Falling for the Marine (McCade Brothers 2)

“It wouldn’t kill you to keep an open mind,” she added.

“My mind is plenty open, and so are my eyes. You know what’s blocked? My access to the hall. There’s a goddamn sofa in the way.” He picked up the remote control from its built-in ledge in the TV stand, hit power, and ran the setup through its paces. Apparently satisfied everything worked he returned the remote to its holster.

“I told you I didn’t mess it up. Look, the problem is very simple. The Chi—positive energy, I guess you’d call it—coming into this place is flowing straight down the toilet and dragging all prospects for wealth and blessings along with it.”

“Great. Now it has to hurdle a six-foot sofa to get to the toilet, and so do I. Nice strategy.”

“Oh, for goodness sake. The sofa isn’t staying there. It’s supposed to go here,” she pointed to the empty wall.

“Hey guys, this sounds like a job for Super-Dane.”

“It’s my apartment. I’ll do it,” Michael said irritably.

Dane’s no overlapped hers. “Your back is still healing,” she said. “You are the last person on my furniture-moving help list.”

She looked over at the tall, rangy blond who was clearly enjoying the show. He grinned and walked to the other end of the sofa. “Where do you want this bad boy, sweetheart?”

“Centered along the wall there.”

“Okay. Count of three, I’ll pull, you push.”

“Thanks.” She smiled at him and moved into “push” position.

A minute later they had the sofa exactly where she’d envisioned it. Dane stood back, brushed his palms over his thighs, and admired the room. “This is actually a better arrangement. Now you won’t get a glare from the window on the TV.”

She shot Dane a grateful smile and glanced at Michael from under lowered lashes as he assessed the room. Even with his scruffy jaw and hand-combed hair, wearing a T-shirt from a local surf shop and a pair of wash-worn cargo shorts, he looked every inch a marine—a cranky, disgruntled marine.

Her temper faded in the face of his unease and guilt set in. No matter how good her intentions, her spur-of-the-moment redecorating had perturbed his sense of order. This was his home, and if he wanted his Chi running down the toilet, that was his business. She crossed her arms and massaged her overtaxed biceps and delts. “I’m sorry. I should have asked you before I started moving your furniture around.”

He closed the distance between them, shoed her hands away, and spread his wide, warm palms over her sore muscles. “I’m sorry I snapped. Walking in to find everything moved around kind of took me by surprise.”

A throat cleared on the other side of the room, and then Dane said, “Gosh, look at the time. I gotta get going. No, no. Don’t mind me. I’ll see myself out.” A second later the sound of the door closing reached her ears.

“If you really don’t like it, I’ll put everything back.”

“Give me a little while to adjust now that you’ve got everything where you want it. Who am I to reject ancient Chinese science out of hand?” With that, he gave her shoulders a last squeeze and then walked into the kitchen. He returned a minute later carrying two uncapped beers and offered her one. “The room looks good this way.”

She accepted the bottle and bit back a grin at the reluctant compliment. A grateful sigh escaped her as she took a sip and lowered herself to the couch.

He sat on the coffee table, directly in front of her, spreading his legs so his knees bracketed her thighs, and then leaned forward until his forearms rested on his legs. The position put his head below hers. He looked up at her from under his dark, slightly furrowed brows. “Why the sudden desire to improve your Chi?”

She stared at the thin, white scar on his wrist, and, because her restless fingers needed something to do, pulled her ponytail holder out of her hair, and tossed it on the end table. “It could stand some improvement, don’t you think? I mean, I’m sitting here with no job, no car, and no savings, wearing out my welcome until my luck changes, so”—she shrugged—“I figured this was worth a try.”

“You’re not wearing out your welcome.” The words were quiet but firm. “I may have to get used to the feng shui, but I like having you here, okay?”

“Yeah, right. Unexpected guests are never easy to live with, and I know I bring a thousand annoyances to the table. Plus, there’s no way you like me treating your guest room like a baggag

e check, or having my crap strewn all over your house for the next four weeks.” She pointed to the end table where she’d tossed her ponytail holder. It had landed on top of a pile of her “crap,” including her tube of lip plumper, which she’d found behind the couch of all places, a stack of silver bangles she’d had on before she’d started moving furniture, and a wadded up dollar bill. “You’re one of those a-place-for-everything-and-everything-in-its-place people, which is good feng shui, by the way.”

“I like to know where to find things. I don’t know if it’s feng shui, or having roommates for too long during my formative years, but too much stuff around me makes me feel hemmed in and disorganized. That said, our situation is temporary, and I’ll trying to go with the flow.” He reached over and picked up the bracelets and lip plumper. “To be honest, your crap fascinates me. Having you here is like visiting a foreign land.” He gave the tube a perplexed look. “Or planet.”

She laughed and held out her hands for her things. “You’re fascinated by lip plumper and costume jewelry?”

“See, I would have called it lip gunk, because up ’til this moment, ‘lip plumper’ wasn’t in my vocabulary. I’m learning a whole new culture. What the heck is lip plumper?”

Instead of answering, she gave him a demo. She smoothed some over her lips and smacked them together as the active ingredient kicked in and made her feel like she’d just kissed a Jalapeño. “It makes your lips fuller…more kissable.”

His eyes locked on her mouth. “You don’t need it,” he said and proceeded to show her just how kissable he found her. When he pulled back, he stared into her eyes for a full second and then growled, “Holy shit. What the hell is happening to my lips?”