Below the Belt

by Jeanette Murray

  “Oo-rah!”

  The group paused and turned to look. A few held their fists in the air and as one, let out a booming “Oo-rah!” that echoed through the rafters of the gym. Her heart swelled at that moment, loving each and every one of them.

  They left in a noisy, lovable huddle, and she waited until they were gone. But she couldn’t ignore Brad forever. And when he reached for her, she didn’t hesitate to walk right into his arms and wrap hers around his waist. Burying her face against his chest, she whispered, “I missed you.”

  He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, then rested his cheek there. “I missed you, too. I’m sorry.”

  “Clearly,” she said, laughing. “What the hell made you think to do this?”

  “My lady likes her pamphlets.”

  She laughed. And then kept laughing, despite the fact that it wasn’t funny so much as true. But her nerves were running a mile a minute and she couldn’t catch up, and if she didn’t laugh, she was afraid she’d cry. Laughing was safer, overall.

  “I love you,” he murmured when she finally took a breath.

  Pressing her tear-streaked face into his shoulder—tears from laughing, she swore to herself—she nodded.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

  She bit him.

  “Ouch! Vicious. Now I’m gonna have to have the trainer fix me up.”

  “She’s currently unavailable. I heard she was making out with her boyfriend.” Marianne tilted her head back enough to smile at Brad’s amused face. “Don’t make a liar out of me.”

  He kissed her lightly, just a teasing brush of lips. She wanted more. So, so much more.

  “I didn’t hear you say anything back.” He pulled away, and though his tone was light, she could see lingering worry heavy in his eyes.

  “Maybe I should string you along.”

  “Maybe you should—”

  “Children.”

  They jumped apart as if they’d been tossed by a catapult. Marianne’s face heated, and she watched the flush creep up the back of Brad’s neck as they both turned to see Coach Ace standing in the doorway, thick arms crossed over his chest.

  His tone was serious, but his eyes hinted at humor . . . she hoped.

  “Cook? You’re not going to make the same mistake, am I right?”

  “No, Coach.”

  “And Costa, well, we’ve already spoken, haven’t we?”

  He nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  With a sigh, he shook his head, chuckling a little. At least, she was pretty sure that’s what that chest rumble was. “Don’t screw it up this time, the both of you. I can’t have my athletes running out to the craft store every time you two have a fight.” He started to walk away, then turned back to add, “Warm-ups in twenty-five, Costa. Don’t make me come back here and drag you out.”

  Brad nodded, unable to speak.

  They turned to watch each other silently, eyes wide, mouths trembling with the effort to hold back the laughter, both mouthing to stop it, shut up, no you shut up until he was out of hearing distance. Then they both lost the war of the laughs and doubled over, falling against each other. Brad leaned into the nearest exam table and pulled her back to his front, cupping her from behind as the hilarity subsided.

  “Would you really have quit the team?” she asked a few minutes later, after they’d simply stood with each other, pressed together, absorbing each other’s presence. “It’s what you’ve wanted since your dad died. How could you give that up?”

  He squeezed her tighter to him. “I would have lost this. How the hell could I give this up for some boxing award?” He nuzzled against her neck. Her eyes fluttered closed at the sweet feel of it. She wanted to imprint the memory of his lips right there, at the base of her hairline, forever.

  “My mom talked me in circles a little. But really, it came down to the reason making the team was important in the first place. Because of my dad, yeah. I want it for me, too. But my dad was the catalyst. The reason I even considered trying out. And I think he’d be more disappointed in me if I’d let the team drag me away from you, than if I’d been cut for whatever reason. So what was I doing, if not making him proud, and not making me happy? Nothing. It was nothing without you.”

  She sighed and turned in his arms, locking her fingers around his neck. “I’m not going to let you off the hook, you know. I read your paperwork, and I know exactly what you can and can’t do, per doctor’s orders.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Okay, but maybe just some modifications on the—”

  “Nope.” She pressed a quick, hard kiss to his mouth. “I’m not going to let you being my guy blind me anymore. In fact, I might be tougher on you than anyone from here on out.”

  “Great,” he muttered, but she kissed him again.

  “I’ll be all over your ass for icing, and wearing your brace, and doing your exercises at home. Oh, yeah,” she added when he winced. “I know exactly what they are, and I know exactly how much they suck. You’re still doing them. Because if not, I’m kicking your ass. Then I’ll step aside and let Coach kick it.”

  “Point made.”

  “We’re doing this right this time. We jumped in so fast before, we weren’t ready.” She took a deep breath and gave him the most serious look she could muster when he was pressing against her with an impressive erection. “I’m ready now.”

  “Ready for what?”

  “All of it. We’re doing this right.” She paused. “Maybe you should just move your stuff over to my place.”

  He shrugged. “Works for me. Though I’ll have to keep a few things in the BOQ, for curfew nights when Coach asks us to stay here.”

  “Understandable.” She grimaced. “And you’ll have to have dinner with my parents.”

  He heaved a sigh. “It’s inevitable.”

  “My mom will probably flirt with you.”

  “Two for one, score.”

  She pinched what little skin she could grab hold of on his stomach. He arched away. “Damn, woman.” Capturing her wrists in one hand, he locked them between their bodies. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” She rose on her toes to kiss him once more before they started their day.

  “Hey, Marianne, I—oh.” Levi stood frozen in the doorway of the training room. “Wow, uh . . . awkward.”

  Maybe a little. But not nearly as much as it would have been a week ago. “Sorry, Levi. We’ll be out of here in a second.”

  “Okay.” He started to back away, then glanced over his shoulder. “Do you know why there’s a pile of Marines sleeping in the lobby like a litter of puppies?”

  Marianne and Brad looked at each other, then both shrugged. Levi shook his head and walked toward the locker room.

  “This . . . I’ve got to see.” Marianne started for the door, jolting back when Brad pulled at her arm. “What? C’mon, how do you pass up that opportunity?”

  “I don’t. Bring your phone. We’re gonna want photographic evidence.” He waited for her to grab it from her desk, then kissed her hard and slapped her ass. “First one there gets to upload the photo to Facebook.”

  “You’re so on.” She sprinted after him, knowing he’d win.

  But they’d both won, in the end.

  TURN THE PAGE FOR A PREVIEW OF JEANETTE MURRAY’S

  AGAINST THE ROPES

  COMING OCTOBER 2015 FROM BERKLEY SENSATION!

  Greg’s nerves were on high alert, and had been since the second he’d ever-so-smoothly thumped Reagan’s back. That delightful move had earned him the Dumbass of the Night award. And the hits just kept on coming. But Fate had thrown him a bone and given him a very good reason to get the luscious Reagan Robilard alone in her car.

  “Just keep driving straight now,” he said as they pulled through the main gate and past the sentry.

  “There’s nowhere to go but straight,” she pointed out.

  “You could turn right here for the hospital.”

  “I don’t want that,” she said, her voice tight
.

  “So keep driving straight.”

  She growled a little, the sound so cute and feminine he wanted to lean over and kiss the tip of her nose. But he resisted. One stupid move per night was his limit . . . hopefully.

  “You ladies have a good night out?”

  She smiled, which he couldn’t see so much as hear in her voice. “We were, until a few weirdos came and crashed the party.”

  “Weirdos?” Ready to defend her honor, despite being too late, he sat up straighter. “Who? What’d they look like? Did they bother you?”

  “That would have been you three boys,” she answered with a smug grin.

  Oh. Right. He let his head thump back against the headrest. Damn. She had a wicked sense of humor on her. “How’s the job working out?”

  “It’s far more action-oriented than I imagined, that’s for sure. I never thought I’d be driving out in the dark to inspect slashed tires, or figuring out who keeps vandalizing the gym. I feel like I stepped into a Nancy Drew book instead of my first real job.”

  “First real job, huh?” She flushed slightly, the tint barely perceptible thanks to the street lamps. “Just graduated, I take it?”

  “I did, yes.” Her voice deepened when she wanted to sound important, he noted. “Took me a little longer because I had to work full time while I went, but I’m a proud graduate and ready to use my degree.”

  “Good to know.” He settled back in his seat. “You’ll turn here, then make another and the barracks will be dead ahead.”

  “Gotcha.” She finished the drive and pulled into a space at the back of the lot next to Sweeney’s SUV. “I should have brought a digital camera or something,” she said, looking around her car. Her voice was tight, a little high-pitched now, telling him she was nervous. “I don’t know if I’ll need photos , but . . .” She bit her lip, and he put a hand over hers on the gear shift between them.

  “Don’t sweat it. We’ve all got cell phones with cameras. Between all of us we’ll have plenty of photos.”

  “Oh. Right.” She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. A breath that pushed her more-than-a-handful breasts against the tight confines of her shirt. “Sorry, I’m nervous. This isn’t the sort of thing they cover in marketing class.”

  “You’re fine. You’ve got it.” He stepped out, then debated going to open her door. She was, for all intents and purposes, on the job now. Would she see that as stepping over a boundary? Be angry he’d done something she could do for herself?

  While he internally debated, she opened her own door and stepped into the warm night air, smoothing her dark pencil skirt down over her hips as she did so. And thank God for skirts that hugged those curve. Her body was a damn work of art; a true hourglass. He let her get a step in front of him as she walked toward the group congregated on the sidewalk in front of the building, just to give himself another minute of appreciation at the way her hips swung while she walked.

  “Good evening, Marines.” Her voice deepened into a husky, sexy tone that had him fighting an erection in the parking lot. “Problems with some tires, I hear?”

  She listened as the guys explained having made it home from practice with no problem, parking, then finding the tires slashed when they’d come out to get dinner. She took notes on her phone, getting everyone’s license plate, make and model, which tires were slashed and where they’d been parked in the lot.

  “And nobody else’s tires were slashed? The people who’d parked next to you, for example?”

  “Only tires we see slashed are from the team’s,” Tressler said, looking supremely pissed and ready to brawl with anyone who gave him a wrong look. The hothead was in for a rude awakening on the mat if he couldn’t keep himself together and shield those emotions better. “Except Chalfant. His got hit too, but he didn’t make the team.”

  At Brad’s growl, Tressler’s eyes widened. “Which, I mean, he should have,” he finished, then shot Chalfant a look. “Sorry, man. That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know,” the tall man said quietly. “It’s okay.”

  “So what you’re saying is the person who did this appears to have enough information about the team to know who to target, but not enough to know who was most recently cut,” Reagan said quickly to diffuse any potential problems. “Someone who is paying attention, but doesn’t have firsthand info.”

  “Yeah, that’s what we’ve been thinking. You’re good.” Tressler nodded and grinned, which made Greg take a protective step toward Reagan’s back. She glanced over her shoulder with a grouchy expression, but he didn’t back up.

  Tressler caught his eye, narrowed his brow slightly, then shrugged. At least the kid wasn’t a total moron. He picked up on the subtle back off vibes fast enough.

  After she’d gathered all the official documentation, she asked who had called the MPs. The younger Marines all looked at each other, each one shaking his head in turn.

  “Nobody?” Reagan glanced between them, then fisted her hands on her hips. “Not one of you thought to report this? Your insurances alone will require that much.”

  “We thought we should wait to see what these guys said,” another Marine—one of Sweeney’s, Greg thought—said. “We figured it was their call, because things are so weird right now with the gym and the training room getting trashed.”

  “Can’t fault them for thinking it through,” Greg muttered by Reagan’s ear. “Cut them some slack. They’re babies.”

  She turned to cut him a frosty glance. “Half of them are just a year or two younger than me.”

  Whoops. He hadn’t considered that. She’d mentioned being a recent graduate, but he’d simply assumed she’d gone back to school after working for a few years. So she was what, twenty-four? Twenty-five?

  Not that he cared. He was only twenty-eight himself. But she gave the illusion of being older than she apparently was. Probably the same way she gave the illusion of being taller, more in control, more assured of herself. She projected it perfectly with wardrobe and attitude.

  In full control now, Reagan started to pace in front of the group. Her heels made the sexiest clicking sound on the pavement of the parking lot. “Let’s talk to the MPs and get that on the record. While we’re waiting for them, we need to make some calls for rides to get you guys to practice tomorrow. Once that’s done, we’ll make appointments for you to get your tires replaced at whatever place your insurances will approve. We’ll stagger the repairs so we can get them fixed without jeopardizing your training schedules.”

  She started tapping at her phone, and Greg nearly had to pick his jaw up off the floor at the change. He had the distinct feeling she’d left Reagan in the car and brought Ms. Robilard with her to work. Night and day difference between the unsure co-ed and the professional businesswoman.

  And the other men noticed it, too. They scrambled to follow her directions, making calls or looking information up on their phones, taking photos and texting people about rides.

  The woman knew how to light a fire under a group of Marines.

  With a satisfied, if not a little grim, smile, Reagan nodded and clapped her hands once to get everyone’s attention. They stopped talking immediately, and Greg nearly laughed at the image of a Kindergarten teacher getting the attention of a bunch of five-year-olds. “Right, I’m going to take some photos before I go, and then I will see everyone tomorrow.” With a steely stare, she added, “This does not excuse anyone from practice in the morning. You’ve got plenty of time to arrange for a ride, so do it.”

  Most mumbled a quiet, “Yes, ma’am,” before she walked off to start taking photos of each car’s slashed tires. Greg followed behind, hands tucked behind his back to keep from thrusting her against one of those vehicles and kissing her senseless. That was, without a doubt, one of the hottest things he’d seen in years. Her ability to take charge in the blink of an eye, command a group of hardass Marines, and do it in a sexy pair of heels and a body-hugging skirt . . .

  She did a dainty little
squat, keeping her knees primly together as she angled her phone towards the rear tire of a pickup truck. Her skirt stretched tight over her curvy ass.

  Come to think of it, maybe that’s exactly how she commanded their attention so well. Hmm.

  “Did you need something else?”

  His concentration broken, Greg blinked and uttered the ever-intelligent, “What?”

  “You were staring.” Reagan took another photo, the flash momentarily blinding him, then looked over her shoulder. “Did you still need something?”

  “A ride back to the BOQ would be nice.”

  “Your friends are still here. I assume that’s why. You could go with them.” Snap snap.

  “But then how would you get home?”

  “GPS,” she answered easily. “It’s easy enough to key in ‘Home’ as my destination from an unknown place. Not so easy to key in the address of ‘Barracks, Camp Lejeune.’”

  Okay, she had a point there. “It wouldn’t be very gentlemanly for me to ditch you now.”

  “You’re not ditching, you’re going home to get some rest. I’d actually prefer that, to be honest. The more rested you are, the better you train.” She stood, teetering for just a second before he grabbed her arm to steady her. The short sleeve blouse she wore gave him the chance to feel the soft skin of her forearm under his thumb. He brushed once over the pulse on the inside of her elbow, felt it hammering, and knew she wasn’t nearly as cool as she played.

  “You want me to go home and get some beauty rest?” He lowered his voice, stepping in, wondering if she was ever without those damn heels—which yes, did great things for her ass—so he could actually look down at her instead of up half an inch. “I don’t think you do.”

  “And that’s why I’m the brains of this operation,” she said lightly, stepping back. “Someone has to think about the greater good. Besides,” she added, picking her purse up from the side mirror she’d hung it on to take photos, “you’ll need your strength for battle tomorrow.”

  “It’s training, not battle.”

  “I wasn’t talking about practice. I was talking about dealing with me.” And with that sassy parting shot, she slid between two cars and disappeared to continue her photo documentary.