Falling for the Marine (McCade Brothers 2)

He didn’t so much as crack a smile. “When?”

“Tomorrow evening. My flight leaves at seven.”

“And you want to go?”

“That was always the plan.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

No, he’d asked what she wanted, but the question had no easy answer. “I love…so many things about being here,” she eyed him meaningfully, because that was as close as she could come to saying the words, “but this isn’t my place. This isn’t my life. It never was.”

“It could be.” Impossibly, his dark gaze turned even more intense. “If that’s what you want.”

“I want—” Her vision blurred as hot tears burned her eyes and she suddenly feared how that sentence was going to end. Desperate to cut herself off, she crossed the room and fused her mouth to his.

His hands found her waist and for a few precious moments he held her close and kissed her back, but then he raised his head and looked down at her. “Chloe, we need to talk.”

No. No talking. Conversation would change nothing—only waste what little time they had left. She framed his face with her hands and brushed her lips against his. “Later. You asked me what I want. I want you. I want to finish what we started when you walked in tonight.” She kissed him again, going deep and hard to try and commit his taste to memory, all the while pulling him toward the bedroom. Relief mixed with desire when he didn’t resist.

In the bedroom, she broke the kiss long enough to take her bra off. Then she pressed her face against his neck and breathed deeply.

His hands wrapped around her upper arms. “This isn’t fair Chloe. I want you, too, but there are things I need to say—”

She couldn’t let the conversation happen. There was no way she’d survive it. “Say them tomorrow,” she murmured, knowing full well there wouldn’t be a tomorrow for them, because tomorrow wouldn’t change things one bit. No matter how deeply she wished otherwise, she’d still have her hard-and-fast rules, and he still broke every one of them. She pushed his shirt out of her way and then ran her palms over his shoulders, down his spine, granting herself one last massage of his now strong, healthy back, and reveling in the restrained power beneath smooth skin.

“Wait for me to get home.” He trailed his mouth down her neck, to the hollow at the base of her throat.

Her heart twisted painfully tight. There was no way she could wait, and no way to explain why without hurting him. She didn’t want to offer him false words. Instead she twined her arms around his neck and let her head drop back while his lips and tongue exploited the vulnerable spot.

“Promise me,” he pressed.

Damn him. He knew she tried hard to keep her promises, and he kept nudging her into an impossible corner. She grabbed his head and pulled his mouth back to hers. Everything she couldn’t let herself say went into the kiss. Maybe he took that as a yes because he drove his fist into her hair and held on while she dropped her hands to his waist and undid his pants.

His hands got busy, too, and within seconds, they were both naked. She drank in the sight of him, all height and breadth and rigidly controlled muscles. He took a condom from the nightstand, rolled it on, and then reached for her, but she shook her head. She wanted him under her, so she could watch him and memorize every moment of their last time together.

She put a hand to his chest and gently pushed. He got the message and sat down on the bed, then groaned when she straddled him. Their groans overlapped as she rocked her hips forward, sliding along the ridge of his erection and creating bone-dissolving friction.

After the mind-blowing climax he’d already given her, she wasn’t counting on coming again, but now her body went on some kind of orgasmic autopilot. A sob broke from her throat as the lock she had on her emotions threatened to fail.

Michael, God bless him, misinterpreted the reason for her distress. “Shh. I’ve got you. I won’t stop until I finish you.” With an arm banded around her waist and his hand clamped to her backside, he worked her up and down his shaft. All she could do was hold onto him and bite her lip to keep from crying out, because she couldn’t trust herself to speak. Too many conflicting needs churned much too close to the surface.

The hand at her waist moved up to the back of her head, and he slowly brought her mouth to his. He used his teeth to free her lip and then kissed her until the only thing she could taste was him. The only thing she could smell was the scent of his skin. The only thing she could feel was his body—under her, against her, moving inside her. She closed her eyes and tried to hold onto the sensations, because although she hadn’t yet walked out his door she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt there would never, ever be another man in her life like Michael McCade.

“Wait for me,” he whispered against her kiss-swollen lips, so gently she wanted to burst into tears.

“I—oh God. I’m trying.”

He rejected her attempt at distraction. “Tomorrow. Promise you’ll wait.”

She was on the verge of promising him anything he wanted, and that scared her enough to scramble for control. Planting her knees wide, she rocked up, forfeiting everything except the wide, smooth head of his penis, and closed the distance he’d created. His groan of protest reached her ears seconds before she devoured his mouth. Her fingers traced his brow, his cheekbone, the line of his jaw. She tightened her inner muscles, clasping him in quick, rhythmic hugs designed to drive all thoughts of tomorrow out of his mind and focus him solely on the here and now.

A long, low, tortured sound rumbled from his chest, and then she was flat on her back, legs wrapped high around his waist, rising up to meet him. Dark eyes stared at her, into her.

“Promise…” he tried again, but it was too late. The force of his orgasm locked his jaw and jerked his head back. He succumbed with a long, shuddering groan. The wave of pleasure rolled through him and crashed into her. Tears she could do nothing about leaked from the corners of her eyes. She closed them and turned her face to the pillow, praying he didn’t notice. Seconds later he put his hand between her legs and held her while he carefully withdrew. Without him inside her, a cold, emptiness set in—all the way to her soul. She shifted onto her side and concentrated on holding her body together, because every molecule threatened to explode from the pressure of keeping her emotions in check.

He kissed the back of her neck, the curve of her hip, and then the mattress squeaked as he rose. A chill swept down her back and she shivered—an involuntarily protest against the loss of his body heat.

She feigned sleep while he showered and kept her eyes closed as he moved about the bedroom, dressing and gathering his gear. Sound alone allowed her to track his progress—the jangle of his dog tags, the rustle of his uniform, the carpet-muted sound of boot steps. Then the bed sank as he sat down next to her and smoothed her hair away from her face.