Another part of him was far from soft but definitely on fire.
He carefully disengaged her arms. An image of untwining Magda from Lori earlier flashed in Gray's mind, effectively dousing the moment. God, he wanted this day to end.
Gray slid from the car and circled to Lori's side. He lifted her into his arms, not an easy task as she was a tall woman and dead weight. She snuggled her face right into his neck. He walked faster.
At his apartment he put her down to unlock the door. She leaned against him, her arms encircling his neck. Her small, but perfectly soft br**sts seared his chest, burning away his exhaustion.
She was obviously asleep. But if the past played itself out in her dream, her next move would involve her fascination with his flight suit zipper.
"Come on, Lori, let's get you inside. Fast." Keys jingling, he unlocked the door. Lori's arms dropped away, and Gray caught her around her waist as he shoved the door open.
She grabbed his butt. "Have I ever told you how great you look in a flight suit?"
He couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry. "Hey, honey, I'm not a piece of meat, you know," he mumbled, scooping her into his arms. Too bad her touch lingered.
Her head drooped against his shoulder. "Flight suits are so hot."
"I'll make sure to share that with the folks at work." Kicking the door shut, he strode into the living room. Dimmed lights from the vaulted ceiling illuminated a shadowy path. He limped down the hall as fast as he could, not nearly fast enough to the guest room. He lowered Lori to her feet again and swept the daybed clear of bubble wrap and packing supplies.
Warm, sleepy woman molded herself to him as he shoved down the comforter. Gray guided her onto the bed, slipped her shoes off and draped a spread over her, no lingering touches.
But maybe one last look.
Moonlight slatted through the navy miniblinds. She burrowed into the pillow, sighed, and stopped moving. Her femininity contrasted with the stark furnishings of his apartment, always had.
Wisps of caramel hair straggled across her face, one catching on her mouth. Gray brushed them aside, allowing his thumb one extra stroke across her full bottom lip.
A dark part of his mind whispered he could have her now, in his bed, in a minute—in her. Just as quickly he squashed the thought and went to his own room alone. Of course he wouldn't take advantage of her that way. As he fell facedown on his bed, already half-asleep, he wondered who he was protecting more.
Lori or himself.
* * *
His father stepped out of the cargo plane. Reed-thin, painfully thin, Dave Clark clutched the handrail as he descended the stairs onto the tarmac with the other liberated POWs.
Gray wanted to sprint forward, but hung back with the rest of the waiting families. He gripped his brother's sticky hand while his mother held his little sister.
His father's clothes hung from his shoulders like a uniform left on the hanger. Righteous indignation and rage filled Gray's nine-year-old chest. What had they done to his dad?
He didn't want to think about it. His father was home, and that's all that mattered. Gray could give back his job as man of the house. Everything would be normal again.
His feet itched to move. Gray bolted forward.
But wait. That wasn't right.
A part of his mind argued with the familiar dream. That wasn't the way it happened. He'd stayed with his mom, brother and sister until his dad limped over to them.
Except Gray could feel his flight boots pounding the pavement, the panic slugging through him. Flight boots? But he was a kid.
He ran faster. He had to reach his dad before everything blew. The cement cracked and spewed chunks of asphalt with each round of fire. His leg flashed with fiery-hot pain. Gray dodged and wove across the runway.
His father disappeared inside the uniform. Lori appeared in his place, holding Gray's little sister.
Gray leaped forward to tackle them just as the tarmac exploded beneath his feet.
Ring.
His ears echoed with the aftershock.