"And you're constantly in fear of gunfire?" In the streetlight, she was able to watch his expression. If he had enough nerve to fight, she should have enough to talk about it.
"Pretty much."
"Do my questions bother you?"
"No. I'd just rather think about you right now. About us. It'll be time soon enough for me to go back."
Thinking it might be good to lighten things up, she turned and leaned back on the railing. "So what did you really think I was like? Glamorous? Super-talented? What?" She teased him lightly.
"Of course. All of the above." He bent near, sliding a palm around her neck, and fingered a long strand of hair lying on her shoulder loosened from her ponytail.
Her eyes fell closed at the feel of his fingers on her skin. She was losing the battle of admitting to herself how exciting he was, how attracted she was to him. His fingers crept upward one by one as he cupped her head. She opened her eyes. His were slits, his lips parted. They were nice lips. Very nice.
Pull back.
Too late. He brushed her mouth. Once across one way. Back again the other. Waiting for her response?
Placing her palms on his muscular chest brought her closer. He tugged her against the heat of his body. She melted into his embrace, as protective as she'd imagined. And as she'd feared.
Keep this easy. Casual. Keep it in perspect—
He re-angled his mouth as a harsh breath bathed her face, and his kiss turned deep. Consumingly, disconcertingly deep.
She curled her fingers into the cool, crisp cotton of his shirt. The wall of his chest felt as hard as an in-shape Marine's should. Her palms roamed of their own accord, exploring the curved pectorals, brushing tentative fingertips over erect nipples. She could feel his low, responsive growl in her own chest, flattened against him as she was, chest to muscular thigh.
He commanded more from her, his tongue sweeping inside her mouth, thrusting and circling.
Answering him, she suckled his tongue, felt him widen his stance, tighten his arms around her. She slid her arms over his shoulders and neck, gripping his nape.
A honking horn and teenage boys' catcalls plowed through to her brain. They both stilled, the kiss ending, lingering a bit, lips just lightly touching. He cupped her head protectively, her nose in his neck so the teenagers in the car couldn't see her face.
His torso shook with laughter. "Jesus, was I ever that lame?"
She gazed up at him, smiling into his glittering eyes. "Oh I'm sure you weren't."
"Right." His chuckle was sarcastic. "How about stopping in at Ollie's? Have you been there?"
"Of course. Not a lot of places to go in this town." It was probably a good idea the mood broke.
"Mike Banning's an old friend of mine."
"Like Butch?"
He made an angry sound in his throat. "Not too much. Mike's a good guy."
"Unlike Butch," she muttered. "Sure, let's go to Ollie's."
He didn't want to leave his sports car at the restaurant, so they grabbed it to make the short drive to the bar. She brushed her fingers over her lips and smiled. The heat between them hadn't dissipated after their sizzling kisses at the river. He's one hell of a kisser.
Before they went inside Ollie's, he slid his hand around her neck, angling her face up, and pressing his lips to hers with mind-numbing, sensuous hunger. The next thing she knew she was plastered against his lovely body, and both his hands were buried in her hair.
What happened to your warning about perspective?
Voices of people leaving the bar jolted them apart. He had the presence of mind to stop kissing her but didn't release her for a few moments. She wondered if he relished their precious intimacy as much as she did. Finally she followed him inside Ollie's, thankful that in the darkness no one could see her dazed reaction.
"Hey, look who's here."
Phoebe laughed at Mike Banning's greeting when she and Marc entered the bar. "Hi Mike, Mrs. Banning."
Marc and Mike did the handshake-then-hug-and-backslapping thing guys do.
"Hey, Marc. Mom said you were back. Good to see you, buddy." Mike greeted Phoebe with a kiss on the cheek. "Phoebe, you got a night off? And you're spending it with this guy?"
"Don't start with me, Mike, or I'll take my beer-drinking business elsewhere," Marc replied.
"Nowhere better to go. We have the best burgers too."
"Don't I know it. Your mom fixed me one yesterday." Marc leaned across the bar to kiss Mrs. Banning.
"There's a table over here. Sit. What can I get for you?"
Phoebe and Marc sat and ordered. A couple minutes later Mike was back with the drinks.
"Buddy, it's good to see you back in town. Are you opening up the old house?"
"No. In fact I'm renting the house across the street from Phoebe. That's how we met. She was kind of the welcome wagon."
She opened her mouth to protest what she feared he'd say, but he stopped her with a wink.
"I'm home on leave. I only have six weeks, so I didn't want to get into the house. Mike, I need to talk to you."
"Sure." Mike glanced at Phoebe. "Now?"
Marc shifted his gaze to her too.
She rolled her eyes and gave him the shooing motion. "Go on. I'll wait here."
Marc stood, leaned down, and whispered, "Thanks. I'll just be a minute." Then he kissed her ear. Her eyes widened when his warm breath made goose bumps pop up all over her.
Perspective!
When they returned, Marc went to the bar to talk to Mrs. Banning and Mike sat with her.
"I'm glad to see Marc. It's the first time he's been home in eight years. I wondered what finally brought him back this time."
"Really? He's never come home on leave in all those years?"
Mike glanced quickly at Marc then leaned closer to Phoebe. "I doubt he had warm feelings for B Falls for a long time. In our senior year of high school, his folks were killed in a car crash."
"I heard that. It must have been an awful time for him."
"It was. He withdrew from everyone, even me. We wanted to practically adopt him, but since he was already eighteen he didn't need a guardian. I'd hear from him every once in a while after he went into the Marines."
"Why'd he come home this time?" she wondered aloud.
Mike's face got hard, angry. "He doesn't believe it was an accident. He never has, but I think the need to know has finally gotten to him."
She sucked in a breath. "Does he think someone killed them? On purpose?"
Mike glanced at Marc again. "Yes, and so do I."
"Who, Mike? Who would do that? And why?"
Mike's face shuttered. He fidgeted and looked away. "I don't know."
"Oh sure. It's really none of my business anyway," she responded quickly.
"I didn't mean to offend you." Mike winced and laid his hand on hers. "This is his story to tell."
"Hey, moving in on my date, Banning?" Marc joined them again, his hand on the other man's shoulder.
Mike laughed. "I've thought of it, but I'm only a high-school English teacher. I wouldn't want to go up against a United States Marine."
Marc gritted his teeth in mock threat. "Good decision." He sat down and slid his arm over the back of her chair.
Kind of possessive. He was awfully attractive, and she was working as hard as she could to not get involved. But hearing more about his past and the death of his family touched her heart.
In the first years of her life she had no one, and she'd become as hard and independent as a child could be. After being adopted, her parents had been loving and kind, but she'd never really gotten over the abandonment issues from before them. Her parents were still alive. Marc lost his entire family at one time. She gazed at his face and could see the strength of a military man, but she also sensed the loneliness beneath the surface.
He gave her a smile that further melted her heart. Lots of people had sad stories. Having the rug pulled out from under him and his life changed so abruptly at eighteen ha
d to have been a painful and confusing time. But he finished high school and even survived military actions.
She was drawn to other wounded people. Davy had his struggles. So did Moira. The thought of losing her adoptive parents just when she was ready to step out into the world would have killed her.
"Oh crap," she muttered.
"What?" Marc asked.
"Look who just walked in."
Crap was right. Was Butch following them? She glanced quickly at Marc. His eyes hardened. His fist clenched on the table, but he didn't remove his arm from around her. Butch gave them both a quick frigid nod and turned to the bar.
Mike said, "I'd better go tend to him. My mother can't stand him and is liable to spit in his drink."
Phoebe laughed. "Oh surely not."
"Surely yes," Mike responded. "Don't get on her bad side. Hey Marc, it's great to see you. Let's get together outside of here soon."
"Okay. I'll call you."
As soon as Mike left, Phoebe whispered, "Are you ready to leave? It's getting late."
"I'm so ready, ma'am."
He ushered her into the car. The second after he lowered himself into the driver's seat he wrapped his hand around her nape and met her over the center console. The kiss, all scorching devastation, opened her senses. She put a hand on his chest, not sure if she was holding him back or if her desire was to touch him. He was so hard. His chest had no give, just heat and smooth, sinewy muscles. Her palm curved around his firm pecs.
He groaned, deepening the kiss, his tongue slipping into her mouth and drawing a moan from her. His heart thumped, his nipple jutted beneath her palm.
Her nerve endings skittered and warmth spread over her belly to her clit, her core. Kisses rained over her lips and chin. He tipped up her head and sucked at the skin of her neck to the edge of the ruffle lying over her breasts, probably leaving red marks. At that moment, she didn't really care.
Suddenly, he pulled back. Warm breath bathed across her face with the words, "We've got to go home."
Nose to nose, her eyes still closed, their lips barely touching, she felt the heat rise off his skin. Then she realized what he'd suggested. Home. Oh no. We're so not having sex.
***
She'd insisted on going to her house. On the porch, he'd leaned in for a kiss and now they were inside the door with her back to the wall, his long body pressing against her, chest to knee. His full lips covered hers. Clung to hers. It wasn't just his mouth that devastated her soul. His arms surrounded her, one hand pressed against her back, the other cupping her head. Even if she wanted to escape him, she couldn't.
He sipped and nipped at her mouth, the kisses so sweet, almost virginal. Virginal because he didn't use his tongue. Hers was at the ready, just waiting, not sure what she was waiting for. His kisses went on and on, gentle and so mesmerizing.
She pressed his nipple with two fingers, circled the disk and squeezed the hardened tip. He sucked in a breath and rolled his tongue into her mouth. His grip on her head tightened while his tongue explored and grazed alongside hers. She responded, moaning, sucking and playing just as fiercely.
Her hips flexed against him, ground against his cock. He was so large, so hard against the softness of her belly. Her clit throbbed in answer. Moisture flooded her panties.
He lifted her off her feet. "Bed? Where's your bed?" His voice was rough and purposefully seductive.
Oh God, I'm not ready for this. She shook her head and pushed at his shoulders. When he put her down, she took a step backward, tripped, landing flat on her back with a shriek.
"What the…!" She'd landed on some sort of cushion. Why would there be a cushion on the floor? There was supposed to be a clear path from the door across the living room to her bedroom.
A lamp flicked on. She saw Marc bending over it. Then her gaze landed on… "What the hell?" she repeated. Shock kept her on the floor in an indelicate sprawl. Her living room had been totally ransacked. Papers, books, throw pillows, and couch cushions were ripped up and tossed everywhere. Glass vases had been broken, and their fresh flowers and water soaked into the hardwood floor.
"Good God!"
"Don't move," Marc ordered. He knelt beside her. "Are you all right?"
"Yes. What's going on? The room is ruined." She held back her sobs, not sure if she was more scared or angry. Confused, yeah.
He pressed his hand on her shoulder. "Stay here. Let me look around first." He disappeared into the kitchen, back out into the living room, then down the hall to the bedrooms.
When he re-entered the living room she noticed the butcher knife in his hand, although he carried it down against his leg.
"No one is here. It looks like your back door was jimmied." He handed her his cell phone. "Better call 9-1-1."
"Butch! He was at the bar. I don't want him coming over."
"He's probably not on duty. Call. I'll be here with you. Don't worry. I won't leave you alone."
"Nothing like this has ever happened to me before." Her voice shook as she made the call. "Oh my God, are the other rooms torn up too?" She'd been so shocked, she'd forgotten about them.
"I'm afraid so." He helped her up. "Don't touch anything. Wait until the cops get here."
They turned on the porch light and stood near the railing waiting for the police. His arm around her shoulders helped keep her from collapsing. She started to shiver and huddled against him, her arm wrapped around his waist. "Who would do this? I don't understand. I don't have anything of that much value."
"No hoards of cash or the crown jewels?" he asked, amusement in his teasing voice.
It was obvious he was trying to keep her calm. It worked for a minute, until she heard the siren. Her heart began pounding painfully again, and her voice quivered. "I hope it's not Butch. I just can't deal with him."
"What happened, Phoebe? Did he hurt you?" His voice took on a suspicious edge.
She shook her head, rustling her hair against his shirt.
"I saw you come home without him the other night. And then I saw him parked down the street."
"What? Down the street?" In shock, she gazed into Marc's eyes.
"Yeah."
"That son of a bitch! What was he doing?" Now angry, she forgot her fear for the moment.
"What happened, Phoebe?"
Shifting so she could see his face, she said, "He told me he was going to marry me."
"Told you? You mean propose?"
"No, he told me. I've only gone out twice with him. I don't know why he got so serious. I haven't done anything to show him I wanted to get married, not to anyone."
Marc's lips thinned into a grim line, and a muscle flexed in his jaw. "The first time I saw him he said you were his girlfriend."
"Well I'm not and I wasn't. He even ordered me to get rid of my pink streak."
Smiling, Marc touched her hair, threading his fingers through said streak. "I like your hair just the way it is."
Before he could kiss her—she was sure that's why his eyes went to half-mast and he lowered his head—the siren, getting closer, cut through the quiet of the night and stopped when the police car pulled up to her house and an officer climbed out. Thank God it wasn't Butch.
"Marc," she whispered. "Butch was at Ollie's earlier. He would have had time to do this."
Marc nodded. "Don't say anything about it. We don't know for sure what's going on, but I'm inclined to think you're right."
Within half an hour, the responding officer questioned them, looked around the house, took photographs—focusing on the jimmy marks on the back door—and left.
"You're coming home with me," Marc said. "Grab the stuff you'll need."
He gave her a bolstering hug and propelled her toward her bedroom. She balked, looking warily back at him. "I think I'll call Moira and stay with her."
"Phoebe." He shook his head and grimaced. "It's late, and I live right across the street." He lifted her chin with his forefinger. "Nothing will happen, as much as I might like it to. Your virtue is
safe with me."
"Is it?" She wasn't entirely sure she wanted it to be safe.
"You've been through a trauma here. Do you think I'm the kind of guy who'd take advantage of that?"
She gazed at him a long, assessing moment.
"Come on. You've got to be tired. Let's go get some shuteye and deal with all this in the morning."
She didn't have too many options at this point, and she could control whatever happened between them at his house. But she was probably too wired to sleep.
The minute they walked into his house he said, "You're taking my bedroom. It's down that hall, bathroom across the hall. I have other bedrooms but no beds. I'll take the couch."
"Marc, I'll sleep on the couch. I'm not taking your bed."
"Honey, no. I'm not letting you sleep out here. I'd feel safer with you in the bedroom. I'll just get a pillow and blanket out and use the bathroom. Then it's all yours."
He disappeared down the hallway with her bag. She heard him running water in the bathroom, then a few minutes later he reappeared in the living room.
"Now scoot." He shooed her toward the back of the house.
"Wait a minute." She motioned around her, then tears seeped out as she tried to blink them back. "Thank you for all this. I'm just so stunned right now. My brain is fried." She walked to the big picture window and gazed out into the darkened street. "Do you think it could have been Butch?"
Marc came up behind her and slid warm hands over her shoulders. "Truthfully?"
"I'm sorry. I know you were friends when you were kids." Marc had expressed a dislike for Butch, but they had a longer standing relationship than she and Marc had.
He turned her to face him. "We're not friends, and I don't trust him."
"No?" A little of the anxious pain in her chest lessened.
"No. He sealed his fate when I caught him parked up the street watching your house."
She shivered, closing her eyes at the thought of Butch stalking her. Marc pulled her into his arms, pressing her head to his shoulder. She sighed. It felt so safe to be in his arms, to feel the heat of his body against hers.
His fingers slid through her hair, cupping her head. His breath bathed her face as he kissed her forehead. Lifting her face, she let their lips meet. Lord, it was sweet.
The Gunny & The Jazz Singer (Birchwood Falls #1) Page 7
