A Marine for Christmas

by Beth Andrews

  Someone knocked, and Brady set the cat aside and stood. He opened the door, nodded at Matt and then noticed J.C.’s tree on the stairs behind his brother.

  “Thanks,” he said, figuring he could manage to drag it up the last few feet. “I’ve got it from here.”

  Matt pushed the door back open when Brady tried to shut it in his face. “Don’t I even get invited in? After all, I dropped everything to do you a favor.”

  Dropped everything, his ass.

  “Favor’s appreciated,” Brady said, refusing to fall for his brother’s bait.

  When he’d called Matt’s cell phone fifteen minutes ago, Matt had been at The County Line, one of the higher end bars in Jewell. And Brady sure as hell didn’t feel guilty for tearing him away from a watered-down drink and whichever local girl he’d been trying to charm into sleeping with him.

  “Well, appreciation’s great and all,” Matt said, leaning against the door. “But I’d rather have a beer.”

  “J.C. doesn’t have—”

  “Food should be here in twenty minutes,” J.C. said, coming up behind Brady. “Oh. Hi, Matt.” She glanced curiously between the brothers. “I didn’t know you were home.”

  “Since I had to fly back to Australia the day after Thanksgiving, I thought I’d come in early for Christmas.”

  Funny how Matt’s accent became thicker whenever a female was within hearing distance. His green eyes lit as he scanned J.C. head to toe and back up again. “Jane Cleo, you get prettier every time I see you.”

  Brady stopped himself from laying a proprietary hand on J.C.’s shoulder. “Any women stupid enough to buy your tired lines?” he asked.

  Matt grinned, his hair, too long, blowing around his face. “You’d be surprised.”

  “I wouldn’t,” J.C. said. Brady scowled while Matt laughed. “What?” she asked. “I’m just saying there are plenty of stupid women out there.”

  He laid a hand over his heart. “You wound me, sugar. And after I hauled your Christmas tree up all those stairs. Your very heavy Christmas tree.”

  At that moment, Brady would’ve given anything to have full use of his leg back so he could kick Matt down the steps.

  “You brought my tree up?” J.C. asked, her brow knit in confusion.

  “Sure did. Now, why don’t you hold the door open and I’ll bring it the rest of the way in.”

  Brady stepped out onto the landing. “Better let me help you,” he said. “Seeing as how this is one of those extra-heavy Christmas trees.”

  He carefully took a hold of a thick bottom branch while Matt did the same. Walking backward, they pulled the tree up over the doorstep and into the apartment. The sharp needles pricked and scratched his skin. The pungent scent of pine filled the room.

  “Want me to set it up for you, Jane?” Matt asked.

  “No,” Brady said before J.C. could so much as open her mouth.

  “You sure?” Matt hooked his thumbs in his pockets and sent J.C. one of his patented grins guaranteed to charm the ladies. “I’d be more than happy to stick around.”

  “We’ve got it,” Brady ground out. “Thanks for coming over.”

  “Yes,” J.C. added, giving his brother a warm smile. “Thank you so much, Matt. This was really sweet of you.”

  “No problem.” He walked to the door and stood on the landing. “Call me if you need anything else,” he said to J.C. “Come to think of it, why don’t I give you my cell phone—”

  Brady shut the door. “I don’t suppose you have a hacksaw?” he asked, his hands on his hips as he studied the tree. The cat came over and delicately sniffed the trunk. “We’re going to have to cut this down by—”

  He broke off, went rigid when she pressed against his side. Stretching up, she kissed his cheek. “Thank you for getting my tree inside.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” he said, stepping back when what he really wanted was to pull her closer.

  “You called your brother when it must’ve been hard for you to ask for help.”

  J.C. flinched, her hand going to her side.

  “What is it?” he asked. “Are you sick?”

  “No, I…I think I felt the baby move.”

  “You’re not sure?”

  “I’m new at this, remember? Dr. Owens said I’d know what it was like when I felt it, whatever that’s supposed to—” She gasped, her face filled with wonder. “That had to be it.”

  Brady watched her stomach, as if he could somehow get a glimpse of movement through her clothes and skin. “Does it hurt?”

  “No, it’s…weird. Here.” Shifting so they were toe to toe, she took his hand and slid it under her snug top.

  His fingers grazed her warm skin and he clenched his fist. “J.C., I—”

  “Don’t you want to feel it, too?”

  Forcing his fingers to uncurl, he let her guide his hand to her side. Her skin was incredibly soft and he couldn’t stop himself from cupping the roundness of her stomach, his thumb by her belly button, his fingertips brushing her hip bone. They were so close, he breathed in the fresh scent of her hair. Had the torture of her breasts brushing against his chest with every small move she made.

  He cleared his throat. “I don’t feel anything.”

  “That’s because he hasn’t moved yet.” Another second passed. And another. “There! Did you feel it?”

  He shook his head. “What’s it like?”

  “The first few times, it felt as if there were butterflies in my stomach—literally.” Making a sound somewhere between a laugh and a cry, she raised her head, bringing their faces to within inches of each other. Her smile faded.

  “Butterflies, huh?”

  “Uh…yes… It was this…sort of fluttering,” she whispered, staring at his mouth. “But now it’s more of a…rolling sensation. Sort of…how you feel when you’re falling…”

  She lifted her hand to his cheek. Her lush breasts pressed against him, her breath washed over his lips.

  And then she kissed him.

  She kept the kiss delicate. Light. But in that instant, with her mouth supple and warm against his, her lips tasting of salt and a sweetness that was uniquely her, his senses spun.

  Yeah. He knew all about falling.

  He also knew how much it hurt when you hit the ground.

  She eased back. Her smile was so purely Jane—simple and honest and bright enough to chase away nightmares—it took all his waning willpower not to yank her to him.

  “In case you were wondering,” she said as she adjusted her shirt to cover her stomach again, “that was one of those happy kisses.”

  He frowned. Happy what? And then he remembered. That day when she’d kissed him in his mom’s kitchen, she’d claimed she’d only done it because she was happy.

  “Good thing I was here,” he said.

  “It was awfully convenient. Although if I’d felt the baby move a few minutes earlier Matt would’ve still been here so…”

  “You would’ve still kissed me.”

  She laughed. “Well, you would’ve had a fifty-fifty chance.”

  He set his hands on her waist and pulled her forward. Sliding his arms around her, he held her to him, pressing his palms against the flat of her back.

  “You would’ve kissed me.” His gaze followed the movement of her throat as she swallowed, then shifted back to her eyes. “Say it,” he demanded in a soft undertone.

  She gripped his forearms, her short nails digging into his skin. “I would’ve kissed you.”

  He dipped his head in acknowledgment and dropped his arms. “I’ll check in the garage for that hacksaw,” he said. And maybe, if he helped her put up her tree, she’d be so happy she’d kiss him again.

  “THIS IS MY FAVORITE PART,” J.C. said late the next night as they watched the DVD of It’s A Wonderful Life.

  “You said that before.”

  Tossing popcorn into her mouth, she didn’t even bother glancing at Brady. Not when Mary and George were about to kiss for the first time. And, okay
, she may have said her favorite part was the scene after the school dance when Mary and George walk home, but this was her absolute favorite scene.

  “You’re not going to cry again, are you?” Brady asked.

  On the screen, George stormed out and Mary smashed the record of their song into pieces.

  “I haven’t cried yet,” J.C. said. She may have welled up a few times, but what did he expect when she was watching the most fabulous movie ever? “But if tears bother you, I should warn you that I bawl at the end for a solid five minutes.”

  “Great,” he muttered, slouching down even farther on the opposite end of her couch, staring at the brightly lit Christmas tree across the room.

  Setting the popcorn bowl aside, she picked up her water glass and took a sip. “Are you all right?”

  He sent her an unreadable look. “Fine.”

  “Are you sure? You seem…distracted.”

  He lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

  She huffed out a breath, trying to figure out why he was acting like his old brooding, angry self. It was as if he didn’t want to be there—although when they’d talked at the Diamond Dust’s gift shop earlier, he was the one who’d asked if he could stop by. She couldn’t refuse him, not after last night when he’d helped put up her tree and then had kissed her so tenderly before he left.

  And for once, she hadn’t felt guilty for wanting to spend time with her sister’s ex. Or worried about telling Liz she’d made a mistake when she’d promised to stay away from Brady.

  She paused the movie. “We don’t have to watch—”

  “I said I’m fine.”

  She crossed her arms at his clipped tone. “Yes. That’s obvious.”

  “I just…” He ran his palms up and down his jeans. “I really want a drink.”

  “Oh.” She sipped more water, but it did little to ease the dryness in her throat. After pulling the hem of her shorts down, she tucked her legs underneath her. “Are you going to have one?”

  “If I could stop at one drink, it wouldn’t be a problem now, would it?”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  When she remained silent, he sat up. “Aren’t you going to tell me not to drink?”

  “Is that why you’re here?” she asked, proud of how calm she sounded, how rational. “So I can stop you from drinking?”

  “You don’t get it,” he burst out. “I don’t need you to babysit me so I won’t drink. I want a drink because…because, maybe if I get drunk,” he continued, the low rumble of his voice scraping along her nerve endings, “I can forget how much I want you. Even for a little while.”

  She caught her breath. “I…I don’t…”

  “It’s killing me to sit here and not touch you,” he admitted raggedly, his hands fisted on his thighs.

  It all made sense now. How Brady had barely looked her way all evening. Why he’d sat as far away on the small sofa as possible.

  She knew what was at risk. Her family wouldn’t understand. Wouldn’t approve. And her sister? If J.C. followed her heart, if she chose Brady, she may never be able to salvage her relationship with Liz.

  Her heart pounding, she unfolded her legs and knelt on the cushion, facing him. He watched her warily, his jaw taut. Swallowing back her trepidation, she said the words that had the power to change everything between them.

  “Touch me, Brady.”

  For a moment, he didn’t move. Other than the rapid rise and fall of his chest, it was as if he were made of stone. Then he groaned and pulled her forward for a voracious kiss. She tumbled, catching herself against his shoulders, and still he didn’t release her mouth. His kiss was hard. Hungry. Almost punishing.

  When he lifted his head, they were both breathing hard. He kissed her jaw up her cheek to her temple and back down again. His fingers kneaded her neck, his other hand squeezing her outer thigh. He captured a fistful of her hair and tugged her head back. He pressed his lips against the hollow of her throat before scraping his teeth across her collarbone.

  She whimpered and clutched his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. He kissed his way back up her throat to her mouth again, his tongue sweeping inside to touch hers.

  He straightened and combed both hands through her hair, his touch incredibly gentle. “Where’s that purple top?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “The tank top you wore with these shorts before.”

  “I’m wearing it.”

  He stared at her black sweatshirt so intently she half expected it to burst into flames. “Under that shirt?”

  She nodded and he lowered his hands to the hem of her shirt. She lifted her arms as he pulled the fleece up, his knuckles grazing the sensitive skin on the inside of her arms as he pulled it over her head and let it drop.

  She glanced down. The ribbed tank top clung to each curve, hugging the mound of her belly and her breasts, her hard nipples jutting out. She held her breath as he edged closer, his leg bumping her knees. He brushed his fingertips over the fabric covering the upper slope of her breasts and she exhaled softly.

  “I really like this shirt,” he said solemnly, dragging his fingernail down between her breasts and back up. His cupped her breasts in his hands, his thumbs brushing back and forth over her nipples.

  “I’ll…” But the promise to wear it more often died on her lips when he bent his head and his open mouth was over her breast. The heat of his breath washed over her, causing her nipple to tighten even more, if that was possible. His tongue rasped against the cloth and she jerked, her hands clutching his thigh.

  He raised his head, got to his feet and held his hand out.

  Though her nerves battled with her anticipation, she didn’t hesitate. Linking her fingers through his, she stood and led him to her bedroom.

  She let go of him to cross the room and turn on the lamp on her nightstand. Brady came up behind her. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pulled her to him, his arousal pressing against her back. Reality about what they were about to do, how it was going to change everything—again—crashed over her and she stiffened.

  “I won’t hurt you, Jane,” Brady said, brushing her hair aside and kissing her neck.

  He would. Of course he would. Eventually. Because she wasn’t who he really wanted. But he did want her tonight, right now. And that would be enough.

  She forced herself to relax against him and felt his own tension ease, as well. He turned her around and kissed her deeply as he backed her toward the bed, helping her onto the mattress. Straightening, he quickly toed off his shoes and stripped his shirt over his head.

  Her blood quickened. He was all lean muscles and golden skin, his mouth unsmiling, his eyes glittering. He was gorgeous. And as always, she was plain Jane Cleo.

  But he didn’t look at her as if she were plain, but rather as if she were…special.

  Beautiful.

  He climbed onto the bed and lay down on his side next to her. He dipped his head for a kiss and she sighed. No more second-guessing. No more insecurities.

  She ran her hands over him. Over his broad shoulders, down his arms and back up again, then trailed her fingertips down his back to the waistband of his jeans. He was so warm. His skin smooth, his muscles flexing under her hands. Then his kiss became more urgent.

  In one quick motion, he sat up, pulling her up with him. He grabbed the bottom of her tank top and peeled it off.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said huskily. Reverently.

  Warmth filled her, grew to searing heat when he eased her back again, bent his head and sucked one nipple into his mouth. She whimpered, then bit down hard on her lower lip. Her hands curled around her bedspread. With each tug and pull on her breast, desire built inside her. He moved to her other breast, giving it the same attention until she squirmed.

  He kissed his way down to the slope of her stomach, his hands on either side as if holding a precious—albeit large—egg.

  “Hello, baby,” he murmured.

  J.C. felt the baby move as if he cou
ldn’t help but respond to Brady’s deep voice.

  Brady rubbed the sides of her stomach a moment longer, placed a kiss just under her belly button and then slid his hands to the waistband of her shorts. J.C. lifted her hips and he tugged the material, along with her underwear, down her legs.

  It hurt to breathe as he stared down at her. She squeezed her eyes shut. As much as she wanted to watch him undress, as much as she wanted to see him—every part of him—she couldn’t. Her stomach turned with nerves as she waited for him to enter her. What if the unsatisfying sex last time hadn’t been Brady’s fault? What if she’d somehow messed up? Moved the wrong way or—

  Her eyes snapped open as his hand smoothed up her inner thigh. He was lying on his side next to her, still wearing his jeans. “Wha-what are you doing?” she asked.

  “Touching you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re soft.” He nudged her legs farther apart with his hand then pressed his nose to the side of her neck and inhaled deeply. “Because you smell good.” His hand trailed along the crease of her thigh up to her hip bone, then back and forth over her lower stomach. Her pelvis contracted. “Because I want to make you wet for me.”

  Heat suffused her at his words, said in such a dark, seductive tone. “I…” Her breath whooshed out when he brushed his fingertips over the tight curls between her legs. Back and forth. Back and forth. She lifted her hips but he didn’t deepen those featherlight touches like she wanted. “I think I’m already there so if you want to…”

  “I do want to,” he said with such a wicked smile, she couldn’t help but smile in return.

  Until he slid his hand down. It was like an electric shock, feeling his hard, work-roughened hand on her most intimate place. She gripped his wrist, tried to pull his hand away, but he didn’t budge.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, looking so confused and sexy, for a moment she couldn’t remember why she’d stopped him.

  “Nothing,” she managed to squeak out, her voice about three octaves higher than usual. “I… You don’t have to… I’ve never done this before,” she said, forcing the words out. “This…part…I mean…”