Valentine's Victory

Praise for the writing of Kally Jo Surbeck

Friendly Fire

Current fans looking for a sequel to She Blinded Me with Science... Fiction or new readers looking for a taste of Kally Jo Surbeck’s excellent and entertaining writing talent, will not miss with Friendly Fire. It will leave you craving more of her sizzling, fun tales set at the Star Trek convention. -- Patti Fischer, Romance Reviews Today

This was a fun peek into the sci-fi con life. I’ve yet to attend, but I loved this glimpse into the subculture of a con. Friendly Fire was a quick story about the beginning of what may be a wonderful relationship. I hope that Ms. Surbeck re-visits this couple in the future. -- Serena, Fallen Angel Reviews

Friendly Fire, I found, was a great romp into the fun and exciting world of cons. For a while, you drop the outside world and take up a persona of someone, or even something, else. It was amusing to see Kenny's character get lost in that world. I love Ivy’s assertive attitude, even though she has her insecurities. This was a great read. -- Laura, Coffee Time Romance

Friendly Fire is now available from Loose Id.

VALENTINE’S VICTORY

Kally Jo Surbeck

www.loose-id.com

Warning This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

***** This book is rated:

For explicit sexual content and graphic language.

Valentine’s Victory Kally Jo Surbeck This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Published by Loose Id LLC 1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-29 Carson City NV 89701-1215 www.loose-id.com

Copyright © February 2006 by Kally Jo Surbeck All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.

ISBN 978-1-59632-219-6 Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader

Printed in the United States of America

Editor: Erin Mullarkey Cover Artist: April Martinez

Dedication This story is dedicated to all the lovers who believe in romance and true love. The love that lasts through the hard times as well as the easy. In particular, I thank Cathie, whose love for romance, happily-ever-after, and the power of believing is an inspiration to all. Thank you, Cathie. And thank you, all who believe!

Chapter One

This was the seventh session, but it didn’t seem any more important than the first. There had been no progress, and now, just as during the first meeting ten weeks ago, Francis Lynn Clemment still had not responded to the counselor beyond simple hellos and goodbyes. She refused to answer questions, to disclose anything. To her, this was a waste of time and money. Her husband, however, sat across from her, in the overstuffed tan leather couch, his big hands folded uncomfortably in his lap, staring earnestly at the young psychiatrist. This fool idea was his. Every Tuesday and Friday they came to the small three-story office building. They rode the elevator in silence, both in opposite corners, like fighters waiting for the bell. They walked through the institutional gray halls without touching, then came into this expensively decorated office, all at his prompting. If given the choice, she, Frankie, would have let him go it alone. Maybe it would help him. Maybe he did need to “talk it out.” She didn’t. She could just as easily have stayed home, but somehow her beguiling husband had managed to convince everyone this was best. From her GP to her mother. What was wrong

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with her that she would not try to salvage their marriage? Did she want their marriage to end? Frankie scratched her forehead. The only suitable response to that question was cooperation. So, here they sat. Each as distant and alone as before the first session. No. Frankie modified her thoughts. She was alone. Her husband, Tanner, sat spilling every last sordid detail of their married life to the pretty doctor woman, sharing. Frankie watched his perfect lips move in a steady stream of description. She recognized her name. Frankie. He’d called her that since they first met, never caring for Francis. He’d said it didn’t suit her. That Frankie sounded more fun, youthful, adventurous. That’s how he saw her. He frowned at something. She didn’t know if it was inner conflict, or if the doctor had responded to his tale of woe. At one time, she’d loved to watch his facial expressions. To guess what he was thinking by the light in his eyes. Yet, somehow, the light had seemed to fade. The spark of desire still smoldered in their depths, but his happiness, his zest, his hope seemed gone. For a brief instant, she wanted to reach out to him to smooth the pained lines of his face. She yearned to make the deepening frown scoring the edges of his mouth disappear; but as quickly as the compulsion came, it left her again. In the years they’d known and loved each other, she’d felt his lips in the dark, memorized the weathered planes of his handsome face. Intimately, she knew the mole behind his left ear right at the hairline, the scar in his right brow. Those little details, seared in her memory, had once been a source of so much joy. Now, they stood out to her as distractions. Perhaps the accident had taken more from her than anyone knew. It had stolen her youth and that adventurous wife he knew. It had robbed her of music, the beat of her soul. Had it taken her heart, as well?

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These thoughts, so sad, seemed someone else’s. As though she read them from a score. Had she watched it in a movie, she’d have been stirred to tears. Not now, though. Not in her reality. Here, there was nothing. Absently she wondered what it would take to make her feel that way again. To make her feel ... at all. For nearly three months, she’d been statically numb. Even the physical pain from her injuries hadn’t hurt terribly. The tinges, the spasms, and the newly knitted bones were an agitation, nothing more. He glanced at her, offered her a tremulous smile, and reached for her hand. She blinked and shifted so their bodies, though sitting next to each other in the large, overstuffed couch, did not touch. Incrementally, she moved further into her corner, placed her elbow on the armrest, and propped her chin on the back of her wrist. The other hand she tucked protectively around her waist. Tanner looked down at the floor. His dark brows pulled together, and he seemed to struggle. Frankie stubbornly refused to allow his obvious hurt to affect her. There he sat, exposing their fresh wounds to a stranger. She was there. She was present, but she’d be damned if she’d appear lovey. After a moment, he brushed his hand across his nose, then looked to the doctor, who sat waiting, watching. He spoke again, a bit too quickly. He talked with his hands accentuating his story, his face partially turned from her. She could not make out his lips. The muscles in his neck tensed, and Frankie watched the pulse in the vein at the base of his throat thump with pressure. The doctor remained impassive, looking mostly at Frankie. Frankie stared back for a long moment, then turned toward the lone window in the office. It was a nice office, opulent. The furniture was comfortable. Cozy almost. The colors were soft and inviting. Great care had been put into the design, the placement of the furniture, the display of the accolades and achievements. Even the doctor appeared just so.

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Cultivated to a tee. It made Frankie cold. In the reflection of the window, she viewed Tanner and the doctor watching her. She watched him shrug and shake his head. This she knew. She’d participated in the argument so many times, without a doubt she knew the story Tanner was telling the psychiatrist. He’d been the one to suggest they seek help. He said they needed to. She needed to. He didn’t know what else to do for her. He’d tried everything he knew to do, and it hadn’t been enough. He didn’t know what to do anymore, or if anything he ever did would ever be enough. He didn’t want to lose hope or give up on her. He’d do whatever it took, but he couldn’t do it alone. The doctor compassionately nodded for him to continue. He ran his hand through his hair, mussing it, giving him a boyish charm. Frankie hadn’t wanted to speak to a stranger, but eight years of marriage, as he so lovingly pointed out, did stand for something. So, hesitantly, she’d agreed. The doctor wrote in her notes. He’d been the one to make all the arrangements. He’d researched the doctors and their credentials. He’d checked their references and spoken with Frankie’s doctors to get their approval and support in this next step in their recovery. Their recovery. It even sounded ludicrous to say they both needed to recover. Tanner’s bruises had faded the week after the accident. Two weeks after, to look at him, no one would ever know that early December had stripped the young couple of everything. One snowstorm. That was all it had taken. One snowstorm. One patch of ice. One moment of not paying attention. It had been an argument. Nothing important. Nothing that would have foreshadowed her world being ripped apart at its very seam. A little disagreement, that’s all. Tanner wanted

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to go to the company Christmas party at the country club. He said they wouldn’t stay long, only an hour or two. There were some new people on his team she should meet, one guy in particular; he’d played in a community orchestra. Tanner thought maybe they could talk music. Come on, he’d said. It would be fun. Only a little while. She hadn’t wanted to go. She’d wanted to go home, cuddle up in front of their newly installed fireplace, and pretend they were the only two people alive. Act like newlyweds. Maybe they would sip a little spiced cider, play footsies, laugh as they guessed what they had gotten each other for Christmas. Tears stung Frankie’s eyes. She’d had the best secret to share. She’d been awarded the fellowship just that morning. Their recovery! Ha. It wasn’t his side of the car that had plowed into the oak. It wasn’t his head jammed into the dash so securely the paramedics had had to cut him free. When the rescue worker pulled the ripcord making the metal teeth on the saw roar to life, Frankie had been horrifyingly awake. Everyone seemed to move in slow motion. She couldn’t see Tanner; all she could see were the sharp metal teeth. There was no sound. It just came toward her head. She struggled, but could not pull free. No sound, just vibration as it rattled her mind, her body, and her soul. A twinge of emotion, undefined, tugged at Frankie’s heart. She blinked back her tears. Although, for the briefest moment, she wanted to reach out to Tanner, to curl up in his arms and let the tears she’d sought so valiantly to conceal fall. She wanted to tell him how frantically alone she felt, trapped in a world of silence, where the only thing she heard was the echo of her lost voice, memories of old conversations, the horrific squeal of tires before impact. She wanted to make him understand how she couldn’t hear the music any more. Though she remembered events, she could not, for the life of her, hear the Canon in D in its entirety. But to a man who worked with factual data, there was no way to articulate her loss.

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Outside the ceiling-to-floor window, two little birds alighted on a bare branch. The bluish-black of their wings glittered in the afternoon sunshine. The orange-yellow of their beaks seemed vibrant against the baby-blue sky. The birds huddled closely together, sharing their warmth. Soon spring would arrive and there would be no need to share body heat, but that time had not yet come. Bitter winds still whistled through the busy streets of Rochester. Their tiny beaks moved. They opened and closed, and Frankie wished with all her heart that she could hear their song. She tried to imagine the sound. The sharp trill of the blackbird’s cry eluded her. She felt Tanner’s gentle touch on her elbow and she looked at him. He was warm and tender as always, but now when he touched her, instead of with the confidence of two years of dating and eight years of marriage, he handled her as though she might break. His uncertainty felt like an insult. He wanted her to share with him, to talk to him, to tell him how she felt, but how could she when she had to worry about how he’d handle it? Was he strong enough to hear of her doubt? Her terror? In Sign there weren’t even adequate descriptors. His hesitancy in touching her, handling her ... did that translate into a fear of the future with someone who was damaged goods? She bit her lip. Tanner was a good man. He always did the right thing. Did that mean he was trying to “fix” her because it was his duty, or because he needed to have her back, as much as she could come back? Slowly, with great attention to detail, he signed, spelling out each word instead of utilizing the shortcuts. The doctor asked you a question.

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Chapter Two

American Sign Language was fairly simple to learn. Once Frankie understood her hearing loss was not a temporary condition, or a psychosomatic one; once she realized she would never again hear the haunting strings of Bach’s Mass in B-minor or Beethoven’s third; once she comprehended that the deep timbre of Tanner’s voice, the threads that turned her stomach all warm and buttery, were lost to her forever, she’d sought out an alternate means of communication. ASL had been that means of contact. That and her LiveJournal. Frankie kept an online blog where she was known as The Lacking. She never named names or specifics, but there she was allowed to wallow in her self-pity, to share her hopes, her fears, to say the things she no longer had the voice to say. Online she could say almost anything, though there were a few things she kept only for herself. The Internet provided her anonymity and freedom -- two things she’d never thought she would desire. Now they were her salvation. And though she had the freedom afforded by the Net, she exercised caution. Brockport Village was not big enough to name names. Not that she’d seen many people recently. Right after the accident, they’d all come to visit, her neighbors. They baked cakes and brought casseroles. A few of them came over and helped clean the house a few times. While

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Frankie appreciated their efforts, she’d not understood them. She hadn’t lost her mobility or her fundamental skills. She had the use of her hands, her legs, her mind, but people for some reason felt the need to coddle her like a child when all she needed was a helping hand and a great big hug. No. Frankie shook her head as if to clear it. Children were treated delicately. They treated her as though she were completely handicapped, unable to fend for herself. Had these people truly wanted to befriend her, they would not have tried to take away the things she could still do. She needed the busy work. Without her day-to-day chores, what did she have? They were home. The white two-story looked as desolate as she felt. Annoyed, she slammed the car door shut. She looked left and right. They lived in a rather rural neighborhood. Considerable distance separated the houses. It was a mixed blessing. Afforded privacy, her seclusion and isolation increased. She couldn’t work anymore; that had been taken that fateful night. She couldn’t sit and participate in lengthy discussions on composition. Without her ear for tone and pitch, it was ... fruitless. That was how she’d discovered the Internet. Online, through IMs and chat rooms, Frankie had found a means of discussion. A place where her disability didn’t matter. There she was considered an expert, her opinion valued. She could debate theory and application with the best. Of late, she’d even been considering contacting the local school about an outreach program or online seminar. She stepped onto the walk. Her neighbors didn’t understand that about her. Her need for music. There was no way to explain it to them. For her entire life, she’d come across those who did not appreciate music the same as she. Odd now for her to see life almost from those people’s angle. She’d have liked to explain it, but she didn’t even know how to share her feelings with Tanner.

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At one time, she’d been able to tell him anything. He’d been there when her father died, her mother remarried, through college. He knew how badly she’d wanted the fellowship. He’d held her hand through admissions. Now, she couldn’t say anything. If that’s how far she’d fallen, how could she explain it to people she saw at block parties? After two weeks, when Tanner no longer bore the physical marks of the accident, and he’d been able to return to work full time, the neighbors had stopped coming by. It didn’t happen overnight, but nearly so. Even on her morning jog, it seemed as though her neighbors, quick to smile and wave, moved a little faster in the opposite direction. They rolled up their windows, or simply did not look Frankie’s way at all. Not that she blamed them. After all, she wasn’t much company. She was depressed. They couldn’t really communicate. It just ended up being uncomfortable. Nearly three months had passed, but it seemed like years. The closed-caption option on the television had helped. Tanner made sure there were new novels each week. He had tried. He really had. Frankie scratched her head, running her fingers though her knotted curls. She hadn’t been fixing herself up lately. She spun her shoulder-length hair into a knot or a ponytail, but that was about it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d applied foundation. Lip gloss and mascara, that was it, and both of those bottles had been purchased last October. Frankie took the stairs two at a time. Tanner stood at the top, holding the front door open. The day’s session had been a bust. However, looking at her husband and his defeated expression, Frankie felt a twinge of guilt. Had she been the one to give up on their relationship, not him? Was she allowing it to die because she separated herself from him, from his attempts? No.

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She wasn’t that bad. As if to prove her point, she raised up on her toes as she passed by and kissed his cheek, surprised at the new growth peppering his jaw. The stubble abraded her lips, gave her a shiver of suppressed delight. She needed to kiss him more often. Why had she stopped? He reached for her, but confused, she sidestepped his advance.

Sorry, she signed. I’ve got to talk to Ann a minute. I’ll be back. He looked disappointed, but he nodded. He turned and went back out the door. He was probably going to the porch swing. The computer was her sanctuary, the swing his. Frankie watched him go, physically feeling her defenses slip out the door with her husband. She needed to IM Ann. Ann would tell her straight. Ann Bohner had been Frankie’s best friend nearly all of her life. She was the funniest person Frankie had ever met. She shot straight from the hip and had not once let Frankie off the hook when she was being difficult. Ann called it how she saw it. Life was black and white for her, but in the most delightful way possible. She’d never failed Frankie, not in friendship, conscience, or action. She’d come to the hospital and stayed all night. They’d separated Tanner and Frankie, but the hospital staff had not been able to keep Ann far from Frankie’s side. She’d taken that whole first week off. She’d held Frankie’s hand. She’d flipped the pages of picture books and she’d smiled, a lot. Both Ann and Tanner had learned ASL for Frankie, with her. Ann originally found the classes at the local Y. They met in the evenings, twice a week. The three of them had gone together the first couple of times, but by unspoken agreement, Frankie and Tanner began attending separate classes. She’d thought maybe, at first, he started taking the class a different night so he could surprise her with the things he learned. But as the weeks progressed, she became uncertain and grew to believe it was because he could not take another ounce of guilt. Though she questioned the motivation, she was glad for it. Thankful for the time alone with Ann.

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Ann answered immediately. “Yes. You’re wrong. About time you saw it for what it is.” “Why didn’t you say something?” “You needed time. Tanner understands this,” Ann responded. “Now, go to him. Please. Explain what you need.” “I don’t know how.” Lately, it seemed like Tanner watched her like a mother hawk. Always under his sharp gaze, she’d found it difficult to breathe. She knew he didn’t want her to disappoint, but it seemed that he watched for her to stumble. That somehow since he’d failed to protect her in the accident, he could protect her in life. “I’m frustrated, Ann!” Frustration seemed to rule her life. “Figure it out. You’re a bright kid. Gotta go! Love ya.” Frankie powered down the unit. Somehow she had to find a way to explain, maybe not just to Tanner but to herself, too, that no one could be protected forever. Life moved on. Accidents happened. She did understand that, didn’t she? Though she didn’t speak during the sessions with the psychiatrist, Frankie knew exactly what Tanner spoke of. She’d found that her years in music had innately taught her how to watch body language, to note the subtle changes in people’s facial expressions. To read between the lines, in a manner of speaking, and above all, to read lips. She hadn’t known she possessed that particular talent, but immediately -- in the hospital, as a matter of fact -- she’d found herself naturally doing it. Tanner blamed himself for her disability. In all honesty, she blamed him, as well. Or had. She didn’t know what she was feeling now. Confused didn’t begin to cover it. Sad barely expressed the loneliness. Frankie took a deep breath. She’d felt empty for far too long. It had been so easy to look at life in the simplest terms. If only he’d paid attention to the road. If he’d not fought with her. If he’d just taken her home like she asked. None of this would have happened.

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For months that’s how she’d looked at that night. It seemed clear in her mind, but as she came back into their cozy living room full of happy photographs, she wondered. What if, that night, she’d just agreed to go with him to his party? Tanner was so excited for her to meet his friends. Help her make new contacts. She frowned. What had she said to him right before they hit that patch of black ice? If

you loved me, you’d ... A motion drew her attention. Shadow played with light as Tanner moved about their small kitchen. How long had he been in the house? He stood at the kitchen sink, a halfempty coffee pot in his hands. He stared out the window, his breathing shallow. Sad. So sad. It made her insides twist. Her nerves balled into a tight knot. Her hand flew to her stomach. She wanted to forgive him, forgive herself. She’d loved Tanner as long as she could remember, but she didn’t know how to forgive him, how to cross that barrier she’d erected between them. She didn’t know how to reach for him now. Three months, not long in the scheme of things, but forever when trapped in uncertainty. The problem was not just her pain, her disillusionment. Every day she remained withdrawn, she punished him for something he’d never meant to do. Before she knew what she was doing, Frankie saw her hand reach out for him. She jerked it back to her side as though scalded. She smiled bitterly at her behavior. Thank God his back was still to her. His beautiful broad shoulders that carried so much weight. How could she reach out to him with no warning? No, she had to do this right. He’d never meant to hurt her. She’d never meant to deny him. He hadn’t meant for the accident to happen. She hadn’t meant to shut him out. Her attention settled on the calendar. She sought out the small stickers that had the frowning yellow face that denoted their appointments with the doctor. When she located

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the current day, she smiled. Valentine’s Day. This one full of hope and love. She had her answer. She just needed Ann’s help.

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Chapter Three

Ann had been predictably blunt. She thought Frankie’s idea brilliant and was more than happy to act as an accomplice. After a brief instant messaging session, Ann came and picked Frankie up. They went shopping. It was nearly eight o’clock when they got back home. Ann walked her to the door, gave her a hug, handed over the bags, and said, “You get him, girl! It’s about time. I was beginning to think I was going to have to beat some sense into you. Glad you came around on your own.” Frankie smiled. Drive home safely, she signed. “Yes, ma’am.” It was good to be back, to have a sense of direction and, more importantly, to feel hope. She walked into the house. The scent of simmering chili greeted her. Onions, garlic, and oregano filled the air with a pungent aroma. It was enough to make Frankie’s mouth water. Tanner looked up from his laptop. Hey, babe, he signed. Setting the bags and a bouquet of roses on the kitchen table, Frankie responded. It’s

okay to talk. I like to watch your lips.

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He seemed surprised at her admission. He snapped the laptop shut, set it on the end table, and turned so he fully faced Frankie. “Really?” he said.

Yes. He licked his lips, his tongue darting out. The soft pink drew her gaze, warmed her soul. She knew he was uncomfortable, perhaps wondering how many things he had said that she understood. “I’ve made us dinner.” A little curiosity was good. He’d shaved and showered. Wet chestnut hair, a little too long, framed his handsome face. He’d always worn his hair short. Frankie found she liked it longer. It seemed more rugged. There was that adventurous girl. She hadn’t totally left the building. “Did you have fun with Ann?” he asked. She nodded. Her gaze drifted over his broad shoulders, up his neck, lingered over his lips, then up to his eyes. She held his gaze for a long moment. “Good.” Again, she nodded. She slipped out of her jacket and hung it on the peg, then retrieved the bags and took them into the living room. She sank onto the sofa next to him. The flowers

are for you. She took his hand in hers. The warmth of his skin comforted her, reassured her. “Are you all right?” One look at her dearest friend, the only man she’d truly loved, steeled her. Though she “spoke” quickly, she took care to be clear in her action so he understood.

I know it’s been tough of late. And I know you’ve tried. I’m sorry I’ve been so distant. I’ve missed you. He offered a shrug, but his lips trembled, as did his hand in hers. “You’ve got a lot to deal with.”

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I do. So do you. We shouldn’t make it harder on each other. Her heart thundered in her chest. It knocked so hard against her ribcage that her shirt pulsed with the force. It actually shook her. She hadn’t been this nervous since she’d dated. He wore a light blue baseball jersey that brought out the cobalt in his eyes. It exposed his neck and a portion of his collarbone. She watched the pulse at the base of his neck quicken with her assessment. It was nice to see it leap with excitement rather than irritation. It encouraged her, emboldened her.

I’ve felt trapped. Misery creased his brow. “I never meant to make you --” She stopped him. No. It took me a long time, but I realized it’s not you that made me

feel this way. It’s going to take some time for me to get past this, and to be perfectly honest, I don’t know how long. But I do want to try. He kissed her forehead, careful not to pull her too tightly into his embrace. Distance still separated them. Something beyond the actual space. It was an emotional wall Frankie realized she alone had built. Tonight she would tear it down, or at least start its destruction.

I want you to see how I experience things. Nodding, he glanced to the plastic bag. She laughed as she reached inside and withdrew a pair of earplugs. It’s not really the

same thing, but ... He reached out and took the hermetically sealed earplugs. With male ease he popped open the perforated backing and took out the hunter’s-orange plugs. His questioning gaze rose to hers. “This will help? Ya think?” She shrugged. Without hesitation, he twisted them and shoved them in his ears. He worked his jaw repeatedly, evening out the equilibrium. Each movement drew her attention, focused it on

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his mouth, the strong line of his jaw, the fact that he was willing to give this a shot, as corny as it might seem to anyone who’d not experienced it.

How do you feel? “Uncomfortable.”

Good start. She patted his thigh. Maybe this wouldn’t work, but it had already made her feel better. His gaze moved around the room, his head cocked to the side as though he had to reacclimatize to his surroundings, as though he were seeing it for the first time. “It seems smaller when you can’t hear the echo.” He stood. Immediately, his arms went out to steady himself. He grabbed the arm of the couch. Concern lined his face. “I never saw you do this.”

We were apart the first couple of days. I still do it, sometimes. It’s not bad anymore. Something akin to heartbreak turned his lips down. “I didn’t know.”

How could you? “You know, this really isn’t fair. To a degree, I can still hear.” She nodded. “The chili smells good. Rich in spices. I wonder if I put in too much oregano.” She laughed. “Hey!” he exclaimed. “I have an idea. We learn. We learn together. Okay?” Having no idea what he had in mind, she again nodded. He reached for the remote control, and she frowned. “Trust me.”

I do. Quickly, he keyed in the channel for the XM radio stations. Frankie looked to the flat screen. The caption on the bottom listed the artist and song title. He’d found the classical station. His gaze sought hers. He held out his free hand. She accepted. He pulled her into his arms.

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Suddenly, she felt a whisper of movement in her feet. It crawled up her spine like the soft touch of a breeze. Turning in his embrace, she looked again to the TV screen. The volume continued to climb past twenty. Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Her throat constricted. Music. She could feel the music. Her knees weakened. Tchaikovsky pulsed from their surround sound. Tears steamed her cheeks unchecked. “You can hear it?”

Yes. Her throat constricted. You gave me my music back! Tanner laughed. The vibration rumbled through his chest into hers. “It’s a good thing we don’t have close neighbors.” Frankie found herself laughing through her tears. She sniffed and wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands. He kissed her forehead, then her cheeks. “I’m glad you can feel it.” His words became lost as his mouth moved to the corner of hers. He teased her with soft, feathery kisses at the corner of her lips.

I’m feeling lots of things. “Oh, yeah?” He slipped their hands into one another and danced her around a few steps. A coy smile spread across his face, and delicious mischief lit his eyes. “What kind of things? How about you show me?” Forgetting time and troubles, she lightly trailed kisses over his exposed collarbone. The thundering pulse at the vee of his neck emboldened her. She used her tongue to trace the taut muscle there. She felt the power she’d so desperately been lacking. Slipping her hands under his shirt, she pushed it up his back. Her hands slid over the rippling muscles of his shoulders. The shirt came off, over his head. His breath caught. Hers did, too. She’d missed him, their contact. The feel of his strong arms around her, the heat of their skin touching.

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Tanner pulled her sweatshirt off, depositing it on the floor in an unceremonious heap. He slipped his hand in the waistband of her jeans and one by one popped the buttons securing them. Firmly, he placed both hands on her hips and pushed the jeans down, then dropped to his knees in front of her. Over the swell of her hips, the curve of her buttocks, down the backs of her thighs and then up the insides, he trailed his hands. Without words as Rachmaninov’s Second Piano Concerto cascaded over them, his hands showered her with love. They spoke to her with intimacy and caring, telling her she was beautiful and just as complete in his eyes as ever before. He showered kisses on her belly and the front of her thighs, lingering for a moment over the new scar that stretched from her left hip her bellybutton. Tugging her down so they both knelt there together on the living room floor, he leaned in. For a moment, he didn’t come all the way in for the kiss, but held her there, nearly to him, passion glittering in his eyes, and love in his touch. She yearned for his lips, ached for his touch. Her mouth met his in a slow, sensual rush. The moment their lips touched, she felt the pain strip from her like tape yanked from a wound. It was violent and almost painful. She suddenly felt raw and exposed, but the tender ministrations soothed the pain, took it into the caress. Healed it. It was the best kiss she remembered having in ages. It was beautiful and tender, but she wanted more, needed more, demanded it. His response was instantaneous and powerful. With a low growl she felt through his chest, his hand moved behind her neck, grasped her, and lowered them both down to the floor. He fisted his hand in her hair and tilted her head up, exposing her throat. His other hand kneaded her breast, working the nipple into a tight peak. He pulled back and traced her swollen lips with his tongue. She arched up, greeting him, demanding his full attention.

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Kally Jo Surbeck

Frankie slid her leg up over his hip and found herself surprised to discover that somewhere during the kiss Tanner had totally disrobed. His jeans lay atop her sweatshirt, and her leg skimmed over bare skin. His knee pushed between her thighs, wedging her legs further apart. He cradled her, never ceasing the caress of his hands, the hypnotic rhythm of his kisses, leading her forward, begging her to come to him, for him. She didn’t know who was more excited by the contact. She was wet with wanting. Her legs trembled with anticipation. His tongue darted between her parted lips, warning her of his intent. She groaned as he thrust his hips forward, entering her, filling her, completing their bond. Together, they smiled, lips to lips, body to body. Like that, face to face they rode one another. Slow and leisurely, as if being joined was enough. Later the frenzy could come, later the abandoned passion. Tonight, this time, was about their reunion, about love. The fact that he understood that and took it slow, though she could see the strain on his brow and the controlled set of his jaw, shattered her resolve, and she spiraled into a thousand directions, allowing herself to let go and feel every sensation, every pulse as it zinged through her system. With a satisfied sigh, he rolled onto his back. Each breathed heavily. Contented. Tanner had not let her out of his grasp. He held her as though he were scared she would slip away and he would, not even for a moment, allow the gap that had distanced them to reappear. His hand covered hers, then slipped up her forearm, gently brushing over her skin. She fit perfectly in the crook of his arm. He pulled her tight to his chest. His heartbeat pounded against her cheek. She savored the contact, the connection. For that moment, she truly felt connected to him, to life, to the hope of a full and united future. The strength of his

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arms cradled her. His breathing itself seemed almost like a continued caress, an extension of their lovemaking. Tears wet her cheeks. Three times in one day, she scoffed. She was falling apart. But where better to crumble than in the arms of the man she loved? She felt it then. The most important thing she’d believed she would never again experience. She felt the words as he said them: “I love you, Frankie.” “I love you, too.” She didn’t know the tone or the pitch or if she formed the words correctly, but she said it aloud. She vocalized her hopes and her dreams in that one sentence.

Kally Jo Surbeck Kally is a Colorado native, born and raised, on temporary hiatus in Wyoming. She is the Vice President of Colorado Romance Writers, The PRO Education Team Leader for Romance Writers of America and the Promotions Coordinator for Hearts Through History Romance Writers. Around all of those duties, she is actively involved with the Agents: Agent M, Agent C and Agent J, along with her other beloved critique partners. The youngest of five, two brothers and two sisters, an avid reader and moviegoer, Kally knows perhaps more than she should about kick-ass heroines and alpha men. Visit Kally on the Web at www.kallyjosurbeck.com or email her at [email protected].