The Littlest Marine & The Oldest Living Married Virgin

by Maureen Child

  Noting her observation, Harding said softly, “I don’t keep a lot of things.” She turned to look at him. “And a man alone can’t have pets.” He half shrugged. “When I’m deployed, who would I get to take care of a dog?”

  Loneliness tinged his voice, and the sharp edge of it slashed at her. She wondered if he even knew it was there. “At least you’ve got a plant. Mike told me you couldn’t be trusted with one.”

  One corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “It’s on loan from First Sergeant McCoy’s wife. She said the apartment needed something alive in it. She’ll nurse it back to health when I ship out.”

  Elizabeth nodded, but her thoughts were already spinning. How different their homes were. His was empty. Hers was crammed full of things. Things. Not people. For years, she’d been concentrating on building the secure home she’d always longed for. She had gathered up furnishings and knickknacks as if they would be enough to anchor her. But except for Terry and an occasional visit with her parents, her life was empty of people.

  A chill raced along her spine, and she shivered. Was she any better than Harding? Had she really made herself a home? Or had she only stacked her possessions high enough to hide the emptiness surrounding her?

  Harding watched the play of emotions darting across her features and would have given anything to know what she was thinking. Having her arrive at the base, so unexpectedly, had been like a gift. He’d lain awake all night, thinking about her, worrying about what they might be starting, knowing he should distance himself from her and wondering how in the hell he would be able to do that without dying a little every day for the rest of his life.

  How had the world managed to change so completely in so little time? And how could he ever go back to living without her?

  She took a breath and it caught in her throat. A tiny, choking sound issued from her, and it was like a bayonet in his back, urging him to her. He crossed the few feet of worn carpet separating them and pulled her into his arms. She buried her face in his chest, and for several long moments Harding simply stood there, holding her. He inhaled her soft, flowery scent, drawing it deep into his lungs, as if he could keep it with him always. He stroked her short, curly hair and listened until her breathing settled into a steady rhythm again.

  Looking down, he let go of her only long enough to cup her face in his hands. Smoothing his thumbs across her cheekbones, he was relieved to see she hadn’t been crying. But there was something in her eyes—some change that he couldn’t quite identify.

  “Harding,” she said softly, hesitantly, “what are we going to do?”

  His gaze drifted over her features slowly, like the most loving of caresses. He would remember this moment, this woman for the rest of his life. Again, the pads of his thumbs brushed over her cheeks. His fingers brushed her hair at her temples. Soft. So soft. “I don’t know, Elizabeth. I don’t have any answers.”

  “Then let’s not ask each other any more questions,” she said thickly. Her palms slid up his chest, her fingertips outlining his flat nipples.

  He squeezed his eyes shut at the featherlight strokes of her flesh on his. His groin tightened and he ached to be with her. Inside her.

  No questions? No answers? Was that enough?

  “Elizabeth,” he ground out, “I’m still leaving in a month. Six months I’ll be away.”

  She reached up and laid one hand across his mouth. “We have now, Harding. For whatever reasons, we have now.”

  “This will only make the leaving harder,” he said, feeling that he should remind her that pain was the only possible outcome of their being together.

  “But it will make the now so much easier,” she said, and went up on her toes to kiss him.

  Even a saint couldn’t have resisted her kiss—and Harding Casey was no saint. He groaned in the back of his throat, and his arms closed around her, tightening until he felt the buttons of her jeans pressing into his belly. Slipping one hand down lower, he cupped her behind and pulled her hard against him. Another groan escaped from his throat, and he lowered his mouth to take hers.

  Her lips parted for him, and his tongue swept into her warmth, claiming her, branding her with each stroke. She wrapped her arms around him, running her palms up and down his back, creating a friction of heat that shot through him with the force of a sustained artillery attack.

  In seconds he was more hungry for her than he had been the night before. Now he knew what awaited him in her warmth. He had experienced the wonder of her and couldn’t wait to find it again. Gasping for air, he broke their kiss, tossed her up and over his shoulder and headed for the bedroom.

  As he walked, Elizabeth lavished kisses over his broad back. Then, sliding her hands down beneath the waistband of his trousers, she smoothed her palms over his behind, dragging her nails across his skin until he thought he might explode from want before he was even deep within her.

  In his bedroom, Harding dipped to one side, flipped her onto his mattress and quickly helped her out of her clothes. As he stepped out of his pants, he yanked open the drawer in the bedside table and fumbled in its depths for a long minute. When he finally found one of the condoms he’d had stashed there for two years, he straightened up and slammed the drawer shut again.

  This time they would do things right. This time there would be no chances taken. This time, he would care for her the way she should be cared for. He glanced at her and saw her watching him. Raking his gaze over her body, he felt his own stir and ache in readiness. He tore the foil slightly before her hand on his stopped him.

  “Let me,” she said and took the packet from him.

  His groin tightened even further at the mental image of her hands on him, but he gritted his teeth and stood very still, waiting. She opened the packet, removed the condom and slowly positioned it over the sensitive tip of him. Harding sucked in air through clenched teeth and kept his gaze locked on her and what she was doing to him. Inch by glorious inch, she slid the fragile material down his length, smoothing and caressing as she went. When she was finished, she cupped him tenderly, her fingers stroking, exploring him. Harding’s blood pounded in his veins, and his heartbeat sounded like the bass drums in the Marine Corps band.

  “Enough,” he growled and eased her down onto the bed. Parting her thighs, he looked his fill of her. His fingertips explored her opening, gently readying her for his entry. But her body was as tensely strung as his. She was molten heat, calling to him, urging him closer. A moment later he leaned over her and drove himself home. Her tight warmth surrounded him, and when he was buried deep within her, he allowed himself a groan of satisfaction at having found the wonder again.

  Then need hammered at him as desperately as her fingernails raked across his back. Her hips lifted and fell, and her breath came hot on his neck.

  Taking a handful of her hair, he pulled her head back gently, and stared down into the eyes that had been haunting him since his first sight of them.

  “Whatever happens, Elizabeth, we will always have this between us. This…magic.”

  He withdrew and plunged even deeper inside her. She gasped, shuddered, met his gaze and echoed, “Magic.”

  Desire and the flames of an all-consuming passion licked at them, driving them both to the conclusion that brought them each, however briefly, peace.

  Eight

  “We have got to stop meeting like this,” Elizabeth said, her body still humming with the aftershocks of their lovemaking. She hadn’t intended for this to happen again. All she had wanted to do was talk to him.

  Harding rolled to one side, stifling a deep-throated groan as he moved. Grabbing a pillow, he jammed it beneath his head. Then, glancing at her, he agreed, “Too many more of these ‘talks’ and I’ll be a dead man.”

  Pushing one hand through her hair, Elizabeth scooted backward until her back was propped against the headboard. She tugged one of the rumpled sheets up over her breasts and looked at the man lying beside her.

  “This is nuts, Harding,” she said with a
quiet laugh.

  “Don’t I know it.” Ruefully he shook his head, stood up and walked into the bathroom. A few seconds later he joined her on the bed again. Drawing her up close to his side, he kissed the top of her head. “So much for all of our fine notions about self-control.”

  “I don’t know what it is about you, Marine,” she said, and tucked her head underneath his chin. “But every time you touch me, I tend to burst into flames.”

  “I’m getting a little singed myself.”

  “What are we supposed to do about this, Harding?”

  “Enjoy it while it lasts?”

  She pushed back a bit and cocked her head to look at him. “Isn’t that asking for trouble?”

  “Not if we remember to be more careful than we were last night.”

  Elizabeth settled back against him and nodded slowly. Enjoy each other. Somehow it sounded so…empty. Ridiculous, she knew. After all, they were both adults.

  “Regrets?” he asked quietly.

  “Not really,” she answered, and knew she sounded unconvincing.

  “Elizabeth,” he said, “just because we can’t see a future together…that doesn’t mean we can’t have a present.”

  “I know that.” She shook her head gently, then pushed her hair back behind her ears. “It’s only that I’ve never—”

  “Had a lover?” he finished for her.

  She smiled wryly. “You make it sound so reasonable.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “I suppose so,” she said thoughtfully. “I guess I never considered myself the take-a-lover kind of woman.”

  “More of a white-picket-fence type of girl?”

  “No.” She laughed again at the notion. “I was always too concentrated on my career to think about husbands and cute little houses and station wagons.”

  “Ah…” He ran one hand up and down her arm in long, soothing strokes. “Well, all of your concentration worked. You are the Princess of Party Cooking.”

  She gave his hand a playful smack.

  “Isn’t it what you thought it would be?” he asked. “Your career, I mean?”

  “Oh, I love it,” she admitted softly. “There is nothing more fun than being in a well-stocked kitchen, dreaming up some new and tantalizing dessert.”

  “Nothing?” he asked, letting his fingertips trail along the edge of her breast.

  She sucked in a breath. “Well, almost nothing.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “So,” he said, “if your career is all you wanted it to be, and you don’t particularly want a husband, what’s wrong with having a lover?”

  There was a long pause while she thought that one over. Nothing wrong with it, she supposed. But, if that were true, why did she suddenly feel so…debauched? Her traditional upbringing must be rearing its ugly head, she decided. Well, if that was all it was, she would just have to get over it. As she had when she’d first decided to have a career instead of a husband. Either that or live the life of a well-fed nun.

  Making up her mind, she nodded against his chest. “You’re right. There’s nothing wrong with having a man in my life occasionally.”

  His hand on her arm stilled, then continued its gentle stroking.

  Of course, she would have to give up the one little corner of her dream that she hadn’t allowed herself to think of for years. Children. Lovers do not necessarily make good fathers. And 1990s or not, she didn’t know if she could be a good enough single parent to risk having a child alone.

  Oh, she knew lots of women were doing it these days. Most of them doing it quite well, too. But the staggering responsibility of being both mother and father was one she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to carry.

  Immediately she remembered the night before, the first time they’d made love and the fact that there had been no protection. Was it possible that one slip had already resulted in a child? Was she, even now, pregnant with Harding’s baby?

  She closed her eyes, telling herself firmly not to think about that yet. It was too early to worry. Especially since she wasn’t sure if she had anything to worry about. Yet.

  Imagine, all of this had come about because her sister had fallen in love.

  Her mind racing, Elizabeth suddenly wondered what Mike and Terry would have to say if they could see her and Harding right now. She chuckled gently at the envisioned expression on her sister’s face.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I was just thinking about Mike and Terry and how they worked at trying to get us together for a solid year with no success.”

  He laughed shortly, and the sound rumbled beneath her ear. “Yeah, all I heard about was how great we would be together.”

  “Me, too.” She tipped her head back again to look up at him. “Can you imagine the ‘I told you so’s’ we’d have to listen to if they found out about this?”

  He pushed one hand through his short hair. “Mike would never let me forget it.”

  “Terry, either. She lives for this sort of thing.”

  “So, then,” he said, cupping her cheek with one big palm, “we don’t tell them?”

  “My lips are sealed,” she said.

  “Not permanently, I hope.” He smiled wickedly and wiggled both of his eyebrows.

  Shaking her head, she grinned at him. “It’s better if they don’t know, anyway. After all, they were hoping for marriage, not—”

  “A red-hot, fire-breathing affair?” he finished for her.

  “Exactly.” She ran the flat of her hand across his chest.

  He caught her hand, holding it tightly. “But just because we don’t want to get married, that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy what we have for as long as we have it, right?”

  “Right,” she said, despite the pang of regret echoing deep inside her. Less than a month, he’d said. He was leaving in less than four weeks and would be gone for six long months. And when he returned, there was no guarantee that they would reconnect. Maybe he wouldn’t even want to see her. Regret slithered through her again. Already she missed him.

  She could admit, if only to herself, that she was dreading his leaving. How terrible could it be for her to have these moments with him to remember when he was gone?

  “What’s making you frown?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” she lied, and forced a smile she didn’t quite feel.

  “You’re thinking about last night, aren’t you?”

  “No, I wasn’t.”

  “We have to talk about that, Elizabeth.”

  “Yeah, I know,” she said, and thought, Not now. Not this minute.

  He sighed and held her closer. “Whatever happens, we’ll work it out together.”

  “Harding, you don’t have to worry about it, all right?” she said. “Like I told you, I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

  “I know you can,” he countered, staring down into her eyes. “But if you are pregnant, there would be someone else to consider besides yourself.”

  “Oh, my, a baby.” Mixed emotions blended together in the depths of her soul. One minute she saw herself cuddling a newborn to her breast. She blocked the next image, refusing to entertain the notion at all. Banishing both mental pictures, she shook her head firmly. “No, it won’t happen.”

  “When will we know for sure?”

  “I’ll know in about two weeks.”

  “Good. I don’t ship out for three weeks yet, so we’ll have time to decide what to do.”

  “Harding,” she tried to ease away from him, but he held her tighter. “I won’t try to keep you out of this, and of course you’ll get a chance to give me your opinion on what I should do, but the final decision will be mine.”

  He was quiet for several long minutes, and Elizabeth held her breath, wondering what he would have to say. She hadn’t known him long, of course. But through Mike and Terry she knew what kind of man he was. She couldn’t imagine him not having an opinion.

  Finally he inhaled sharply and bl
ew it out in a rush. “We have two weeks. Two weeks before we know if a decision will be necessary. I suggest we wait to discuss it until we know if we have something to talk about.”

  She sighed her relief. Now that she was here, with him, she didn’t want to ruin what time she had with him by fighting over what was still a theoretical baby.

  Slipping one of his hands beneath the sheet she’d pulled up over her breasts, he found one of her nipples and gently teased it until she was curling into him, nearly purring with pleasure.

  “Elizabeth,” he whispered in her ear.

  “Hmm?”

  “Are we going to be spending the entire day in my bed?” He dipped his head to nibble at the base of her throat.

  “Have you got some official Marine business to take care of?” she asked, tilting her head back to give him easier access.

  “Nope,” his tongue flicked against her pulse point. “I took this whole week off as leave time. I’m officially a free man.”

  “Did Terry give us chores for today?” she mumbled, and bit his shoulder gently.

  “Finished the last ones yesterday.” He shifted, moving down the length of her body, trailing hot, damp kisses along her flesh. “All that’s left is you making the cake.”

  “Then, Sergeant Major, I suggest we spend the day in bed, resting up for the rest of the week.”

  He looked up from her abdomen and gave her a quick, wicked smile. “We stay in this bed, princess, there’ll be no resting.”

  Elizabeth shifted on the sheets, parting her legs when he moved to kneel between them. His fingers dusted along the insides of her thighs, and she felt herself jump in response. “Princess, huh?” she murmured as his hands slid beneath her bottom. “Well, Hard Case—” she broke off and looked at him quizzically. “Why do they call you Hard Case, anyway?”

  “Do you really need to know that now?” he asked quietly, and lifted her hips high, easing her legs into place over his shoulders.

  Suddenly aware of what he was about to do, Elizabeth gasped, “Harding!”

  “Just lie back, princess,” he said with a knowing smile.