Page 52 of Keeping a Warrior

Dinner was the usual banquet fare of roast beef, thick mashed potatoes and a side of limp veggies, along with a dinner roll hard enough to break concrete. While they ate, they listened to several boring speeches by various Special Forces dignitaries and watched a slideshow depicting scenes from the week’s events.

“A special thank-you to Coronado, California’s SEAL Team Three, Delta Platoon, for playing OPFOR with such grace and beauty.”

Unbelievably there was a still shot of Rhys’s final tumble down the hill, complete with flailing arms and scrunched-up face.

“Whoa, now, he’s Chair Force!” Bradley shouted. “We don’t claim him!”

There was some hearty laughter at Rhys’s expense, some good-natured ribbing that left him with scarlet cheeks and gritted teeth. Devon patted his shoulder sympathetically, then froze like a deer in headlights when her own picture flashed on the screen.

“And an even more special thank-you to Warrant Officer One Devon Lowe, a member of the U.S. Army’s very own Cultural Support Team.”

There were several pictures of Devon in the “guerrilla” camp talking earnestly to the Special Forces candidates.

“We learned a lot from Ms. Lowe about cultural sensitivities when working with foreign troops. So much of what makes a Special Forces soldier successful is his tact, and skill in fitting seamlessly into those cultures while trying to build trust. The expertise Ms. Lowe imparted will undoubtedly prove invaluable to this next generation of Green Berets.”

Some scattered applause, and the speaker raised his glass. “To Ms. Lowe!”

“To Ms. Lowe,” the crowd repeated, and it was Devon’s turn to blush furiously as the applause swelled to fill the room.

“Pretty good job for a ‘worthless female,’” Rhys muttered out of the corner of his mouth, yelping when she reached out and pinched him on the arm.

After dessert, the floor was cleared for dancing. He and Devon watched the various couples silently until Rhys gathered up every ounce of his courage and turned to her.

“Shall we?” he asked. He kept his expression smooth while he waited for her to either accept or decline, didn’t hold out his hand or half rise in expectation that she would follow.

No pressure, Devon.

When she nodded, the flutter in Rhys’s belly morphed into a full-blown quiver, especially when the next song started, soulful and plaintive, a dance for lovers. Bashfulness turned his knees to jelly as he followed her to the dance floor, where Devon slipped her hand readily into his and laid the other one lightly on his shoulder. After a beat of hesitation, Rhys splayed his palm over the small of her back.

“Is this okay?” he murmured, a tingle going through him at the feel of denim and silk over warm skin.

She looked up at him, her lips slightly parted. “It’s okay.”

At first they did little more than sway awkwardly together in place, but as the song went on, they relaxed, movements broadening, until they were gliding smoothly about the dance floor.

“This is nice,” Devon whispered, her temple against his jaw, breath gusting against his throat.

Rhys tightened his arm around her waist, his pulse starting to pound when Devon moved closer so that the soft fullness of her breasts grazed his chest. “Yeah,” he choked out. “Real nice.”

“Mmm.” With a sigh, she settled herself fully against him, her hand on his shoulder sliding to the back of his neck, fingers cool on his overheated skin. Rhys’s mind raced along with his heart. He’d never danced this closely with any other woman before, hadn’t been wrapped up in such an intimate cocoon with anyone other than...

Refusing to think of Lani while he held Devon in his arms, Rhys buried his nose in her fragrant hair and let the music wash over him. One song led to two, then three. At the end of the third one, Devon reluctantly lifted her head from where it was now resting on his shoulder.

“If we don’t stop,” she murmured with a drowsy smile, “I’m going to fall asleep on you and you’ll have to carry me home.”

I’ll carry you home. I’ll tuck you into bed, too.

He gulped.

“Well, let’s get you home, then,” he said huskily. “Want me to walk you?”

“Please.”

They said goodbye to the other guys who were still there, though most had left, either to seek their beds or a more exciting venue.

Devon shivered when they exited the overly warm banquet hall into the cool evening air. Rhys offered his arm, and she took it, hugging his biceps and pressing in close. He shoved his hands in his pockets as they ambled toward their quarters.

All too soon they’d reached the entrance to the building, and Devon let go of him, trailing her fingers along his arm before dropping her hand. “Thanks for the escort. And the dance.”