Marine for Hire (Front and Center)

by Tawna Fenske

  She trailed off, not entirely sure what she meant to say. He stroked a finger under her chin, his eyes meeting hers with understanding.

  “They’re not all like that,” he murmured. “My uncle, your grandfather—there are good men out there. Honorable, honest, decent, respectful men.”

  His eyes bored into hers, and there was something there. Something she hadn’t seen before. She thought he might kiss her again, that they might make love slowly this time. His expression was oddly serious, and she resisted the urge to shiver.

  Sam swallowed. “We need to talk.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Talk?”

  Sam winced. The sound of Sheri’s sweet voice echoing his suggestion back to him made him want to punch himself in the face. Hard.

  The word sounded lame, even to his ears. Especially considering how abysmally he’d just failed at his plan to nip things in the bud with Sheri.

  If that’s what failure feels like, imagine success with this woman.

  He shook his head to clear his thoughts, closing his eyes for a moment to avoid the intensity of her liquid brown eyes boring into his. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t keep lying to her and then fooling around like this.

  Lying is the absolute worst thing. Worse than riptides and parking tickets and pubic lice combined.

  He opened his eyes again and plunged forward with his plan, despite wanting to cradle her warm body against his chest and fall asleep with her in his arms.

  “Talk,” he repeated, stroking a finger over her cheek. God, her skin was soft. “About this thing between us.”

  She gave him a funny half smile that made his gut twist. “That’s just such a girly thing to suggest after sex.”

  Sam winced, though he had to agree. “I know. And given my career choice, I’m already aware that I may need to demonstrate my masculinity by bench-pressing your car or providing you with lab tests showing my testosterone score.”

  “From what I could tell five minutes ago, your testosterone is just fine.”

  She was smiling, but she looked wary, and Sam couldn’t say he blamed her. He sighed. “I was planning to talk before sex. Actually, I wasn’t planning on there being any sex. I kinda messed that part up.”

  “I believe we have a former president who wouldn’t define it as sex, so you’re good there.” She cleared her throat and grazed one fingertip over his arm. He watched her play connect-the-dots with the dusting of freckles on his forearm, not meeting his eyes, and his heart ached with the urge to lie here like this forever.

  “What was it you wanted to talk about?” she asked, bringing him crashing back to reality.

  “We can’t do this.”

  He watched her hold her breath for a moment, then release it slowly. “I know.”

  “Believe me, I love this. I loved last night and I loved everything just now. I wouldn’t go back and undo it if I could. But you have to understand, I can’t, in good conscience, have any sort of relationship with you.”

  “Because of my brother?”

  “It’s not just that,” Sam argued, knowing it probably wouldn’t make sense to her. “I made a promise to Mac, yes, but it’s more than that.”

  “Promise.” She repeated the word like it was “herpes” or “politicians.”

  “I made a promise,” he repeated, stubbornly. “A stupid promise, I’ll give you that. But it’s still a promise, and I made it to my best friend. A guy who saved my life.”

  Sheri frowned. “Saved your life? When?”

  Shit. Shit, shit, shit, he thought. God, he was bad at this lying thing.

  “In college,” Sam said. “The whole football team took a trip to the beach, and I got pulled out by a rogue wave. Your brother kept me from drowning.”

  Sheri frowned deeper, the gesture making a sweet little crease between her eyebrows that Sam longed to trace with the tip of his finger.

  “And you’re thinking that binds you to a lifetime of keeping your pants zipped around his sister?” she said.

  He shook his head, wishing he could tell her more, but he couldn’t. “I know it sounds dumb when you put it that way. But there’s a code of honor—”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” She sat up, pulling the covers with her and leaving Sam’s shoulders bare. “I grew up in a military family, and I married a Navy jerk. I’ve spent my whole life hearing about codes of honor, and it never added up to anything.”

  “Look, I know how strongly you feel about lying. I’d think you’d be the world’s staunchest supporter of me keeping my word to Mac. Besides, I’m not the only one who thinks it would be ridiculous for us to get involved. Didn’t you say the same thing yourself?”

  “I know, I know!” She flopped onto her back and groaned. “I tell myself I’m going to be strong and self-sufficient and not fall into the same old trap of needing a man around, and then I go hopping into bed with you the first chance I get.”

  She threw the covers back and jumped out of bed as though the mere act would undo what they’d just done. He missed her heat instantly

  “No more,” she said, rummaging around on the floor for her discarded clothes. “Seriously, I mean it this time. We can’t keep giving in to our urges.”

  Sam watched her pull on her panties and and fought the urge to peel them back off and start all over again.

  “I wish it could be different,” he said. “I really do.”

  She turned and looked at him, her face so sweet and soft and flushed and that his heart nearly split in two.

  “Me, too,” she said. “But this is how it has to be.”

  …

  Sheri got home after dark the next day, regretful a long meeting had kept her late at the office. She hoped that wouldn’t be a habit. She loved her career, and desperately wanted to do well at this job, but not if it meant leaving her boys all the time in the care of a nanny.

  Not even a manny as amazing as Sam.

  She felt a twinge of guilt as she thought about Jonathan’s words the other night. He’d said she wasn’t equipped to raise the boys alone. That she wasn’t enough for them.

  To hell with him.

  She didn’t want Jonathan back—that was for damn sure.

  But was it so wrong to want a partner in parenthood?

  As she shut off her headlights, she was surprised to see Sam sitting in his Jeep in the driveway. His expression said he was a million miles away, though Sheri could see he had an eye on the boys latched into their car seats in back.

  She jumped out of her car and approached the Jeep from behind. His windows were down, and the light breeze ruffled his hair in the moonlight.

  “Rough day?” she asked, stepping up to the Jeep.

  He looked up and gave her a tired smile. “Not too bad. The boys were a little fussy, so it was kind of long.”

  She tried not to smile, but couldn’t help it. “Is it wrong if I say I’m kinda glad?”

  He quirked an eyebrow at her. “You want me to suffer?”

  “No—I mean, I’m sorry it was a tough day and all, but it’s nice to see you’re human. That you’re not some baby-soothing superhero while I spend half my time wondering if there’s an off switch to make them stop crying.”

  He popped open the door of his Jeep. “You’ve seen them fussy plenty of the time with me. I took them to the store today to find stuffed peacocks. I got them these beanie ones that are a little bigger than I wanted, but it was all we could find. Jackson ended up throwing his at an old lady in the checkout line, while Jeffrey screamed so loudly the manager came over and asked us to leave.”

  She laughed, hoping that wasn’t too rude. “Is that where you were when I came home for lunch?”

  “Lunchtime?” He frowned. “No, that was probably when we were at the farmers’ market. Or maybe when I took them out in the jogging stroller after nap time. Things kinda blur together on these long days.”

  She looked at him again, enjoying the way the moonlight made the hairs on his arms gleam golden again
st the curve of muscle in his arms. The soft scent of tropical flowers hung on the breeze, and the ocean air clung to her skin like a soothing net of warmth. She wished like hell she didn’t want him so badly.

  He turned to grab Jeffrey’s car seat out of the back, and Sheri got distracted studying his ass. God, what a beautiful ass. Well-proportioned and muscular with just the right amount of—

  “Would you mind grabbing Jackson?” he asked.

  “Right,” she said, shaking herself out of her lustful daze as she walked around to the other side of the car, muttering to herself as she went.

  A normal mom would instinctively grab her child out of the car before ogling a hot guy’s backside.

  “What?” Sam called from the other side of the Jeep.

  “Nothing,” she replied.

  “If I hear you say the phrase ‘normal mom’ one more time, I’m going to wash your mouth out with soap.”

  She laughed, though it sounded wistful even to her own ears. She pulled Jackson out of the backseat and looped the carrier over her arm, balancing her large purse on the other side. Sam strode around the Jeep and came to stand beside her, pausing to brush the hair back from her face.

  “Comparison is the thief of joy,” he said. “Have you heard that quote before?”

  “No. Who said it?”

  “I’m not sure. Theodore Roosevelt, I think. Do you know why I said it just now?”

  She shook her head, not sure she trusted her own voice right then.

  “Because you need to stop comparing yourself to those so-called normal moms. You need to quit thinking there’s something wrong with you if you don’t respond exactly the way you think you ought to in a maternal capacity. You’re your own kind of normal. And your boys love you very much.”

  “You sound like Dr. Spock.”

  Sam frowned. “From Star Trek?”

  “From the most famous book on childrearing ever written, goofball. Isn’t that like the textbook of manny training?”

  “Right. Absolutely.” He grabbed the baby carrier from her arm, hefting it with ease. She watched as he strode up the driveway, balancing her babies one on each side as he carried them to the porch. He set them off to the side before pulling open the screen door and digging his keys out of his pocket.

  From behind, she watched his shoulders stiffen.

  “The door is unlocked.”

  “What?”

  “It’s unlocked.” He turned to face her, his expression stony.

  “I was having trouble with it earlier, but—”

  “Stay here,” he commanded, pointing to the baby carriers. “Stay back from the door and keep them out of the way.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t move an inch. Stay right in that spot until I tell you otherwise.”

  He put his shoulder to the door and pushed as Sheri stood too stunned to protest. He charged into the house, slamming the door behind him.

  She waited in the silence, alone and blinking in the darkness.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sam stormed through the front door, giving a passing thought to how much easier it was to breach an entryway without having to worry about explosives. That simplified things. He started to turn the lights on, then hesitated. He’d once seen a warehouse in Sadr City wired to explode the instant someone flipped the light switch.

  This is a suburban home, not a war zone.

  Still, he couldn’t be too careful. Not without knowing what the threat might be, and he knew there was a threat. He could feel it in his bones.

  He slipped one hand under the newly built entry table, retrieving the Marine-issued .45-caliber Colt Close Quarter Battle Pistol from the secret compartment he’d built there. He grabbed the night-vision goggles he’d stashed there, too, donning them in a quick, fluid motion.

  He drew the gun to his chest, gripping it with both hands as he stepped toward the sharp corner separating the living room and dining area. Adrenaline pulsed through him as he scanned the room, keeping his breathing even so his hands stayed steady.

  “Who’s here?” he barked. “Identify yourself now!”

  No reply.

  He kept his elbows tucked in, both hands on the weapon as he leaned his body slightly toward the interior of the room. His eyes sliced the dark space in vertical motion, moving from one end to the other with meticulous precision.

  All clear.

  With his lead foot on the apex of the corner, he pivoted, scanning the dining area, keeping his eyes in line with where he aimed. The gun was steady in his hands, as natural there as a glass of water or a set of car keys. He peered into the dining room, mentally cataloging every chair, every napkin.

  Nothing looked out of place. He studied the bouncy chairs, the crumpled baby bib on the counter, the vase of half wilted flowers Sheri’s parents had sent for her first day at work.

  Sam turned again, semicircle complete. He crossed to the threshold of the kitchen, conscious of the fatal funnel, of the danger that this could be the choke point for an ambush. His shoulders were tense, but his grip on the tan metal of the pistol didn’t waver. He scanned the kitchen, watching, waiting, braced for the threat.

  He pivoted back toward the bedrooms, toward potential danger. He kept his back to the wall, approaching the boys’ room first.

  He touched the door, noting the closed position. It was open when they left, he was sure of it.

  Goddammit.

  Sam gripped the handle, doing a soft check to see if it was locked. It wasn’t. He drew his weapon to close-contact firing position, ready to push the door open, braced to confront the intruder.

  “Sam? What the hell?”

  Sam spun around, stunned to see Lieutenant Limpdick standing in the doorway of the master bedroom. His hands were behind his back, holding something. Did he have a weapon? Sam trained the pistol on Limpdick’s chest.

  “Get your hands where I can see them—both of them—right fucking now!”

  Limpdick’s eyes fell to the firearm and went wide. He brought his hands in front of him. They held a vase of red roses.

  “What the hell?” Limpdick demanded, reaching out to flip on the hall light. “Unarmed man, here.”

  Sam lowered his weapon, squinting at the roses in case it was a trap.

  No trap. They were just flowers, nothing odd about them. He yanked off his night-vision goggles and blinked as his eyes adjusted to the sudden rush of light. Limpdick stood frozen, hands still gripping the vase.

  “What the hell are you doing in here?” Sam sputtered, reorienting himself to the situation. “How did you get in? And where the hell is your car?”

  Limpdick shook his head, his eyes still fixed on Sam’s gun. “A cab dropped me off. I wanted to spend time with Sheri and the boys.” He nodded at the pistol. “Seriously—what’s going on here?”

  “How the fuck did you get in? Answer me!”

  “The door was unlocked. I just wanted to talk to my wife and see my boys.”

  “Your ex-wife!” Sam snapped. “She’s not your property, and neither is this house. You can’t just walk in here like you own the place. If I ever catch you trespassing again, I won’t even bother calling the cops. I’ll blow your brains out and ask questions later.”

  Limpdick stared at the gun, studying it. Then he nodded once. “Understood.”

  Sam glanced over his shoulder, relieved to see Sheri hadn’t followed. She wouldn’t be aware of anything that had just transpired. He flipped the safety on the pistol and tucked it in the back of his shorts, pulling his T-shirt over it.

  “I take home security and the safety of household members very seriously,” Sam said.

  “No shit.” Limpdick frowned. “They teach you how to clear a room military-style in manny school?”

  “Yes. They’re very thorough.”

  Limpdick raised an eyebrow. “I may be a Navy man, but I know that Colt you’re packing is the new standard-issue weapon of choice for the Marine Corps. They made 10,000 of them last summer for eli
te Special Ops troops, didn’t they? Coyote brown, special release. And those night-vision goggles—those aren’t the kind civilians buy at Walmart.”

  Sam stared him down, silent. He refused to acknowledge his cover was blown.

  Limpdick shook his head. “You’re a Marine, aren’t you? That’s what this is about. Her brothers sent you.”

  Sam gritted his teeth, but said nothing. “If you have a problem with me, take it up with Mac.”

  “I’m not interested in talking to Mac.” He lowered his hands, setting the roses on the hall table. “I showed up and found the door unlocked. I wanted to make sure everything was okay, and I wanted to talk to Sheri—to get her to listen to me. She needs to see reason. We belong together, as a family.”

  Sam shook his head, grateful he’d put the pistol away so he wouldn’t be tempted to shoot him. “You don’t break into a woman’s house to convince her you belong together. Sheri’s already made up her mind.”

  “Where is she? I just need to talk with her.”

  Limpdick started toward the door, but Sam put his hand out, stopping him. “I’m asking the questions here. Why are the lights out?”

  “I wanted to surprise Sheri.”

  “Surprise,” Sam scoffed. “A romantic little ambush? Get out. Get out now.”

  Jonathan frowned. “You have no right to order me around in my own home.”

  “For the last time, this isn’t your goddamn home!” Sam snapped. “It never has been. And Sheri isn’t your wife. I’m going to go out and ask her if she wants me to call the police, or if she’d like to let you see the boys one last time before you leave. Either way, I’m watching every fucking move you make, and then I’m going to drive your ass to the airport and make sure you get on your goddamn plane.”

  “My flight isn’t for more than a week.”

  “You’re trying my last shred of patience here,” Sam barked. “Be grateful you don’t have a bullet between your eyes.”

  Sam turned and stalked back to the doorway, pausing to tuck the Colt and the night-vision goggles back in the secret compartment. He pushed the front door open, surprised to see Sheri still standing exactly where he’d left her.