Make Mine a Marine

by Julie Miller

  “What's wrong?”

  The inevitability of losing her made Brodie interpret her innocent question with shades of despair. He turned to see her leaning against the door jamb, her arms crossed beneath her breasts, lifting them toward him in innocent invitation. Her eyes were smoky, with flecks of blue darkening the bright green fire.

  He started at the top and traced her figure with his gaze, memorizing each curl, each curve, each nuance of personality that was BJ Kincaid. His body felt parched for what he could not, should not have. He licked his tongue across his dry lips. Her gaze instantly darted to the tiny gesture. The matching need that flared in her eyes washed over him like a cooling, healing caress.

  He was a starving soldier, wandering through a desert without hope for eight hundred years. BJ was his fortress, the home of welcoming love and acceptance he had finally reached. But like the most inept of young knights yearning to return to safety too quickly, he’d led the enemy straight to her door and sealed her fate. Maybe he himself was the real enemy. For if a sorcerer's magic didn't destroy BJ Kincaid, then he most certainly would.

  But knowing what could happen to BJ didn't stop the wanting. It didn't stop the need.

  “I love you.” He ground the words between his teeth, a raw promise of devotion.

  Her chin lifted a fraction. Fear flickered through her eyes. The blunt intensity of his need consumed the room's atmosphere with a daunting force.

  Throw me out, sweetheart. Get me out of your life. His conscience rang inside his head but found no voice.

  Just when he thought she would politely refuse him, just when he thought she would supply the conscience he lacked, trust blossomed in her eyes, replacing the shadows of fear.

  “What's going to happen to us?” she asked.

  He imagined the quiver in her voice revealed the same futile desire he battled to suppress.

  “I can't give you what you deserve, BJ. I can't promise you any tomorrows.”

  He held his breath while she processed his words, giving her the opportunity to turn away, but desperately wanting her to say that nothing but the two of them together mattered.

  “You wake up day after day for eight hundred years, and you honestly believe there are no tomorrows?” Her eyes gleamed with a surprising look of worldly knowledge and sheer determination. “Between your experience and my ingenuity, we can make tomorrow happen.”

  He almost believed her. He could almost see the future through her eyes, a future filled with hope and promise. Almost.

  Then she came to him, never giving him the chance to doubt what he felt in his heart. He swallowed her in his arms and pulled her up to his chest as she laced her fingers around his neck and held on. Her mouth met his halfway, ready to welcome his tongue. Her lips moved hungrily beneath his, instinctively compensating for the stiff side of his mouth. Her sweet, sassy tongue entwined with his, making him feel like both a gifted and a giving lover.

  He reached down and squeezed her bottom, pulling her higher and anchoring her against him with one hand. She wrapped her legs around his waist, fitting herself snugly against his thickening heat. The surrendering moan he elicited from her answered the victorious call deep in his own chest.

  She dug her fingers into his shoulders when he tipped her back over his arm to plunder the beckoning curve of her neck. He neared the sensitive hollow at the base of her throat, felt the warmth of her pulse hammering beneath her peachy skin. He nudged apart the placket of her shirt and nuzzled even lower. When he reached the first button of resistance, he growled his frustration and shifted to take the tip of her breast into his mouth, clothes and all.

  The cotton barriers of shirt and bra couldn't hide her instant reaction to his touch. Her fingers raked his shoulders, clawing for grip, scratching for balance in a world that reeled around them.

  “Brodie,” she gasped her need for him. She gripped him tighter with her legs, twisting her hips in search of release. The delightful friction aroused a painful need. Brodie throbbed with torturous pleasure. His legs tingled and grew weak.

  He set BJ down, smothering her protest with a hard, searing kiss. While holding her prisoner with his mouth, he searched for the buttons of her shirt. The damn things proved too tiny and uncooperative, so he grabbed a handful of material and tugged. Buttons popped, cloth ripped, and without apology, he moved on to the clasp of her bra. The thread binding the hooks in place surrendered easily to the strength of his hands.

  He pushed aside the offending material that kept her from him and gave up her mouth only to step back and use his gaze to caress the rose- tipped peaks that filled his hands so perfectly.

  His admiration was short-lived, though. BJ drove on with reckless abandon, unbuttoning the front on his jeans and pulling down his pants and shorts, freeing him. She wrapped her fingers around him, her unabashed assault robbing him of the ability to do anything more than feel.

  With rough, clumsy hands, he stripped off her shorts and panties, and retreated to the recliner, pulling BJ with him. He positioned her on top of him, with her knees bent at either side of his legs. Her gaze sought his for steadying reassurance as he reached beneath the hanging drape of her shirt and covered her breasts, holding the ripe treasures in his calloused palms.

  “I'm sorry I can't make this absolutely perfect.” He offered the husky apology, then watched her catch her bottom lip between her teeth as he slid his hands over the indentation of her waist to grip the generous flare of her hips.

  Locking his eyes onto hers, he pulled her forward and down, teasing her sensitive core with the hot tip of his arousal. He felt her heaviness there, her slick, waiting readiness for him.

  “Trust me,” he rasped. “This will be more comforta—”

  With a bold advance, she slipped herself over him, leaving him senseless. She sank around him, her sweet, honeyed folds swallowing him entirely.

  “Ah, hell.” Brodie gritted his teeth and tried to hold back, clenching, gasping, yet straining for release. “I can’t—“

  “No. Don't stop.” Brodie barely heard her, but BJ communicated in ways that didn't need words. She tightened around him and rocked her hips in sensuous rhythm, binding them together through a wild march that defied both time and an immortal enemy.

  He threw his head back and closed his eyes, humbled by her symbolic acceptance, reveling in her willingness to give everything to him. He snatched at her thighs, anchoring her heat around him, straining in counterpoint to her sensual rhythm, thrusting himself inside her again and again. As the tremors of her release caressed his shaft, Brodie drove himself upward one final time, echoing her triumphant cry as he erupted into her.

  When they returned to earth, BJ collapsed against him. He freed her legs and gathered her comfortably into his arms. She lay half on top of him, half tucked to one side. Her hand spread possessively over the middle of his chest, not put off by the scars beneath her palm. She nestled her head contentedly against his shoulder.

  He loved this calm aftermath filled with serenity as much or more than the fiery passion they had shared.

  “Tired?” He broke the peaceful silence, finally regaining a bit of his own strength.

  “Exhausted.” He felt her smiling against him. “But happy. We got kind of carried away, hmm?”

  “I'm sorry. I behaved like an animal.”

  She pressed her fingertips against his mouth. “Don't spoil this for me. You made me feel like I was the only woman who could make you come apart like that, like you needed me to make you whole. I feel that way about you. I believe anything is possible when you're with me.”

  He assimilated her statement. “I don't think I've ever felt emotions as powerfully as I feel them around you.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  Her drowsy murmur reminded him just how vulnerable BJ really was. Intelligence and de-termination aside, she could be hurt too easily. Her trust, rarely given, could be shattered with the flicker of a shadow or misspoken word. Brodie brushed his fingers throu
gh the curls above her ear and hugged her a little more tightly. “I don't know, sweetheart. I honestly don't know.”

  Then, with a reverence befitting a woman of BJ's grace and generosity, Brodie stripped off the remainder of their clothes, lifted her into his arms, and carried her to her bed, where he intended to take his time showing her the depth of all he felt for her.

  Sometime later, in the indefinite hours of early morning, BJ roused herself from a deep, contented sleep. She kept her eyes closed, savoring the memory of Brodie's furiously needful, then almost reverent lovemaking. She snuggled up to her neck beneath the top sheet and quilt, not wanting to lose the peaceful warmth that turned her muscles to mush, yet energized her with a womanly confidence.

  The first chill swept over her naked skin and she snapped open her eyes, only now aware that she was completely alone.

  She checked the other pillow and found it plumped and unused. It made her think Brodie had never been with her, had never cradled her tenderly in his arms, had never used his lips and hands and body to lead her slowly and completely through the most beautiful night of her life.

  Had it been a dream? Had last night been a trick of her screwed-up mind? BJ rolled onto her side and pulled her legs up into a fetal position, hating the little nigglings of self-doubt creeping in to spoil her contentment.

  Though inexperienced in such matters, she felt reasonably sure that the aches in her body were real. The emotions Brodie had aroused in her were real enough. Maybe she should trust her body and heart instead of her mind.

  BJ believed Brodie needed the reassurance of two hearts joining as one as much as she did. He pledged to protect her. He treated her with care and respect. He allowed her a power over him so she didn't feel frightened or intimidated by his size and appearance.

  Yet forces beyond the grasp of either of them controlled their destiny. More than love was at stake in her relationship with Brodie. She finally accepted the evil curse that had dictated the choices in his life for nearly eight centuries.

  She heard him in the kitchen making coffee. Whether or not she trusted the reality of last night's passionate affirmation of love, this morning he was avoiding her.

  “Damn the man,” she muttered, clutching the other pillow and hugging it against her stomach.

  Brodie loved her. She knew that as surely as she knew her own love for him.

  But he believed that loving her guaranteed her death. He could give her one beautiful night, but he refused to promise her any future beyond that.

  BJ lay there in the creeping light of dawn, mulling over Brodie's fear that the people he loved would always die. She considered his declaration that the only way to release him from immortality was for the person he loved to sacrifice herself.

  How did one make such a sacrifice in the modern world? Throw herself in front of a bullet? A bullet couldn't kill Brodie. Would that really be a sacrifice?

  She wanted to free him of his curse, to free him to love her without reservation. He had granted her the power, if not the permission, to do it. But how? Sorcery seemed destined to keep them as separate as night and day.

  He could leave her, or she could die and leave him. Was that really a choice?

  Either way, the only victor would be the evil that wanted them apart.

  Chapter Twelve

  “We've got work to do.”

  BJ tried to sound more confident than she felt. The resolution that had carried her through an awkwardly silent breakfast and drive into the city started to fail her when they walked through the doors at LadyTech.

  Brodie seemed relieved that she hadn't pushed any kind of closeness or heart-to-heart talk that morning. But she also sensed the concern in him. The distance she had placed between them was respectful, not cold. But distance was unnatural for her. Even against a threat such as Brodie imagined himself to be, she had never kept her distance.

  But for Brodie's sake, she would do it. Despite the protests of her heart, despite the hope that cried out against logic, she would remove the personal overtones from their relationship. She'd make them boss and bodyguard once again—even if it killed her.

  Today, she didn't find the play on words all that amusing.

  “You track down Rick. Keep him occupied for about an hour. I want to dig into his files and see what I can find.”

  Brodie grasped her elbow, then pulled his hand away as though he regretted touching her. Not wanting him to feel the sting of a rejection that didn't exist, BJ stopped and looked up at him.

  “Will you be all right?” That sinfully sexy voice rumbled with concern from the depths of his chest.

  BJ reassured him with a smile. “I'll let Emma know what we're up to. She can keep an eye on me.” She nodded toward the back of the building. “Rick's generally in the warehouse playing a pick-up game of basketball this time of morning.”

  “I'll find him.”

  Brodie nodded curtly, then turned and strode through the station carrels toward the warehouse door. BJ watched him over the tops of the movable walls, already missing the strength of his broad shoulders. With his regal bearing and easy gait, he must have been quite a dashing member of some king's court all those years ago, before scars and time and heartache had taken their toll on his body and soul.

  Would he have loved her if they had met in the thirteenth century? Would he even have noticed her? BJ considered the man beneath the harsh exterior. Honesty, loyalty, and a sense of right and wrong etched on his very heart made up the true man. Sir Brodie Maxwell might not have paid Bridget Kincaid any heed back then. But if she needed his help, if she asked him to protect her—in the Middle Ages or the twenty-first century—she knew he would sacrifice his love, his honor, even his life, to keep her safe.

  Could she be brave enough to do the same for him?

  Only after the door closed behind Brodie did she dash up the grand staircase and head toward the executive offices.

  “I can't wait to string him up myself.” Emma paced inside the door, maintaining a lookout position while BJ investigated the files Rick had buried deeply within LadyTech's computer system.

  “Subliminal suggestion.” Shock blended with stunned fury when BJ hit paydirt and broke the password that let her into Rick's files.

  “What are you talking about?” Emma stopped her pacing.

  “Just a minute. Let me isolate the screen.” When BJ found the picture she wanted, she froze the image on the monitor. “Tell me you see that, too.”

  Emma stood behind BJ and looked over her shoulder. “It's a lightning bolt inside a circle.”

  BJ leaned back, knowing profound relief. “This is the symbol that triggers the episodes.”

  She pounded her fist on her desktop, scattering several teddy bears onto the floor. “Damn it! He's been controlling me over the computer lines. This is my forte, and I didn't even see it. He's got to be tapped in at home, too. He talks to me or calls me, and programs me like one of my own computers.”

  Emma gave her a consoling smile. “Hang in there. You have to stay calm and rational to beat this.”

  “You're right.” Frustration churned in BJ's stomach. “I just want to know why. What did I ever do to Rick?”

  Emma remained calm. “Probably nothing. Greed and jealousy feed upon themselves. Maybe he had this planned from the moment he joined the company.”

  BJ sighed. “You know, he's a clever enough technician, but I never thought he was innovative enough to come up with a scheme like this all on his own.”

  “Forget him for now. Did you find the files I mentioned?”

  “Yes.” BJ cleared the screen and called up the sequence of hidden files she had uncovered. “He's tapped in to Takahashi, all right. And the Swiss bank account. And some place in the Cayman Islands. I think I can disengage the connections without calling attention to LadyTech. That is, if I can find them all.”

  The lines scrolled by with ominous abundance. Then a name caught her eye that made BJ lean forward and type in a quick series of comma
nds.

  “Oh, my God.”

  Shadowy memories fluttered across BJ's consciousness, teasing her memory, but vanishing before she could latch on to them and understand.

  “What is it?” Emma's concern matched BJ's.

  “He's tapped into the Morrisey Institute.” BJ glanced up at Emma. “There's an open net between LadyTech and Damon's lab.”

  “Is he stealing data from Morrisey Labs, too?”.

  “No.” BJ paused, trying to make sense of the implication on the screen. “He's transmitting our stuff over there.”

  “A mole? Rick Chambers is a mole for the Morrisey Institute? They're a research institution—we produce market-ready products. What's the connection?”

  BJ frowned with skepticism, too, though not for the same reason. “Somebody who works for Damon must be in on this, too. The feed for the subliminal symbols comes directly from the Morrisey labs.”

  Brodie's blatant, mutual dislike and distrust of Damon immediately crowded her thoughts. But Damon would never do anything to hurt her. Even if his attempts were occasionally misguided, he'd always taken care of her. He'd always loved her.

  Still, she felt compelled to say it out loud. “Damon wouldn't do this to me.”

  Emma squeezed BJ’s shoulder. “Of course not. But maybe Damon can help us out from his end, since you know what to look for now.”

  “Right.” BJ reached for the phone, but never touched it. A knock at the door indicated her hour was up. Brodie had returned.

  She stood to face her enemy while Emma crossed to the door and opened it.

  Rick stood in the doorway, his retreat effectively blocked by Brodie's imposing silhouette behind him. Rick fell back on the abrasive bravado that had won him few friends in the past. He stepped inside, pointing a finger at Emma. “I want you to arrest this man for harassment.”

  “You're fired.” Emma smiled smugly at Rick's open-mouthed reaction. Then she winked over her shoulder at BJ. “I'll let you and Brodie handle it from here.”