by Selena Kitt
"Have you ever seen the Evening Parade with the President's Own Band?" he asked.
"No, sounds exciting."
After entering through a red brick building, they walked out into a beautiful open courtyard filled with large oak trees. As an officer, Conner was escorted to priority seating in the center of the bandstand. Sage was getting swept up in the energy and excitement of the crowd and the setting. The stands were filled with families, Marines in uniform, and tourists. She felt extra pride being able to walk in on the arm of a handsome Marine officer, relishing in the covetous looks she caught from nearby females. Back off ladies, he's all mine!
Promptly at 8 pm, an announcer hailed the beginning of the Evening Parade.
Conner leaned down and whispered to Sage, "First will be the President's Own Band. They wear special red uniforms."
Sage nodded her head in acknowledgment. She was too excited to speak. She heard the rat-a-tat-tat of the drums first. The sound got louder and louder as they marched out onto the field. They then launched into several rounds of recognizable John Phillip Sousa songs.
"This is so cool!" squealed Sage.
"Just wait and see," Conner said with a smile, pleased she was enjoying it so much.
Next, the Marine Corps Silent Drill Platoon marched in perfect precision onto the open parade ground.
"The Ruger n1 rifles they carry weigh just over ten pounds, including the sharpened bayonets," explained Conner. "They will go through the entire drill without any verbal commands."
"Hence the name Silent Drill Platoon," teased Sage. Conner smiled.
It was like a well-orchestrated dance. Fifty men, all moving in perfect unison. Shifting their rifles from shoulder to shoulder. Spinning and twirling them left and right. The sound of the rifle butts hitting the ground at the same time was thunderous. It was all very impressive… and then they took it to a whole new level.
They started throwing their heavy rifles with the bayonets several feet into the air and catching them by only the rifle butt!
Sage covered her mouth in shocked excitement and awe.
As if that was not crazy enough, she perched on the edge of her seat as they paired off and began to throw two rifles in the air simultaneously, watching as they twirled and exchanged places high above, each catching the other's rifle. Unknowingly, Sage clutched Conner's sleeve in her anxiety and wonder at the spectacle.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" he whispered against her ear, as always, inhaling her signature sugared orange scent. He needed to make sure she never ran out of the perfume!
"Are you kidding me?" she breathed. "This is without a doubt one of the most amazing things I have ever experienced. I will never forget this night! Thank you for taking me!" Sage gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.
"It's not over yet, Spitfire."
Once more the bright red uniforms of the President's Own Band marched onto the field. After a rousing rendition of Sousa's classic Semper Fidelis, the announcer was heard over the loudspeaker once more.
"Will Captain Benjamin Conner please escort Sage MacGovern onto the Parade ground."
Sage turned shocked, curious eyes to Conner, who rose with crisp military straightforwardness and offered his hand. No hint of a smile, or any indication he knew what was going on.
As they made their way to the parade ground, Sage furiously whispered to him, "Conner! Conner! What is happening?"
He ignored her.
When they reached the parade ground, Conner positioned Sage in front of him and then promptly dropped to one knee.
"Oh, my God!" she tearfully said, a hand to her mouth.
"There isn't a Marine alive who doesn't enjoy a good fight—" he began.
He was interrupted by a loud oo-rah from the crowd.
"You, Sage MacGovern, were definitely worth the fight," Conner went on, with a teasing sparkle of remembrance in his eyes. "I am hoping you will do me the great honor of becoming my wife."
Sage was so overwhelmed by the wonderfully, romantic gesture it took her a moment to respond.
That was when she heard her best friend Melissa shout out from the crowd, "Say yes, you dumb bitch!"
Sage started to laugh. "Yes! Yes! Yes!" she yelled as she launched herself into Conner's waiting arms.
The End
Author's Note:
The Evening Parade at the Marine Barracks, otherwise referred to as 8th and I in Washington, D.C. is a real thing. If you ever visit D.C. between the months of May and August, I highly recommend you check it out. It is one of the most incredible, most patriotic things you will ever experience. Plus, bonus, you get to see lots of men walking around in uniform!
http://www.barracks.marines.mil/Parades/EveningParade.aspx
Zoe Blake
#1 Best Selling Author in Victorian and Historical Erotica
We are all attracted to the forbidden. Addicted to the rush we get from reading something naughty...something kinky. We love to lose ourselves in the fantasy. The powerful lord who sweeps the lady away to his remote estate to ravish her. The cowboy who takes the sassy city girl over his knee to teach her a lesson. The devilishly charming pirate who seduces his beautiful captive. I write those erotic fantasies.
Don’t miss these exciting titles by Zoe Blake and Blushing Books!
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By
Sierra Cartwright
Chapter One
What the fuck?
Pierce Holden narrowed his eyes and rested a shoulder blade against the upscale honky-tonk's wall, wondering what the hell he was watching, and why the fuck it mattered to him.
Ella Gibson, his little sister's best friend, was standing at a bar-high table along with a couple of other people, leaning forward, her chin propped on her hand. Tonight, her brown hair—longer than he remembered from the last time he was back in Colorado on leave—framed her face and hung down her back.
A soft, oversized gray shirt slid from one of her shoulders, showing off her creamy skin. And her black skirt was several inches shorter than it should have been. If she bent over any farther, her ass cheeks would flash the whole world.
Why that thought bothered him, he couldn't say.
Her long, muscular legs were bare. Since it was the middle of May, she only had the barest hint of a tan. Her cowboy boots were black with hot-pink angel wings embossed on the backs of them. Angel wings. That was rich, when she was dressed like sin.
Braxton W. Thurston, Jr. walked over to the table and offered her one of the glasses he was holding. If Pierce's guess was right, it contained whiskey. Neat. Absently, he wondered if Junior had sprung for the expensive stuff.
The two clinked their glasses together, and she smiled up at the slick attorney.
If the way she wrinkled her nose at the first sip was any indication, she was either new to drinking whiskey or Junior had bought the cheap shit.
Since the man was probably hoping to get Ella into his bed and into some serious bondage that she might later regret, Pierce would bet he'd bought to impress.
Alcohol was never part of his approach. He liked his subs to be sober. In fact, it was a requirement.
Pierce tipped back the longneck bottle and took a deep drink.
From what his sister had said recently, Ella had gone through a breakup a couple of years ago. Morgan hadn't supplied any of the details, only that Ella been devastated enough to avoid dating for at least a year.
Seemed to him as if she was on track to make a full recovery.
Pierce wished she had better taste in men. He wondered if she had any inkling the man was a Dom. If so, and she was still talking to him, she either hadn't heard the rumors about him, or she was reckless.
On the outside, he supposed Junior looked acceptable. The man had a fan
cy degree from a prestigious school. If he hadn't already made partner, the announcement was likely coming soon. He wore wingtip shoes, polished to a military shine. Pierce would be willing to bet the man hadn't done that himself. Maybe it was a chore he gave to a submissive. His suit was tailored, no doubt of European origin. Unlike Pierce's haircut that was the result of a weekly pass with his own clipper, Junior's hair lay perfectly, no doubt styled at an expensive salon.
The white, veneered smile couldn't hide the fact he'd cheated on his wife or helped a man get away with murder—both sins in Pierce's ordered little world. None of that surprised him, though. Years ago, at a play party hosted by Joe Montrose, a good friend of his, a Dungeon Monitor had forcibly stepped in to stop a scene when Junior refused to honor a sub's safeword.
The band trailed off, and after the applause died away, they strummed the opening notes of "Came Here to Forget," a song that couldn't have been more apropos.
Behind Pierce, someone launched a cue at pool balls, shooting them across the green felt in an explosive boom. It was all he could do not to jump. Most men didn't have trouble blocking out the sounds of people having fun at a bar, teasing each other, calling out which pocket they were going to sink the solid into, but to him, and to countless others who'd been under heavy artillery fire, flinching was instinctive.
Even when he was away from combat, he was always aware, always on guard.
To calm himself, from the noise as well as the sight of Ella about to walk into dangerous territory, he took another drink of the all-American lager. Nothing fancy. Serviceable. Affordable.
Across the room, Junior drank his whiskey in a single swallow then slammed the empty glass down on the tabletop and signaled for the waitress.
Ella placed her barely touched drink back down and rose, lifting the heels of her boots from the scarred wooden floor as she leaned forward flirtatiously to catch something Junior was saying. Her muscles flexed appealingly and that damnable skirt rode up just a little more.
Fuck.
Instead of looking at her face, Junior glanced down her shirt.
Prick.
"There's something about Braxton that I don't like," Morgan said, joining him.
Pierce glanced at his little sister and saw a ferocious scowl on her face. "Oh?"
"I don't know." She shrugged. "Something about the way he looks at me. It's hard to explain. Like he wants to devour me. Creeps me out."
"Is she dating him?"
"No. At least, not that I've heard. And she would have said something. He's a member of the country club."
The way she looked down her nose and emphasized the last two words told him a couple of things. Junior belonged to the same club as their parents. And Morgan shared her brother's opinion that Junior was a pretentious ass. "Have you told Ella what you think?"
"You can bet I intend to. I don't even know what he's doing here. The Neon Moon doesn't seem like his kind of place."
"Slumming with us."
"Hard to imagine, isn't it?"
"Anyway, I need to go," she told him. "Mom and I have mani/pedis at the nail salon tomorrow morning. And I'm sure mimosas will be involved." She rolled her eyes. "God help us all." She glanced back at Ella and the other people at the table. "I'll let them know I'm leaving. How about you?"
He shook his head. "Think I'll stay a while. Finish my beer."
"Are you kidding me? You're always the first one to hit the exit at these gatherings, not the last." She reached forward so that she could put her fingers on his forehead, pretending to take his temperature. "Who are you and what have you done with my brother?"
"Funny." But she was right. He typically left the bar scene to others. If he hadn't wanted to avoid the fancy open house his mother was hosting, he wouldn't have accepted the invitation to meet Morgan and a few of her friends at the Neon Moon—not that he'd spent much time actually talking to them. And until he'd seen Junior make a move on Ella, Pierce had been planning to make it an early night. "Go home, Morgan."
"Don't forget Mom and Dad are expecting you to arrive in time to help set up tomorrow. By noon? Please?"
"I'll be there." It was their thirtieth anniversary celebration, and Morgan had begged him to attend. His parents, he could resist. Morgan? Never.
"It would be easier if you just stayed at their house, you know."
In the bedroom that was part shrine and partially a reminder of his mom and dad's unfulfilled dreams? Last he'd been in there, a college acceptance letter still sat on the desk in mute condemnation. He'd destroyed his parents by enlisting, then heading to basic training without saying goodbye. "I'm fine at the hotel."
"You sure? It's a long drive."
"Less than half an hour." In military terms, that was nothing. And the small place had a hot tub to soothe his muscles and a workout area to burn off the nervous energy that built up every time he was forced to attend his mother's social soirées.
"Take pity on me? I could use the buffer," she admitted.
"You could stay at the hotel with me."
"Mom would kill me."
"She'd get over it."
"I've never been as brave as you, Pierce."
"You're just more easily manipulated."
She wrinkled her nose. "I hate that you're right."
"Go," he said.
"Fine. See you tomorrow."
"Don't let Mom have too many mimosas," he warned. "It's going to be a long day." He watched Morgan walk up to Ella, and he saw Junior's smile fade at her approach.
Pierce didn't have to overhear the conversation to see Ella smile and indicate she was staying.
His sister whispered something into her ear.
Ella's back went rigid for a second. She glanced at Junior then back at Morgan. Then Ella squeezed Morgan's hand, as if reassuring her everything would be okay.
The waitress returned with another round for the table, and Morgan took that opportunity to excuse herself.
With a last wave in his direction, she left the bar.
Pierce watched Junior down his second shot, and Ella scooted her glass to the side.
The Blake Shelton song playing in the background was replaced by an older ballad. A number of couples made their way toward the parquet dance floor. Obviously taking advantage of the intimacy in the bar, Junior took a step toward Ella and skimmed his fingers across her bare shoulder.
Junior might have helped a client get away with murder, but Pierce sure as hell wasn't letting him get any closer to Ella.
Pierce slammed his drink down on a nearby table, strode toward her, and angled his body between hers and Junior's. "Dance?" he suggested.
"I'm talking with Braxton."
"Were. You were talking to him. And you're done."
She scowled. "What?"
"Dance with me."
"Do you have any idea how rude you're being?"
"As a matter of fact…" He tipped his head to one side and grinned. "Yeah. I do."
"Ella?" Braxton asked, craning his head to the side.
"Now," Pierce said, refusing to budge.
"It's okay," she told Braxton with a forced smile. "I promised Pierce I'd dance with him."
It shocked him how easily the lie had rolled off her tongue.
"Shall we?" Pierce placed his fingers possessively in the small of her back, more for Junior's benefit than any other reason.
Aware that the other man was still watching them, Pierce smiled. Junior loosened the tie that Pierce would have liked to choke him with and signaled for the waitress instead of talking to the other people at the table.
"What in the hell is your problem?" Ella demanded, looking up at him.
How had he never really noticed how petite she was? He'd always seen her as his little sister's friend, not as a woman in her own right. To be fair, he hadn't spent a lot of time with her since he'd moved away. In the intervening years, she'd become not only attractive, but stunning. Her hazel eyes were wide, and, fuck it all, her lips were a dazzling, invitin
g shade of red. No wonder Junior was hot for her.
Thanks to a woman he'd dated for a while, Pierce knew the basic two-step. Nothing fancy, but enough to get Ella alone and not embarrass either one of them.
He pulled her into his arms and couldn't help but notice how right it—she—felt, despite the way she was holding herself away from him. The overhead lights reflected off the coppery highlights in her hair. And, this close, he drank in her scent, that of sunshine and promise, an intoxicating, dangerous combination that he suddenly wanted to sample.
"Pierce?"
Jolted, he shook his head.
"I asked you a question," she said. "I'm not in high school anymore."
"So I've noticed."
"I don't need rescuing," she finished.
Despite her heated words, she moved flawlessly, following his lead. All of a sudden he wondered if she'd be just as perfect in other ways, too. Rather than get into an argument, he countered with, "What do you know about Junior?"
"Junior?" She frowned, her eyebrows drawing together. "You mean Braxton?"
"Yeah."
"He'd hate it if he heard you call him that."
"I'm counting on it."
She scowled at him. "I'll ask it again. What is your problem?"
"I don't like him hitting on you."
"And?" She blinked. "What I do and who I do it with is none of your business."
"I'm making it my business."
She laughed. "Sorry to disappoint you, Pierce. You're my best friend's big brother, but that doesn't give you any right to stick your nose in my business."
"Someone has to look after you."
"No. Really. They don't. As I mentioned, I'm a big girl now. I can think for myself, choose who I want to hang out with. But thank you for your concern." She gave him a dazzling smile.
He just wished it wasn't as fake as it was big. And that it hadn't walloped him in the solar plexus. "What is it about him that you like?" he asked, again trying to keep her mentally off balance so that she could hear what he had to say. He needed to get her past her annoyance, first.
