Falling for the Marine (A McCade Brothers Novel) (Entangled Brazen) (6 page)

…

Michael counted the pulses fluttering at the base of Chloe’s throat and waited for her to say something. Something like, “I have a condom in my purse,” would be ideal. Instead, she shook her head, muttered, “Twelve months and counting,” and shot him a resigned look. Then she added, “You should lie back. This position puts a lot of strain on the base of your spine.”

“I feel fine.” He lifted and lowered his hips to prove it.

Her hand settled protectively over his lower back. “Don’t. I’m glad you’re not in pain, but you’ve still got to be careful until the swelling in the disc subsides.”

“Chloe, I appreciate your concern,” and since it was genuine, he shifted off her, then sat up and faced her while he spoke, “but I don’t need you to nurse me. I think the better question to be asking this morning, is, ‘How are
you
?’”

The muted light from the not-quite-closed curtains didn’t hide the fact that her gray eyes clouded, and she developed a sudden fascination with the wall just behind him. “I’m okay.”

He ran a hand over her hair. She looked so forlorn, he couldn’t help himself. “Did you get fired?”

She blew out a breath and glanced over at him. The corner of her mouth curved up into a phantom smile. “Big time.”

If she’d looked forlorn before, she looked downright devastated now. Normally, he was nobody’s cheerleader, but for some stupid reason he said, “Don’t worry. You’ll find another job. You’re an amazing masseuse.”

“Yeah, maybe.” She ran her hand over her face, blinked a few times, and shook her head. “What’s
not
a maybe is I have some packing to do.”

He didn’t like the sound of that. She got up from the bed, and he took one moment to appreciate the picture she presented, all tousled and tumbled and gorgeously, unselfconsciously naked. Then he reached out and caught her arm. “Why packing? Where are you going?”

“Michael.” She swung her head around and looked at him.

“Chloe,” he replied.

“This is not your problem.”

“I’ll be the judge. Where are you going?”

She plopped back down on the bed and shrugged. “My employer is a temp agency called Helping Hands. When they booked me for the job at the clinic, they also arranged for things like my rental car and the apartment here at Casa Clemente. Per the terms of my contract, I have to turn in the car and be out of the apartment twenty-four hours following the end of my assignment. Otherwise, they’ll start eviction proceedings and I can kiss good-bye any chance of working with them in the future.”

“Twenty-four hours? That’s a pretty miserly amount of time.”

Chloe shrugged again. “It’s standard in the traveling healthcare industry. Generally, it’s not a problem because I know the assignment end date, I have a new assignment to go to, and I plan accordingly. This time, however…things didn’t go as planned.”

“Where will you go?”

“I’ll go”—her eyes wandered to his fascinating blank wall—“um, home, I guess…until they find me a new assignment.”

A lie if he’d ever heard one. He took her chin and waited until she looked at him. “Where will you go,” he repeated softly.

“I don’t know, okay? But that’s not your problem.” She pulled away and started searching the sheets. “Where in God’s name are my clothes?”

He stayed on mission. “Do you need a loan to get home?”

“No.” Her expression reflected a combination of pride and panic. “I have to get out of here.” She abandoned her search for her clothes and started to stand.

He caught her shoulder and guided her back down onto the bed, then kept his hand on her arm to hold her in place. “Chloe, I can’t let you walk away without some assurance you’re doing it safely.” He bent his head slightly so they were eye to eye. “Your situation is at least half my fault. Let me be at least half the solution.”

The energy seemed to bleed out of her as they stared at each other. Finally, she said, “That’s very gentlemanly of you, but you can’t loan me the money to get home because there is no home. Home is my next job, wherever and whenever that may be.”

Oh, shit. “Hell of a way to live.”

“It worked just fine for the past year,” she shot back, defensiveness in every line of her body. “Sorry I don’t have the recommended six-to-nine months of emergency savings banked, but times have been a little tough here at Chloe Kincaid Enterprises due to factors I like to call NOYB.”

He ignored the sarcasm and kept working toward a solution. “You getting fired and kicked out of your apartment is my business.”

She shook her head, sending tendrils of hair dancing around her bare shoulders.

Stubborn. Fine and dandy. He could be stubborn, too. “What about your folks?”

“No,” she said firmly, and her closed-off expression told him he’d hit a dead end there.

“I could give you the money for a hotel—”

“Hell no. I’m not accepting money from you.”

“I can afford it.” True. His pay grade more than covered his needs. Plus, thanks to an investment he’d made in his little brother, Logan’s, company, he had a healthy and ever-growing savings.

“
I
can’t afford it,” she shot back and slapped her palm against her chest. “I can’t let you subsidize me financially because you have a misplaced sense of guilt. My integrity can’t afford it.” She broke off and drew in deep breath. “Look, I’m not destitute. I have a few hundred bucks. Hopefully that will last me if I stay somewhere cheap and if my recruiter comes through quick with a new assignment.”

“That’s too many ifs.
I
can’t do that.” He didn’t care if he sounded like a controlling asshole. The idea of letting her walk out his door without a decent plan burned a hole through his gut. He told himself the guilt would eat at him like acid, but a small voice in the back of his brain insisted the burn came from something more than guilt. Duty, in a twisted way—a moral obligation to alleviate a situation he’d helped to create. Fuck it, she needed a safe place to stay, and he could provide it.

“Stay here.” The words were out of his mouth before his brain fully vetted them, and as soon as he uttered the invitation his better judgment objected.
First rule of combat—don’t engage without an exit strategy. Where is your exit strategy?
The simple, obvious answer stared back at him. He didn’t need one, because Chloe lived her life like one big exit strategy. She didn’t have a home, didn’t want a home, and wasn’t looking for anything except a place to perch until she migrated to her next assignment. He’d reached the point in his life where staying put sounded better than migrating, but she’d run from anything remotely resembling conventional stability.

“No. I couldn’t.”

See?
“You could. I’ve got two bedrooms, if that’s your issue. You’re welcome to the one I use as my office. Stay until your agency finds you another job.”

“That could take weeks.”

“Whatever.” He shrugged to convey a lack of concern with the time line. She obviously liked to keep her roots shallow and her interactions casual. He had to make her see this fit those goals.

Those smoke-and-mirror eyes of hers stared into his for a long time. “God,” she covered her face with her hands, briefly, “I can’t believe I’m actually considering this. Are you sure you want to invite a disaster like me into your life?”

No. He was anything but sure. He’d finally gotten a post he could settle into for a while—assuming he could keep his shit together, get back on flight status, and avoid a court-martial in the meantime. Simple enough goals, yet since meeting Chloe he’d put every single one of them in jeopardy. Her impulsive nature, no matter how sexy and charming, created problems for a man trying to stay on the straight and narrow. But that didn’t give him an excuse to turn his back on her. “Chloe, I’ve piloted supplies to red cross stations in areas struck by floods, earthquakes, and hurricanes. I’ve dropped aid packages at refugee camps. I’ve flown in and out of war zones. I’ve seen disaster close up, and I’m pretty sure I can handle whatever you throw my way.”

The comment must have put things into context for her, because she gave him a weak smile. “You think?”

Again, he wasn’t so sure, but he nodded with a confidence he didn’t feel and returned her smile. “I guarantee. Stay as long as you need to. No strings attached.” Laughable addition, considering a minute ago they’d been one thin layer of latex away from balling each other blind, but, technically, they were not lovers and he didn’t want her to think his hospitality hinged on them changing that status.

She gnawed her lip and her eyes darted to the right as she considered his words. He followed her line of vision until his gaze hit a photo on the dresser. A snapshot of his first day on the job at Camp Pendleton, showing him in front of a chopper, shaking hands with his CO—his ultraconservative, by-the-book, CO, who did not believe in officers under his command using the government’s Basic Allowance for Housing to facilitate cohabitation outside the sanctity of marriage.

He cringed, thinking how quickly this new cohabitation development would travel from Mrs. Waverly, to his CO’s wife, to his CO, and how quickly his cleared-to-fly paperwork would get the downward shuffle on his CO’s desk. Quickly, and possibly permanently, if Sempler decided to report him for yesterday’s indiscretion. Unless… “Make that, no strings except one.”

Chapter Seven

Chloe blinked at the empty air where Michael had been mere seconds ago. He’d just offered her the answer to her prayers—a safe,
free
, no-strings-attached place to stay—and then bolted off the bed like his nonexistent pants were on fire.

He strode across the room and dug something out of the top drawer of the dresser. She admired the play of muscles under bronze skin, and the view of
his
top-drawer ass.

What the hell was he looking for? He’d mentioned something about strings and started rifling through a drawer. Did he plan to literally…tie her up? He walked back to the bed before she could decide whether the thought excited her or freaked her out. Then she let go of the quandary, because the sight of him closing in, wearing an intense expression, his dog tags, and nothing else, effectively scrambled her brain. He knelt by the side of the bed and propped his closed fist on her knee.

“Let me rephrase,” he said, flashing a smile that tried to convince her he was harmless.

She wasn’t fooled. He knew how to unlock handcuffs with a hairpin in under three minutes. He knew how to unlock her orgasm one-handed in under a minute. He was so not harmless.

“There is one tiny string attached.” He looked up at her from beneath his dark, unfairly thick lashes. Then he opened his fist to reveal a small, black velvet box. A flick of his fingers snapped the lid back and a diamond solitaire she estimated somewhere north of a carat twinkled at her.

Her hand flew to her heart at the same time her gaze flew to his. “
That’s
a tiny string?”

The smile tugging his lips broadened, but he still didn’t look harmless. “My CO disapproves of cohabitating. He’s got the final authority over my return to the cockpit, so I’d rather not do anything he disapproves of. I think if we”—he broke off and looked at her with those deep, dark, mesmerizing eyes—went the engagement route, it might mitigate any potential negative consequences.”

“You want us to pretend—”

“Appearances only,” he inserted quickly. “I doubt we’ll have to out-and-out lie to anyone, but Mrs. Waverly is eagle-eyed and she’s also my CO’s wife’s best friend. We’ll just put my grandmother’s ring on your finger, move you in, and then, when you get your new assignment, I’ll take the ring back and we’ll go our separate ways. If anyone asks what happened, I’ll say things just didn’t work out.”

No. No. Hell to the No. Just the thought of putting the ring on her finger made her palms sweat. “I can’t. Me staying here is a bad idea if it puts your career at risk and forces you to lie.”

He looked down at the ring and then back up at her, and his pensive expression made her realize he was debating telling her something. She had a sinking feeling she wasn’t going to like it.

“I didn’t want to mention this, because it’s my problem, not yours, but I could end up in serious trouble for what happened yesterday at the clinic. The Corps frowns on its members committing acts of indecency or indecorum. If Sempler lodges a complaint, my CO will have to address it.”

Shit. She’d been so selfishly fixated on her own problems she hadn’t spared a thought about how yesterday’s recklessness might impact Michael. “H-how serious?” But she already knew.

“Conduct unbecoming an officer could get me dismissed, and possibly thrown in the brig.”

“Oh, my God.” Her stomach turned to lead and dropped into her feet. “You could get dishonorably discharged and
locked up
because of this?”

“It’s an unlikely outcome…but the possibility exists. Right now, if Sempler tells my CO he walked into a treatment room and found USMC Major Michael McCade committing an indecent act with his massage therapist, it sounds pretty bad. The whole situation takes on a slightly different character if he walked into a treatment room and found me engaged in what I didn’t intend to be a public display of affection with my fiancée.”

“I see your point, but it’s still dishonest. Your grandmother would be rolling in her grave.”

“We’re not hurting anyone by massaging the truth, and my grandmother would understand. When I was about five, I took this ring from her jewelry box and I buried it in the backyard because I was pretending to be a pirate. When she discovered what I’d done, she calmly helped me dig it up and gave me a bunch of coins to bury instead. I complained the coins weren’t as good a treasure because they weren’t sparkly like the ring. She laughed and told me I could have the ring when she was done with it, and, at that point, I could bury it if I wanted. A few years ago…” He trailed off and swallowed. “A few years ago she was done with it.” He swiped his thumb lightly over the flat facet at the top of the diamond. “True to her word, she left the ring to me. I figure as long as I don’t bury the thing, I’m exceeding her expectations.”

Now she was choked up, a little because a girl who owed so much to her own grandma couldn’t help but be affected by the obvious affection between Michael and his. But more because both grandmother and grandson measured the value of the treasure in terms of the memories it held than the intrinsic worth of the precious materials.

She wrapped her arms around herself and wished she either had a completely clear head or a much worse hangover. Instead she just felt slow and fuzzy…and freezing. Despite the heat coming off his body, her skin chilled. Nerves. The idea of a commitment—even a fake one—left her bone cold. But her alternatives sucked.

Her parents had reclaimed their own lives the moment they’d divorced and dumped her on Grandma. She wasn’t about to ask them for any favors. Her friendships were loose and casual. After a year of traveling from job to job, they were all pretty much Facebook friends—“like” a photo, comment on a status—not the kind of people she could call out of the blue and say, “Hey, can I come stay with you for who knows how long, and, by the way, can you lend me the money to get there?” Thanks to Drew, no credit-card company would touch her with a ten-foot pole.

Even if she could scrape together an alternative, could she really leave Michael twisting in the wind, when something as simple as pretending to be engaged for a couple weeks could protect his career?

She dropped her arms and sat a little straighter. No, she couldn’t. Being a free bird didn’t mean flying off and leaving a stand-up guy in a precarious position. A short-term fake engagement was a solution to a problem, not an emotional investment or a threat to her freedom. Granted, it might have been a risky proposition for commitment-craving Chloe, but older, wiser Chloe had learned how to glide through life without getting ensnared in emotional traps.

“What do you say, Chloe?” Michael prompted. “You’re the first woman I’ve ever asked to wear my ring. Don’t start me off with a bad track record.” His grin left her a little off-center. She looked down at herself, then back at him.

“I wish I didn’t feel so naked at the moment.”

He slipped the ring on her shaking finger. “There. Now you’re not naked.”

“Perfect fit,” she whispered. It was. A shiver scurried up her spine. The sparkling traditional solitaire looked and felt more at home on her finger than her actual engagement ring ever had during the entire time she’d worn the thing.

“My grandmother had slim, gentle hands, like you. It looks good on you,” he finished softly, almost reluctantly, and Chloe relaxed a bit. He wasn’t as unfazed about their “engagement” as he seemed. Why that realization made her feel better, she couldn’t say, but there it was.

“Thank you. I’ll take good care of it, and, rest assured, you’ll get it back in the same beautiful condition. I promise.”

His grin reappeared. “I’m not worried.” Then he stood, and the play of sinew and muscle under flesh momentarily emptied her mind. “Now that we’re officially engaged, wanna move in with me?”

“I—um, yes, I guess I do.”

“Awesome.” He sat down next to her on the bed and glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. It read 6:58.

“I have to be at the base by eight,” he said, “which means I need to hit the shower and get going, but I’ll be back by four-thirty, so if there’s anything you need help moving, just leave it until I’m home, okay?”

She nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeated, but he didn’t move. He just stared at her.

She stared back. “You’re sure you’re comfortable with this?”

“Yes. Absolutely. It’s the least I can do.”

Tiny flecks of gold glowed near the perimeter of his deep brown irises. How had she overlooked such a hypnotic detail? “Well…thank you.”
Don’t kiss him
, her little voice warned, but her body didn’t listen. It leaned in until her lips brushed his and her breasts rested against his chest.

A wide palm cupped the back of her head and he deepened the kiss. Her hands landed on the steady shelf of his shoulders and her happy nipples tightened to eager peaks. She shifted closer and rubbed them over his pecs.

His low, rumbling growl cut through the otherwise-silent room. She trembled as his hand wandered down her back and over her butt, and tucked one knee under her, preparing to crawl onto his lap when the alarm buzzed. They broke apart, both breathing heavy, and then spoke at once.

“Shit—”

“You’re going to be late—”

He reached over and hit the alarm. She scooped the T-shirt she’d borrowed off the floor, turned it right side out, and pulled it on. By the time she’d swept it over her head, he was out of the bed. “I wish I could top off my proposal with breakfast, but I’ve got to shower and get going. Do you need to use the bathroom first?”

She stood, surprised by her wobbly legs, and walked over to stand opposite him. “No. I’m good. You go ahead.” His shoulders seemed to take up all the space in the bedroom doorway. “Is it all right if I use your phone to call my recruiter?”

“Chloe.”

“What?”

“
Mi casa es su casa
.” He turned and then shot a grin over his shoulder before he walked into the bathroom and shut the door.

The breath left her lungs in a shuddery exhale. “Right.” She made her way out to the main part of the apartment. Heavens, the extreme tidiness of the bedroom carried over into the rest of the rooms. Clean surfaces, clean walls, no clutter. Someone would be getting his entire security deposit back at the end of his tenancy.

The phone sat on the counter between the kitchen and dining area, just as it did in her apartment. She perched on one of the two high stools tucked under the counter, lifted the receiver, and dialed.

Lynne answered on the first ring. “Helping Hands, how can I help you?”

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Oh. My. God. Chloe! Where are you? I’ve been trying to reach you since yesterday. In another couple hours I was going to file a missing-person report on you.”

Shit
. Guilt landed on her like a scratchy blanket. “I’m so sorry, Lynne. I didn’t mean to put you in a panic. After the debacle with Sempler, I couldn’t face you or myself…or anything more judgmental than a pitcher of margaritas, so I just kind of dove into one for the night.”

“Sweetie, I don’t judge. But I do worry.”

“I know. On top of being a lousy employee, I’m a horrible friend. I should have called you. I didn’t think of anyone except myself and how I could possibly erase the whole humiliating incident from my mind.”

“You’re not a horrible friend. You just tend to forget there are people around who care about you. Did it work?”

“Did what work?”

“The margarita strategy.”

“For a little while, yeah, but ultimately, no. Tell me, am I still employable through Helping Hands?”

“Yes.”

“Really? I can’t believe Sempler’s not going to demand my head on a platter.” Her voice cracked and she winced. But still, it was too good to be true. The guy loved to complain and, God knew, she’d given him a legitimate and grievous complaint.

“Not after I questioned why you were still in the clinic at five thirty—a full half an hour past your scheduled shift end. That’s when he mentioned maybe he hadn’t been on site precisely at the end of your shift to sign off on your time card, and I mentioned if your time card came back to us with anything less than a five thirty end time, that would be fraud. I went on to mention if I spoke to you and discovered any of your prior time cards reflected inaccurate shift end times, that would also be fraud, and the clinic would ultimately be liable to Helping Hands for any overtime and statutory penalties we had to pay to you as a result of said fraud. His desire to complain suddenly evaporated.”

“Oh. Wow.”

“Yeah, wow. But still, Chlo, this is no quid pro quo. If that snake squeezed extra time out of you without noting it on your time card, I need to know, because if you’re at the job site, you’re on the clock, and we have to pay you for the time. Whether you’re behaving professionally while on the clock is a completely separate issue.”

Chloe flinched at the last statement, but knew she’d earned it. “My prior time cards are pretty accurate. Yesterday was the first really bold attempt on Sempler’s part to score some free coverage.”

“Good. Consider yourself paid. The extra half hour will be in your check. If anything like that ever happens again, tell me about it right away, okay? Handling weasels like Sempler when they pull their crap is my job.”

“Okay,” she agreed, relieved to note Lynne appeared to believe they’d be working together again soon. “Thank you, Lynne. I’m really grateful. I don’t deserve to walk away this scot-free after what happened. I don’t know what came over me.”

“I do. It’s called going a year without sex. Makes you do crazy things. But don’t put yourself in a compromising position with a client again, ever, because in this case, two strikes and you’re out.”