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Authors: Christie Ridgway
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woman. Thanks to her, now he couldn’t bring up what had happened in the kitchen, could he?
“So it’s here,” he said. “Those are your copies?”
She ignored the question. “He wrote about me.” Her voice wobbled a little. “He said he would, but I was never sure.”
Noah’s eyebrows rose. The general had asked her not to read the book in manuscript form, and obviously she’d kept her promise.
“Wayne wrote about the day we met,” Juliet continued, “the day we re-met, I should say.”
“Page three hundred and forty-three.” By the time the galley form of the manuscript had arrived—the last step before publication—it had been Noah who had checked through each sheet because the general didn’t have the energy. “ ‘She was everything fresh and fine this jaded soldier had forgotten about the world.’ ”
Juliet gave a little shake of her head. “I can’t believe he wrote something so . . . so . . .”
“Sappy?” Noah tempered the word with a little smile. “When it came to you, there wasn’t much the general wouldn’t do.” Or ask of Noah, either.
“It was at my parents’ funeral. He was a friend of my father’s. I hadn’t seen him since I was a kid, but there he was again.”
Noah nodded. “He remembered you as that child, but when he saw you at the funeral service . . .”
“I was twenty-two, yet he thought he needed to take care of me.” She wore a half-sad smile.
“He fell in love with you,” Noah corrected.
“And I’d daydreamed about a handsome prince since childhood. In dress uniform, he was about as close to one as a modern American man could get.”
Great. On the one hand there was common-as-dirt Noah, and on the other was a highly decorated, wife-adoring ghost. Why the hell for even two seconds he’d let his imagination run to images of refined Juliet going sweaty skin to sweaty skin with him, he didn’t know. For a smart guy, he sure could be as dumb as the next box of rocks.
“What did you think the first time you met me?” she suddenly asked.
His surprise made him step back. “Huh?”
“I don’t remember it. Do you?”
Christ, was the question a test? It felt like a test, and hadn’t he told her he was such a good taker of them? Now he felt tongue-tied and buffalo-footed, while the man she’d married had written: She was everything fresh and fine this jaded soldier had forgotten about the world.
If Noah wanted his tongue in her mouth again—he did—and if he wanted her scent on his hands, on his chest, and every other inch of skin he could manage—he did—then his answer was crucial. Still, his mind was as thick as a custard milkshake and refused to stir.
It was the truth or else risk looking like he suffered from some sort of brain damage. “If I recall correctly, we met on the front porch as you tore out of the house screaming at the top of your lungs while chasing after Marlys’s dog with a plastic bag full of dog shit.”
As if all the air leaked out of her, she sagged back against the butcher-block table. “Oh, my God. What must you have thought?”
If he hadn’t been there to interview for a job that seemed perfect for his circumstances, he probably would have laughed his ass off. “I thought I better not have an accident on the carpet in the master bedroom.”
“ ‘Accident,’ ” Juliet scoffed. “That dog takes his attitude cue from his owner.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “And just in case you think I’m mean—I happen to love dogs.”
Noah had had more than one run-in with that unruly canine himself. “I know you’re not mean, Juliet. You don’t have a mean bone in your body.”
Body. See, he shouldn’t have said that word, because it put her body in his mind, and he was pretty sure he was wirelessly broadcasting those fantasies he’d been suppressing for longer than he cared to remember. Those fantasies that had come roaring to life along with his hard-on the instant he’d touched his tongue to her
“So it’s here,” he said. “Those are your copies?”
She ignored the question. “He wrote about me.” Her voice wobbled a little. “He said he would, but I was never sure.”
Noah’s eyebrows rose. The general had asked her not to read the book in manuscript form, and obviously she’d kept her promise.
“Wayne wrote about the day we met,” Juliet continued, “the day we re-met, I should say.”
“Page three hundred and forty-three.” By the time the galley form of the manuscript had arrived—the last step before publication—it had been Noah who had checked through each sheet because the general didn’t have the energy. “ ‘She was everything fresh and fine this jaded soldier had forgotten about the world.’ ”
Juliet gave a little shake of her head. “I can’t believe he wrote something so . . . so . . .”
“Sappy?” Noah tempered the word with a little smile. “When it came to you, there wasn’t much the general wouldn’t do.” Or ask of Noah, either.
“It was at my parents’ funeral. He was a friend of my father’s. I hadn’t seen him since I was a kid, but there he was again.”
Noah nodded. “He remembered you as that child, but when he saw you at the funeral service . . .”
“I was twenty-two, yet he thought he needed to take care of me.” She wore a half-sad smile.
“He fell in love with you,” Noah corrected.
“And I’d daydreamed about a handsome prince since childhood. In dress uniform, he was about as close to one as a modern American man could get.”
Great. On the one hand there was common-as-dirt Noah, and on the other was a highly decorated, wife-adoring ghost. Why the hell for even two seconds he’d let his imagination run to images of refined Juliet going sweaty skin to sweaty skin with him, he didn’t know. For a smart guy, he sure could be as dumb as the next box of rocks.
“What did you think the first time you met me?” she suddenly asked.
His surprise made him step back. “Huh?”
“I don’t remember it. Do you?”
Christ, was the question a test? It felt like a test, and hadn’t he told her he was such a good taker of them? Now he felt tongue-tied and buffalo-footed, while the man she’d married had written: She was everything fresh and fine this jaded soldier had forgotten about the world.
If Noah wanted his tongue in her mouth again—he did—and if he wanted her scent on his hands, on his chest, and every other inch of skin he could manage—he did—then his answer was crucial. Still, his mind was as thick as a custard milkshake and refused to stir.
It was the truth or else risk looking like he suffered from some sort of brain damage. “If I recall correctly, we met on the front porch as you tore out of the house screaming at the top of your lungs while chasing after Marlys’s dog with a plastic bag full of dog shit.”
As if all the air leaked out of her, she sagged back against the butcher-block table. “Oh, my God. What must you have thought?”
If he hadn’t been there to interview for a job that seemed perfect for his circumstances, he probably would have laughed his ass off. “I thought I better not have an accident on the carpet in the master bedroom.”
“ ‘Accident,’ ” Juliet scoffed. “That dog takes his attitude cue from his owner.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “And just in case you think I’m mean—I happen to love dogs.”
Noah had had more than one run-in with that unruly canine himself. “I know you’re not mean, Juliet. You don’t have a mean bone in your body.”
Body. See, he shouldn’t have said that word, because it put her body in his mind, and he was pretty sure he was wirelessly broadcasting those fantasies he’d been suppressing for longer than he cared to remember. Those fantasies that had come roaring to life along with his hard-on the instant he’d touched his tongue to her
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