One Week with the Marine (Love on Location)

by Allison Gatta

  “I should probably make warm milk or something. Or—” She stumbled over the words, but it didn’t matter. She was already following his touch, leaning backward until her shoulder blades connected with the warmth of his chest. One broad hand wrapped around her waist, and she held her breath as his thumb dipped beneath the elastic of her waistband.

  Just one thumb. Just enough for her to know he was there, keeping her still.

  With the other hand, he brushed her hair away from her face and behind her ear.

  “Holden—” she said, but he hushed her.

  “Just relax.” His whisper filled the darkness, and she tried, really tried, to do as he said, but she was too aware, too hardwired to do anything but focus on his touch, on how close his lips were to the shell of her ear. She could feel his warm breath there, and it was driving her crazy.

  Unbidden, the memory of his kiss returned to her. The softness of his lips. The way he’d coaxed her to respond, to give and take in equal measure until she was nothing but putty in his hands. An ache rose between her thighs, and again she thought of his thumb, resting so gently above the apex of her sex.

  “Holden,” she whispered. “Will you touch me?”

  His response was automatic. Slowly, his hand dipped lower, and she spread her thighs for him, allowing him to slip beneath the cotton of her panties and feel the wet need waiting for him.

  “Jesus, Avery,” he whispered against her ear, and then he was kissing her, brushing the hair back again until his teeth caught her lobe, and he sucked with every flick of his thumb, every pulsing of his fingers inside her.

  She shuddered, wanting more, wanting him, but he never made a move to take her. She could feel his length hardening against her backside, could feel the way his cock pulsed and throbbed, but he kept on until she writhed and bucked and moaned his name.

  Until she’d lost the last shreds of her control.

  “Holden, Holden I need you,” she said in a breathless whisper. “Please, please…”

  Make love to me…

  “Take me,” she said, but knew that it wasn’t what she’d meant.

  Somehow, she thought he might know, too. Might, deep down, know what she wanted.

  If he did, though, he didn’t bother to name it. Instead, he pulled her shorts and panties down in one tug, then freed himself of his own clothes as she watched the moonlight bathe his rippling muscles. She licked her lips, waiting for him, needing him more than she ever had, and not caring.

  Knowing she should pull away, and not being able to find the will to do it.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, and then he gripped himself and eased into her, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt and their lips were only millimeters apart.

  He was still for a moment, then he cupped her cheek and pulled her face to his until their lips met, and that spark he’d lit on the beach spread through her like wildfire, bringing every cell to life.

  She gasped against his mouth, but her momentary surprise was answered with a thrust of his hips, and she found herself dizzy and needy and full, so full of him that she couldn’t bring herself to think anything but yes, yes, oh yes.

  Tonight, for the first time, Holden was claiming her as his own.

  And when it was over?

  She’d have no trouble sleeping. Not even a little bit.

  Chapter Eight

  Two days later, Avery blinked her eyes open, bleary and confused.

  The clock on her bedside table told her it was five in the morning—one precious hour before Holden would invariably wake and start his American Ninja Warrior workout in her living room, grunts and all. Never remembering to close the door after himself.

  It was so annoying.

  Not that it ever stopped her from rolling over and spying on him while feigning slumber. It was peaceful, almost, watching his cool, collected discipline.

  She adjusted on the mattress. He was exactly the same in sleep. So calm.

  Every day she’d been determined to break his carefully manicured restraint. She’d pushed even her own limits on acceptability, and somehow, he’d never batted an eye. Even when she’d taken him to the old folks’ home for a photo shoot and offered to hold a wheelchair race in the parking lot, he’d only laughed and done his now-signature move—smiling and shaking his head as if to say “oh, that crazy kid.”

  It was maddening.

  And the incredible sex had only made things worse. She’d tried her best to create distance. She’d tried crazy stuff. The kinds of positions that people have to act out with puppets just to understand the positioning. But nothing worked.

  Every time they were together, the sex had been electric. More than that, it was intimate. Tender. It hadn’t been sex at all—they’d made love, just as they had the night she’d first broken her resolve and allowed them to share a bed.

  And that thought alone was enough to send shivers up her spine.

  Unable to contain herself within her own skin, she eased from the bed. She paced the floor of her room, kicking all her stray high heels into one solid pile and using an errant tank top to wipe down every surface in the room.

  Why did she keep doing that—cleaning like this? It was like the spirit of Martha Stewart was possessing her.

  With a sigh, she checked her phone. No emails.

  Dammit.

  The day before, she’d submitted her work to the gallery in town. It was a small place, and not quite as swanky as someplace in New York, but it was definitely a start.

  She and Holden had passed the place while they’d been walking in town, and he’d pointed in the window at the overly stylized photos on display. “You ought to submit your work here. They’d be lucky to have you.”

  She’d played it off, pretending his words hadn’t spread a warm thrill through her stomach, but that night when he was asleep, she’d sent everything she had.

  Which was fine, because she’d probably never hear back from them.

  Swallowing hard, she clicked out of her email and checked her texts instead.

  Two messages—both from Myla.

  No doubt she was bursting with reasons to bother Avery about her relationship with Holden—questions about how the trip was going, about where the relationship was going. They did this every time he was in town, and this time was sure to be no different.

  Then, she’d be left deflecting as she always did until he went back to Maryland and the subject faded into obscurity again. Maybe it was just her imagination, but it was beginning to feel like every time the questions got harder and harder to answer. Like, at first, they’d begun out of interest, then curiosity, and now…it could all just be in her mind, but Myla was beginning to seem genuinely worried about this arrangement. As if she was afraid someone would get hurt.

  Deep down in her heart, Avery knew which of them it was going to be. After all, she didn’t have the resilience of a soldier. She didn’t have a supportive family to go back to. She didn’t have some fancy ten-year plan. All she had was Myla, who was distracted. And Holden.

  Without him…

  She shook her head, refusing for the umpteenth time to think about that. No, now she was going to answer her texts before Myla lost her mind and called her. She slid her finger across the screen and glanced at the message.

  How’s the diary going? Do you think you’re feeling more mindful?

  She wrinkled her nose, and her thumb hovered above the screen as she considered what to say. The day she referred to her own actions and thoughts as “mindful” was the day she permanently turned in her “Badass” card. And she was definitely not willing to head down that path. Still, she wanted Myla to know she was keeping her word, so she said the first thing that came to mind.

  I’m suddenly a lot more mindful of how terrible my handwriting is.

  The next message was much simpler to answer. It was only an invitation—she wanted to have them for lunch in a few days. Nothing too serious, just a casual meet-up to say hello to Holden.

/>   Avery frowned. She caught a whiff of treachery, but nonetheless she sent her friend a message letting them know she’d try to make it—so long as Myla hadn’t prepared any speeches about the sanctity of a committed relationship.

  Biting her lip, Avery’s eyes lit on the numbers of her digital alarm clock. 5:56 a.m. Four minutes until Holden would spring out of bed, his internal alarm clock making him seem like some kind of cyborg. Quickly, she slid herself back beneath the covers, looking at his prone face as he slept. His tanned, muscular arm was stretched across the empty space, snuggling the empty mattress where she normally laid.

  Lifting his bicep, she settled against his chest, feeling the warmth of his long, deep breaths.

  It couldn’t hurt. It’s not as if he’d ever know.

  Slowly, she released his arm from over the top of her and it curved around her, cupping her breast.

  Even in his sleep he was trying to get frisky with her.

  After examining the soft brown hairs on his arm, the muscles sculpted even in the fingers that unconsciously caressed her, she closed her eyes and pretended to drift off.

  In reality?

  She was wide awake, worrying why he felt so damn good.

  And how long it would take for it all to come crashing down around her.

  FROM THE DIARY OF AVERY FORRESTER

  A short poem:

  Why won’t the gallery message me?

  What do you think about that?

  I’m judging myself pretty harshly

  And so, I think, is my cat.

  Oh, why won’t the gallery call me?

  The worst they can say is no.

  Or they could insist that I’m the protagonist

  In a talent-free total hack show.

  Still, I think they should call me.

  I wouldn’t mind if they did.

  But if they say no—where do I go?

  Back to Maryland? As if.

  P.S. I am not good at journaling. Or, apparently, poetry. Maybe this is why the gallery hasn’t called?

  Chapter Nine

  When Holden woke up, he found his arm lying protectively on an all-too-familiar figure. Blond hair brushed against his chest as he slowly registered where each of his body parts had arranged themselves while he’d been sleeping.

  His hand was wrapped around the swell of Avery’s chest, his leg was wrapped around her thigh, and his cock was pressed against the seam of Avery’s pretty little ass, poised and hoping for an extra-special morning.

  It was seven. Normally, he would have worked out and had breakfast by now. But he looked down again, saw those lashes pressed against Avery’s peaceful cheeks, and he couldn’t bring himself to leave. Five more minutes, he told himself. Just five more minutes. And he nuzzled his neck against her head before drifting back to sleep.

  Avery woke him again at ten, half yawning and already midway through a speech.

  “I’ll never understand how men just accept that they wake up every morning with their flags at full mast. It makes no sense to me.” She ground into him as she said the words, as if in an effort to emphasize her point. “What if you woke up every morning to someone punching you in the face? Do you think people would get used to it?”

  The move was a particularly clever one, even for her, but he saw past the veneer. Her voice was too rough. Her action was too forced. There was only one explanation for what had happened the other night—Avery had wanted him. No, not wanted him. She’d needed him.

  Not that she’d ever say as much when she was in her right mind.

  Her talent for making these sorts of situations seem like they didn’t affect her was legendary. After one short-lived stepfather left town, she threw a rave in the town grocery store. She just didn’t have it in her to cry. Or maybe that was only what she wanted everyone to think. Regardless, she was crazy if she thought it would work on him.

  “It’s more like having someone bring you coffee in the morning. Or kiss you awake. Down there,” he said, sitting up beside her.

  “Either way, it’s weird.”

  “That doesn’t sound good to you?”

  “I don’t want to wake up with someone spelunking my lady cave. I like to wake up with a clear mind. No tongues in any unusual openings. That’s the dream, and so far, I’ve been living it.” She nodded her resolution, and the look of it made him feel that much more determined to prove her wrong.

  “I think it’s the most useless bodily function. How could waking up that way possibly help you in the wild?” she asked.

  He pounced on top of her and pinned her wrists to the bedpost above her head. “I think I could show you.”

  Her breath caught, and her pupils dilated instantly. Jackpot.

  “I can’t say I’m interested in finding out.” She fought to break free from him, but not nearly as hard as she was capable of. It was all yet another charade to throw him off her scent. This time, he wouldn’t let her get away with the show as easily.

  “You’re a terrible liar,” he said.

  “You’re a terrible—terrible—” With every word she huffed and pushed against his hold, but her muscles didn’t tense as she “struggled.” Despite her protesting, she sank deeper into her pillows with every push.

  “Terrible what?” He closed his mouth on hers, finally secure in his victory. She took his bottom lip between her own, sucking on it gently as his groin groaned for release with every lick. It was sweet, and sexy… And then stinging.

  She’d bitten him.

  He pulled back, releasing her wrists as his hands shot to his fresh wound. And just like that, she wriggled free, launching herself off the bed and jumping up as she shouted, “Who’s the terrible liar now?” Then she darted from the room.

  The next couple of days followed in much the same way. He’d try to get her alone, spend some time in the apartment, and then she’d find a reason for them to leave—some special thing he absolutely had to see before he went back to Maryland. They were parasailing, surfing, cliff diving, everything she could possibly think of. When it rained, they did a bar crawl long enough to span all of California. And still, if ever they found a quiet moment to themselves, she would slip away and run in the other direction.

  The sex, too, had changed. Ever since that night when she’d given herself to him, when she’d needed him, she’d been extra careful to ensure it never happened again. He’d try to slip into the shower with her, and she’d find a reason to do it on the counter instead. He’d try to make love to her, and she’d beg for him to ride her faster, harder, to flip her over so they weren’t face-to-face.

  He knew what she was doing, and every time, it made his resolution falter. After all, if she couldn’t handle something as intimate as sleeping together, how would she manage only seeing him when he was on leave?

  But she was getting to him. He’d get glimpses of her life now and then, the way she slept curled in a little ball, then twitched and jerked in her sleep until he pulled her into his arms again and made everything okay.

  She never told him that she needed him there. He just knew.

  It was impossible for her to hide the remnants of what he’d suspected her life was like when he wasn’t around. It was little things, really. Details he might never have noticed, except they were punctuated by the downturn of her full lips or the too-quick subject change when mentioned. Her dinner plates were dusty. Her phone almost never rang.

  Whether she told him so or not, she wasn’t just alone.

  She was lonely.

  And so, his decision became that much harder.

  The idea of leaving her by herself for months on end, thrashing in her sleep with nobody to comfort her, sharing the end of her day with nobody, was too much for him to bear.

  So, the scales tipped ever closer toward another deployment. If he was out of her life entirely, then maybe she’d be able to find someone who could stay for good and care for her the way she deserved. It was what he’d always wanted for her.

  But every time he wa
s absolutely resolute in his decision, Avery would do something to surprise him. She’d get them thrown out of a bar, and then she’d run out and get them breakfast in bed the next morning. She’d start a riot, and then give the coat off her back to a homeless person.

  She was a study in contrasts.

  And it was driving him fucking insane.

  On their fifth night together, Holden settled underneath the covers and prepared for Avery’s return to bed. She always took forever in the shower, so he knew he was in for a wait.

  He reached for his smartphone. He hadn’t even glanced at it since he’d landed in California, and a part of him recoiled at the idea of all the missed calls from his family. No doubt there were already six calls from his mother and at least four appointments for blind dates with “suitable young women” when he got home.

  Wincing, he opened his phone and resolved to listen to the latest message only—just in case there had been some emergency. After that, he wasn’t looking at the thing again until he was in the airport, ready to head home.

  He pressed play, then held the phone to his ear.

  His mother’s clipped, even tone filled the speaker. “Well, I suppose since you insist on spending all your time in California and you refuse to answer your phone, I’ll simply have to come there myself. Your father and I have booked a flight. If this is what it takes to see my son, then I suppose it’s what I’ll have to do. The plane arrives tomorrow morning. I would hope you’d be there to pick us up, but considering the circumstances, I’m guessing we’ll have to take a cab. And another thing—”

  The message suddenly ended, and Holden stared at it as if it had done something to him personally.

  His mother was coming here…fully knowing that he was with Avery? A knot settled in his stomach as he remembered the last time the two women had been in the same room together.

  It had been his going-away party before his first tour in Iraq, and his father had just toasted his superior skill and his upholding of the family tradition.