Sinful Temptation Read Free

are your gray eyes.
    April 26
    Dear Tony—
    I have picked up my pen a thousand times, hoping each time that something profoundly comforting would flow from my heart and brain and onto the paper. So far, it hasn’t. All I know is this: Chesley is in a better place, and now when she runs across a field, it’s only a field. Not a death trap.
    As for you—don’t you ever let me hear you talk that way again! EVER! You are not going to die in Afghanistan. I don’t care how bad things look sometimes and, trust me, I know a little about bad. Dying in the war is not your destiny. I can feel it.
    Did I mention that I like quotes? I can whip out a quote for every occasion. So here is a Lord Byron quote to get you through the dark hours between now and when you can come home for good:

    “’Tis very certain the desire of life prolongs it.”

    Your job, Tony, is to stay safe and desire life. Always.
    Promise me?
    Love,
    Talia
    May 17
    Dear Talia—
    War can’t be wished away. Death can’t be ignored. He stalks me everywhere I go, and is waiting around every corner for me. I’m in his shadow, and I can’t get out. I escaped him today, yeah, but what about tomorrow? Is this meal my last one? This sunset? This letter? How many more of anything do I have coming to me?
    This is no time for me to take anything for granted.
    It’s not that I regret being a soldier. Don’t think that. I’m proud of my service. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. It’s just that lately I feel like I have more to lose than I’ve ever had before, and it has everything to do with you.
    So I have a quote for you, from poet William Ross Wallace:
    “Every man dies—not every man really lives.”
    If I could die soon—and who are we kidding; I probably WILL die soon—I don’t want it to be before I really live and tell you some things you should know. With apologies to Paul, because I’m not normally a guy who tries to take something that belongs to someone else.
    But, Talia—
    Talia.
    I think about you.
    I carry you with me. Your smile is in my heart. Your name is in my head. Your face is in my dreams. It doesn’t matter that we’ve only met face-to-face one time, or that I was engaged to someone else. I’m overflowing with you. Only you.
    There. I said it. I don’t expect you to say or do anything back. I just had to say it. I couldn’t breathe without saying it.
    Yours,
    Tony
    May 30
    Dear Tony—
    Remember this: when Death comes after you, you look him in the face and say, “Not today.” And you repeat that EVERY SINGLE DAY until you’re back here, where you belong.
    As for the rest of it—you have to stop, Tony. You’re breaking my heart.
    Talia
    June 12
    Sweet Talia,
    I can’t stop. You’ve gotten inside my heart. I can’t get you out.
    Yours,
    Tony
    July 11
    Dear Talia—
    The silence is killing me. I’m sorry. I’ll never mention my feelings again. I swear. But please write to me. Something. Anything.
    Tony
    Tony hurried into the APO, his key at the ready in his shaky hand, and pulled up short when he saw someone—McClain, wasn’t it?—already there. The kid was getting his mail out of his slot and seemed to be taking his sweet time about it. Tony hovered, growing more agitated by the second, as the kid pulled out several envelopes and rifled through them, looking for one in particular, which turned out to be a bubblegum-pink number.
    Classy.
    The envelope also seemed to have been drenched in several gallons of vanilla perfume, a fact that was not lost on McClain. In raptures of delight, he gave a little whoop, pressed the envelope to his nose, slammed his box shut and wheeled around with a shit-eating grin on his face.
    That was when he saw Tony.
    His smile withered a little. “Sorry, Captain.”
    Tony, who understood how important letters could be and how they held the entire universe in their folded pages, was in a mood to be sympathetic. He smiled. “Don’t worry about it.”
    McClain hurried off, his treasures