Degrees of Wrong (24 page)

“Proposed? Proposed what?”

Dr. Folsom laughed. “Proposed marriage, silly. It’s where he asked me to marry him.”

It all fell into place. Inseparable from the admiral. Undeniable pull with him. Only three bedrooms in the beach house—and Nicoli and I occupied two of them. Well, at least we would
tonight
.

I shook my head, disappointed in myself. “You’re married.”

“No.” She smiled. “We can’t get married until he retires. We wouldn’t be assigned to the same ship if we were married. Conflict of interest.”

“It’s not a conflict of interest that you’re engaged?”

“Well…our engagement isn’t exactly public knowledge.”

I took that to mean it was a total secret.

“Oh,” I said. And then a little louder for our conductor to hear, “Imagine that. An engagement that isn’t
publicized
. What madness!”

He chuckled but didn’t respond.

I smiled at Dr. Folsom. “Congratulations. I’m sorry I’m almost disabled with my lack of perception.”

She giggled. “I
am
a good secret keeper.”

I did go with the little red number, as Dr. Folsom suggested. Simple and strapless, it didn’t quite reach my knees but didn’t creep up my thighs, either. Looking in the mirror, inspecting every angle, I decided the basic mathematics of eating less chocolate and producing more sweat worked—no pouch, no bulges. Which was good, because nothing else could cram into this dress. I accessorized only with an updo and strappy red heels.

I shook my head at the woman in the mirror. Something was still missing. Probably my confidence. Prior to this morning, I believed I was at least a
little
attractive. Now, all my flaws blared at me, the way Nicoli saw them. They seemed to pop out of the mirror and slap my ego. My eyes sat too close together, and they were that ugly green shade. My hips were too round for this dress and my middle toe was almost as long as my big one, making my feet look manly and un-dainty in the heels. My nose was inconspicuous—not too big, not too small—just neutral, indifferent. How could it be indifferent at a time like this?

“They usually serve dinner before midnight,” Nicoli called up the stairs. The admiral chuckled, and I wondered if Nicoli was addressing me or Dr. Folsom—or both.

I shook my head in disgust one final time and headed for the stairs. I heard the door open and shut and wondered if everyone had left me behind after all. As I turned the corner, Nicoli’s feet appeared at the bottom of the staircase. As he came into full view, I smiled at him in appreciation. His awed expression uprooted the seeds of self-doubt. Smoothed over all the blemishes and imperfections. Made me whole. I even forgave my nose for its neutrality.

“What are the chances of you changing into something a little less…breathtaking?” he asked, dead serious.

“Did you want a percentage? Zero percent.”
Especially since you called me breathtaking.

And I noticed how devastating
he
looked. I had never seen him in civilian clothes before. The white of his button-down shirt accentuated his olive skin and gave contrast to his coal-black hair, and the partially rolled-up sleeves pronounced his muscled arms and wide chest. With this he wore faded blue jeans, of all things, frayed at the bottom from constant wear.

The man would look amazing in anything—and better in nothing—but the jeans bothered me. “Am I overdressed?”

“I believe the appropriate question would be if you are underdressed. Isn’t there a wrap or a shawl that should have come with that? Maybe another yard or two of material?”

I giggled. “I was referring to your jeans.”

He shrugged, grinning. “I prefer to be comfortable when I’m away from the ship. As far as
your
attire goes, Dr. Folsom is wearing a dress also, if that answers your question.”

As I didn’t feel it useful to explain to him the many different categories of the term
dress
or their purposes, I accepted his extended hand as he ushered me out the door and toward the pier.

The restaurant was a small place indeed, with live music and human servers instead of the three-dimensional tabletop holograms which had taken the industry by storm. A small, scuffed-up dance floor in the middle of the room hosted a handful of guests who shuffled around without attention to rhythm or onlookers. Dim lighting and candles cast an intimate glow, offering privacy, anonymity and romance—definitely atmospheric for a marriage proposal.

Our table took up a quiet corner with a view to the entire restaurant. I tried to ignore the attention Nicoli drew from the female patrons. In a moment of unreasonable jealousy, I wished I’d been seated next to him instead of across the table.
It’s not your place to get jealous, idiot. Stop acting like an infatuated adolescent.

“Dr. Folsom, do you mind switching seats with Elyse, please?” Nicoli said. “I didn’t bring an extra shirt with me this evening.”

I squashed the giddiness as I took the seat next to him. “An extra shirt?”

“Yes. In case that man at the bar gets blood on this one when I break his nose. He looks like a bleeder.” The man at the bar
was
staring at me. He turned his back to our table when Nicoli rested his arm on my chair and gave him a curt nod.

I giggled. Nicoli leaned toward me and whispered, “Just remember, I did ask you to change, love. Now you might have blood on your hands.” Then he winked.

The waitress saved me from a reply by taking our order. The meal arrived in good time. Dr. Folsom and Admiral Rudd shared one of the restaurant’s ethnic offerings, while I pushed a less-interesting pasta around my plate. Nicoli ordered freshly caught grouper. I cringed at the smell when he offered me a bite.

As the server cleared our plates, Nicoli stood and held out his hand to me. “I’m going to have to insist that you dance with me, so those morons at the bar can stop hoping you’re my sister.”

The admiral chuckled. “Yes, please, Dr. Morgan. I’m afraid I’ve drunk too much wine to offer Nicoli any assistance in a brawl.”

I laughed and allowed Nicoli to lead me to the dance floor.

“Um, I don’t dance,” I told him sheepishly. “So, no whirling or dipping.”

He laughed and pulled me close, pressing my body against his in a way that left little doubt as to the possibility of my being any relative of his. My awareness of him escalated to what felt more like a sunburn than a blush as he swayed to the lull of the music.

“What if someone here recognizes you?” I asked. “It wouldn’t be right for your fiancée to find out about this from a complete stranger. In fact, we really shouldn’t—” I said, pushing away.

His hold on me tightened, and he growled in my ear, “Even if she found out from
me
, it would still be coming from a stranger. And you really should have thought about that before you left the house in that dress, love.”

“I didn’t wear it for you,” I lied.

“No?” I felt him stiffen. “Who exactly is it for, then?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking. You’re engaged. Dr. Folsom and the admiral are engaged. I’m kind of the third wheel here. So, I figured I’d start trying to find a solution to the problem.”

The only solution to the real problem at hand was distance. I needed to put distance between myself and this man. I laid my head on his chest.

“What problem is that?” he asked, resting his chin on my hair.

“The problem of my being single.”

He leaned in to my ear, and his lips brushed it lightly when he whispered, “I’m not sure what game you’re playing now, love, but whatever it is, I assure you, I’m better at it.”

I smiled and tried not to shiver too noticeably. “Oh, there’s no game play here, Captain. Sooner than later, I’ll have accomplished what I set out to do here. When that happens, you and I will part ways. You to your fiancée, and me to— Well, that’s the part I’m working on with this dress.”

He pulled me from him, lifted my chin with the crook of his finger. His eyes arrested mine. “The only thing you’re working on tonight is getting someone seriously injured.”

I giggled, but his gaze didn’t lighten. And that’s when I sobered up. “This ridiculous challenge was
your
idea, Nicoli Marek. I didn’t agree to it, don’t approve of it and won’t participate in it. You are engaged to be married. Unless that changes, you have no business telling me what I can or cannot do in my personal life. And don’t even
think
about bringing up the captain-of-the-ship stuff.”

“And if it does change?”

“If what changes?”

“The status of my engagement.”

“What? Didn’t you pinky swear to marry her?” I clucked my tongue in disapproval.

“I am asking you a specific question, Elyse,” he said softly. “Although, it really is unbreakable.”

“Then why ask questions that start with if?” I hoped my expression—and my voice—didn’t leak the emotion underneath. Because if it did, he would know right away how I would feel
if
.
Get it together, nitwit. He. Is. Taken.

He pulled me to him again. Was this the longest song in the history of composed music, or had we breezed through several in our inappropriate exchange?

“It wouldn’t be so terrible, you know,” he murmured. “It would be as if we were married. We just wouldn’t have the certificate.”

“I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“We would be completely free to do as we pleased. You could join me on the
Bellator
, like Dr. Folsom and the admiral.”

I huffed. “She’s just biding her time, Nicoli. Until they
can
be married. You and I would never have that option.” And didn’t I just say I wasn’t having this conversation?

He thought for a moment, and then, “Well, we could rebuild your house on your island. I would build you an observation deck on the roof, and install a huge, technologically advanced telescope. We could spend our evenings looking at the stars. Well, not the
entire
evening,” he added huskily.

My face burned on cue. “None of that sounds appealing.” Aside from all of it. “Unless your wife would cook us breakfast in bed.”

I felt him grin into my hair. “I could certainly ask. Although my appetite wouldn’t be for breakfast, if you were in my bed.”

I thought my cheeks might actually burst into flames. Still, I knew very well that eggs and bacon wouldn’t be the focus of my appetite, either. Food would be neglected to the point of molding if set next to Nicoli in a state of undress.

“Knock it off,” I whisper-yelled. “And I wish you’d stop reading in my file.”
Evade, evade, evade.
I’d never told him—or Dr. Folsom—about my interest in astronomy.

I felt him shrug. “What else can I do? You aren’t exactly forthcoming with personal information, you know.”

“Because I don’t want to encourage your behavior. And anyway, I’ve been reading up on you too.”

“Have you, love? I’m flattered.” Although the way he stiffened seemed to contradict that.

“You wouldn’t be flattered if you contracted chickenpox.”

He chuckled, relaxing again. “You’ve been reading my
medical
file?”

“Chickenpox in an adult can be very serious,” I told him. “And what’s with all the injuries? You have more injuries than a suicide bomber.”

He laughed loudly, the sound attracting loads of female attention. I noticed my admirers at the bar had left.

“The two broken-nose incidents were compliments of my younger brother, Ryon. And the broken ribs, and the concussion. The broken toe was from my little sister, Amisiri. She likes to stomp her feet, like you.”

“Your little brother tore you up, huh?”

“You should read
his
medical file, love.”

I laughed. “How old are they? Your brother and sister, I mean.”

“Ryon is your age, twenty-four. He’s Special Forces in the UN Ground Legion. Amisiri is twenty-one. She’s still in school. She’s more politically inclined than me and Ryon. She has aspirations to follow in my father’s footsteps one day.”

“Why did you join the UOC? Someone of your intelligence has so many more appealing options. Why choose the military?”

“I wanted to shoot people and blow stuff up.”

I jerked away from him to look at his face.

He grinned. “I didn’t want to follow in my father’s footsteps. Politics are not my specialty. That’s also why I agreed to this damned engagement, you know. To appease him, since I’d already joined the UOC against his wishes.”

I tried to swallow a distaste for his father, a man I’d never met.

“Ryon joined for the same reason,” he continued. “Although our father never requested that
he
take a wife. It’s just as well, though. My brother is…fickle…when it comes to women. His reputation renders him useless to my father’s political agenda.”

I giggled. If Ryon was even a fraction as good-looking as his older brother, I was sure he enjoyed a diverting social life, indeed.

“Although he is trying to convince us that he’s changed his ways. Says he met a girl on a recent mission. Says the details are classified, but that he’s sworn off all other women ever since. He says he’s going to marry her.” He shook his head. “That’s someone I’d like to meet, the woman who stopped my brother in his sinful tracks.” He drew me closer. “Though I can certainly relate.”