Falling for the Marine (A McCade Brothers Novel) (Entangled Brazen) (13 page)

“Michael, I need you inside me.”

He eased a finger into her and closed his eyes as her body clenched around him.

“Oh God, oh God.” She shivered uncontrollably. “You know what I meant. Please.”

“I’m about to please you.” He glided his thumb along the point where he possessed her. Yes, he was torturing them both, but he had promised some punishment.

“I want to come…with you.”

“You want my cock inside you?” He raised his hips and ground against her a little.

“Yes.”

Hearing her say so brought him close to the edge, but he buckled down on his lust. “You have to earn it. Come for me first, like this.”

She twisted her fist into his shirt and made a tormented sound as he nudged his finger deeper. That seemed to give her something to ground herself to—a focus—and she pumped her hips in a quick, steady rhythm. He bent his thumb so she could use the knuckle as a backstop, but otherwise let her do what she needed to do. Their mouths slid together and apart, together and apart, as she rode toward glory. Her body shook. Her skin glistened in the moonlight. She bucked and strained and struggled for release, but after several long moments, she lowered her head to his shoulder and rested against him, breathing as if she’d just sprinted uphill. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I can’t—”

Oh, no, she definitely could. “Liar,” he teased, and slipped another finger inside her hot, tight channel.

“Oh…oh sweet…”

He thumbed her clit.

“Heavvvvven!” She came—long and hard and with total, unrestrained, abandon. And he loved every fucking second of it.

Before she finished shuddering, he scooted her back a few inches, managed to get his fly down without injuring himself, and get the condom out of his pants pocket and onto his dick without mishap. When everything was ready for her, he pulled her closer and looked into her stormy gray eyes. “
Now
you’ve earned my cock.”

Her eyes widened. She dug her knees into the seat on either side of his hips and positioned herself over him.

“Are you ready?” He hoped to God she said yes, because he was light-headed at the thought of finally being inside her.

She rested her damp forehead against his and stared back at him with such a naked expression his heart melted. “I’ve been ready for days.”

He covered her lips with his and absorbed her cry when he plunged into her.

Things got kind of frenzied after that. Her first orgasm had left her soft and giving, but still so incredibly tight. They fit together perfectly, as if she’d been made for him. He wanted to go slow, to make sure he brought her back to the brink before he unleashed himself completely, but the sight of her bathed in moonlight, and the intensity of her body clutching him, overrode his good intentions. He dug his fingers into her hips, lifting her, rocking her, stirring her for all he was worth, grunting when she arched her neck, curled her fingernails into his shoulders, and matched him thrust for thrust. And still, it wasn’t enough.

The next thing he knew, she reached down between the seat and the door, found the lever that controlled his seat, and sent him reclining…all the way back. He slid his hands behind her knees and pulled her even closer, sank into her even deeper. “Like that,” he gasped, let her inch up, and then brought her down on him again, appreciating the extra depth provided by the new angle. “Just like that.”

Her feet slid into the gap between the seat and driver’s side door, on one side, and the center console on the other. “My heels—let me take them off. They’re going to tear the leather—”

His lungs were on fire. His balls were slowly being sawed off by his zipper. None of it mattered. “I don’t care. Rip the seat to shreds, just don’t stop.”

God bless her, she dug those high heels in and increased the pace.

Their bodies slapped together. “Jesus,” he heard someone swear from a long way off.
Jesus, Jesus, Jesus
, in time with every slap of flesh against sweaty flesh. Then she tensed up, grabbed a handful of his hair in an iron grip, and stared down at him, into him, as if he was the only person in her universe.

“Michael,” she sobbed. A tear rolled to the end of her lashes, trembled there for a second, and then broke free, leaving a wet trail down her cheek.

His heart stopped cold, paralyzed by the sudden fear he’d hurt her, but she hugged him to her and murmured, “So good. You make me feel so good. After all this time, I’m glad it’s you.”

And then he knew. He was her first since the divorce. A mix of emotions swirled in his chest, but all he could say was, “Chloe,” through a throat as scratchy as sandpaper. And then he lost himself, driving into her blindly and holding her tight while the world spun away, and his body came home, and a voice somewhere inside him wondered how he’d ever let go.

Chapter Thirteen

“Yeah, baby. That’s right. Straight down the line. Stay on it…stay on it…fuck me, did you see that?”

Dane cheered and jostled Michael’s beer in the process, but he forgave his friend because he had to admit the inning-closing double play the Padres just pulled off was a thing of beauty. And passing a few hours on the shady side of the stadium, watching the Padres annihilate the Nationals, wasn’t a bad way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

The players hit the dugouts. Dane sat back, smiling, and turned to Michael. “How’s your back holding up?”

“Fine. Not a twinge since Friday.”

“Awesome. A good masseuse can work miracles. I’ll bet you’re a believer now.”

Michael didn’t offer a response, and Dane didn’t seem to expect one. “I’ll schedule you for an MRI next week and we’ll see how things look. Maybe get you into the cockpit sooner than expected.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“And speaking of good masseuses…how’s the wife?”

He didn’t waste his breath correcting Dane. “She’s good.” Too quiet and too still. After all the fireworks last night, she’d been subdued on the way home. Normally, he appreciated a relaxed, peaceful drive as much as the next guy, but there was nothing peaceful or relaxed about her silence. Quiet Chloe had him worried. Yes, she’d gone along when he’d tugged her to his bed, and she’d stayed all night—sleeping with the abandon of a four-year-old, stealing all the covers and more than her fair share of the mattress real estate in the process—but it didn’t do much to dispel his impression something troubled her. She’d been pensive this morning.

“How come she didn’t join us? I could have scored an extra ticket.”

“She’s not much of a baseball fan.” Which he understood, given her past, but, then again, something in her expression told him she would have declined no matter what the activity, so he couldn’t lay her absence at her ex’s doorstep.

Dane sipped his beer. “Ah well. Nobody’s perfect. What’s she up to this afternoon?”

He had an inexplicable vision of her packing her stuff, and an equally inexplicable, completely knee-jerk compulsion to rush home and make sure she was still there. He forced his muscles to relax, stared at the field, and shook his head. “I don’t know. She said something about freeing her Chi.”

“Huh. What’s that mean?”

“No clue.”

“Sounds hot, though.”

Michael wasn’t so sure.

…

Chloe stood on a chair and taped the roll of aluminum foil to the top of the bathroom door. Once secured, she stepped off the chair, carefully rolled the foil down the back of the door, and cut it on the serrated edge of the box. She smoothed the length of foil against the door, making it as flat and shiny as possible. When her blurry, slightly distorted reflection stared back at her, she got down on her knees and taped the hanging end of the foil under the door. Then she sat back, tipped her head to the side, and squinted at the copy of
Everyday Feng Shui
lying on the carpet beside her.

She’d already decluttered the living spaces, as she’d promised Michael, and, coincidentally, the book recommended. Now the items on display served a purpose, which she figured a purpose-driven guy like Michael would appreciate. The grouping of red candles on an end table symbolized fire. The green beads she strung through the light fixture over the dining room table represented wood. The blue silk scarf draped along the back of the sofa symbolized water. Her pair of espresso-colored throw pillows stacked in the corner of the living room symbolized earth, and the trio of nail polishes she grouped on the kitchen counter, in shades of gray, silver, and white represented metal.

All five feng shui elements were present and accounted for, and everything sat in the locations recommended by the book. Unfortunately, just arranging the elements wasn’t going to do the job of improving the Chi, because if she was reading the darn Bague map correctly, the wealth/blessings area of this home sat squarely in the middle of the bathroom. Any good fortune coming her way was getting flushed right down the toilet. The thing to do, according to the Symbolic Practice experts, was deflect the positive energy to a more secure, comfortable place—make the Chi welcome and convince it to hang around.

Now her escaping Chi would bounce off the foil, and…she tracked it’s trajectory with her eyes. Flow back into the living area and…smack into Michael’s massive flat-screen TV. After that, who knew? But, if she switched the couch and the TV around, her Chi could land on a nice, big sofa, and hopefully, snuggle in.

Inspired, she marched out to the living room and eyed the monster TV. More than just a television actually. There were all kinds of components tucked into the base of the sleek, hardwood easel housing the big screen. Happily, the whole thing sat on casters. A peek behind the screen revealed a convoluted twist of wires running from the TV to the other devices, and several electrical cords plugged into a surge protector connected to a wall socket, but, luckily, no cable coming out of a wall jack. Gotta love Wi-Fi. She straightened. Power everything down, unplug the surge protector, roll the media shrine to the opposite wall, and reconnect. How hard could it be?

An hour later, she had the TV and all its mysterious accessories positioned along the proper wall for maximum Chi flow, but the sofa was another matter. It wasn’t on wheels and moving the heavy, awkward piece more than a few inches at a time required more raw strength than she could muster. All she had to show for forty minutes of pushing? Sweat dampening the front of her pale gray, cropped yoga tank, and the back of the matching, low-rise, fold-over pants, and, oh yeah, a sofa stalled lengthwise between the dining and living area. She kicked the blasted thing with her bare foot, but only succeeded in stubbing her toe.

Nerves jangled when she heard the front door open. She looked up as Michael and Dane walked into the apartment, made their way past the kitchen to the dining/living area. Michael’s eyes lit when they landed on her, and her heart rolled over in her chest like a puppy hoping for a belly rub. Then he took in the state of the apartment and froze.

His eyes narrowed as he looked around, and suddenly she saw the room from his perspective—beads strung through the dining room light fixture, nail polish on the kitchen counter, throw pillows in the corner. Uh-oh. Those same eyes went wide and more than a little anxious as he scanned his no doubt expensive entertainment system neatly positioned along the new wall.

“What the hell, Chloe?”

She blew her hair off her sweaty forehead and scratched her nose. “I can explain.” Maybe she should have asked his permission before rearranging his space, even if he would benefit from the improved Chi flow as much, if not more, than she. “I think I mentioned this morning that I felt my Chi was blocked?

“You did. I didn’t really know what that meant, but I figured unblocking your Chi might involve a trip to the drugstore. Never, in a million years, did I think it involved fucking with my FiOS.”

She was hot and tired, defensive, and, God save her, the combination brought out her temper. “I didn’t fuck with anything, and your Chi is blocked too, mister, so this helps you as much as it helps me. What you see here is the ancient Chinese science of feng shui.” She pointed to the book on the coffee table. Dane picked it up and, helpfully, held it aloft.

“It wouldn’t kill you to keep an open mind,” she added.

“My mind is plenty open, and so are my eyes. You know what’s blocked? My access to the hall. There’s a goddamn sofa in the way.” He picked up the remote control from its built-in ledge in the TV stand, hit power, and ran the setup through its paces. Apparently satisfied everything worked he returned the remote to its holster.

“I told you I didn’t mess it up. Look, the problem is very simple. The Chi—positive energy, I guess you’d call it—coming into this place is flowing straight down the toilet and dragging all prospects for wealth and blessings along with it.”

“Great. Now it has to hurdle a six-foot sofa to get to the toilet, and so do I. Nice strategy.”

“Oh, for goodness sake. The sofa isn’t staying there. It’s supposed to go here,” she pointed to the empty wall.

“Hey guys, this sounds like a job for Super-Dane.”

“It’s my apartment. I’ll do it,” Michael said irritably.

Dane’s no overlapped hers. “Your back is still healing,” she said. “You are the last person on my furniture-moving help list.”

She looked over at the tall, rangy blond who was clearly enjoying the show. He grinned and walked to the other end of the sofa. “Where do you want this bad boy, sweetheart?”

“Centered along the wall there.”

“Okay. Count of three, I’ll pull, you push.”

“Thanks.” She smiled at him and moved into “push” position.

A minute later they had the sofa exactly where she’d envisioned it. Dane stood back, brushed his palms over his thighs, and admired the room. “This is actually a better arrangement. Now you won’t get a glare from the window on the TV.”

She shot Dane a grateful smile and glanced at Michael from under lowered lashes as he assessed the room. Even with his scruffy jaw and hand-combed hair, wearing a T-shirt from a local surf shop and a pair of wash-worn cargo shorts, he looked every inch a marine—a cranky, disgruntled marine.

Her temper faded in the face of his unease and guilt set in. No matter how good her intentions, her spur-of-the-moment redecorating had perturbed his sense of order. This was his home, and if he wanted his Chi running down the toilet, that was his business. She crossed her arms and massaged her overtaxed biceps and delts. “I’m sorry. I should have asked you before I started moving your furniture around.”

He closed the distance between them, shoed her hands away, and spread his wide, warm palms over her sore muscles. “I’m sorry I snapped. Walking in to find everything moved around kind of took me by surprise.”

A throat cleared on the other side of the room, and then Dane said, “Gosh, look at the time. I gotta get going. No, no. Don’t mind me. I’ll see myself out.” A second later the sound of the door closing reached her ears.

“If you really don’t like it, I’ll put everything back.”

“Give me a little while to adjust now that you’ve got everything where you want it. Who am I to reject ancient Chinese science out of hand?” With that, he gave her shoulders a last squeeze and then walked into the kitchen. He returned a minute later carrying two uncapped beers and offered her one. “The room looks good this way.”

She accepted the bottle and bit back a grin at the reluctant compliment. A grateful sigh escaped her as she took a sip and lowered herself to the couch.

He sat on the coffee table, directly in front of her, spreading his legs so his knees bracketed her thighs, and then leaned forward until his forearms rested on his legs. The position put his head below hers. He looked up at her from under his dark, slightly furrowed brows. “Why the sudden desire to improve your Chi?”

She stared at the thin, white scar on his wrist, and, because her restless fingers needed something to do, pulled her ponytail holder out of her hair, and tossed it on the end table. “It could stand some improvement, don’t you think? I mean, I’m sitting here with no job, no car, and no savings, wearing out my welcome until my luck changes, so”—she shrugged—“I figured this was worth a try.”

“You’re not wearing out your welcome.” The words were quiet but firm. “I may have to get used to the feng shui, but I like having you here, okay?”

“Yeah, right. Unexpected guests are never easy to live with, and I know I bring a thousand annoyances to the table. Plus, there’s no way you like me treating your guest room like a baggage check, or having my crap strewn all over your house for the next four weeks.” She pointed to the end table where she’d tossed her ponytail holder. It had landed on top of a pile of her “crap,” including her tube of lip plumper, which she’d found behind the couch of all places, a stack of silver bangles she’d had on before she’d started moving furniture, and a wadded up dollar bill. “You’re one of those a-place-for-everything-and-everything-in-its-place people, which is good feng shui, by the way.”

“I like to know where to find things. I don’t know if it’s feng shui, or having roommates for too long during my formative years, but too much stuff around me makes me feel hemmed in and disorganized. That said, our situation is temporary, and I’ll trying to go with the flow.” He reached over and picked up the bracelets and lip plumper. “To be honest, your crap fascinates me. Having you here is like visiting a foreign land.” He gave the tube a perplexed look. “Or planet.”

She laughed and held out her hands for her things. “You’re fascinated by lip plumper and costume jewelry?”

“See, I would have called it lip gunk, because up ’til this moment, ‘lip plumper’ wasn’t in my vocabulary. I’m learning a whole new culture. What the heck is lip plumper?”

Instead of answering, she gave him a demo. She smoothed some over her lips and smacked them together as the active ingredient kicked in and made her feel like she’d just kissed a Jalapeño. “It makes your lips fuller…more kissable.”

His eyes locked on her mouth. “You don’t need it,” he said and proceeded to show her just how kissable he found her. When he pulled back, he stared into her eyes for a full second and then growled, “Holy shit. What the
hell
is happening to my lips?”

Another laugh slipped out before she could stifle her amusement. “Lip plumper tingles a little.”

“Tingles?” He swiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “It burns like napalm.”

“You get used to it.” She sipped her beer to hide a smile and watched him scrub his lips clean. “Still find my crap fascinating? Because I think I just proved my point.”

By way of answer, he simply leaned in and kissed her again. Slowly. Deliberately brushing his lips over hers. By the time he drew back she had her eyes closed and her arms twined around his neck. She forced her heavy eyelids open and stared at him.