand. Then she reached behind her back, removed her skimpy bikini top and dropped it to the floor. As she peeled off the tiny bottom piece, his gaze never left her.

If he’d thought she was gorgeous before, he found her flat-out breathtaking now, standing before him in all her naked glory. Feminine perfection at its finest. And tonight, she was his.

Following her lead, he slipped off his board shorts, then joined her on the double bed and eased toward her, determined to please her and to make sure she wouldn’t have any regrets in the morning. He sure as hell wouldn’t. Not when their chemistry was off the charts.

She reached for the packet and handed it to him. He tore it open. Once he’d protected them both, she reached for his erection, opened for him and guided him home.

Okay, not home. That sounded too permanent, too lasting. This was a temporary relationship, a fling, one that was as short-term as a beachfront vacation rental. Here today, gone tomorrow.

He shook off the stray thought as he entered her. As he thrust deep, her body responded to his. She arched up, matching the tempo, creating their own.

As she reached a peak, she cried out and let go. He shuddered, releasing with her in a sexual explosion, their very own display of fireworks. He almost wished the rush could last forever—

No, not forever. This was just a one-night deal—or, hopefully, two. He’d have to make a drugstore run first thing in the morning and purchase a box of condoms. They’d never have the time to use them all before they said goodbye on Sunday morning and went their own ways. But after what they’d just shared, he suspected they’d need quite a few.