“You told me yourself when we talked about Brad, about the way you were raised, about your mother pushing you not to let anything stand in your way when you wanted something, that you’ve learned that even as a marine that can’t always come into play. I’m thinking that when you said you just saw that same philosophy in someone else gone really wrong, you were talking about what my father was doing...”
Clairy paused for Quinn to confirm. She got only a slow nod.
“And it was the marines—my father—who taught you how to temper that, how to use your powers only for good,” she said with the same attempt to lighten the conversation that he had when he’d originally used the turn of phrase.
“That’s what you did,” she went on. “Difficult as it was to do with one of the people most important to you. But the bottom line, Quinn, is that you were doing the right thing. My father wasn’t. His health, accepting the risks that came with not treating it, was separate. And the fact that that was when his heart gave out wasn’t on you—it honestly could have happened even if the two of you had just spent the best night of his life.”
Quinn smiled another small, sad smile that didn’t tell her whether or not she’d convinced him.
When he didn’t say anything one way or another to let her know, she decided he might need to gain some more perspective on his own now that he had the full picture.
Whether or not that was true, he went on. “And there’s more,” he said ominously, his bushy eyebrows heading for his hairline once more. “For a while after he died, I considered keeping what I’d learned to myself to protect Mac’s reputation. But the longer I sat on it...the more wrong I saw in not looking at it from the perspective of the women. I put in a call to a JAG lawyer I know and told her...”
“So ultimately you did report him,” Clairy marveled.
“I’m sorry, Clairy—”
“No! It’s what you should have done! I just can’t believe that you—of all people—did it!”
“I wanted to protect him...to protect his memory,” Quinn lamented. “But not only did the women he might have done harm to have a right to...I don’t know...some kind of justice or—like you said—to be heard, but I don’t know who else might have willingly gone along with Mac, who might still be doing what Mac was doing, and I just couldn’t let it go without...blowing the whistle, I guess...” Though he clearly didn’t like to label himself as a whistleblower.
“My friend Jill has been looking into it,” Quinn continued. “I trusted that she wouldn’t open a can of worms that didn’t need opening if what Mac had done was on a smaller scale than it seemed to me—”
“What you were hoping was the case,” Clairy guessed.
“More than you can ever know.”
“But it wasn’t on a small enough scale to be inconsequential.”
Quinn shook his head. “Jill called me this morning. She’s found enough to open an investigation by an independent committee. Not only into Mac—it looks like he had some cohorts doing this kind of thing, too, so I guess the best I can tell you is that Mac won’t be the only one whose name and reputation will take a hit for this...”
“But there will be a hit,” Clairy surmised.
“I’m sorry.” Quinn’s tone said he was sorry for so many things. “And when it comes to the memorial...I guess it’s up to you to decide what you’ll do with it... It could change the way he’s remembered...cast a dishonorable shadow...or you could ignore it... I don’t know...”
Clairy thought about what to do, thought about the man her father had been, his accomplishments, his flaws, her own complaints with him. “He was a long way from perfect,” she said.
“And this could give you a platform to air that,” he said with some trepidation, still in many ways following what seemed to be an instinct to be the guardian of Mac’s memory. “Just please don’t forget that even though Mac screwed up at the end he was still a great marine,” Quinn seemed compelled to add.
Clairy thought about it all.
Clairy did keep that in mind as she considered how to handle all this new information. Did she want to air her own personal grievances with her father in public? Would that serve any purpose or make anything better?
She couldn’t see how.
Instead, it seemed to cast her as a victim and she didn’t want that role. She preferred to leave the way her father had treated her as a portion of her own history, something that had contributed to who she was, a lesson she’d learned in the kind of parent she didn’t want to be, and the kind of father she wouldn’t want to give her own children.
But what about the rest? Where did Mac’s actions against women fit into the memorial to Mac?
She didn’t think it could—or should—be overlooked. That didn’t seem fair or just to the women marines.
After pondering it, Clairy said, “I think it will have to be noted somehow,” she concluded. “I’ll have to figure out how to present it—”
“Don’t forget that there are women marines who made it in spite of Mac’s best efforts, and they see that as a testament to their strength and stamina and resiliency in the face of the worst that could be dished out to them. I get that the women who suffered and failed should have a voice, but you have to give credit where credit is due to the ones who likely suffered and still succeeded.”
“I’ll try to relay the facts and include that. I’ll give the reasoning behind what he did and point out that it’s outdated thinking rightfully having a light shone on it. I can get hold of any photographs of only women marines and I can display them above the text and the outcome of the investigation,” Clairy proposed. “Hopefully I’ll be able to say that the good that came out of it—assuming good will come out of it—is that this kind of thing will stop?”
“I like that. It turns a negative into a positive. Even if the negative is on Mac, I don’t think it undermines the good he did. It just shows that he had flaws...”
Flaws that Clairy thought Quinn was slowly coming to admit Mac had. To accept that Mac had.
“There was nothing warm or fuzzy about my father at any time, in any way. That’s what made him who he was, and this will be another facet of it.”
Quinn nodded. “I can live with that.”
“It goes a long way that you’ve set the wheels into motion to stop it, though, to give a voice to the women he mistreated. Do you want to be given the credit?”
“No, leave me out of it. I’m sorry it had to be done—this kind of thing shouldn’t be going on,” Quinn said quietly. “But there’s no way I want credit for something that puts a smear on Mac.”
Clairy understood that, understood how difficult this had to have been for him, and she thought that what Quinn had done spoke volumes about him.
Obviously he didn’t see that, but he did seem relieved as he looked at her with warmth in his eyes. “Thanks for not letting this last misstep of Mac’s overshadow everything else about him. It’s more than he deserved from you after being the kind of father he was.”
“I had you worried, though, didn’t I?” she said, to give him a hard time.
But it didn’t work, because his expression relaxed even more as he looked intently into her eyes. “Nah, I wasn’t worried. What I’m learning every day is that there’s a whole lot more to you than I ever knew or gave you credit for. And it’s making me think that Mac really missed the boat by not seeing all there is to you.”
Quinn didn’t seem to be missing anything about her now, because he was studying her intently. And she liked that.
Maybe too much...
It had been a long afternoon and evening of work, topped off by a stressful conversation that had taken all the fight out of Clairy.
But she wasn’t alone in that. Peering into Quinn’s striking face, she saw that some of the marine in him had been stripped away to expose the man who had been carrying quite a burd
en for the last five months and needed a bit of a break himself now that he’d shared it.
And it was as if the sharing of it had brought them closer, had cultivated something new between them.
His arm was still propped on the top edge of the sofa’s back. Then his hand rose up to one end of the scarf that held her hair in the high ponytail. A tug made the knot come free, and the long waves fell around her face and shoulders at the same time he moved closer to her.
“Yeah, this couch is kind of nice...” he said. “It’s not a bad place to land after a rough day. To regroup...”
Were they just regrouping?
Or were they returning to what had ended the night before? Restarting it...?
Clairy wasn’t opposed to restarting it. Not only had she wanted him to kiss her again since he’d stopped last night, but the previous hour’s exchange had also left her craving solace, the comfort of arms around her.
His arms around her.
So much so that she wanted to encourage whatever he had in mind and brought her feet up under her hip to alter her own position and subtract another inch from the distance between them.
Answering an urge for contact, she laid her palm to the side of his oh-so-handsome face, drinking in the warmth of his skin as his blue, blue eyes delved into hers.
“Mac’s daughter...” he whispered to himself.
Clairy wasn’t sure whether he was marveling at that fact, reminding himself of it or warning himself to be cautious.
But whatever the meaning, it didn’t stop him from drawing nearer as if something was pulling him. Pulling him into a kiss that was soft and sweet, that answered her need for comfort and seemed to have roots in that new bond between them.
But it wasn’t long before comfort was found. And then what had been cut short the previous evening began again all on its own.
First lips parted and the kiss remained soft, seeking. Until his tongue came to say hello and hers greeted it joyously.
Quinn’s arm came around her to pull her the rest of the way to him while his free hand combed through her hair to clasp the back of her head. He kissed her all the more deeply, their mouths open wider as restraint dropped away.
Clairy’s hand drifted from his cheek to his shoulder as that fantasy she’d had of making out with him on the couch at home that afternoon became a reality.
A heady reality that brought her other hand to his T-shirted pec. The rock-solid feel of those muscles just fed her soul and she couldn’t resist exploring them. His chest. His shoulders. His broad back. His biceps...
And with each exploration, she got a little more turned on. Then a little more. Then more still, until the idea of just kissing wasn’t enough.
Her head fell farther back and Quinn went with it. His impressive torso came over her enough for her to slip lower against the arm of the sofa.
Clairy uncurled her legs and stretched them over Quinn’s thighs as her arms wrapped around him and her fingers gripped his back more firmly.
Kneading, almost burrowing into him, she gave him a clue to what her own body was starting to yearn for.
He didn’t seem to need much of a hint, though. He let the couch’s arm brace her head and trailed that hand down one shoulder to her arm, crossing from there to the outer swell of her breast, lingering as if awaiting permission.
Clairy gave it with the faintest of pivots. Quinn took the invitation without hesitation, bringing his big hand to cup her breast completely then.
He wasn’t just a fantastic kisser—he had a magic touch that kindled a fire in her.
A quiet sound she’d never heard herself make sent him a message and his hand dropped from her breast to the blouse’s buttons at her side.
Fastened, those buttons made the V neckline demure. But as he opened the top button, the V widened. And widened more when he undid the next two, leaving only the bottom button to keep her shirt from falling completely open.
Then that hand went to her collarbone instead of to her breast, inspiring a minor complaint to rumble from Clairy’s throat as she taunted his tongue, tip to tip, with some audacity.
She felt him smile just before he retook control of that kiss and let his hand sluice downward, his fingers easing inside the cup of her bra to finally give her that unfettered embrace of his strong, adept hand on her naked breast.
He caressed, stroked, squeezed, gently tugged and pinched her flesh—her breast seemed to expand, and her nipple turned to stone in his palm.
With his mouth still in control of that kiss and her, Clairy’s body slid even more down the sofa side, more fully across Quinn’s lap, where she discovered that she was not the only one of them nearly going out of her mind with wanting even more.
But where? Here on her office couch? In her father’s memorial-library building?
Maybe if they were longtime lovers looking for a new titillation.
But for the first time?
The thought of that put just enough of a damper on things for something else to creep into her mind—was this wise at all? Was this something she should do and let go all the way to the conclusion her body was screaming for?
Her body was screaming for it.
And she could feel beneath her hip that his was, too.
But this was still Quinn Camden—was she absolutely positive she should take this step with him?
Plus, she was so fresh out of her marriage, and should phase one of her postdivorce life go this far? Should she let it if she had any doubt at all?
Whether Quinn read her mind or felt some amount of withdrawal—or had the same hesitations himself—he stopped kissing her just then.
“Okay...we shouldn’t be doing this...” he said, leaving Clairy still unsure what had caused him to stop.
Still, she said, “Probably not...” as the shadow of doubt grew.
It was only then that Quinn stole one last stroke of her breast and drew his hand out from under her bra, pulling the ruffled edges of her blouse back in place.
Clairy refastened the buttons as she sat up straight and edged off Quinn’s lap, turning just enough to put her feet on the floor.
Quinn dropped his head onto the sofa back, closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then sighed it out. “You’re getting to me, Clairy...” he said in a gravelly voice.
“Or maybe you’re getting to me,” she countered, making him laugh.
“God, what’s happening here?” he muttered, sounding as confused as she felt.
“I don’t know,” Clairy confessed.
“We’re supposed to hate each other.”
“It’d be a lot safer,” she said, thinking out loud.
“We’re only together for a few days...”
“And you’re one of those macho military men,” she added, unable to keep the attraction she had to him out of that criticism.
“One of those macho military men who swore I was taking a hiatus to figure out what the hell I’m doing with relationships before I screw up another one...”
“It’s all just complicated,” Clairy said, unsure what he meant about a hiatus and figuring out what he was doing with relationships.
“Complicated...” he repeated, as if he needed that reinforced. “Complicated enough that we need to think it through,” Quinn said, sounding much more rational than Clairy felt, until he added, “Don’t we?”
“I think so,” she said with the same combination of certainty and uncertainty.
Quinn sighed again, this time with resignation and disappointment. Then he opened his eyes, raised his head and nodded. “Okay...”
Another moment passed before he took a third deep breath, sighed once more and stood. “Let’s get out of here before I can’t make myself,” he said, turning to offer his hand.
Clairy took it because she couldn’t deny herself, even though she knew it was dangero
us to make contact again and had to fight the inclination to pull him back down to her.
Then they left her office and silently descended the library’s stairs.
At the front entrance, Clairy turned off the lights. But before she could open the doors, Quinn used the hand he was holding to pull her into another kiss so heated that this time what flashed through her mind was what it would be like to just go ahead and make love on the library floor.
But then he ended that kiss, too, opened one of the double doors and held it for her to go out ahead of him.
Clairy locked up after them and they returned to Quinn’s truck, still saying nothing, merely letting the night air help dissipate what was still alive between them.
Quinn held the passenger door for her, too, before he got behind the wheel to drive them back to her house.
Her house, her front walkway, her porch...where she toyed with the idea of asking him in.
But she didn’t have the chance before he kissed her again—as chastely as an altar boy—then told her to let him know when she wanted him to help her move the display cases the next day, and left her to let herself into her house.
Where wanting was definitely still on her mind. And what her body was still overheated with.
But it had nothing at all to do with display cases.
And everything to do with the man who seemed like the worst choice she could possibly make...
Chapter Seven
“I love that dress!” Marabeth said as she and Clairy went into Marabeth’s small apartment kitchen Friday evening.
“Thanks. Me, too,” Clairy said of the gray-and-white windowpane dress that was tight-fitting through the bodice and flared from her waist to her knees.
“Kind of sexy, almost off-the-shoulder—you’re putting me to shame in my shorts and T-shirt,” her friend complained.
“Quinn and I worked all day at the library dealing with the display cases. I had to go home and shower, and I just wanted something light and airy tonight.”
Feminine—that was what she’d told herself instead of labeling it as sexy.
“And with your hair down and your makeup all done... After hobnobbing with Jared and his rich friends in Denver, you may have to tone it down for plain old Merritt salmon-on-the-barbecue summer dinners.”
The Major Gets it Right Page 15