21 Marine Salute: 21 Always a Marine Tales (79 page)

The bubble of tension wrapped around them burst with his slow grin. “No, I mean it. Thank
you
.”

“I didn’t do anything—I completely blame you for the song. You knocked on the door.”

He chuckled. “You opened it.”

“But you kissed me….”

Slanting his mouth across hers, he silenced any further words. He brushed his thumb across her knuckles, sending tingles racing across her nerves until she hummed like a guitar strung too tight. Every time she thought the kiss would end, he tilted his head to the other side and darted his tongue in and out, teasing her.

Nose to nose, he finally let her come up for air. “You kissed me back.”

“Yeah.” She laughed. “You kissed me again.”

“I did.” He nodded, brushing their noses together, whispering another kiss on her cheek and again to the corner of her eye. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Her laughter rode on a shuddering breath. “No, not at all.”

Catching her guitar, he pulled it away and then she straddled his lap, arms wrapped around his neck. He kissed her with a singular intensity and the whole world faded—until a cold nose pressed against her belly and she jerked. Somehow her shirt had ridden up. Glancing down, they laughed at Jethro, who stared back with bright curiosity in his dark eyes, his tail thumping.

“Hmm…I should be writing….”

Matt curled a lock of her hair around his finger. “I’ll help.”

“Yeah?” She lifted her eyebrows. Music was the last thing on her mind.

“Uh huh.” He kissed the soft spot behind her ear and need bubbled through her. “I’m trying to inspire you….”

And how
….

Watching her create music and songs from scratch amazed him. Matt left her composing and jogged with Jethro to the mess for sandwiches, chips, and soda. They ate and she wrote some more. The process—
her
process—defied description. She strummed notes, played them over and over while she hummed to them, then jotted them on paper. Eventually she added words.

Her last composition became a personal favorite. They walked, side by side and he insisted on carrying her guitar. The sun set. Hungry, he offered to order pizza for both of them, but she suggested Chinese. He called while she packed up her music.

“So what happens next?” Jethro trotted to his right while she walked on his left.

Naomi smothered a yawn. “Sorry, um….” Her game smile waffled between embarrassment and shyness. “I will swing by Captain Dexter’s office in the morning and borrow their scanner so I can scan it in and send it over to my producer. He’s already got the early sheets. The backup players he has will have a day or so to familiarize themselves with the music before I get there and then I fly in, rent a car, drive to the studio and sing. Hopefully they let me play, too. But that’s not a guarantee.”

At her door, she held up her keys and unlocked it. He nodded his approval. Unclipping Jethro’s leash, he set her guitar on the floor. She walked into the kitchen and got a bowl of water and a small bag of food. “I picked this up this morning—it’s what you said he ate, right?”

Pleased that she remembered, he grinned. “Yes, that’s exactly what I said he ate.” She filled the bowl and Jethro dug in eagerly then slurped water. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I like him.” She slid off her shoes and picked them up. “Almost as much as I like you.” With a wink, she waved him to the sofa. “Make yourself comfortable. I want to change.”

He slid his hands into his pockets and stared after her. The urge to follow her into the bedroom and pick up where their kisses in the park left off raged through him. He’d canceled his one-night stand that morning, after leaving James’ office and before talking to the admissions counselor. The agreement with his unit was they all signed up for the dating service, but his inactive profile wasn’t going anywhere, and he didn’t want a faceless, nameless one-night stand with a stranger.

Naomi. He wanted her.

But what the hell did he have to offer? He didn’t have a job. Couldn’t take her out on dates—well he could try—but she didn’t deserve a brutal, public meltdown.
Why am I even here
?
I should go. I walked her home. She’s leaving in a couple of days. She has a life—a decent one. All I have is a lot of broken pieces to finish gluing together
.

Jethro padded out of the kitchen and rubbed his leg. The dog had a sixth sense about his moods. The moment a spiral started, he distracted him.

“What’s wrong?” Naomi’s quiet question floated across the room, and he found her leaning against the doorway separating the living room from the hallway to her bedroom. She’d changed into a T-shirt and yoga pants. The casual clothing, along with her hair pulled back in a ponytail and the gentle expression on her face, eased some of the panic brewing in his gut.

“Not sure why I stayed.” An honest, if not particularly kind answer.

“We haven’t had dinner yet,” she teased.

“No, I mean this—with you. You’re amazing and I’m not.” Self-deprecation was simple. He was damaged. She deserved so much more than he could offer.

Folding her arms, Naomi studied him. “Thank you.”

The lack of argument surprised him. “Thank you?”

“Thank you.” She shrugged, still smiling. “You think I’m amazing. It’s okay if you don’t think you are. I like you just fine.”

“But didn’t you hear what I said?” Patting Jethro on the head, he crossed the room to look down at her. He wasn’t sure what closing the distance would do but give him a better look into her eyes.

“I heard you. I would be more worried about you if you said you were the catch of the century and I’d be a fool to pass you up.” Her nose wrinkled. “Truth shouldn’t be smarmy.”

Okay, I’m missing something here
. “You—I would never say that.”

“My point exactly.” She straightened and patted his chest. “You’re a fun guy. You listen to me. You listen to my music. You’re thoughtful, you’re protective, and you’re honest. These all qualify you for someone worth my interest. And even if you were none of those things, you’ve never treated me with anything less than respect.”

The weight of her hand in the vicinity of his heart eased some of the constriction banding his lungs. “You are not hard to be with.”

“Thank you. Again.”

He touched his fingers to her lips to silence her. “Naomi, I’m a mess. You need to know this about me. I’m—”

She stopped his words with a kiss to his fingertips. “Matt, I’m going to stop you right here. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. Okay?”

But I do want to
…. “I think that’s exactly why I want to tell you. You haven’t asked me for anything—for answers—for more. I want to tell you.”

“Okay then. Take your shoes off and get comfortable.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Dinner will be here in a few minutes and I will listen.”

She disappeared into the kitchen and he glanced at Jethro. The dog walked over to the sofa and flopped down next to it. Apparently he liked telling her, too. The knot in his gut returned, boots echoed in the hallway and he shook his head. It wasn’t a hallway out there, it was sidewalk and grass and apartments—not Iraq, not Marines racing to meet the enemy—and no explosions splitting the night in two.

The doorbell rang and he jerked around.

“It’s the Chinese food, Matt,” Naomi soothed, walking over to the door. She waited for his nod before opening it. Exhaling, he let her pay and accept the food. When the door closed, he motioned toward the hall separating the living room from the rest of the apartment.

“I’m going to wash up.”
Wash up and clear my head. I’m not in Iraq
.

He could tell her without reliving it—he
could
do that and he
would
do it.

In the bathroom, he stared in the mirror. “That’s an order, Marine. Be upfront. Let her know everything, and if she doesn’t kick your ass to the curb, well…we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

He really hoped she didn’t kick him to the curb.

The lost look in his eyes sucker punched her in the gut. Brent had looked the same way when he’d come home—only his outbursts had been far more violent—and usually ended with him throwing she or their mother out. They took his temper, they took his apologies, and they didn’t let him cut them off, no matter how hard he tried.

Matt didn’t know enough about her history to understand she wouldn’t let him push her out the door nor would she let him cut himself off unless that’s what he wanted. She set up their food—sweet and sour chicken for him, moo goo gai pan for her—and carried the plates out to the coffee table.

He rose and took them from her. The gentleman in him wouldn’t stay seated when she walked in the room.

Another reason she adored him.

She grabbed water bottles and while she wouldn’t mind a glass of wine, Matt was on edge. He opened both and they ate quietly. She didn’t push, preferring to let him work it out in his own head. Quelling the urge to tell him it didn’t matter turned out to be harder than she would have liked. Of course it mattered. But Naomi didn’t live in a glass bubble, war was hell, and coming home harder still. She devoted many volunteer hours at veteran’s centers, actively raised money and awareness, and recording her album would help with both.

“I served in Iraq.” The sentence sent a shiver of apprehension through her. “Just a grunt, doing my job and securing the areas we were ordered to secure.” Sweat beaded along his brow. Jethro shifted below them and laid his head across Matt’s foot, the weight offering some comfort because he blew out a long breath.

“I always wanted to be a Marine. I grew up in a small town, my mother works two jobs and she’s—she’s raised all five of us the best she can. But I am the oldest.”

Naomi’s heart squeezed. Brent was also the oldest—which meant he put tremendous pressure on himself to excel and be there for his siblings. He believed in demonstrating how it should be done.

“So enlisting was a no brainer.” Matt pushed the rice around on his plate. “I loved it—still do. There’s—there’s no real description for being a part of a unit that gets you, appreciates your strengths, challenges you to do better and guards your back every step of the way.”

Spearing a mushroom on a fork, she gave him her full attention and swallowed any probing questions. He needed to tell his story his way.

Clearing his throat, he continued, “Anyway, I was good at my job and I liked it. One night—one night we had insurgents break through the gates. They set off some blasts and we had to kill the driver in another of their vehicles, but it still detonated. The—um—the explosion damaged my hearing.” He tapped his right ear with two fingers. “I’m not deaf, but impaired on this side. It also affects my balance, but I’m working on that.”

Putting the plate on the table, he reached down to pet Jethro. She’d noticed he did that whenever his discomfort level rose. The dog basked under the affection, returning solace to the wounded Marine. She didn’t mistake the idea that the hearing loss was his only injury. Soul-bleeding wounds weren’t always obvious.

“So I took the medical discharge they offered, but it’s not just about the physical issues. I still have my arms and legs, I can still run and work and function—except—” He grimaced. “Except sometimes I can’t.” Swallowing hard, he clenched his jaw. “I’m here at Mike’s Place for treatment.” The words were barely a whisper and she had to strain to hear them.

“Doc diagnosed it as PTSD. I can’t remember what happened without reliving it. I can’t go places where there are a lot of noises—bangs or even heavy crowds, because they take me back there. I can’t hold a job because most of my training is in areas that all set off my triggers. In a nutshell, I’m a pretty poor prospect for anyone.” He sighed, shoulders slumping briefly as though exhausted from giving voice to the darker thoughts inside of him.

Judging that point to be the right time to speak, she set her plate next to his and turned sideways, her knee brushing his thigh. “Okay.”

Puzzlement filled his eyes. “What?”

“Okay.”

“I just told you why I’m not a good prospect for you.”

“I know. You think I need big dates in noisy crowds and someone who hasn’t seen how hard life can be.” Taking a risk, she caught his hand and put it to her throat, pressing two of his fingers to her pulse. “Feel that?”

He grazed his thumb over the pulse point. “Yeah.”

“I’m human, too. I’m sorry that bad things happened to you and continue to happen, but do you know what I see when I look at you? What I hear when you tell me that story?”
Make it good, Nay. He’s opening up and you have one shot to get this right
.

“No.”

“I hear a good brother who cares about his family, a good son who respects his mother, a tough Marine who honors his unit, and a strong man who is facing his own demons. You’re exactly the kind of guy I want to see.”

“But I can’t take you out and do all the things you deserve—real dates, real romance—”

“I don’t need all those trappings, Matt. I just need you.” She wasn’t sure which of them moved, but she went from sitting next to him to sitting in his lap, and his mouth closed over hers. She loved kissing him, even when he exerted so much care.

Wiggling until she straddled him, she cupped his face in her hands. Aggressive wasn’t usually her style, but he rewarded her efforts and slid his hands under her T-shirt. The glide of skin-on-skin sent tremors through her.

“Naomi…?” The breathless question sent another frisson of awareness jolting up her spine.

“Yes,” she answered between kisses, “I know what I’m doing.”

He caught her hair in one hand and tugged her head back. “I—want you.” The admission clearly cost him something. “And the last thing I want to do is hurt you.”

Grabbing the bull by the horns, she settled more firmly, teasing herself with the length of the erection straining against his jeans. “Stay with me tonight—just you and me—let’s see where this goes. No strings, no demands, no expectations….”