Twisted in Tulips by Nikki Duncan Read Free Book Online Page B

the bar. “How’d they work out?”
    “Beautifully.” Her smile kissed her eyes, but they lacked the vibrancy Jace would have expected. “His unit helped him off the plane and they were married there on the tarmac. Perfection in stained-glass lighting.”
    “Even though he’d broken it off?”
    Womanly deviousness marched into Misty’s gaze. “I don’t care how tough he is, or how wounded, no soldier can reject the woman he loves when she meets him on the runway with a minister. Besides, everyone knew it was his fear of rejection that compelled him to pull away.”
    A wounded military man had been given his woman and his dignity. Misty had helped a woman prove her devotion and loyalty in an unavoidable assault. That wasn’t the mark of a superficial or materialistic woman, like he’d viewed her to be. Pressure, similar to tears building to bursting point, built in Jace’s chest. His heart swelled. He knew the agony of coming home wounded. His homecoming had been unattended. Misty had helped deter that for another man. She’d helped heal an invisible wound.
    “I’m glad it worked out,” Sam said.
    “You’ll likely get to see the results. I suggested this was a great place for an intimate celebration.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Least I could do.” Misty patted the bar and stifled a yawn. “Now, I’m heading to bed where I can contemplate the backs of my eyelids.”
    As quick as she changed topics her demeanor changed. The vibrant Misty who’d been charged with the success of a surprise gave way to the exhaustion of what had clearly been a long day. Her shoulders drooped. Darkness circled her bloodshot eyes. Even her hair sagged more than when she’d entered. She’d never looked more stunning.
    “Sleep well.”
    “Thanks, Sam.” Misty faced Jace, gave him a backward nod. Her head froze in the back tilt. Her eyes stared through him—glazed—for four beats before she blinked. “’Night, Jace.”
    She swayed. Her lids lowered. Her knees bent as she slowly lowered toward the nearest stool. Her exhaustion was going to take her down before she could sit.
    Jace leapt to his feet and caught her as she collapsed. “Talk about asleep on your feet.”
    Mumbling to himself, he scooped her sleepful weight into his arms. She was going to bed all right. His.
    And she wouldn’t be avoiding him come morning.
     
     
    Light blasted Misty’s eyelids. She rolled for the pillow. Unscented cleanliness engulfed her. An instant later, with her heartbeat hammering hard in her head, she shot upright.
    The light shone from the hallway, and the space was too sparse to be a hotel room. “Hello?” Where am I?
    No answer came.
    Clean. Unremarkable. Impersonal. The naked white walls, simple pine dresser and white-sheeted pine bed offered no insights other than the suggestion that whoever the place belonged to cared nothing about personal touches.
    Or has none to add .
    But who could live life without collecting stuff? Criminals.
    Her hammering heart grew louder and louder. Louder until thought shrank behind fear making remembering impossible. Scrambling from the bed, relieved to realize she was still dressed with only her shoes gone, she looked around.
    Her shoes sat neatly at the foot of the bed. Perfectly aligned with the toes pointing out as if she may need to shove her feet into them and run.
    Where am I? Who took me?
    The shoes weren’t the only things precisely placed. The sheet corners were sharp and, aside from the creases where she’d laid, the bed was perfectly smooth. No dust coated the dresser surface. Whoever the place belonged to they were one of two things—severely obsessive compulsive or hardcore military.
    Jace.
    His name snapped into place and forgotten details followed with a sudden calm that settled her hammering heart.
    The surprise. The bar. Exhaustion. Jace. Darkness wrapped warmth. She’d fallen into his arms asleep on her feet.
    A fired flush flooded her neck and cheeks. She’d wanted him to