seeing them to the check-in counter, the lieutenant commander said his goodbyes and left. Al, meanwhile, retired to the coffee shop for a bite to eat while he waited for Tristan to 'freshen up.' Later he'd be taking him to Bethesda for 'processing in' for tomorrow's final battery of tests and examinations and debriefings.
A nervous clerk checked them in while a distinguished-looking man wearing a tag that said Manager peered over her shoulder and watched her every move. As the clerk handed them their keys, she cheerily explained that Tristan and Jessie were to occupy a suite, with Max and Sammi June in separate rooms down the hall. 'Enjoy your stay,' she added, smiling warmly.
Jessie had been mentally adding up the cost of three rooms in a first-class Washington, D.C., hotel and feeling more than queasy about it. She had begun a murmured protest about the suite when the manager interrupted.
'It's on us,' he said quietly, reaching across the counter to shake Tristan's hand. 'Welcome home, Lieutenant.'
Tears sprang into Jessie's eyes. She glanced at Tris, who was smiling and saying, 'Thanks, it's good to be home.' But the words seemed mechanical, and although his lips formed the smile there wasn't any spark in his eyes. And she thought,
But then again, she reminded herself, he's probably just exhausted. After all, they were still on German time, and it had already been a very long day.
After Tristan had gone off with Al to Bethesda, Sammi June, whose body was set to Eastern Daylight Time and a whole lot younger besides, expressed a desire-a little bit surprising to her mother-to see some of the sights around Washington, D.C. She thought it would be especially cool to see the Lincoln Memorial at night. Max offered to accompany her, which was also surprising to her mother-though not nearly so much as when Sammi June readily agreed to the arrangement. As far as Jessie knew, Sammi June and her grampa Max barely knew one another. They invited Jessie to go with them, but tired as she was, she elected to stay and wait for Tris in their room.
The first thing she did was unpack and take inventory of her clothes, both the ones she'd packed-oh, Lord, it seemed like a hundred years ago-for her original trip to visit Joy Lynn in New York City, and the few new things she'd bought in Germany. She had to conclude, sadly, that even taking full advantage of the hotel's drycleaning and laundry services wasn't going to make what she had with her suitable for meeting the president at the White House. Slacks, sweaters and blazers-that was pretty much it. Tris's wardrobe, though considerably newer, wasn't any better; nearly everything she'd bought for him in Germany had been casual. He'd need a suit, dress shirt and tie, at least.
As it happened Tristan's problem was solved a short time later when Jessie answered a knock on the door of her suite. She opened it to find a hotel bellman standing there holding a garment bag. 'This just arrived for Lieutenant Bauer,' he announced, and left, refusing a tip.
In the bag was a spanking-new Navy dress uniform. Jessie's throat tightened and her eyes misted as she gazed at it, remembering how devastatingly handsome Tris had looked wearing his dress blues. 'No doubt about it,' she said aloud to herself, 'tomorrow I'm gonna buy myself a new dress.'
With that settled, she indulged in a long hot shower, washed her hair and blew it dry, scrubbed her teeth, lotioned every inch of her skin and did her nails.
It was late when Tristan came in-probably not by Washington, D.C., standards, but it would be the wee hours of the morning in Germany. Jessie had fallen asleep in bed, propped up on a pile of pillows, with the TV going and the bedside lamp on, turned down low. She woke up when she heard the door close in the outer room of the suite. Jangly from waking too suddenly from a short, sound sleep, she went to meet him and found him already unzipping his jumpsuit. Even in the dim light she could see that his face was gray with fatigue.
'Hi,' she murmured, and walked straight into his arms as if she'd been doing it every night for the past eight years.
'Still up?' After the slightest hesitation, his arms came around her, and she felt his body move with his inhalation, and the tickle of his breath in her hair. 'Mmm, your hair smells good,' he mumbled, slurring his words.
In her sleepy state it seemed so natural to lift her face for his kiss. His lips felt warm and silky and tasted of beer.
Chapter 10
Because she was half-awake, Jessie ignored it at first. Tristan had always drunk beer. The taste and smell of it on his lips seemed natural to her, almost comforting in its familiarity. And besides, his mouth was warm and vibrant, and after a little murmur of surprise and pleasure, responsive. For a few joyful seconds she allowed herself to sink into the sensations she'd been without for so long.
Then…something in her brain said,
He must have felt her awareness-the slightest flinch, an instinctive recoil-because when she pulled back to stare at him, his jaw had a set, defensive look to it. 'Sorry to be so late,' he mumbled, peering narrow-eyed past her at the clock on the nightstand. 'Didn't think you'd still be up…stopped downstairs for a beer. Thought it might help me sleep…I'm so damn tired, but my body clock's screwed up…time change, and all.'
Jessie thought,
With one arm still draped around her shoulders, he groped his way into the bedroom and sat heavily on the edge of the bed. While he was struggling to free himself from the top half of his jumpsuit, she knelt and pulled off his shoes.
'Stand up,' she ordered curtly when he continued to sit, zombielike, and he obeyed like a sleepy child. She tugged the jumpsuit down to his ankles, setting her jaw and clenching her teeth at the sight of his scarred and desperately thin legs. She pulled back the bedclothes and guided his swaying body down onto the waiting sheets. He toppled sideways into the pillows with a sigh, and his eyes were already closing as she pulled his jumpsuit off and drew the covers up to his shoulder.
'I'll make it up to you…' he mumbled on a long, sighing exhalation. 'I will…I promise.'
'I know…I know…' Swollen and achy with held-back tears, Jessie combed her fingers lightly through the silvery hair on his temples. 'You just go to sleep now…that's right…sleep.'
His only reply was a gentle snore. Moving stiffly, shivering and goose bumpy under her T-shirt nightgown, Jessie picked up the jumpsuit and hung it carefully over a chair, then went around to her side of the bed and crawled between the sheets, leaving the light on. She was cold, but didn't dare snuggle up to her husband's body for warmth. Instead she lay curled on her side with her back to him and stared at the luxurious and unfamiliar room while she listened to his unfamiliar snores. It was a long time before sleep came.
Tristan awoke with a vague sense of self-disgust. That feeling evaporated rapidly, however, when he realized that once again he'd slept the night through without dreams.
He raised himself on one elbow to gaze down at his sleeping wife. She lay on her side, facing away from him with her cheek pillowed on her hand, and her hair streamed past her ear and across the pillow like a river of molten gold. He thought of her neck and its lovely, vulnerable nape, now a warm and humid hollow that would smell of her hair and her skin and her femaleness. He thought about burying his face there and tasting the velvety textures with his tongue…sucking strongly to make his mark on her skin. His newly reborn ardor rose in him like a fountain, shivering his skin and warming his belly, and he nearly laughed out loud with the thrill of it.
But his mouth tasted foully of the beer he'd drunk the night before, and a glance at the clock on the nightstand told him he'd better get cracking if he wanted a shower before Al came to collect him and haul him back to the hospital-for the last time, he prayed.
