Army of You & Me by Billy London Page B

under the covers and snuggling against her. She could smell the mint of his toothpaste and the warmth of his soap from a shower. Against her arm, his chest hair was short and ticklish. Temptation to examine his body for wounds was overwhelming, but the good girl in her remembered that they were in his parents’ home.
    “Where are your pyjamas?” she hissed, trying to untangle his thick, corded arms from her body.
    “Somewhere in my bag. Box. Suitcase. Something. I don’t know.” He brushed his mouth over the pulse in her neck and she trembled. If he did that again, her resolve was going straight out the window and they’d both be naked.
    “Cain...”
    “Yes, sweetheart?”
    His mouth travelled over her neck, tracing the seam of the nightgown. She felt warm waves of his breath drifting over her skin. “Your parents said no.”
    “Then how are you going to sleep?” he asked, lifting his head from her décolletage to lightly kiss her ear and temple.
    “What are you talking about?”
    Cain shifted so she was looking up at him. “You need those meditation tapes to sleep. I don’t have any of that. It sounds like some God-awful hippie claptrap. I’m your alternative.”
    “You can make whale noises?”
    “I can talk. For God and King Richard, I can talk.”
    She laughed until tears ran down her face. He was so silly. Resting her head on his shoulder, she draped an arm over his chest. “Talk, then.”
    And he did. He ran commentary on everything. From how his mother didn’t like anyone but seemed to like Madeline a lot, to his father being all gooey-eyed over her. He told her how his childhood was littered with the very same sweets she’d sent him, running amok in the fields, learning to drive in near darkness and Maypole dancing. “You can’t tell anyone I did that though,” he warned her. The delicious rumble of his voice was like the smooth running of an expensive car
    “Why? Did you have a whole outfit?”
    “With knee high socks, yes. There are pictures that have never and will never see the light of day.”
    “That’s good.” She yawned widely. He’d been right. She’d never have been able to sleep without him. “Don’t worry, though.”
    “Why not? It’s abominable that my parents trussed me up like a ballet dancer without them taking photos as well.”
    “I still love you,” she mumbled. The sound of his heartbeat against her ear, the heat of his body, and the hardness of the muscle under her touch soothed her like the whale music never had. Within moments of declaring her love, Madeline was fast asleep, dreaming of a little boy who looked identical to Cain but with her skin tone, skipping around a Maypole.
    ***
    Cain was awake at six, purely as a matter of habit. Carefully, he slipped a still-sleeping Madeline onto the mattress and pulled the covers up to her neck. On the pretence that he had slept there all night, he remade his bed with perfect corners. He had a shower and dressed. All the time, Madeline’s words before she fell asleep played in his head. I still love you .
    Despite that, he was lulled into the best night’s sleep he’d ever had. In the overt quiet of Cambridgeshire, Madeline’s little piglet snores was all the noise he needed to rest. But in the stark light of morning, he was wide awake. He was overwhelmed by her emotions. Humbled by them. In awe that she thought he was worthy of that. Christ, she’d been right to warn him about her feelings. They’d sat in that restaurant after viewing the house in Dulwich Village and she’d told him straight. What the hell would they do when he had to report?
    Being in the army was all he’d wanted to do. All he could do. God only knew what his father would have done to him, had he tried to become an actor or, God forbid, a musician. Disownment would have been the lease of Cain’s worries. Yet with the work, the discipline, the camaraderie between him and people he never otherwise would have crossed paths with, the British