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

by Samanthe Beck

  “Absolutely. My parents loved you.”

  “You’re not funny. At least your mother didn’t stay angry.”

  “Oh no, don’t let the smile and emotional maturity fool you. She’s pissed. I’m in the doghouse big time.”

  “I feel awful.”

  “I know,” he said quietly and squeezed her knee again. “I wish I could hit rewind on the whole morning. But there really is a bright side. Today was what you call a worst-case scenario. Nothing that happens from here on out can possibly be as bad.”

  Maybe he had a point, or maybe not. Because as horrifying as the morning had been, there was an even more horrifying realization circling like a shark at the back of her conscience. A big part of her wished the whole thing had been real.

  …

  Michael reluctantly obeyed the Monday afternoon summons to the colonel’s office. After the pressure Harding had asserted Saturday at breakfast about setting a wedding date, he’d been hoping to fly under the man’s radar for a few days. But fate or luck or whatever had taken a giant crap on him this weekend obviously had other ideas.

  An admin waved him back. Harding’s office door hung open, so he knocked on the doorframe and cleared his throat.

  The older man looked up and gestured to one of the two uncomfortable wooden guest chairs in front of the continent-sized oak desk that fairly shouted AUTHORITY. “Have a seat, Major. I trust the rest of your weekend went well?”

  “Very nice, sir.”

  Harding nodded and pinned him with a laser-sharp gaze. “Give any more thought to a wedding date?”

  He felt weaselly. Probably looked weaselly too, but he stared at his boots and answered, “We’re discussing our options.”

  “Good. Good.” Harding nodded briskly.

  Fuck it. He couldn’t lie anymore. What had seemed like a harmless fib to make it feasible to help Chloe without shooting his military career in the foot had devolved into a soap-opera-worthy web of deception, all the more sticky because, although the engagement was fake, his feelings for her were one hundred percent real.

  “Sir, with regard to Chloe and me—”

  The colonel waved a hand to cut him off. “I know, I know, you’ll figure out your wedding date in your own time, but, meanwhile, you don’t need pressure from me or anyone else. Duly noted, Major. I know it seems like I meddle into my officers’ personal lives; however, I speak from experience when I say a military career imposes demands that can exact a huge physical and emotional toll. Over the years I’ve found individuals who are part of a strong, supportive personal team are best positioned to meet those demands, and I think you and Chloe, together, form a strong, supportive team.”

  “I agree, sir, but…” He trailed off because in addition to coming clean about the engagement, he found himself wanting to confide that Chloe didn’t see herself as “team” material, and he wasn’t sure how to convince her she was selling herself short without scaring her right out the door.

  “Relax, Major. I’ve said all I’m going to say on the matter. I’m sure you’ll be relieved to know I didn’t call this meeting to discuss your private life. The actual purpose of our meeting is to advise you you’re back on flight status.”

  It took him a moment to shift mental gears and follow the direction of the conversation. “I am?”

  “Affirmative.” A faint smile tugged one corner of the colonel’s mouth, which told Michael the older man knew damn well how anxious he’d been to get back in the cockpit. “Infantry is running twenty-four hours of training exercises starting this evening, and requested Air Wing helicopter support. I’ll put you on the roster, if you want to log some flight time.”

  “Yes, sir.” He stood, and took a step toward the door before protocol stopped him. This was a meeting with his commander, and he hadn’t been dismissed. “Thank you, sir.”

  Harding laughed. “Dismissed, Major. Report to the airfield at eighteen hundred.”

  Michael didn’t need to be told twice.

  A couple hours later, still flying high on the prospect of being a pilot again, he pulled into his parking space at Casa Clemente and headed upstairs to grab his gear and enjoy a little down time before he had to report back to base.

  Getting his clearance to fly lifted a dark cloud of uncertainly off him. Things that had seemed impossibly fucked up this morning, namely, the situation with Chloe, looked amazingly straightforward now. He still had over a week to convince her to stay—convince her to take a risk on him…and herself. This was doable. He understood subtle, nuanced tactics, but when it came to winning a battle, sometimes storming the defenses got the job done. From here on out, he was going to storm her defenses like the freaking beaches at Normandy, and he’d stay the course until she fell to him.

  With his strategy firmly in place, he walked into the apartment. Chloe stood at the small table in the dining area, sorting through the mail. She wore a long, body-hugging black tank top over the white skirt he remembered from the infamous day at the massage clinic, and, hot damn, the lucky shoes. She looked up when he came in and gave him a smile, but as he closed in on her, the smile disappeared and her eyes grew wide.

  Her lips parted, but he didn’t give her a chance to speak. He slammed his mouth down on hers. She staggered back a little under the force of this kiss, so he simply hauled her up, hitched her legs around his waist, and kept on walking until he’d backed her up against the wall.

  She broke away long enough to mumble, “Careful.”

  He used the opportunity to shove the tank top over her head. “Uh-uh. I’m done being careful. I’ve got an hour before I have to report back to the base tonight and I don’t plan to spend it being careful.”

  “But—”

  Covering her mouth again cured her of the desire to speak. Instead, she melted into the kiss. He shoved her bra out of his way and filled his hand with her warm, soft breast.

  Her head dropped back against the wall, and she very nearly purred.

  “I’m back on flight status,” he murmured against her throat.

  That piece of news snapped her head up. She put her hands on his cheeks and pulled his face up as well until their eyes met. Hers were blinking back tears. “Oh…Michael. I’m so happy.”

  “I’m about to make you even happier, because as far as I’m concerned, if I’m deemed fit to handle a CH-47, I’m fit to brace you against this wall, bury myself as deep inside you as humanly possible, and give you the kind of ride that leaves you sweaty and breathless and trembling from head to toe. Then I’m going to turn you around and fuck you from the other direction, just to prove to you beyond a shadow of a doubt I can make you come whenever I want, however I want. What do you say, Chloe? Would that make you happy?”

  Her mouth was slack, her eyes unfocused, and she was grinding her hips against his with the quick, determined rhythm she always used when left to her own devices. “No cheating,” he admonished and reached up under her skirt to give her a playful swat on the ass. Then, because he was right there, he swept his fingers under her thong, gratified to find her hot and damp. He took that as a green light and ripped the thing off. “Seems like you’re happy.”

  She gasped and buried her face in his neck. “Beyond happy. As long as Uncle Sam says you’re fit, I consider this my patriotic duty.”

  “Great. Do your patriotic duty and unzip me.” He got both hands under her hips and held her up while she did the honors—unzipped his pants, reached inside, wrapped her exquisite fingers around his shaft, and pulled him out. They both looked down and watched her stroke him until he swelled to what felt damn close to the bursting point. She used the pad of her thumb to wipe a drop of moisture from the head of his cock and then looked up at him. “Condom?”

  “In my wallet. Back pocket, right side. My right,” he added when she reached for the wrong pocket.

  “Got it.” A second later she fished out the condom, tossed his wallet over his shoulder, and slowly rolled the protection on while he mentally recited the Oath of
Enlistment to keep from bringing things to a premature conclusion. As soon as she had him sheathed, he got a good grip on her ass, sealed his mouth over one straining nipple, and drove into her, hard and fast, so all she could do was tighten her legs around his waist and clutch his shoulders while he bounced her back and forth between his body and the wall. Hopefully the Fenwicks in 2D weren’t sitting in their dining room, watching their wall vibrate and screaming, “Earthquake!”

  Not that he was averse to some screaming, but he wanted to hear it from a source a little closer to home. And while he took an obscene amount of satisfaction from every ecstatic little cry coming from Chloe’s throat, he aimed to get something more concrete out of her.

  He released her nipple and growled, “Do you want to come?”

  “Yes. Please. I’m so close.” Her eyes were closed, her jaw set.

  “Who got you there? Who always gets you there?”

  “You. You do it. Every time.”

  “Who? Look at me and say my name.” He pinned her hips to the wall and thrust hard, deep enough to hit her clit with the base of his cock.

  Her eyes flew open. “Oh, sweet Jesus.”

  “Guess again.”

  “Michael,” she panted. “Please.”

  “Who?” He repeated the move.

  She shattered in his arms, screaming, “Michael…Michael…Michael.”

  Before her inner muscles could wring an orgasm from him, he pulled out, spun her around, and put her forearms flush to the wall. Hallelujah for the lucky shoes, because they made her the right height for everything to line up perfectly. He hiked her skirt up and prepared to push into her from behind when the phone rang.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Holy crap, you just came so hard your ears are ringing. The annoying noise reverberated in her head. Chloe groaned and opened her eyes. The weight of Michael’s body held her against the wall, which accounted for her not sinking to the floor in a boneless puddle.

  “Are you okay?” His low, slightly tortured voice came from just behind her ear.

  The distracting ringing noise stopped and then started again. “I don’t know. I hear ringing in my ears.”

  “As much as I’d like to take credit for ringing your bell, that’s the phone.”

  “Oh.” A smile hijacked her lips and she pushed her hips back encouragingly. “In that case, yes, I’m okay. Better than okay.” She was about to add, “Carry on, fly-boy,” when the message machine kicked on, and after the beep, Lynne’s voice intruded into the otherwise quiet room. Hey, Chloe. I need to speak with you right away. Pick up if you’re there…

  Talk about timing. There she stood—barely—with her bra shoved up above her breasts, her skirt in a bunch around her waist, and Michael poised to deliver on part two of his promise. “Shit. I’m sorry, but I’d better get that.”

  His hands tightened around her waist, and for one heady moment, she thought he might simply growl, “Call her back,” and continue having his merry way with her. But instead he kissed her shoulder and then smoothed her skirt down. She turned with an apologetic smile ready, but he’d already stepped away and headed down the hall. Pulling her bra back into place, she crossed to the phone on unsteady legs.

  Okay, I guess you’re not there…

  She lunged for the receiver and hit talk. “I’m here.” Her voice sounded a little breathless, but she was prepared to blame it on rushing to answer the phone.

  “Thank God. Hey, I just got a call from the spa in New Mexico. The woman you’re filling in for went into labor this afternoon—”

  “Oh no. Is she all right? The baby?”

  “All is well. She’s just a couple weeks early. But this means the assignment starts ASAP.”

  “Oh.” Of course. Of course that’s what it meant. That her heart wanted to bleed out of her chest at the thought of leaving Michael was neither here nor there.

  “Yeah, Oh. You sound like I just told you your dog died. You don’t have to take this job. I can get another therapist—”

  “No!” The word burst from her mouth like a bullet. She took a stabilizing breath and continued more calmly. “No. I want the assignment.”

  Lynne exhaled. “You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met, did you know that?”

  “I’m honored.”

  “You’re making a mistake.”

  “Staying would be the mistake. Handing my heart to a military man? Look how well that worked out for my mom and dad.”

  “Are you your mom?” Lynne shot back, more than a little exasperated. “Do you need attention every second of the day, and would you run around behind your man’s back to get it?”

  “No, I don’t have my mom’s abandonment issues, because I’ve worked hard to get over them. I’ve made it a goal in life not to be the same endless well of need for attention. And, no, I would never cheat on anyone.”

  “Let’s stick a pin in those goals of yours for the moment. Is Michael anything like your dad?”

  “He’s in the military. As far as I can tell, he plans to stay in.”

  “The occupation is a superficial similarity. Is he cold and remote? Does he withhold affection and put his ambitions ahead of everything else?”

  “No, he’s none of those things. He’s funny and charming and he put his ambitions at risk to help me out.”

  “Okay, then. In our little game here, I’m going to claim this point. You’re not your mom. Michael’s not your dad, and, by the way, your parents’ shitty marriage had nothing to do with the military. The marriage failed because she craved constant adoration, while he used attention as a bargaining chip and put his own needs first. He could have been an accountant or a teacher and the marriage still would have sucked. Don’t use Michael’s uniform as an excuse to run away.”

  “Why does everyone keep saying I’m running?” She couldn’t keep the frustration out of her voice. “I travel. It’s my job. After all the mistakes I’ve made trying to find stability where none existed, why is it so hard to believe being a rolling stone suits me better?”

  “It suited you for a while, because you needed to spend some time alone and gain your self-confidence back after your divorce, but now it’s just a crutch—something you use to justify avoiding attachments. But whether you wanted to be or not, you’re attached to Michael. Stick around and see where it leads.”

  “I did that with Drew, and it didn’t lead anywhere remotely resembling happy ever after. I’m not ready to attempt the journey again.”

  “What I’m hearing now is just leftover fear and insecurity. Bury the past, get on with your life, and enjoy where you’re at right now.”

  Chloe felt her own exasperation growing. “It’s easy to say ‘Get on with your life,’ but, you know what? It’s surprisingly hard to do. I’ve spent the better part of a year trying to move on, get myself back on track, and I’m still a walking disaster.”

  “You’re not a disaster—”

  “I got fired, got so drunk I couldn’t stand up and, oh yeah, got fake engaged to my neighbor so I could avoid ending up at a homeless hotel. What part of all this says to you, Hey, that Chloe has her shit together?”

  “Everybody screws up now and then. Everybody. You can’t judge yourself by the last few days. Look at the bigger picture and tell me what you see.”

  “There is no bigger picture.”

  “Fine. You win. If walking disaster is all you see when you look at yourself, you’re right. You’re not ready for Michael or anybody else.”

  Chloe winced at the blunt reply, but Lynne wasn’t a mom of two boys for nothing. She could dish out the tough love when she needed to.

  Michael wandered back into the room, stopping a few feet away from her to pick up his wallet from the spot where she’d tossed it earlier. She absorbed him with her eyes and felt her face heat when he caught her looking and raised his eyebrows.

  “So, ASAP means?” she asked Lynne.

  “I figured you’d need twenty-four hours, so as not to leave Veronica i
n the lurch, plus you have to pack and say your good-byes, so I had travel book you a flight tomorrow evening at 6:00 p.m., out of John Wayne.”

  Tomorrow! She gripped the phone to keep her hands from shaking. Across the room, Michael stood utterly still, watching her. She drew in a deep breath, then another, before she felt calm enough to attempt a reply. “I-I can make that work.”

  “Fab,” Lynne said curtly. “We’re putting you up at an extended-stay hotel near the resort. I’m emailing you the details as we speak. Will you be able to log-on somewhere and get them?”

  “Yes. Thanks.”

  “You know what, Chloe? Don’t thank me. Thank your lousy parents, and your no-good ex, because they’re the reason you’re going to New Mexico. They’re the reason you’re running away from a chance at a real, honest-to-God, happy ever after. You’ve got some dark periods in your past, but you’re letting them ruin your future too. You’re giving them more power than they deserve.”

  “I can’t get into this with you right now.” She could barely talk around the tightness in her throat. Barely concentrate on anything beyond the fact that her time with Michael was winding down. By this time tomorrow she’d be on a plane to New Mexico.

  Lynne muttered something that sounded like, “Maybe he can talk some sense into you,” and hung up.

  Chloe returned the phone to its stand. With a knot twisting in her stomach, she turned to face Michael.

  “New Mexico?” he asked from across the room. He didn’t back away or come closer.

  She nodded and forced a laugh. “Your prayers have been answered. You’re going to get your apartment, and your life, back. No more Chloe and her clutter everywhere.”

  He didn’t so much as crack a smile. “When?”

  “Tomorrow evening. My flight leaves at seven.”

  “And you want to go?”

  “That was always the plan.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  No, he’d asked what she wanted, but the question had no easy answer. “I love…so many things about being here,” she eyed him meaningfully, because that was as close as she could come to saying the words, “but this isn’t my place. This isn’t my life. It never was.”