Not Another Soldier by Samantha Holt Page B

Nick started stripping off my clothes and Rob
said he could have me.
    I rub my eyes, my head thick from not enough sleep and
grimace as I sit up and glance at my clock.  I’ve only slept for a few
hours. My skull pounds a little and the need for coffee forces me out of bed
and into the bathroom to change. I choose what to wear carefully, wondering how
Nick will view me in my worn jeans and tank top.
    He said he wanted a girl who looked incredible in
scruffy jeans, I remind myself. I push the thought away. So what? I need to
clean up today so it’s not like I can wear my best clothes and they’re hardly
revealing.
    I run a brush through my hair and dab on a little
powder, especially under my eyes where the bags are starting to show. Then I do
my mascara, pop on some lip balm and put my hair up into a high ponytail.
    I glance in the mirror. Cute, I guess. Nothing to go
crazy over though I do clean up nicely when I put the effort in. I definitely
don’t understand what inspires those looks from Nick though.
    Deliberately opening the door slowly, I peer out. He’s
not in the kitchen but it’s early and we had a real late night. I tiptoe into
the living room and see him sprawled across the couch. Smothering a laugh, I
admire him. Yes, I admit it. Admire him. One leg is almost on the floor,
the other hangs off the end of the seat. An arm rests across his chest while
the other is above his head. Weirdly his hands attract my attention. I recall
how warm and strong they were when he held my hand. And how rough and sensual
they were against my skin.
    His T-shirt rides high, giving me a peek at the taut,
tanned skin below and the line of dark blond hair. Tingles race down to my
fingertips and I have to curl my hand to resist tracing the line. Or maybe even
tasting it.
    I step forward and release a screech as a sharp pain
pierces the sole of my foot. Nick is up and has his arms around me within
seconds while I hop up and down.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “My foot… Shit. Ow. I think I’ve stepped on
something.”
    He looks around. “Yeah, probably a piece of your vase.
What were you thinking walking around barefoot?”
    “I wasn’t thinking! I forgot, okay?”
    With a muttered curse, he scoops me up and sits me on
the couch.
    “ You’ve got bare feet,” I mutter accusingly as
he drops down next to me and coaxes my foot into his lap.
    “Well, my feet are a lot tougher than yours.”
    I raise an eyebrow at him but he ignores me. Sounds
like some manly rubbish to me. I squeak as he probes my foot. “I bet you’d
scream too.”
    His teeth flash and he gives my foot a rub. “No blood.
I think you’ll live.”
    “Gee, thanks, Doctor Jackson.”
    He stands, steps gingerly over the vase shards and
points at me. “Don’t move. Do you have something you can put on your feet?”
    “Yeah, my shoes are in the bottom of my closet.”
    He disappears into my bedroom and I take a moment to
study my foot. He’s right. No damage really. It still hurts though. I wrap my
arms around my legs and wait for him to return. I can’t believe I got caught
watching him. Hopefully he didn’t realize I’d been standing there long.
    Nick returns holding up a pair of sneakers.
    “What? No heels?”
    “I was trying to be practical,” he says with a grin as
he hands them to me and I slip them on.
    “Well, thanks.”
    “Though there’s a hot little red pair I’ve taken a
liking to.”
    “Well go ahead, though you might have trouble
squeezing your big feet into them.”
    He chuckles. “I meant I’d like to see them on you.”
    “Yeah, well those are one of those pairs you buy and
they just sit there and look pretty. I doubt I’ll ever get the chance to wear
them.”
    “Babe, I’d do anything to give you the chance to wear
them. Your legs in those heels…” He groans and I flush.
    The banter is gone again and we’re serious once more.
His gaze is determined and I fidget before getting up from the couch. Does he
say these things on