A Soldier’s Woman
by Ava Delany
Breathless Press
Calgary, Alberta
www.breathlesspress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A Soldier’s Woman
Copyright© 2011 Ava Delany
Published by Breathless Press at Smashwords
ISBN: 978-1-926930-77-0
Cover Artist: Victoria Miller
Editor: Spencer Freeman
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in
print without written permission, except in the case of brief
quotations
embodied in reviews.
Breathless Press
www.breathlesspress.com
Acknowledgements
Acknowledgements
To my fans, old and new. Thanks for reading. You’re the best.
To my editor, Spencer Freeman. Thanks for helping me polish my story
Chapter One
Janelle stood in the corner of the dark room, watching Ron talk and laugh with his friends. He pushed a thick chunk of black hair from his eyes, and punched his friend in the arm. His eyes twinkled, and her heart fluttered.
Though this was her first time in the house he shared with his older brother, she’d watched him this way—from a darkened corner—for most of their high school years. Why would the most popular boy in school have any interest in a chubby girl who spent her days with her head down or her nose in a book, too scared to talk to any of the boys?
“Janelle, are you gonna spend the whole time in the corner?” Debbie took her hand and tugged her toward the dance floor. “This is the last party before everyone goes their separate ways.”
Hesitant, Janelle shuffled along behind her friend.
“Look, we’ve been in college for two years now, and college is about experimenting. Plus, this is the last time all our old high school gang will be able to get together. When the boys go off to the navy, they won’t be back for a while.”
The army. Janelle’s gaze moved back to where Ron stood.
A small group sat in one corner, a bottle in the center of their circle. Janelle dug her heels into the carpet as Debbie tugged, then pulled, then yanked her toward the others.
“Come on. You’re never going to live unless you let yourself.” Debbie faced her, her bright eyes open wide. “You’ve got to let go or you’ll dry up inside.”
Janelle’s gaze flitted toward the group. Some of the popular kids from her old school sat there. She still couldn’t believe she’d let Debbie talk her into coming to this party.
“They say your cooch dries up if you don’t use it by the time you’re twenty-one.” Debbie lifted her eyebrow and smirked. “We’re all going to be hitting that mark this year, and you don’t want to be the only one with a dry and unusable cooch, do you?”
Debbie’s brown hair bobbed left and right as she leaned forward to put her weight into tugging Janelle with her. Janelle let herself be pulled again toward the circle. Her heart beat faster as her mind inexorably filled with images of what would happen if the bottle landed on her.
The spinning bottle slowed to a stop and pointed at Heather, a tan-skinned girl she’d always admired. A blond boy whose name she didn’t know leaned across the top of the bottle, and the girl met him in the middle. When his lips touched hers, she moaned, letting him grasp her bottom lip between his teeth.
Daniel, a member of the group she hadn’t seen since he’d gone off to an out-of-state college, leaned against the wall just outside the circle. “I think these two might need a room.”
Then group laughed as the blond released Heather and sat back again, shaking his head and letting out a long breath.
“I think you got him, Heather.” Daniel smirked, crossing his arms.
Heather smirked and wiggled an eyebrow, then grasped the bottle. She placed it on the tile floor, and turned to face Debbie as she once again yanked Janelle toward the circle. Without a word, the group parted to let her and Debbie sit.
Heather’s gaze shifted toward the other side of the circle. Janelle glanced up. Ron stood there, staring toward Debbie and her. Had he come here because of her best friend? Did he like Debbie? She bit her lip. Of course he did. All boys liked Debbie. She was tall, almost too thin, and her large eyes made her look like an adorable pixie—flighty and mischievous, both of which were descriptions that fit her well. She’d always thought her friend was pretty special, however that didn’t stop the healthy dose of green that shot through her veins.
The group shifted, and Ron hunkered down, squatting with his elbows on his knees, staring at… Was he staring at her? It seemed like he might be; but then again, Debbie sat right behind her from his vantage point. She averted her eyes, deliberately locking them on the bottle the girl finally let loose. It spun and spun, wobbling as it slowed.
Her sensitive skin tingled at his continued stare and Janelle feared her flaming cheeks would melt right off. When the bottle landed on her, her stomach dropped to the floor.
“Two girls.” The blond boy laughed and pointed at Janelle. “That means you have to go into the closet with the next boy the bottle lands on and spend fifteen minutes alone in the dark.” He drew his words out in a ghostly wail.
A thick lump closed her throat completely, and she swallowed hard to get past it. Her stomach, still on the floor, churned. Her hands quivering, Janelle took the bottle and gave it a spin, hoping it would land on a girl. Perhaps then she would have to be the one shoved into the closet with a boy.
She wrapped her hands around her stomach and wondered how long before she could excuse herself. Maybe she could even do it before the bottle stopped, claim she had to go to the restroom and then run for the door.
The bottle spun in slow motion. She blinked and gulped as the bottle whirled past the blond, slowed near a redhead, and stopped—pointing directly at Ron.
Chapter Two
Her pulse pounding in her throat, she fell back on her palms. She tried to put distance between them, hoping it would translate into some small measure of emotional distance from what her heart really wanted but would never have. Glancing up through the muss of hair that fell over her eyes, Janelle bit her lip.
Oh my.
“Oooh. Into the closet,” the redhead chanted.
“Into the closet.” The others shouted with him, and Debbie nudged her shoulder, joining in.
Janelle glanced at Debbie, then back at Ron, who came towering toward her. His wide shoulders and dark looks made her think of an Arabic sheik. For an instant, she imagined him throwing her over his shoulder, hauling her back to his pillowed bed, and making passionate love to her in its soft confines. But this was reality, not fantasy.