Falling for the Marine (A McCade Brothers Novel) (Entangled Brazen)

by Samanthe Beck

  His nerve endings tingled. And then her hands were on him. The warmth of her touch flowed from the base of his neck, along either side of his spine, and stopped just below the waistband of his pants.

  He held his breath.

  Gentle thumbs found tense muscles in the center of his back, dug in, and meticulously worked their way out, toward his hips, keeping the pressure steady as she went. By the third pass, the pain was down to a low ache and he was starting to imagine her rubbing other areas besides his back.

  He released a breath. “That feels good.”

  “I know.”

  “You can’t possibly know,” he mumbled, enjoying her hands, the scent of the massage oil, even the texture of the carpet against his cheek.

  “Sure I can. Licensed massage therapists undergo hundreds of hours of training, and I’ve been a guinea pig more times than I can count. I know what it’s like to be the one trusting my vulnerable, half-naked body to the skill of the therapist.”

  Her soft, husky voice wove yet another fiber into the cocoon wrapped around him. He drifted a little deeper into the state of grace she seemed to be able to put him in at will.

  Warm, lubricated hands swept over his shoulder blades, down his back, and pushed his pants a little farther down his hips. “No tattoos for you, Major?”

  “Uh-uh. I’m not a big fan of needles.”

  She chuckled. “Beauty knows no pain.”

  “My ass knows no pain, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

  This time, when her fingers wandered to the base of his spine and gently probed the gap between his vertebrae, he didn’t tense up. She offset the downward push at his lower back with opposite motion at the base of his skull. The entire length of his spine underwent a slow, subtle stretch, and, just like last time, the ache dissolved. He couldn’t hold back a groan of relief.

  “Better?” She shifted around until she faced his feet.

  “God, yes,” he confirmed, in barely more than a two-syllable grunt.

  “Any residual pain darting along here?” Her hands smoothed over the small of his back and then down into his pants, moving lower as she massaging his hip.

  The new direction of the massage managed to relax and energize him at the same time. Within seconds, those nimble fingers of hers had his dick drilling a hole in the floorboards. “Chloe?”

  “Yes?” Her hands stopped their slow, circular sweeps along his hip.

  “I’m going to turn over now.”

  “I’m still feeling some impaction here at the abductor—

  “I’m going to turn over,” he repeated and made good on the announcement. “You,” he hooked his hand into the gap between her back and the waistband of her shorts, “are going to shimmy out of these.” He gave the shorts a tug. “Understand?” Maybe they didn’t have any condoms, but he was ready to get creative.

  She sat stock-still for a moment, not facing him, and he wondered if he’d offended her by issuing the lewd instruction while she was working on him. Then she stood, and, God help him, unbuttoned the little shorts. She let them fall to her ankles, treating him to the sight of the hummingbird framed by the frilly elastic of a lemon-yellow thong.

  “What next?” she asked, as she stepped out of the shorts.

  “The shirt.”

  He watched, dry-mouthed, as she lifted the tank top over her head and tossed it aside. Only the yellow thong and matching bra interrupted the smooth, lightly tanned expanses of skin before him.

  “Anything else you’d like me to take off?”

  The word “everything” sprang to mind, but what actually came out of his mouth was, “Put the shoes back on.”

  She turned her head and offered him a perfect profile, and he saw her lips curve slightly. “Yes, sir.” Then she bent down and slipped the shiny, leather heels on. He couldn’t have spoken a word if his life depended on it.

  “And now?”

  He took a ridiculous amount of pleasure in the fact that her voice wasn’t quite steady.

  “Turn around, get on your knees, and straddle my face.”

  She turned, and trailed her fingers over the lacy edge of her bra cup. A pretty pink flush colored her cheeks. “Mind if I take this off first? It feels a little…tight…all of the sudden.”

  “Not at all. Make yourself comfortable.”

  “Thank you.” A second later the bra landed on the carpet beside him.

  “Now,” she shook out her hair and leveled her gaze on him, “what was it you had in mind again?”

  He patted his chest. “You, on your knees, straddling my face.”

  One light brow arched. “Well, that gives you something to do, but what about me? How do I occupy myself?”

  He wrapped his fingers around her ankle. “I don’t think you’ll be bored. In about a minute you’re going to be fully occupied coming on my tongue.”

  The corner of her mouth rose in a challenging smile. “One minute? You’re awfully cocky for a guy who’s flat on his back.”

  “Go ahead, put me to the test.”

  She moved to stand just beyond the top of his head. He felt the toe of her shoe brush his hair. “Why don’t we see who’s coming against who’s tongue in one minute.” With that suggestion hanging in the air, she knelt and planted a knee on either side of his head. The pose left her thighs open and the damp silk of her panties scant inches from his lips.

  “Game on,” he managed as she walked her hands down alongside his body until her face hovered over his lap. Her hands bracketed his hips. He raised his knees and planted the soles of his feet flat on the floor.

  She pressed her face against the front of his pants and nuzzled a groan out of him. Then she looked down at him through the space between their bodies and smiled. “Still think you’re going to win this battle, Major?”

  “Chloe, do you remember everything I did to you yesterday with my mouth? How I licked and sucked and nibbled your lips. How I teased the rest of you until you wanted to scream?”

  Her eyes went glassy. “Y-yes,” she murmured. She also lowered her hips a fraction of an inch, but he wasn’t sure she did it consciously.

  “Me, too.” He ran his hands up her thighs, traced his finger under the little V at the back of her thong, and fiddled there, plucking at the line of fabric…moving it back and forth, alternatingly pulling it tight and letting it slide back into place. She shivered and squirmed over him.

  He turned his head and kissed the soft flesh of her inner thigh, loving the feel of her satiny skin against his lips. She jumped and cried out, and he loved that, too. “Easy,” he said, and tightened his hold on her thighs. Then, because her scent made his mouth water, he took a nip from her other thigh.

  The muscles under his hands clenched and fluttered. “Michael! Oh, God—”

  “Don’t you dare come,” he warned, and deliberately let his breath fan over her damp panties, smiling when she moaned. “I haven’t even gotten started yet. I’m still reminiscing about yesterday, when I ran my tongue all over those sweet nipples of yours, and then took them in my mouth. Remember?”

  An indecipherable sound served as her reply.

  “I do. I seem to recall I kept right on sucking and biting and devouring you until you—Sweet Jesus…”

  Slim fingers fastened around him through his pants, effectively cutting off his power of speech. He let go of her long enough to make a grab for his zipper. Their hands tangled as they fought his fly down and she freed him from his shorts.

  “I can play the memory game, too, Michael. For example, do you remember yesterday afternoon at the clinic, when I pulled the sheet off your lap and gave you a very intimate…massage?” Her warm breath teased his head and every last bit of blood in his body drained directly into his dick.

  “It’s coming back to me,” he choked out. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he clenched his jaw when she closed her fingers around his cock and milked him slowly from base to tip. Before he could recover from the maneuver, she pressed her lips to the tip,
parted them, and took him in. All the way in.

  He reached down and skimmed his index finger lightly along the seam where her lips locked snug around his throbbing cock. “I hope you’re prepared to take whatever you dish out.”

  Apparently she wasn’t worried. With a noise somewhere between a laugh and a moan, she braced herself on one forearm, burrowed her hand between his legs, and cupped his balls. He didn’t know if she thought she’d found an exemption to his you-take-what-you-dish-out promise, but, if so, he figured it was time to prove her wrong.

  “Buckle up, Chloe.” He dragged her panties aside and kissed her long and hard, splaying his hands over the small of her back and holding her in place when she stiffened and tried to buck away. She moaned again—no hint of a laugh this time—and then, as if realizing her best defense was a swift, take-no-prisoners offense, mirrored the move on his cock, sucking him into a deep kiss, and giving his balls a squeeze for good measure.

  “What?” The word came out as a gasp. “You think I’ve got no answer to that?” He parted her with his tongue. She wrapped her other hand around his thigh, arched her back, and cried out. The cry turned ragged when he laved her exposed, swollen center, and circled a finger around her opening.

  “I’ve got a winning answer,” he promised and eased his finger into her. Her greedy interior muscles clenched and released around him in absolutely perfect timing with the contraction and slide of her mouth up and down his shaft. And, just like that, he lost the advantage—and he knew it.

  A tightening started in the arches of his feet. “Oh shit. Chloe…” He meant it as a warning, but she clung to him like a limpet and increased the pace of…everything. Her head bobbed between his legs. Her hips jerked back and forth as she rode his tongue like a rodeo star.

  His calves tightened. His thighs burned. The breath backed up in his lungs and gray spots formed at the edges of his vision. She squeezed his balls again and rubbed her finger along a spot just behind them. His entire body shuddered in a response so instinctive and involuntary he couldn’t have suppressed himself if his life depended on it.

  Words swirled in his brain…curses and pleas…Holy, shit, you’re killing me. Please. Don’t stop. Thankfully, he was too busy sucking and rolling and tonguing her clit like a Tic Tac to even think about talking.

  Her mouth kept right on working him. That finger of hers kept rubbing. Primitive impulses took over, and, before he could stop himself, he broke his longstanding rule and thrust into the soft, giving haven at the back of her throat. An apology sprung to his lips, but never passed, because she made a low, hungry sound, and then ground herself against his mouth in a flat-out frenzy.

  He tried to hold himself back and let her have her moment, but something about those sexy noises she made and the way she rocked against him in an urgent, helpless dance, snapped what little bit of control he had left. His balls drew up. His lungs exploded. The back of his head slammed into the carpet as an orgasm tore through him with all the ferocity of a bunker buster. Her scream of release ricocheted through his oxygen-starved mind seconds before the flames consumed him.

  Nothing even remotely like Chloe Kincaid had ever happened to him before. He wasn’t sure he’d live through it.

  Chapter Nine

  Chloe crawled off Michael, turned around, and collapsed beside him. He slipped an arm around her waist and snuggled her against him. “You win,” he grunted. She opened her mouth to mention the stash of condoms now handily tucked away in his guest room, but the simple, affectionate cuddle made her foolish heart roll over in her chest and beg like a neglected puppy.

  Uh-uh. Sit. Stay. Now was not the right time, and Michael was not the right man. “I think, in all fairness, we have to call it a draw.”

  His low laugh melted whatever bones were left in her body. He nudged her chin up and pressed a kiss to her lips. “You started with a major advantage. Tell me, Chloe, do you always vacuum in stilettos?”

  Mention of the shoes reminded her of her conversation with Lynne. The real world stepped in and bitch-slapped her out of her boneless stupor. “They’re my lucky shoes.”

  Another laugh rumbled from his chest. His fingers threaded through her hair. “No kidding. I felt luckier the second I saw you in them. What had you feeling lucky?”

  A big, stupid part of her wanted to stay wrapped in his strong arms, protected from her problems for a while. Instead she propped herself up on her elbows and looked down at him. “I had the shoes on because I need to attract some luck.”

  He toyed with the ends of her hair, but his contented smile faded a fraction. “What’s wrong?”

  “Well, there’s good news and bad news. My recruiter found me a new job at a fancy resort in New Mexico filling in for a therapist who’s going on maternity leave.”

  Inexplicably, his smile slipped another notch. Her heart sank…that had been her good news.

  “Congratulations. Sounds like a nice assignment.” He reinforced his smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

  “Thanks, but here’s the thing…the job starts in”—she closed her eyes and winced—“four weeks.”

  Silence met her announcement. She peeked at him.

  To his credit, his expression never faltered. He reached up and wound a tendril of her hair around his finger. “So the shoes work.”

  “Michael,” she shook her head, “it’s a disaster. When you offered me a place to stay, I’m sure you never imagined having me underfoot for the better part of a month.”

  “I’m good with whatever time line you need. I want to help.”

  “And I appreciate your hospitality, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to do whatever I can to get out of your hair sooner. Lynne, my recruiter, knows I’m available for any assignments between now and then. I plan to pester her daily until she finds me something.”

  His wide hand glided down her back, as if smoothing feathers. “Don’t. Just relax and enjoy the break. Four weeks is no problem, except—” He gave her a strange look she could only classify as guilty. Uh-oh.

  “Except?”

  “I guess you, ah, spoke to Mrs. Waverly today?”

  Okay, she knew where this was going. “Yes, we chatted when I turned in my key. She asked for my forwarding address, so I told her I was moving in with you, and kind of…you know”—she moved her hand through the air—“flashed her the ring. She loves to gossip, and I figured you wouldn’t want her spreading the word we’d shacked up without also including the little detail of our ‘engagement.’ But don’t worry.” She used her thumb to center the diamond ring on her finger. “I’m pretty sure she bought the story. She ooh’d and ahh’d and asked for details. Even though I kept things vague, I know she imagines lightning struck the minute our eyes met. She kept sighing and saying, things like, ‘Time means nothing,’ and, ‘When you find the right person, you just know.’” She laughed, because she’d learned the hard way just how wrong those sentiments were.

  Realizing her laughter sounded slightly bitter, she shook her head and forced her attention back to the matter at hand. “Why? Did I play it wrong?”

  “No.” He stroked his hand down her back again and circled her tattoo, absently, as if touching her was a habit. “You played it perfectly…and I’m sorry I had to ask you to ‘play it’ at all, but this leads us into the one little problem.”

  Her stomach tightened at the mention of a problem. She propped her chin on her linked fingers and tried for a carefree grin. “So much for my lucky shoes. What’s the issue?”

  “Mrs. Waverly wasted no time calling my CO’s wife to spread the happy news. She, in turn, instructed my CO to invite us to their house tomorrow evening to celebrate our engagement…which is code for get a look at us and try to figure out if we know what the hell we’re doing.”

  “Oh.” Suddenly, the carefree grin required too much effort. This was his life. What if she didn’t pass muster? It had happened before. She sat up and started pulling on clothes.

  “I’m sorry,” he s
aid quickly and sat up as well. She watched with no small amount of regret as he yanked his shorts up. Her mouth went a little dry and she lost track of his words when he zipped his pants. She licked her parched lips and tried to refocus on what he was saying. “…so I know this puts you in an awkward position, and I hate to ask it of you.” He pulled his undershirt on and left it untucked. “I can try to push them back, but I doubt I can dodge the invite for four weeks without offending the colonel and Mrs. Harding. Especially not with Mrs. Waverly here, on the inside, reporting all our comings and goings.”

  “I don’t have a problem posing as your fiancée. I said I would, and I try real hard to keep my promises. I just”—she turned her back to him and reached for her shorts—“I doubt giving your CO and his wife an up-close, personal look at me is going to do anything positive for you, professionally. I’m not exactly ‘perfect wife’ material.”

  He laughed, which worried and annoyed her. “Glad you think it’s so funny.” She stood and kicked off her shoes, then shoved her legs into the shorts, and tugged them up.

  His hands shot out, quick as missiles, and intercepted her, preventing her from finishing the job. He drew her shorts down a few inches and brushed his lips over her hummingbird.

  “I know pretending to be engaged and ready to settle down makes you uncomfortable. It’s not who you are or what you’re looking for.” He traced the tattoo with the tip of his tongue, while she bit her lip to keep from sighing. “But I don’t think the Hardings are going to get quite this up-close and personal over one dinner. To them, you look exactly like ‘perfect wife material.’” He kissed her one last time, and then stood, pulled her shorts up, reached around front and buttoned them for her.

  Good Lord, not five minutes ago the man had used his mouth to suck a crippling orgasm out of her, so why did the small, comparatively chaste gesture of dressing her make her knees weak? She turned, expecting him to back off, but instead she collided with him.