The Littlest Marine & The Oldest Living Married Virgin

by Maureen Child

  He decided to ignore her obvious dislike for the military. “How about you call me Harding, and I’ll call you Elizabeth?”

  She pulled in a long, slow, deep breath, and he fought to keep his gaze from dropping to the swell of her breasts.

  “Deal,” she said. “‘Harding.’ It’s an unusual name.”

  He shrugged. “Old English. It means ‘son of the warrior.’”

  She nodded. “Naturally.”

  An exuberant dancer bumped against her, sending her crashing into Harding’s chest. She put her hands up to stop her fall, then backed away from him quickly, as if burned.

  Silence again. Two people, standing in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by whirling couples. Stupid for the two of them to simply stand there and get trampled.

  He didn’t have the slightest doubt that Mike and Terry were covertly watching…hoping for something to happen between the two of them. In fact, that was the main reason he hadn’t already asked Elizabeth to dance. He knew it was just what his old pal wanted—no, expected. Mike probably figured at the same time, though, that Harding would refuse to dance just to spite him.

  With that thought firmly in mind, Harding smiled to himself. He had always believed in keeping the enemy guessing.

  “Would you like to dance?” They both said at the same time.

  Harding looked at her, catching the amusement twinkling in her eyes, and found himself smiling in acknowledgment.

  “There’s no reason we shouldn’t enjoy ourselves, is there?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Not a single one,” he agreed, and extended one hand toward her. As her palm brushed across his, that same sense of electricity shot up the length of his arm. He gritted his teeth and muttered, “Ooo-rah!”

  “Oh, Lord,” she groaned quietly.

  He pulled her into his arms.

  It felt as though she had been made just for him. Her head nestled beneath his chin, her breasts pressed to his chest, her hand resting lightly in his. Harding closed his eyes briefly and prayed for strength.

  He felt solid, Elizabeth told herself. Right. Her left hand stole across his shoulder to the back of his neck. Miles of muscles, she thought, and briefly entertained the notion of seeing those muscles in their bare naked glory. Her breath caught in her throat, and her stomach did a series of somersaults. She stumbled slightly, then stepped quickly to get back into the rhythm of the dance.

  Nope, she told herself firmly. She would not let him get to her. She had spent a whole year avoiding this man and, darn it, she wasn’t about to cave in to hormones in one night.

  Elizabeth’s three-inch heels wobbled beneath her, and Harding’s arm around her waist tightened in response. Glancing up at him, she met his smile with one of her own.

  “Did I step on your toes?” he asked.

  Good-looking, great body and polite, she thought. He knew very well he hadn’t stepped on her toes. He was simply covering for her misstep.

  “No,” she said. “My mind must have drifted.” Now that had to be the biggest understatement since Custer said, “I think I see an Indian.” Of course, nowadays, it would be “Native American.”

  “It’s been a while since I’ve been dancing,” he said.

  “Me, too.” Brilliant, she thought. Nothing better than some scintillating after-dinner conversation.

  “So,” she said, trying to say something intelligent, “how long have you and Mike known each other?” She already knew the answer to that one. Hadn’t she been hearing Mike sing this man’s praises for the past year?

  “We met in boot camp.”

  “Long time ago?”

  “Twenty years.”

  Oh my, yes, this conversation was getting better and better.

  He executed a smooth turn that lifted the hem of her skirt to swirl around her legs. “So what made you stay in the Marines?” she asked, needing to talk to keep her mind off other, more distracting thoughts.

  “What made you decide to be a cook?”

  She bristled slightly. “Chef,” she said. “Pastry chef, to be specific.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “I stand corrected.” He held her tightly to him, did a series of turns that left her breathless, then led her back into a standard waltz.

  When she could speak again, she tilted her head back to look into those blue eyes of his. “I enjoy cooking. I’m good at it.”

  “Ditto.”

  “Huh?”

  “I enjoy being a Marine,” he explained further. “I’m good at it.”

  “Oh.” Yep, she thought. Her father would love this guy. Two men cut from the same cloth, so to speak. “Where are you stationed?” she asked next.

  “Camp Pendleton.”

  She bit her tongue to stop herself from admitting that she had already known that, too. Terry and Mike talked about him all the time. She would even be willing to bet that she knew what he had for breakfast every morning. The bridal couple had not been exactly subtle in their matchmaking efforts.

  “Isn’t that sort of a long drive from here?”

  “With traffic, about an hour.”

  She nodded as his thighs moved against hers. Her brain slipped into neutral. They moved through the dancing couples with an almost magical ease. Gliding, swaying around the floor, it was as if they had been dancing together for years.

  The song ended, giving way to another, and they went on, oblivious to anyone else in the room.

  His legs brushed hers. He threaded his thick, callused fingers through hers, and their palms met. His hand on her waist dipped a bit, coming to rest on the curve of her behind. Everywhere he touched her, Elizabeth felt as though she was on fire.

  Raw, primitive heat coursed through her body, making her heart pound and her blood race. Her breasts rubbed against his chest and her nipples tightened expectantly. A damp ache settled in her center, making her thighs tremble.

  How was she supposed to ignore him if her own body was working against her?

  “So,” he asked suddenly, “what made you change your mind about Mike and Terry?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut briefly before looking up at him. “They told you I was against their marriage?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I was afraid of that.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Harding told her. “Mike admired you for it even while he was complaining to me about you trying to split them up.”

  “He did?”

  “Yeah. Said you were just trying to protect your sister.” His gaze settled on her. “Loyalty’s something we admire in the Corps.”

  She nodded, understanding completely. “Semper fi,” she whispered.

  “You got it.”

  Elizabeth was a little ashamed now of the hard time she had given Mike when he and Terry had started dating. And she had to give her sister’s fiancé points. He hadn’t given up and he hadn’t held her opposition against her. “He’s a nice man.”

  “The best.” His tone changed when he added, “I’m not so nice. You made Mike pretty miserable for a long time.”

  “I guess I’m not so nice, either.” She stiffened in his arms. It was one thing for her to regret her own behavior privately, but she wasn’t about to stand still for a lecture. “Terry’s always been too romantic for her own good. I had to look out for her.”

  After a long moment he nodded, then asked, “And who looks out for you?”

  Her stomach flip-flopped as she stared into his eyes. Ignoring it, she answered, “I do.”

  As another song ended, he looked down at her, his gaze clashing with hers in a silent tumult of emotion. Elizabeth drew one long, shuddering breath. What was it about this man? She wasn’t a stranger to men in uniform, so that old cliché didn’t hold true. Clearly then, it was something about Harding Casey himself that was getting to her. She wasn’t willing to risk that. Desperately unsettled, she whispered, “I think I’d better get back home.”

  “Already?” That voice of his rumbled along her spine and sent every one of her
nerve endings into overdrive.

  Deliberately she took a step back, pulling her hand from his grasp. “Yeah. Terry wants me to run a couple of errands for her in the morning, and who knows what she and Mike will have planned for us later in the day.”

  “They are trying to keep us together, aren’t they?”

  “Terry’s always been stubborn.”

  “Mike, too.”

  She nodded, telling herself to move. Get away. Walk fast, no, run to a car. Any car that promised her a ride home. Why hadn’t she driven herself?

  Because she had listened to Terry, that’s why.

  “Anyway,” she said, starting off the dance floor toward their table. “Thanks for the dances, and I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Just a minute,” he said, and she glanced back to see him wind his way through the swaying couples to speak with Mike. In moments he was back again. Taking her elbow, he said, “All right, let’s go.”

  “Let’s? You’re leaving, too?”

  He shot her a quick look. “I’m taking you home.”

  “Oh, that’s not necessary,” she babbled. “I’ll just grab a cab.”

  “Look,” he said, “you came with Terry. You need a ride. I’m available. Why wait for a cab when you’re ready to leave now?”

  Terrific, she thought. Not just a Marine. The Sir Galahad of Marines.

  “Really, Harding…” she started to say.

  The sentence trailed off into silence as soon as she met his gaze. There was no way this man was going to put her in a cab.

  Inhaling deeply, she blew the air out in a rush and accepted the inevitable. “Okay then, let’s go.”

  Windows down, the cold, sea-kissed air rushed in at them as Harding steered his late-model Mustang north, up Pacific Coast Highway.

  “Nice car,” she said after several moments of tense silence.

  “Rented,” he muttered.

  “Where’s yours?” Elizabeth asked, more out of politeness than actual curiosity.

  “Don’t have one.”

  Conversation would be a lot simpler, she told herself, if she didn’t have to practically use a bayonet to force him to contribute. He’d been a heck of a lot chattier on the dance floor, she thought. Why the change? Was it because now it was just the two of them? Well, whatever the reason, Elizabeth wasn’t going to sit in stony silence the whole way home.

  “You live in Huntington Beach, California and don’t own a car?” she asked.

  He shot her a sidelong glance. “Too much trouble to own one when you’re never in one place more than a few years. All that hassle with changing license plates and registration…”

  A veritable flood of information. And with it, memories. Her father, too, had never owned a car until he and Elizabeth’s mother had retired to Florida several years before.

  Harding lapsed into silence again, and she bit her tongue to keep from being the one to speak first this time. But maybe she shouldn’t be so hard on him, she thought. She had seen the look on his face while they danced. She knew that he had been feeling the same overpowering attraction that she had experienced. All things considered, she thought, they were doing well indeed, having any sort of conversation.

  Although, she told herself as miles of beach road disappeared behind them, perhaps it would be better all the way around if they each simply owned up to the truth of what was happening between them. She looked at his stoic profile and knew that if they were going to get this out into the open, it would be up to her to start the ball rolling.

  Before she could change her mind, she said, “This won’t work, you know.”

  His breath left him in a rush. He gave her a brief, half smile before turning his gaze back to the road. “I’m glad you see that, too.”

  “Of course I do,” Elizabeth told him.

  Shaking his head, he went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “The last thing I need in my life is a woman.”

  “I feel the same way,” she tossed in and was rewarded with a quizzical look. Correcting herself, she said quickly, “About a man, I mean. Particularly, a Marine.”

  He frowned at the distinction, then nodded and started talking again, as if her words had broken a dam that had stood as long as it was able. “I tried marriage once, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t.” Strange, that with all the information Terry had given her about Harding Casey, the woman had never added the fairly pertinent point concerning a wife.

  “Yeah,” he said, almost to himself. “Only lasted a few months.”

  “What happened?”

  He shrugged those massive shoulders. “She left me. Better in the end, I suppose. She couldn’t handle being a Marine wife.”

  Unwillingly, she felt a stab of empathy for the woman. She remembered all too clearly how hard her mother had worked, trying to give her children a sense of permanence even while traipsing around the world. “It’s not an easy job,” she said.

  He grinned, and her stomach flipped. She sincerely hoped he wouldn’t do that often, during the next week they were to spend together.

  “That’s right. You would know. Your father is career Marine.”

  “Yeah, and you could say my mother was, too. Lord knows she should have gotten a medal or two.

  ” He bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment. “It takes a special woman to handle it. My ex didn’t like the idea of long absences, for one thing.”

  “Ah, deployment,” she said softly, remembering all of the times her father had been gone in her life.

  “Six months every eighteen months,” he said.

  Christmases, she thought. Summers, school plays…

  “And,” he went on, oblivious to her silence, “she wasn’t real keen on the notion of packing up and moving every three years or so, never quite sure which base she’d end up on.”

  It was a hassle, she remembered, though her mother had always looked on it as another adventure. Terry, too, for that matter. Just because she herself didn’t care for the life didn’t mean that there weren’t plenty of women who did. To be completely honest, her own mother had thrived on it.

  Finally she said slowly, “You know, Harding, any woman who really loves a man can put up with just about anything. I think you just picked a lemon in the garden of love.”

  He came to a stop at a traffic signal and swiveled his head to look at her in the reflected yellow glow of a fog lamp streetlight.

  “You’re probably right,” he conceded. “But either way, once was enough for me. I won’t try it again. A mistake like that is hard to correct and almost impossible to forget.”

  The light turned green, and he stepped on the gas.

  “I agree completely.” Elizabeth settled back into her seat, more comfortable than she had been all night. What a relief it was to get this all into the open. “That’s why I have no intention of marrying. Especially a military man. Growing up with one was enough. Besides, I’ve yet to meet any man I would be interested in enough to even think about marriage.” She turned her head to watch the black waves roll in toward shore. “And I like having my time to myself. I need it. To think. To work.”

  “I know just what you mean,” he said. As they neared the Huntington Beach pier, he pulled the car close to the curb, threw it into Park and shut off the engine.

  She looked at him. “What are you up to?”

  “Not a thing, ma’am. Just thought you might like to take a little stroll on the beach before heading back to your place.”

  Odd, that once they had started talking openly about how neither of them was interested in the other, they were getting along great.

  “You know something?” she said. “That sounds like a wonderful idea.”

  He got out, came around to her side and opened the door for her. Once he’d helped her out of the low-slung car, he released her hand and walked beside her as they crossed the street to the steps leading down to the sand.

  “I’m really glad we had that little talk, Harding.”

  “I am,
too, Elizabeth,” he said. “We’ll be spending a lot of time together this coming week, and there’s no reason why we can’t relax and enjoy each other’s company. As friends.”

  Friends. Sure. Why not? They could do it. They were both grown-ups. Uncontrollable lust was for teenagers or for those who had no self-control.

  “Friends,” she agreed firmly. At the bottom of the steps, she paused to step out of her high heels.

  “You should maybe keep those on at least until we’re clear of the pier. There’s probably broken glass all over the place.”

  She looked up at him briefly. “High heels and sand do not mix, Harding.”

  He nodded slowly, then before she could say another word, he bent down, scooped her up in his arms and cradled her against his chest.

  Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Her breathing shortened, became more difficult.

  “What are you doing?” she managed to ask.

  Grinning at her, he said, “Helping a friend.”

  “Oh.” She swallowed with difficulty and ordered her pulse rate to slow down. “Okay.”

  Friend, she thought silently. Repeatedly. Maybe if she said it often enough, her body would start to believe it.

  Three

  Harding set his new “friend” down gently and took a step back from her. His body was on full alert. Hard. Ready. Eager. Too much more of this “friendship” and he would be a dead man.

  Or maybe a live-and-in-pain one who wished he were dead.

  But what was he thinking? He was a Marine. He had been in battle. Survived whizzing bullets and stupid recruits. Surely he could last out a week in the company of Elizabeth Stone.

  He shot her a look from the corner of his eye and had to admit that a week with Elizabeth Stone was going to be much tougher on him than any enemy soldier with a puny little machine gun could be.

  In silence they started walking along the shoreline. The tide was out, and the slow ripples of water surged sluggishly toward the beach, occasionally sneaking up close enough to them that the two people did a quick step to one side to stay dry.

  Sea-air-scented wind ruffled across the surface of the ocean, and a full moon lent a silvery, almost bright, light to the darkness.