Because of You: A Loveswept Contemporary Military Romance (31 page)

“You shouldn’t have spent so much of your back pay on it,” Jen said with a warm smile. She’d protested when he’d bought it for her. But once she’d seen how important it was to him that she wear it, she hadn’t protested again. “What’s Carponti doing now?”

“He’s being a pain in the ass with his prosthetic arm. Do you know what he did in the latrine the other day with that thing?”

Jen closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of his arms around her. But she knew her next words would destroy the peace and quiet enveloping them. “I’m thinking about having reconstructive surgery,” she said in a small voice.

His arms tightened around her before he turned her to face him. He tugged her to him and walked backward toward the bed—the bed in their room, upstairs. He sat and pulled her between his legs. He rested his hands against her lower back and placed his
cheek against her chest where her breast had once been.

“I don’t like the idea of you having any surgeries,” he whispered. His grey eyes glittered darkly. His words and actions surprised her. He cupped her cheeks and pulled her lips down to his. “And the scar doesn’t bother me. It’s a reminder of something that made you stronger. Because of you, I’m stronger.”

His words wrapped around her and held her close. She closed her eyes and lost herself in their kiss, still stunned that she’d found someone who had drowned out the little voice in her head. Someone who loved her. Just her.

Scars and all.

The sheer length of time it took from the first words of this book to now makes it nearly impossible to thank everyone who had a part. Please forgive me if you’re not listed here. But in no particular order here goes:

I have to thank Chris Keach for reading the first draft and making me write in complete sentences. Julie Kenner, for talking me down off the ledge more times than I can count and for being there for me during OIF 09-11. The server room gang in OIF 09-11: Rasa, Mayo, Davis, and Vargas: thanks for the laughs. Doc Hepler, thanks for not turning me in to the psych ward when I asked the best way to commit suicide. I told you I was writing a book Jane Perrine, thank you for writing to me almost every week while I was deployed.

To everyone who wrote, emailed, shipped books or school supplies to me while I was deployed, thank you. Books made the year bearable and in some cases worth it.

Candace Irvin, mentor and most important friend, thank you for seeing something in my writing, waaay back at the beginning and kicking me in the pants when I needed
it. I still do. Allison Brennan and Roxanne St. Claire, who both offered amazing publishing advice over the years. Sarah Franz, who edited me on multiple occasions and helped me look like less of a raving lunatic. My mistakes are my own.

Julie Butcher, who helped me get some of the medical stuff right. Elyssa Papa, who told me to submit this book, just one more time. JoAnn Ross, who made my day when she stopped by my blog and who has encouraged me from a distance for years. Cindy Gerard, who was willing to read one of the first versions of this way back when it was still unformed.

My sisters in the Austin RWA and the ROMVETs. Thank you for suffering through my long absences and silence on the loop. I wouldn’t be here if not for your supporting me through the good times and the not-so-good times and suffering through all the newbie questions over the years.

I’d be remiss if I missed the entire team at Ballantine Bantam Dell. My amazing editor, Sue Grimshaw, thank you for taking a chance on a book pitched to you via Twitter. Gina Wachtel, thank you for seeing something in the first draft you read. Angela Polidoro, thank you for bleeding red all over this manuscript and helping make it better. My agent, Richard Curtis, thank you for believing in me, even when I couldn’t sell the book you’d signed me for.

My girls, Tory and Mia, thank you for letting me write and loving me anyway. And mostly, thank you for letting me sleep in on the weekends. Yes, I will get up and make you French toast.

And last but definitely not least, the hero in my life, my husband, who has supported me through four combat deployments. Thank you for loving me, even when I spent more time on the computer than with you some weekends. Yes, you can buy a new bass boat.

There are many old and rickety buildings on Fort Hood, including the setting for my fictitious Warrior Transition Unit barracks. Those buildings exist but haven’t had soldiers living in them in decades. There are no barracks near enough to the hospital to house wounded Warriors, so I hope you’ll forgive a little creative license in putting an old building just across the parking lot.

The people in this book are all works of fiction.

The cadre of doctors and nurses and NCOs and officers who care for our wounded Warriors bear a burden greater than any other, and I am in awe of their sacrifice every single day.

Photo: Courtesy of Buzz Covington Photography

Jessica Scott is a career army officer, mother of two daughters, three cats, and three dogs, wife to a career NCO, and wrangler of all things stuffed and fluffy. She is a terrible cook and even worse housekeeper, but she’s a pretty good shot with her assigned weapon and someone liked some of the stuff she wrote. Somehow, her children are pretty well-adjusted and her husband still loves her, despite burned water and a messy house. No ZhuZhu Pets were harmed in the writing of this book.

Welcome to Loveswept!

There’s so much to enjoy during the holidays, but sometimes it can all be so overwhelming. Escape the madness of the season with Rexanne Becnel’s wonderful novel,
THE ROSE OF BLACKSWORD
. This mesmerizing romance is the perfect holiday treat for yourself and your loved ones.

If you love romance … then you’re ready to be
Loveswept
!

Gina Wachtel

Associate Publisher

P.S. Watch for these terrific Loveswept titles coming soon: In January, we have Deborah Harmse’s irresistible
IN THE ARMS OF THE LAW
, and Jean Stone’s alluring
IVY SECRETS
. Bethany Campbell’s thrilling
SEE HOW THEY RUN
is our February title, along with the second book in Jessica Scott’s dazzling trilogy,
BACK TO YOU
. Don’t miss any of these extraordinary reads. I promise that you’ll fall in love and treasure these stories for years to come.…

Kantalan, Mexico
Summer, A.D. 1517

T
he Sun Child was trembling.

The motion beneath Sayan’s sandals was a mere quivering that vanished almost as it began. She would never have noticed it if her senses had not been tuned to exquisite sensitivity by the knowledge of what was to come.

Her hand tightened on the stem of the silver goblet. She was also trembling. She hadn’t expected to be this afraid. She had thought once she had accepted her fate, she would have the courage to meet it with dignity. After all, it would not be a cruel death. She would drift peacefully to sleep, never to awaken. At least, never to awaken on this plane. There had been something in the flames, a promise.…

She lifted the goblet to her lips and quickly swallowed a large draft of potent maize wine. It was strong and smooth as it slid down her throat, leaving warmth in its wake. She was not quite so cold now, and she would be able to meet her fate as a
clairana
should. She moved slowly to the polished brass mirror affixed to the far wall. The mellow golden circle reflected the scarlet blossoms in the white jade vase on the low table in front of the mirror and beyond it her own image. She had dressed very carefully tonight to forestall this very terror and give her confidence. She wore her favorite ceremonial robe, the cloak of sunrise. A sunburst of fine silk pleats fell from the shoulders of the garment in a cascade of gold and ivory and rose and was fastened at her
throat with a large yellow-diamond clasp whose facets sparkled in the soft candlelight. The ivory silk gown beneath it was a mere slip of material, and it revealed the full thrust of her breasts and the clean line of her thighs. At least she looked like a
clairana
. She mustn’t have these doubts. When the time came she would have the courage she needed. Probably the isolation of the last few days had been more painful than her death would be.

The priests had been very wise in their punishment. They had snatched none of the riches that were the accoutrements of her position from her. They had taken away only their belief in her and the companionship to which a
clairana
was accustomed. She decided it was the terrible loneliness making her so cowardly. Everyone was alone within their soul, but a touch, a word, would have been a comfort as she released her essence to the—

“You look splendid.”

Sayan whirled to face the man standing in the doorway. “No!” she whispered. “I told you to leave. I begged you to leave and you promised you would. Why are you still here, Dalkar?”

“I lied.” He strolled into the chamber, moving with grace and athletic coordination. His sandals made no sound on the marble tiles. His white teeth were gleaming in his bronze face as he smiled at her, and she felt an eddy of warmth cascade through her that was more heady than the strong wine she had just drunk.

He was the one who was splendid. Strong and superbly muscled like a giant jaguar, his dark eyes shining with humor and vitality. He was naked to the waist as was his custom. The single swath of a dark brown leather
chanton
girdled his slim hips, leaving his muscular thighs as naked as his hair-roughened chest. The cords of the sandals that crisscrossed his ankles and lower calves were also leather. A beaten silver necklace imbedded with turquoise encircled his strong brown throat; the center medallion, inscribed
with the cross of the four rivers, hung directly between his breasts. His features were not at all handsome. His nose was too short and blunt and his cheekbones too broad. It made no difference. He drew women to him like the great lodestone in the temple of Ra. He was all male virility and joyous laughter. Sayan had heard the whispers that followed him before he had even approached her, and knew he was not a man she could trust to keep his distance. That, too, had made no difference. His body had seduced her with its strength and heated masculinity, but it was his laughter that had enchanted and won her.

He was laughing now. “You should have known better than to trust me. Any man who would dishonor a
clairana
is capable of any crime.” He picked up the graceful silver pitcher from the black marble table and poured a small amount of wine into a goblet. “I knew you wouldn’t stop arguing unless I told you I’d leave Kantalan.” He lifted the goblet in a toast. “And I had no intention of leaving either you or Kantalan. If you stay, I stay.”