“Somehow being around you makes me want to do things that aren't a good idea, like being here tonight.”
“Yes, what are you doing here? I assumed you lived off-base like Staff Sergeant Stark?” Lelia stood up and walked over to a table where more towels were stacked. She picked one up and began wiping her sweaty limbs.
Patrick stood up as well and watched her for a moment, helplessly admiring the way the damp gym clothes clung to every curve. The frisson of jealousy that he felt at her mention of Stark caught him by surprise. “How do you know where Stark lives?” He could've kicked himself before the words left his mouth.
Lelia shrugged, giving him a puzzled look, and he realized that his tone was too sharp and had probably revealed the emotion behind it. “What? Are his whereabouts top secret? If they are, then someone should tell him to stop discussing it with everybody. He's invited the entire Amazonian Guard back to his place at one time or another. You know what a flirt he is.”
Patrick decided it would be wiser to simply respond to her initial comment. Asking her if Stark ever flirted with her would be like dropping a live grenade down his pants. “I let my apartment go the last time I was deployed. So I'm staying in the barracks for the next few weeks while I'm aboard Camp Lejeune.”
Lelia took a long drink of water from the bottle that sat beside the towels. She turned back toward him with a brow cocked at a querying angle. “Aboard Camp Lejeune? Perhaps I missed something, but don't you think this base is a bit large to be a ship? I could be wrong, but I doubt it would float.”
Patrick smiled. “It's a navy thing, and since we're part of the navy, it's a Marine Corps thing as well. Marines are always on board a ship, whether it's land, a building, a helicopter, or an actual ship.” He moved to where she was, and stood looking down at her. The water had left a tempting bead trembling on her lower lip, and he found himself unable to resist the lure.
As though sensing his intentions, Lelia moved her head back. “So where were you deployed, Patrick?” she asked, apparently forgetting her reluctance to use his first name.
He responded, his mind still distracted by the full curve of her lower lip. “Iraq.” He could have immediately kicked himself in the ass as he saw her face batten down with the speed of a cutter in a nor'easter.
“I've got to get back to the barracks,” Lelia said as she scurried out the door.
Patrick stood beside the table, struggling with the impulse to knock the neatly folded, pristine white towels to the floor. He should've known mentioning Iraq would set her off. He avoided politics whenever possible, but he knew that for many Arabs, American involvement in that region was interpreted as an attack on them all.
What the hell was wrong with him anyway? He should be thanking God that he'd had such a lucky escape. Instead, all he could think about was his next opportunity to kiss her. He shook his head as though he were the one covered in sweat. He had to get his head together before he wound up in a shitload of trouble. Losing his rank was a real possibility. He knew Colonel Brown wouldn't hesitate to can his career on the spot if he screwed the pooch on this one. She'd made it clear that this was a priority assignment, and she didn't tolerate fuckups. He rubbed his hands over his closely cropped hair, trying to gather his thoughts. After contemplating for a while, he picked up the bottle of water Lelia had left on the table. He raised it to his lips and was convinced that her taste lingered on the cold plastic. He strolled slowly over to the exit door, still shaking his head. Only one thing was certain at this point: this had the potential to be a cluster fuck of mammoth proportions.
But damned if he knew how to contain it.
* * *
Lelia looked up, irritated by the incessant giggling from the other side of the room. She'd appropriated a small desk to process the endless paperwork her position required, and was hoping to be finished soon. Not having an office was inconvenient. Constant interruptions were common, but at least the door usually slowed them down a bit. Now she heard every bit of noise that came into the barracks, and that was a lot. She pinched the bridge of her nose and studied the young soldiers clustered together surrounding something she couldn't see. Resigned to the fact that they weren't going to break up their annoying little gathering of their own accord, Lelia stood up to investigate. When they noticed her approach, they all assumed the at-ease position. They were gathered around a lovely floral arrangement. Patrick, and she had no doubt that he'd sent them, was clever enough to avoid something cliché like roses. Instead, he'd sent an arrangement of gladiolas and lilies that was simply lovely. The heady fragrance wafted to her nose, and she suspected she'd always associate him with that aroma.
Lelia held out her hand to take the flowers. Her soldiers watched expectantly, waiting for her to read the card. “Dismissed, soldiers,” she said in a controlled voice.
“But, ma'am,” one dared protest.
Lelia gave her a pointed look. “Dismissed,” she said again, in an even-softer tone that she knew they'd immediately obey.
After the soldiers scattered, Lelia read the card. Happy birthday, it read. Lelia almost gasped. How had he known her birthday? She'd nearly forgotten it herself. She rarely celebrated it; it seemed to only remind her of her orphan status. Then she remembered the paperwork she'd submitted when they arrived. All her vital information was on it, and no one would question a gunnery sergeant's access to it. She sniffed the fragrant blooms again. It was a lovely gesture and confirmed what she'd already suspected. But the situation was impossible. She glanced down at her watch. The flowers drew her gaze again, and something inside her softened. She'd never received flowers before, and these were gorgeous. Something about them reminded her of the softness in his eyes when he looked at her. Raising the blooms to her nose, she inhaled their delicious scent, again delighted to have received something so utterly beautiful.
She was looking around her office for a container when the laughter outside the barracks reached her ears again. Damn! There was no way she could have her soldiers laughing at her. There was really no telling what they thought was going on between her and the gunnery sergeant. She stiffened her resolve. No matter what, she couldn't have any type relationship with Patrick, especially not under the close scrutiny of her soldiers. It was time to do something about the gunnery sergeant.
* * *
Patrick looked up when his door slammed open, expecting to see Staff Sergeant Stark, who was the only person with the temerity to barge into his office so abruptly. He was more than a bit surprised when Lelia stormed in holding the flowers he'd ordered for her the previous day.
“Gunnery Sergeant, do you have a moment?”
Patrick stood and gestured for her to enter. For the first time in his career, he was conscious of the tiny confines of his standard, government-issue office. Of course, the Grand Canyon would be too small if he was required to keep away from her. “Anything to get away from paperwork.” He gestured toward his hopelessly overflowing desk. “What can I help you with? Please have a seat.” What the hell was she doing here? He gritted his teeth in frustration. The last thing he needed at the moment was to be behind a closed door with everything he'd ever dreamed of in a woman on two of the most gorgeous legs he'd ever seen. The joke was on him that he'd gone bat-shit crazy for a woman who just about had Do Not Touch stamped on her ass. He watched her as she begin to pace in the narrow space between his desk and the door. Clearly, she was agitated about something. He leaned a hip against his battered metal desk and watched her restless movements, waiting until she decided to explain her presence.
He was briefly distracted watching her chest rise and fall as she took deep breaths, then wiped her hands over her thighs. He was so focused on her lips, when she finally spoke it took a moment for him to realize that he'd totally missed what she said.
“I'm sorry. Could you repeat that?”
“How could you do this?” she repeated, waving the flowers in his face.
“Excuse me?” He'd never had a woman get pissed at
him for sending her flowers before. It was definitely a unique experience. “What is this, assault with a deadly tulip?”
“They're not tulips; they're lilies. You should know. You bought them.” Her accusatory tone only added to his amusement.
“And that's bad because…?” Patrick asked, honestly bemused. “You don't like the flowers?” What kind of woman didn't like flowers? “You aren't allergic, are you?”
“Do you have any idea how much you've undermined my authority? Within minutes all my soldiers knew about the flowers. What did you think you were doing?”
Patrick scratched his chin. “Wishing you a happy birthday?” He could almost hear her grinding her teeth, and he watched admirably as she visibly gathered her composure. He continued in a quieter tone, “And that's all I did. There's nothing more incriminating than that. No one would think anything of it, except for your reaction, of course.”
She stopped to give him an irritated glare. After a moment she resumed her restless steps. “It's obvious there's an attraction between us.”
“You think?” Even though he knew better, Patrick couldn't curb the retort.
Lelia gave him another baleful glare, then resumed the clearly well-rehearsed speech. “It's just as obvious that nothing can come of it.”
“It is?” Patrick interrupted, totally ignoring his own misgivings.
“Gunnery Sergeant McBride, I am here under duress.”
“Who the hell isn't?” he murmured under his breath.
She inclined her head in apparent acknowledgment of what he'd said, surprising him, as he'd thought he'd spoken too softly to be heard. “I would like to get this assignment over with and return to my country. Any type of distraction is out of the question.”
“Considering that this whole thing is just one big photo op, I was hardly in favor of it either. This country is fighting several wars at the moment, and my marines have better things to do than engage in public relations. No one wants out of it worse than I do. But I didn't reckon on one thing.”
“And what would that be?” she snapped.
Who would've thought he'd get so turned on by having his ass chewed by a woman? Especially one who could almost kick his ass. If she kept it up, she would probably give him a fetish. Of course, it only seemed to work when she did it. Which was probably a good thing, because Colonel Brown took special delight in ripping him a new one whenever the opportunity presented itself. Not to mention it would be damned uncomfortable to walk around with a constant hard-on. Still, something about those crisp tones and that precise enunciation made him want to suck her tongue until she screamed in ecstasy. He brought himself back to the conversation at hand. “Look, Lelia—”
“I prefer Sergeant Assad.”
“I'm sure you do…Lelia.” He couldn't seem to stop goading her. He watched her struggle to contain a wrathful response.
“Please do continue, Gunnery Sergeant.” She bit off the words with a sharpness that went straight to his dick.
He cleared his throat, trying to focus on anything besides her effect on him. He grinned back at her. “As you said, there's an obvious attraction between us. I don't understand why we can't follow it and see where it leads.”
Lelia rolled her eyes in apparent disgust. “Typical American. Gunnery Sergeant, in my country, we don't date, at least not in the manner most Westerners seem to. There's no real point in trying to have any sort of relationship with a non-Muslim. He would have to convert, and I don't see that happening with an American.”
“Does that apply to all Muslims?”
“Yes, it does. Keep in mind that I also belong to a Guard unit that takes a vow of chastity.”
Patrick choked on nothing but pure oxygen. “No shi—kidding,” he strangled out as he recovered. “I thought that was just a rumor.” He stared at her for a long moment, temporarily rendered speechless. When he could speak in complete sentences again, he chuckled under his breath. “And they say the corps is tough.”
“Anyway, as you can see, anything further is out of the question.” She turned to leave the office.
Patrick somehow beat her to the door. He brushed up against her as she backed up. Then he bent his head, capturing her lips beneath his in a questioning, seeking kiss.
“Are you absolutely sure?” he asked as he pulled away to end the kiss.
Lelia stared at him, her eyes impossibly large in her heart-shaped face. “I have no choice,” she whispered, then opened the door and ran as though being chased by both the Taliban and the mujahideen.
Patrick leaned his head against the closed door. Damn, he couldn't believe he felt so strongly for a woman who made it clear she wanted no part of him. She wanted to be left alone.
Well, he'd do his level best to give the lady what she wanted.
* * *
“Okay, I'm going to need you to tell me why you're in such a fucked-up mood today.”
“What are you talking about, Stark?”
“You're a legendary asshole, but you took it to a new level today. Everybody was walking around waiting for you to go off. And you almost punched a guy just for looking at her.”
“Looking at who?” Patrick feigned ignorance.
“Sergeant Assad.” He gave his superior a disgusted glance. “You know damned well who I'm talking about.”
“That's bullshit, Stark. No such thing happened,” Patrick snapped.
“Yeah, right. You act like a man who really needs to get laid. I assume the good sergeant isn't being accommodating?”
Patrick didn't answer. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Much as he wanted to, he couldn't deny what Stark was saying. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't get the woman out of his mind. “Sergeant Assad is an attractive woman. It's only reasonable to look at her. I don't blame Harris.”
He leaned back in his seat as Stark drove him back to headquarters. The day of firearms training had been more or less uneventful, but he sighed as he contemplated the coming weeks of close proximity with a woman who drew his eyes like no woman ever had before. He knew from experience that where the eyes went, the hands were sure to follow, and he simply couldn't afford the distraction. Damn Colonel Brown anyway. Why the hell didn't she just send him back to Iraq? Combat was definitely preferable to this situation.
“You know they're staying at the guesthouse on the other side of the base.”
“What? And just how did you come by the little nugget of information?”
“One of them told me. They're very excited to be here, and we were talking about some of the sights they might want to check out while they're here.”
“Staff Sergeant, once again, I'm reminding you that it's hands-off.”
“I know, I know, gunny. But why is it that I suspect you're talking to yourself more than you're talking to me?”
Patrick opened his mouth to respond, then took a deep breath. Anything that he might say would be even more revealing than what he'd already said.
Chapter Three
The small convoy snaked along the two-lane country road following the amber-hued glow of the late summer sunset. In the tail truck, Lelia glanced over at Patrick, who was driving with the same casual competence with which he seemed to do everything. His lightly tanned hands gripped the steering wheel, and he tapped out a tattoo in time with the harsh rock music blaring out of the radio.
Since their encounter in his office, they'd more or less kept their distance. She'd avoided traveling with him to any of their previous training destinations. Somehow this afternoon when they gathered for the return trip, she'd found herself in the same truck. In accordance with protocol, she was riding shotgun. She'd have preferred to be in the back of the truck with the rest of her soldiers, but asking to switch would've made her discomfort obvious.
“These late afternoons always remind me of going hunting with my old man back home,” Patrick said casually.
“Back home? Where are you from?” Lelia asked, realizing that they'd never really discussed his background. Someone
had mentioned that he was from the Deep South, but that was all she really knew about him.
“I grew up in south Alabama. Little town called Bayou la Batre. The landscape is low and swampy like it is here, and we'd get the same incredible sunsets.” A chuckle rumbled low in his chest. “I guess it's time for me to get back home for a visit.”
“How long has it been?” The rhythmic cadence of his voice with its softly rounded vowels had an almost hypnotic effect, and Lelia found herself forgetting her resolution to keep her distance from him.
Patrick raised a hand to rub his chin, almost as though he'd once worn a beard. She noticed that he did that a lot when he was thinking. Y'Allah! she thought in disgust. Was there anything about this guy she hadn't noticed?
“Must have been Christmas, though to hear my mom tell it, it's never often enough.” He grinned. “She's almost as good at tearing me a new one as you are.”
“You Americans and your charming turns of phrase. If tearing you a new one means putting you in your place, clearly your poor mother hasn't done it nearly often enough.”
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