Echoes Page 17

  Aaron gave the dogs a quiet command and immediately they ran back to the guards, returning once more to their guard dog duty.

  Sitting beside him in the work car, Ryan watched the traffic go by as they drove towards the city. They sat in comfortable silence, neither feeling the need to talk or break the silence.

  Pulling up outside Ryan’s house, Aaron kept the engine running and looked at him as he opened the door. “Family barbecue Saturday.”

  It wasn’t the first time his friend had invited him. He’d gone twice, but amongst the happy group, their easy laughter and chatter, he didn’t feel comfortable. Yes, they engaged him in conversation, made him feel welcome, but Ryan had felt like there was a whole ocean between him and them. Sitting there quietly, absorbing the atmosphere, answering in the short way he had when it was obvious the women were trying to engage him in conversation, well… “Thanks, but no.”

  “You know you don’t have to talk, right?”

  Ryan looked at him.

  “Maybe next time.”

  Nothing was going to change.

  A sudden, unexpected quirk appeared at the corner of Aaron’s mouth. “You never know.”

  There went his boss again, doing his ‘freak thing’, as Luke, Aaron’s younger brother, termed it. Normally that amused Ryan because he knew exactly what his boss was doing, knew he did it more around his brother just to freak him out for Aaron’s own perverted amusement, but this time Ryan didn’t have a clue what he meant. For the first time since meeting Aaron, he actually asked, “What?”

  Aaron just smiled faintly.

  What did his boss know?

  “See you back in the office in four days.” Aaron put the car in gear and drove off, leaving Ryan gazing after him.

  Just what did Aaron know? No doubt he’d find out. Hefting the gym bag holding his uniform, Ryan walked up the path and let himself into the house.

  Everything was as he’d left it - quiet, the white tiles and pale grey walls giving it a cool, open tranquillity, the carefully chosen furniture adding to the restful air.

  Setting the gym bag on the floor, he pulled out his mobile and rang Ella’s number. When the message bank answered, he said simply, “I’m home, Ella mine. Call me.” Glancing at the clock, he decided that she was either sleeping from night shift or out somewhere. Or maybe, like he sometimes did, vetting her calls. He’d give her time to reply, to either wake up and listen to the messages, return from wherever she was, or simply decide to call him back if she was home.

  Meanwhile, he unpacked, putting his clothes in the washing machine before passing the room holding the treadmill and various weights and into the room he’d turned into his office. On one side was a desk with a computer on top and a big chair tidily rolled into place behind it. On the other side stood a wardrobe in which his uniforms were neatly hanging. A shoe rack beside the wardrobe held work shoes - a steel-capped pair of boots, a normal pair of boots, and heavy sneakers. Several paintings hung on the walls, all country scenery, a couple of Australian bush scenes, a couple of English countryside scenes complete with cottages and ducks. The paintings had been his mother’s.

  What no one knew was that the desk had a false bottom which he could access quickly to retrieve the gun he kept hidden inside. Beneath his bed he had another hidden access in the floor hiding another gun and a dagger. One didn’t live his lifestyle and not be prepared. He never expected to have to use it, but nevertheless he was prepared. Things could go to shit in seconds. He was ready.

  Taking off his boots, he placed them neatly in the shoe rack, peeled off his socks and padded barefoot through the house to toss them into the washing machine with the uniform and turned it on. Undoing the top two buttons on his shirt, he retrieved a light beer from the ‘fridge and moved into the lounge room, opening the glass doors leading to the courtyard so the tinkling sound of the fountain filtered through the room. Little sprays on automatic timers were delivering water to the plants. It was peaceful, and he sat down at the little table, resting his elbow on it as he closed his eyes and let the tranquillity of his own private paradise seep through him.

  The only thing to make this absolute perfection would be if Ella was here to share it with him. Okay, that would mean letting the ratty one-eyed, one-eared tom cat lie all over his furniture and shed hairs on his clothes, no doubt fossick amongst his ferns, too, but if it kept Ella happy… Well, he completely understood why Aaron allowed Shea’s three ginger miscreants to flop all over his house. Aaron was genuinely fond of them, and they were a part of Shea’s life, therefore a part of his. Ryan felt exactly the same about Boof. Okay, he didn’t know him well, but he was part of Ella’s life and therefore would be welcomed into Ryan’s.

  Keeping Ella happy? Prime goal.

  Of course, he had to win her back first.

  Tipping the lip of the small bottle to his mouth, he took several swallows, enjoying the cold fizz sliding down his throat. He had no illusions, getting Ella to give him another chance wasn’t going to be easy, would be bloody hard if not almost impossible, but this was one mission he wasn’t going to lose. He’d never failed a mission yet, and this one? Winning Ella’s heart back? That wasn’t even in question.

  Little images filtered through his mind, the echoes of her laughter, her love, the little things she’d done to make him happy, the way she’d understood his career choice, staunchly supported him when friends argued that marrying a military man who was away a lot didn’t make for a good marriage. She’d been delighted when he’d come home, cried when he left, but was so proud of him. Being alone didn’t bother her, she got on with her life, he got on with his life, and when he came home they just clicked together as though the months of his being away hadn’t happened.

  But echoes of happy times were joined by echoes of sadder times - his parent’s deaths, the shock, the numbness at the senseless cause, again her unwavering support, and then the final nail in the coffin.

  Just as the echoes of her laughter and soft words of love sounded in his mind, so did the echoes of tears, her pleading, the sound of the door as he shut it while walking away, and a picture he never forgot - the glimpse of her in his rear-view mirror as she’d stood beside the gate of their little rental home, the tears streaming down her cheeks as he’d left her.

  Jesus, he’d been such a fool. Such a Goddamn, self-centred fool.

  Taking another mouthful of beer, he gazed at the spray of water misting the ferns. He wasn’t going to throw this chance away. He wanted the echoes of her laughter and soft words of love to be reality in his home, his life. His heart.

  Finishing the beer, he went back into the house, this time taking a small bottle of water from the ‘fridge and returning to the lounge room with it. Sitting at the piano, he ran his fingers over the keys, picking out several little melodies before settling in to play soft ballads.

  Though he lost himself in the music, he didn’t forget the time, every minute that ticked past without Ella returning his call. He toyed with the idea of giving her another call before deciding against it. He wanted to give her time just as much as he wanted to go to her. Hounding her would do no good, but nor did he intend to let her slip away.

  Turning to straddle the piano stool, he looked out at the courtyard, sipping the water as he noted the early evening setting in, the grey gathering outside as the sun slipped behind the horizon.

  Tomorrow. If she doesn’t ring tonight, I’ll go around and see her tomorrow.

  Just as he made the decision, his doorbell rang.

  Instantly he stiffened, something slamming into him. A knowledge, a feeling, a stirring deep down in his soul. A sixth sense.

  Ella mine.

  Placing the bottle on the coffee table as he strode quickly across the room, long legs eating up the distance, Ryan moved out into the spacious hallway, pacing swiftly down the length and unlocking the heavy security screen door, swinging it open to reveal her standing there on his veranda.

  Dressed in a simple long-sleeve
d lavender shirt over plain black slacks, all that golden hair pulled back into a ponytail, she looked up at him out of grey eyes filled with so much sadness and uncertainty it wrung his heart.

  “Ella,” he said softly, reaching for her.

  Those grey eyes filled with tears as she whispered, “Damn you, Ryan.”

  And then she walked into his arms. Just walked into his arms, wrapped her arms around his waist and hung on.

  He drew her inside, reaching over her shoulder to close the security screen, flicking the lock in place as he automatically scanned the empty road beyond. Only when the wooden door was shut, when she was safe, did he wrap both arms around her in turn, hug her close, so close, leaning down to press his lips to her temple, breathing in her sweet scent. “What’s wrong, Ella mine?”

  She shifted, her head lifting from his chest as she tipped her head back to look up at him.

  What he saw took his breath away. Tears still shimmered in her eyes, so much pain, so much…longing. Pure longing, the grey of those beautiful eyes holding so much…love.

  Pained love. Shattered love. Betrayed love.

  But still love. For him.

  She still loved him.

  “Ella mine,” he breathed, emotion surging up inside him.

  In response she reached up, small palms laying each side of his face, fingers still chilly from the evening air.

  He knew what she wanted even as she came up on tiptoe and lifted her face to his. Leaning down he met her, his lips skimming hers, glorying in the silky skin, the soft plumpness. Settling his mouth over hers, he welcomed her kiss, the press of her against him as she opened to him, demanded he open in turn, her flavour filling him as she kissed him with pent-up desire, passion, every sweet, luscious curve of her pressed against him from knees to lips.

  Tenderness filled him, the desire to cherish her, to take care, not wanting to rush this, glorying in the pure joy of having her once more in his arms.

  Knowing so much more, feeling so much more, so aware of what he’d left behind and was so blessed to have found again.

  Wanting her to know how much he loved her, cared for her. Would take care of her.

  So he kissed her back deeply, slowly, quietening her passion, soothing her despair and fear, dulling the pain by replacing it with pleasure, letting her feel how much he wanted her, desired her.

  Treasured her.

  Moulding their lips together, Ryan drank from her, swallowed her essence, filled himself with her as she did with him, and when they finally broke apart he rested his forehead against hers to look deeply into her eyes. “Ella mine.”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  It was all he needed. Taking her hand, he led her down the hallway, turning right down another smaller hall to his bedroom. Without releasing her hand, he crossed to the window, pulling the blind down behind the lace curtain before switching on the bedside lamp to cast a soft glow through the room.

  Only then did he face her.

  Her attention was completely focussed on him.

  Jesus, she was so beautiful his heart literally ached. It had been so long, so very long.

  Keeping their gazes meshed, he drew off his shirt, tossed it aside then reached for her t-shirt. Without hesitation she raised her arms and he drew the shirt up and off, tossing it to land on his shirt on the floor.

  His hands followed the pathway of his eyes, gliding over her arms, down her sides, his thumbs grazing the sides of her breasts in the lacy lavender bra, following the dip of her waist, bringing his palms to press lightly over the scars on her belly before settling on the plump curves of her hips.

  Heat thrummed through him at the warmth of her skin, the familiarity of her body even as he reacquainted himself with it.

  As he looked so did she, her gaze in turn moving over him - wide shoulders, muscular arms, the powerful swells of his pectorals, the ribbed muscle of his abdomen.

  She didn’t flinch at the scars he’d gotten in battle. They weren’t many but he had several. Her fingers trailed down, skimmed his abdomen, made the muscles clench even as heat leaped lower. Her fingers unsnapped the button, pulled the zipper free, and then she hooked her thumbs into his waistband and eased his pants down, taking his jocks in the same smooth sweep to drop them around his ankles.

  He stepped out of them, kicked them aside, slid his arms around her waist and pulled her close as she looked up at him. He had to kiss her again, had to taste her, capturing her lips to indulge himself.

  Gently. Oh so gently. Tongue licking out to trace the seam of her lips, gliding only a little way in when she opened to him.

  Like she’d always opened to him, always welcomed him into her body.

  Sliding his hands down, he cupped the lush curves of her bottom in his palms, squeezed, gripped as he pulled her hips into him, pressed her against him while capturing her exhale, swallowing it, her breath becoming his.

  He wanted so much more. He wanted her all, everything, nothing between their bodies.

  Now it was his turn to pop the button on her pants, pull the zipper down, hook his thumbs into the waistband of her pants and panties, skim them over her hips to drop to her ankles. Only he didn’t wait for her to step out of them, instead wrapping one arm around her waist to effortlessly lift her up against him.

  Ella kicked her pants off, the little ballet flats she wore hitting the carpet along with the clothes.

  Smoothly he turned, laid her back on the bed, followed her down.

  Her soft curves cradled his muscled hardness, her body giving to his, gently rounded thighs parting to let him nestle into place. Pillowy breasts pressed against his pecs, little nipples pink, budding, poking so sweetly into him.

  Cradling her cheeks in his palms, he rested on his forearms, leaned down to kiss her again, unable to get enough of her taste, the sensation of her beneath him after so bloody long. So many lonely years with only the memory of her to torture him until finally he’d been able to bury her in the back of his mind, a faint echo in a past he’d left behind. But now she was here, the echo a reality, and he couldn’t get enough.

  Doubted he would ever get enough.

  Would never let her go again.

  He licked gently along her plump bottom lip before pressing tiny kisses across her cheek, inhaling her scent, shifting one hand to slide off the band holding her hair back. Freeing the golden locks, he tunnelled his fingers into the heavy, silken swath, gripped lightly as he pressed an open-mouthed kiss beneath her ear, flicking the tip of his tongue against the sensitive skin, making her shiver and hunch her shoulders a little as she’d always done.

  He’d learned her sensitive areas, had never forgotten them, each and every place, each and every touch. Now he laved the pulse beating so frantically in her neck, fastened his mouth over it, sucked lightly.

  Beneath him she tensed slightly, her nails digging into the small of his back before she raked one set up his spine in a slow drag that had his stomach dropping out beneath him, raked them back down in an equally slow drag until she scratched lightly along the start of the rise of his buttocks, stopping just above the cleft of his muscled gluts.

  Looked like she remembered his zones, too.

  It was as though the years rolled back, but when he lifted his head to look down into her beautiful face he saw beneath him not the young woman she had been, so innocent and playful, but a woman who’d experienced pain and sorrow, revenge, a woman who had grown, matured. A woman who had lost in the same, yet different, way as he.

  They’d both been through so much.

  And yet here they were, together again.

  “Ella mine,” he whispered.

  In reply she slid her hand behind his nape, drew him down for a kiss both gentle and passionate. Pushing up onto one elbow, she reached around his back to tug him in close against her.

  Her breathing now was becoming a little choppy, a little ragged, the desire in her eyes a shimmering sea of prurience.

  It matched his own rising heat, the
need to be gentle, be slow, moving side-by-side with the longing to be inside her, to feel all that creamy desire surrounding him. To once more be a part of her.

  Dropping a kiss onto the tip of her nose, he nuzzled her cheek before shifting slightly to one side, resting his cheek against hers, looking down her body to where he now palmed one plump breast, thumbed the taut little bud to aching hardness before flattening his hand on her sternum and slowly caressing her upper abdomen, fingers tracing the wide scar, moving lower to trace the second scar, then the third that jagged through both, intersecting them.

  “Ryan,” she whispered softly, a catch in her voice.

  His lips brushed across her cheek. “So beautiful.” Rubbing his cheek against hers, he settled again, watching his hand, feeling the silken skin as he glided over her belly and lower, fingertips brushing the curls protecting her womanhood and continuing onwards, slipping further down.

  Automatically she bent one knee outwards to give him access, making him almost purr with pleasure.

  Now he could feel the heat of her even as his fingertips traced over the moist lips beckoning through the curls, felt the give of the tender flesh as he moved with gentle ruthlessness, breaching the protective folds to seek the little bud.

  He found it.

  Ella arched beneath him, unable to go far as he still partially covered her, but the muscles in her thigh flexed, her belly quivering as he lightly teased his fingertip over the little clitoris. Her breath came out in an erotic gust as he placed his finger pad on the bud and massaged firmly, alternating between lighter and heavier pressure.