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manhandling him. His wrists still ached from where she’d grabbed him, and he wanted to savor that.
    Then before dinner, they were so close, both of them obviously ready for more, and he’d bungled it again. He hadn’t questioned why she left the service so young. Until he saw the scar on her shoulder—visible, tangible evidence of the violence in her past—he’d always assumed her enlistment was up. He’d reacted badly. She took his surprise as disgust, and that was why she’d pulled away and gone cold.
    From here he could see the tattoo on her left shoulder. She’d shown it off one night after a show, everyone tipsy except him. He knew now it was her unit’s insignia, and that night she’d explained the meaning of each part.
In Arduis Fidelis
. “Faithful in Adversity.” The words had new meaning for him now, after tonight. The idea that someone had lifted a weapon and fired at her, had caused her injury, shocked him. And she wanted to go back; that was obvious from the way she talked about it. She wanted to go back, even though he didn’t think she was entirely okay—the first night, when she ran from him, he wasn’t sure it was him she was running from.
    It was one thing to think about the idea of military combat. It was something else entirely to see its aftermath.
    Lucas threw his clothes into the nearest suitcase and pulled on a pair of shorts to sleep in. He wasn’t tired enough yet, so he took his guitar out of the case. He turned off all the lights but the one by his bed and settled back against the headboard, cradling the instrument. He played almost silently, needing more to go through the movement than to hear the music. Muscle memory quieted his thoughts as his fingers moved, the sound of skin hitting strings louder than the music itself. It was a long time before he was able to get to sleep.

Chapter Four
    Gwen woke to her alarm the next morning with the uneasy sensation of having done something unutterably stupid the night before, as if she’d got drunk and danced on a table—oh. Not twelve hours before, Lucas had been parading around the room naked, wicked, and tempting, and she had nearly given in. Thank God she’d come to her senses.
    She’d tried to go to bed early, but it hadn’t done any good; she was still exhausted. During the night she’d jerked awake, sweaty and breathing hard, at least three times, certain at one point she’d screamed in her sleep. She wished she knew what would set off a bad night, so she could start avoiding it.
    Lucas growled something unintelligible in the next room. He’d left his bedroom door open after she’d fallen asleep. Gwen reached across and turned off her alarm and he quieted. She shook her head and went to shower.
    The flight to Washington was blessedly quiet, and this time, she remembered to nap.
    She was getting the last of her things put away in the suite when the front desk rang to say Maggie Creighton had arrived. She brushed a quick hand over her hair, grabbed her phone and keys, and went to start the busy day in earnest.
    The first order of business was to get Ms. Creighton settled. Gwen ran through the information Sam had emailed her. She went to school with Lucas. They’d been in a band, Altered Oblivion, five years before, and had made a small splash, cracking the Top 40 once or twice. The two of them split up, and she left Altered Oblivion for a solo career and hadn’t looked back since. Some of the fans accused her of ditching Lucas for more money, but it hadn’t seemed to hurt her career, nor had her unconventional approach to . . . pretty much everything.
    â€œMs. Creighton?” Gwen crossed the marble floor of the hotel lobby, her hand extended. The petite blond woman turned around and smiled expectantly. “Gwen Tennison, tour manager. Welcome to Washington, D.C.”
    She shook Gwen’s hand. “Maggie, please. So