She was here.

Warm and alive and in his arms, kissing him with a fierceness that caused every cell in his body to stand at attention.

He knew he should push her away, but he was incapable of breaking the delicious contact.

Every fantasy he’d ever had of Holly Durant—and he’d had more than his share—was playing out in front of him, and he wasn’t about to do anything to ruin it. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think straight. Desire slammed into him, fierce and hard. Sweet Christ, she was the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen.

The microscopic part of his brain that still functioned was firing warning shots. He was all wrong for her.

“Holly,” he finally said, his voice strained and thick. “We can’t do this.”

But she only moved closer. “Yes, we can,” she contradicted him softly, pressing a moist kiss against his collarbone.

To hell with doing what was right. Nothing could prevent him from reaching for Holly, not even the sound of his cane as it clattered onto the floor. The warning shots had come too late; he’d just taken a direct hit and he was going down….

Dear Reader,

It seems just yesterday that I was sitting with my editor, brainstorming ideas for this exciting miniseries, which revolves around four soldiers and how each of their lives is altered by the events of a single day. And suddenly, here I am, writing the final book.

I loved coming up with the heroine of this story. Lt. Holly Durant is so strong and never wavers in going after what she wants, even if it means risking enemy fire to save the man she loves. Holly is hailed as a hero for her actions, but it’s up to Sgt. Shane Rafferty to keep her safe when the enemy follows her home.

I hope you enjoy reading Holly and Shane’s story as they discover the true meaning of what it takes to be a hero!

Happy reading!

Karen Foley

Heat of the Moment
Karen Foley

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Karen Foley is an incurable romantic. When she’s not watching romantic movies, she’s writing sexy romances with strong heroes and happy endings. She lives in Massachusetts with her husband and two daughters, and enjoys hearing from her readers. You can find out more about her by visiting www.karenefoley.com.

For Lt. Col. Kathy Lauden, Maj. Kristi Lowenthal,

and Lt. Erika “Mo” Schoenthal: your selflessness and dedication are an inspiration. Thank you for your service.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

1

Anbar Province, Iraq

NAVY LIEUTENANT HOLLY Durant blew out a hard breath of frustration and glanced into the passenger mirror of the five ton cargo truck. The five or six days that it would take to complete this particular assignment meant that the mountain of paperwork waiting for her back at Al Asad Air Base would be twice as high when she returned. At this rate, she’d never catch up.

Behind her, a convoy of military supply vehicles stretched for a quarter of a mile along the dusty road. She didn’t typically accompany the movement of supplies to the outlying posts, but this assignment was unique. She was personally escorting her senior supply clerk, Sergeant Ramon Martinez, from Al Asad Air Base to Camp Fallujah, a forward operating base located a hundred kilometers away. She no longer trusted him with the responsibility of overseeing the massive supply operations in Iraq. At Camp Fallujah, he would work under the direct supervision of a senior officer in supplying repair parts and construction equipment to the Seabees in western Iraq. Technically, it wasn’t a demotion, but she was sure he didn’t see it that way. A quiet man by nature, he’d been even more so during the two hours that they’d been driving together.

Her gaze slid sideways toward the sergeant, noting the sheen of sweat that coated his skin. As if sensing her silent appraisal, he turned his dark eyes to her and Holly had to push down her own misgivings and feelings of guilt about having initiated an investigation into his activities. He had the largest, most expressive eyes she had ever seen on a man, and right now they reminded her of a dog that had just been kicked. He obviously didn’t understand why he was being moved to a new location and Holly couldn’t tell him the truth. She’d merely told him that Fallujah needed an experienced sup ply clerk, but his unhappiness was apparent in the defeated slump of his shoulders, and the way he repeatedly sighed.

“If you’re getting tired, we can switch at the next turnoff and I can drive,” she offered, although she knew he would refuse. Despite her suspicions, Sgt. Martinez was unfailingly polite and respectful of her rank.

His eyes widened. “Oh, no. I’m fine driving, ma’am. But thank you for the offer.”

Holly nodded and turned her attention away. Maybe she should have confronted him directly. Maybe, after all, there was a reasonable explanation for what was going on. It was difficult to imagine the mild-mannered sergeant was capable of any wrongdoing. But it was too late; she had already initiated an investigation into the supply process at Al Asad and now it was up to the Inspector General to determine if any crime had been committed.

Holly suspected that Martinez was responsible for the loss of tens of thousands and maybe even hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of supplies, but she had no solid proof. Although his job required that he obtain receipts for the equipment he received and sent out, he consistently had excuses and explanations for why he hadn’t acquired the requisite documentation, or why the paperwork he did have was sloppy and full of errors. He also had access to a substantial fund of money with which to procure certain supplies and services from local contractors, rather than going through the protracted process of waiting for the items to be shipped from the States.

Holly had begun the task of reconciling these accounts, but it would take her weeks to sort through the thousands of transactions. Constructing buildings, re pairing runways, and maintaining an infrastructure in such a remote and inhospitable location was hard enough without somebody deliberately sabotaging their efforts. That one of her men might be responsible was intolerable, and although she found it difficult to imagine Martinez doing anything so sleazy, all the evidence indicated otherwise.

She’d voiced her suspicions to her commanding officer, Commander Comstock, several weeks ago. He’d assured her that he would look into the matter, but when she’d broached the subject to him again, just days earlier, he’d been uncharacteristically short with her. He’d curtly told her that he didn’t need a lieutenant to tell him how to do his job, and that the situation was being handled. Whatever that meant.

So Holly had filed a hotline complaint with the Inspector General of the Navy—a brief description of what she believed was going on, including the estimated dollar loss—that very morning. She wasn’t sure what would happen, but knew she risked a reprimand from Commander Comstock if it turned out that he had already initiated an investigation of his own.

Holly knew Sgt. Martinez was upset about the transfer to Camp Fallujah, but moving him was the right thing to do. Until an investigation cleared him of any wrongdoing, she wanted him where he could do the least amount of damage.

In the side mirror, Holly thought she glimpsed one of the reinforced gun trucks that had been assigned to protect the convoy. Just knowing that Gunnery Sergeant Shane Rafferty was manning that machine gun gave her a sense of comfort. She liked knowing he was close by, in case she needed him.

In case he needed her, although he’d never acknowledge such a thing might be possible. Shane Rafferty was six feet, two inches of solid, honed muscle and testosterone, and she couldn’t imagine him ever admitting that he needed anyone. Especially her.

Well, except for that single night three years ago in the guest room over her parents’ boathouse, when he’d finally given up all pretenses. For that one night, he had been completely hers and Holly had been blown away by his intensity. For that one night she’d actually allowed herself to hope that he might reciprocate the feelings she had for him. But when morning had come, he’d been gone. He’d returned to active duty without even saying goodbye and try as she might, Holly had been unable to get over him.

For a moment, she let her mind drift back to when she’d first met Shane, ten years earlier. She’d been fifteen years old when he and his father had moved into the three-room apartment over Benjamin’s Drugstore. There had been rumors about his family: his father was a drunk and his mother had run off with another man. In the small, wealthy town of Chatham, Virginia, Shane Rafferty had stood out like a common weed in a garden of roses. He didn’t even attend the public high school in town—Holly had heard whisperings that he’d dropped out before he’d come to Chatham. Holly would probably never have crossed paths with him except that at seventeen, he was the same age as her brother, Mitch. Mitch attended the prestigious Hargrave Military Academy, but he’d worked with Shane at the drugstore on the weekends. Despite the differences in their backgrounds, they had become good friends.

During that year and the following summer, before Mitch had left for college and Shane had enlisted in the Marines, Shane had spent more time hanging out at her home than he did at his own, which hadn’t bothered Holly at all. She’d attended Chatham Hall, a private all-girls boarding school in town, and while the school hosted dances and other social activities with the boys from Hargrave Academy, none of those boys had been as fascinating to Holly as Shane Rafferty had been, with his knowing eyes and leanly muscled physique.

But more than his physical appeal, his total aloneness had attracted Holly. She sensed that Shane resented having to depend on anyone for anything. If the rumors were to be believed, he certainly couldn’t depend on his father. In fact, it had appeared that Shane took care of his dad, and not the other way around. He’d worked full-time at the drugstore, and Holly had seen him at the Food Lion on several occasions, buying real groceries and not just junk food. It was no wonder he hadn’t mixed well with the snooty boys from Hargrave; he was worlds away from their entitled, finely choreographed lifestyles. He might hang out with her brother, but Holly guessed that even Mitch wasn’t allowed full access to Shane’s innermost thoughts or secrets.

Holly thought it must get tiring, always having to be so strong and responsible. She wanted him to see that he didn’t always need to be so separate and alone. She ached to take some of the burden from his shoulders; to let him know that he could lean on her, even just a little. That he could let her love him, even just a little.

Her parents had bought her a camera for her birthday, and she’d enrolled in a photography class at Chatham Hall. She’d carried that camera with her everywhere and had taken furtive photos of Shane whenever she had the chance. Her favorite was a picture of him sleeping on the hammock by the lake, arms bent behind his head and his face turned slightly to one side. With his eyes closed and his mouth relaxed, he’d actually looked peaceful, with none of the bristling wariness he exhibited when he was awake.

But he’d completely ignored Holly, making it clear he had no interest in her. In fact, if Holly hadn’t known better, she might have believed he went out of his way to avoid being alone with her, or having to talk to her.

The more he’d ignored her, the more she’d been determined to make him aware of her. She knew he wanted her; she’d caught him watching her when he thought she wasn’t looking and the raw heat in his eyes had both terrified and thrilled her. But no matter how she’d tried to get close to him, he’d kept her at a distance. But a year later he’d enlisted in the military and he’d left without a backward glance. She hadn’t seen him again for two years, when he had come home for the winter holidays. Mitch was home from college for several weeks, so her parents had invited Shane to spend Christmas Eve with them. She’d been almost eighteen and a senior in high school by then, and seeing Shane again had brought all the emotions of her earlier infatuation rushing back.

He’d looked different than she remembered, leaner and harder and more serious. She’d changed, too. She’d been little more than a child when he’d left. But since then, she’d filled out nicely and had perfected the art of flirtation. She could have had any of the boys at Hargrave Academy, but she’d wanted Shane. So she’d deliberately set out to entice and seduce him, never imagining that he might not welcome her advances.

Remembering that holiday week still caused Holly to cringe with embarrassment. She’d been so young and arrogant; so sure of her own appeal. On Christmas Eve, when her father had sent Shane down to the wine cellar to retrieve several more bottles for dinner, Holly had followed him. She’d launched a full frontal attack on him and for several long, blissful moments, she’d had Shane Rafferty right where she wanted him…up against the wall with her hands under his shirt, stroking his warm, hard muscles as he’d stood stiff and unresponsive.

He’d resisted for about five seconds before he’d all but consumed her, and the heat and intensity of his passion had left her breathless and shaken. If her father hadn’t hollered down the stairs, she had no doubt what would have happened in that small basement room. But the interruption had given Shane time to regroup. He’d thrust her away and gathered up the bottles of wine.

“This never happened,” he’d growled, his voice low and rough. “I’m not what you want, and I’m definitely not what you need, so play your games with someone your own age. Just stay the hell away from me.”

Holly had been both stunned and mortified by his reaction, and it had taken several long moments before she’d composed herself enough to return upstairs and sit down to dinner. Her brother had cast speculative looks at both of them, but if he’d noticed her flushed features or Shane’s grim expression, he’d made no comment.

After that, Holly hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. If anything, their encounter in the wine cellar had only intensified her obsession with him. She’d been prepared for the same awkward fumbling and uncertainty she’d experienced with the boys she’d dated, but there had been none of that with Shane. His touch had been sure and confident, and she’d been the one to feel like a novice.

She’d thought of him constantly. They were perfect for each other. Nothing could convince her otherwise. She was meant to be with Shane Rafferty. She’d guessed that he considered her to be spoiled and shallow, but she’d prove to him otherwise. Until that moment, she hadn’t planned on a military career for herself. She’d thought she would pursue a career in photography. But if joining the military would bring her closer to Shane, that’s what she would do. So she’d joined ROTC and tried to squelch her feelings of guilt when her father had expressed his surprise and delight over her career choice. Personally, she had no doubts that she would do well in the Navy, but she knew that her father wouldn’t approve of her real reasons for joining. But she needed to show Shane that she was more than just a pretty face. The military might not be her first career choice, but she’d make a good officer. And someday, if her plans worked out, a good military wife.

He’d come over to the house several more times during his holiday leave, and although he’d tried to avoid her, Holly had noticed how he would stiffen when she came too close, as if he barely held himself in check. She’d suspected that if she persisted, she could push past his restraint. More than anything, she’d wanted Shane to be her first, but she’d also known that the ensuing guilt he’d feel would drive him away, maybe forever. And so she’d waited.

Shane had come home with her brother one last time, to help celebrate her graduation from the Naval Academy. Despite the fact that her brother was an officer in the Navy while Shane was an enlisted man in the Marine Corps, the two men had remained friends. Her parents had thrown a party for her at their lake house in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, and Holly had been both shocked and delighted to see Shane. Admittedly, she’d had a little more to drink that night than she was accustomed to. Her only excuse was that his presence had caught her completely off guard, and she’d been acutely aware of him watching her the entire night. Four years had passed since her first inexpert attempt at seducing him, but she’d learned a thing or two about men since then.

The alcohol, combined with the expression in his eyes whenever she looked at him, had given her the courage she needed to launch a sensual assault on him, and this time he hadn’t been able to resist. But when she’d woken up in his bed the next morning, she’d been alone. Shane had left without so much as a good-bye.

Sgt. Martinez downshifted, the deep growl of the diesel engine pulling Holly out of her reverie. They were approaching a small village of mud huts, and Holly frowned as she noted the empty street. She made a small noise of concern and leaned forward to peer through the windshield, her hands gripping her M4 rifle.

“It’s too quiet,” Martinez observed, echoing Holly’s thoughts. “I hope that doesn’t mean trouble.”

“I see some kids up ahead,” Holly replied, nodding toward a group of children playing alongside the road just before the village. “That’s a good sign, right?”

They rumbled slowly through the village, following behind the lead truck and the two Humvees assigned to provide security to the convoy. Aside from the children, there was no other indication of life in the village, and the hairs on the back of Holly’s neck prickled uneasily.

They passed the children, who stopped to stare at them, and Holly told herself that the foreboding she felt was nothing more than her imagination. Reaching under her seat for her camera, she snapped several quick shots, capturing the awe in their big, dark eyes. Holding her camera and taking pictures gave her a sense of comfort, but as they drove through an orchard just beyond the village, she thought she saw something move deep in the shadowed recesses of the trees. Suddenly, there was a brilliant flash, followed by a deafening explosion. An instant later, the lead Humvee shot into the air and came down on its roof, completely engulfed in flames. The camera slipped from Holly’s fingers and landed on the floor at her feet, forgotten.

“Goddamn! We’re under attack!” Sgt. Martinez screamed.

“Pull over, pull over!”

He wrenched the wheel hard to the right, dragging the vehicle to a shuddering stop. Behind them, the convoy split into two lines, one on either side of the road, even as a second rocket-propelled grenade streaked out of the orchard and struck the supply truck directly in front of them, flipping the vehicle onto its side and sending molten fragments of metal high into the air.

Almost simultaneously, Holly heard the unmistakable spit of small arms fire, and realized they were being attacked from both sides of the road. Glancing through the passenger window, she saw that insurgents were firing at them from the orchard on one side, and a crudely dug trench on the other. Their forward position in the convoy made them a vulnerable target.

“We’ve got to get out of the truck,” she gasped, and reached for her door handle.

Martinez looked at her in horror. “Are you kidding? It’s not safe. We’ll be killed out there!”

“It’s not safe here,” Holly insisted hotly. “We’re directly in the kill zone! We stand a better chance if we move toward the rear vehicles.”

The other soldier blanched, his dark eyes expressing his fear. “I’m a supply clerk. I’m not trained for combat!”

“You’re a soldier,” Holly said grimly, pushing down her own rising fear. “You’ve been trained for this, and you can do it. Now move! That’s an order!”

Opening her door, Holly used it as a shield to survey her surroundings. The air was heavy and acrid with the stench of burning fuel and scorched metal. On the road behind her, the gun trucks were spraying both the trees and the trench with automatic gunfire. They’d formed two columns of vehicles on either side of the road, turning the road itself into a safe zone of sorts. Still, there were twenty yards of open space between Holly and that protected corridor, in which she and Sgt. Martinez would be completely vulnerable.

The noise of the battle was deafening, but Holly scarcely heard anything over the roar of her own frantic heartbeat. Shane was on top of one of those gun trucks. Her heart clenched hard at the thought of anything happening to him. In the next instant she reminded herself that he was a seasoned soldier—a hardened Marine. He’d been doing this for eight years and he could take care of himself. Her only concern now was to get herself and her supply clerk to safety.

She motioned for Martinez. “Stay low,” she commanded.

Without waiting to see if he obeyed her, Holly crouched down and began working her way to the rear of the truck, keeping her weapon raised as she scanned the trees to her right, looking for any signs of movement. She blinked hard, peering through the thick smoke, and forced herself to move forward one step at a time. Her hands were slick on the assault rifle she carried and for a moment the only thing she heard was her own breathing, rapid and shallow. She forced herself to take several deep breaths and concentrated firmly on her goal.

If she and the sergeant could reach the other trucks, she knew they would be safe. Behind her, another explosion rent the air and the force of the blast threw her forward onto the ground. Martinez plowed into her back, and for a moment the two of them lay sprawled in the dirt, stunned.

Sgt. Martinez recovered first, rolling to his knees and dragging Holly upward. “Move, damn it!” he shouted. “Move!”

Glancing over her shoulder, Holly saw it was the engine compartment of their own truck that had been hit. The cab where they had been sitting just moments before was fully engulfed in flames. She scrambled to her feet and made her way to the next truck, and then the next, until a movement from the trees to her right made her stop and swing her weapon around, ready to open fire if she needed to. Glancing back, she saw that Martinez was still two trucks behind her, crouched in a combat-ready position with his weapon raised and directed at the trees.

Refocusing her attention on where she had seen movement, she cautiously crept forward, sweeping her rifle along the tree line as she went. Whatever movement she thought she had seen was gone, and she prepared to run the short span of open space between two trucks. Then she stopped short.

“Ohmigod,” she breathed.

She couldn’t believe what she saw; Shane Rafferty, swinging down from the top of his gun truck, his gaze fixed grimly on her as he made a beeline directly through the line of fire toward her position. He gestured wildly back toward her truck, but Holly couldn’t tell if he wanted her to be aware of the fire and move away from it, or run back toward it. She shook her head, not understanding.

Through the haze, Holly could see his eyes blazing at her. He yelled something to her and gestured again, but his words were lost beneath the sound of explosives. Holly stayed glued to where she stood, unable to tell where the precise threat came from amidst so much chaos. Shane held his own weapon low and strafed the orchard with gunfire as he ran. And just when Holly thought he might actually make it across the open space to her side, it happened.

The bullet hit him in the left leg, just below his knee. Shane staggered, his face expressing surprise. He managed to take three more steps before his leg buckled and he went down. Even then, he didn’t stop but began doggedly working his way across the ground toward her.

Holly found herself running toward him before she was aware that her feet were moving. Shane was no longer watching her, but was staring at something behind her, his expression one of dismay. He shouted something unintelligible, and Holly felt a hard slap against her shoulder, spinning her sideways and causing her to stumble. She scarcely had time to register what had happened, when an explosion rocked the ground, lifting her off her feet and sending her sprawling onto her back. For an instant, she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.

Couldn’t comprehend that the unthinkable had happened.

Had it been a grenade, or a IED? Slowly, she lifted her head and made a mental inventory of her injuries. Her back ached, and the exposed skin of her face and neck had been sandblasted by the dirt that had been flung up from the explosion. Her ears were ringing and the ground seemed to tilt beneath her. From the convoy, she saw another soldier had taken control of Shane’s gun and was spraying the orchard with a constant barrage of fire. Through the swirling dust and settling debris, she could just make out Shane’s prone body lying on the ground.

Holly became aware of a fierce burning sensation in her arm and glanced down, noting the darkening stain on the camouflage of her sleeve. Her left arm hung at an awkward angle and when she probed the area, raw pain sliced through her. Her hand came away covered with blood. She’d been hit, and from the total weakness in her arm, she knew the bone was broken. Cradling the injured arm against her side, she pushed herself to her feet and staggered over to Shane. He lay face down in the dirt and even when she saw the trickle of dark blood seeping into the ground beneath him, she refused to believe he might be dead.

“Please, God,” she breathed. Just let him live and I promise I won’t ask for anything more. Just let him live. Let him live.

Holly had heard about the effects of adrenaline giving people unnatural and amazing strength during high-stress situations, but she’d never experienced it until that moment. Reaching down, she hauled on the straps of Shane’s vest with her good hand and dragged him toward the trucks, digging her heels in and managing to move him across thirty feet of open ground with seemingly little effort.

Only when she had reached the safety of the trucks did two soldiers and a medic come forward to help her, lifting Shane’s body and carrying him to the rear of the convoy. With Shane out of harm’s way, Holly realized she was panting and light-headed and soaked with sweat. A fourth soldier caught her as she staggered, and supported her weight as he hustled her to a secure spot behind a truck and lowered her to a sitting position against one of its enormous tires.

She strained for a glimpse of Shane, stretched out on the dirt road as the medics worked on him. Around her, the sounds of battle continued. The world spun dizzyingly and Holly dropped her head to her knees, dragging in great gulps of air. Fear consumed her, so intense that she was certain her heart would stop beating. Her stomach twisted in a sickening knot. She didn’t know what she would do if Shane died. The very thought made her go weak. Blackness fluttered at the edge of her vision, and she was only vaguely aware of sliding sideways onto the ground…and then she knew nothing more.

SHE WAS HAVING the dream again, but this time it seemed so real…she could actually feel Shane’s hands on her, unbuttoning her shirt and exposing her skin to the cool air. His fingers brushed over her flesh, causing a thrill of awareness to shoot through her. She moaned softly and arched upward, seeking more of the delicious contact. She’d wanted this for so many years and now here he was, touching her, and even if it was only a dream, Holly didn’t want to miss a second of it.

The faint odor of gasoline hung on the air, and overhead she could hear the soft whir of a ceiling fan; they were in the boathouse, where Shane preferred to sleep whenever he came to stay at her family’s summer place. How many times had she been tempted to follow him here? To undress and spread herself across the bed in the small bunk room and show him how good it could be between them? She wasn’t a kid anymore, and it was time he stopped thinking of her as his best friend’s little sister. She’d caught him watching her when he thought she wasn’t looking, and the expression in his hazel eyes told her that he wanted her, too. Only his damnable honor and pride kept him from accepting everything she had to offer.

But not now.

For this moment, at least, he was hers, and even if this was just a dream, she’d take it. As dreams went, it was a pretty good one. Her entire body was on fire with need.

“Shane,” she breathed, “kiss me.”

“Holly.” His voice sounded strained, with an underlying urgency that she had never heard before. He didn’t sound at all like the Shane she knew. “Holly, stay with me.”

She frowned. Stay with him? Of course she intended to stay with him. She’d opted for an assignment in Iraq because that’s where he was stationed. Practically every decision she’d made over the past seven years had been for one reason: Shane Rafferty. Oh yeah, she intended to stay with him.

His touch was incredibly gentle as he eased the fabric of her blouse back, and Holly shifted to grant him better access. As she did so, agonizing pain flared in her shoulder and made her cry out, jerking her out of the sensual dream and into a harsh reality that was equally as surreal.

Through a haze of pain, Holly opened her eyes and saw two soldiers crouched over her. One of them cut away the sleeve of her camo jacket with a knife while the second one prepared an I.V. drip. She concentrated on the face of the first man and struggled to bring him into focus. Not Shane.

Slowly, she became aware that they were in a military helicopter, and Holly could smell fumes from the aviation fuel. What she’d dreamed was the soft whir of a ceiling fan was, in reality, the rhythmic thwap-thwap of the rotor blades. All around her, male voices barked orders while others were raised in urgent discussion. None of those voices belonged to Shane.

“Stay with me, Lieutenant,” the first soldier commanded, his eyes flicking to hers. “You’re going to be fine.”

Her entire body ached, but her left arm burned with an intensity that made it difficult to breathe. Holly shifted her gaze to where the soldier probed at her shoulder. There was so much blood soaking her clothing and covering his hands that at first, she couldn’t tell where it came from. Then, as he pulled away a bloodied gauze pad, she saw the gaping wound high on her upper arm. She had a hole the size of a half-dollar and bone fragments protruded through ragged flesh around it. Blood pumped in a slow, steady flow from the injury even as the medic tried to staunch it. Immediately, her head felt woozy and a wave of nausea washed over her. She turned her face away and struggled to draw in air.

“What happened?” Her voice was little more than a hoarse whisper.

“Your supply convoy drove into an ambush,” the first soldier said curtly. “You were shot, but you’re going to be fine.”

She’d been shot?

She struggled to remember, and pImages** drifted through her mind, as hazy and insubstantial as smoke. Sifting through them, she winced as she recalled the attack.

As she turned her face away from where the medic was working on her arm, she realized there was an injured soldier on a gurney next to her, and two medics were frantically working over his prone body. The medics blocked her view of his face, but she recognized the black tribal tattoo that encircled his bicep. Shane.

Holly tried to raise herself on her good elbow to get a better look at him. They had stripped him of his protective body armor and camo jacket and…oh, God, there was so much blood covering his muscled torso. The medics bent over him, while another barked into a radio. All she heard was “men down, one urgent.” She knew what urgent meant—loss of life was imminent without immediate medical intervention, and not the kind that they could provide on the battlefield.

Shane was going to die.

Another wave of dizziness swept over her.

“Shane.” Her voice was no more than a gasp.

“Lieutenant, I’m going to sedate you,” said the medic who crouched over her. He pushed her back down and the second soldier deftly inserted an intravenous drip into her uninjured arm. Almost instantly, the agonizing pain in her shoulder subsided and Holly had the oddest sensation that she was floating.

She could see Shane’s face now, it was covered in dust and blood, but there was no mistaking the strong line of his jaw, the proud nose and thrusting cheekbones, the dark shadow of his lashes against his cheeks. A thin trickle of blood ran from his ear and nose. The sight made Holly feel light-headed, or maybe that was the effect of the morphine they had given her. She could no longer tell.

Closing her eyes, she drifted in a strange euphoria. The sounds of the helicopter and the men’s voices faded to a distant hum. She was back in the boathouse, and Shane was there with her. He smiled down at her and she raised her arms to welcome him into her embrace, stroking her hands over the hot silk of his skin and knowing this would be the last time they would ever be together. In the morning, he would be gone. She determinedly pushed aside the sadness that filled her. They were together now, and that was all that mattered.

With a soft sigh, she melted into his arms.

2

THE LAST PERSON SHANE Rafferty expected to see walk through the door of his hospital room was his father. A pang of guilt swept through him. He’d been back in the States for nearly a month while the staff at the U.S. Naval Hospital patched him up, yet he hadn’t talked to his old man. The nurses had told him that his father had kept a near constant vigil at his bedside for the first two weeks that he’d been in the hospital, when Shane had lain in a drug-induced coma. But once he’d turned the corner to recovery, his father had returned to his home in Chatham. He’d left messages on Shane’s cell phone, but Shane hadn’t returned any of his calls. He told himself it was because his father was a busy man and he hadn’t wanted to worry him, but he knew that was a lie.

He hadn’t wanted to see him.

James Rafferty looked older than Shane remembered. His dark hair was liberally streaked with gray and his strong face was lined with deep seams. His expression was wary as he approached Shane’s bed, as if he wasn’t sure he’d be welcome.

“Hello, son.”

His father’s dark eyes swept once over Shane’s body, his gaze touching briefly on the fading cuts and bruises that marred Shane’s face, neck, and arms, before lingering on the cast that enveloped his left leg from the knee down to his toes. His father’s throat worked convulsively, but when he met Shane’s eyes, he schooled his expression.

“How you feeling, boy?”

Like shit, he wanted to respond. It had been nearly four weeks since the incident, and yet Shane’s entire body still ached, and his skin felt as if it had been sandblasted. His newly healed wounds felt pinched and tight. He had a bitch of a headache, and if he didn’t know better, he’d have thought he’d taken a direct hit from a rocket launched missile. But according to reports, it had been a hand grenade, and he’d been lucky—he’d been on the outer edge of the impact radius and might have sustained more serious injuries, but the bullet that had taken him out at the knees had also saved his life. If he hadn’t already been on the ground, he likely would have been killed.

So how was he doing? He shrugged. “I’m okay.”

The doctors had stitched him up and repaired his fractured leg and told him not to worry, he’d make a full recovery. But what they hadn’t warned him about were the nightmares that dragged him out of sleep each night, his heart racing and his body coated in sweat. They were always the same; he was sprinting through the battle to wards Holly. He could see her standing there, staring at him in horror through the smoke and debris, and he was driven by a desperate need to reach her. But he never made it. Each time, he’d watch her die before he could save her. Each time, her death was an agony that tore him apart. Then he’d wake up and realize he’d only been dreaming, but it would be long minutes before his heart rate slowed and his breathing returned to normal. He’d lie in bed and remind himself that Holly was alive, until the words became his mantra. She’s alive. She’s alive. She’s alive.

He didn’t know what he would do if anything happened to her. He’d spent the better part of the last ten years fighting his powerful attraction to her and telling himself that they had no future together, when the truth was he couldn’t envision a future—any future—without her in it. He might not be the right guy for her, but he wouldn’t hesitate to lay down his life to save hers. She was the reason he’d joined the military in the first place. One, he’d needed to get out of Chatham and away from Holly before he did something completely stupid, like sleep with her. Two, she came from a military family and he knew how much she respected service men and women. Part of him had dared to hope that if he joined the military and if he worked hard to rise through the ranks and if he could distinguish himself somehow, then maybe—just maybe—he could be worthy of her.

But then the unthinkable had happened; Holly had also joined the military and had somehow managed to end up assigned to the same base as himself. He wasn’t naive enough to believe any of it was coincidence, but he had a difficult time figuring out what it was she saw in him that would make her request a deployment to Iraq when she could have had her choice of assignments. Since the day she arrived at Al Asad Air Base, his mission had abruptly switched from combat to keeping her safe.

But he couldn’t escape the fact that his recurring nightmares had almost become reality. Holly had very nearly been killed. He’d read the incident report a dozen times, but the damned thing was he couldn’t recall a single detail of that day, or the attack that had nearly ended his life. The doctors told him the amnesia was temporary; a direct result of the concussion he’d sustained from the grenade. He’d been assured that his memory would return, but Shane had a nagging sense of unease that until it did, he was missing something vital.

“I wanted to come back sooner, but we’ve been busy at the track, what with the Preakness coming up next month,” his father was saying. He shifted uncomfortably. “But I’d have come anyway, if you’d wanted me to.”

Which clearly Shane hadn’t or he would have called him. His father didn’t say the words, but it was all there on his face.

Shane sighed.

“You didn’t need to come all the way up here,” he finally said, referring to the four-hour drive from Chatham, Virginia, to the medical center in Washington, D.C. “They’re releasing me today.”

James Rafferty dragged a hand through his hair and a fleeting frown crossed his face. “But that’s why I came,” he finally said. “To bring you home.”

Home.

pImages** of the three-room apartment over Benjamin’s Drugstore flitted through Shane’s mind. That cramped space had never been home to Shane. He hadn’t had a home since the day his mother had died and he and his father had moved to the pristine community of Chatham. The place may as well have been called Stepford, with its immaculate, white-pillared mansions and perfect, tree-lined streets. He’d fit into the quaint town like a rough-hewn square peg into a neat, round hole.

After the death of his mother, Shane’s father had withdrawn from everyone, including Shane. For nearly two years, he did little except drink and sleep. First he’d lost his job, and then he’d lost the house until, eventually, the only thing his father had left was his reputation—and Shane had known that unless they acted quickly, he’d lose that, too. His father had needed another job and the only thing he really knew was horses. Race horses, to be precise. He’d trained some of the best horses ever to run a racetrack, and once Shane had put the word out that his father was ready to get back into the business, the offers had begun trickling in.

Shane had chosen a job for his father at a stable in Chatham, despite the fact the position was not lead trainer. After two years away from the track, his father had needed to prove himself before anyone would give him that kind of opportunity again. It had taken several years, but James Rafferty was firmly back on his feet and despite the fact he could afford a new home, he hadn’t left the tiny apartment over the drug store, insisting that it suited his needs.

But returning to Chatham was the last thing Shane wanted to do, not because of his father but because of her. She’d be at her parents’ home, recovering from her own injuries and Shane didn’t want to risk running into her. Too much had happened for them to ever go back to the way things had been when they were teenagers.

He’d first seen Holly Durant soon after he’d moved to Chatham. He’d been barely seventeen and he’d taken a job working at the drugstore. Holly and her clique of giggling, sashaying girlfriends from Chatham Hall, the affluent girls’ boarding school in town where she was a day student, had liked to come into the drugstore for after school. He still probably never would have met her if he hadn’t become friends with her older brother, Mitch. Even then, when he and Mitch had become damn near inseparable and Shane spent more time at the Durant house than he did at his own, he hadn’t really made an effort to get to know Holly. He didn’t want to know her. Just the thought of talking to her had terrified him.

She’d been too pretty. Too mouthy.

Too good for him.

So he’d all but ignored her, telling himself there was no sense in chasing a pipe dream. Look where it had gotten his father. Nope, better to stick with what you knew and stay where you belonged.

And he definitely didn’t belong in Chatham.

He couldn’t imagine he’d be welcome there now, anyway, not after what had happened. Holly’s father was a retired Navy admiral and he and Holly’s mother were keystones of the small community. Shane had nothing but admiration and respect for them and he didn’t think he could bear their censure. After all, he’d let them down.

He’d let her down. He’d failed her.

He should have protected Holly but instead, he’d nearly gotten her killed. He’d read the incident report, which indicated he’d abandoned his position atop the gun truck and had raced through the firefight toward Holly without due cause. He might not be able to recall the attack, but he could guess why he’d done it—he’d wanted to protect Holly. Instead, she’d been forced to protect him and had nearly been killed in the process.

“I’m not going home,” he said darkly.

His father’s eyebrows drew together. “What do you mean you’re not coming home? I ain’t touched your room. It’s just the same as when you left it.” He indicated Shane’s leg. “’Course, the stairs might give you some trouble, but we’ll manage.”

“I said I’m not going back.”

“Where will you go, then? You got no place else to stay.” His father sounded baffled.

Shane looked away. He was right. He had nowhere else to go. He’d joined the military in order to get away from his father, from Holly, and from Chatham. Since then, he’d never stayed in one place long enough to buy a house or even lease an apartment. The doctors said he couldn’t return to active duty for at least three weeks, maybe longer. He could probably stay at the Marine barracks in Washington, D.C. or the Marine Corps base in Quantico until he recuperated, but the prospect held little appeal for him.

“He’s going to stay at the lake house.”

Both men turned at the sound of the deep voice, but Shane’s father was the first to recover, striding forward to grasp Mitch Durant’s hand and pump it furiously.

“Hell, boy,” he said, “it’s damned nice to see you. How long has it been? Three years? Four? You look good. The uniform suits you. How’s your sister? I hear she saved my boy’s life. I’d like to thank her properly, if she’s up for a visit.”

In his crisp Navy dress uniform, Mitch looked every inch an officer and a gentleman. The double silver bars on his collar denoted his rank as Lieutenant and for the first time, Shane was acutely conscious of the difference in their status. The last he’d heard, Mitch was doing a six-month deployment aboard the USS Lincoln, an aircraft carrier that patrolled Middle Eastern waters. He’d obviously come home to be with his sister and another pang of guilt washed over Shane.

“Holly will recover, sir,” Mitch was saying. “Her arm is busted up pretty good, but otherwise she’s okay.”

He was glossing over her condition, and Shane knew it. By the time he’d regained consciousness and recovered enough to even think about Holly, he’d been told that she’d already been released from the hospital. He’d persisted in knowing her condition and after days of badgering the nursing staff he’d learned that the bone in her arm had been shattered by the bullet, and only a series of metal plates and screws had been able to repair it.

And it was all his fault. If he’d just stayed with his gun, instead of trying to be a hero…

Mitch walked toward Shane’s bed with careful deliberation. He extended his hand and Shane took it.

“Hey, man,” Mitch said. “How’re you doing?”

“I’m okay.”

To his immense relief, there was no censure in Mitch’s eyes, no recriminations. Only the same genuine warmth and friendship that he had grown to rely on since they were kids.

“You look like hell,” Mitch observed, one corner of his mouth lifting in a wry grin. “But I think it might actually be an improvement.”

Shane knew he referred to the lacerations and bruises on his face. He had seen his reflection for the first time that morning, when the nurses had finally relented and let him take a real shower on his own. They’d seemed disappointed when he’d declined the bedside sponge baths they had been providing him each day since his arrival. To his way of thinking, their dedication to his hygiene had been just a tad too thorough.

Shane felt a reluctant smile tug at his mouth. “Yeah, well you always were jealous of my good looks.” He glanced over at his father and lowered his voice. “So what’s this about the lake house?”

He didn’t really need to ask the question. Mitch understood why he didn’t want to stay with his father and by offering up the lake house, he was giving Shane an excuse not to have to. But Shane had no intention of accepting the invitation.

He couldn’t think about the lake house without his imagination conjuring up pImages** of Holly, slim and naked and sexy as hell, wrapping herself around him like she couldn’t get enough of him. He’d known that she’d harbored a crush on him since she was a teenager. She’d followed him everywhere with that damned camera of hers, snapping pictures of him whenever she thought he wasn’t looking. But he wasn’t boyfriend material, and he definitely wasn’t husband material. He’d seen what marriage to his father had done to his mother. He’d never be able to provide Holly with the kind of lifestyle she was accustomed to, and he wouldn’t be responsible for turning her into a bitter, unhappy woman. Maybe if things had been different…

He could still recall that Christmas Eve, when she’d followed him down to the wine cellar and kissed him. It was the best Christmas gift he’d ever received, only he hadn’t wanted to stop there. He’d wanted to consume her, to push himself into her warmth until she no longer knew where her body ended and his began.

He’d wanted to inhale her, to absorb her through his very pores. But he’d pulled away, and he’d kept away for the next four years. He hadn’t trusted himself to let her get too close. It hadn’t been until the night of her graduation party that he’d let down his guard.

Holly had just graduated from the Naval Academy and her mother had sent him an invitation to help celebrate at the lake house. He was sure she’d done it more out of respect for the friendship he had with Mitch than for any relationship he had with Holly, but he hadn’t been able to resist going. He’d been stationed at Camp Lejeune, so he’d requested a couple of days leave and had driven from North Carolina to the house in southwestern Virginia. He’d needed to know if his memories of her had been accurate.

They hadn’t been.

Holly had been even more vibrant and beautiful than he remembered, and had a new confidence that let him know she wasn’t a kid any more. She’d cut her long, dark hair into a short, sleek cap that molded her skull and made her eyes seem bigger than ever. Shane had been unable to drag his gaze from her the entire evening. He’d been stunned when she’d followed him into the boathouse late that night and began undressing in the tiny guest room, her eyes locked on his. He hadn’t even tried to resist, and that one night was the closest he’d ever get to heaven.

But to go back to the lake house? No way.

As if he could read Shane’s thoughts, Mitch raised an eyebrow. “Where else are you going to go? At least at the lake house, you’ll have everything you need. The Jeep is there, and I can also ask Pete to check in on you every so often and bring you whatever supplies you need.”

Pete Larson owned the only grocery store and gas station on the eastern side of the lake and had known the Durant family for years. But Shane figured he could easily drive the Jeep, even with the cast on his left leg. With a sense of surprise, he realized he was actually tempted to accept Mitch’s offer. More than tempted, if it meant he didn’t need to go back to Chatham.

He eyed Mitch with suspicion. “What about your family? Won’t they object to my staying there?”

“My folks don’t get out there much anymore, but I know they wouldn’t mind. Mom always liked you better than me, anyway.”

Shane looked away. “What about Holly?”

Mitch’s smile was wry. “She definitely liked you better than me.” Seeing Shane’s expression, he grew serious. “She was released from the hospital over three weeks ago. They stopped by to see you before they left, but you were still too doped up to realize it. You didn’t even know they were there.”

Which was just as well. Shane didn’t think he could face the Durants, and if Holly had been with them…well, he definitely didn’t want to face her. He’d never understood what she’d seen in him, but he’d rather not face her censure now. She must hate him for what had happened, if not at the lake house three years ago, then in Iraq four weeks ago.

“But she’s…okay?”

Mitch snorted. “She’s ready to go back to Iraq, that’s how okay she is. Mother is driving her crazy, trying to anticipate her every need. She insists on treating Holly like an invalid and poor Holly is climbing the walls, probably wishing she was anywhere but home.”

Shane almost smiled, he could picture it so clearly. Even as a teenager, Holly had chafed under her parents’ constant supervision. Mrs. Durant was sweet and generous, but Shane knew firsthand that she could also be a little overwhelming in her attentiveness.

“So what about you?” he asked, wanting to change the subject. “How long are you home?”

Mitch shrugged. “I’m actually on my way back to my ship. I came back as soon as I heard about Holly. And you. I’ve been home for a couple of weeks, but I fly out tonight.” He paused. “I hear you’re being released. I have just enough time to drive you out to the lake, if you’d like.”

“That ain’t necessary.” Shane’s father came to stand next to Mitch. “If you won’t come home with me, son, then at least let me drive you out to the lake. It’s out of the Lieutenant’s way, while I practically have to go by there on my way home.”

Shane shook his head. “It’s okay, Dad. You don’t need to do that.”

His father blew out a frustrated breath. “Goddammit, son, when are you going to let me do something for you? Like I said, the lake is on my way home and at least the drive would give us a chance to catch up.”

Sure, Shane thought bitterly. Four hours in a car with his father, reminiscing about his crappy childhood. The combat he’d seen in Iraq had been nothing compared to the battles that had raged between his parents. He sighed in resignation.

“Sure. Fine.” Whatever.

Mitch looked sympathetic. Shane cleared his throat. “How, um, is Holly, really?”

Mitch hesitated, as if weighing his words. “She’ll be okay. She’s more concerned about you than she is about herself.”

Shane felt his gut twist. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Whatever happened out there wasn’t your fault.” He raked a hand over his cropped hair. “Look, I should get going. You remember where the key to the lake house is kept, right?”

“Yeah.”

“If I know my mother, the pantry should be pretty well-stocked with dry goods, but call Pete Larson if you need anything,” Mitch advised. “As far as the house goes, my mother has a cleaning service come in every couple of weeks to air the place out and run the water, so you should be all set.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Okay, then.” Mitch paused, studying the hat he held in his hands. “About Holly…I know you’re probably blaming yourself, but don’t.”

Shane snorted. “Why not? The incident report said I abandoned my post without due cause. If I hadn’t left my position, then I wouldn’t have been shot. And if I hadn’t been shot, then Holly wouldn’t have put herself in danger by running out to rescue me. She would have stayed by the trucks and been safe.” He gave Mitch a challenging look. “So you see, it is my fault.”

Mitch looked unconvinced. “The doctors said you have a form of amnesia…that you have no recollection of what actually happened that day, so I’m sure there was a good reason why you left your gun. You’re not the type of soldier who would just abandon your position.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know you. And I know you’re not the kind of guy who gets caught up in the heat of the moment and does something stupid.”

Shane glanced sharply at his friend, but Mitch’s expression was sincere. He really believed what he’d just said. But what he didn’t know, what Shane wasn’t about to tell him, was that Holly Durant was the one person who could make him lose his head.

Again and again and again.

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