A Marine Affair by Heather Long Page A

out of last year.” Resolute, Rick stripped off his jacket and hung it on the back of a chair. Dressed in civvies, he looked more like a power broker than a naval officer, if one didn’t notice his haircut, his ramrod straight posture, or the deep, stubborn set of his chin. Eli did his best to ignore it, draining half the beer in one, long, ice cold swallow. He looked at the note on the counter.
    Mail service would be re-engaged the following day. His sister had made arrangements for his cable to be turned on the week before, as well as adding a note that he should call her as soon as he settled in. He’d spoken to her the day before, so she could wait.
    The weight of Rick’s stare pressed in on him. “I was finished with it.”
    “You really are a stubborn son of a bitch.” Apparently Rick’s patience had reached its limit.
    “So I’ve been told.” Eli circled around him to sit on the sofa. He could take on the fight, go toe-to-toe with Rick, or he could take a break. He preferred the latter. It had been a hell of a long flight.
    “That’s it? You give up on a decade just like that?” Rick pursued him into the living room. Somewhere between Eli leaving the kitchen and sitting, the man had helped himself to a beer. Dropping into the seat to his left, he set the bottle on the table and leaned forward. “I didn’t think you were such a coward.”
    The corner of Eli’s eye ticked. Rick wielded words like a scalpel. A skilled surgeon, his ex-lover seemed determined to provoke a reaction.
    “For someone who wants a conversation, you seem pretty focused on a fight.” First tactical rule of battle: respond with training, not emotion. He distanced his emotions from the conflict brewing between them.
    “Look, I fucked up. I get that. Now, will you talk to me?”
    Tipping the bottle back, he drained it and set it down on the table. “I said everything I had to say, Rick.”
    “No, you didn’t. You said all of ten words, walked out, and boarded a flight for Djibouti. You hit it and quit it in the same breath.” The slivers of truth in the accusation stung.
    “You chose the terms of that discussion.” Eli selected his words with care. “You decided it was an all-or-nothing conversation. Your needs.Your wants.Your ultimatum. Don’t cry to me because you didn’t like the answer.” I need a shower . Rising, he nodded to the door. “You can let yourself out.”
    Not waiting for a response, he grabbed his bag and headed for the bedroom. A scald-his-skin hot shower was just what he needed. His chest hurt. Seeing Rick delivered a swift kick to the nut sack. They were used to long separations. Their relationship had thrived on weekend assignations and five minutes spent sharing coffee. They could pack a lot of living into those moments between deployments. Having Rick in the apartment— stop drooling and shower . His cock didn’t seem in the mood to listen to reason, semi-stiff since Eli glimpsed Rick, and it thudded against his belly.
    Wanting the man he loved wasn’t a bad thing.
    Unfortunately, Rick made having what they wanted impossible.
    Bastard .
     
    Rick rolled the bottle between his palms and stared at it. Eli’s dismissal cut right to the bone. The man knew exactly where to hit and when to maximize the pain.
    He looks good ….
    Understatement of the year, Eli looked better than good. He’d always been fit and trim, but his year in Africa chiseled away any trace of softness. His tanned skin, crowned by a hint of sun-bleached blond in his normally sandy hair, and a shirt stretched too tightly across well-formed muscles—the desire to embrace him flared through Rick. Years of hit or miss assignations and weekend escapes made the time they spent together valuable, but the last separation hurt worse than the others had.
    Hurt because he wasn’t sure of his reception. He’d debated whether ambushing him at the airport was a good idea, but after months of containing the urge to contact him, Rick