Falling for the Marine (McCade Brothers 2)

“What’s to set straight? You are a friend, and I was in the shower.”

She took the seat across from him and gave him an exasperated look. “She thinks we’re involved.”

“We are involved, doncha think?” For some reason, this conversation was starting to irk him. “We’re sharing an apartment. We’re sharing a bed. Hey, we’re even engaged.”

Chloe froze in the process of lifting a forkful of potatoes to her lips. “Don’t tell her that! Look, it’s one thing to lie to your CO; it’s another thing entirely to lie to your mother.”

Up until that moment, he’d never given much thought to their actual status, but this “just friends,” default she’d come up with bothered the shit out of him. “I guess I’m confused. I’ve had my hands and mouth on every inch of you and you’ve seemed to enjoy returning the favor. In my book, that counts as involved, but obviously I’ve got it wrong. Maybe you ought to draft up some talking points for me between now and tomorrow so I don’t mischaracterize our relationship.”

She lowered her fork and stared at him with eyes like thunderclouds. “Look, she’s your mom. Handle her however you want, but you and I both know the only reason we’re together right now is because I crash-landed on your doorstep, and you were too nice a guy to walk away from a damsel in distress.”

A nice guy? Was she serious? Nice guy was a curse—a female code for “guy I’m with until someone who treats me like garbage and makes my pulse pound comes along.” And hold the fucking phone, she’d not just called him a nice guy. She’d called him too nice a guy. Hell, no.

“I’m a lot of things, Chloe—a combat pilot, a trained marine, and, occasionally, even an everyday, run-of-the-mill asshole. I am not ‘a nice guy.’”

He certainly didn’t feel particularly nice at the moment. “I think you’re ignoring a couple important aspects of this thing we have going. Aspects like how easily I can have you screaming my name and coming in my hand or on my tongue or on my cock, because that has nothing to do with you being in a bind or me being a nice guy.”

“That has to do with me going without sex for over a year. And chemistry,” she added when he opened his mouth to call bullshit, “Nobel prize-winning chemistry, but I’ve learned not to confuse chemistry with”—her eyes slid away from his—“something more.”

Had he let chemistry blur the line between reality and their subterfuge? Let himself believe they had something more? He didn’t know, but the fact that he started the argument in the first place drove home an uncomfortable realization. He wanted something more. What, precisely, he couldn’t say, but she clearly didn’t, or couldn’t, or wouldn’t let herself. The knowledge hit him like a sucker punch, all the more brutal because he’d seen their incompatibilities from a mile away, and still, here he sat, absorbing the blow.

He expelled a breath and told himself to dial it back. “Chemistry, huh?”

She nodded.

“Nothing more.”

She nodded again.

“So what’s all this?” He gestured at his plate—the steak, cheesy potatoes, and the long, fancy-style green beans. “A home-cooked dinner complete with wine and candlelight seems like a lot of unnecessary trouble to go to for ‘chemistry.’” Happy with the point, he took a bite of his steak.

She sat up a little straighter, squared her shoulders and her jaw. “We’re celebrating. I got a job.”

The steak lodged in his throat. He took a quick, painful swallow, and wheezed, “When?”

Her defensive expression faltered. “When what? Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Big, fat lie. Something cold and blunt dug a hole in his chest. “When do you leave?”

She frowned for a moment, as if stumped by his question, and then her shoulders sagged as she said, “Oh, sorry. Not a travel job. I got a temp job at a local place. Remember, I told you Loretta wanted to introduce me to her friend who owns a day spa here in San Clemente?”

He nodded. That’s all he could muster, because most of him was too busy restarting his heart.

“I met with her today, and we totally clicked. I loved her place, her whole demeanor, really, and just when I was getting depressed thinking I was going to have to turn her down because…well…I couldn’t accept an offer knowing I was going to bail in a couple weeks, she suggested an open-ended part-time arrangement through my agency. I said yes. Lynne got all the paperwork in place, and I work my first shift tomorrow.”

The tension from a moment ago dissolved in the waves of excitement radiated from her. She practically bounced in her chair.

“Sounds perfect.”

“So perfect. I really do like the place, even if I’ll only be around for the short-term.”

There she went again—dropping another reminder that her presence here was strictly temporary. It irritated him. A lot. “If you like the opportunity so much, why not stick around and see how things work out?”

She swallowed a bite of steak and washed it down with some wine before replying. “You know why. I have the other job lined up in New Mexico.”

“Pass on New Mexico. Stay here.”

She stared at him for a long, shocked moment. Finally, she said, “I can’t. You know me. I like to keep moving. Free bird, remember?”