21 Marine Salute: 21 Always a Marine Tales (57 page)

Gaze flicking to the dark-haired woman, Liam turned all the way to face her and held out his hand. “Liam Gardiner, and a huge fan of your work.”

“Shannon Fabray.” She shook his hand, tentative and almost shy—no, not shy—wounded. An old wound, but it lurked in her gaze. “And thank you.”

“I don’t suppose you work on commission?” He lifted his eyebrows.

“Not typically, no, but I might be persuaded.” Her smile grew. “What did you have in mind?”

“My own Marine.” He rushed the thought, not taking any time to question it. He glanced over at Brenden, his heart squeezing when Brenden turned at the same moment to wink at him.

“I don’t know if I can capture that rakish grin quite so well…but I would be willing to try.” Shannon held out her card.

“Thank you.” He tucked the card into his inner jacket pocket, his genuine pleasure tainted by the bittersweet notion that their time together wouldn’t last. Honor and commitment to duty would pull Brenden away.

“And Mr. Gardiner?”

“Liam,” he insisted.

“Liam. If you ever need to talk…you can call. I know how hard it is to just say goodbye and then wait to see if they come home.” She gave his hand a squeeze.

“That goes for me, too.” Lauren touched a hand to his shoulder.

“And me.” A third woman joined them—Rebecca—if Liam remembered the name correctly. “Any of us really—though Shannon has more experience with waiting for Brody right now.”

The wives and partners of the Marines grilling on the deck surrounded him and Liam grinned. “I appreciate it.” It touched him, the ease with which this group included him.

The door opened to the deck and Brenden stuck his head inside and whistled. “Ladies! Your dinner is ready and don’t scare off my guy.”

My guy
.

Liam’s grin grew. He had no idea if he was cut out for this life, but he would hang onto it for as long as it lasted. “I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.” He winked and Brenden crooked a finger to him.

He walked out to join him, surprised—thrilled actually—when Brenden slung an arm around his shoulders and murmured, “You’re doing it again.”

“All good thoughts this time. Trust me.” He laughed and leaned into him.

Yeah
. He was totally hanging out for as long as it lasted.

Always a Marine - Book 11

By

Heather Long

~Dedication~

For everyone who survived high school and became who they were meant to be.

The music playing via her earbuds kept her running apace. Mary, Stormer to her friends in the Corps, jogged through the streets, weaving in and around the businessmen on their way to the office. Some people liked to run on the beach, others preferred the park or the hiking trails. Mary liked the city streets—the thrum of traffic building up, the throb of drums and steel guitar on her iPod, and the road rising up to meet her feet. She ran steadily, her clothing soaked with sweat, but even heading uphill didn’t slow her down.

It wasn’t like she carried a rucksack or wore combat gear. In fact, her shorts and tank top were as close to naked in public as she’d been in months. California breezes washed over her sweat-slicked skin and a wild grin hovered around her lips. It felt good to be home. It felt better to run. The tension at home had reached unbearable levels after just three days back in Los Angeles. Her mother wanted her to opt out of her contract and go civilian while she still had her looks.

Flames of resentment burned through her.
Breathe
. Three days on leave at home and she wanted to board the first flight for Dallas, but she planned a full week with her parents.

I miss them so much when I’m away, but I forget that most of the time, distance is what we need. I should have just gone to see Jazz. She can sex up her hot fiancés anytime she wants when I’m not around. Fiancés
. Stormer snickered. Hard enough to believe that the tough gunny was getting married, even more difficult to wrap her mind around the fact she intended to marry two men.

Dropping her pace to a fast walk, she pressed two fingers to the pulse point on her neck. Four-count breaths brought her heart rate down. She paused at the corner to wait for the traffic light, and took the time to stretch. The area seemed vaguely familiar. It took a moment, but she realized her favorite coffee spot sat a block up.

The temptation of a rich, foamy pumpkin latte on the cool California winter morning verged on perfect. Pleased, she walked across the street and began a light jog toward The Orange Rind. A completely ridiculous name for a coffee shop, but since it sold fresh-squeezed juices and Slushies, she forgave them. Their coffee was unmatched.

The music track rolled over to a personal favorite and cranking the volume  up, she moved at a more sedate pace by the time she reached the shop. Waiting in line patiently wasn’t a hardship, not with the rich coffee scent to tease her palate and solid tunes in her ears. She fought the urge to dance in place, settling for tapping her fingers against her leg.

The line in front of her moved and a tall guy with a thatch of thick black hair brushing his neck and a rumpled appearance that cried, ‘just rolled out of bed,’ stepped to the side and leaned against the counter—clearly to wait for his order.

He glanced back at her and she gave him a quick, polite smile as their gazes collided. She shouldn’t be staring—or judging. Just because the man wore a polo and khakis and seemed ready to walk out to the golf course at seven a.m. on a weekday didn’t make him a lazy bastard or wealthy dilettante. Hell, she’d jogged in an exclusive section of the city, about to order a cup of eight-dollar coffee just for the thrill of it.

Looking him over again, she found him checking her out. He stared at her hard, the tiniest of frowns wrinkling his brow. Lifting her eyebrows in challenge, she waited for him to look away but he didn’t. Thumbing her music off, she pulled out the earbuds to ask what the hell his problem was, but the barista waited on her order.

“What can I get you ma’am?”

“Double tall pumpkin spice latte, with extra foam.” She pulled a credit card out of her back pocket and slid it across the counter. Despite having received his drink, her gawker still stood at the counter when she walked around to wait.

And he still stared.

Maybe it was years in the field or maybe it was just her sour attitude after the argument with her mother the night before, but she wasn’t in the mood to have some stranger undress her with his eyes.

She whistled between her teeth. “My eyes are up here.”

He glanced up and amusement curved his lips. “I know. I wanted to see if you had a tattoo.”

“Is that some new form of pick up line?” Damn, she must be rustier than she thought if she didn’t know the latest techniques. But then, she hadn’t lived in California for years, and her last trip home hadn’t included any kind of dating or introductions. After attending her grandmother’s funeral, she went back to base and off to deployment. She hadn’t spent seventy-two hours straight in the state since she enlisted.

“No.” He shook his head and laughed. The barista called out her order and slid the coffee cup over.

Claiming it, she gave him a half salute. “Have a good one.” She turned to leave, but rather than accepting the brush off, he followed her and grabbed the door.

“Sorry, not trying to go stalker creepy on you, but you remind me of someone I used to know—hence wondering about the tattoo.”

The unabashed flirting rolled over her and she tipped her head back. If this guy thought her an easy mark, she couldn’t wait to disappoint him….

Still, the longer she spent with him the more familiar he seemed.
Definitely not a Marine
. He didn’t carry himself that way and wore his hair too long. So why did it feel like she recognized him? “What kind of tattoo?”

“A purple butterfly—on her calf, just behind her right ankle—tiny, delicate thing. I used to think it was a fairy, but she corrected me. It was a butterfly.” He cut himself off, perhaps realizing he’d gone to unnecessary lengths.

“I used to wear one in high school, but it was a press on. I had hundreds of them. If I’d gotten real ink, my mother would have had a coronary.”
High school
. “Kyle?”

“Mary?” His eyes widened and his grin grew with delight.

“Oh my God.” She opened her arms and they hugged, a quick, firm embrace. And despite her joking thoughts earlier, he was hard bodied beneath the polo and khakis. Retreating from the hug, she studied him. “It’s been….”

“A decade, yeah. You look fantastic.”

The affection- laden compliment buoyed her pride. “You’re looking pretty good. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you.”

He snorted. “I grew three inches between graduation and my freshman year at college and all my acne cleared up. I would have been shocked if you did recognize me.”

Now that he mentioned it, he did seem taller than she remembered. He easily topped her five foot nine. Of all the people to run into—she’d liked Kyle in high school. He hadn’t been a douche about her looks, and he never tried to feel her up or ask her out. He actually noticed she had a brain.

Glancing around the rapidly filling street, she motioned to a table. “You have time to…?”

“Hell, yes.” He grabbed a chair and pulled it out for her. It was a sweet, genuine gesture. “How have you been? You moved back here?”

Setting the iPod and earbuds on the table, she said, “No, just a visit.”

“Ah, the reunion.” A hint of bitterness creased the words.

“Yeah, no.” She shook her head. “I know it’s happening this weekend, but I’m not going. You?”

“Thought about it, but….” He shrugged. “You should go though. You had a lot of friends in high school.”

“I knew a lot of people and a lot of people wanted to know me because of—” she grimaced and twirled her finger in the air. “You know, the thing.”

“The beauty pageant thing? Oh yeah. I remember.”

The Marine in her cringed and she swallowed back her embarrassment with a long drink of the latte. “Yeah, that thing.”

Of all the people in the world to run into at The Orange Rind—Mary Phillips—deluxe senior goddess with a soul. Yes, she had won the genetic lotto, a gorgeous blend of her African-American father and Asian mother, and yes, he’d had more than a few fantasies about her through their four years together from freshman to senior years. For him, she remained the one who got away—not that he’d ever managed to cobble together the courage to ask her out.

They were in most of the same classes together, and he loved her as a lab partner. She’d never shrugged off the work to hang with her friends or get a pedicure—she actually did the work. Including the single most awesome detonation of a soda bomb their high school had ever seen. Beauty queen or not, hot bod or not, her smarts turned him on. He couldn’t quite keep the grin off his face. “So what have you been up to? Didn’t you enlist in the army or something?”

“Marines.” Her lips twitched with amusement. “And I’m a career grunt. I work for a living and I like it. What about you?”

“Built a company, sold a company, made a few million, and now I’m bored.” Which sounded terrifically lame when compared to her job. “You stationed here or overseas?”

“Overseas mostly. I’m on leave currently.”

He didn’t know a lot of military personnel or whether it would be rude to ask where? Or what? Scratching his jaw, he skipped the question in favor of…. “Got any plans while you’re home?”

“Not really, just seeing my parents. It’s been about five years and I was getting the ‘notes.’” She delivered the last right down to the air quotes. Not even the Marines could take the California out of his girl.

Clearing his throat, he stuffed that thought into a dark closet in his brain and shut the door. They were having coffee, not happily ever after, and he wasn’t a horny teen with a hard dick and a desperate desire to jack off to her text message about explosive equations. “You’re parents can’t be that bad.”

And he would know that how?

Scratching his jaw again, he blew out a breath and leaned back in the chair. He needed to relax. She’d been happy to see him and he no longer worried about some dumbass pantsing him while he talked and leaving him standing there half-naked, effectively killing any chance he might have had to impress her. These days, the same dumbasses who gave him shit back in the day now called him sir and hoped he’d talk to them about a new lucrative venture.

“You’d be surprised. You forget that for my parents, image is everything and I hardly work in a glamorous enough field.” She didn’t sound like she minded their disapproval. “So you built a company? How do you do that?”

“You get a good idea, make it work, patent it, and then start selling it. I worked out of my mom’s garage all the way through college, and made my first million before I finished my bachelor’s degree.” He chuckled. “I honestly hadn’t even realized how much I made until Mom insisted that I hire a real accountant. She was like my secretary, slash manager, slash billing department.”