Falling for the Marine (McCade Brothers 2)

Chloe popped up like a prairie dog and blinked. Her red-gold curls tumbled every which way. She had a line across her cheek from the imprint of his T-shirt. She looked sweet, and rumpled, and so unbelievably sexy, if Dane hadn’t been standing there, he would have hustled them into the bedroom, tossed her down in the middle of his bed, and found out, at last, what it felt like to be inside her while she arched and shivered and cried his name like some kind of prayer.

Instead, he sat up as well, sneaked a hand along her back and tugged her tank top down. Then with no small amount of regret, he slid her off his lap. “Dane, meet Chloe. Chloe, Dane. He was just leaving.”

“Um, right.” Dane ran a hand through his short, uncombed blond hair, and had the good grace to flash an apologetic smile. “Hi, Chloe. Nice to meet you.”

She stood, stretched like a cat, and then held out her hand. “Nice to meet you too, Dane.”

He took her hand, and Michael didn’t miss the way his friend’s gaze traveled over her, taking in long, bare legs in tiny shorts, the yellow bra peeking out from the neckline of her tight tank top, the mass of curls spilling around her shoulders. “Sorry for barging in. I didn’t realize Grumpy here had a guest. I agreed to drag his sorry ass down to the gym this morning, and I thought he was wussing.”

Michael scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m not wussing on anything.” Was it really eight in the morning? He squinted at the clock on the cable box.

“The gym?” Chloe sent him a sharp look and then turned her attention back to Dane. “That might not be such a good idea. Michael has a back injury.”

“Don’t worry, I know all about it. I’m not just his taller, smarter, much hotter friend, I’m also his doctor.” Dane gave her his best ain’t-I-the-shit grin and Michael wondered if kicking his doctor’s ass would aggravate his back.

“Oh, Dr. Anderson. I read y

our report.” At Dane’s inquiring look, she went on, “I do—well, did—massage therapy at the clinic just outside Camp Pendleton. I worked on Michael earlier this week.”

“Excellent. The massage therapy was another thing I was afraid he might wuss out on. Glad to know he followed through.”

She slid a sly smile Michael’s way. “He grumbled a little at first, but now he’s a believer.”

“That’s good, because I plan to put him through a whole series of physical therapy this morning. He may come crying to you when we’re done.”

Michael pushed off the couch. “Yeah, right, we’ll see whose crying. I’m going to go change. Be useful and make Chloe some coffee.”

He turned, but stopped when she put a hand on his arm. “If I make you a list, can you stop at the store on your way home from the gym and pick up the…uh”—she glanced toward the kitchen where Dane was dumping scoops of coffee into a filter—“the cobbler stuff for the thing tonight?”

“Dane, you got time to hit the commissary after the gym?”

“No problem.” He poured a carafe of water into the reservoir. “I know you hate to run out of Depends.”

Michael smirked and flipped him the bird and then looked at Chloe, who had her fingers knit together so tightly her knuckles had turned white. He unlinked her fingers and gave her hand a squeeze. “Don’t worry, Chlo. You’re going to have the Hardings eating out of your hands tonight.”

She stared back at him with huge, worried eyes. “I just hope the cobbler hides the smell of our bullshit.”

Chapter Eleven

Three…two…one. Michael counted down the seconds as he walked to his car. Right on cue, his friend started in. “Sorry for barging in. I didn’t realize you had company. I thought you’d thrown your back out and couldn’t get to the door.”

“Nope, my back feels pretty good, actually.”

“No doubt, considering you scored a sleep over with your massage therapist.”

Michael turned and led the way to his Jeep. “At this point, Chloe’s more than a masseuse to me. She’s more like a…roommate.”

Dane’s say-whaaaat? expression would have inspired a cartoonist. “You’re living together? Better be careful, man. Harding’s not going to smile on one of his officers shacking up with the local talent. And his opinion matters, because, rightly or wrongly, he’s got a hell of a lot of say over your career—especially at the moment.”

“Well, technically,” he hit the unlock button on his key and waited for the double beep, “we’re not shacked up, we’re engaged.”

“Wow. You work fast.”

Michael shrugged and got in the car. “She was in a little bit of a bind and needed a place to stay for a few weeks. I wanted to help, but I also have my reputation to protect, so…”

“Ah,” Dane nodded from the passenger seat, “an engagement for show only. In that case, I have to say the eyeful I got this morning of you two all cozy on the couch looked pretty convincing.”

Yeah. It had felt pretty convincing too. “That was perfectly innocent.” Mostly innocent. “We stayed up late talking—preparing for dinner tonight with Harding and his wife to celebrate our engagement—and fell asleep.” He put the car in gear and steered out of his parking space.