Marine for Hire (5 page)

But he couldn’t do it. He went back to studying his surroundings, cataloging every piece of driftwood, every stranger around him. At the edge of the shoreline, a young Hispanic couple with matching infinity tattoos on their wrists clasped hands and splashed into the waves. To the right, a bald guy fought to don his snorkel mask and swim fins, looking like an overcooked sea creature. To the left, a small crowd gathered around a makeshift barricade marking a sandy strip where a large sea turtle had crawled ashore to snooze in the sun. Sam breathed in the scent of sunscreen and ocean air, watching for anything out of the ordinary.

Suddenly, he saw it. A man walking alone with a bulging duffel bag slung over his right shoulder. He wore a hat with the brim pulled low, hiding his face. Something long and solid poked through the duffel.

Sam froze, every muscle in his body tense. Behind him, Sheri fussed with the twins, kneeling in the sand to offer juice cups and kisses. He reached instinctively for the pistol strapped to his shoulder holster.

Shit.

He’d locked his gun in a desk drawer back at the house, knowing a holster might raise questions on a beach outing with two infants and a woman who had no idea he was anything other than the football-playing manny he claimed to be. He studied the man walking toward them and memorized his gait, the suspicious duffel, the averted gaze. Sam stared, unblinking.

The guy was getting closer, and Sam moved into position, putting his body between the man and Sheri. A glint of metal flashed at the edge of the duffel, and he watched the guy’s hand drop as he reached for it.

Slowly, the man brought his hand up. Sam’s heart leaped to his throat as he recognized the cold steel, the familiar shape of the rifle, the sudden burst of adrenaline in his own veins.

“No!” Sam yelled, and dove for Sheri.

Chapter Five

The feel of Sam’s massive, muscled frame pressing her into the sand was so foreign, so unexpected, so deliciously welcome, that it took Sheri a few beats to ask the obvious question.

“Um, Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Is there a reason you just tackled me?”

He sat up and straightened his dark sunglasses, pausing to brush sand off her arm as he scowled down the beach at an old man sweeping a metal detector along the edge of the water. She watched him stare at the guy for a few beats before he turned back to her.

“Sorry about that,” he said, brushing more sand off her shoulder. “I thought you were headed for the water, and I had to stop you. It hasn’t been very long since you ate breakfast, and I don’t want you to get leg cramps and drown.”

She struggled to sit up, feeling oddly disappointed not to have his body pressed against hers anymore. Was she out of her mind? Was he?

“You’re nuts,” she said at last. “But thank you. I guess. You know that’s an old wives’ tale, right?”

“What’s that?” he asked, still watching the guy with the metal detector.

“That thing they used to tell kids about how they shouldn’t go in the water after eating or they’ll get cramps and drown. I looked it up on Snopes.com once when I was researching all these things I needed to prepare for in raising two boys so close to the beach, and I learned that’s not true. Doctors say that doesn’t really happen.”

“Huh,” he said. “Sorry. Here, let me help you up.”

He jumped to his feet, surprisingly graceful for such a big guy. He reached down and hoisted her to her feet, dusting more sand off her elbow, her stomach, her hip, the back pocket of her shorts. As his hand made contact with her backside through the thin fabric of her shorts, she gasped and pressed against him ever so slightly, craving more.

“Sorry about that,” he said, dropping his hands to his sides and looking a bit like a naughty schoolboy. “Just being thorough.”

“I appreciate it,” she said, wishing she’d managed to cover her whole body in sand like a cinnamon-sugar doughnut so he could spend the whole day dusting her off. “So you must’ve been a defensive lineman?”

“What?”

“When you played football with Mac. That was quite a tackle you just pulled.” She smiled to show she was teasing, but he looked mildly horrified.

“Right,” he said. “Turn around.” He maneuvered her the other way and dusted some more sand off her right thigh. She shivered and glanced back at the little canopy where Jeffrey and Jackson slept like the dead.

“Wow, the boys conked out fast,” she said. “I expected them to be amped up about the water and sand and birds. Maybe they’re still too young for this.”

A
normal mother
would have known that. Would have instinctively realized the appropriate age to bring small children to the beach with visions of making sand castles and gleefully tossing Cheerios to birds on the beach. Clearly, she had a lot to learn.

“You okay?” Sam asked.

She turned back to him. Even behind his dark sunglasses, she could tell he was studying her. “I’m fine.”

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, why?”

“You had a funny look on your face just then.”

Sheri sighed. “Have you ever worried you’re not cut out for the job you thought you were destined to do?”

She expected him to laugh or shore her up with encouraging platitudes, but instead, he nodded. “Plenty of times.”

“How did you handle it?”

“Not as well as I could have.”

She nodded, surprised by his frank answer. “I have a confession.”

“Oh?”

“I’m switching back to disposable diapers.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s your idea of a confession? I thought you were going to tell me you club baby seals.”

She smiled and gave a little shrug. “Ask my Mommy and Me group which is worse and I think they’d say the diapers.”

“You need new friends.”

“Maybe. I’m still new in town, so maybe I’ll find a mothers’ group that enjoys seal clubbing.” She reached across him for her beach tote, and felt his whole body tense as her breast brushed his arm through her T-shirt. “I guess now’s the best time to read, huh? While the boys are sleeping.”

She pulled a romance novel out of her bag and rested it on the corner of her beach towel. She hesitated, glancing at Sam. “This is my first time in public in a bathing suit since they were born.”

“Would you like me to—uh—avert my eyes?”

She laughed. “Not unless you want to. I won’t take offense either way. Two good things about going through a lousy divorce right after giving birth? Stress melts off a lot of the baby weight,” she said, tugging her T-shirt over head. “And discovering there are tougher things in life than a few extra pounds makes you stop giving a damn about the rest.”

Sheri set her T-shirt aside and glanced at him. His dark glasses made it tough to tell where he was looking, but she sensed he was keeping his gaze trained on her face. She knew she should probably feel self-conscious about stretch marks or her less-than-perfect muscle tone, but the sun felt so good on her skin. She closed her eyes and breathed in the ocean air and the faint scent of plumeria from the tree behind them. A whisper of breeze tickled her hair and made her nipples pucker beneath her turquoise tankini top.

“Good God.”

She opened her eyes and looked at him. He shook his head and looked away, his expression chagrined behind the dark glasses. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

Sheri laughed as something warm and liquid spread through her limbs, and she knew it wasn’t just the sunlight making her skin prickle pleasantly. She wriggled out of her shorts and folded them neatly, setting them aside. “Last week a guy whistled at me when I walked by a construction site and I was so thrilled I actually called Kelli to tell her,” she said. “At this point in my life, I’m not even going to pretend to take offense at being ogled by a man.”

Sam nodded, his expression stoic and his eyes still hidden behind the dark sunglasses. “In that case, I have to say you look fucking amazing.” He glanced back at the twins asleep in the canopy. “Sorry guys.”

She laughed again and resisted the urge to toss her hair like a supermodel. “I doubt they took offense, and neither did I.”

“Seriously, you’re hotter now than you were in college in that white bikini with the little strings that tied here and—”

“God, I’d forgotten that bikini. How on earth do you remember that when I can’t even remember meeting you?” She shook her head as she heard her own words replay in her mind. “Sorry, I hope that’s not rude.”

“No ruder than me ogling you in a bikini,” he said. “Then or now.”

“Then we’re even.” Sheri picked up her book, unashamed of the bodice-ripping cover. “Thanks, Sam.”

“Don’t mention it.”

She flopped over onto her stomach, resting her chin on her folded T-shirt. She’d only read two paragraphs when she felt the gentle stroke of his fingers in the small of her back.

She turned to look at him, holding her breath in hopes he wouldn’t stop.

“Sunscreen,” he said. “And sand. You had a big gob of it stuck to you, and I didn’t want you to end up burned in some weird shape.”

Her skin tingled where his fingers had brushed against her, and she prayed for gobs of sunscreen decorating every inch of her flesh so he’d have a reason to touch her and touch her and touch her again.

No
, she scolded herself.
Don’t go there. You’re a new mom with a new job and a new divorce, and the last thing you need is a distraction like this.

No matter how delicious the distraction might be.

Chapter Six

That move at the beach had been dumb. Really dumb.

Which one?
Sam’s subconscious goaded him.
The part where you freaked out and tackled her over a senior citizen beachcombing with a metal detector, the part where you ogled her nipples perking up under her bikini top, or the part where you invented gobs of sunscreen just for the excuse to touch her?

God, he was never going to make it at this rate.

He kept his distance after they returned home from the beach, grilling steaks on the barbecue and making some sort of carrot dish he found in a cookbook. It ended up tasting funny after he burned the butter, and he’d had to Google what the hell
“julienne” meant before throwing in the towel and just slicing the damn things, along with his finger.

Sheri hadn’t noticed any of it, thank God. Nor had she seemed to mind when Sam made himself a plate and took it to his room with an excuse about needing to spend time calling family back home. The urge to touch her, to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless, was so intense he felt dizzy.

By Sunday morning, he was going stir-crazy. He needed to get out of the house and clear his head before he did something dumb or dangerous. Or both.

When Sheri informed him she wanted the day alone with the boys before starting her new job Monday morning, he nearly wept with relief.

It was the perfect excuse for him to take a drive and scope out Sheri’s new workplace. He’d never been to the Pacific Missile Range Facility, and he knew there was usually a long waiting period filled with extensive background checks for anyone who wished to visit. You couldn’t get clearance without proper documentation and proof you owned a vehicle registered on the island.

But Mac’s connections and Sam’s military background made the whole thing a snap, which is how Sam found himself handing over his ID and paperwork to the armed, uniformed soldier at the entry gate.

“We’ll hold on to these here at the gate during your visit, sir,” the soldier informed him as he set aside Sam’s documents. “We’ll cross-check everything on your way out, too.”

He handed everything over gratefully, making note of the security systems in place. Though his own military credentials had helped, Sam knew he couldn’t have gotten in this quickly without Mac pulling government strings. There was normally a lengthy waiting period for visitors at PMRF, which was a good thing when it came to Limpdick. If Sheri’s ex showed up on Kauai, he’d have a tough time gaining access to the compound on short notice.

Tough, but not impossible.

It was vital to get the lay of the land, to understand potential threats when Sheri was at work during the day.

“Thank you,” he said to the guard. “I appreciate your service.”

“Sir,” the man said, and gave him a salute. “Enjoy your day.”

“Mahalo,” he said, and drove forward, breathing in the warm salty air, appreciating the fact that he’d been able to find a family-friendly Jeep with tons of safety features and plenty of room for the boys’ car seats. He had to hand it to Mac for having the foresight—not to mention the means—to buy a vehicle for Sam. Renting would have been complicated, and buying the Jeep gave Mac the added bonus of being able to gift it to Sheri once Sam’s tour was over in two weeks.

Two weeks.

He felt a pang of sadness at the thought of things ending, which was stupid. He kept his eyes on the road, cruising past the fitness facility, past the Navy Exchange and the post office, past the car wash and racquetball court. He drove by an outdoor movie theater where he imagined holding Sheri’s hand under the stars as they ate popcorn and snuggled beneath a blanket.

Focus
, he commanded himself as he parked and got out of the Jeep.
You’re here for business. Here to make sure Sheri is safe at all times and that her asshole ex can’t get anywhere near her.

H
e grabbed the fishing pole and tackle box he’d bought back in town, figuring it was a good excuse if anyone grew suspicious of his presence there. There wasn’t anything in particular he was looking for. He just wanted to have the lay of the land, to know where Sheri would be spending her days and how hard or easy it might be to protect her if the need arose.

The sun was beating down on him, so he stripped off his shirt and tucked it into the back of his shorts.

“Mornin’.”

He turned to see an older man in a red-and-white-striped derby hat who was following the same path toward the Kinikini ditch. The man smiled and lifted his own tackle box. “Good day for fishing.”

“Looking forward to it,” Sam replied.

“They’ve got an unscheduled flight coming in shortly. Better stick to the north of the windsock or they’ll make you relocate.”

Sam nodded and tipped his baseball cap. “I appreciate that.”

“You new around here?”

Sam nodded. “Just on the island for a couple weeks doing a favor for an old buddy.”

“Ah—good place for that. I take it you’re a Marine?”

“Sir?”

“Your ink.” He nodded at the tattoo on Sam’s shoulder. “Looks like a devil dog, if I’m not mistaken. I was a Marine, too. You still serving?”

“I’m—uh—taking a little time off. Regrouping.”

“Got it. Say no more. Well, it was good meeting you. Good luck with the fishing.” He tipped his derby hat and continued on his way.

“You, too,” Sam called after him, watching him disappear down the path.

He continued exploring, checking out the grounds while pausing every now and then to cast a line or watch the Navy planes flying low against the blue sky. Eventually, he made his way back to the car and headed toward Shenanigans, the café near the south end of the compound. He ordered a sausage pizza and sat jotting notes to himself while he munched.

Investigate Jonathan Price,
he wrote, taking a bite of pizza.

It made him uneasy knowing Sheri’s ex was here in Hawaii. Mac’s latest intelligence confirmed Limpdick was staying put in Honolulu, but it wouldn’t take much for the guy to hop on a puddle-jumper and show up on her doorstep. Did Limpdick have family on Kauai? Did he have any other reason to visit the Garden Isle, or was it possible he’d just wait in Honolulu until his leave was up and he had to report to his new command? Did Limpdick know where Sheri lived?

He made a note to ask Mac for more details.

Mac had said the family worried Sheri might feel vulnerable enough to take Limpdick back. That her urge to do the right thing for her babies might make her cave to pressure from the ex to get back together. It was worth keeping an eye on things, but from what Sam had observed so far, Sheri seemed stronger than her brothers gave her credit for.

He tapped his pen on the table and forced himself to keep his mind on his task list.

Make friends with the neighbors,
Sam jotted, putting a star by it for emphasis. He’d seen a neighborhood watch sign on the street where Sheri lived. Might be smart to introduce himself to a few people, maybe volunteer to help. If Limpdick came sniffing around, it would be smart to have neighbors keeping an eye out for him.

Install better locks at the house.
Surely Sheri couldn’t argue with that, especially if he explained he was doing it to keep the babies safe.

He jotted a few more notes to himself, including a reminder to research Price’s mistress. Both Mac and Sheri had mentioned the affair, and they’d said she was a stripper in Arkansas. Was she still there? Sam wanted to find out.

Thinking about Sheri made his gut twist, and he tapped the pen on the paper, distracted. He knew it was dumb to harbor a longtime crush on a girl he’d only met once at a party in college.
Dumb
, which is why he felt okay taking the job. Crushes were harmless, and nothing that would impact his ability to do his job. Certainly nothing that would cause him to break his promise to Mac about not laying a hand on her.

You already laid a hand on her, idiot.

He frowned, remembering his roving hands on the beach. Okay, so he’d screwed up. It wouldn’t happen again. He’d make sure of it.

He shook his head and picked up the pen again. A college crush was a manageable thing, but things felt different now that he was here. Now that he’d met the grownup version of Sheri and realized what a stunning, intelligent, sexy woman she’d turned out to be—he was feeling a lot more than a crush. He didn’t know what to call it, but he knew he needed to be careful.

Much more cautious than he’d been the last time he’d screwed up and other people paid the ultimate price.

Sam finished off the pizza and closed his notebook. He trudged back to the car and made the return trip to Sheri’s house. The breeze was warm and fragrant, and he felt grateful the Jeep gave him the option for fresh air instead of air-conditioning. The smell of the sea and the island plumeria was a good reminder that this was a pretty sweet job.

Just be careful,
he reminded himself.

When he walked through the door of her house, the smell of warm garlic and sage hit him sharply in the gut, giving him an odd pang of longing for his mother. He moved tentatively into the kitchen, surprised to see no one there. The oven was on, so he peered inside. A baking sheet sat cheerfully in the middle, covered with neat rows of chicken thighs covered in something crispy and brown.

“Potato flake chicken,” a voice said behind him, and he turned to see Sheri standing in the doorway. She wore a pale-gray skirt and a sea-green top made out of some sort of silky material that wrapped around her torso and draped elegantly over her lovely, freckled shoulders.

He opened his mouth to say something intelligent, but all he got out was, “Guh.”

She laughed and padded barefoot into the kitchen, nudging him aside with one hip to check something in a pot on the stovetop. “Thanks, I think. I was just trying on some of the outfits I bought when I went shopping with Kelli the other day. I was thinking about this one for my first day. Does this skirt make my butt look big?”

She stepped back from the stove and did a quick pirouette, giving a self-conscious little laugh as her bare toes squeaked on the tile floor. He opened his mouth to say something, but his tongue failed him again. “Ung.”

He cleared his throat and stepped back, feeling hot all of a sudden. Must be the oven. “You look—wow. I mean yes. No. That is, uh—your butt. Great. Really. I have to go check my—something.”

He backed into the counter and looked for an escape route, dimly aware that the wall wasn’t the best option. He thought about punching his way through it, but decided to brave the danger and edge past her. She had bent over the oven by then, poking at the chicken with a fork and squinting against the intense heat.

He did his best not to bump her, not to come into contact with those fragrant curls or the silky blouse that hugged her curves or that perfect, shapely ass. Good God, it was hot in the kitchen.

Escape.

He made a beeline for his room, and was halfway through the dining area before he realized he hadn’t properly answered her question.

“You look amazing,” he yelled from that distance, not willing to go back into the danger zone for anything. “You’ll knock ’em dead at work.”

“Thanks,” she yelled back, looking mildly perplexed as she pushed the oven door shut with her hip. “Dinner’s ready in ten minutes. I felt like cooking since it’s my last day at home. It’s nothing gourmet like you make, and nothing super-nutritious and organic like
normal moms
whip up, but it’s good comfort food if you want it.”

He nodded and hustled to his manny cell, closing the door behind him. He leaned heavily against it, shaking his head over his own stupidity. Even now, his hands were twitching with the urge to touch her. He couldn’t believe how close he’d come to reaching out just to feel her body, warm and lush beneath that silky top. Or to stroke the curve of her backside through the skirt.

“Comfort food,” he repeated, still breathing heavily. “Not the sort of comfort I need right now,” he murmured, and went to take a cold shower.

…

Sheri swallowed her last bite of mashed potatoes, savoring the final, buttery bite as she put down her fork. Dinner had gone pretty well, considering. The chicken had been perfectly crunchy, with just enough Parmesan and pepper mixed in with the potato flakes to make the skin crisp and flavorful. It wasn’t fancy, but it was one of the few things Sheri could remember her mom cooking for their big military family.

Sam had been quiet throughout the meal, though he’d had two helpings and still managed to spoon mashed carrots into Jeffrey’s mouth, while she took care of feeding Jackson. Having an extra set of hands around was incredible, though it took every ounce of strength Sheri had not to think lusty thoughts about those hands. She imagined his broad fingers roaming across her body, making her whimper and wriggle beneath his touch.

She took a shower after dinner, eager to clear her head. She’d been foolish to ask his opinion on the skirt. She’d meant it innocently enough, but what had she been thinking? Why would any man in his right mind answer the question “does this make my butt look big?” Apparently, she’d gone too long without a man in the house. She’d forgotten the basic rules of coed cohabitation.

Still, it felt good to have him ogle her. Maybe too good.