But she needed him to understand that she was handling the feelings that threatened to strip away the ground beneath her feet. She was pushing forward the only way she knew how. She didn’t need to hand over her problems to him and wait for him to unlock the secret to putting the pain of losing friends, of bearing witness to death, behind her. What she wanted from him was very different.
“I’m not broken,” she said, opening the prepackaged food containers she’d picked up at the store. “Yes, crowds make me nervous sometimes. But I deal with it. I just need some time to put things in perspective.”
He picked up a chicken leg. “I never said you were broken.”
“Broken, cracked, mentally unstable.” She shrugged. “It’s all the same thing. And I know Liam thinks I’m on the brink of some sort of epic meltdown. But I’m not.” She would never let that happen. Whatever it took, she’d fight it.
“Can I ask you something?” Eric said.
“Sure.” She reached for the potato salad, craving the familiar taste of comfort and home.
“Why’d you enlist?” he said. “After college, why didn’t you move back here? I know Liam was pushing you to come home. So what made you wake up one day and join the army?”
Georgia stared at the creamy mix of potatoes, celery, and spice. Her brother had asked that question again and again. She’d always told him the same thing: because she’d wanted to, plain and simple. But there was more to it.
“I know the reason you gave to Liam,” he added. “But there has to be something else. You joined knowing we were at war. You had to know it would cost you.”
“I did.” She looked at him. “But I didn’t lose anything I can’t reclaim.”
Her sleep, her sense of security—she could and she would find those things again. She’d lived through it and come out whole, at least on the outside. On the inside? She could fix that. As long as she didn’t push too far too fast and respected her boundaries, she could put herself back together.
“But you didn’t need to go.” His voice held a hint of sadness and a touch of desperation, something she rarely heard in his words. “Georgia, I’m proud of you. Knowing you were over there, risking your life, it scared the shit out of me. And your brother too. He hid it well, but Liam was terrified.”
Georgia set the food aside, her appetite slipping away. “I know. And I’m sorry for that. When I graduated, I had no idea what I wanted to do. You and Liam, you both knew your future was here, waiting for you. But I didn’t know where to go or what to do with my life. I needed a purpose. And I needed to do something on my own and see what was out there. The army gave me that. From the day I started basic training to the day I came home, being a solider, it challenged me.”
She looked over at him, searching the strong, hard lines of his familiar face to see if Eric understood. She had a feeling her brother never would. How could she expect them to understand what it was like to be a woman who wanted so much out of life, but didn’t know where to turn? She’d grown up on the fringe of the middle class and lost her parents, one after the other, to cancer while she was in college. Then she’d graduated knowing only two things about what she wanted for her future—adventure and purpose.
“And I don’t want being at war to be the last big thing I do with my life,” she said softly.
“It won’t be,” he said, his voice firm, as if issuing a command.
“Making the declaration and putting it into words are two different things,” she said ruefully.
Eric stared at her, his gaze unwavering. For years, she’d craved his attention, hoping he’d look longingly at her. Not that his expression held a hint of desire right now. He was assessing, analyzing. “Do you remember when you were eight and your class adopted a child in Africa?”
Georgia’s brow furrowed. “Yes. She was from a small village, and her parents were struggling to feed her and her family. She wanted to go to school.”
“After school that day, Liam and I rode home with you in the carpool with Marshall Thompson. You declared that you were going to become president of the world and once you were elected, you’d make sure every girl in Africa could go to school and grow up to be a doctor. Marshall laughed at you and told it was impossible.” Eric sat up, reaching for a napkin. “You tried to take a swing at him in the backseat of his mom’s station wagon.”
“Yeah, but we’re not kids anymore, remember?” she said. “It’s not that easy. And Marshall Thompson was right. You can’t run for president of the world.”
Eric smiled as he wiped his hands clean and set the napkin aside. He sat across from her, so close she could reach out and touch his arms, his shoulders, his chest . . .
“Maybe you’d be the first,” he said, his blue eyes locked with hers. “I have a feeling you can do anything you put your mind to, Georgia.”
His smile and the laughter in his eyes faded, eclipsed by burning intensity.
“Anything?” she said softly, her gaze dropping to his lips.
He nodded, his jaw tightening. She watched as tension rippled through his muscles. He leaned forward a fraction of an inch before catching himself, his hands forming fists, pressing into the picnic blanket.
Georgia looked up. Heat, wanting, it was all there in his expression. Her heartbeat went a notch higher. But this time, the parts of her body begging to respond to that look weren’t the same ones that felt the rush when she shot arrows.
“If I can do anything . . .”
Her voice trailed off as she felt him intently studying her mouth. But then he shifted away, as if adding physical space would help. And heaven help her, she wanted to close that gap.
Georgia inhaled sharply. Her courage ran deep. She knew that. She just hoped it wouldn’t fail her, because right here, right now, she wanted to kiss him. One kiss. It wasn’t too much. She knew she shouldn’t, but that didn’t quiet the need, burning bright, ignited by years of wishing she could touch her mouth to his.
Leaning in, she captured his lips, kissing him lightly. Not enough to taste him. But that simple connection—her mouth pressed to his—sent shock waves through her body. Nothing else touched. She kept her hands firmly planted on the picnic blanket, and his remained at his side. She felt his lips part as if he wanted to take control of the kiss. But he held back.
His jaw tightened, his lips closing tight as he pulled away. Georgia didn’t move. The firm line of his mouth, the way the muscles in his forearms tensed against his rolled-up shirtsleeves—Eric was the picture of self-restraint. But his eyes told a different story. In their deep blue depths, she saw how close he was to setting his unwavering moral compass aside and taking what he wanted.
Her.
A thrill ran through her body. Damn it, she yearned for it to, not wanting to think beyond this moment and the rush of physical desire.
“You still haven’t touched me,” she said, letting her words push against his resolve.
“I’m not going to.” His voice sounded strained, as if holding back took everything he had.
“Eric.” She tilted forward, every wild, reckless fiber of her being pushing her to demand another kiss.
His hand touched her face, cupping her cheek, gently holding her lips away from his. She pressed against his palm and closed her eyes. Slowly, she felt him draw near. But his mouth didn’t find hers.
“Eric. Please. I want this.” She kept her eyes shut. They were so close, his breath brushed her ear, teasing, taunting, and stirring her desire. She lifted one hand, wanting to rest it on the front of his shirt, but his free hand wrapped around her wrist, holding her away.
“You think I don’t?” His voice was low and raw. “I want to run my hands over you, Georgia. I’m dying to feel the weight of your breasts. Hold them up to my mouth. I want to lick every damn inch of you. When you come I want you to know it’s because I’m touching you, tasting you.”