One Week with the Marine (Love on Location)

by Allison Gatta

  Hold him all night long.

  And it was exactly that feeling that had her feet slapping through the shallow water as she ran.

  “Race you back to the pier!”

  Wind whipped through her hair as unshed tears stung her eyes. This was wrong. So damn wrong. He deserved better than this, but what could she do when she didn’t have better to give?

  She still hadn’t found the nerve to turn back and see if he was in pursuit when a stabbing pain shot up her leg.

  “Shit!”

  She slowed to a hobble, her breath coming in pants.

  “What happened?” Holden asked, pulling up alongside her, his brows knitted in concern.

  “I stepped on something,” she said slowly, lifting her foot and peering down at the injured extremity. A large piece of sea glass jutted from her heel, and she groaned as blood welled around it.

  He leaned close, steadying her by the arm as he examined the injury. “It’s pretty deep,” he muttered, straightening. “You don’t want to be walking on it and getting dirt in the cut. Let’s get you back to the apartment, and then we’ll remove the glass and clean it up.”

  He didn’t bother waiting for her response. One second she was standing on one foot, and the next, he’d swung her into his arms and was effortlessly cutting a path across the beach. Like the sexy, amazing, hero soldier he was.

  She blinked back her tears and stared miserably in front of her. It wasn’t like she didn’t have her reasons for trying to keep him at a distance. Whatever was going on in her heart, she needed to sort it out before she ruined their arrangement forever. Before she ruined their friendship. It was just that her reasons seemed less and less rational the more time they spent together. But maybe that was just her way of fooling herself into thinking things would be okay if she let go.

  She listened to the even, steady beating of his heart as he carried her, resisting the urge to bury her head into his shoulder and give in. Let it all go and just let her body and heart do what they wanted and melt into Holden Morris.

  “We have to bandage this up good so you don’t bleed all over me tonight,” he murmured.

  She stiffened, ignoring the sublime feel of his chest rubbing against her breasts with every step. There was no way he could sleep over tonight. Not when she was feeling this vulnerable. She had to throw up one last shield if she stood any shot of withstanding this onslaught.

  “Yeah, um, about that. I’ve been having night terrors.” She kept her eyes glued to the horizon so he couldn’t see the lie in them. “So, I thrash around a lot. I’m basically a danger to myself and others. In fact, I gave Fred a black eye not three weeks ago. He still hasn’t forgiven me.”

  He craned his neck to stare down at her, his dark eyes as solemn as a preacher’s. “Is that so?”

  “Yup.” She swallowed so hard, she thanked the gods for the whipping wind that sucked the sound away. “And I’ve also started snoring. Loudly. Even Rodrigo won’t sleep with me.”

  “If there’s one thing I learned how to do in the Marines, it’s catch some z’s when and where I can. It won’t be a problem. Unless it’s a problem for you?”

  What could she possibly say when he’d been nothing but amazing to her? She had no good reason to keep him from her bed besides the truth.

  That she was terrified of falling in love with him and losing herself in the process.

  And that wouldn’t do at all.

  She forced a smile and shook her head. “Nope. Fine with me.”

  She would let him carry her the rest of the way home, and then sit there while he lovingly tended to her cut with the same care and meticulousness that he did everything. Then she’d lie next to him and pretend that sleeping with Holden was the same as sleeping with Myla. And she’d just have to say a prayer that, in the morning, she’d wake up with her heart intact.

  Fat chance.

  His steps slowed as they reached her apartment, and she cursed her clumsy feet. But even as she had the thought, the deepest part of her slapped back with a most uncomfortable truth. It wouldn’t have mattered, really. Because something told her, no matter how far she ran, no matter how fast she went, Holden would be there waiting when she got to the finish line.

  And that scared the shit out of her.

  FROM THE DIARY OF AVERY FORRESTER

  He has a ten-year plan?

  I mean, I guess everyone does in a way—though mine can be summed up in some choice grunge-rock lyrics.

  Seriously, though, what am I supposed to do with that? Within the next ten years, he wants to get married and have kids.

  Which means what for me?

  Does he want me to be his military wife? Or was this effectively my pink slip—official notice that he was beginning the search for someone who could actually get along with his family and raise kids.

  I can barely maintain Rodrigo and myself, let alone a husband and children. If Rodrigo didn’t throw so much shade at me, I probably wouldn’t even know how to take care of him. It’s just not what I do.

  I’m a fricking human cannonball. I’m loud and abrasive, and even if I did have kids, what kind of life would they have with me? What kind of habits would I teach them?

  They’d be screwups, college dropouts who’d run all the way across the country because they wouldn’t be able to take it at home.

  They’d be people who wouldn’t know how to show emotion unless it was happening to someone else.

  Just like my mom. Just like me.

  So, what does this mean for me? What does this mean for us?

  Chapter Seven

  When they got back to the house, Holden made quick work of removing the shard of glass from Avery’s foot, disinfecting, and bandaging it—though she imagined her stream of swear words did nothing to help his concentration.

  Thereafter, he headed for the bathroom, and Avery shuffled into her bedroom. Right now, she needed sanctuary, a place to hide. Though at the moment, she wasn’t sure who she was hiding from. Or what.

  She closed the bedroom door behind her and leaned back against the wood. The room looked the same as it had when she’d left—a giant mass of silky lavender bed things piled into the middle of the mattress amid a stack of pillows. Her closet doors were wide open, displaying every color in the visible light spectrum. Clothes hung precariously on their hangers.

  It was a perfect, comfy wash of chaos.

  She pulled off her clothes and threw on an old T-shirt. It was one Holden had left behind on his last visit. A football shirt from their old high school—East Maryland High, home of the Fighting Crabs. Though based on her memories of the place, it had really been the cheerleading squad that had been fighting the crabs.

  Sighing, she pulled on a pair of ruffled shorts and glanced down at her outfit. Nothing about it said “come and get it,” but it also didn’t scream “tell me about your feelings, I’m totally comfortable.” It was just normal. Perfect.

  With a deep breath, she opened her bedroom door and popped back into her living room, settling herself on the couch to wait for Holden.

  There was no reason to panic about the beach. She’d done enough thinking in the car ride home to last her a lifetime. The thing she needed to focus on was the conclusion—no matter what she told Holden, or what he told her, they both knew the terms of their agreement. He was her friend. He deserved to know about her hang-ups.

  Overall, it had just been a regular old good day. Some good sex. A good friend.

  What else could she ask for?

  She sucked in her cheeks and settled back on the cushions when she heard Holden rifling through her medicine cabinet on the other side of the door.

  “Mouthwash is under the sink,” she called. He never remembered that. Not in all the times he’d been in the apartment. She smiled faintly as she heard the door open and he called back his thanks.

  Catching the smile, she bit her bottom lip and shook her head. What if the intimacy hadn’t just been in her head, though? And what about the other st
uff? He’d paid for dinner. That was so…sweet. And also, so…territorial. Like he was taking care of her.

  Then there was that look. The one that softened the corners of his eyes and made his full lips look so damned kissable that she could hardly hold back. She had to, though. She’d done a shit job of it so far, but something inside her needed to snap back into place and remember the agreement.

  They were friends—good friends—who had sex. No strings attached.

  It didn’t matter that she didn’t see other men. That was a coincidence. It didn’t matter that he’d leave one day. That was a fact.

  When that day came, he’d be better for it. He’d find a woman who could live with not knowing when or if he’d be back. He’d find a woman who would stand by his side and take care of his children, someone who’d been raised in some ranch-style house in Nebraska with a mom and a dad and a dog. The whole works. Someone who was the very opposite of Avery.

  Avery was not the girl for Holden. He knew it, his family knew it.

  She knew it. And she hated it.

  Every time he touched his warm, gorgeous lips to her own, the stabbing reminder of that fact twisted between her ribs as a not-so-subtle reminder. She pushed the thought from her mind. She didn’t need to worry about it. He wouldn’t mess up their friendship, not when it was so obvious they had no future.

  Sure, they had fun. They laughed, and liked a lot of the same things. And he was sexy. Very, very sexy.

  But he was Holden. He could do better.

  One day, they’d both look back and smile at the memory of their time together, and that would be that.

  Avery frowned and glanced at the TV. Suddenly, she was struck by exactly how dusty it was, and she hobbled over to wipe the screen. Then she turned to find that everything else was, well…askew. She straightened the pillows on the sofa, cleared off the counters and her coffee table, even dusted the cinderblocks beneath the TV, as if she were Martha freaking Stewart.

  All the while, she listened to Holden moving around in the bathroom, the sounds he made as he got in and out of the shower. And each time she thought he might open the door, her heart gave a little leap and she doused another table with Pine-Sol and scrubbed furiously.

  When at last there was nothing left to clean, she put her hands on her hips and glanced around the newly sparkling apartment. She was pretty sure the place had been messier than this when she’d moved in. Now it practically gleamed.

  It all felt so…dirty.

  She knocked over a plant that was sitting on her table, only to be completely underwhelmed when she remembered it was fake. Everything stayed very neatly in its planter, lying on its side on the table.

  “Good enough,” she huffed.

  Then the door swung open, and Holden tossed her a lazy grin on his way to the sofa.

  She watched him go, suddenly aware of how dry her throat was.

  He glanced around the apartment, his brows knit together. “What happened here? Did you get reverse robbed?”

  “Very funny.” She fisted her hands on her hips, only to discover with revulsion that she was still holding a feather duster.

  What had she become?

  She tossed the duster away and let it drop onto the linoleum kitchen floor.

  How was it, in all this time, that she hadn’t formulated a plan for what she might do when he was finally near her again?

  She reminded herself to relax, but still her brain scurried for some excuse to put distance between them. Some way for her to collect herself. But in an apartment this small, there were really only a few options.

  She could shower until she looked like a California raisin. Or…

  She plopped herself down onto the couch and turned the TV back on to another episode of Dance Divas. Angry Southern mothers and complete familial dysfunction? It hit so close to home for both of them, he’d detest it with every fiber of his being.

  It was ideal.

  “Let’s watch some TV for a bit, if you don’t mind.” She stretched out and set her feet on her uncomfortably clean coffee table. She’d have to take care of that and soon.

  “Yeah, okay,” he said, joining her.

  Too close for comfort.

  He was within spooning distance, and she could practically feel the snuggle settling in. Bells were ringing in her head. Whistles sounded. Lights flashed. Danger! Danger!

  The weird, intimate feeling was oozing back in, and she had to do something, anything, to free herself from destroying the very fabric of their no-strings-attached agreement. The only problem was, she had no idea how to distance herself.

  And then it hit her.

  She started squinting at the television. First just a little, then she leaned forward, sat up straighter, did everything she could to bring attention to herself.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, taking the bait.

  Gotcha.

  “Oh, it’s stupid. I took out my contacts while you were gone, and I never put my glasses back on. That’s all. It’s dumb.”

  “I’ve never seen you wear glasses,” he said.

  “Oh, uh.” He had her there. But for once she was quick on her feet. “I got them while you were away.”

  “All right. No big deal. I’ll get them for you.” He was up before she could stop him.

  Still, she let out a feeble, “No, wait, you don’t have to.”

  He didn’t notice her lack of effort. She knew how he could be when he was on a quest.

  “I think they’re on my makeup table. You know, on the far side of the room. Away from the door, like.” She got up and followed him to her bedroom entrance and pointed. After crossing the room to the small surface, he started opening drawers, but to no avail.

  He looked toward the closet, but before he made a move, she said, “I wouldn’t look in the closet unless you want to play a game I call ‘curling iron or vibrator.’ That game has no winners.”

  His answer lay somewhere between a cough and a chuckle. Still he pressed on.

  “I don’t see them.” He turned to leave, and she slammed the door shut and shoved a chair under the knob.

  His footfalls rushed toward the door, but it was too late. She’d won.

  No more weird intimacy. For tonight, at the very least, she had no more concerns.

  Except maybe for the fact that he was pounding on the door, shouting her name. “Avery, what the hell?”

  “I’ve been thinking, and I don’t think we should share a bed this trip. You should get some rest and not have to deal with my sleep thrashing.”

  “And you couldn’t tell me that?”

  “So, you would have agreed to sleep in the bed and let me have the couch?” she asked, knowing the answer.

  Silence.

  “It’s for your own good,” she called back. “Good night.”

  “You’ll pay for this,” he yelled back.

  “Yeah, yeah. You and what army. In the meantime, get some sleep.” She stared at the couch and frowned. Rodrigo was curled in a little gray ball where she’d been sitting, and he mewled softly as he spread out some more.

  “Looks like you’ll have company tonight, pal,” she told him. If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought the cat glared back at her.

  An animal after my own heart…

  She sighed. She hadn’t brought out pillows or blankets. Tonight, it was just her and the bizarre oddity that was her newly cleaned living room. Whatever. She could deal.

  Or so she’d thought. Who knew it got so cold at night in California? She thought Maryland had been bad, but with no blankets, life on the couch seemed pretty bleak.

  Getting to sleep was a struggle. Between finding a position that Rodrigo didn’t object to and trying to clear her mind of the night she’d had, it was nearly impossible to find enough comfort to drift off. Those rare moments when she did were short-lived. First, the cat would scratch her in his sleep, then something in the apartment would make a weird noise, then she’d be sure Holden was at the door, trying to get ou
t again.

  Or she’d simply wake up for no reason at all, with Holden at the forefront of her mind.

  Rubbing her eyes, she clicked on her cell phone to show the time. In big blue characters, 4:02 a.m. flashed.

  He was probably asleep.

  She took a deep breath and rolled over, careful not to stir Rodrigo. It wasn’t like they’d never slept in the same bed before. Every time he’d come to visit, she’d slept in the bed with him, though usually it was more out of exhaustion than choice. By rights, this time shouldn’t have been any different.

  She’d stay to her side, and he’d stay to his. It’d be like every other trip.

  Even if it didn’t feel like it.

  Rolling from the sofa, she slid the chair away from the bedroom door and tiptoed into the room, careful to avoid tripping over random discarded shoes.

  Holden was snoozing quietly on one side of the bed, looking almost laughable as he snuggled into her light purple comforter. She climbed in beside him, feeling the warmth of his body spread through their shared blanket as she found her old, familiar sleeping position.

  She lifted her knee, careful to stay on her side of the bed, and clutched her pillow tight against her face and waited for sleep to wash over her at last.

  Except…it didn’t. She just lay there, listening to Holden’s low snores as his broad shoulders raised and lowered over and over again. It should have been a lullaby unto itself, the sound of his gentle slumber, but instead it distracted her. Kept her awake.

  After what felt like an hour, she sat up in the bed and stared around the dark room, trying to decide what to do next. She could make some warm milk. Go back to the couch. She could—

  A warm hand closed over her bicep, and she turned to find Holden’s eyes gleaming back at her through the darkness.

  “What’s the matter?” His voice was groggy, but the concern there was undeniable.

  “I can’t sleep, that’s all,” she said, only too grateful that he didn’t ask why she’d decided to join him in bed after all.

  “Come here,” he said, pulling her back toward him. She tensed, all too aware of the way her body responded to him, of the almost instantaneous need to settle back against his chest and let him have whatever he wanted. Let him have her.