The Gunny & The Jazz Singer (Birchwood Falls #1)

by Jane Leopold Quinn

  Chapter Eighteen

  "Mom, Dad! Wow, you surprised me. I didn't know you were coming." Phoebe was surprised by how happy she was to see her parents. Every minute of living with them after they adopted her had been wonderful. They gave her every opportunity to shine with singing and dancing lessons, saying they recognized a great talent when they saw it. She never forgot the early years of foster families, but Roger and Maudie Barnes had tried to make it all better.

  "We wanted to see you perform, we love Chicago and add you to the mix—how could we not come?" Her mom wrapped Phoebe in her arms and hugged tightly.

  "You look wonderful, guys." They were only in their early fifties, having been in their mid-thirties when they adopted her after trying to have a child for many years. "Are you staying with me?"

  "We have a hotel. I know your place is pretty small, and we didn't want to cramp you up."

  "Thanks, Dad. That's probably a good idea, but we'll spend as much time together as we can."

  "That's why we're here!" Roger gave her one of his big bear hugs. He wasn't a tall man, only five-ten with a bit of a belly, but he knew how to put his arms around her and make her feel safe—just like the other man who made her feel safe. Her dad's one point of vanity was his hair. He sure hadn't lost any so far. It was gray now but still thick.

  Maudie was a little shorter than her husband and thin. She swam and walked to keep in shape. "I'm so happy to see you both," cried Phoebe.

  "Can you have lunch with us?"

  "I'd love to, Mom." As they stood in the lobby of the club where she was rehearsing, she introduced her folks to the other members of her troupe as they filed by to head out to their own lunch plans. "There's a place a block down the street that we go to a lot."

  After being seated and ordering lunch she asked, "How long are you staying?"

  "We have a long weekend and have to start back Monday afternoon."

  Phoebe nodded. Since it was now Saturday noon, they'd have to pack in a lot of togetherness. "I have a show tonight, but I'm off after that."

  "We surprised you, so we hope you didn't have other plans. If you did that's okay," Maudie added.

  "No, I'm really so glad to see you. I miss—"

  "Moira called us last week."

  "What about, Mom? Is everything all right with her? And Davy?" God, I miss them so much.

  "Oh, yes. They're fine. They just miss you too," Maudie said.

  "I know. I text them and talk on the phone a lot."

  "Don't you miss B Falls?" Roger asked.

  "Yeah. To tell you the truth, I thought I'd love the big city compared to Podunk, Iowa. I mean, I love singing here, love the clubs, and I've learned so much from the other performers but—"

  "Do you ever hear from Marc?" Maudie asked softly.

  An odd combination of cold chills and heated memories flowed through her at the mention of his name. "I tried to make him understand that I was moving on and that I didn't think we had a future. He's not the kind of man who wants to follow a performer around from town to town."

  "But you miss him too?"

  Her mom would get to the heart of the matter. "It doesn't make any difference at this point. He's in Afghanistan. He's got a job to do there."

  Maudie reached across the table to grasp her hand. Just then the food arrived, and Phoebe pulled her hand back. What difference did it make if she missed him or not? He was half a world away physically, and they were miles apart in what they wanted out of life. Weren't they?

  "Sweetie, there's nothing wrong with missing good friends, and there's nothing wrong with small-town life either," Roger advised.

  "You guys are barking up the wrong tree," Phoebe interrupted, chuckling at their obvious manipulations. "Yes, I miss all of you, but that's life. People move on. Marc wouldn't want to be in my entourage." She barked a laugh. "He'd be my entourage. Besides, he hasn't made any moves to contact me."

  "As long as you're happy, that's all we care about," her dad declared.

  "And I'm happy here, so quit worrying. This is what I've wanted. You know that. I'm a professional singer being paid to sing in Chicago clubs. There's only upward to go from here."

  She hoped she sold that. Loving her life now was true, but she did miss her friends, did feel at times as if something was missing, as if her life were empty. Hell, it was just horniness. She hadn't had sex since Marc. That's what the problem was. She needed to get laid. The trouble was that she hadn't met anyone who really appealed to her enough to get naked with.

  After the Saturday night show, Phoebe spent the rest of the weekend with her parents showing them Chicago shopping and restaurants. They went to the Art Institute and the Adler Planetarium. Waving them off right after lunch on Monday, she felt a bout of loneliness. It had been so good to be with them again.

  Maybe she should see if Moira and Davy would like to come into town. Maybe she missed everyone more than she would admit. Fame or semi-fame was wonderful, but friends and family were better.

  Well she was booked at this club through the end of the year. That was the life of a performer. Short-term gigs. None of them lasted forever.

  It was early afternoon as Phoebe exited the club. She'd rehearsed all morning and was now starving for some lunch. Instead of going home, she intended to stop in the diner at the corner for a salad.

  Digging in her purse to make sure she had enough money, her head down, she suddenly had black loafers in her line of sight. She curled her fingers around her canister of mace and looked up.

  Marc. She couldn't speak, just looked and looked and looked. For long minutes, all she wanted to do was look at him. As if memories of him had ever actually dimmed. Nothing had dimmed. Every night the thought of him colored her dreams and fantasies.

  He stood tall and broad-shouldered, his hands on his hips, and an adorable smile creasing his strong features. The smile didn't quite reach his eyes. They looked a little uncertain.

  "Hi, Phoebe. You look as beautiful as ever."

  Her insides fluttered at the rumble of his deep voice. She'd been a fool to think she could forget him. "Are you on leave again?" Her voice came out all wispy, breathless with longing.

  "No. I'm out for good."

  "Are you all right? Not injured or anything?"

  He stretched his arms out and beamed a huge grin. "Not a scratch. Maybe a little sand in unmentionable places, but it washes out."

  A flood of heat suffused her body. "You look mighty clean to me." What an idiotic thing to say.

  "And you look mighty good to me."

  His serious gaze captured her. She bit at the prickly feeling on her lips, and her sex throbbed at the hot, sensual look in his eyes.

  "Can we go somewhere?"

  Panic-stricken, she froze.

  "Talk? We'll just talk? Unless you want to do something else?"

  His hopeful look made her laugh aloud.

  "Whatever you want. I need to-to be with you. I've missed you so much."

  "I've missed you too." Oh boy, had she missed him. She'd been in Chicago six months, had worked steadily and made a nice income. New friends in the entertainment community had introduced her to an interesting social life.

  She loved the city and all it had to offer, but she was lonely for Moira and Davy. Lonely for the pretty small town of Birchwood Falls. Lonely for the wonderful Marine who'd saved her life and made love to her so well she'd never been able to get him out of her mind.

  She couldn't take her eyes off him. From nothing they'd grown together in a way she'd never imagined. He was everything a man should be—honorable, strong, protective, steadfast—not to mention gorgeous and built. He'd never mentioned the possibility of a future between them, but why else was he here now? Curiosity? Horniness?

  If only she could see a way to have Marc and a career. He was no himbo. He couldn't stand trailing after her from town to town, one performance to another. Could she have him one more time, just to get fantasies of him out of her mind?

  "Marc,
" she heard herself asking before thinking through the ramifications of the question. "Why are you here?"

  She didn't know what she wanted to hear—that he wanted a quickie before moving on? That he couldn't live without her? Her mouth dried up. Her heart felt like a huge, hard fist in her chest.

  "I want to kiss you, for starters," he murmured.

  The fist in her chest tightened.

  "Then I want to make love to you in a bed and with no interruptions."

  She closed her eyes, then opened them fast to wipe away the vision of that.

  "And I want to spend the rest of my days with you."

  She let out a breath. "That wasn't what I expected you to say."

  "Hey Phoebe, you want to get some lunch?"

  Her gaze jerked toward the people who'd come out of the theater—her coworkers. Marc moved closer to her as if to send a message. "No. I'll see you tonight. Okay?" She smiled and waved them off.

  When they were gone, Marc said, "Talk, make love? Or get married?"

  "Wait. You're moving too fast." God. She wanted the make love part, almost moaning aloud at the memory of being up against the wall with his cock inside her.

  "Talk then. Where can we go that's private?"

  It would have to be in public. She couldn't trust either of them if she took him back to her apartment. "There's a park a block away."

  He made a face.

  "That's all I can offer you right now."

  A slow smile dimpled his cheeks. "Okay, honey. We'll start with a talk." He offered his arm.

  Slipping her hand into the crook of his arm, she felt the muscles, the heat of his body as he pulled her closer to his side. Oh God, I missed him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Marc sighed. He had Phoebe close to him. They were together—not in bed but still close. It wasn't summer weather in Chicago, but it was the mildest winter he could remember. The fact that it wasn't the desert or the mountains of Afghanistan was also a plus.

  He understood why she wanted to remain in public. If he had her in a private place, he'd be inside her in a matter of minutes, if not seconds. They sat next to each other on the park bench, his arm around her shoulders. She didn't shrug it off. He hid his smile at that little victory.

  "You've been working?" Okay, let's get going with this.

  "Yes. It's been so much fun. I'm in a revue of jazz through the years. It's been amazing to sing with others."

  "But you have solos, don't you?"

  "Of course. Our audiences are larger and larger every week as the word gets out how good we are. It's so exciting."

  He could hear the enthusiasm in her voice. "Are you happy here?" He didn't want to take that away from her, but it was time to put forward his plan.

  "Honestly?" She met his gaze. "I do miss Moira and Davy. But there are some wonderful people in my company, and we have a lot of fun."

  "Do you miss B Falls?"

  "Marc, what are you getting at?"

  He turned toward her, cupping her chin in his hand. "I meant it when I said I wanted to be with you for the rest of my life." He couldn't believe how hard it was not to kiss her silly, but he had to convince her without using sex, damn it.

  When she didn't respond he continued, "I have two options for you." He wouldn't kiss her yet, but he brushed his thumb over her lips, his mouth watering with his need for her. Her questioning gaze was adorable.

  Now that he'd touched her, he couldn't stop. He slid his hand around her neck and up into her hair.

  "I love you, Phoebe. These last six months have been hell for a lot of reasons, not the least of which was wondering what you were doing, were you all right, had you met someone else?" He held his breath and peered into her eyes. "Have you?"

  "No." She shook her head, her eyelids dipping as if looking at his mouth.

  Thank God. He gave her a crooked smile. "Have you missed me, thought of me?"

  She lifted a hand to grip the lapel of his jacket and nodded.

  "Good then. Option one, I'll move here, get a job, we'll get married, and be together for the rest of our lives."

  Her head shook a slight negative. "What if I travel?"

  "I'll go with you," he quickly answered.

  "Live the nomadic life of an entertainer? You won't be happy like that."

  "If I have you every morning and night I will. Would you?"

  She ignored that question and asked softly, "What's option two?"

  "I'll buy Marietty's, and you can sing there for the rest of your life."

  "Buy it? How? With what?"

  His crooked smile returned. The girl was hooked. "With the award from the civil suit I filed against Butch, Harold Wilcox, and the Wilcox Company. Moira suggested it, and under the circumstances Harold was willing to settle out of court."

  "You want to make Birchwood Falls your home?"

  "It always was. I needed to come back to find out the truth. I was a happy kid there. It's a good town. A good place to settle down."

  He smiled, and angling her head he finally kissed her the way he'd been wanting to since he first laid eyes on her. Sighing into the kiss, his lips caressed hers, sipping gently at first. Her hand slid up to his neck and encouraged him as she opened her lips and slipped her tongue inside his mouth.

  That was all he needed to turn the kiss incendiary, pulling her tightly against him with one arm, the other hand cupping her head. His cock hardened, aching for her sweetness. He wanted her naked and under him in a real bed.

  "I've been dreaming of this for so long. Take me back to your place. Let me make love to you the way you deserve," he murmured. "I love you no matter which option you decide. Just take me home before my cock explodes right here in this park."

  She withdrew slightly to gaze into his eyes.

  "Even if it's neither, I'll still love you. " Jesus, you sound pathetic. "But marriage is on the table."

  Marc. She'd been dreaming and fantasizing about him all this time. Thank God he'd come back from the Middle East alive. And he was here right in front of her offering her what she'd never thought to have.

  "Where do you live?" His voice growled in desperation.

  "We need a cab." She felt a bit desperate herself and swiftly raised her arm to hail one when they reached the street.

  In the taxi he drew her into his arms and kissed her as if he couldn't let go. That was his mistake. Once he started touching her again, she didn't want him to stop. Making it up the three flights of stairs to her walk-up was done in record time. Once inside the door, he slammed it closed with his foot.

  "The bed," he demanded. "Where?" He went back to kissing her.

  She broke the kiss and grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the bedroom.

  He smiled as he gazed at her bed. "Yeah. Big enough." He peeled her out of her coat and sweater. "Your beautiful breasts." He cupped the decorated one and flipped the ring up and down with his big thumb.

  "God, yes," she sighed at his smooth touch combined with the slight twinge of pain from the pull of the ring.

  Soon he was naked, she was flat on the bed, and he was nudging her breasts with his nose. Slipping the tip of his tongue into the ring, he groaned when he latched on to her nipple and suckled.

  Her back arched into him as her fingers tunneled through his short hair, palms cupping his head closer. He switched breasts, his tongue circling and swirling, his teeth nipping and gently rocking her hard nipples until she begged him for more.

  She wanted him though. Wanted his cock in her mouth. Yearned to feel her lips around the hot, hard length of him.

  "Lie down," she ordered.

  "Huh?"

  She gave him a little push, her palm to his pecs as she knelt up over his hips, pushing her hair over one shoulder to get it out of the way.

  "Oh."

  "Yeah." She smirked and wiggled her eyebrows. Then she shifted her gaze to his cock. It swelled and throbbed before her eyes and seeped come from the delicate little hole at the top.

  Her cheeks wen
t hot when she stroked both hands up the shaft from the base to the tip. She reveled in his gasp and the ruddy streaks of arousal across his cheekbones. Smiling, she caressed the thick vein on the underside of his penis, massaging it upward as her thumb gently grazed it. Her other hand, cupped over the moist tip, brushed and moistened the velvet softness. He grew harder, his slit wept until his whole cock was coated in the milky fluid.

  She moaned at her own ache and the release of juices from her needy body, her inner muscles throbbing and clenching in her immense desire. She was wet, he was wet and hot and hard.

  Delicately licking the tip, she closed her eyes, and sucked him like the proverbial ice cream cone, swirling round and round until her mouth closed over him as deep as she could get.

  Jesus. He was so big, and she couldn't reach the root. So she wrapped her palm tightly around him, rubbing up and down to meet her lips, letting her saliva lubricate his length.

  He groaned, threading his fingers through her hair.

  One big palm smoothed down her bottom to curve around her mound. His fingers separated her folds and circled her clit. Then coated with her flooding juices, two slid inside her—deep inside, pumping, getting her ready. Oh, she was ready. She shifted restlessly, moaning deeply.

  "Phoebe, I really need you." Rearing up, this time he pushed her onto her back and nudged her thighs farther apart with his knees. "I've got condoms. Oh God, wait a minute." He started to move off the bed to get his jeans.

  "Bedside table," she panted.

  Jerking open the drawer, he grabbed several out of the box, and tossed them on the bed. "Why do you have so many? Fuck, I don't care. I'm just glad you have them." After donning a condom, he settled his cock at her entrance.

  Her hips automatically thrust to take him in, to envelop his shaft. She lifted her gaze from where they were joined to see him gazing back in diabolical glee. He knew he was torturing her. And himself. He closed his eyes and smiled as he circled his hips, surging in and out in short, sharp strokes.

  "Marc, just do it. I can't take any more. No more playing. It's been too long."

  He plowed into her, all the way in until his wiry pubic hairs were against her clit.