Carolina Man (15 page)

He leaned forward and took her hand across the table. “Look, I get that you want what’s best for Taylor. So do I. I’ve lost too many buddies because they wouldn’t get the help they needed. I just don’t think Taylor needs to drive an hour and a half each way to talk to somebody on base. I thought maybe you could give me some names.”

“Me.”

“Yeah. Before, you said you saw a lot of psychologists in your line of work. I figure you might know somebody local who would be good for Taylor.”

“I . . .” Once again, he’d surprised her. “Of course. I’d be happy to make some recommendations.”

“Great.”

“But she might not be able to get an appointment until January,” Kate felt compelled to say. “The holidays are a busy time.”

“That’s fine. It’s still probably faster than she’d be seen on base. I appreciate the help.” He released her hand and sat back easily in his chair. “So, what made you want to go around rescuing things?”

Her hand felt cold without his. She clasped it around her tea mug. “It’s my job.”

“It’s
a
job,” he corrected, those brilliant blue eyes on her face. “It didn’t have to be yours.”

“There’s always a need for family attorneys.”

“I get that. The country needs Marines, too. But not everybody joins up. Was it, like, a family thing?”

“What?”

“Being a lawyer. Did your parents encourage you?”

“Not exactly.”

“But they’re proud of you. I mean, you help people.”

He would see it that way, in terms of service rather than salary. “I guess.” She shrugged. “We don’t really discuss my job much.”

“Too confidential?”

Too close to home
. Alcoholic husbands who beat their wives were not an acceptable topic of conversation in her mother’s world.

Kate pushed her food around her plate. “They were pleased when I was accepted into law school. I suppose it gave my mother some bragging rights with the other officers’ wives. Not as good as getting a son into the Naval Academy or having her daughter marry a doctor, but—”

“Wait. Why shouldn’t you go to Naval Academy? Or be a doctor, if that’s what you wanted?”

“Oh, please. Like I have to explain military culture to you. You’re a Marine.”

“So that automatically makes me a sexist?”

“In my experience, yes. Women are harassed and discriminated against in the Marine Corps every day.”

“Not on my watch.”

“So you believe women should have equal rights with men,” she said, testing.

“Yeah. And equal pay and opportunities. I’m not saying that bad shit doesn’t go down, I’m just saying I’ve served with some outstanding female Marines.” He held her gaze. “So maybe I’ve learned not to generalize.”

“Wow.” She sat back, surprised and impressed. “Did you just smack me down for making generalizations about the Marines?”

He grinned at her and served himself out of a carton. “Why would I do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said dryly. “Maybe because I’ve been making unfair judgments about you since before we met?”

“Or maybe,” he said, “I want you to know that Taylor is safe with me. That I’m not going to put limits on her because she’s a girl. That I will support her and encourage her to grow up to be whatever she wants to be.”

She stared at him, stricken.
This
was what talking led to. This painful honesty, this horrible yearning, this awful desire for the kind of family, the love and support she’d never had.

Luke’s eyes narrowed. God only knew what he saw in her face. “Kate . . .”

“Take me to bed,” she blurted.

He went very still. “Now?”

She’d surprised him. Good. It restored the balance between them a little. “Why not?”

Sex would be less dangerous, less revealing, than this terrible emotional intimacy.

“Because you’re upset. What did I say to upset you?”

“Nothing. I just . . .” She closed her eyes, embarrassed. “Isn’t that what you came for?”

“One of the things. I also said I wanted to get to know you.”

“Please. The whole getting-to-know-you deal is just a polite way to get everything out there before you have sex with a total stranger. Herpes. Birth control. You might as well ask about my health history. Or prior partners.”

“Okay,” he said so promptly she wondered if that had been his object all along. “No STDs, I practice safe sex, and you know about my only significant ex. Your turn.”

She stared. “You’re serious.”

He smiled. “You started it.”

Like they were playing a game. She hadn’t had many opportunities to play as a child. But she did like to win. “Um. Okay. No diseases.”

“Ever married?”

She shook her head. “That would require that I actually date first. Which I don’t anymore.”

“No time or no interest?”

At least he didn’t assume she had no opportunities. She supposed she should be flattered. “No energy.”

“Yeah, all that going out to eat can really take it out of you,” he said, straight-faced.

A reluctant smile broke across her face. She tended to take things—herself—too seriously. She liked that he could make her laugh. But, still . . .

“It’s different for guys. Look around next time you’re at a bar or a restaurant or even at the movies. The men are in jeans and T-shirts. Maybe they’ve shaved. And their dates are all made up and dressed up, like they have to knock themselves out just to be with these guys.” She stabbed her fork into a shrimp. “I have to dress for court. I don’t need to waste my weekends tweezing, waxing, and worrying about my underwear in return for ordinary food and mediocre sex.”

He was looking at her with the warm, slightly unfocused look men got when they were thinking about sex.

Point to me for mentioning the waxing thing, Kate thought smugly.

“You could try doing something about that,” he suggested.

What? Oh
. “I suppose I could hold out for better restaurants.”

“Or better sex.” A low note of laughter underscored his voice.

Kate lifted her chin. “I can handle the sex part fine on my own. I don’t need a man to have an orgasm.”

“Then maybe you should try a better man.”

Their gazes met. Held.

Kate’s mouth went dry. Her heart beat in the quick, staccato rhythm of a court reporter’s keys. What would sex with Luke be like?
Better than mediocre
, that look promised.

She licked sweet sauce from her lips. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and her pulse went wild. Something twisted deep inside her, tension coiling in a tangled mess of want and need. Her hands trembled.

He stood. “Want anything else?”

Her imagination rioted. What was he offering? “I can’t eat another bite.”

His lips curved. “Sure? There are fortune cookies.”

He was clearing the dishes as if that look, that kiss, had never happened, as if she’d never mentioned waxing or her underwear, as if sex were off the table. She wanted him so much she was shaking.

“Perfect,” she said. “Maybe I’ll get lucky.”

He turned from the sink, his blue eyes laser bright, and pulled her out of her seat. “Maybe we both will.”

He slipped his fingers into her hair and kissed her, brushing her lips with his, making her blood pound and the words die in her throat. He felt so good, warm and hard, muscled and lean against her. She spared a thought for her underwear—what
had
she put on this morning? She hoped it was the good stuff—before his mouth moved on hers, firmly, deliberately. He parted her lips with his, and her mind stuttered and blanked as the heat in her rose everywhere. She clutched her fingers in his shirt, pulling him closer. He fisted his hand in her hair, licking deep into her mouth, feeding the hunger that flared inside her.

She kissed him back, using her tongue, and his hands slid down her back to her butt. He pulled her tight against him, rough and aroused, tasting her, taking her with his mouth, and she trembled because he was so hot, hot and insistent, his touch searing. She was burning up, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. She pulled away—
Let’s not lose our heads
—and instead of letting her go or lunging for her mouth, he wrapped his arms around her and held her, simply anchored her against his body and held on.

He was hard all over, his back, his hands, his erection pressing against her stomach, and immobile as a rock. A warm, living, breathing rock. Her personal statue. His heartbeat thudded in her chest. His breath stirred her hair.

She clung to him and felt . . . cherished. Safe.

Gradually, his heat seeped inside her. She was conscious of him in a way she’d never been aware of a man before, every breath, every twitch, every shiver communicating between their bodies, passing from him to her, awakening longings under her skin. She wanted him.

She wanted him to
move
. She wiggled against him, hoping he would get the message, and when he didn’t, she made a sound of frustration and yanked his shirt from his waistband in back, seeking skin. His back was hot and smooth and sleekly muscled. His chest expanded with his breath. He raised his head from her hair, exposing the strong, tanned column of his throat, and she pressed her lips to his rapidly beating pulse, tasting salt.

 • • • 

L
UKE SHUDDERED UNDER
Kate’s lips, under Kate’s hands. He felt amazing, all powerful and out of control at the same time, his blood pounding, his heart too big for his chest. She was soft and warm against him. Her hair, tickling his chin, smelled exotic and comforting, like Chinese spice and soap, and he wanted to grab her up and do her on the table or against the wall, but there was something different and painfully arousing about standing there as she worked his shirt up over his ribs, as she ran her fingers through the hair on his chest, exploring him with her touch.

He helped her, yanking his shirt up and over his head, his body hers to do . . . whatever she wanted. And she wanted him, he could feel it in the tremor of her body, see it in her darkened eyes. He swelled under her gaze, under her touch, his skin tight, his dick pulsing against the fly of his jeans.

She dipped her fingers just under his waistband, light and cool against his bare, hot skin, and stopped. “Do you want . . .”

“Yes.”

Her smile broke across her beautiful face. “To go into the bedroom?”

“Anywhere.”
Anything. Anytime
.

She moved out of his arms, toward the door. He followed, determined not to lose contact, one hand sliding from her shoulder to the small of her back. She reached back and gripped his hand, hard, and his body jolted as if she’d wrapped those small, strong fingers around his heart.

He wanted to see her naked. To be with her, skin to skin. As soon as they crossed the threshold to her dimly lit bedroom, he put his hands on her sweater, under her sweater, feeling her pretty tits. She sighed and melted against him while he learned her shape through her bra. Nice. Soft. He plucked her nipples to tight little points and then eased her sweater up, over her head.

“Oh, yeah.” She wore a little gold necklace that dipped into the shallow indentation between her breasts, her slight cleavage rising above the smooth, shiny cups of her bra, with a spattering of freckles like cinnamon on ice cream. He wanted to eat her up. “You’re so pretty.”

A flush started halfway up her chest. “Let me just get the light.”

He caught her hands as she turned away. “I want to see you. You’re beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you.” Her gaze slid over him, and he flexed a little, wanting to see the admiration in her eyes. “You’re, um, really in shape.”

“You’re really sexy.”

She made a disbelieving noise and moved away, toward the lamp by the bed. Her turn revealed a mark high on her right shoulder blade, dark against her smooth, pale skin.

“You have a tattoo,” he said on a note of discovery.

“So do you.”

“Wings?”

“Scales of justice.” She popped her shoulder so he could see. “To celebrate passing the bar.” Another shoulder hitch, like a shrug. “Not very original.”

“Classic,” he corrected.

“Like yours.” She switched off the lamp and returned to him, her smile bewitching in the dark. Her fingers traced the eagle, anchor, and globe on his shoulder, reading the ink like braille. “When did you get this?”

“Marine Corps graduation.”

She flattened her palm against his chest. “And this?”

Semper Fi
. “After my first tour.” He twitched under her hands like a racehorse, his muscles jerking under his skin. “Kosovo.”

She kissed him there, pressing her warm lips over his heart, and he put his hands on her waist, pulling her hips into his, feeling the satin cups of her bra, the silk of her skin against his naked chest.

“Oh, God, Kate.” He filled his hands with her, undoing the hooks of her bra as she tugged at his belt, bending to unlace his boots as she wriggled her jeans down her thighs.