Gwyn yanked her hand back as if she’d touched a hot stove. “You killed your mother? I’m sure I don’t understand.” Although her adrenaline had already sped to battle stations, she counterattacked with stoicism, refusing to surrender to Adam’s obvious need to shock her. There had to be a simple explanation. Please.
“She died giving birth to me. So, yeah, I killed her.”
Gwyn reached for his hand again, but he pulled away. “Oh, Adam. I’m sorry to hear that, but it doesn’t mean you killed her.”
Adam stared at a spot in the distance, as if assessing the liquor bottles over the bar. “Try telling that to my dad.”
Gwyn’s mouth dropped open. “Your father blames you for your mother’s death?”
“Pretty much. When I was six, he dropped my older sister and me off at our grandma’s and took off for parts unknown. Came to visit a couple times a year for a while.” Adam poured himself another beer, then pushed it away. “Get him drunk enough and he’ll tell you how I ruined his life.”
“That’s appalling, but it’s certainly not your fault. Why, the man ought to be horsewhipped for accusing a child of something like that?”
A smile tugged at Adam’s lips. What in the world did he find humorous about this conversation?
“Horsewhipped?”
“At the very least. Possibly drawn and quartered.” Gwyn liked that she could make him smile, regardless of the conversation.
“Look, I don’t want to talk about it, okay? I already said too much. And don’t ever tell me you feel sorry for me, alright? I don’t want your pity.”
Gwyn pegged him with her eyes. “Then perhaps you ought not play the ‘Poor-little-me-I’m-Adam-Connor-and-I-killed-my-mum’ card.”
Now it was Adam’s turn to look stunned. “You cut right to the chase, don’t you?”
“Did you think you’d shock me, Adam? Please know I don’t tolerate bullshit very well.”
“Whoa. I share that I grew up without a mother and you call it BS? Most women play their sympathy card at this point in the game.”
“I’m not most women, in case you hadn’t noticed. And this is not a game. It’s your life.”
Adam grinned and pointed his finger at her. “I like you, Gwyn Pritchard.” He shook his head in disbelief. “And here I thought I held the market on what-you-see-is-what-you-get. But I believe I’ve just been trumped by Lieutenant Gwyn ‘Take No Prisoners’ Pritchard.”
“I grew up in the midst of drama spinning around me like whirling dervishes. Between my mum responding to psychic emergencies and her clients—half of whom were nuttier than Christmas fruitcakes—there was always a bloody fire to put out. I tired of it. I’ve come halfway ’round the world to escape it. So if you feel the need to evoke my sympathy, please, Gunnery Sergeant, find yourself another dance partner.”
“You got it, ma’am.” Was that respect she saw shining in his eyes—or merely mirth?
“So, you’re able to get sympathy from most women. And that would be their ticket into your bed?”
Now he full out laughed, looked all around them, spread his arms, and laughed again. “You know about any women in my bed I might have missed? I live in a fifty-cubic-foot space in troop berthing aboard an amphibious assault ship. Women wouldn’t fit in my bed even if they were falling over each other to get there.”
She was glad to see a smile lighting his face—considering the solemnity of the topic they’d discussed just moments ago. “That’s not what I heard.”
“All scuttlebutt, ma’am.”
“So you’re the only member of ‘Sergeant Connor’s Lonely Hearts Club Band?’”
“I do get by with a little help from my friends, but none of them are girlfriends.” There was his cockeyed grin again. “By the way, I heard what Commander Smith revealed to you yesterday in the gym. Warning you to keep a wide berth around ‘Bad Boy’ Gunny Connor.”
Gwyn felt her color rise. “Surely you don’t mean the part about—?”
“Talking women out of their knickers?”
“Blimey,” Gwyn muttered as she lifted her beer to her lips, barely able to sip it through her smile. She raised the cool glass to her heated forehead. “I am duly embarrassed. But I must ask. Where were you when we were chatting? We thought you were in your office.”
“I’m a Marine.”
Gwyn laughed in spite of herself. She nodded toward the left side of Adam’s face. “So I suppose you know I’m privy to your experience in Afghanistan as well?”
“Yes, ma’am. I appreciate you not staring.”
“People do that because you wear your scars like badges of honor. Which they should be. You earned every one. But then you shouldn’t be put off when people give you a lookover.”
Both sides of his mouth tilted up. “A lookover?”
“It’s the proverbial elephant in the room, Adam. Your scars are there, but no one wants to talk about them. I say if you wish to brandish your scars to the public, then don’t be defensive about the attention they garner. I believe you’re looking for that attention.”
“Have you ever thought of becoming a shrink, Lieutenant?”
Gwyn suppressed a lovesick sigh. What a handsome man Adam Connor was when that crooked smile lit his face. “I fix engines, Adam. Not people.”
“Well, I think you’d make a good one. You get right to the point.”
“I’m glad you admire it, Adam, because most people don’t. The vast majority bind up their wounds so tightly they don’t even know they exist. They certainly don’t want someone coming along willy-nilly and pointing out their festering sore spots. I probably would not have the patience for people to figure out their own problems. But if you should ever desire the services of a very patient healer, I have the name of a wise woman in Wales who—I’ve heard—can heal anyone.”
“Except her daughter?”
“Touché.” Gwyn turned to no one in particular and announced, “Point goes to Gunnery Sergeant Adam Connor. And that will make it game, point, and match.” She raised his arm to the sky. “And the gunny is declared the winner of tonight’s round.”
Then she seemed to deflate. “Honestly, Adam, I’m about to fall on my face. I’ve had six hours of bad sleep in the past forty-eight hours, and a day filled with ghosts and an evening filled with beer and banter—delightfully so, I might add—but I must get some sleep.”
He rose and took her hand, helping her from the booth. “Sorry, but I owe you for the therapy session. How about one last dance? Come on, it’s a slow one. You can sleep on my shoulder and I’ll sway to the music.”
“No, Adam, I owe you.” Gwyn placed her hands on his cheeks—both of his cheeks—ensuring he would look her in the eye as she thanked him, and letting him know she was not afraid of his scars. “Thank you for keeping my secret and letting me know I’ve a true ally on board. Someone I can trust. You gave me a clean bill of mental health today and something even more important. Your friendship.”
* * *
Friendship was the last thing on Adam Connor’s mind when he led Gwyn to the dance floor and folded her into his arms. He hoped her state of relaxation was due to her comfort level and not from lack of sleep, but he was probably humoring himself. What did he have to offer this woman who was out of his league? Oh, that’s right. She wanted his friendship.
How could he possibly feel this comfortable with her? He didn’t believe in soul mates, but here he was telling her his darkest secrets. Well, some of them. And now he was holding on to her like he never wanted to let go. What was up with that?
He nestled the top of her head under his cheek and stroked her hair before his hand returned to her back, pulling her close. He felt the vibration of a moan in her chest and sensed her utter relaxation. Aw, she was probably drifting toward asleep and the moan slipped out. But she wasn’t afraid of him or his scars—external or internal. She’d touched him. Stroked his face with disarming tenderness.
He wanted to laugh all over again at the rumors of his philandering on board ship when he hadn’t been with a woman in over two years. Not since the explosion that had changed his life. He nuzzled Gwyn’s temple and breathed in her scent to banish the images that threatened to worm their way into his consciousness. Surely he could tuck those horrors away until bedtime when they were certain to rear their ugly heads. No way was he ever going to sleep with a woman again and take the chance of those nightmares scaring some sweet young thing away. Hell, they practically scared him away.
But for the moment he had a soft, tender, and sweet-smelling woman in his arms, for the first time in a very long time. And he was going to enjoy every moment of how damn good it felt to hold someone close. He hadn’t touched another human being except as a physical trainer in the past year. And only on the receiving end of physical therapy the year before that.
So this? This was heaven. Holding Gwyn in his arms and swaying to the strains of “May I Have This Dance For The Rest of My Life?”
Right. Fat chance of that ever happening for Adam Connor.
Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe that’s why, when the song ended and Gwyn tipped her head back, he leaned down and kissed her. It was the gentlest, most tender kiss he’d ever bestowed on a woman. A mere brush of his lips, but enough for her to respond.
First to kiss him back and then to murmur, “That wasn’t wise.”
“I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not,” he whispered against her lips, so close he inhaled her sweet exhalation.
“I’m not either, but it still wasn’t wise.” Her eyes remained closed as if she was asleep on her feet, but for the smile on her face.
He buried his nose in her hair. She smelled like lemons and sunshine, with a touch of diesel fuel. He’d only dated civilians so this was new to him, this eau de ship, but he kind of liked the kindred spirit because he was certain his hair would smell the same—what little of it he had with his Marine cut. Hell, he had no business thinking about them smelling each other’s hair.
Adam turned her and slung his arm around her shoulder. “Come on. I’ll take you home. It’s time for bed.”
Gwyn opened her eyes and gave him an angelic smile. “And that would be even more unwise.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“It’s alright. I didn’t think you did. Thanks for the dance, Adam. And thank you for the lovely evening. I’m sorry I’m such a sleepy companion.”
“But now you can deploy knowing you’ve been cleared on the two-step. And come on, confess. You didn’t hear anything tinny or twangy, did you, ma’am?
“You are correct, Adam,” she said with the smallest curve of her lips. “But just so you know, in my country it’s illegal to kiss a woman and then call her ‘ma’am.’”
* * *
They rode home in relative silence, Gwyn’s head against the headrest, eyes closed, although she was not asleep. Strains of slow country music filled the cab of Adam’s truck—while strains of Adam’s kiss played across Gwyn’s lips. She had run clear across the ocean to get away from Simon and in less than forty-eight hours she’d already kissed a man. Cripes, she was a naval engineer, dedicated to her profession, not some hot, little street tart cruising for men.
And Adam—despite all the rumors—was a very nice bloke. But for God’s sake, he was a Non-commissioned officer. An NCO. An enlisted man. A lad. And she was not going to embarrass herself or her country on this job. Not only did she not need to get involved with the gunny, she didn’t need to get involved with any man during this tour.
Then why was she all hot and bothered over a breath of a kiss? Because it had come from Gunnery Sergeant Muscles and it appeared he was not the heartbreaker he was purported to be. He was a considerate man who had taken the time to ensure she was alright because—good God—she was seeing ghosts. He had every right to laugh at her, let alone take advantage of her, but instead he had behaved like a perfect gentleman.
“My mum gave me some advice this morning.”
“What was that?” He smiled at her before his eyes returned to the road.
She’d been surprised when he’d donned spectacles earlier for driving, but even glasses didn’t detract from his handsome face. Blimey, but these American men were hot. She’d never expected to find a large, black truck manly, but she liked the way he drove with his left wrist draped over the steering wheel. It might not be the safest way to drive, but she sure found it sexy.
“She told me to try to chat with the ghosts. Apparently most spirits don’t speak or communicate in any way. They’re just there. But I certainly wasn’t going to try to talk to them on my first day on the job. Could you picture my boss’s face if I’d started talking to the air?”
“I’m sure you’ll know when the time is right to approach them. And you’ll know which one and what to say.”
Gwyn turned to him. “One of them acknowledged me yesterday.”
“Really?” he said, turning to her before looking back at the road.
“It was an elderly woman. In a red jogging suit and trainers.”
“Trainers?” The corner of Adam’s mouth tipped up in a smile.
“I believe you call them sneakers. Perhaps she’d been on one of the planes? Surely they’d be comfortable to travel in. I doubt she worked at the World Trade Center at her age. Particularly dressed like that. Anyway, she passed me on my tour of the ship yesterday. Then she turned around to look at me. I felt she looked only at me. Not Commander Smith or her children; only me. She looked me right in the eye and flashed a smile.”
Adam focused on the road. “And what did you do?”
“I kind of waved at her. Just a little wave to acknowledge her smile, because remember at that point I wasn’t sure if they were tourists or what have you.”
A grin lit Adam’s face as he drove. “Do they look like real people or are they, like, see-through? You know, ghostly?”
“They look so real I mistook them for civilians on a tour of the ship. That’s why I couldn’t understand why the crew didn’t see them yesterday. They must have thought I was daft when I kept asking about the civilians on board and whether or not the sailors brought their families to visit on the weekends.”
Adam turned to her with a twinkle in his eye—as best as she could tell by streetlight. He had the look of a schoolboy about to ask a naughty question. “Do they walk through the bulkheads or use the doors?”
A giggle bubbled out of her. “I don’t know. Just because I saw them stay to the passageways and use the doorways, doesn’t mean they can’t walk through bulkheads. But I will be on the lookout now to see if they step over the raised watertight doorways or are able to sail right on through. Which makes me wonder if they ever smack their shins on the knee-knockers, the way we do. Thanks for giving me more than I cared to think about.”
“Well, like I said, I think you’ll know when to communicate with them. In the meantime I think you’re smart to do what you did today. Co-exist for a little while. And watch your shipmates to determine if they’re seeing them, too.”
Adam pulled the truck up to the front gate at Naval Station Mayport and showed their ID cards. The gate guard waved them through. “Look, Gwyn. I know you’ve got a lot going on, what with the new job and them, but if you need anything, don’t hesitate to come down to the gym and find me. Like I said, I’m going to get pretty busy after we pick up the Marines, but I’ll try to be available if you want to talk. I wouldn’t email because it’s screened. One, I wouldn’t want them knowing about your…uh…gift. And two, I don’t want you to get in trouble for fraternizing with an enlisted guy.”
“A lad.”
“What?”
“We call the enlisted men on board our ships ‘lads.’”
“I thought a lad was a kid, like a teenager.”
“Well, originally that was true on our warships. Now they’re the enlisted men. So that makes you a lad. Even at what? Six-foot-two and fourteen stone?”
“Okay, honey. Now you’ve lost me.”
“Your weight. I’m guessing is about two hundred pounds.”
“You got it,” he said as he pulled up behind the bus shell and parked. “I’m going to let you off here. I wouldn’t want to tarnish your sterling reputation. But know I’m watching until you’re safely aboard.”
“But dropping me here will do nothing for your reputation, Adam.”
They both laughed, but the smile faded from his face. “I had a good time tonight. Thanks for—”
She leaned in and kissed him. Just a short, quick peck on the lips. But he reached around and cradled her head to keep her there. Then he possessed her mouth. And she let him. Her hands caressed his face, her thumb tracing down the scars on his cheek. He deepened the kiss, but she pulled away and he let her go, a hitch to his breath.
“I must go.” Gwyn reached for the door handle, but turned back before exiting. “Thanks, Adam, for helping me slay the dragons today.”
As tired as she felt, Gwyn hummed a song from the evening as she made her way up the brow and floated to her cabin. She had no business getting all dewy-eyed over a lad, but she felt a darn sight better than she had twenty-four hours earlier. And, although she’d need to tone things down with the gunny, she was glad she’d found a friend before the long cruise began. Allies, as it were. They’d both shared confidences and she could turn to him if things with the ghosts became too dicey.
Gwyn opened her cabin door, then came to full, abrupt attention. Because there sat the old woman in the red jogging suit.
“Hullo, love. Did you have a pleasant evening with Gunnery Sergeant Connor?”