by Lynn Cooper
“You get off on playing with women’s unmentionables, do you, Panty Boy?”
The embarrassment Blythe had felt for herself earlier was now being reflected onto the dumb-stricken soldier who had been searching her suitcase.
“N—no, sir. I was only following Private Kean’s orders, sir. I—I—”
“Drop and give me fifty, Falk.”
Immediately, the soldier fell to a plank position, pounded out the pushups and then scrambled to his feet.
“Kean, you’re on KP duty. Peeling potatoes for two weeks should give you plenty of time to rethink any future insubordination. Both of you are dismissed,” he growled, ignoring their parting salutes.
Shelly seemed to be the only one not affected by the sergeant’s intimidating demeanor. Squealing, she ran toward Sean, jumping into his arms and wrapping her legs around his waist like a little girl.
The hard lines of his face softened. He chuckled and the dark fierceness in his eyes melted into an all-enveloping warmth.
“Thanks a million for coming, Shelly Bellybutton. Damn if we haven’t had the worst luck lately. My arts and crafts teacher water skied headfirst into a dock over the weekend. She has a severe case of amnesia. Poor thing can’t even remember what a color-wheel is, much less how to paint. Ironically, my camp counselor had herself a nervous breakdown and will be spending the remainder of the summer in the psych ward at Hartwell Memorial Hospital.”
Blythe didn’t hear anything past the nickname. Shelly had mentioned Sean playfully teasing her about having an outie when they were children. Knowing Shelly and Sean related to each other like a big brother and a little sister did nothing to quail the sudden bloom of envy Blythe felt in the center of her chest. Their friendship was purely platonic; there was no reason for the green-eyed monster to make an unwanted appearance. Blythe had no right or reason to feel possessive. She and Sean had been on one date which ended in disaster. There was absolutely no rational reason for her to feel jealous.
The problem was, she couldn’t help but remember how his bulking arms had felt around her. How solid his chest had been when he pressed her against that giant oak. The warm, spicy smell of his skin. His hot breath and firm lips against her neck, her mouth.
Shit! If she didn’t rein in her sinfully sensuous thoughts, she would need to change into a fresh pair of those granny panties. It was utterly maddening that Sean could still have this effect on her after he had behaved like a complete behemoth.
Shelly beamed. “No need for gratitude, big guy. We’re happy to help out. Aren’t we, Bly?”
Smirking, she squeezed out the words. “Tickled pink, I’m sure.”
SEAN EXPECTED NOTHING LESS than hostility. He could feel it rolling off Blythe in waves. Gently, he set Shelly down before playfully ruffling her hair.
“You’re in cabin B on the left side of the dock, Shelly Bellybutton. I need a moment alone with Blythe.”
“Sure thing, Sarge,” she said, mock-saluting him while giving her bestie an apologetic look. “I’ll unpack and get settled in while you two sort things out.”
Turning his attention to the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen, ever touched, ever kissed, he slowly let his eyes roam over her full, voluptuous figure. His jaw muscles tensed and his fists clenched at the thought of those pleasures being lost to him forever. It was a very real possibility.
Before she arrived, he had pictured himself on his knees groveling, begging her forgiveness. But now, for some devilish reason, he had zero inclination to appease her. Maybe it was her snarky attitude. Even if it was justified. Maybe it was the combative soldier in him. Maybe it was because his unsavory behavior and actions that night had been tragically unavoidable. But none of that mattered at the moment. Today, he wanted to provoke her even further. Fighting made for excellent foreplay, and he planned on playing with Blythe again. Soon. Real soon.
He closed the space between them while she rearranged her disheveled clothing inside suitcase Number One. Standing directly behind her, he placed his hands on her shoulders and inhaled the sweet scent of coconut wafting from her hair. She smelled like a warm beach breeze.
Immediately, he felt her tense at his touch. When she tried to turn and face him, he held her in place. Pressing his hardness against her backside, he whispered, “On second thought, I think it might be best if I take a look inside those other two suitcases.”
Jerking free of his grasp, she spun around so fast she lost her balance. She stumbled backwards a few steps, bumping her ample butt against the picnic table where her luggage was lying. Quickly, she regained her footing and composure.
“Like hell you will, Sergeant Warrington.”
He raised an eyebrow. “So formal now. As if your belly had never brushed against my cock, your arms had never clung to my neck or your tongue had never been in my mouth.”
Her face was red with fury. “And you’re so nonchalant as if you never shoved me down in the mud, called me a whore and said you never wanted to see my face again.”
He bit back a curse. “Open the suitcases, Miss Dalton. That’s an order.”
“My ass. You can’t boss me around. I’m not a damn marine.” The venomous emphasis was intended to be hurtful.
“You say marine like it’s a dirty word. Do you have any idea what it means to me? Loyalty and service. Strength and courage. Respect and freedom.”
She harrumphed. “Funny, I thought MARINE meant: Muscles Are Required Intelligence Non-Essential.”
“Fuck your damn acronym. I’m not as dumb as you think I am, and you’re not nearly as smart as you think you are, Blythe.”
Defensively, she crossed her arms over her chest. A gesture which did little to protect her heart. “Well, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out you’re a bully. A hard-hearted, egotistical Neanderthal. Coming here was a huge mistake.”
He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “So was changing your phone number. I tried to call you a hundred times, Blythe. To explain my outrageous behavior.”
She shook her head in defiance. “I’m not interested in hearing your stupid explanations. And there is no acceptable excuse for the way you demeaned me that night. Why in the world would any man ever treat a woman so cruelly and callously?”
He softened his voice. “To save her life. To save his own.”
“Soldiers are always playing the hero even if their heroics are only real in their own twisted imaginations.” She spat the words and grabbed her suitcases.
In his exasperation Sean lunged at her, knocking them from her hands. He grabbed her by the waist with one arm and hauled her up against the hard wall of his chest. His other hand snaked around her throat. It was a capturing maneuver that gave him all the power, forcing her to listen to him.
Unrelentingly, he bore his steely blue eyes into her soft brown ones. “I never wanted our date to end that way. You were oblivious to the imminent danger lurking in the shadows. Behind the very tree we were leaning against.”
His cock twitched as he remembered how he had rhythmically ground his hips into hers. How he had dry-humped her like a horny teenager. How she had squirmed beneath his ministrations, moaning into his mouth. Driving him out of his mind.
Sean’s tone was intense as he soothingly, sensuously caressed the delicate skin of her neck with his thumb. “When I broke the earthshattering kiss we shared, I spotted the ISIS assassin—an evil, heartless killer sent to annihilate me. A cold blooded murderer who would have taken a sick pleasure in torturing and destroying anyone who got in the way of his goal. Especially if he believed it was someone I cared about.”
Blythe’s bottom lip quivered. “Are saying your mistreatment of me was all for show?”
He blew out a breath of admission. “Yes, and it had to be convincing. If that asshole had thought for a single second you meant anything to me, he would have put a bullet between those beautiful brown eyes.”
“If you’re such a big bad marine, you should have been able to stop him without hurti
ng me.”
“I stopped him the only way I could. I don’t carry my service weapon on dates, Blythe. Unarmed, I couldn’t have protected you. My only choice was to discard you and lead him away from you. I did what I had to do. You would have understood my actions long before now if I could have gotten you on the phone. I wanted to come see you, to tell you in person. But after being debriefed, I was immediately flown out on a final special ops mission. I just got back a few days ago.”
“Final?”
“Yes. Camp Semper Fi is my full-time job now. My feet will remain on American soil for the remainder of my days.”
“What about the assassin? Is he dead?”
“That’s classified information. Let’s just say the threat was neutralized. You, me and the rest of this great country is a little bit safer now.”
“You killed him, didn’t you?”
“That’s need-to-know only. Let it go.”
“I can’t. I need to know, Sean. I need to know you aren’t a ruthless killing machine. That you aren’t some damaged psycho. A mentally scarred marine like—”
“Like who, Blythe? Who hurt you before me?”
She smirked. “That’s classified information, Sergeant. Need-to-know only. And the only damn thing you need to know is after I fulfill my two-week commitment here, I never want to see you again.”
SEAN STORMED INTO CABIN B. “Shelly Eleanor Matthews, tell me the name of the fucking marine who hurt Blythe. I mean to end him.”
Tapping her chin, she said, “Let me see. The name is right on the tip of my tongue. Yep, I got it. His name is Sean Davis Warrington.”
“Very funny, but I’m seriously pissed here. Blythe obviously hates marines. Who seared those ill feelings onto her beautiful heart? I’ll break his neck.”
“Settle down, big guy.” Shelly patted him on the shoulder. “You don’t have to do that. He hung himself years ago.”
The breath gushed from Sean’s lungs as he sank down into a nearby chair. Each cabin was furnished with two plush leather ones and a sofa that folded out into a bed. He had hoped to spend some quality adult time with Blythe on the one in his cabin. Now, that was kind of doubtful. No, make that impossible.
“Who was he to Blythe?”
“Her father. Michael Dalton fought in the Persian Gulf War. Shortly after coming home in 1991, he was diagnosed as being bipolar. Throw in a touch of paranoid schizophrenia mixed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and he was seeing Ali Baba—the enemy—everywhere.”
Sean shook his head. “Poor guy.”
“Yeah, he was a mess. Unfortunately, his mental illness made Blythe and her mom’s life a living hell. He wouldn’t take his medication because he was convinced the doctors were trying to poison him. Whenever he had a really bad episode, he would lock Blythe and her mom in the closet for days under the guise of protecting them. All of his horrible behavior was done in the name of ‘saving’ them.”
Sean shook his head. No wonder she changed her phone number and never wanted to see him again. She hadn’t noticed the assassin that night; only he had. Blythe probably thought Sean suffered from the same psychological issues that had plagued her father. He felt terrible.
“Shit. That’s rough, Shelly. I had no idea she had been through so much.”
Shelly sighed. “You have no idea. When Michael’s paranoia was at its worst, he thought Blythe and her mom were traitors. He accused them of joining forces with the enemy. He then used them as bait to lure Ali Baba.”
“My God. How?”
Tears filled Shelly’s eyes. “He forced them to strip naked, marched them through the woods at gun point, put gags in their mouths and tied them to trees. They were left out there for twenty-four hours at a time while ants crawled all over their bare bodies and bees repeatedly stung them. Blessedly, something would snap Michael back to reality. He would release them, apologizing and promising it would never happen again.”
Sean stood and began pacing. “Is that what finally drove him over the edge—his failure to keep his promise?”
“No. I don’t know. Maybe. It could have been a million things, but I suspect the lynchpin was Blythe and her mother, Carla, leaving him.”
“I can see how it would have felt like the ultimate betrayal to a man in his state of mind.”
“Yeah, the whole thing was tragic. But, Michael left Carla no choice. He wouldn’t get help, and his sickness was destroying their little girl. Blythe was only five years old when her dad got back from the Gulf. After a year of his brutality, she started wetting the bed and stopped eating. Carla couldn’t abide by that. Even if she could have survived, her daughter wouldn’t have. So they fled to our house.”
Sean furrowed his brows. “I don’t remember seeing them there. I was always hanging around your place. Seems like I would have noticed you having houseguests.”
“They were only with us for three days. Carla went back home to try and talk Michael into getting help. When she got there the front door was ajar, and the stench was horrendous. According to the coroner, Michael had been dead for nearly seventy-two hours. He hanged himself shortly after his wife and daughter walked out the door.”
Knifing his fingers through his hair for the second time that day, he asked, “How the hell do you come back from that?”
Shelly smiled. “When you’re Blythe Dalton, there’s nothing you can’t do. The woman is amazing. She graduated valedictorian of her high school, put herself through college and graduate school while staying rock-solid for her mom. She’s dedicated her life to counseling young people, giving them the hope and coping skills that hadn’t been at her disposal. Her door and her heart are always open, Sean.”
“Not to me they’re not. On our date, I screwed up royally, Shelly Bellybutton. It was out of my control, but that’s irrelevant.”
“What did you do, Sarge?”
“She didn’t tell you?”
“All she said was, a nice time was had by all, but she wasn’t ready for a romantic relationship with an overly-macho, domineering marine. I just assumed there wasn’t any chemistry and let the subject drop.”
Sonofabitch! Blythe really was amazing. She had covered for him. Despite how much he had hurt her that night, she placed the onus on herself. By not telling Shelly how badly he had behaved, Blythe was protecting his childhood friendship.
“Oh, there was plenty of chemistry,” he said, smiling sadly. “But given her heartbreaking experiences with her dad, hooking up with a soldier is probably the last thing she wants or needs.” Walking to the door, he paused. “What’s in her other two suitcases?”
Shelly smiled. “Her self-medicating drug of choice.”
“Nothing illegal, I hope.”
“As far as I know, honeybuns are still lawful in the state of South Carolina.”
Shaking his head, he chuckled and left the cabin.
FOLDING THE PILLOW OVER her ears, Blythe groaned. The bugle call of Taps being played at five thirty in the morning should be a felony. Lots of stuff about summer camp was equally offensive: severe cases of poison ivy, homesickness, relentless practical jokes, horrible cafeteria chow that inevitably ended up as flying weapons in spontaneous food fights. And worst of all, the branding of nicknames—surely that was the worst.
Slowly, creakily, she dragged herself from the bed. She was starting her day in a sleep deficit. Last night hadn’t gone as she had planned. After her encounter with Sean, she had made her way to the lake, lugging all three of her suitcases behind her. Blythe had felt the heat of his stare boring into her back. She knew it went against his well-trained grain to stand by and watch the weaker sex struggle with her luggage.
Hearing his heavy, bull-like breathing made her smile. She had enjoyed causing him some discomfort. Assassin or no, his behavior on their date deserved a degree of payback. Blythe looked for Cabin B, assuming she would be bunking with Shelly. But when she passed Cabin A and saw a CAMP COUNSELOR plaque mounted on the door, she knew she had found her home—at least fo
r the next two weeks.
Blythe shook her head at the thought.
The best way to cope with a bad situation was to mentally remove yourself from the reality of it. Yep, that’s what she would do. Pretend she was on a fantastical adventure, a safari through the wild jungles of Africa. Only she wouldn’t be admiring the Western Lowland gorillas swinging from tropical tree to tree. She would be hiding in the thick bush, using the foliage as camouflage, creating a natural barrier between herself and the most maddening marine on the planet.
Who was she kidding? There was no way to avoid him in the light of day when she hadn’t even managed to dodge him under the dark of night. He had invaded her dreams and consumed her body in the wee hours of morning. During fitful sleep, she had felt his hands caressing her skin, roaming all over, making a study of each curve, each dip and valley. His lips trailed close behind, setting her skin on fire with pent-up passions and long-neglected desires.
Wetting a washcloth with cold water, she wiped it across her cheeks, then pressed it to her forehead. She had to get a grip on herself. She was here for the campers. To fulfill a two-week commitment. Then she could leave these tick-infested woods. Walk away from the hottest-assed marine to ever live and forget all the longings he had awakened inside her.
Quickly, she tugged on a pair of khaki shorts, a pink V-neck top and a pair of white Keds tennis shoes, no socks. Securing her chestnut brown hair into a loose ponytail, she checked her look in the mirror. Not too bad, she thought to herself.
The outfit and the casual hairdo made her look eighteen instead of twenty-eight. The soft, pink cotton T-shirt complimented the healthy glow in her cheeks. Her skin had always been creamy and flawless like her mother’s. Blythe was thankful for good genes. With no need for foundation or blush, she brushed a touch of mascara onto the tips of her already long, thick lashes. A quick smear of mauve-colored lipstick accentuated her cute, pouty, bowtie lips.
For a woman who wanted to lay low for two weeks, do her time and get out, she sure was making a fuss over her appearance. Admittedly, she wanted to look her best in case she happened to run into a certain someone. Not that it mattered how she looked, she wouldn’t get involved with a marine. She couldn’t bear to live like she had before—terrified, never knowing what horror she would face from one day to the next.
