Grey Skies - A Military Romance (Complete)

Grey Skies: Chapter 17

A fine mist rolled across the road and clung to Finn and Max's clothing. The soles of their runners pounded against the hard packed gravel, the only sound in the quiet countryside aside from their laboured breaths.

"Hold up." Max ground to a halt, pressing his palms against his knees, bent over, grasping for breath.

Finn turned and bounced on the spot. "Gone soft on me, soldier?"

Max shook his head, still trying to force oxygen into his lungs. He twirled a finger at Finn's lower region. "Unfair advantage... with... those long legs."

"Always with the excuses." Finn snickered. "Face it, you missed me."

The burn in his chest had to be from the overexertion. "Are you kidding? There's plenty of room in the Humvee without your hulking body taking up all the air."

The bark of laughter from Finn caught Max off guard. He squinted up at his friend. Was it possible this was the first time Finn had so much as smiled in the week he'd been here? During their years serving side by side, Finn had certainly had his sullen periods. Days when he'd barely say a word beyond the few necessary to execute their orders. When things got serious, when the pressure was on, they all closed down to a degree. Max had grown used to the hours of silence.

But now, out of the Navy, living in his country estate with the love of his life, Finn couldn't possibly have any pressure to suppress his often jovial friend. Max straightened and swallowed. Here was his opening. His chance to bring up the accident, apologize to Finn for the choice Max had forced him into. The decision that had cost Bug her life. His tongue weighed a thousand pounds, his lips refusing to part. The dark shadows under Finn's eyes momentarily forgotten as he grinned in the early morning light. Max swallowed again and charted a new course. "What exactly do you do with all your free time now?"

The temporary grin fell from Finn's face and his body stilled, like a battery operated marionette that ran out of juice. "Take care of Em."

"I don't know your wife that well, but she seems pretty capable."

"You don't know the half of it." Finn stared across the open field beside them, the brown earth raked into neat rows making the ground look like it was wearing a pair of corduroy pants. Max concentrated on regulating his breath and waited. One thing he'd learned over the years was you couldn't force information from his ex-commander. Patience was the key. Max had that in spades.

Can I count on you to have patience? Give Sophie time to come to her senses?

He curled his fingers to control the jolt of excitement the memory of Mary's words caused. Mary, who'd arranged for him to chauffeur Sophie to and from the vineyard with the ease of a ship docking at home base. Providing him with plenty of time to be with her, convince her he was worth the risk.

Because Sophie liked him.

If he could trust Mary, that is. But there had been that moment in the car. When he'd opened his eyes after swimming in the memory of his injury and, like waking from a nightmare, Sophie had been there. Inches from his face, her comforting fingers resting on his wrist. The creak of her seat as she'd leaned in. He may not have much experience with these things, but he'd bet his left nut she was about to kiss him. Until Emily and Finn interrupted them.

"Em's stubborn." Finn's gruff voice drew Max back to the present. "She didn't tell me about her morning sickness, or rather, all day and bloody night sickness for a week. Was afraid I'd be worried over nothing." He huffed. "She could have died."

Max swallowed past the oar in his throat and closed the gap between them, placing a hand on Finn's bicep. "But she didn't." His gaze snapped at him. Max had the urge to retreat to a safer distance from the stare, but stood his ground. "You figured it out, and she's doing great now."

Two heart slams later, Finn opened his mouth, then clamped it shut. His nod was curt.

"Little Wainwright is doomed." Max offered a grin. "Two willful parents. That baby is going to be president or something." He meant the words as a joke, fracture the tension in Finn's stance. Instead, he cracked his knuckles, and a muscle ticked in his jaw. Aching to get back on happier ground, Max changed tactics. "How about we put that crib together today?"

Finn crossed his arms and planted his feet a foot apart. "Not logical. Need to paint the room first."

Ah, there he was. The practical commander who planned his ops down to the second. Max shook his head. "Come with me to drop off Sophie. After we can run into town and pick up supplies."

The engine of a vehicle rumbled in the distance, and Finn shifted to the side of the road. "Bridgetown doesn't have a hardware store." The care whizzed by in a blur of red. "We're going to be late." Finn turned and resumed their run.

Max followed. "There has to be one somewhere between here and Washington."

Finn didn't respond, and they ran in silence back to the lake house.

***

Max stood under the steaming hot water, his third shower of the day. In an effort in futility, he tried to force his muscles to relax. Another effort in futility. The trip to buy paint hadn't happened, Finn using the excuse he couldn't leave Emily alone while Sophie was at the winery, had suggested they go tomorrow. Mission one not accomplished. Not that he was eager to get Finn to his brother's place.

Then there was Sophie. The half-hour ride to the winery was a combination of bliss and torture. Time where he had her all to himself. No distractions. The ride over had been silent, the faint scent of Sophie permeating the Jeep, sinking into his pores. When they got to the vineyard, the demo crew hadn't shown up. Max hung around for the morning, ran into town to buy lunch for Simon, Sophie and himself and then in the afternoon stepped in and helped Simon pry cabinets from the last century off the wall. But without the proper tools, they soon ground to a halt.

The ride home, him sweaty and dusty, Sophie seemed even more closed off than in the morning. Her hands pressed between her thighs, her neck straining to look out the window the whole trip. After showering and changing, he'd helped Sophie prepare dinner. Well, as much as she'd let him help. He got salad duty, which was fine by him. But watching her work, wandering around the kitchen, pulling out ingredients, creating a simple but fragrant meal, turned up his internal temperature until his skin was sizzling like a frying pan. The four of them had watched a movie after dinner, Sophie sitting on the opposite side of the room. Max had no idea who committed the crime in the end, because he spent the entire two hours sneaking glances at her.

After lying in bed for what felt like weeks, knowing he was separated from Sophie only by their adjoining bathroom, sleep eluded him, his body restless and aching. At last, he'd decided another shower was the answer. Because in there he could let his fantasies play out, get the release he needed. It took no time at all. A few slow strokes, and he was as hard as a sword. Eyes closed, hand propping him up against the wall, he imagined peppering the arch of Sophie's neck with kisses, his fingers skimming along the curve of her spine, settling on her hip. Tingles sparked at the base of his spine as he envisioned her here, in this shower with him, the water glistening on her bare skin. Her sandwiched between the wall and him, their bodies pressed together. Him moving inside her. Sophie saying his name.

His release came quick and hard, leaving him shaking in the rainstorm of water. He swore at himself for using Sophie that way, shut off the water and grabbed a towel. Tucking it around his hips, he stared at himself in the mirror, at the puckered skin below his left shoulder, the aftermath of an explosion that had earned Finn, Campbell and him a prolonged stay in a hospital in Germany. Mary had said to be patient, but what could Sophie even see in a man like him? No future. No prospects. No family. Not true, he had family, they just didn't want him around. She deserved better.

Max glanced at Sophie's side of the counter. Her sink surrounded by those tiny bottles and pots. He knew he shouldn't, but curiosity got the better of him. Could he figure out which of these was the source of the distinctly Sophie scent that drove him mad with desire? His finger slid along the smooth top of the nearest jar, the lid reminiscent of an opal necklace his sister adored.

Max snatched up the container and pried it open. Operation Scent had begun.