Between Duty and Desire (2 page)

Marine Lingo Translation
Alpha Unit: Marine’s spouse.

H
e knew her favorite color was blue.

He knew she was allergic to strawberries, but sometimes ate them anyway.

He knew her hazel eyes changed colors depending on her mood.

He knew she had a scar at the top of her thigh from a bike wreck she’d had when she was a child.

Brock knew Callie Newton intimately, even though he’d never met her. That would change in approximately ninety seconds, he thought, as he lifted his hand to knock on the weathered wooden door to her South Carolina beach cottage. The salty scent of the ocean was a nice change from the antiseptic smell of the rehab center.

His leg aching from being wedged into the small seat in the commercial jet that had brought him here, he leaned against the outside wall of the house for a moment. When there was no answer, he shifted and knocked again, this time more loudly.

He heard the sound of scrambling feet and a muffled shriek, then more scrambling and the door finally flew open. A woman with mussed shoulder-length strawberry-blond hair shielded her eyes with her hands as if she were seeing the sun for the first time today. Dressed in a wrinkled oversize white T-shirt and faded denim shorts that emphasized long lithe pale legs, Callie Newton squinted her eyes at him. “Who are—”

“Brock Armstrong,” he said, wondering if she had any idea that the white T-shirt she wore revealed her nipples. He lifted his gaze from her chest. “I knew—”

“Rob,” she finished for him, her voice softening. Her eyes darkened with sadness. “He talked about you in the e-mails and letters he sent me. The Dark Angel.”

Brock felt an odd twist at hearing his nickname again. His buddies had given it to him because his hair and eyes were dark, along with his mood. Hell, before the accident, he’d been angry for as long as he could remember. He had been locked in combat with his stepfather since puberty. The “angel” part of the name was given because he’d pulled several guys out of tough spots.

Not Rob, though, he thought, feeling another hard
tug in his gut. He hadn’t been able to pull Rob out of his tough spot.

Callie chewed the inside of her bottom lip and waved her hand toward the house. “Come in.”

Brock followed her into the dark interior of the cottage. He heard her whack her leg against an end table and she made a quick hissing sound of pain.

“You want me to turn on a light or open one of the blinds?” he asked.

“No. I’ll do it,” she muttered, moving toward a large window and adjusting the blinds so that the sun illuminated the room. The couch was covered with a dark throw, the walls were bare of pictures and the hardwood floor was rugless. “I worked late last night—well, really into the morning,” she added. “I guess I overslept.” She whipped around to face him, stumbling again.

Brock instinctively grabbed her arms to keep her upright. With one red-gold strand over one eye, she looked at him and he was close enough to count her eyelashes and freckles. He’d heard stories about the placement of some of those freckles.

“What time is it anyway?” she asked in a sleep-husky voice that reminded him of sex.

Hell, everything reminded him of sex. It had been too damn long since he’d gotten any. “Fourteen hun—” He stopped, remembering he didn’t need to speak in military time. “Two o’clock in the afternoon.”

She winced. “I didn’t realize it was so late.” A cat prowled into the room and wrapped around her ankles. “Bet you’re hungry, Oscar,” she said to the feline then glanced at him. “I’ll start some coffee.”

She took a step, nearly tripped over the cat, righted herself then left the room.

A little klutzy in the morning, he recalled Rob telling him and felt a twitch of humor. Only this wasn’t morning, at least not for most people.

Brock glanced around the spare, bare room. It didn’t feel right. Rob had described Callie as if she never took a break from creating and decorating. Every room had a theme. She didn’t know the meaning of the word bland. He frowned. This room was definitely bland.

He wandered down the hallway where he heard water running from a faucet. The kitchen was small, but sunny with a clean sink and clean counters. There was no kitchen table. Instead a chair stood at the end of the counter where he spotted a sketch pad, a box of Frosted Lucky Charms and Little Debbie Swiss Cake Rolls.

Uh-oh. Swiss Cake Rolls were PMS and deadline food.
Brock approached her warily. “Are you on deadline?”

She nodded. “I got behind when Rob—” She broke off and sighed. “I couldn’t draw for a while. I can now, but I’m not sure any of it is right. I’m still not reaching for happy, light colors and I’m supposed to be illustrating happy, light books. Three of them. I’ve done all the rainy, sad, gray scenes,” she said, staring expectantly at the coffeemaker. “Four times.”

A suspicion was forming in his gut. “Looks like
a nice little island,” he ventured. “Do you like your neighbors?”

She ran her hand through her hair. “I haven’t had time to meet them. I don’t get out much.”

His suspicion intensified. “I’m staying here for a while. Can you recommend a couple of restaurants?”

She bit her lip. “Y’know, I haven’t had a lot of time. I’ve done most of my grocery shopping at the quick-mart.”

He nodded, rubbing his chin. So Rob’s concern for Callie had been justified—she’d turned into a hermit.

The coffee flowed into the carafe and she pulled two mugs out of the cabinet. Pouring the coffee, she looked up. “I don’t have cream. Would you like sugar?”

He shook his head and accepted the mug she offered. “Black is fine.”

She cradled her mug in both hands and took a quick sip then glanced up at him. “Rob really admired you.”

“It was mutual. Rob was well-liked and respected. He was a mechanical whiz and he talked about you all the time.”

She rolled her eyes. “He must have bored you guys to death.”

He shook his head. “He gave us a nice break from the tension.” He paused. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to his funeral. The doctor wouldn’t let me out of the hospital.”

“Understandable,” she said, lowering her gaze to
her cup so that her eyelashes shielded her expression from him. “You were hurt when the mine…” She shrugged as if she didn’t want to finish. “I didn’t want Rob to join the Marines. It was one of the few things we argued about.”

“Why? Too dangerous?”

“At the time he joined, I don’t think I realized how dangerous it could be. I just didn’t want to move and move and move. I wanted us to make a home, a haven, and stay there forever.”

“But you moved here after he died,” Brock pointed out.

She shook her head. “Too many memories. I felt like I was bumping into him, into our dreams, every three minutes.” She met his gaze. “So why are you here?”

Not ready to reveal Rob’s last request, he glanced down at his leg. “I’m almost finished with my rehabilitation and I couldn’t stand being tied to the center one more minute. I decided a few weeks at the beach before I take my job sounded good.”

“Why this beach?” she asked, her eyes skeptical. She was waking up and she wasn’t stupid.

“It’s quiet, not too commercial.” He cracked a grin. “If I fall on my face when I take my morning run, no one will see me and laugh.”

Her gaze shifted. She was still skeptical, but more amused. “Something tells me you don’t have much experience falling on your face.”

“Not until this year.”

Her half smile faded. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry about Rob.”

“Thanks. Me, too,” she said and gave him a considering glance. “If this was a duty call, consider it done.”

He nodded, but inside he was shaking his head. The woman lived at the beach, but her skin was as white as the sand and the circles under her eyes were violet. She looked too thin and as though she were stuck in neutral. He needed to at least get her into first gear.

Brock settled into his condo which was about a quarter-mile north of Callie’s. Sitting on the balcony, he watched the waves rhythmically rolling in and felt a measure of peace wash through him. The ocean wasn’t about war. It changed every second, but in many ways remained constant. Watching the tide provided the best therapy he’d been given in months, and Lord knew the military had made damn sure he’d received a truckload of therapy.

As he climbed into bed and fell asleep, an image of Callie Newton drifted through his mind. He wondered what she was doing right this minute. Was she staring at a blank canvas? Was she drawing yet another dark picture? Or was she falling asleep just like he was? He remembered being fascinated by the photograph of her that Rob had proudly displayed. She’d been laughing with abandon. She’d looked like the female equivalent of sunshine. She and Rob could have posed for matching bookends of the all-
American boy and girl. Rob had miraculously managed to get through boot camp without having his upbeat attitude beat out of him. Rob had been a nice uncynical guy, not like Brock. Brock had enough cynicism for a dozen men. Maybe that was why he’d been drawn to Rob and his stories about his wife. They’d seemed fresh and innocent. Brock couldn’t remember feeling fresh and innocent, not since his father died when he was seven years old.

His mind drifted back to Callie. Even though the sadness in her eyes twisted his gut, something about being in her presence made him breathe a little easier. He sensed she might demand perfection of her self and in her work, but she didn’t demand it of others. He frowned, wondering why she seemed sexy to him.

Her hair was a seductive red-gold curtain and her white skin emphasized her femininity. Her lips reminded him of a juicy plum and that damn T-shirt had made him want to play hide-and-seek with her curves.

He felt himself grow hard and swore under his breath. His attraction to Callie wasn’t personal. He was frustrated—sexually, personally, mentally. Tossing off the covers, he walked naked to the shower.
Forget the cold water.
He turned on the warm spray and stepped inside where he could take care of at least part of his frustration with any woman he chose to picture in his mind.

The following morning, he rose at six o’clock. The Marine Corps had conditioned him to rise early. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to sleep in again. He fixed a breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast and coffee and read the newspaper, showered and dressed in running shorts and a tank, then walked down the beach to Callie’s cottage at ten o’clock.

The first step to feeling normal was sleeping at night and working during the day. Callie was like a baby who had her nights and days mixed up. She needed a little help to deconfuse them. He rapped on the front door to the darkened, quiet house and waited. And waited. He rubbed the toe of his running shoe on a rough place in the concrete on her porch then knocked again.

He heard a loud bang and “Ouch!” and shook his head. The door jerked open and she squinted up at him. “Why do I feel like I’ve done this before?”

“Sorry. I thought you’d be awake by now,” he fudged. “I remember hearing that you liked to run, so I wondered if you would like to join me this morning for a slow jog. My leg’s not a hundred percent, so I have to move a little more slowly than I’d like.”

“Run?” she echoed and looked outside. “Now? What time is it?”

“Ten o’clock,” he said.

“Oh,” she murmured, pushing her hair from her face. “I had a late night last night working on a draw
ing,” she said. “That I probably won’t use,” she added in a dark, disgusted tone, and sighed.

“If you’re not up to it…” he ventured, checking to see if she had enough fire in her to rise to the challenge.

She frowned. “I’m up to it,” she retorted waspishly. “I may be a little rusty because it’s been a while, but I’m up to it.”

He nodded, approving the hint of a kick in her response. That was a good sign. “You want me to wait out here while you change?”

She glanced down at her nightshirt as if she’d just realized she still had it on. Her cheeks colored. “Yeah, I should have—I was—” She shrugged and waved him inside. “You can come in. It won’t take me long.”

“Thanks,” he murmured and followed her in the door, catching a draft of her sweet, sleepy scent. It was a fresh, sexy smell that made him want to bury his face in her hair. The thought took him by surprise and he shook his head.

She hurried down the hallway and the cat greeted him with a sniff then dismissed him. He’d never understood the appeal of cats. Felines didn’t come when they were called. They expected to be fed and sheltered, yet pretty much disdained their owners. Now, dogs were a different story.

Callie returned with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She wore a tight sporty tank top and a little pair of shorts that rode below her belly button. A few
of the nurses at the rehab center had come on to him, but none of them had been dressed like this.

Damn, he’d been locked up entirely too long. He was beginning to feel like a raging bundle of hormones. Before the accident, he’d had his share of women. He’d never had any problem finding a willing woman. Rob had said he went through women with the same ease a lot of men went through a six-pack of beer. It wasn’t far from the truth. He’d always made it clear he wasn’t making any promises—he didn’t want to put in the time a
relationship
required.

Ungluing his gaze from Callie’s bare belly, he raked his hand through his hair. “You ready?”

She moved her head in an indecisive circle. “Let’s go.”

They hit the beach and twenty-three minutes later Brock was afraid she was going to keel over before she’d tell him she’d had enough. “There’s a coffee shop. You want to stop?”

She came to an abrupt stop and met his gaze with a mixture of wariness and relief. “Do you?”

She was clearly prickly, so he took a light approach. “If you get heat exhaustion, it would be a real hassle to have to haul you back to your cottage with my bum leg.”

She frowned. “Are you denigrating my level of physical fitness?”

“Not at all. You look physically
fine
to me. You just might be a little out of practice.”