Camouflaged Hearts Anthology Read online

  "Right then,” Trent said, always the one to take charge, “into the shower with us all.” He climbed from bed, then swept her into his arms. To Clayton, he said, “You can bloody well walk yourself."

  She giggled as she snuggled against his chest.

  Since his arms were full, Clayton had to turn on the shower water. “I'll wash your front,” she told Clayton, “if you'll wash my back,” she said to Trent.

  "Might be hard to resist taking you,” he said. “After watching Clayton have a go at you..."

  "I don't think I could stand up."

  "Maybe we should find out."

  Trent nuzzled her neck while she rose on tiptoes to kiss Clayton in a nothing-held-back open-mouth kiss.

  One of them must have reached for the soap, because her entire body was suddenly slick. “Where do you get your energy?"

  Trent said, “You're addictive."

  He slid soapy hands across her body then knelt to kiss the small of her back.

  "Tomorrow may not be enough,” Clayton said.

  "Thank God!"

  Trent answered more earthily, by guiding his penis between her legs.

  She couldn't ... But the soap, the water, the heat, the soldiers...

  "It's not easy,” Clayton said, “being military."

  "It isn't easy,” she said, “losing your family."

  "Touché,” Trent added, with a gentle forward motion of his hips.

  "It isn't easy,” she continued, “wondering what if, instead of going for it."

  "You know,” Trent said. “I would have done this for nine thousand quid."

  She would have turned, but with their positions, it was impossible. Instead, she bumped her hips back a bit, hinting at what he might get, if he behaved, and when her bum stopped hurting.

  She'd never felt more gloriously alive. And she was looking forward to the rest of the weekend and possibly her life with her two brave soldiers.

  "Maybe even eight,” he amended.

  "Yes, well, I believe I'll be writing Jaynie a cheque of my own,” said Clayton.

  After all, it was for a good cause.

  About the Author

  SL Majors enjoys living on the edge. She pens stories to tantalise and arouse, maybe shock and, hopefully, to make you think.

  From her earliest years exploring England and Wales (and finding out early what nettles are!), she's learnt that things aren't always as they seem. She hopes to capture that in her stories.

  She encourages you to delight in life and the unexpected, embracing each experience. It's her greatest hope that at the end of her stories, you'll say, “What if?"

  Email: [email protected]

  SL Majors loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at www.totalebound.com.

  Also by SL Majors

  Naughty Nibbles: Balls to the Walls

  Naughty Nibbles: Imagine

  FROM THE RUINS

  Bronwyn Green

  * * * *

  * * * *

  Dedication

  In loving memory of my Grandparents, Ruby Green and Harold Bartz. Your love was the epitome of Happily Ever After. Thank you for showing our family what's important in life.

  I miss you both so much.

  Thanks to the Torrid Tartlets—Brynn, Carol and Lacey—you guys rock. I'd also like to thank the FNMS—Chel, Jen, Cheryl, Marti and Mary. Thank you also to my amazing editor Claire, and to Matt, Mom, Cait, Manda, Margaret and Julie.

  I couldn't ask for better friends or family.

  Chapter One

  "Where are you going? I just got here."

  Moira Boulton and her friend, Bethan, stopped on the stairs of the USO dance hall and stared at the handsome stranger with the American accent and the glacier-blue eyes. Her breath stalled in her chest as she met his gaze. She would have thought that eyes the colour of a winter sky would be cold and remote, but not his. Fiery and intense, his gaze raked over her body, sending tingles coiling through her middle.

  Despite his overly forward behaviour, her lips twitched in amusement. “I'm sorry, sir, but do we know each other?"

  Flashing her a devastating smile, he bowed slightly, his burnished brown hair drooping over his forehead. “I'm Private David Webber of the United States Army, and if I'm not mistaken, you're the mother of my future children."

  His companions whom she'd barely noticed chuckled good naturedly as a startled laugh escaped her. “The mother of your children, you say?"

  "Well, future children,” he said with a wink.

  "How often does that line actually work?"

  "I don't know. You're the only one I'm ever going to say it to."

  He obviously wasn't serious, but he was charming. Shaking her head in bemusement, she offered him her hand. “I'm Moira Boulton and this is my friend, Bethan Jones."

  He nodded politely to her friend as his large, warm hand closed around Moira's. “Will you give me the honour of the next dance?” he asked. “After all, we have a wedding to plan."

  For a moment, she imagined the sensation of laying her head against his broad chest and feeling his strong arms around her. It was tempting to return to the loud, crowded hall, but she needed to get home. “The last bus is leaving shortly, and we need to be on it."

  His disappointment appeared genuine, but how could it be? After all, they'd just met. “I'm sure there are plenty of other girls inside who would love to dance with you,” she said as she pulled her hand free, ignoring the sour feeling in her stomach as she imagined Mary Katherine Landis in his arms.

  He frowned waving away the suggestion and cocked his head toward the open door of the dance hall. “Give me your hand."

  There was something about this man that encouraged her trust. Even if Bethan hadn't been there, she'd still feel safe with him, but somehow that same sense of trust left her feeling somewhat unnerved. They were in the middle of a war, for God's sake, not to mention the fact they didn't know one another. But as she studied his open expression, she realised she wanted to know him. Taking a leap of faith, she placed her hand in his again and allowed him to lead her to the walk-way at the bottom of the stairs.

  A lively tune drifted from the building along with the scent of cigarette smoke, and David gently pulled her into his arms. “At least give me the pleasure of a dance until your bus arrives."

  She glanced around the street. “Here?"

  He gestured to the darkening sky. “The moon is almost full, and the stars seem nearly close enough to touch. But you're still the most beautiful sight here."

  Following his lead, she swayed to the faint strains of music. “You're a right charmer, Mr. Webber."

  "David,” he corrected smoothly. “And I only speak the truth."

  She had no doubt she was nothing more than a passing fancy for him. After all, he was stuck in a foreign country, and she was a diversion. As handsome and charming as he was, she was likely one of many such diversions. The question was, did she care? Despite Bethan's disapproving stare, Moira melted into David's warm embrace.

  He tucked her hair behind her ear as he stared into her eyes. “You're a hard woman to catch, Moira."

  She frowned. “Beg your pardon?"

  "I've been trying to meet you for the last three weeks, but every time I make it to the hall, you're getting on that damnable bus."

  Moira laughed, shaking her head.

  "It's true. I snuck out early tonight in hopes of at least one dance with the most bewitching woman I've ever seen."

  His compliments warmed her, false though they might be. “You do tell a lovely tale."

  Shaking his head, he leaned toward her, his lips hovering above hers. “And you're stubborn,” he muttered. “You ought to know, I'm about to kiss you."

  "I should hope so,” she breathed.

  His lips brushed across hers, the barest of touches. With a soft caress, he cupped her cheek as he deepened the kiss. Opening against the gentle press of his mouth, her lips parted and w
elcomed the slight stroke of his tongue against hers. He tasted of coffee and rich, warm male.

  For a moment, she forgot they were on a public street. She forgot that they'd only just met. She forgot everything but the pleasure of his kiss and the shelter of his embrace.

  "Moira!” Bethan snapped, breaking the blissful spell David wove around her. “The bus is coming."

  David raised his head, regret plain in his gaze. “When can I see you again?"

  She glanced at the approaching vehicle, torn between the desire to stay and the relief that she couldn't. “I don't know."

  "Be here tomorrow night."

  She took a step back, sanity trickling back. “How do I know you'll be here?"

  Releasing his hold on her, he unbuckled the brown leather band of his wristwatch and pressed the timepiece into her hand and held it there. “My sister gave this to me before I shipped out."

  Moira tried to follow his logic, but shook her head in confusion.

  A warm smile curved the lips that had so recently been on hers. “She told me she'd kill me if I came home without it. “I'll be back because I have to get my watch. And you'll be here so you can return it to me.” Gently, he brushed her hair from her eyes. “I'll be here to see you, because I can't go home without it."

  Clearly pleased with his logic, he dropped another kiss on her upturned mouth.

  "How do you know I won't sell it in the meanwhile?"

  "You won't,” he said as he brushed his thumb over her cheekbone. He gave her another quick kiss and walked her to the open door of the bus.

  David watched as Moira boarded the vehicle and held his gaze through the grimy window. He ignored the glare her friend aimed at him through the same dirty glass. He'd taken a big chance tonight, but he knew he could trust Moira, the same way he knew she was the woman he was going to marry.

  He'd always laughed at his father and aunts when they'd insisted that they just ‘knew’ things. He could never imagine simply acting on a feeling instead of a carefully contemplated idea. It had always boggled his mind. Then he'd seen Moira, and he knew. He just knew. It had been far more than her beauty—though she was certainly lovely. He'd simply sensed that she was the one. So like a man possessed, he'd desperately tried to meet her. He'd taken nothing but razzing from the guys in the barracks ever since he'd seen her three weeks ago. He glanced at his friends where they still leaned against the railing watching the bus rumble away. They weren't laughing now.

  Tonight he'd fall asleep with the taste of her on his mouth and the memory of her warm curves in his arms. The lilt of her low, sweet voice still wrapped around him, and he knew he'd hear her in his dreams. He finally had a voice to go with the deep brown eyes and full lips that had haunted every waking thought since he'd first seen her. He sighed, wishing they'd had more time tonight.

  "C'mon, Davey,” his friend Martin called nodding toward the open door of the Wood Street dance hall. “Let's get a beer for you and a woman for me."

  Chapter Two

  David hurried away from camp. His shoulders throbbed in pain but not as much as his thumb. So distracted by the idea of seeing Moira tonight, he'd missed nail heads more than once. But, his company had completed two more barracks to house the massing Allied Forces as they prepared their offensive against the Germans. Because of the hilly, rocky terrain, Wales had been deemed the perfect place to camouflage the growing number of troops. Soon, he'd join those soldiers, trading his hammer and saw for a gun and ammunition. Worry nagged at him. He was used to ploughing fields and mucking out stalls—not killing men. He was a long way from his family's farm in Michigan.

  His gut tightened with anticipation as he crested the Wood Street hill and saw the shadowed figure of a woman pacing outside the dance hall. She was there. Even from this distance, he knew it was Moira. He could tell by the silky fall of her long sable hair and the enticing sway of her full hips.

  "Moira,” he called as he lengthened his stride.

  She spun to face him, her skirt swirling around her, and his hands itched to stroke her silk clad legs. As he reached her, he pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her hair.

  "I missed you,” he said. Breathing deeply, his lips brushed across her cheek to her ear and the sharp tug of desire pulled at his middle. “You smell so good."

  "I wasn't sure you'd come,” she whispered as she pressed his watch into his hand.

  He raised his head and stared into her beautiful, dark eyes. “Did you really think I'd miss the chance to see you again?” he asked as he buckled the strap around his wrist.

  She shrugged and brushed her lips over the hollow at the base of his throat. When he caught his breath she giggled and did it again. He cupped her cheek and brushed his thumb over her cheekbone tilting her head back.

  "You're playing a dangerous game, Miss Boulton."

  She tried to squelch a smile. “And what game is that, Mr. Webber?"

  Her smile faded as she looked into his heated gaze. God, he wanted her. It was crazy to think he could be so affected by someone he'd just met, but it was the truth. He'd wanted other women before, hell, he'd had other women before, but no one had tied him in knots like Moira did.

  "What game is that?” she repeated in her lilting Welsh accent.

  His thumb moved to trace the outline of her parted lips. His cock jerked at the catch of her breath as he slowly lowered his head.

  "Teasing the hungry beast,” he whispered against her mouth before he claimed it.

  And he was hungry. For her. She tasted like honeyed tea with a sweetness that was all Moira. She drove her fingers through his hair and her lips parted beneath his. He swallowed her soft sigh as he pulled her closer. She shyly stroked his tongue as he delved into her mouth, sighing as he tasted her fully.

  She pressed into him and her lush breasts flattened against his chest and cock hardened almost instantly. His arousal pressed against her and she stiffened in surprise. He pulled back, not wanting to frighten her. “I'm sorry, Moira. I—"

  She bit her lower lip. “I'm not,” she finally whispered.

  His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open, but the ominous sound of propellers cut the quiet night. Pulling Moira into his arms, he scanned the sky as the scream of an air-raid siren drowned out all other sound. A bomb hit directly behind the dance hall and shook the cobblestone street where they stood. Flames lit the darkness and panicked screams filled the air.

  He grabbed Moira's hand and dragged her across the street. They ran through abandoned yards, tearing through weathered gorse as he tried to get her as far as possible from the fires that were devouring the all wooden structures in its path.

  "We need a place with a cellar,” he panted as they ran.

  "The church, but it's locked.” She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes wide with fear. Another bomb exploded as it hit the ground near the street where he'd kissed her a few moments earlier.

  That unnerving sense of knowing prickled across the back of his nape. Stopping their mad dash, he pointed at what used to be a fieldstone building, more precisely at the cellar doors that were only partially covered with rubble. “What was that?"

  She squinted in the direction he pointed. “It used to be a pub."

  Hopefully the basement would still be intact. Heart pounding in his chest, he switched directions and pulled Moira toward the ruins.

  "David,” she panted. “What are you—"

  He pulled her to the ground and motioned for her to stay there. “Saving your life. Stay down."

  He began to throw aside rocks and rubble, clearing the top of the doors. Disregarding his directive, she did the same as bombs continued to rain down on the city. Grunting, he shoved aside a charred wooden beam. “Found it.” He yanked open the cellar door and pulled his flashlight from his belt, shining the thin shaft of light into the yawning darkness.

  The steps looked solid. He tested them then turned back to Moira and tugged her in after him. Herding her into the dank, blackness, he pulled the do
or shut behind them. Another explosion rocked them, and they nearly fell down the remaining stairs. When they reached the hard-packed dirt floor, he shined the beam of light around the cramped space. A doorway framed with heavy wooden planks led into what looked like a wine cellar.

  Taking her hand, David led her into the narrow room, still filled with bottles and barrels. At least they wouldn't die of thirst while they were down here. He ran the beam of light over shelves that had been dug into the earthen walls. Nothing but empty flour sacks. He shone the light over the walls again. Even before the above ground structure had been destroyed, the electricity had never been run into the cellar—which meant there might still be candles or an oil lamp down here. He felt around beneath the sack cloth until he found what he was looking for. A few candles and small box of matches as another bomb hit the ground above them, and the bottles rattled ominously.

  "Are you sure it's safe here?” she asked.

  He lit the partially burned candle and switched off his flashlight. Who knew how long they'd be down here. It was best to conserve the batteries.

  He turned to face her. The candle's flame set their shadows to dancing on the walls and he saw the worry etched in her face. “It's better than staying above ground. I didn't want to risk your safety like that."

  She pressed her lips together and nodded nervously as she pulled the flour sacks off the shelf and spread them on the floor. Sitting down she patted the ground next to her. “We may as well get comfortable,” she said.

  Their thoughts were obviously following the same path. Who knew when the shelling would stop? Sometimes it lasted minutes, other times, hours. Sitting at her side, he slipped his arm around her and gave her what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze. She startled as another barrage of shells hit the city above. He wrapped both arms around her and she buried her face in his chest.

  "It'll be all right.” He smoothed his hand down her back, in an attempt at comfort.