Falling for the Marine (A McCade Brothers Novel) (Entangled Brazen) Read online

  “There’s an Italian place he likes in Dana Point. Good food and a great view of the harbor.” She caught herself using her thumb to center her “engagement ring” on her finger. The move was becoming a habit. Funny, she’d never fussed with her real engagement ring overly much.

  “So, this would be, like…a date?”

  “Yeah right. I don’t date military men. You know this.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What, ‘Hmm’? What’s ‘Hmm,’ supposed to mean?”

  “Okay, Chlo, let’s conduct a reality check. You’ve found a job you like. You’ve found a guy you like—more than like—hell, you’re living with the man and, from all accounts, the sex is off-the-charts amazing. Are you sure you want the New Mexico assignment? It seems like things are working out for you right there in San Clemente.”

  Her heart stopped tap dancing because her chest suddenly felt way too tight—almost too tight to breathe. “I’m sure,” she managed and then added in a strained whisper, “The thing between Michael and me…it’s not real.”

  “Looks pretty real from where I’m standing. Putting the fake engagement aside, he’s bringing you flowers and taking you out for romantic dinners.”

  Sweaty palms made it hard to hold the phone. She swiped her hand down her pink, satin cargo Capris and switched the phone to her dry hand. “He’s being sweet. Yes, we get along, and yes, we’re…enjoying each other…while I’m here, but that’s as far as it goes. That’s as far as it can go.”

  “There’s more going on between the two of you than either of you wants to admit. Or maybe it’s just you who doesn’t want to admit it.”

  “There is nothing to admit.”

  “Do you even realize your voice softens when you talk about him? You get very quiet and I can practically picture you sitting there, daydreaming.”

  “We’re friends. Okay, friends with benefits. Excellent, but extremely temporary benefits. He knows it. I know it. End of story.” Did she sound panicked? Maybe, based on the concerned look the receptionist was giving her from the other end of the desk. “I’m not ready for anything more.”

  “Sometimes exactly what you need comes along, whether you’re ready or not. I remember the first date I went on with my husband. You know what happened a week later?”

  “No idea.”

  “We got married. Have a nice weekend.”

  …

  Michael stared at the computer screen and watched blobs form, merge, and flow like some sort of bizarre black-and-white lava lamp. One minute the image looked like a bat, then a balloon, then a topographic map of the Alps. What it bore absolutely no resemblance to, as far as he could tell, was a human spine.

  But apparently Dane disagreed. He tapped his gold pen against his highly glossed cherrywood desk, and stared at the screen. “I am a goddamn miracle worker, if I do say so myself.”

  Michael squinted, but still couldn’t discern anything from the abstract images mutating on the screen. “Where’s the miracle?”

  “Right here.” Dane froze the image and drew an air circle around an area on the lower part of the screen with the pen. “This is the disc you herniated, but you’d never know it, looking at the site now. No swelling. No bulge. Nothing pressing on the nerve.” He turned to Michael. “You’re not still feeling any twinges, are you?”

  He shook his head. “None. Not for days. I feel one hundred percent.”

  “Great. I’ll write up a report and shoot it to your CO. As far as I’m concerned, you’re good to go.”

  Michael relaxed the shoulder muscles he hadn’t even realized he’d tightened. He sank back into Dane’s guest chair. “Thanks.”

  Dane swiveled his computer screen back around to face him. “I can’t take all the credit. You did the exercises and took it easy on your back—sort of. And I’m sure Chloe’s magic hands played an important role too.”

  “Yeah,” was all he said. Thinking about Chloe’s magic hands, and every other magic part of her, reminded him that their time together was limited unless he managed to work a little magic of his own. His current battle plan tested his patience, because moving slowly made him all too aware he was working against the clock.

  “Uh-oh. Trouble there?”

  “No. Just the opposite, actually. You know how Chloe feng shui’d the apartment, because all the positive energy was getting flushed down the toilet?” He laughed, feeling a little self-conscious, and ran his hand over the back of his head. “Well, suddenly, my back feels better. Next thing you know, she’s got a job at a spa down the street from the apartment, and she loves it.”

  “She found a job locally? That’s great…or maybe not,” his friend frowned as he considered the implications. “I guess her sticking around kind of complicates things, given the engagement and all.”

  His smile flatlined. “It’s a temporary job. She’s still planning to leave in a couple weeks, when the next travel assignment starts.” A couple weeks. Tick-tock.

  “Ah. Still got the big, ugly breakup on the horizon.”

  Michael stared out the stingily small window in Dane’s office and watched the breeze ruffle the fronds of the nearby palm trees. “Maybe.”

  “You know, I don’t want to criticize, but for a guy who just got great news about his back, you look pretty tragic. Want to tell me what’s bothering you?”

  He shifted his attention back to Dane. “Thanks, Dr. Freud, but I’ll pass.”

  “Oh, come on. I don’t need to be a psychoanalyst to solve your problem. This is an easy situation. Just ask her to stay.”

  “It’s not that easy. Chloe’s not looking for a ‘stay’ situation, and, even if she was, she’s not a fan of military life. On top of that, our Grandkid Story sucks.”

  “I don’t care what she said in the beginning—okay, I’ll bite…what the hell is your Grandkid Story?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” But apparently it did, to Chloe. “All I’m saying is, it’s complicated, and convincing her to stay will require some finesse. This is not a simple, put-my-cards-on-the-table scenario.”

  Dane dismissed the information with a wave of his hand. “All those complications will sort themselves out. In the beginning, she didn’t have any reason to stick around. Now she does. Or she would, if you’d man up and give her one.”

  Michael stood and shook his head. “I realize you think you’ve got some special insight into the female mind, but you don’t know what Chloe wants.”

  “Maybe not. But I know what you want, and I know something else, too. If you don’t speak up, you’re not going to get it.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Michael woke to the sensation of warm hands sliding down his back. When soft lips and a nimble tongue followed, trailing a line of wet heat along his spine, he cracked an eye open and stared at the alarm clock. Eight forty-three. He’d been thinking it would be a nice change of pace to sleep in this Saturday morning, but, as the sheet around his waist was suddenly jerked away, leaving him covered by nothing but his boxer shorts, he supposed he could make an exception.

  “Is this some new kind of massage?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Those lips got busy retracing their path. “Very therapeutic. Works out all the kinks.”

  He closed his eyes and lowered his head to his folded arms. “Really? Because I’m feeling a definite kink.”

  “Uh-oh,” she said, with mock concern. “Can’t have that. Is it here?” She kissed the spot between his shoulder blades.

  “No.” He shifted his hips. “Lower.”

  “Here?” She nibbled the small of his back.

  “You’re warmer.”

  “How about now?” She yanked his shorts down.

  “Oh, shit…yeah, you’re warmer.”

  Her hand sank between his legs, and up into the V of his thighs.

  “Red hot,” he groaned when her fingertips grazed his balls. He flipped over and was about to show her exactly where the kink was, when his doorbell rang.

  They both froze. Her gaze leaped to hi
s. “Did you have a gym date with Dane this morning?”

  “No, but”—the insistent sound of knuckles on wood echoed through the apartment—“whoever it is seems pretty damn sure I’m home.” He jerked his shorts up. “Let me get rid of them. I’ll be right back.”

  He swept his T-shirt off the bedroom floor and pulled it over his head on his way to the door. One look through the peephole immediately sent what was left of his hard-on into full retreat and had him uttering the only words that fit the situation. “Fuck me.” In his peripheral vision he saw Chloe wander into the kitchen, wearing her purple robe and yawning as she headed to the coffeemaker. She paused when she heard him curse and turned a curious look on him.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head, and prayed for deliverance. None came. When he opened his eyes and stared through the peephole again, the same familiar, slightly distorted face stared back at him.

  “Who’s at the door?”

  “My parents.”

  She dropped the stack of coffee filters she’d been holding. “Your parents?” A self-conscious hand rose to her hair. The other straightened the front of her robe. “Should I hide?”

  Knocking came again, followed by, “Michael? What did you say? Open the door. Your father and I want to see for ourselves that you’re okay.”

  He rolled his eyes. “No. Don’t hide. This is what they get for showing up unannounced.” Then he opened the door.

  His mom’s sharp brown eyes took in his bed-hair, rough jaw, and wrinkled underclothes. She, conversely, looked perfectly trim and tidy in her white jeans and blue-and-white checked blouse. Not a wisp of her short, sun-bleached blond hair appeared out of place. “Michael, honey, don’t tell me we woke you up?”

  After submitting to his mother’s hug and a clap on the shoulder from his dad, he replied, “No, you didn’t wake me up. You didn’t wake Chloe either.” He gestured her over and she approached slowly, looking equal parts amused and embarrassed. “Chloe, meet my parents, Tom and Anita. Parents, meet Chloe.”

  “Fortuitous,” his dad drawled and shook her hand, “since I’m pretty sure that’s why we’re here. Nice to meet you.” Michael couldn’t help but grin at his father’s smoothly delivered poke at his mom. His dad was a man of few words, but he hadn’t spent thirty-five years married to Mom without learning a thing or two about how she operated.

  His mom had the good grace to pretend to be abashed as she took Chloe’s hand. “Whoops! I see we should have called first. Forgive us, please. This morning Tom and I made a spur-of-the-moment decision to drive down to San Diego for the weekend, and we thought, as long as we were passing by, we ought to stop and see son number two.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Chloe said, and the way her smile lit her eyes made Michael think she might actually mean it.

  “It’s wonderful to meet you in person,” his mom replied. “I hope you’ll let us take you two to breakfast to make up for interrupting your morning.”

  “Oh…I don’t want to intrude…” Chloe sent him an uncertain glance.

  “Nonsense. We’re the intruders. Please join us.”

  “Yeah,” Michael added, figuring Chloe’s presence would help defer a breakfast interrogation, “join us.”

  …

  Chloe shifted in the cushioned seat and stared at the endless view of the Pacific twinkling in the distance beyond the glass perimeter of the Coastline Café’s shaded patio. She still couldn’t quite fathom how a quiet morning in bed for two had ended up as a table for four at what appeared to be one of San Clemente’s most popular breakfast spots, but she couldn’t complain. The sun was shining, her blueberry pancakes tasted like heaven, and she was getting an earful of Michael and his brothers’ childhood exploits.

  “…and I looked up and saw my idiot son, dressed in nothing but socks and Spiderman underwear, hanging from the trellis on the side of the house!”

  “The idiot was Logan,” Michael said, pointing a fork at his mother, “and, in his defense, he was five at the time.”

  “It was Logan,” his father agreed, nodding so the sunlight picked up the silver strands in his deep brown hair. Even with the hints of gray, it was obvious Michael got his coloring, and his stature, from his dad.

  “Yes, but I know who talked him into the whole harebrained idea,” she shot back, giving Michael a hard stare.

  He grinned. “Okay, yeah, that might have been me. Hey, he lived!” he added when his mom smacked his arm.

  “No thanks to you.” She shook her head. “What can I tell you, Chloe? Raising them was like raising three hyperactive monkeys.”

  “Sounds pretty wild.” And fun. As an only child, she’d often wished for siblings to play with. Share secrets with. Get into trouble with. And although his mom made a show of complaining about the crazy antics, both she and her husband clearly looked back on those wild years with nostalgia—nostalgia born of knowing that phase of their lives was safely in the past. They’d raised three boys they were proud of. She found the whole thing incredibly sweet.

  Her pancakes were also incredibly sweet. She lifted another forkful to her mouth, and was about to open wide when she saw Michael stiffen in his chair. His smile faded and every last bit of color leaked out of his face.

  Was he in pain? She lowered her fork and leaned close to him. “Are you—”

  “Michael, Chloe,” a familiar voice rang out from behind her, “fancy meeting you here!”

  Now she felt the blood drain out of her face too. Oh, dear God. Even her karma couldn’t possibly be this bad…

  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 Mic
hael 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?”