"Uh-huh." They turned a corner; Hercules easily kept up with his long legs. She shunted the conversation back to him. "Do you have family?"
"Yes."
"Ever married?"
"No."
"Kids?"
"No."
"Like your job?"
"Yes."
"Can you say anything besides yes and no?"
"Yes."
She growled in frustration. "Now I know why they call you Loco. You'd drive a person insane with all those one-word answers."
He laughed. "Loose lips sink ships."
"I thought you were a Marine?" She gestured to the word written boldly in red across his shirt; his race number bib fluttered with movement just below.
"Something like that."
Her frustration rose. "I'm amazed you can pick up women with such limited verbal skills."
He smiled so widely that both dimples appeared. "Oh, baby. Don't you know? I'm a hot tamale on a stick."
"Humble too." Oakley bit her lip to keep from laughing at his overabundant confidence. She might agree with his assessment, but no way would she add to that inflated ego by admitting it.
"A man has no need for humbleness."
"Shakespeare?"
"Tanner Owens." He chuckled. "Come on, you're slacking." He surged ahead, increasing his speed and challenging her to keep up.
"I'm not slacking, you loon. Your legs are longer than mine." Oakley sprinted after him, determined to stay abreast with the hyena. Her heart rate and breathing increased twofold as she sped up to keep pace with his longer and faster stride.
"Excuses, excuses."
By the time they hit the finish line, she sucked in great gasps of air, having to bend over for a couple of minutes to catch her breath. Her lungs burned while her stomach turned in a semblance of nausea. Fatigued legs wobbled under her weight.
Hercules appeared none the worse for wear, doing his usual pant and drool routine following a run. Her eyes lifted to Tanner, finding him breathing a bit hard, but nothing compared to her struggles. Not for the first time, she envied his conditioning.
"Going to check your time?" he asked, bending down to remove the timing chip from his shoestrings.
"Yeah. First… water… Herc," she managed to get out, following suit and handing hers over to Tanner. Heading to the nearest watering station, she grabbed a Styrofoam cup and four bottles of water, ignoring the glare from the volunteer manning the table. Immediately, she poured the water into the improvised dog bowl, refilling it several times until Herc finally quit drinking. Only then did she take a long drink from the bottle.
Tanner returned after relinquishing their chips, a half-empty water bottle in hand. "They have the times posted."
His cocky grin perplexed her. They crossed the line together, so she couldn't imagine him gloating over beating her. But nothing else came to mind.
Apparently confusion shouts loudly in body language. Tanner tilted his head toward the long sheets of paper freshly tacked to a bulletin board. "Go see."
Leaving Hercules with Tanner, she paced over, one finger following the numbers until she found hers. Her eyes tracked to the right, reading her time. Not believing her eyes, she double-checked the findings before running back to Tanner, leaping into his arms. "Twenty-two minutes! I can't believe it!"
He squeezed her tight before releasing her. "I take it that's good?" A huge smile appeared on his face.
She lightly slapped his arm. "You dolt. That's my best time ever." Joy lifted her heart as she hugged him again, pecking his cheek in a chaste kiss. "You're a good motivator, you know." It didn't take a genius to realize he worked her like taffy, getting her annoyance and competitive levels up, then pushed her hard to keep pace, a wicked pace at that. She took to it like a dog to a bone.
His grin remained. "Maybe we should get some snacks before they're all gone?"
Grabbing up Hercules's lead, she walked beside Tanner, her mind full of happy thoughts, not just of her race results, but of the man who helped her attain the personal best.
Chapter 7
Tanner drove them home after the race. Oakley couldn't wipe the smile off her face, still in disbelief over her record time.
"I'm going to take a shower, then make something for lunch. You're welcome to join me," she offered when they pulled into the parking lot.
He shot her a mischievous grin. "I thought you'd never ask."
The flippant answer caught her off-guard for a second before the meaning clicked. Her face heated as she shook her head. "I swear, horn dog central."
He didn't deny it.
Taking Hercules in hand, she headed toward her door, finding Tanner right on her heels. "Oh, no. Your shower is over there." She pointed at the nearby door. "Go. Use it. Shoo. Shoo."
"But I could wash your back. Play with…"
The furnace kicked up a notch on her blush. "I don't think so." She slipped the key into the hole and shoved the door open. "Besides, I meant lunch. You're welcome to join me for lunch."
"Shot down again." He added a pitiful pout for good measure.
Rolling her eyes, she gave him a shove. "Go shower, letch. I'll get cleaned up and see what I can find to feed you."
With that declaration, she shut the door in his face. Hercules headed toward the twin-sized mattress laying on the living room floor. He sniffed and turned, finally plunking down for a nap.
An hour later, Oakley placed the dirty dishes in the kitchen sink, cleaning up from their improvised meal of grilled cheese sandwiches, salad, and sea salt chips. She washed her hands and then sat down, quickly going about braiding her still-wet waist-length hair.
Tanner watched her, taking a large swallow from his bottled water. "After dessert, I'm sure I could find something for us to do." His eyebrows waggled as he grinned wickedly at her.
"Sex is overrated." She hastened to inform him. It wasn't hard to determine where his mind landed, not after earlier. No way was she falling for his practiced charm and charisma. Nope.
He walked gracefully, flowing over to her side, to whisper in her ear, "Not with me. I'm what makes dreams come true."
She snorted and stepped away, waving flippantly with one hand. "Sorry. I've got other things to do this afternoon."
"Such as?" He stared at her as if she were daft and needed small words to understand.
"Teach class."
"Teach?" He echoed.
She shook her head. Maybe he was the daft one, a bit slow on the up draw. "I teach self-defense classes on Saturday afternoons."
* * * *
Tanner sat with his mouth wide open, watching her work the long sable locks into neat order. Never in all his years of dealing with women had one turned him down so bluntly. She appeared immune to his considerable charm and swagger. Women flocked to him. He played around. That was the way of his world, always had been, until Oakley came along and smashed his record streak with a simple flip of her hand.
Self-defense class? The second jolt hit him. Not that women weren't capable, but he never expected such a petite woman to teach such a rough and tumble subject. Back in basic training, the instructors were male and the workouts tough. Even the fastest learners sported multiple bruises the next morning. Probably a class full of female students. That puzzle piece fit a bit better to his thinking. Still, the tidbit both surprised and intrigued him.
"How long have you been teaching self-defense?" The more he thought about it, the more curious he became.
She wrapped an elastic holder at the end of the braid. "Since college."
When her arms rose above her head, those small, perky breasts lifted, pulling her T-shirt tight enough to outline their beauty. Either one would fit nicely in his hand, until replaced by his mouth. He would kiss and suckle those ripe nipples, lavishing them with attention until she writhed with need.
"Hey! Eyes on face." Oakley frowned over at him.
"Can't blame a man for looking." A shrug followed.
"Uh-huh. Can't blame a
woman for whapping you upside the head either."
"Annie." He tossed out, knowing what her reaction would be.
She huffed. "You promised!"
He grinned at her haughty reaction. She stirred easily, a fact that delighted him to no end. Watching her ire and color rise provided endless entertainment, not to mention, hinted at a dormant, deep-seated passion just waiting for him to coax it to the fore. "I didn't promise not to call you Annie." He could tell she replayed the encounter in her head.
"But you ate my apple crisp which insinuated that you promised."
He couldn't wait to taste a bite of her too. Nibble here and there, lick down between her legs where a sweet feminine essence waited.
"Earth to Tanner." The curt chastisement broke into his daydream. "Oh, good grief. Can we discuss anything without you thinking of sex?"
A wicked grin emerged. "Every six seconds, baby."
She threw her arms up, retreating to her bedroom.
He chuckled watching her go. Oh, yeah, she'll be sheer hell on wheels in my bed.
Chapter 8
The class full of women listened intently to her explanations, but she caught more than one sneaking a peek at Tanner, who followed her to the Y, making himself comfortable in an upper-corner bleacher seat, presumably to watch the action. Her students were probably more interested in his availability and what it took to get him naked than being nervous at having a man watching their amateur attempts with new positions and movements. Almost all were young, around college age, with a sprinkling of married thirty-year-old women looking to do something for themselves instead of their families for once. All would titter and soak up attention from an attractive man any time they could. Not that she would blame them. She found herself seeking Tanner out more often than not.
She demonstrated high, medium, and low punches before walking around each woman, checking their technique and correcting any form issues. They practiced on the large blue mat that covered most of the gym floor, not that they really needed the cushion with the skills she focused on for the day. Normally, the women picked up each skill quickly after a few minutes of practice. Oakley praised them often, verbally pointing out correct actions in front of the group and encouraging their confidence to grow.
Before long, the hour session ended with each woman grabbing their gear, and heading out of the room. Oakley excused them, bid farewell, then began to clean up, stuffing her items back in the duffel bag.
Only then did Tanner head down from the bleachers, striding over to her. "You're a good instructor."
"Thanks." She took a drink from her water bottle. "I've got a good class."
"The short blonde on the left side lacks focus."
He wasn't telling her anything she didn't already know. "Beth. She's besotted with her boyfriend, and I believe her mind stays on him constantly." She grinned, thinking of the girl. "She's doing much better than when the class first formed."
He shook his head, but remained mute.
"What variety of martial arts do you use?" It made sense the military taught all their personnel hand-to-hand combat. She wondered if they had their own forms or if they stuck with a more conventional format.
"Semper fu," he answered while the corners of his mouth curled upward.
"Huh?"
A shrug followed. "The Marine Corp taught us a variety of forms."
That answered her question. "I'm sure you're proficient at all of them." Marines weren't known for shirking on anything, particularly training, from what little she knew.
"Want to find out?" He tossed out the challenge, standing loosely next to her, arms hanging down at his side. Those brown eyes sparkled with challenge.
"What? How?" Suspiciously, she tried to read his face, not certain she liked the direction he took.
"Spar with me."
Oakley blinked up at him. "You're serious?" No way did she match his size or strength. Heck, if she guessed right, she didn't even come close to his years of experience with the subject at hand. All that left her with a huge disadvantage.
"Yep. Come on. Let's see what you've got."
Indecision sparked through her. He wouldn't hurt her; she knew that for sure. But, kick her butt? Probably. Cop a feel? Most definitely.
He must have read her hesitancy. "Chicken?" His mouth twitched.
Willfulness sprang into action. "Nope." Grabbing her bag, she lugged it to the bleachers, plopping it down on the front row along with her water, giving them the entire mat free of obstacles. "Ground rules."
"Such as?"
She considered how many limitations to require. Considering he probably only wanted to see her abilities while getting an opportunity to place hands on her body, she didn't think many were needed. "No pulling on the braid and no fondling the breasts."
His smile widened. "You don't know what you're missing."
She snorted.
"No blows to the groin."
"Deal." She stuck her hand out, shaking his in a firm grip before beginning to circle clockwise, searching for her first opening.
Oddly, his hands didn't rise to a fighting position. Instead, they remained at his side, his muscles relaxed as if he were simply performing warm-up stretches. The loose dark-colored sweats allowed him ease of movement just as her shorts did. Without clothing restrictions, her moves could be quick and efficient.
She made the first move, throwing a middle punch followed immediately by a hook kick. Tanner easily sidestepped the first and blocked the second. His eyes followed her movements even as his feet remained in constant motion. Oakley drew from her adept speed, realizing she couldn't match him in strength. She counted on his larger frame to slow him down a hair, enough to allow her opportunities.
Five minutes into the match, she realized her earlier assessment didn't hold true. Although he mainly took a defensive stance, the quickness of his hands and feet matched her own; perhaps his were a little faster. His few offensive movements had her blocking and retreating, barely able to counter before his next advance.
She lashed out with a side kick, only for Tanner to grab her right arm to tug her off balance. Jerking back, she hooked her foot around his knee, pulling with all her might.
Tanner lost his balance, even as his grip remained sure. A moment later, he spun, taking the brunt of the fall, his body cushioning hers as they hit the mat heavily. With a nifty wrestling move, he immediately reversed their positions, placing her flat on her back, his body holding purchase over hers while one hand gathered her wrists, holding them above her head.
Oakley struggled for a second before she realized the uselessness of exerting such energy. He pinned her easily and nothing short of an earthquake would make him move until he wanted to. Fear swept through her.
"Easy," Tanner whispered, watching her face. A moment later, his head lowered.
She met his eyes and braced herself for the oncoming onslaught that never came. Instead, his soft lips gently meshed with hers, teasing and learning, asking no more than to share a moment in time. Relaxing under his coaxing caress, she met his advance with one of her own, tentatively following his lead, even as she licked his bottom lip and mimicked his tender affections.
A throat cleared loudly, breaking the spontaneous intimacy. Tanner gracefully stood, reaching down to take Oakley's hand and pull her up beside him.
Her face heated when she saw Sam, manager of the Y. A grin covered his face. "Nice moves."
"I didn't. I mean…" Oakley stammered trying to explain the situation to her boss.
Tanner laughed, tugging her against his side. "Thanks."
The guy winked at Oakley. "I meant the hand-to-hand."
"Oh." Her face steamed all the more. Both men guffawed, making her squirm. "Neanderthals."
Sam's laugher died down as he shot Tanner a serious look. "Service?"
"Yeah."
"You ever want a job, come see me. I could use you to teach self-defense."
Oakley's mouth fell open as his words sunk in. "You want
to replace me?" Gasping, she felt her heart race.
"Nah. I meant to teach a class for the men, advanced classes in hand-to-hand."
Relieved, Oakley sighed.
Tanner glanced down at her before appraising the other man. "I'll consider it."
With a nod, Sam lumbered out of the gym, closing the door behind him.
She elbowed Tanner hard in the ribs. "You scoundrel." Her declaration came across more as an endearment than as an insult.
He snickered. "Such language."
Chapter 9
Tanner woke with a stifled cry, panting and sweating profusely. Sitting up, he scanned the room, allowing his eyes to adjust for a second before realizing that the horrific scene he witnessed lived in his memories. Scrubbing his face, he sought to shove the demons from his mind, only to have them claw deeper, refusing to budge. Images of a long-ago battle flashed through his mind, the exploding missives and rat-a-tat of bullets from both sides clear, with piercing screams and yells of the injured and dying.
"Shit." He slipped out of bed and walked into the bathroom, flicking on the light. Splashing water from the sink on his face, he appraised himself in the mirror. "Why?" For the hundredth time he asked himself that question. Why didn't I choose differently? Why didn't I follow my gut instincts?
His team of Marines had tromped toward their set destination, a position determined by his commanders as valuable in the continuing war on terror. Because he was the immediate team leader, he voiced those commands, pushing his men through an area they had no business being in. His gut clamored the entire time in frank warning. Instead of thinking for himself and listening to the subtle premonition, he stayed true to his task, following strict orders that led his team into an ambush, where several of his men were killed. They were orders he should by all means have disregarded.
Stepping back into his bedroom, he strode to his dresser, opened a drawer, and pulled out a curio box. Inside, several awards and medals sparkled in the same perfect condition as the day they were minted. A Medal of Honor occupied the eye-catching center position. Fucking ridiculous. He hated it most of all, for all it symbolized. Washington and the military paraded him as a hero, rewarding him with their highest honor while still on active duty with the Marines. The truth lay in the polar opposite. He should have been court-martialed instead of honored. Because of his poor leadership skills, good men had died. Those men deserved better. Friends. Teammates. Comrades. Fellow Marines. Some paid the ultimate price for a meaningless patch of land declared invaluable by higher ups two thousand miles away. He screwed up, let his men down. And for that, the lucky ones took shrapnel. The unlucky ones didn't make it at all.
Loco Page 4
