Marooned with a Marine

by Maureen Child

  Only Sam could do this to her. Could electrify every nerve ending until she was surprised her skin didn’t glow in the dark. And wow, how she’d missed him.

  He lavished attention on first one of her breasts and then the other. Over and over again, he teased her with a gentle torment that made her blood race and her heart quicken, and still he didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down. Didn’t give her a chance to catch her breath.

  And his hands. His hands were everywhere. Hard and strong and tender, his palms explored every inch of her, swiping along her body with a determined touch. Karen moved against the sheet, its coolness a sharp contrast to the heat soaring within.

  Dimly, she heard the storm outside but discounted it in favor of the hurricane claiming her mind and soul.

  “Sam, please,” she murmured, not really sure what she was asking for.

  “I’m not going anywhere, honey,” he whispered, and his breath hushed warm and soft against her breast. “Not until I’ve turned you inside out.”

  She tried to tell him he’d already succeeded, but she couldn’t squeeze that many words from her too-tight throat.

  “Oh, my…” Her hands fisted in the sheet as he moved along the length of her body. A series of kisses blazed a trail from her breasts to her abdomen and then lower. His tongue swirled across her skin. His teeth nipped at her flesh. And still he went on, to the apex of her thighs. To the dark, warm heart of her.

  “Sam—”

  “Relax, honey,” he whispered, and moved off the mattress to kneel beside the bed. Reaching out, he drew her to him, and she slid across the sheets eagerly, knowing what was coming and already anticipating the surge of pleasure awaiting her.

  He pulled her to the edge of the mattress and positioned her thighs one on either side of him. Drawing her close to the edge, he ran his fingertips along the insides of her legs until she was trembling, shivering with expectation and tightly coiled desire. His hands at her hips, he held her tight, then bent his head to kiss the inside of her leg. She gasped and arched her back as he slowly went higher and higher along her thigh. So close, so close, she thought, grabbing at his shoulders and hanging on. And then he was there, just a breath away from the aching warm center of her, and she held her breath.

  When he covered her with his mouth, she sighed and wriggled her hips, moving into him, offering him more of her and hoping he would take it all. His lips and tongue explored her, tasted her.

  Karen groaned, clutched at his shoulders and squirmed in his firm grasp. But he held her steady as he smoothed his tongue across her most sensitive spot. Circles of pleasure unwound inside her, coiled up again and spiraled out of control. Again and again, he delved into her secrets, loving her, pushing her toward a blindingly bright light that hung suspended just out of her reach. Karen struggled for air and looked at him. Watched him take her. Watched as his mouth did things to her she wouldn’t have believed possible. Never in her life had she known anything even close to what she found every time Sam touched her. He did more than tempt her body. He soothed her soul and warmed her heart.

  She gave herself up to the wildness rising inside. She pushed all thoughts from her mind and concentrated solely on the feel of his mouth on her body, the soft brush of his breath against her flesh. Her own breath came in short, staggered gasps. She yearned, she struggled, reaching for the end she knew was waiting for her.

  The tightly drawn thread of her sanity snapped as the first wave overtook her, and she cried out his name. A series of delicious pulses swept through her, carrying her off into a world that only Sam seemed to have the map to.

  And before she’d finished trembling, he was there, pushing her back onto the bed and entering her body. She moved into him, welcoming him, urging him to claim his own release. Then she kissed him, holding on to him tightly, as together they stumbled into a well of darkness and fell, locked safely in each other’s arms.

  Karen twisted in her sleep, trying to escape, but only succeeding in slipping more deeply into the blackness. The rumble of thunder slipped into her dream and became the roar of rifle fire, exploding into the otherwise quiet afternoon with a twenty-one-gun salute. Gray skies huddled over the cemetery, threatening to weep on the mourners gathered to say goodbye to a fallen Marine.

  Karen sat in the front row on a cold, hard metal folding chair. A gentle breeze caressed her cheek with the cool touch of a ghostly kiss.

  She heard the people behind her whispering. “How tragic,” they said, “how sad.” She heard them all, even the hushed voice asking, “Do you suppose she remembered to cancel the church? The wedding should have been next month.” She could have told them that she’d taken care of everything. But she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. She felt as though she was frozen, inside and out.

  And the cold had been with her since the afternoon she’d watched a strange car pull into her driveway and seen two Marines, in Dress Blue uniforms, get out and march slowly toward her front door. She’d known instantly why they’d come. She’d known the procedure for telling the next of kin about a Marine’s death.

  Now her fingers curled into the neatly folded flag on her lap, gripping the fabric as if it meant her life. They’d given her Dave’s flag because he’d had no one else. No parents, no relatives, no family of any kind. Only a fiancée with a wedding dress she’d never wear, vows she’d never say and an empty church.

  She stared at the casket and tried to tell herself it wasn’t happening. Then the rifles fired again and she jerked, startled at the explosion of sound. She wanted to hear him laugh and tell her it had all been a mistake. But it wasn’t. Dave Kendrick, U.S. Marine, lay in that box, and nothing in the world could change it.

  Even as she thought it, though, the dream shifted, colors swirling, and everything changed. The mourners disappeared and she was alone with a suddenly open casket. Flowers spilled onto the ground as the rain fell. She stood up and, clutching the folded flag to her breast, walked toward that silver casket, knowing she shouldn’t. The wind howled, trees trembled and fallen leaves whirled around her. Heart aching, she told herself not to go closer. Not to look.

  But she did, and when she saw not Dave, but Sam’s face, cold and still, she woke up screaming.

  “Karen!” Sam’s voice came, soft and close to her ear. “It’s all right, Karen, it’s only a dream. Come back to me. You’re all right. You’re all right now.”

  She felt his hands on her, felt him pull her out of the dream and into the circle of his arms. She heard his heart thudding in his chest as she pillowed her head against him, and still it wasn’t enough to chase away the lingering vision of that dream.

  Pain splintered inside her, showering her soul with tiny, jagged shards that tore at her heart and left her bleeding.

  His grip on her tightened and she clung to him.

  “You’re safe,” she murmured over and over again. “You’re all right. You’re alive.”

  “Sure I’m alive, honey,” he said, his hands moving up and down her back in a desperate attempt to soothe away the tremors coursing through her. “I’m right here with you.”

  Not dead. Not cold and lifeless, but here, warm, strong.

  “Prove it,” she said, shifting to drag her nails down his chest, detailing every sculpted, rock-hard inch of him. “Prove it now.”

  And before he could respond, she pushed him over onto his back and straddled him. Her hands moved over his chest, pausing long enough to absorb his heartbeat through her palms. She looked down into his eyes as she grabbed his hands, lifted them and placed them on her breasts. And while he gently kneaded her flesh, she reached down and cupped him tenderly, firmly, holding him as his body responded and swelled in her hands.

  He groaned as his fingers pulled and tweaked her nipples, sending darts of pleasure straight down to her core. She ached for him again. She wanted—needed to feel his strength enter her. Needed it to banish the last of that dream, still taunting the edges of her mind. She moved on him, coming up on her knees and then slowly
lowering herself, taking him inside her in slow, delicious inches.

  She sighed when he groaned again and tightened his hands on her breasts. He lifted his hips instinctively, looking to set their pace, but she shook her head. “No,” she said in a breathy tone, “this is mine. This time I’m in charge. And I’m going to take you, Sarge, like Grant took Richmond.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he muttered, and slid his hands to her waist, her hips.

  Karen arched her back, riding him, glorying in the feel of him filling her so completely. And as the first small tremor awakened within her, she gave herself up to it all. To the magic. To the wonder. To the amazing strength of what they built together.

  Thunder rattled the windowpanes, rain slashed and beat at the glass, the wind screamed, and Karen claimed Sam body and soul.

  Seven

  She must have fallen asleep because when she opened her eyes again, she noticed she’d been tucked in. The blanket had been pulled up to her chin and the bedside lamp had been turned off.

  Moving slowly, Karen stretched overused muscles and smothered a sigh in the pillow. She hadn’t felt so good, so relaxed in months. At least, physically. Her brain, on the other hand, was a different story. Closing her eyes again, she turned onto her side and drew her knees up practically to her chin. Fetal position. Oh, that was a good sign.

  As she lay there in the relative quiet—not counting the storm outside or the whispering voice of the announcer on Sam’s radio— Karen remembered everything that had happened in the last few hours. A flush stole over her entire body. She felt it. Felt her skin heat up and knew that if she took a peek at herself under the covers, she’d probably be glowing in the dark.

  How could she have been so stupid? She’d broken up with the man two months ago. Had gone cold turkey in her withdrawal from him. And in the span of a few hours, she’d thrown it all away in exchange for sack time? Okay, great sack time, but still. Now what was she supposed to say? Do? Could she really look him dead in the eye and say “Gee, thanks for the sex, but I really have to be going now”?

  No. It wouldn’t be that easy. She knew Sam Paretti too well to believe that.

  “I know you’re awake,” he said.

  Speak of the devil.

  “Not completely,” she said, pulling the covers tighter over her head. Maybe if she was really quiet, he’d go away.

  “You can’t stay under there all day.”

  “I can try.” Chicken, her mind taunted, and she was willing to admit, if only silently, that yeah, at the moment, she wanted nothing more than a deep hole to hide in.

  “Karen,” Sam said, his voice firm and unyielding, “we’re gonna talk.”

  She winced. Darn it. Wasn’t sex enough? Wasn’t the magic they’d made enough? Did he have to talk, too? And to think, there were women somewhere out there right now, whining because their man wouldn’t talk to them. Man. Nothing was ever easy, was it?

  “Karen?”

  “Karen’s sleeping right now. If you’ll leave a message after the beep—”

  “Okay, here’s the message. Tell her to wake up and face the music.”

  “It’s too early for music.” At least it felt early. With the constant gray skies and no outside contact, she really wasn’t sure what day it was, let alone what time. And at the moment, she didn’t care.

  He grabbed the blanket where it covered her feet and gave a tug. She held on tight, though, refusing to give an inch. Hey, she was still naked under that blanket.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he said on a disgusted sigh.

  Sighing, she muttered, “You are the most stubborn man I have ever known.”

  He snorted. “Look who’s talkin’.”

  Fine. It was clear there wouldn’t be any escaping him this time. Darn it. She took a deep breath and steeled herself. Here it comes, she thought, and reluctantly pulled the edge of the blanket down just enough to peek over it at him. He stood at the end of the bed, wearing nothing more than a too tight T-shirt and a very brief pair of P.T. physical training shorts. His muscular legs caught her attention first, and then her gaze drifted up, up across the broad expanse of his chest and still higher until she met his gaze. A gaze, she thought with resignation, that completely lacked any of the warmth and passion she’d seen just hours before.

  At the moment, he looked more like the man who’d found her on that rainswept highway when all of this first started. Still angry, distrustful and impatient.

  Sighing again at the inevitability of it all, she said, “If we’re going to have one of our little ‘talks’ I’m going to need coffee.”

  “No problem.” He moved to his left, bent down and poured a cup of coffee from his small electric pot.

  Of course, she thought. Naturally, he’d be prepared for anything.

  Carrying it to her, he waited while she rolled over, pushed pillows behind her back and sat up. He handed her the cup and Karen took it, cradling it between her palms and inhaling the strong, fragrant aroma. Hopefully, a few sips of the coffee would lift what was left of the fog in her mind, in preparation for the coming battle.

  And it would be a battle, she thought, lifting her gaze to stare into pale brown eyes that practically glittered with his impatience for a showdown. Okay, she told herself, scooping a handful of hair back from her face, no time like the present to get started.

  “Fine. You’re so anxious to start up a free-spirited conversation. Spit it out, Sarge,” she said, and took a sip of the coffee. Strong enough to leap out of the cup and dive down her throat on its own, the coffee hit her system like a sledgehammer. Blinking, she hitched the blanket high enough to cover her bare breasts, scooted back farther against the pillows and focused on the man now pacing at the foot of the bed.

  “I want to know what the hell’s going on, Karen,” he said directly, shooting her a fast look. “No more excuses. No more evasions. Just the truth you’ve been avoiding for the last two months.”

  “Sometimes the truth isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” Karen said after another bolstering sip. “You might like it better if we left things just as they are.”

  “As they are?” he repeated incredulously. “With you screaming and me clueless?” He snorted. “Yeah, that’s workin’ out real well. Nice plan.”

  “Knock it off,” she snapped, her grip on the coffee cup tightening until she thought it might break off in her hand. “You don’t know.”

  He stopped dead, faced her and folded beefy arms across his chest. “If you’d talk to me, I’d know, wouldn’t I?”

  And then where would they be? she wondered.

  “Look,” he said, obviously trying to calm himself as his voice took on the oh-so-patient tone that had always infuriated her, “I need to know what’s going on in that head of yours. We just spent several hours making love to each other and it was fantastic. Just like it always was between us. Yet you walked away. Without even giving me an explanation.”

  A flush of heat swept into her cheeks.

  “And damn it,” he finished, “I deserve an explanation.”

  “Yeah,” she muttered softly, “I guess you do.” She only wished there was someone else who could give it to him.

  “Progress at last,” he said.

  “But you won’t like it.”

  “That’s pretty much a given at this point, I think.”

  She inhaled deeply, released the breath in a rush and let her gaze slip to his chest and the words emblazoned across his T-shirt. As she stared at the slogan, her resolve strengthened. The message was simple and to the point. And illustrated perfectly the chasm that lay between her and any kind of a future with Sam. When It Absolutely, Positively Has To Be Destroyed Overnight, Call 1-800-U.S. Marines.

  “What?” he asked, obviously noting her changed expression.

  “Your shirt,” she said, and took another drink of coffee.

  He looked down, slapped one hand against his chest and asked, “What about it?”

  “Oh, nothing,” she said tigh
tly. “I just don’t understand how anyone can be so proud of being destructive.”

  “It’s just a shirt, Karen.”

  “No, it’s not,” she said, giving into old angers and frustrations. “It’s a mind-set. The Marine mind-set.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, and folded his arms across his chest again in an instinctively defensive position.

  She looked into those golden brown eyes of his and felt something inside her quicken despite the anger flickering to life inside her. God, what was it about this man that could affect her so quickly? So completely? And why couldn’t she keep her mind on the subject at hand?

  Shaking her head, she asked, “What made you join the Corps, anyway?”

  Clearly confused, his brow furrowed and he stared at her as he shrugged and said, “My dad was a Marine, my two brothers joined…”

  “So it was expected?” she prodded, wanting now to understand what it was that made the military—particularly the Marines—look like a great career choice. Sam could have been anything. Done anything. Yet he’d enlisted in a branch of the military whose members prided themselves on being the first ones into a dangerous situation and the last ones out. Why?

  “No, it wasn’t expected,” Sam said, and shifted a little. He’d given her the easy answer. The answer most people were satisfied with. But if he wanted her to be honest with him, he should try to do the same. Even if it did sound a little corny. “It was something I wanted. I liked the idea of serving my country. Being useful. Being a part of something important.”

  To his surprise, she half turned, slammed the coffee cup down onto the bedside table and glared at him in disgust. “Useful? You call fighting and killing for a piece of earth in some nameless country useful?”

  A quick rush of anger shot through him, dazzling him with a white-hot blast of rage. That was such an easy slam, he was surprised she’d used it. Karen was smarter than that. He didn’t mind if she wanted to take shots at him. But she damn sure wasn’t going to cut down the whole Corps because she was mad at one Marine. “We don’t kill for a piece of ground.”