Good Girl VS. Bad Boy: The Marine Meets His Match

by Jessie Evans

  Her words ended in a squeal as his hands found opposite sides of her waist and he spun her upright. She swayed and sucked a breath in through gritted teeth as her feet sank into the snow, but the strained expression didn’t detract from her beauty.

  The woman was stunning, from the glossy brown hair that fell in tangled curls around her shoulders to her heart-shaped face, big brown eyes, and lips the same cotton candy pink as the unicorns on her shirt.

  The unicorns on her shirt that were…

  Colton’s eyebrows drifted higher on his forehead as he realized exactly what the unicorns on her shirt were doing.

  “Oh, geez. It would be you, wouldn’t it,” the woman mumbled, her arms flying to cover her chest before dropping just as quickly to the hem of her shirt and pulling it lower on her thighs. “What are you doing here, Colt?”

  “Stopping you from breaking into Kelly Page’s house,” he said with a frown, willing himself not to look down and see if her panties were still visible. “You seem to know me, but I have no idea who you are. And until I do, I’m not trusting that you belong here.”

  The faint smile curving her lips faded and her big eyes grew even bigger. “Me? You have no idea who I am?”

  He shrugged uncomfortably, hoping she wasn’t one of the girls he’d taken back to his place right after he was discharged from the marines. He’d spent a month mourning the loss of his career—and a piece of himself—like someone had died, self-medicating with too many women and way too much booze. If his cousin Seth hadn’t stepped in with an offer to help Colt pass the exams to join the fire department, he might have lingered in the self-pity pit for longer…

  And have even more awkward encounters like this one in his future.

  “Sorry,” he said as the strained silence stretched on. “Have we met?”

  She blinked, her stunned expression growing incredulous. “Have we met? Did you seriously just ask me if we’ve met?”

  He lifted his gloved hands at his sides in surrender. She must be one of his forgotten hookups. Which meant it was time to backtrack. Fast.

  “Listen, like I said, I’m sorry,” he said. “I was going through a shitty time last year and wasn’t paying attention to other people the way I should have been. I’m not usually an asshole.” He risked a smile. Not enough of a grin to make her think he was trying to start something, but hopefully enough to make his next words ring true. “And I normally wouldn’t forget a woman as beautiful as you are.”

  She snorted, a dubious sound that brought his attention to her upturned nose. Even her nose was adorable, with a light sprinkling of freckles across the bridge that made him want to conduct a closer inspection of her sinfully soft skin to see where else she might be freckled.

  Everything about this woman made him want to get her naked and take a cue from the unicorns on her shirt. It seemed impossible that he could forget spending the night with her, no matter how wasted on whiskey and self-pity he might have been.

  “You are a piece of work, Colton Brody,” she said, her teeth beginning to chatter. “And if I weren’t afraid of catching frostbite, I would stay here and call you on your bullshit. But I need to get inside and find some pants, some tea, and about four pairs of socks. So if you’ll excuse me…”

  She turned her back on him and jumped into the air, grabbing onto the bottom rung of the fire escape that had almost killed her, bringing it to his attention that she was wearing nothing on one foot and some kind of soggy, monster-faced house shoe on the other.

  “Why are you outside in the snow in your bare feet?” he growled. “It’s twenty-five degrees, for God’s sake, are you out of your damned mind?”

  “No, I’m locked out of my damned house,” she said, hooking her leg over the bottom of the ladder. “My house. Where I live. Where I have clothes to put on and tea and there are no big dumb men who can’t remember me.”

  Holy shit.

  He recognized that bossy little voice now, but he still did a double take. “Phoebe?”

  “Ding ding,” she said with a sarcastic, upside down grin in his direction. “You’ve guessed it. What do we have for him, Johnny?”

  She turned back to the ladder, crawling her hands up the railing as she continued in a deeper voice. “We’ve got a one way trip to the front yard! Do not stand there staring while I’m climbing a fire escape in my underwear, do not make any lame apologies, do not attempt to make an excuse for forgetting a girl you’ve known since she was ten years old.”

  Despite the anger in her tone, he couldn’t help but smile. Seems prissy Phoebe Page had acquired a bite as well as curves that didn’t quit. “I’m sorry, Phoebes. Cut me a little slack, will you? It’s been ten years. I haven’t seen you since you were fifteen and I don’t think I’ve ever seen your hair out of a ponytail.”

  “My face is still my face,” she said, grunting as she tugged her pajama pants free from the brace where they had gotten stuck. She glanced over her shoulder, shooting him an imperious look down her button nose. “And you are still watching me climb a fire escape in my underwear.”

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated in his sincerest voice, deliberately keeping his gaze glued to her pretty brown eyes. “Forgive me, Phoebe.”

  “Go away, Colton.”

  “I can’t,” he said, crossing his arms at his chest. “Not until I’m sure you can get inside without killing yourself.”

  “I’m not going to kill myself.”

  “If I hadn’t caught you, you could have broken your neck,” he said, casting a critical glance at her bare foot. “And I don’t like the look of your toes. Why don’t you come down and let me carry you to the firehouse. It’s only a couple of blocks. I just got off shift so I can get you set up with some coffee and a blanket and call the locksmith while you warm up.”

  She huffed and continued to climb. “Thank you, but no thank you. I don’t need to be carried anywhere and I’m not going to the firehouse in my humping unicorn pajamas.”

  Colton bit back a grin. “Aw, come on. The boys probably won’t even notice.”

  “You noticed.”

  “I notice everything,” he said, unable to keep from remembering how soft her thighs had felt or the way the flower and herb smell of her skin had flooded through his head, making him feel things no man should feel for his little sister’s best friend.

  Phoebe paused at the top of the ladder, glancing down at him with an inscrutable look. “Sometimes you do. But sometimes you can’t read the mile-high writing on the wall in front of your face.”

  Before he could apologize again, she climbed onto the landing. He watched her alabaster legs, red toes, and monster house shoe slip out of view, feeling sad to see her go. But it was probably for the best. She was clearly annoyed with him and he was thinking things about sweet, bossy little Phoebe Page that weren’t sweet at all.

  Things like how good her skin would taste beneath his lips and how right she had felt in his arms.

  “I’m in,” she called from above. “You can go now. Thank you.”

  Colton blinked, dislodging the inappropriate visions dancing through his head. “Meet me at the front door,” he said, his voice gruff. “I want to check your toes for frostbite before I go.”

  “My toes are fine,” she shouted. “And you’re not my boss.”

  “No, but I have EMT training and you’re not losing a toe on my watch,” he said, surprised that the words sent only the tiniest pang of regret vibrating through his chest.

  It had been nearly two years since he had lost his leg below the knee, eighteen months since he’d been released from duty in the marines, and ten months since he’d signed on with the Lover’s Leap Fire Department. But today was the first time he’d been able to think about the missing piece of himself without an accompanying burst of rage.

  But then, his bad luck was finally turning around. He was on his way to reclaiming the dream the crash had stolen from him and nothing was going to stand in his way. He had proven that he had what it took to c
ome back better than ever. He had passed his physical last month with flying colors and delivered the best speech of his life to the advisory board. Now it was just a matter of getting his paperwork cleared through the proper channels and staying away from trouble until then.

  Trouble like beautiful blasts from the past who made him want to break his “no romantic entanglements” rule in a major way.

  “Phoebe?” He backed away from the ladder, trying to see if she was still sitting on the landing. “Phoebe did you hear me?”

  He was answered by the sound of the window slamming shut.

  With a sigh of irritation, he started back around the house, prepared to knock the front door down if that’s what it took to get through to her.

  Because that’s what you did for friends, especially friends like Phoebe.

  Once she had been like family, just another kid running barefoot around the Brody ranch in the summer and camping out around the Christmas tree on New Year’s Eve. But somewhere along the way, between his enlistment in the marines and her getting a job three states away, they’d lost touch.

  He hadn’t even called to offer his condolences when her sister had died. He hadn’t had her phone number and had been so caught up in his first month of work at the firehouse he’d barely remembered to shower before he fell into bed. Besides, he hadn’t talked to Phoebe in so many years it had seemed acceptable to pass his regrets on through his little sister, Daisy.

  But now, it didn’t seem acceptable. And he meant to make that right.

  As soon as he made sure Phoebe didn’t live to regret running around in the snow in her bare feet. She was off limits, but that didn’t mean a single toe on her pretty foot was any less precious.

  Chapter 3

  Phoebe

  Phoebe slammed the bathroom window, slipped on the slick tile, and ended up on her bottom on the floor beside the toilet, cursing her bad luck and beautiful men with blue eyes who made her stomach flutter even when she was freezing cold and hopping mad.

  Colton Brody. Colton flipping Brody.

  He was the first boy she’d ever seen with his shirt off—at a pool party at the Brody ranch the summer she turned eleven, when she was still too young to understand why the sight of fourteen-year-old Colton’s chest made her tongue go numb every time she tried to talk to him.

  He was the first boy to hold her hand, engulfing her fingers with his larger ones as she, Daisy, and Colt hurried through the crowd at the Frozen Dead Dude festival, determined to be the first in line for turkey bowling.

  He was her first crush, the only boy who had ever made her think she might die from unrequited love, and the only person on the face of the earth who had ever seen her squat to pee.

  Because, of course, he was the one who had discovered her crouching behind a log at that kegger in high school. And, of course, he hadn’t reversed direction, gone back to the party, and pretended it was too dark for him to see her.

  No, he had stood on the trail a few feet away with his back turned and yelled at her for being stupid enough to get drunk—even though she wasn’t drunk and she knew for a fact he drank beer every weekend and was usually naked with some girl while he did it—and demanded that she go get Daisy as soon as she was finished “dripping dry” so he could take both of them home.

  Dripping dry. Those had been his exact words. Words that had made fifteen-year-old Phoebe’s heart stop with mortification.

  She had no way to prove it, but she suspected she had literally had a heart attack that night. Her chest had seized up so tight she could barely breathe and for several, desperate, oxygen-deprived minutes, she’d been certain she was going to be the first teenage girl in history to die of embarrassment.

  No, today wasn’t the first time Colton Brody had made her wish the ground would open up and swallow her whole. It was just the latest in a long line of blush-inspiring, full-body-cringe-inducing incidents.

  But this was the first time he said you were beautiful.

  Or looked at you with that simmer-y look in his eyes.

  “The only thing I’m going to be simmering is a pot of warm milk,” Phoebe grumbled as she hurried into the bedroom to put on some clothes, just in case Colton was serious about meeting her at the front door.

  She refused to think about Colton Brody’s broad shoulders, muscled chest, or sexy-as-hell forearms. She refused to think about his full lips, adorably crooked nose, or the spark of interest in his pale, December-sky blue eyes.

  She wasn’t in the market for simmer—not with any man, let alone Colt.

  Daisy would be horrified if she thought Phoebe had fallen prey to her brother’s sex-vibe like so many naïve women before her. And even if Daisy weren’t her best friend, Phoebe eventually wanted a relationship with a man who thought she was special—not a man who had bagged and tagged so many women he couldn’t remember their faces, let alone their names.

  She tugged on a pair of bright pink yoga pants and a black sports bra, but before she could find the off-the-shoulder black sweatshirt Kelly had always worn with this outfit, there came a pounding at the front door.

  “Open up, Phoebe.” Colton’s deep voice seemed to vibrate through the walls, filling the house with life. Phoebe would have sworn the lights in the room glowed a little brighter and the floor beneath her bare feet warmed a degree or two.

  Apparently, even centuries old houses weren’t immune to Colton Brody’s charm. Old Vic was short for Old Victoria, after all, and there were few female things in the world that could resist the lure of Colt’s sexy blue eyes.

  “I’m fine,” she shouted, rolling socks onto her still-numb toes. “I’m inside and everything’s fine.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” he said, in that smug, “I’m the boss” voice that made her want to slap him. And then kiss him. And then maybe slap him while they were kissing.

  She’d never had any fantasies about that kind of thing before, but new Phoebe didn’t respond to Colt the way old Phoebe had. Old Phoebe had been happy to bask in Colton’s big-brotherly glow and do as she was told, at least most of the time. New Phoebe wanted to meet him on the sparring mat and prove she could take anything he could dish out and give as good as she got.

  “Phoebe, you have one minute,” he called from downstairs. “After that, I’m going to break down the door.”

  She froze. “You wouldn’t!”

  “Fifty-nine,” he said. “Fifty-eight.”

  Maybe he would.

  “Okay, okay, I’m coming!” she shouted, running frantically back and forth between the closet and the chest of drawers, trying to find something to throw over her sports bra that wouldn’t clash with the hot pink pants.

  “Fifty-seven,” he responded.

  “I’m coming I said!” Terrified that Colton might be crazy enough to bust through her ancient door, she grabbed a gray kitten sweater and pulled it over her head as she scurried out of the room. At least the sweater was big enough to cover her bottom and didn’t have any mating animals on it.

  She pounded down the stairs, an act of frustration she regretted as an ugly stinging sensation shot up through the foot that had been bare in the snow. Wincing, she slowed her pace, padding carefully down the last of the carpeted stairwell and walking gingerly to the door, throwing it open just as Colton said—

  “Thirty-two.” He held up her lost zombie slipper with a grin that made the dimple pop in his cheek. “Hello again. I believe this belongs to you?”

  “Thank you.” Phoebe plucked the soggy slipper from his hand with as much dignity as one could exhibit while handling zombie-themed clothing. “It isn’t polite to threaten to break down doors when you don’t get your way.”

  “I’m more concerned about your health than being polite.” He stepped inside, shouldering past her, his enormous body filling the feminine entryway until the coat rack she’d bought yesterday suddenly seemed to take up too much space. “Why don’t you head into the living room and take your sock off so I can take a look at your
toes.”

  Phoebe bristled, hating that the thought of him touching her bare foot was enough to make her feel slightly breathless.

  Apparently she was turning into a Victorian. Like her house. Wasn’t that the last time touching a lady’s ankle was considered scandalous?

  “Or we can do it here if you want to lean against the wall,” Colton said, pinning her with a look that made her think of things much naughtier than her foot in his hand. Like her legs around his hips, his hands cradling her bottom, and his tongue swirling against hers as he picked her up and did something wicked to her against the wall.

  Too shocked by her own raunchy thoughts to fight with him anymore, she swallowed hard and gestured for him to follow her. “Let’s go to the kitchen. The best light is at the kitchen table.”

  Dear God, what is wrong with you?

  Maybe she was suffering from frostbite or exposure or some other malady that would explain why she wanted to tackle Colton like a horny badger and wrestle him naked. She’d heard that near death experiences could make people frisky—the act of creation was the opposite of dying, after all—but she hadn’t been near death.

  At fifteen, embarrassment had still had the power to make her spontaneously expire. At twenty-five, she was capable of sitting down at a table with a man who had seen her white granny panties and humping-unicorn pajamas without blushing.

  Or at least not blushing too hard.

  “Now let’s take a look at those toes.”

  Her cheeks warmed as Colton took her foot and brought it to rest on his lap, peeling her sock off with a tenderness that made her stomach feel like she was still hanging upside down. His touch was firm, assured, but also achingly gentle. It communicated his concern and his knowledge of the human body and by the time her skin finally began to prickle to life beneath his probing fingers, the rest of her was on fire.

  Who knew Colton was capable of that kind of touch? The kind that made sweet, sinful promises she had no doubt he would be able to keep.