21 Marine Salute: 21 Always a Marine Tales (106 page)

He swung around and found her standing at the edge of the wood, her white tank top seeming to glow against her skin. “Georgia?”

Her hair fell in a long, untamed cascade over one shoulder, and her mouth hung open in shock. “No. This is not happening.” She shook her head and pivoted, marching back the way she’d come.

Greg set his beer down and jogged after her. “Hey, wait, where are you going?”

“I came to the wrong cabin. It’s not a big deal.” She kept walking and he pushed himself to catch up.

“Hey, Georgia.” He caught her arm, forcing her to stop. “What are you doing out here?” Shouldn’t she be at home, watching her grandfather?

“Is that really any of your business?” She turned to look at him and tugged her arm free in the same motion. Heat flickered in her eyes. They were a true black—he couldn’t see where the pupil ended and the iris began. Unearthly and absolutely stunning in the same breath.

“No, probably not.” He didn’t know why it was important to him, but he couldn’t get the woman off his mind and then she appeared at the cabin.

“Well, thank you for that.” She blinked rapidly.

“For what?”

“For being honest.” A smile softened her usually hard expression.

Getting a read on the woman was impossible, but probably not worth mentioning. “Okay. So why are you here?”

Folding her arms, she shrugged. “Why are you here?”

Yeah, he didn’t really want to answer that question. “Does it matter?”

“You want to know why I’m here. You tell me. I’ll tell you. Tit for tat.” Challenge filled her eyes and she lifted both brows, daring him. She apparently didn’t think he would answer.

“I have a date.” He’d never walked away from a challenge in his life and today wouldn’t be the first time.

“Oh.” Distress tightened her expression. “Oh. Crap. I have to go.” She whirled again and paced away, but in the direction of the woods, not the lodge.

“Miss Crane—Georgia—what are you doing?”

“I don’t know. It’s a flight reflex.” She slid her hands into her pockets and hesitated before looking at him.

“A flight reflex from what?” He edged closer to her.

“From—probably making a huge mistake. Huge. Big. Very large. I need to go.” And she took off again, heading once again deeper into the woods.

Greg couldn’t help it, whether because of her frazzled expression or the fact that she kept biting her lip, he laughed.

“Why are you laughing?” She swung around, staring at him.

“You’re funny.” He grinned. “You’re temperamental, but you’re passionate.” Walking toward her, he kept his hands loose at his sides. “You’re loyal, and you’re fiercely protective of what you love.” She was like a wild, exotic beast—easily provoked. “But you’re afraid of what I might see if you stay.”

“I’m not afraid of you.” Her chin came up.

“I didn’t say you were afraid of me.” He towered over her. She was tall, lean and athletic, but she still only came up to his chin. In her heels, that night at her house, she’d been able to look him in the eye. There was something heartbreakingly fragile about her, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. “Of course, that begs the question of why are you running?”

“I’m not running. I’m standing right here.” Her chest rose and fell with short, hard pants of breath and he let his gaze skim over her. The white tank top didn’t disguise the dusky rose nipples beneath the fabric or their tense state.

What would she do if he kissed her?
Where the hell did that thought come from?
He frowned. He had a date. One he probably should be waiting for at his rented cabin rather than standing in the middle of the woods arguing with one of the most incomprehensibly stubborn women he’d ever met.

“You’re angry.” The belated observation dragged him to the present and he forced his gaze upward from her breasts to meet her stare. The challenge in her eyes vanished, replaced by curiosity.

“No. Frustrated.” He offered a little more honesty for her bucket. “I get that you don’t like me going out with your grandfather every day. I get that you resent my friendship with him. What I don’t understand is why you resent me?”

“Have you looked at you?” Spreading her hands, Georgia made a show of looking at him from head to toe. “I mean seriously, have you? You’re perfect. You’re good-looking, you’re a Marine, took an injury in the line of duty, and now you’re here, helping A.J.—the town
hero
—build a dream. My grandfather thinks the world of you, and he’d rather spend time with you than me. I’m
attracted
to my own replacement. What’s not to resent?”

“We’re going to come back to the bit about attraction in a minute.” He had to swallow an urge to chuckle again because, as amusing as she might be, he really didn’t think she’d respond well to having him laugh in her face a second time. “Your grandfather isn’t replacing you with me. He’s helping me, something he seems to excel at doing and wants to do. You won’t let him help you anymore and he needs to help people. It’s how he’s made.”

“And I’m just the bitch who makes his life harder?”

“No, you love him. You’re concerned.” Withdrawing a step before he kissed her, Greg leaned on one of the trees. The rough bite of the bark on his arm comforted and grounded him at the same time. “Kind of like he’s concerned about you.”

“I’m fine.”

“Uh huh.” He grinned at her rapid response. “You’re so fine you’re marching off into the woods to who-knows-where after coming to the wrong cabin. You’re so fine you’re trying to pick a fight with me.”

Georgia’s mouth opened and snapped shut again. “Oh, my God.” She sighed and scrubbed a hand against her face. “I am.”

“Hmm-hmm. So, you wanna back this up a little?” He held out his hand. “I’m Greg Rainwater.”

She stared at his hand long enough that he worried she might refuse to shake it. After an eternity, she slid her hand into his. The friction of their palms touching was electric, but he admired the strength in her grip. “I’m Georgia Crane.” She met his gaze. “I’m your date.”

Oh. Hell
.

What the hell was I thinking?
Georgia stared at the tops of her hiking boots. The date called for dressing comfortable—date being a loose term. She planned a night for some balls-to-the-walls sex action. She signed up to get laid without any of the strings or ties to her hometown, her grandfather, or all the good choices gone horribly awry.

Looking up at Greg’s kind expression stirred lust inside of her. She’d managed so far not to throw herself at him—not even when he admitted to being at the cabin to meet his date.

Me
. Clearing her throat, she withdrew her hand and tucked her fingers into the pockets of her jeans. “Surprised?”

“Yeah.” He looked more intrigued than turned off by the prospect of sexing her up. “You signed up with Madame Eve?”

“Guilty. And I might even be a little embarrassed by that fact, except—” The guy was a pure masculine aphrodisiac, hard-bodied, gorgeous and,
oh God
, she was supposed to have sex with him. Liquid heat raced through her blood and her face must have turned red because it scalded like fire.

“I did, too.” Greg raked a hand through his hair. She loved that he wore it long. She’d never have guessed that he’d been a Marine with hair like that, but evidently he’d been out long enough to get away from the military cut. “Why don’t we go to the cabin, make some food, have some beer, and talk?”

The earth opening up and swallowing her whole didn’t seem to be a viable option, so she nodded. Falling into step with him, she tried to calm her pounding heart without a hell of a lot of success.

“You okay?” Even his voice was attractive, deep and throaty. He could have her out of her clothes by reading the telephone book out loud.

“I don’t know. I show up for a date that I made online to have sex with a guy and I immediately go out of my way to antagonize that guy. I mean, I’m not this person—this constantly bitching, pissed-off woman.” She couldn’t even put her finger on when it had happened.
I’m going to have sex with you. Nothing to be worried about there. I wanted an amazing lay and I got you, and I have no idea if I can live up to my own expectations
.

He hesitated at the porch steps. Pausing, she watched him take the steps one at a time, moving with absolute precision and care. She hadn’t noticed it before, the way he moved. Sure she’d noticed his body. The first day she met him he hadn’t had a shirt on—it would have been hard to miss that body. Since then though, she’d done her level best to
not
notice him.

“You’re not a constantly bitching, pissed-off woman.” He flipped open a cooler and pulled out two bottles of beer. Popping the lid off of one, he held it out to her.

“You don’t seem the type to say something to placate another person.” At least, she hadn’t gotten that impression. She couldn’t imagine her grandfather liking a kiss-ass.

“I’m not. I thought you were tough that first day. Hard core. Maybe a little over the top.” He spoke with care as though choosing his words, but she heard the bite of something unspoken. He washed down whatever he didn’t say with a swig of beer. He gestured to the slant-back chairs. She sank down into one and he took the other.

“Tough. Hard core. Over the top.” She repeated the descriptions. “You make me sound like a Marine, except for that last part.”

“Some of my best friends are Marines, so there’s nothing wrong with being tough or hard core in my book. Hell, even over-the-top can be good. I also know you worry. You love your grandfather, and you’re scared.”

He peeled away her layers like she wasn’t remotely complex. Swallowing a mouthful of beer she studied her shoes. “Well, when you put it like that, I guess I’m pretty shallow.”

“Prickly.”

“What?”
Did he just compare me to a porcupine?

“You’re not shallow. You’re prickly. You’re used to having to do everything and you don’t like asking for help. You’re stubborn and you’re coping with a very stubborn grandfather. So, prickly.” He saluted her with his beer bottle.

“Okay, you are way too nice to be as hot as you are.”

His lips curved into a grin and her pulse doubled. “That brings us full circle to the attracted line.”

Embarrassment flooded through her and she laughed. “I think I’m hopeless at this.”

“At what?”

“Dating.” Tipping the bottle up, she drank nearly half of it down. Maybe the alcohol could soften her nerves. Thinking she should clarify, she opened her mouth. And belched. It came straight up from her toes. Clapping a hand against her lips, she stared at Greg, horrified.

He met her stare evenly, drained his beer and belched louder and longer than she’d managed. And she couldn’t help it, she burst out laughing and it shook free the hard knots of tension in her gut.

“Better.” He rose and fetched two fresh bottles. “Would you like to try that again?”

“You think we can keep calling ‘do over’ all evening and have it work?”

Leaning closer, he gazed into her eyes. “I think we can do anything we want, over and over, until we get it right.”

Moistening her lips, she tried not to stare at his mouth. “Hi, I’m Georgia.”

“Hi, Georgia,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to her mouth. “I’m Greg.”

“I think we need to do that over,” she whispered.

“Yeah?” He squatted slowly, one hand on the arm of her chair as though bracing for balance. His warmth was a tangible presence inviting her in.

“Yeah.” She set her beer down and scooted forward on the chair.
I really can’t stop staring at his mouth
. “Hi. I’m Georgia.”

“Hey, Georgia, I’m up here.” His words sort of hung there for a moment and she blinked, looking up to see the corners of his eyes crinkling and then his mouth captured hers.

And she forgot how to breathe.

Kissing her had been an impulsive decision. She tasted like strawberries in summer, ripe and sweet with a hint of tart. Heat surged through his veins and impacted him like an IED—brutal, unexpected and clarifying—but letting go of her and stopping the kiss was harder than balancing on a high wire strung between warring countries.

Legs aching, he straightened and studied her. A dazed expression filled her face. Her lips were a little swollen, and she darted her very pink tongue out to moisten the lower one. Easing onto his chair before he fell down, he picked her beer up off the table and handed it to her.

Georgia lifted a hand to her mouth and stared at him.

“Better?” Amusement curled beneath the leashed desire in his system. He’d been interested from the moment she marched across the field to confront her grandfather. Tabling it, he’d kept it there, but tonight…. “Look,” he exhaled. “We can pretend tonight.” He gave her an out.

“Pretend?” She blinked, confusion flickering in and out of her expression.

“Pretend. We can pretend we don’t know each other. We can pretend that this was successful for both of us. We can eat. Hang out. And then I can take you home. No harm. No foul.” Yeah, definitely the right thing to do.

“Why did you do it?” She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and rolled the beer between her palms.

“Do what?”

“Do this. Sign up for this service.” She licked her lips again and he stuffed a groan down. Every time he focused on her mouth, he imagined what it might be like to have it wrapped around his cock. Not an image conducive to doing the right thing, just the pleasurable one.

“Lots of reasons, I suppose.” Getting her out of his thoughts for one, but he couldn’t tell her that without a little more explanation or reference. He didn’t share well—his battery of psychological testing indicated he preferred to be a loner and opening up was difficult. During his recovery, he’d opened up to Westwood more out of self-defense than anything else. The man was persistent in his patience.

“I grew up on a reservation in Oklahoma. My mother left my father when I was young. He drank—a lot.” Greg laughed softly. “Took me a lot of years to be able to say that. My father drank a lot. He pickled his liver by the time I was fourteen. Passed away while I was at boot camp.”