Falling for the Marine (A McCade Brothers Novel) (Entangled Brazen) (17 page)

Chapter Eighteen

“Mrs. Harding. Colonel,” Michael said, and stood, looking like a man facing a firing squad.

“Major.” The colonel clasped Michael’s hand. Loretta leaned in for a peck on the cheek.

Chloe plastered a smile on her face and, with the blueberry pancakes threatening a revolt in her stomach, stood and turned to greet the couple. “So nice to see you again, Colonel,” she croaked—there was no other word for the noise that passed over her frozen vocal chords—and offered her hand—which he ignored and pulled her into a sideways embrace.

Her face turned into a furnace. Then the colonel passed her off to Loretta for another quick hug. The older woman stepped away and her smile dimmed a few watts. “Are you okay, honey? You look pale, and you sound a little hoarse.”

“I’m fine,” she managed and dropped back into her seat before her shaking legs failed her completely.

“Well,” Loretta beamed at the other two people at the table. “I don’t even need to ask who these lovely people are. The resemblance is so strong, you’re obviously Michael’s parents. You must be so thrilled.”

Michael jumped in and performed introductions, successfully deflecting the “thrilled” comment. Chloe let the “nice to meet yous” buzz around her while she tried not to pass out. Suddenly, Loretta grabbed her left hand.

“Oh, no. Where’s that beautiful engagement ring?”

And, just like that, all the oxygen left the room. She gasped like a hooked carp and glanced helplessly at Michael.

“We’re…uh…getting it sized. It was too big.” Sweat beaded on his forehead. He’d never looked this pained during the worst of his back spasms.

“Engagement ring?” Michael’s mother said softly.

Chloe stared down at her lap and prayed a freak bolt of lightning would strike her and put her out of her misery.

“Yeah. Mom. Dad. I was working on a time to announce this properly…um”—his hand opened and closed as he grasped for the right word—“formally, but…I asked Chloe to marry me recently and she said yes. We’re engaged.”

There was a moment of stunned silence. Even the conversation at the nearby tables ceased. Then Anita got up, stone-faced, and walked over to her son. When they stood toe-to-toe, she smacked his chest. “The proper time to announce your engagement would have been as soon as she said yes. I’m furious, and, well…hurt…that you didn’t tell us immediately, but,” she went on when Michael opened his mouth to speak, “more importantly, I’m incredibly happy you’ve found the woman you want to spend your life with.” So saying, she took him by the shoulders and hugged him harder than a woman her size seemed capable. “Oh, honey. I’m so happy for you.” She drew back, kissed his cheek, and stepped away to let his father have a crack at him.

His dad beamed, clasped his son around the shoulders, and offered quiet congratulations.

The other diners on the patio broke out in applause. And then, like a terrible nightmare, all the attention rolled her way. She found herself in Anita’s tearful embrace. “I knew it the second I spoke to you on the phone,” she whispered. “Mothers know these things.”

Additional chairs appeared. Champagne arrived. Chloe sat in a daze between Loretta and Anita while the colonel made a toast. Glasses clinked. Everyone drank. The colonel asked if they’d set a date. Michael fielded the question, and Chloe tried hard to focus on the conversation ping-ponging over her as Anita and Loretta discussed venues, and flowers and registries. At some point she tuned in enough to recognize they were planning a trip to some Bridal Expo at the Anaheim Convention Center the following month and realized her presence was expected—no, scratch that—required. She nodded with what she hoped was the appropriate excited, bride-to-be enthusiasm.

Just when it seemed like breakfast was never going to end, Michael said something about Chloe having to work that afternoon—which, for a nice change of pace just happened to be true—and kicked off another round of hugs, kisses, and congratulations. Minutes later she climbed in the passenger seat of his Jeep, and dropped her pounding head back against the headrest. “Thanks to me, we’re now lying to your boss
and
your parents. I sat there like some kind of emotional con woman, accepting all their congratulations and good wishes under false pretenses. I’m going to burn in hell.”

He squeezed her knee. “I’ll admit, that was…horrifying. I flew missions over sniper-infested Taliban territory less stressful than what we just experienced. But we got through it, and look on the bright side.”

She opened her eyes and stared at him. “There’s a bright side? You honestly see a bright side?”

“Absolutely. My parents loved you.”

“You’re not funny. At least your mother didn’t stay angry.”

“Oh no, don’t let the smile and emotional maturity fool you. She’s pissed. I’m in the doghouse big time.”

“I feel awful.”

“I know,” he said quietly and squeezed her knee again. “I wish I could hit rewind on the whole morning. But there really is a bright side. Today was what you call a worst-case scenario. Nothing that happens from here on out can possibly be as bad.”

Maybe he had a point, or maybe not. Because as horrifying as the morning had been, there was an even more horrifying realization circling like a shark at the back of her conscience. A big part of her wished the whole thing had been real.

…

Michael reluctantly obeyed the Monday afternoon summons to the colonel’s office. After the pressure Harding had asserted Saturday at breakfast about setting a wedding date, he’d been hoping to fly under the man’s radar for a few days. But fate or luck or whatever had taken a giant crap on him this weekend obviously had other ideas.

An admin waved him back. Harding’s office door hung open, so he knocked on the doorframe and cleared his throat.

The older man looked up and gestured to one of the two uncomfortable wooden guest chairs in front of the continent-sized oak desk that fairly shouted AUTHORITY. “Have a seat, Major. I trust the rest of your weekend went well?”

“Very nice, sir.”

Harding nodded and pinned him with a laser-sharp gaze. “Give any more thought to a wedding date?”

He felt weaselly. Probably looked weaselly too, but he stared at his boots and answered, “We’re discussing our options.”

“Good. Good.” Harding nodded briskly.

Fuck it. He couldn’t lie anymore. What had seemed like a harmless fib to make it feasible to help Chloe without shooting his military career in the foot had devolved into a soap-opera-worthy web of deception, all the more sticky because, although the engagement was fake, his feelings for her were one hundred percent real.

“Sir, with regard to Chloe and me—”

The colonel waved a hand to cut him off. “I know, I know, you’ll figure out your wedding date in your own time, but, meanwhile, you don’t need pressure from me or anyone else. Duly noted, Major. I know it seems like I meddle into my officers’ personal lives; however, I speak from experience when I say a military career imposes demands that can exact a huge physical and emotional toll. Over the years I’ve found individuals who are part of a strong, supportive personal team are best positioned to meet those demands, and I think you and Chloe, together, form a strong, supportive team.”

“I agree, sir, but…” He trailed off because in addition to coming clean about the engagement, he found himself wanting to confide that Chloe didn’t see herself as “team” material, and he wasn’t sure how to convince her she was selling herself short without scaring her right out the door.

“Relax, Major. I’ve said all I’m going to say on the matter. I’m sure you’ll be relieved to know I didn’t call this meeting to discuss your private life. The actual purpose of our meeting is to advise you you’re back on flight status.”

It took him a moment to shift mental gears and follow the direction of the conversation. “I am?”

“Affirmative.” A faint smile tugged one corner of the colonel’s mouth, which told Michael the older man knew damn well how anxious he’d been to get back in the cockpit. “Infantry is running twenty-four hours of training exercises starting this evening, and requested Air Wing helicopter support. I’ll put you on the roster, if you want to log some flight time.”

“Yes, sir.” He stood, and took a step toward the door before protocol stopped him. This was a meeting with his commander, and he hadn’t been dismissed. “Thank you, sir.”

Harding laughed. “Dismissed, Major. Report to the airfield at eighteen hundred.”

Michael didn’t need to be told twice.

A couple hours later, still flying high on the prospect of being a pilot again, he pulled into his parking space at Casa Clemente and headed upstairs to grab his gear and enjoy a little down time before he had to report back to base.

Getting his clearance to fly lifted a dark cloud of uncertainly off him. Things that had seemed impossibly fucked up this morning, namely, the situation with Chloe, looked amazingly straightforward now. He still had over a week to convince her to stay—convince her to take a risk on him…and herself. This was doable. He understood subtle, nuanced tactics, but when it came to winning a battle, sometimes storming the defenses got the job done. From here on out, he was going to storm her defenses like the freaking beaches at Normandy, and he’d stay the course until she fell to him.

With his strategy firmly in place, he walked into the apartment. Chloe stood at the small table in the dining area, sorting through the mail. She wore a long, body-hugging black tank top over the white skirt he remembered from the infamous day at the massage clinic, and, hot damn, the lucky shoes. She looked up when he came in and gave him a smile, but as he closed in on her, the smile disappeared and her eyes grew wide.

Her lips parted, but he didn’t give her a chance to speak. He slammed his mouth down on hers. She staggered back a little under the force of this kiss, so he simply hauled her up, hitched her legs around his waist, and kept on walking until he’d backed her up against the wall.

She broke away long enough to mumble, “Careful.”

He used the opportunity to shove the tank top over her head. “Uh-uh. I’m done being careful. I’ve got an hour before I have to report back to the base tonight and I don’t plan to spend it being careful.”

“But—”

Covering her mouth again cured her of the desire to speak. Instead, she melted into the kiss. He shoved her bra out of his way and filled his hand with her warm, soft breast.

Her head dropped back against the wall, and she very nearly purred.

“I’m back on flight status,” he murmured against her throat.

That piece of news snapped her head up. She put her hands on his cheeks and pulled his face up as well until their eyes met. Hers were blinking back tears. “Oh…Michael. I’m so happy.”

“I’m about to make you even happier, because as far as I’m concerned, if I’m deemed fit to handle a CH-47, I’m fit to brace you against this wall, bury myself as deep inside you as humanly possible, and give you the kind of ride that leaves you sweaty and breathless and trembling from head to toe. Then I’m going to turn you around and fuck you from the other direction, just to prove to you beyond a shadow of a doubt I can make you come whenever I want, however I want. What do you say, Chloe? Would that make you happy?”

Her mouth was slack, her eyes unfocused, and she was grinding her hips against his with the quick, determined rhythm she always used when left to her own devices. “No cheating,” he admonished and reached up under her skirt to give her a playful swat on the ass. Then, because he was right there, he swept his fingers under her thong, gratified to find her hot and damp. He took that as a green light and ripped the thing off. “Seems like you’re happy.”

She gasped and buried her face in his neck. “Beyond happy. As long as Uncle Sam says you’re fit, I consider this my patriotic duty.”

“Great. Do your patriotic duty and unzip me.” He got both hands under her hips and held her up while she did the honors—unzipped his pants, reached inside, wrapped her exquisite fingers around his shaft, and pulled him out. They both looked down and watched her stroke him until he swelled to what felt damn close to the bursting point. She used the pad of her thumb to wipe a drop of moisture from the head of his cock and then looked up at him. “Condom?”

“In my wallet. Back pocket, right side. My right,” he added when she reached for the wrong pocket.

“Got it.” A second later she fished out the condom, tossed his wallet over his shoulder, and slowly rolled the protection on while he mentally recited the Oath of Enlistment to keep from bringing things to a premature conclusion. As soon as she had him sheathed, he got a good grip on her ass, sealed his mouth over one straining nipple, and drove into her, hard and fast, so all she could do was tighten her legs around his waist and clutch his shoulders while he bounced her back and forth between his body and the wall. Hopefully the Fenwicks in 2D weren’t sitting in their dining room, watching their wall vibrate and screaming, “Earthquake!”

Not that he was averse to some screaming, but he wanted to hear it from a source a little closer to home. And while he took an obscene amount of satisfaction from every ecstatic little cry coming from Chloe’s throat, he aimed to get something more concrete out of her.

He released her nipple and growled, “Do you want to come?”

“Yes. Please. I’m so close.” Her eyes were closed, her jaw set.

“Who got you there? Who always gets you there?”

“You. You do it. Every time.”

“Who? Look at me and say my name.” He pinned her hips to the wall and thrust hard, deep enough to hit her clit with the base of his cock.

Her eyes flew open. “Oh, sweet Jesus.”

“Guess again.”

“Michael,” she panted. “Please.”

“Who?” He repeated the move.

She shattered in his arms, screaming, “Michael…Michael…Michael.”