Tell it to the Marine (3 page)

“Did you get the part?” A guarded look came over his expression.

“Nope. I’m actually kind of glad because the man didn’t seem to understand the need for Tic Tacs before you whisper in someone’s face. He smelled like hot dogs and bad coffee.”

The waitress reappeared, stealing away their salads and setting their meals in front of them.

“Good. Well, not good,” He frowned dropping his gaze to his plate. Her heart bounced like a puppy scrabbling for attention. “Sorry, would you like more wine?”

“Yes, please. And why are you sorry?” She slid her wine glass toward him, and he refilled it carefully.

“Being happy you didn’t get a job doesn’t seem like the right thing.”

“It depends on why you were happy. Because if you knew about the production, then you might be happy that I’m not somewhere in Indiana filming right now. Or you could be happy because the lead has a lecherous reputation and has slept with every woman he’s ever shared screen time with. Or you could simply be happy that I didn’t want to kiss him….” She lifted the wine glass to her lips, daring him with a playful look.

“Fine. I’m not sorry at all that you didn’t get the part because I’m extremely happy you’re not in Indiana, nor being pawed by a letch whose arms would need to be broken, and that you didn’t want to kiss him.”

Her sex clenched. “I’m glad I didn’t get the part, too.”

“Are you glad because you didn’t want to kiss him? Because you didn’t want to sleep with him? Or because you wouldn’t be at dinner with me?”

An hour ago, she wanted to be anywhere but the Sybarite Club waiting for some stranger with expectations of sex no matter how libidinous her needs were. An hour ago she’d argued with her agent on the phone about the latest offer to play mom to Aqua Williams, Hollywood’s latest
It
girl in a role that she herself would have been offered ten years before.

An hour ago, she hadn’t met James Westwood and decided that kissing him would be better than cheesecake dipped in melted chocolate or that lead in the next action film would be poor recompense for the laughter-tinged desire humming through her system.

“Lauren?”

“Hmm?” She covered her mouth mid-chew and swallowed the salmon with a choked chuckle. “Sorry, I think that I was happy I didn’t get the part because I wouldn’t have known what I missed, meeting you. I really thought this whole thing was a bad idea….”

“Which segues beautifully into the question I wanted to ask, but didn’t want to offend you.” He set his knife down and captured her hand. Her insides somersaulted. His calloused thumb stroked her palm.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” She shattered her second rule of dating. Although hardly
fait accompli
, she didn’t care if he’d signed up because he just wanted to get laid. She hadn’t had so much fun in a long time.

He slid out of the booth, still holding her hand. “Dance with me.”

She let him tug her out of the booth. “I can’t dance.”

“Fine. Step on my toes with me.”

Curiosity trumped nerves and she nodded, following him onto the dance floor and gliding into his arms, barely aware of the drifting melody of sobbing saxophone and nerve-thumping guitar. Up close, cradled against the warmth of his chest, enjoying the beat of his heart against his ribs beneath her palm, she found her four-inch heels gave her no advantage to his height. The cage of his body wrapped around hers, pulling her into a gentle to and fro sway far sexier and simpler than any choreographed number she’d had to practice.

“Why a one-night stand, Lauren?”

“You’ll think it’s stupid.”

“Let me be the judge of that.” He leaned in, his forehead just millimeters from hers, the sweet hints of Old Spice, cotton, and something deeply masculine filled her lungs.

“Because I spend all my time playing to egos, catering to what the audience wants, and meeting men who play the same parts…I wanted to meet someone real. Not an actor with an agenda or a director with plan…but a real, honest-to-God man with no other agenda beyond an entertaining evening.”

She bit her lip, forcing her gaze up to meet his bold directness. “I wanted a night of simple pleasures, man, woman, food…and if sex happened, I wanted it to be spectacular and all about mutual pleasure…not for career advancement or some egotistic need to punch a notch on a belt.”

“I promise.” His voice melted over her. “If sex happens, it will definitely be all about mutual pleasure.”

Chapter Three

She flowed beautifully in his arms, satin, silk, and softness drifting to the music. He fought to keep his hands from roaming. Her blue eyes watched him from beneath the thick fringe of her lashes. The artless smiles, the raw honesty, and the flicker of nervous ticks in her hand gestures bulldozed every reservation he’d had about the date. From the first email he’d received from the mysterious Madame Eve to the moment he’d walked up to the table, his plan remained simple: enjoy a meal, some quiet conversation, and say good night.

Yes, he’d signed up for the 1Night Stand along with every other man in the unit. A show of solidarity for their brothers who needed the opportunity to meet someone, to reintegrate with the big bad world far away from the fierce and fast rules of the sandbox. But meeting her changed everything.

“Your turn, James.” Her voice possessed a husky quality that slid through his system like a well-aged whisky, heating every nerve it touched. “Why did you sign up?”

True to her word, her foot stepped on his, but he ignored the pinch of her shoe and the scrape across the top of his loafers. She couldn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds soaking wet. He could polish out the scuffmarks later.

“I spent a few years in the sandbox, received an honorable discharge, came home and finished my degree. The day I received my certification and license, I had a call from Captain Dexter. I’d reported to him during my first tour. Good man. He opened a facility here in Allen called Mike’s Place. Heard of it?”

She shook her head and the waterfall of champagne blonde hair danced in a caress against her shoulders. A cluster of strawberries shadowed her right shoulder, a birthmark he didn’t recall seeing on the screen. Hand skimming up her arm, he drew a thumb across the mark. An unfamiliar tug pulled behind his sternum. Cataloging differences between the smoking hot sweetheart on the big screen and the exquisite femininity in his arms was a hobby he could embrace.

“It’s a facility predicated on helping our brothers. It begins with therapy, physical, mental, and emotional. It offers rehabilitation for physical injuries, post-operative recovery support, group and individual therapy. We have a hospital wing for patients who need more intensive care and an outpatient wing for locals and those who live in the guest residences.”

“It sounds very well thought out.”

“It’s brilliant, actually. The Captain—Luke—is a dedicated Marine. He puts his men first. He added guest residences for out-of-state patients and their families, and apartments for staff. There’s a sports complex, a daycare and in the next six months, a full-time charter school with our own instructors for children of staff and patients. We don’t just focus on our brothers, but offer support for the whole family. Luke’s planning to expand over the next year to include care for widowed spouses and their children.”

The music shifted to a slower tempo and he paused to tug her closer until her body rested breast to chest with his and her thighs gently glided against his in a rasp of fabric.

“And you work there?” She murmured the words.

“Yes, I focused my thesis and clinical on trauma support. Reintegration after the sandbox is difficult in the best of circumstances, but when you combine physical injury or personal loss, you raise the emotional stakes, and we’re wired for combat, not civilian life. It takes time to reacclimatize.”

Her perfume carried hints of flowers and candy, like a breeze blowing from a bakery shop on a spring day. His cock jerked hopefully and he focused on a stand-down order. He wanted to take his time and savor every moment.

“You must have an amazing soul.”

Pleasure spiked at the compliment, but his brows quirked. “How so, ma—Lauren?” He’d get that right, sooner or later.

She laughed, but didn’t comment on his near slip. “Because I can’t imagine how hard it must be for you. You served there and you have to relive that to help others.”

“They’re my brothers, nothing I wouldn’t do for them.”

“And who helped you when you came home?” The insightful question cut through the layers of separation, dividing James the man from James the psychologist.

“My work helps me every day. I knew the minute I received my discharge orders what I wanted to do. How I could help them. If I couldn’t be over there to cover their backs, I could damn well cover them here. Pardon my language.”

“You are forgiven.”

He turned them along the edge of the dance floor, drifting to the bluesy number. Her hands glided up his arms until her fingers interlocked behind his neck. The action lifted her breasts, cupped beautifully by the dress, and he allowed one look, searing it in his brain before retreating to stare into her eyes. Not that much of a retreat. The warm softness of her curves still pressed into him, and it didn’t take much of a leap to imagine riding between her bare thighs, her legs wrapped around his hips.

One battle at a time, Marine
.

“You still haven’t answered my question. I don’t think.” Her forehead crinkled in a thoughtful frown.

“No, you’re correct. I just wanted you to have a firm basis for understanding my decision. Madame Eve offers an unparalleled service that seems to pair ideal couples together for meaningful interactions that may or may not lead to sex.” He tacked on the last as a reminder to his engorged cock, but the organ ignored him, wholly focused on the goddess in his arms.

“For some of our guys, it’s been the perfect way to meet someone with no strings, no expectations but still allow meaningful experience, plugging them back into the world, building confidence. That’s especially important because intimacy can’t be forced. The Marines who truly need it were reluctant to sign up until Luke volunteered all of us.”

The music drifted to a lonely, final note that hung in the air and they slowed. She took one step back. Instead of withdrawing, she ran a hand down his arm and threaded her fingers through his. James took the cue and led her back to the table. Rather than reclaim her seat, she chose his side of the booth and scooted until he could slide in next to her.

He took a moment to push her dinner plate toward her, along with a fresh glass of wine.

“That’s really beautiful, you know? And so much more classy than my reasons.” Her pink-tinged lips twisted into a self-deprecating smile.

“Not at all. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for my brothers, but—and I mean this with absolute sincerity—signing up was for them. But this right here,
this
is for me.”

“Really?” The sudden flush turning her cheeks crimson added spark to her eyes.

He grinned, lifting her slender fingers to kiss her knuckles. “Absolutely. I meant what I said earlier about your movie and if you tell anyone what I’m about to confide in you, I will have to surrender my man card. So please consider your options with the following intelligence.”

She propped her free hand on the table, chin in her palm, eyebrows lifted, and made no move to reclaim the hand he’d captured between his.

“I’ve seen every single one of your movies, not always with a date. Even that Fourth of July picnic farce with the swingers you babysat for.” A partial truth. He’d actually seen some of them twice and at least three of them four times and owned every single one on DVD.

Her delighted laughter wrapped around him. The gleam in her eyes tempered the sobriety of her tone. “I promise, your manhood is safe with me.”

“Double entendre intended, I hope?”

“Absolutely.”

He chuckled, kissing her fingers again and they resumed eating, her hand firmly in his.

The conversation returned to sports.

She preferred basketball to football. He favored baseball and enjoyed basketball enough to debate team statistics.

He liked Italian to her French. She preferred an afternoon at the spa to shopping in Beverly Hills. He was satisfied with the online offerings.

She cited Tahoe as having the best ski resorts. He favored Wisp on the East Coast.

She longed to take a cruise and laughed when he retorted, “My ass rode in Navy equipment enough.”

Dinner stretched to dessert and finally to coffee.

They danced.

They laughed.

They talked.

He lost track of the topics, savoring her dry wit, pointed comments, and her absolute failure to agree with him just to agree. She warmed to the areas where they were at odds, favoring Jackie Chan’s
Rush Hour
to the clearly superior
Legend of the Drunken Master
. And wrinkled her nose delightfully when he told her it was a good thing she was so pretty.

At two AM, they closed the bar down, but he was content to spend the rest of the night. He hadn’t laughed so hard in years.

The irritating buzz of his phone interrupted her suggestion of the local Adolphus hotel and a champagne brunch. He tugged the phone out of his pocket and recognized Damon’s number and offered her an apologetic look. He thumbed the phone to answer it. Damon Sinclair was the finest cook he’d ever had the privilege of serving with, considering the man could make potato soup taste like manna from heaven. He also wasn’t likely to call James at two-thirty in the morning without a damn good reason.

“Westwood.”

“Sorry to cut into your date, Doc. But I’m at the Fillmore with Matt and there was an incident.”

“The Fillmore?” The evening’s pleasure drained out of him, his mouth tightening. Matt wasn’t ready for bars and shouldn’t be off property yet. His gaze cut to the beautiful woman mouthing, ‘
pub
?’ and echoed the question into the phone. “The Fillmore Pub?”

“Yes, sir. Plano cops are here too, sir. I wouldn’t call, but Captain Dexter took his fiancée away for the weekend and….”