Free Letters from Home (Entangled Flirts) by Bethanne Strasser Page B

didn’t care how silly it seemed now. She wasn’t going to force his hand.
    Lena took a step back, but she came up short against the counter top. “Oops.”
    Zack stopped and wrapped his hands around her small waist. He felt the soft flesh under his hands and ached. “Been a crazy week, hasn’t it?”
    “Mmm,” she murmured, gazing into his eyes with an openness about to bring him to his knees. “Thank you, by the way.”
    He frowned. “For what?”
    She shrugged. “I don’t know yet.” Then she leaned in, pressing her lips softly to his. Her arms circled him, warming him with her embrace. He let her lead, and she took him down the road of no return, coaxing his mouth open with the wet glide of her tongue.
    He drew her closer with trembling hands. Every perfect curve molded against him. His hands explored her rib cage, and he found the underside of her breasts with his thumbs. He softened his touch, caressing her as the kiss went deeper and deeper. The taste of her drove him on until he had to break free in order to breathe.
    “Lena,” he whispered, tracing small kisses over her lips, her cheek, and down her neck. The need for her grew, every muscle tensed with the passion of her touch. He lifted her and set her on the counter at her back.
    With the last thread of sanity, he held tightly to the edge of the counter and stepped back—taking the space he needed. He was already out of breath, already so far gone. He looked into her eyes and saw the same frantic desire mirrored there.
    She placed her hands gently against his skin and ran cool, competent fingers over his forearms, the touch sending shivers through him.
    “I never needed anyone like I need you,” he admitted.
    “How did this happen?”
    He laughed. “Is it so bad that we want each other?”
    Slowly, she shook her head. “No. I never thought I had a chance with you, Zack. I—”
    “What?”
    “Did you write those letters?”
    He shrugged, pulled the pins from her hair, and his breath caught in his throat as it spilled over his hands and covered her shoulders. He drove his hands through the thick, silky length. “I could tell you, but—”
    “Then you’d have to kill me?”
    He left more kisses from her ear to her shoulder. She didn’t object, merely tilted her head to one side to give him better access.
    “Something like that.”
    On her shoulder was a scar the size of a nickel. He placed his lips over it, remembering the call he’d gotten a month after she’d left. There had been an attack. She’d been struck by flying shrapnel. Even worse, she’d lost a patient, and the guilt of losing someone always cut deep.
    His raging need for her eased, transforming into a profound depth of…hell, he didn’t even know what. She could have died. He thought back to what his father had said.
    When he took her face in his hands, she covered the scar. “It’s so ugly. I was somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be. It was dumb. An uncooperative private wouldn’t stay in recovery. Kept trying to get back out. Sergeant Podolski was supposed to go get him, and then the attack happened. Everyone, defending our position, moving patients to the bunker below us.”
    He let her talk. She probably hadn’t had a chance.
    “I went after the private. He was out back, smoking, during the raid.” She shook her head with a laugh. “There was so much morphine in his system, he probably had no idea there was a raid going on. It only lasted ten, maybe twelve minutes. But Podolski was hit, and I—”
    “No. No guilt in living.”
    And he kissed her, brought life back to the desire by melding his lips to hers. Heartbeats pounded into each other as he held her as close as possible. She hooked her feet behind his back, and their tongues met. He tasted her and was consumed.
    Her hands tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling it from his waistband, and then they were on him, and oh, my God. She trailed those delicate fingers over his skin. He dragged her with him, back