Army of You & Me Read online

  “Good God.” He frowned. “At least have a shandy, woman.”

  “Pork me. Beer me,” she demanded, sitting down. Cain burst out laughing.

  “Your wish is my command.”

  With a delicate hand she waved him to the bar and retied the scarf on her head. She was an extremely striking woman. He glanced around the pub and noticed the blatant looks men were sending her way. It was that mouth of hers. It only conjured dark, sensual—insanely sensual—thoughts. He grabbed a menu and breathed out to gather some control. He ordered a pint of lager and ordered the roast lamb along with Madeline’s pork and beer.

  Taking a sip before he returned to the table, he closed his eyes. That had been a long time coming and well deserved. Carrying the drinks over with an order number written on a wooden spoon stuck inside a jar, he sat opposite Madeline.

  She picked up her beer and held it aloft. “To coming home in one piece.”

  “Truth,” he agreed, touching his glass to hers. He watched her sip her drink. There was something unnaturally erotic about a woman with a pint glass.

  “So,” she asked, “what have you been up to since you got back?”

  “Not much,” he admitted. “It’s strange. Most of the time in Afghanistan, there were days on patrol that my nerves were like piano wire. You live on adrenaline and expectation. Then you come home and... It feels weird. You miss it. But at least, it’s nice to know that a bang is going to be a car backfiring and not an IED.”

  “A what?”

  “Improvised Explosive Device,” he explained, “landmines, helpfully dotted around the Helmand province by insurgents. It’s why soldiers who come home with bullet holes say they’re lucky. Could have been worse.”

  “Not much of a choice,” she said warily. “Bullet or being blown to pieces.” Her gaze fell on her drink. “I suppose that means you saw mine. Bullet wound, I mean.”

  He folded his arms on the table and leaned in closer to her. “Madeline, you don’t have to talk about it.”

  “I know...” She didn’t meet his gaze, only drew her fingertip over the wood of the table top. “But I was shot. Obviously, I mean. I was running away from the militia that raped and murdered everyone in my village.”

  “Jesus,” Cain breathed. He hadn’t expected her to say it like that. But then why bother making it sound nice?

  “Dad and I got out. It wasn’t luck or chance. My dad... He was prepared. And determined. And when we met your father – Captain Goldsmith then...” She breathed out and struggled to speak. Cain caught her hand and squeezed. “It was my only war wound. Physical.” A grin lit her face. “Maybe I’ll do an exhibition for you. Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”

  He felt lust punch him in the gut. Now all he could think of was Madeline slowly stripping off and pointing to various scars. God, he had to be messed up to find that sexual. “Well er... That sounds promising. What did my dad do?”

  “Didn’t you ask him?”

  “He said it wasn’t his story to tell.”

  She shyly looked down at their linked hands. “He got me and my dad out of Rwanda. Into Tanzania. Put us in touch with a lawyer friend of his who is still the scariest man I’ve ever met. He sped us through the asylum system.”

  “Good on Dad.”

  “If he hadn’t... I don’t doubt we’d have been on the first plane back. I mean, now we can go back. With refugee status, you can’t.”

  “What?”

  “If you’re a refugee, you’re claiming asylum. You’re telling the UK government that your country can’t protect you. So you’re banned from going back there. Until you have British citizenship. Or indefinite leave to remain.”

  “Have you ever been back?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No. I don’t think I’d ever go back. What was your worst tour?”

  “Baghdad,” he said, blinking rapidly. Recognition that having the spotlight turned on him was thoroughly uncomfortable didn’t stop him from wanting to know everything about her.

  “Would you go back?”

  “I did.”

  Madeline blinked. “Really? Why?”

  The answer had always been straightforward to him. “Because I could help. And I did. I think I did. I hope so.”

  “That makes me feel guilty.”

  He wanted to pick up her delicate little hand and kiss it, send reassurance to her that it was silly to feel that way. “No one wants to revisit their nightmares.”

  “My friend runs a charity. Helping Rwandan refugees find the path to forgiveness of those who tried to execute us.”

  “Have you? Forgiven those who took your home from you? Your family? Your innocence?” Christ, was that why she was so skittish around him? Had she...

  “I was lucky. So very lucky. Had my father been less than prepared to do what he did, I don’t think I would have escaped with my body as intact as it was. There were six-year-old girls who weren’t anywhere near as lucky as me.” She took a deep breath before speaking again. “It’s not forgiveness. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to do that, but I accept that what happened, happened. You know?”

  “I think you underestimate yourself. You’re sitting opposite a soldier, one who followed orders. Just like the Hutu militia.”

  “If you were ordered to kill babies, behead women, would you follow those orders?”

  Cain rubbed his eye with an absent finger. “After 2006, we had a change in orders. PID. Positive Identification at a Distance. It meant if we didn’t know who was shooting at us, if we didn’t know for sure it was Taliban? We couldn’t shoot back. Too many innocents got caught up in the crossfire before we got those orders. Those orders could have come earlier, and at the same time, those orders cost good soldiers their lives. I followed them. Didn’t raise hell about it, just got on with it.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  “Yes, it does. War’s a messy business. People always get caught in the crossfire, whether you intend them to or not. You can’t drop a bomb on a known target and expect innocent people to escape the shrapnel.”

  “That’s accidental.”

  “They still died,” he said softly. “Ah, here’s our food.” He released her hand and leaned back as two hot plates piled with slices of meat, crispy roasted potatoes, and butter-topped vegetables were placed before them. “This looks like heaven on a plate, thank you.”

  “Enjoy!” the server beamed at them.

  Madeline reached over and took his hand in both of hers. “I wasn’t crossfire. I was a target. And it was people like you that got between me and execution. Don’t ever apologise for that. Please.” Unable to speak, Cain edged cutlery to her side of the table with his free hand. She drew her thumbs over the back of his hand and said, “We should eat before it gets cold.”

  He cleared his throat. “Good plan.”

  ***

  Their talk moved away from the pitfalls of war, and Madeline was immensely grateful for the reprieve. She was one more word away from bawling her eyes out in front of him and probably driving him to tears as well. As they ate, Cain talked about where in London he wanted to live. He kept mentioning places in Central, whilst she desperately wanted him to be South and thereby close to her. She couldn’t help feeling disappointed in his explanation that Dulwich was just as, if not more, expensive than some places in the centre of town.

  “My ex-wife received the house in our divorce, so maybe Central isn’t the best place for me.”

  Madeline choked on her second pint. “Your what?”

  “Divorce.”

  “How long were you married?” she asked, jealousy ripping through her like fire. He had made such life-long promises to a woman and hadn’t kept them.

  A corner of his mouth tilted upwards. “We were married just two years. I was barely in the country, and my life expectancy was really short. I only gave her the house so she’d leave off my pension.”

  “Sneaky bitch,” Madeline muttered. “Sorry. I’m sure she was ni
ce.”

  “Not during the divorce she wasn’t,” he retorted. “Thank you for sticking up for me.”

  “Where was the house?” She forced the question through her throat rather than asking why he’d marry someone so patently materialistic. Why did he give her a house after such a short marriage? It explained why he was living with his parents at his age.

  “South Kensington. It had been in the Goldsmith family for decades. I’m the first divorce in a century.”

  “Oops,” she murmured.

  Cain shrugged. “Happens. The folks weren’t particularly happy about it, but the less fuss that was made, the better.”

  “Serves you right for marrying in haste.”

  He laughed again. “You are being thoroughly judgemental. Look, I was going on another tour at the time, to Iraq. She thought she was pregnant, and I wanted to make sure any benefits of being an army wife and mother of my child would go straight to her, especially if something happened to me. I didn’t want to think of her as struggling.”

  Madeline’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “She told you she was pregnant or you thought she was pregnant?”

  “Aren’t you a sharp little thing? The former. No baby after a year, but she managed to get pregnant when my sperm had no chance of getting on a flight from Baghdad to help her out.”

  Madeline barely suppressed a giggle. “You can’t find this funny!”

  “I can now. Best way forward. For a while she tried to lie and say it was mine. She changed her mind pretty quickly when I mentioned DNA. Got in contact with our family solicitor and divorced her quick sharp. Only the finances got messy, and to make sure I didn’t have to deal with her any more, I gave her the house. It’s worth a good 2.8 million pounds. Fair is fair.”

  He’d done it for his ex-wife’s unborn child. She could tell. Giving away a family heirloom in exchange for his pension seemed hugely unbalanced. No way was his pension worth as much as the house. He’d given it up for his ex-wife’s child to have a home. “What did she have? Boy or girl?”

  “A little girl. Candace. She’s very happy.”

  “What about you?” Madeline watched his face, looking for residual anger or love for his ex-wife. “How are you?”

  “Unshackled,” he teased. “And not even nearly full. Do you have to get back soon, or can you spare dessert?”

  “Chocolate brownies,” she suggested immediately.

  He pointed a fork at her. “If I follow what you’re saying, you’re coming house hunting with me.”

  “I...”

  “No. You can’t defend my honour then leave me alone to pick up the broken pieces of my life.”

  It was silly, because she truthfully didn’t know him, but if she went with him, she’d be imagining herself front and centre in his life. Where her things would go, what books she’d read in different chairs, if her furniture would fit in the living room, or the bedroom, if he would snuggle her at night or put a pillow between them to make sure she wouldn’t take up his space. She’d only had a brief touch of his arm, but nothing would be sweeter than using one of his bulked arms to lay her head on to sleep.

  “Good!” he boomed when she didn’t answer. “You can come with me. And I’ll buy dinner.”

  “All right, then.” Looking at him over her pint glass, she hesitated before blurting, “You don’t have to.”

  “I told you.” His voice was low. “You’re my only friend left in London. Friends stick together. Friends with bullet holes in the bodies definitely stick together.”

  “What? Where?”

  Cain leaned back, biting on his bottom lip. “Nope. You have to earn that one.”

  Oh god, she thought, fighting a grin, don’t let him break my heart into a million pieces. I don’t know how anyone would compete with him if he did...

  Chapter Five

  A bus rolled across the street as they waited to cross, Madeline’s hand tucked into the crook of his elbow as she scanned traffic. Her resilience astounded him. That she’d fought through the mires of Rwanda to be grounded, successful, smart, savvy, and utterly beautiful was testament to that. Soldiers tended not to talk about tours unless it was with other soldiers. For some reason, Madeline unblocked the “keep schtum” gene, and he wanted to tell her anything and everything she wanted to know.

  He took her hand from his forearm and linked it to his before strolling across the road and right in front of a harassed-looking woman behind the wheel of a 4x4. Madeline was hurrying after his strides to keep up.

  “There’s no hurry!” she gasped as he hustled her back to her shop.

  “Sorry. I do march rather than walk.” He slowed his pace to what he termed a granny crawl and took in the surrounding shops. Tutti Fruitti was well placed. Just off the main street and surrounded by complementary rather than competitive shops. Clever little thing.

  “Will the estate agent come and pick us up or...” she trailed off.

  “Oh, don’t worry. I’m driving. Borrowing my father’s run around for a bit. He barely uses the other three.”

  Madeline tucked a twist under her scarf. “You’re quite privileged, aren’t you?”

  “In many ways, yes. Not many people come home to a few cars in the garage that they can borrow.”

  “A few?”

  “Five.”

  “Who needs five cars?” she blurted.

  He ticked them off his hand. “The Land Rover, the truck that pulls the horsebox, a Mercedes, a Jaguar, and my mother’s Bentley.”

  “No one needs five cars.”

  Cain gave a shrug. “They’re all old enough and ragged enough to be worthless in today’s value. I won’t say it’s not nice being privileged. I wouldn’t get free sweets otherwise.”

  “Or free truffles,” she added.

  “Or kisses.”

  Madeline’s eyebrows drew together. “I don’t have anything called kisses...” Her voice trailed off as she took in their circumstances. That sweet chin of hers was balanced on the edge of his left hand, and his right cradled the small of her back. Until he’d touched her, he hadn’t fully appreciated just how badly he wanted to kiss her. He watched as the rise and fall of her chest increased in speed, mimicking his uneven breaths. Her mouth parted, and the flash of her pink tongue flicked off his brain switch. All instinct based, he lowered his head and pressed his mouth to hers. He’d only meant to kiss her goodbye. Or rather, see you later.

  As soon as he tasted her, all his thoughts were on Madeline naked, underneath him, thighs parted and cradling him against her soaked sex. His hand moved from her chin to lightly stroke her face, the skin so soft beneath his fingers. He trailed his hand over her side, tracing the shape of her waist and the flare of her hips. Madeline moaned under his mouth, the sound sending a thrill over his body.

  “Um,” she gasped. “Can we... Not in the street?”

  He barely lifted his lips from hers to send her a frown. “Where?” With her lower body pressed to his, his mind transported him to the back room of her shop. He could sweep the chocolate aside, perch her on the edge of the table, and lift the skirts of her vintage dress. Within moments, he could be buried inside her, rocking them both to satisfaction.

  She wiggled out of his arms, putting a foot between them. “Um, that’s enough.”

  Being apart from her didn’t at all feel natural. “Disappointing.”

  “Hmm. Thanks for lunch.”

  “Shall I pick you up about half six?” he suggested, trying to regain some sense of normality. That hadn’t been a kiss. It had been a prelude to his whole future with her.

  “Why are you kissing me?” she blurted.

  It was possibly the most ridiculous question anyone had ever asked him. “Madeline,” he said through peals of laughter, “I want to do a lot more than just kiss you. Go back to work. I’ll see you soon.”

  He waited for her to return to the shop. She did, looking back at him every other step until she was safely inside. Turning back to the main road, he walked to the train s
tation, a good thirty minutes away. It didn’t occur to him that the reason people were looking at him strangely was because he was whistling. Happily and at full volume.

  ***

  Madeline had changed twice in the back room of the shop while Caz gave a run down as to why she shouldn’t bother. All she wanted was to look nice. It had nothing to do with Cain. Mostly. In the last week, he’d called her, taken her email address, and forwarded some of the flats and houses to her that he’d had an eye on. It was overwhelming. Having been used to a sporadic letter here and there, she wasn’t sure how to take him being in contact with her so much.

  “Soldiers tend to be whores.”

  “Not listening,” she yelled, knocking over a box of chocolate discs. Hold on, was that the shop bell?

  “They do. Worse than naval men. Girls in every city, let alone a port. They’re all kinky. You wouldn’t be into the sort of things they’re into.”

  Madeline struggled with the zip of her dress. The material surrounding the zip was fraying at the edges, and she’d meant to replace it a few weeks ago, but it was so pretty and flattered her figure. “Be quiet!”

  “I’ve heard they’re all bisexual and wank each other off to go to sleep.”

  “That’s a horrible thing to say!” Madeline yelled. “Will you shut up?”

  “That sounds prejudicial! What do you have against bis?”

  “You’re talking rubbish,” Madeline fumed, opening the door and holding the front of the dress to her breasts. “It’s like saying all police officers are corrupt. All officials take bribes. All weathermen are liars.”

  “Eh... Well, yeah.”

  “You’re a pessimist.” Madeline fumed. “I like someone who understands me. If you don’t get it, I don’t care. It’s not your business.”

  “I’m just worried about you!” Caz defended herself. “You’re like freaking Snow White. I feel like he’s going to take advantage of you.”