Falling for the Marine (McCade Brothers 2)

“And after the gym, you’re going to run to the store for her?”

“Yep. It’s the least I can do. She vacuumed yesterday.”

“And she’s going to bake something for tonight’s command performance at the Hardings’?”

“So?” The skepticism in Dane’s voice was starting to chafe. “What’s your point?”

“My point is, you two stay up half the night talking and fall asleep in each other’s arms, you do little chores for each other, and you socialize as a couple. You’re more engaged than half the real couples I know. Are you sure this thing is for show only?”

“Yes. She’s leaving in four weeks.”

“She doesn’t have to. There are jobs in San Clemente.”

“Staying in one place isn’t for her. She’s not looking to settle down, and I’m not looking for a casual, catch-you-next-time-I’m-in-town kind of thing. I’ve ridden that merry-go-round for a long time and I’m ready to get off.”

“So four weeks, and then have a nice life?”

“In a nutshell. My life will get back to normal.”

Dane shrugged and faced front. “If you say so.”

“I do.” Hell, yeah, it would. No more nerve-racking engagement charade. No more having his apartment look like it had been invaded by a band of gypsies, no more chick food in his kitchen…no more homemade dinners, no more sexy massages, no more waking up surrounded by the scents of cinnamon and honey. No more Chloe.

…

Chloe knew she was making herself, and Michael, crazy, but she couldn’t seem to help it. She walked from the bathroom to the living room, where he was trying to watch a ball game, and stood beside the oversize flat screen…again. “Are you sure this looks okay?” She smoothed her hand over the billowy skirt of her pink, strawberry-print sundress, sending a stack of slim, pink, enamel bracelets tinkling down her arm to gather at her wrist. This was the closest thing she owned to a church outfit but the halter top of the dress had her worried and her lucky shoes weren’t giving her much of an advantage. “I want to be presentable.”

“Huh?” he said absently, his eyes never drifting from the screen.

She huffed out a breath. Men had it so easy. Had he agonized over his wardrobe? No. Had he spent an hour in front of the mirror taming his hair into a smooth, subdued twist? Not even close. He’d come home, showered, thrown on flat-front khakis and a white, linen shirt, and run a comb through his hair. And he looked perfect.

Michael reached out, quick as a snake, and caught her around the waist. Despite her halfhearted struggles, he tugged her down onto his lap. “You look fine.” He nuzzled her neck, but she had a funny feeling he kept one eye on the game. He disabused her of the notion when he fingered her bracelets, and then parted them and swept his thumb lightly over the flesh-colored Band-Aid she’d used to cover the little burn from last night.

“Very presentable.” His nose brushed her throat. “And you smell almost as good as the cobbler.”

“Oh, shit, the cobbler!” She squirmed off him and hurried into the kitchen. A peek inside the oven confirmed the dessert was done. “Thanks for reminding me.” She turned off the heat, grabbed a couple pot holders and placed the square pan of bubbling apple-brown-sugar decadence on the stove to cool.

She fanned the cobbler with a pot holder. Sudden silence from the living room told her Michael had turned off the television. Next thing she knew, he wandered up behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders.

“Don’t worry about this evening, Chloe. Just relax and be yourself. We’ve rehearsed and we’re ready. You look beautiful. This dessert looks amazing. The Hardings are going to love you.” He reached around her and took a swipe at the cobbler.

She swatted his hand away but not before he stole a crumble of topping. “Hands off. That’s for tonight.”

“I’m selflessly serving as the taste tester.” He dropped the crumbs in his mouth, swallowed, and smiled. “Oh yeah, they’re going to be eating out of your hands. You ready?”

Oh, God. Her stomach bungee jumped to her knees and then sprang back with a sickening lurch. Ready? Not so much. She shoved the cobbler pan at him. “Here, wrap some foil over this. I have to check my hair real quick, and…” She hurried out of the kitchen… Put on more deodorant, meditate, pray.

By the time she returned from the bathroom, Michael stood by the door. “All ready.”

She drew in a deep breath, ran her palms down her skirt, and nodded. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He grinned and led her out the door.

On the drive to the base she silently reviewed everything she and Michael had discussed last night. They’d only touched the tip of the iceberg. There was tons of stuff she still didn’t know.

&nbs

p; “What’s your middle name?”