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

by Samanthe Beck

  She valued honesty, and he’d handed her some. Even if it wasn’t what she wanted to hear, she couldn’t fault his observations. There were big inconsistencies between what she was saying and how she was behaving. Her plan had been to land in San Clemente, add a few personal touches to a generic apartment, get to know a new set of neighbors and coworkers—but not so intimately she’d miss anyone when she moved on. What had she done instead? Gotten to know one neighbor pretty darn intimately.

  Huge mistake, because if she let herself, she could picture a life here in San Clemente, with a regular job, friends who knew her birthday, and her background, and occasionally called her Scarlett just to be funny. She could fall for this place and this job…and this man.

  Okay, yes, no point in denying it. She could tattoo a hummingbird on her butt, or a roadrunner across her dang forehead, but some weak, stupid part of her that never learned wanted to be with Michael, which was crazy, because they’d only known each other a short time and he served his country and despite managing to convince everyone else to the contrary, they couldn’t be more wrong for each other.

  Falling for him ran afoul of every personal goal she’d set for herself after the long, painful self-assessment she’d made following her divorce. Falling for him meant she’d made no progress at all over the last year. Her heart clenched at the thought…and her bladder followed suit. She sighed and hauled herself to the bathroom.

  Afterward, she crept out to the kitchen for something to drink, but stopped short in the archway when she saw Michael standing by the fridge, downing a glass of water. Barefoot and shirtless, he wore the same dark blue sweatpants he’d had on earlier, with the white letters, USMC emblazoned down the side of one leg. They hung low on his hips, revealing the long, powerful lines of his back, all the way from his broad, invincible shoulders to the twin dimples bracketing the base of his spine.

  Before she fully realized she’d put herself in motion, she came up behind him, wrapped her arms around his waist, and pressed her cheek to his warm, smooth skin. He didn’t so much as jump, which told her he’d known she was there, but when she would have drawn away he covered her hands with his and held her in place.

  Apologize and back away. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, but her rebellious arms just hugged him tighter. “I shouldn’t have jumped down your throat for expressing your opinion, or lashed out at you because we’re in a situation where we have to be less than honest with people. You’re doing that to help me, and I am grateful.”

  He turned and folded her in his arms, bringing her into the safe harbor of his chest. She breathed deeply. The clean, slightly herbal scent of his bath soap lingered on him.

  His chin brushed the top of her head, and he followed that up with a kiss. “No, I’m the sorry one. You have to run your life your way. You didn’t ask for my opinion, and, considering I share the blame for the situation, I’m in no position to criticize or give advice. I acted like a dick.”

  “You’re under a lot of stress, and I’m a natural irritant.” She looked up at him and tried for a smile. “I warned you I’m not easy to live with.”

  Serious brown eyes stared back at her—no trace of amusement—as he touched her cheek with gentle fingers, sweeping down to her jaw. “You’re too easy to live with,” he said softly and covered her mouth with his.

  She dove into the kiss, trying to use it to convey all the emotions swirling around inside her. Protective instincts told her to pull back, because one way or another, she would be moving on soon. Why make things harder? But the rest of her recognized the heartbreak of leaving had become inevitable. Pulling back now only hastened the pain.

  Maybe he could read her thoughts, because he seemed to understand she was sinking. He cupped the back of her head, changed the angle of the kiss, and took them under.

  In contrast to the way he laid claim to her mouth, his hands stayed chastely above her neck, his fingers lightly tracing her jaw. That left her hands free to roam—across the rounded muscles of his shoulders, down his hard chest, along the sloped contours of his abdomen.

  When her fingers reached the waistband of his sweats, he broke the kiss long enough to murmur, “Forgive me?”

  “Nothing to forgive,” she said between quick nibbles along his jaw, and then she was moving backward. He navigated them out of the kitchen, through the living area, down the hall, and, much to her relief, he bypassed the guest room and steered her directly into his room…into his bed.

  He stood before her, his fingers laced through her hair, staring down at her with an expression she couldn’t name, but nonetheless did crippling things to her already vulnerable heart—a look guaranteed to make her say or do something stupid if she didn’t find a distraction. Now. Luckily a perfect distraction hovered within easy reach. She yanked his sweats down. He swore as the waistband snagged on the head of his erection and dragged it down too, and then swore again when it sprang free and bobbed back up like a buoy.

  “Sorry,” she murmured, “let me kiss it better.” She slid her hands around and held onto his smooth, firm glutes, lowered her head, and set about making the unintentional abuse up to him. Within moments all was forgiven, judging by the gasps and groans coming out of him. His body pulsed in her mouth. His muscles went rock hard beneath her palms. She brought one hand around front and cupped his balls, feeling them draw up even as she closed her fingers.

  She thought she had him past the point of no return, but suddenly, he said, “No more,” in a harsh whisper. The fingers in her hair tightened a little, holding her head still while he withdrew from her mouth. “I can’t take anymore. I have to be inside you.” He kicked his sweats off and pushed her back onto the bed.

  She hit the mattress with a hushed thump and crossed her arms above her head while she watched him get ready.

  He dug a condom out of his nightstand drawer, ripped it open, and rolled it on. His eyes found hers in the shadowy room and bored into her. She shivered as he slid a hand between her thighs and then gasped when he rimmed her opening. Before she caught her breath, he plunged a finger deep, and her body clenched desperately around him.

  “That’s it,” he groaned. “I love to feel you quiver for me. I want to watch while I stroke you until those quivers turn to trembles—until you’re shaking all the way down to your toes.”

  He flipped her sleep shirt up to her waist, baring her to his gaze, and she worried she was going to come right then and there. How did he do this to her? She’d never been so constantly, effortlessly ready. He worked another finger into her and her moan slipped out before she could stop it.

  “I know,” he said sympathetically. “I’ve got my hands full here, but that sweet little clit looks so neglected. Don’t worry. I can troubleshoot this.” He knelt down, parted her thighs wider, and kissed her, front and center and right on target. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, but she couldn’t stop herself from planting the soles of her feet on his shoulders and rocking up into the kiss. When he started in on her with his tongue, and, sweet Jesus, his teeth, she flung her forearm over her eyes and sobbed, “Please. Oh, God. Please. I need you.”

  He kissed her thigh. Her stomach. Her pounding heart. “Me, too.” Then he slowly withdrew from her, took her hand, and wrapped her fingers around the base of his erection.

  She guided him in. He kept as still as possible, which set off alarm bells in her brain at first because she feared he’d aggravated his back, but then she registered his closed eyes and deep breaths and realized he was holding himself in check, trying to let her come first. There was something so disarming and, at the same time, unspeakably sexy about all that masculine restraint. She molded her hands along the small of his back and pressed down carefully.

  His low, shuddery moan sounded suspiciously like a plea for more. She took him in deep and then wriggled her hips from side to side, just to work him in a little…bit…deeper.

  “Ah shit,” he groaned, “don’t,” and he thrust once. Just like that, all the restrain
t evaporated. He drove into her, again and again, and she watched as he clenched his jaw, furrowed his brow, and surrendered every ounce of discipline and control to something too powerful for even big, bad, Major Michael McCade to withstand.

  A need she’d unleashed in him, she thought proudly, just before he surged forward and brought his head down next to hers. He hiked her legs up high and thrust into her one last time. And then thought became impossible because her senses took over. His ragged cry of relief filled her ears, sent a trail of heat along her spine, into her abdomen, and down between her legs. Tremors started somewhere deep within and radiated out like shockwaves. The next moment, all the tension and pressure inside her exploded. A storm of sensation swept through her, and everything else in the world faded, save for the feel of Michael holding her as if he’d never let go. But he will let go, her inner voice warned. Everybody does.

  …

  “Your brother says your back is still bothering you. Why didn’t you tell me? I’m a doctor, for Christ’s sake. I should be the first person you call when you’re not feeling well. ”

  Michael stepped out of the imaging center and stared up at the cloudless blue southern California sky. Hopefully he didn’t look like a man planning a murder, but, inside his mind, he was picturing strangling Trevor. Slowly. With his bare hands.

  “You’re a pediatrician.”

  “I have contacts.”

  “I’m fine, Mom. The pain is gone. I just had a follow-up MRI this afternoon, and I have an appointment with Dane on Friday to go over the results.”

  “Do you need me to come down and take care of you? Go with you to the appointment?”

  He gave her a long-suffering sigh. “Absolutely not. Mom, I’m the Marines’ problem now. You can stop worrying about me.” Start worrying about your oldest son, because he’s the one about to get his ass kicked.

  “It’s a mother’s prerogative to worry. You’ll understand when you have kids of your own.”

  Uh-oh. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. He and Logan had assumed Trevor tying the knot would ease the parental pressure on them, but so far, no dice. His mother was staring down the big six-oh next month. She wanted grandkids, and she wanted them yesterday.

  “I enjoyed speaking to Chloe last night.”

  He reached his Jeep, leaned against the driver’s side, and considered faking a bad connection. “Yeah, she mentioned you called.” Time to change the topic. “Listen, what do you want for your birthday?” He’d taken care of the birthday present weeks ago. He, Trevor, and Logan went thirds on an Alaskan Cruise his mom had talked about taking for ages. Chloe’s birthday was coming soon, and he needed to plan—

  “She told me you two are friends.”

  So much for a topic change. “That’s true.”

  “She also mentioned you were in the shower when I called.”

  “Also true.” But he braced for whatever she threw at him next.

  “She’s one of those friends you invite over at shower time?”

  “I can’t…you. Think we have…bad connection.”

  “Don’t lie to your mother. There’s not a thing wrong with this connection. I want to meet Chloe. That’s what I want for my birthday.”

  Invite her to meet his parents? God, no. He’d spent the better part of last night facing some brutal truths. He was falling in love with her. He wanted her to stay. And he was pretty damn sure she was falling, too. But her fears erected huge barriers against any kind of relationship between them. If he wanted to breach those barriers, he had to move slowly and strategically. Let his migratory houseguest think they were just messing around until she’d nested so completely she couldn’t imagine flying the coop. Asking commitment-phobic Chloe to meet his parents was neither slow nor strategic. It would trigger every flight instinct she possessed.

  “Mom, I don’t think—”

  “Sorry, sweetie. Can’t…hear you. Must be…bad connection.”

  The dial tone came through loud and clear.

  Fuck. He looked around, automatically seeking an escape route from the trap he’s walked into when he’d called his mom. The flower shop across the street caught his eye. He jogged over and, in a few minutes, picked out a bouquet of happy-looking blooms with a pale, honey-orange color that reminded him of Chloe’s hair. Whittling away at her defenses required subtlety, not the head-on attack he’d launched during dinner last night. A congratulations-on-your-first-day-of-work bouquet seemed like a step in the right direction, followed by a celebratory dinner out somewhere nice, because as much as she might deny it, Chloe liked wine and candlelight. She liked romance. It was time he gave her some. Besides, he justified as he started the Jeep, he did hope she’d had a great first day at this new job. He hoped she liked it so much she decided to stay.

  Ten minutes later he walked into his apartment. “Chloe?”

  “In here.”

  He stepped into the living room and blinked. She sat on the sofa in her little purple robe, with her hair tied into a bundle at the top of her head, and something that looked like mint-green frosting slathered over her entire face except for her eyes and mouth. Her feet rested on the coffee table, amidst a war chest of…products. Tortuous-looking toe spreaders separated her freshly painted toenails.

  “Flower delivery for Chloe Kincaid.”

  She beamed, which caused her frosting masque to crack, and held out her hands for the bouquet.

  He pulled the flowers out of her reach. “Not so fast. I’m going to need some proof of your identity.”

  Her smile turned a little wicked—or maybe that was just the green gunk working on his mind—then she stood, turned around, and flipped the back of her robe up to flash him her tattoo. She turned back around, still grinning. “Does that work?”

  He handed her the bouquet and discreetly adjusted himself so his dick wasn’t straining against the seam of his pants. “I’ll accept that as preliminary ID. Later, I’m going to need to see it again and make a closer inspection.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

  He shrugged. “It’s a dirty job, but someone’s got to do it. You don’t want to get me in trouble, do you?”

  “Heaven forbid.” She buried her face in the big blossoms and breathed them in. “These are beautiful. How did you know peonies were my favorite?”

  “Lucky guess. They reminded me of you—pretty and exuberant.”

  Her eyes shifted to his face, and lingered. He had a funny feeling she was blushing under the frosting and gave himself a mental high five.

  “What’s the occasion?”

  “I was thinking about you. Hoping your first day at the new job went well.”

  “Really well. Thanks. Let me put these in water.”

  “I’ll do it.” He took the flowers and headed to the kitchen. “Tell me about your day,” he said as he dug in a cabinet for a jar to put the flowers in.

  “The staff is awesome. The place is busy—I had a steady stream of clients all day—and I made great tips. Veronica and a couple of the other girls took me to lunch at this amazing taco place down the street.”

  He wandered back into the living room to discover her removing the green mask with some kind of clear liquid and a cotton pad. He put the “vase” on the coffee table. “Sounds perfect.”

  “Yeah.” The wistful note in her response hung in the air as she finished wiping her face and then leaned forward and started arranging the flowers, unconsciously giving him a view down the front of her robe.

  Speaking of perfect.

  He caught himself drumming a nervous beat on his leg and forced his hand to still. “Want to celebrate a triumphant first day?”

  “Sure.” Before he could guess her next move, she stood, slipped out of her robe and walked over until they stood mere inches apart. “Is this what you had in mind?”

  “I was thinking dinner,” he admitted, before he leaned down and kissed her.

  “Dinner can wait. I can’t.”

  Chapter Sixteen
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  “I don’t want to freak you out, Chloe, but I have to mention the L-word.”

  Chloe used her shoulder to hold the phone to her ear and finished typing a note into a client file in the Veronica’s Oasis database. The low hum of conversation flowed around her as she sat in front of the computer at the spa’s front-desk area. Not loud, by any means, but she wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. “What?”

  Lynne laughed. “I checked in with Veronica earlier today and, it’s official. She’s in love with you.”

  Chloe smiled, and waved to a departing client. “I’m awfully fond of her, too.” Three days on the job, and the spa already felt like…well…like home.

  “No problems? No concerns? No funny business with your time cards?”

  “None. Everyone is easygoing, but professional. This place runs very smoothly. It’s not a one-man operation, like Sempler’s clinic.”

  “Good to hear. Now that I know the assignment is under control, let’s get to the really juicy stuff. How’s the rest of your life going?”

  A memory of Michael bending her over the sofa and inspecting her “identification” popped into her mind and her heart did a tap dance in her chest. “Can’t complain. Michael brought me flowers Wednesday to celebrate my—”

  “Oh! Oh…!”

  Her friend sounded as if she were in the grip of a sharp pain. Chloe pressed the phone to her ear. “Lynne, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing…just a little heart palpitation over the flowers. The last time a man brought me flowers I was in the hospital, recovering from birthing his second oversize baby.”

  “Jeez.” She let her breath hiss out. “Very funny. You scared the crap out of me.”

  “But the flowers didn’t, which I find interesting. Any big plans with Major Hottie this weekend?”

  For some reason she glanced around to make sure nobody was listening. Nobody was. “Not really. We’re just going to hang out. Relax.”

  “Sounds cozy.”

  “Yeah. I guess so. He mentioned taking me out to dinner.”

  “Where?”