Last Virgin In California (Mills & Boon Desire) (15 page)

“My hormones are just fine. Thanks for your concern.”

“Sometimes, Marie,” Gina said thoughtfully as they walked to her car, “I wonder if you even
have
hormones.”

Oh, she thought as they pulled out of the driveway and headed toward home, she had them all right. At the moment, in fact, they were all standing straight up and screaming at her.

But she’d had a lot of practice at taming them, and she had no doubt she could do it again. Although, she
admitted silently as the scenery whizzed past, Davis Garvey was more of a challenge than she’d ever had to face before.

“Cheer up, sis,” Gina said on a laugh, “maybe Santa will leave you a marine in your stocking!”

Oh, now,
there
was a mental image.

Davis drove through the guard gate, nodded at the sentries and ignored their barely muffled snorts of laughter. Okay, so the Volkswagen looked like hell. Its engine purred like a kitten.

Amazing woman.

Not only did she kick-start his body into high gear, she knew cars, too. He could really get to like Marie Santini.

But even as he thought it, alarm bells went off in his head. Having a nice, mutually satisfying affair was one thing. Actually getting emotionally involved was something else again. He didn’t want to
like
her. It was enough that he simply
wanted
her. Just touching her hand had given him as big a rush as surviving that test drive.

Marie Santini definitely had his attention. And what was wrong with a hot, satisfying, temporary relationship?

Camp Pendleton would be his home for the next three years or so. After that, he’d be reassigned. He made a point of never getting so involved, he couldn’t
walk away easily. Because Davis
always
walked away.

One of the things he liked best about being in the corps was the fact that rootless types like him fit right in. There was no room for roots in the marines. You went in, did your job, then moved on. All in all, a good way to live your life. See the world and never have to stay in one spot long enough to notice you don’t fit in.

He dismissed that train of thought, turned the steering wheel and drove along the nearly empty road, headed for the NCO barracks. He passed a fast-food place, a small, tidy-looking church and a basketball court where a dozen or so kids raced back and forth across the asphalt. In the winter twilight, multi-colored Christmas lights twinkled on rooftops, around windows and in the bare branches of trees.

Christmas again. The one time of year he almost envied his married buddies. But the season would pass soon, as would those brief longings for something more in his life.

Pulling into a parking slot, he got out, locked the car and headed for his apartment. One that looked much like every other place he’d lived in for the last fifteen years.

Before he could open the front door though, his neighbor, Sergeant Mike Coffey, stepped out of his place and said with a pointed look at the VW, “I see you found Santini’s.”

“Recognize the loaner, do you?”

“Hell, yes.” Mike grinned. “Drove it myself last month.”

Pocketing his keys, Davis cocked his head and looked at the other man. “So how come you didn’t tell me your Miracle Worker was a good-looking woman?”

“Good-looking?” Mike asked with a shrug. “To tell you the truth, I never really noticed.”

How could he not have noticed those green eyes and the suggestion of a dimple in her cheek? Was Coffey blind or was Davis nuts?

“Doesn’t really matter what she looks like,” Mike was saying, “she’s a whiz with cars.”

Hmm. Maybe it didn’t matter to Mike, but Davis could still see her in his mind’s eye. Still, he didn’t admit to it. “She’d better be,” he said.

Mike laughed. “Don’t worry. Your Mustang’s perfectly safe.”

Don’t worry? Hell, Davis was extremely picky about who worked on the Mustang. Or any of the other cars he had tucked away in storage garages all across the country. Then he remembered Marie’s confident smile and the concentration on her face when she listened to the rumbling of his car’s engine. He had a feeling Mike was right. He didn’t have anything to worry about. As far as his car was concerned, anyway.

“Trust me,” Mike said. “Once Marie works on your
car, you’ll never want anyone else’s hands touching it.”

The other man gave him a wave and ducked back into his own apartment. Davis stood there in the lowering darkness for a long minute and thought about Marie Santini’s hands. Strong, slender, delicate, capable.

And he had to admit, it wasn’t just his cars he was thinking about her hands being on.

C
ould she really kill her sister at the dinner table? Sure she could, Marie told herself silently. But someone was sure to notice.

“I’m talkin’
hunk
here,” Gina said emphatically, and plopped down into her chair at the dinner table. “I swear, if he wasn’t a marine, he could be a model or something.”

Marie gritted her teeth, set the salad bowl down on the dining room table and walked to her seat. She shouldn’t have agreed to eat with the family tonight. Should have known that Gina would still be talking about Davis Garvey. Heck, she’d been talking about him all afternoon. Even shopping in the crowded mall hadn’t shut her up.

With a mental sigh, she thought longingly of the peace and quiet of her garage apartment.

“We understand, dear,” Maryann Santini said, and smiled at her youngest daughter. “He’s handsome.”

“Beyond handsome,” Gina corrected, and slanted a look at Marie. “Wouldn’t you say so?”

If given the chance, which she hadn’t been, Marie might have said a lot of things. Like, he wasn’t really handsome in the traditional sense, but he had a sort of inner strength that appealed to her—and apparently Gina. But all she said was, “I think you’ve already said plenty on the subject.”

Far from looking abashed, Gina just grinned. “All I’m saying is that he’s one hot property and he was looking at Marie like she was the last steak at a barbecue.”

“Thank you so much for the lovely analogy.” But she couldn’t help thinking that Gina had seen one too many movies. Although a part of her wanted to believe that the first sergeant had been interested, another, more rational part reminded her that she wasn’t the girl guys asked out. She was the girl guys talked to about
other
girls.

“So is he a nice young man?” Mama asked, eyebrows lifted into high arches, her gaze locked on her middle daughter.

Marie stifled a sigh. If he looked like a gargoyle, Mama wouldn’t care as long as he was “nice.” Being Italian wouldn’t hurt, either.

Better to head her mother off at the pass. Maryann Santini loved a good romance better than anything. And the only thing worse than having to live with her own disappointing love life was knowing that her mother had given up all hope of Marie finding a boyfriend.

According to Mama, feminism was all well and good—but it would never take the place of a big wedding and lots of kids.

“For heaven’s sake,” Marie sputtered. “How do I know if he’s nice? I just met the man. And he’s not up for grabs, either,” she said with a pointed look at her little sister. “I’m just fixing his car. That’s all. End of story.”

Gina snorted.

“He seems taken with you,” Mama argued.

“According to Gina.” She slid her gaze toward the tiny brunette across the table from her. Justifiable homicide. No jury of big sisters would ever convict her.

“Gina’s very wise about these things,” Mama said, giving her youngest daughter a quick smile of approval.

Meaning, of course, that Gina knew how to catch a man’s eye. Something Mama had given up on teaching Marie years ago. Apparently though, old hopes die hard.

“No one’s asked me,” Angela, the oldest of the
Santini girls said quietly, “but who cares if he’s interested? It’s obvious that Marie is
not
.”

“Thank you,” Marie said heartily, surprised, but pleased at the support. “At last a voice of reason.”

“Besides,” Angela went on as she poured her son, Jeremy, a glass of milk, “Gina was probably wrong. After all, when she’s at work, Marie’s hardly the stuff men’s fantasies are made of. All that grease and grime…What man is going to take the trouble to look past the surface?”

Well, thanks again, she thought, but didn’t say.

“I can solve that,” Marie said lightly. “I’ll just wear one of your old prom queen dresses the next time I rebuild a carburetor. Oh, and maybe a small, but tasteful tiara. Just think how the diamonds will twinkle in the fluorescent lights.”

“Funny,” Angela muttered.

“I like Aunt Marie just how she is,” Jeremy piped up.

She sent him a grin and a wink. “Have I told you lately that you are my absolute favorite eight-year-old person?”

“Yep,” he said. “But I think you should tell Santa, just to be sure
he
knows, too.”

“Count on it, buddy,” she said. If it struck her as just a little sad that her most ardent male admirer was her nephew, Marie buried the jab quickly.

Her mother and sisters continued to talk around her, but she stopped paying attention. It didn’t matter
what they thought, she told herself as she concentrated on getting through dinner as quickly as possible. But, of course, it did matter. Always had.

And that was both the blessing and the curse of being a member of a close family.

She glanced at the familiar faces seated around the dining table that had been in the Santini family since God was a boy. The solid mahogany table shone from years of polish and bore the scratches of innumerable generations of Santinis like badges of honor.

There was Gina, always perky enough for three cheerleaders. Angela, pretty but quieter, sadder since being widowed three years before. Jeremy, bustling through life with all the grace of the proverbial bull in a china shop. And Mama—patient, loving,
there
.

She missed her dad. A pang of old sorrow twisted around her heart briefly. Two years he’d been gone now. Papa had been the one male in Marie’s life to really appreciate her.

A tomboy from the time she could walk, Marie had grown up in Santini’s garage. She’d been the son Papa’d never had. And though she’d loved her special relationship with her father, she’d always been sorry that she and her mom weren’t closer. Angela, Gina and Mama had shared girly things, and though Marie had sometimes wistfully watched them all from the sidelines, she had never really felt comfortable enough to try and join in.

Still, she thought, letting go of old regrets, they
were family. And family—love—was all-important and always there.

As much as they drove her nuts, Gina knew she’d be lost without them. A sudden, unexpected sting of tears tickled the backs of her eyes. Family. Tradition. Roots. The Santinis were big on all of them, and that was a good thing, wasn’t it? To know that there were people who loved you, supported you, no matter what?

She nodded to herself, feeling much more magnanimous toward them all.

“So!” Gina spoke up loudly to get her attention. “If Marie’s not interested, like she claims, I say she brings the hunk home to dinner so we can have a shot at him.”

So much for magnanimity.

“The man’s not a prize turkey, you know,” Marie snapped.

“Methinks she doth protest too much,” Gina said.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Marie told her in irritation, “he’s not the last living man on the planet. Why are you so intent on him?”

“Why are you so defensive?”

“I’m not.” Was she? An uncomfortable thought. After all, what did it matter to her if Gina made a move on him?

She shifted uneasily in her chair.

“Good,” Gina said with a brisk nod. “Then it’s
settled. You’ll bring him to dinner. What’s good for you, Mom?” she asked. “Saturday?”

“Saturday’s fine, if Marie’s sure.”

“Marie didn’t agree to any of this,” Marie pointed out.

“You will, though,” Angela said, “if only to prove to Gina that you don’t care.”

She shot her sister a nasty look, mainly because she was right. “Fine. Saturday. I’ll invite him.” And feel like a fool for asking a perfect stranger home for a family dinner. “Happy, now?”

Gina smiled. Angela nodded. Mama was already planning the menu.

Marie sat back in her chair and glared at all of them.

You know, maybe family was overrated.

Davis held down the channel button on the remote and idly stared at the TV as images flipped on and off the screen. He really wasn’t in the mood to watch; it was simply something to do. In the darkness, the rapidly changing pictures and sounds dispelled the quiet emptiness of his apartment.

Not that he was lonely, he assured himself. Far from it. He set the remote down on the table and picked up the carton of cold chow mein that was his dinner. Propping his feet up on the coffee table, he stared blankly at the screen, not really interested in the life cycle of the honeybee.

He liked his life. He liked being able to eat in the living room right out of the carton. If the place was a mess, there was no one around to complain. He liked not having to unpack his moving boxes until he was good and ready—which usually meant two or three months. Liked moving to new bases every few years. Seeing new faces, new places.

New faces. Instantly one particular face rose up in his mind—as it had all evening. Marie Santini.

He’d never spent so much time thinking about a woman he hardly knew. Whether it was her big green eyes or the adrenaline rush her driving gave him, something about her had hit him hard. Hard enough to make him rethink that casual invitation to lunch. If spending less than a half hour with her was enough to get him thinking about her, did he really want to pursue this?

He much preferred a simple, no-ties-involved relationship. And Marie Santini was practically encircled by a white picket fence. Everything about her screamed out hearth and home. Altogether a dangerous female.

But then, marines were supposed to thrive on danger, right?

A knock on the door exploded his thoughts and he was grateful for the distraction. Setting the carton of chow mein down with relief, he walked across the room and opened the door.

“Hey,” Mike Coffey said, “a couple of us are going into town for dinner. Want to come?”

Davis glanced over his shoulder at the darkened room, the flickering TV and the half-eaten chow mein container. There was such a thing as too much time to yourself, he thought, and suddenly he wanted out of that too-quiet, too-lonely apartment. “Yeah. Just let me turn off the TV.”

She had plenty of work to do.

And she would do it, she promised herself, just as soon as Davis Garvey had picked up his car and was gone again. Until then, she kept busy at her desk.

Marie hated paperwork. She’d much rather be under a car than hunched over a computer. Unfortunately she didn’t have a car to work on at the moment. Jim Bester had picked up his Fiat that morning and Davis Garvey would soon be by to pick up the Mustang. Apparently, every other automobile in Bayside had decided to stay healthy throughout the Christmas season.

Davis.

As soon as he got there, she’d have to ask him to dinner.

Grumbling to herself, she tossed her pen down onto the desk and stood up. She never should have given in to Gina’s goading. Why in heaven would Davis even
want
to come to dinner at her house? For
Pete’s sake, the man wasn’t going to want to sit down with a bunch of strangers.

Although, she thought as she marched into the service bay and flicked on the overhead lights, the idea wasn’t as strange as some might think. Every year around the holidays, an informal Adopt A Marine program started up. Families in town would invite young marines away from home to holiday dinners, so they wouldn’t be stuck on base eating in the commissary. Her own family had participated a few times over the years and it had always worked out well. The marines were grateful for a respite from the base and the families enjoyed the company of some lonely young men. She supposed she could think of Davis in that context.

Sure. Why not? Just imagine him a lonely marine away from his own family at a special time of year. The fact that he didn’t look like the image of a lonely young soldier didn’t really have to come into this. Did it?

“Besides, it’s Christmas,” she said aloud, her voice echoing slightly in the empty service bay.

“According to my watch,” a familiar, deep voice said from the open doorway behind her, “we still have about three weeks until Christmas.”

Surprised, Marie jumped and turned around to face him. “Do the marines teach you to sneak up on unsuspecting civilians?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said, walking toward her until he
was stopped just inches from her. “Sneaking 101. A very popular course.”

Too close, she thought. He was standing way too close for comfort. She could smell the sharp, citrusy scent of his aftershave and see a small nick beneath his chin where he’d cut himself shaving.

And what was going on with her stomach, pitching and rolling like she was on a roller coaster? “Well,” she said, trying to get a grip. “I hope your teacher gave you an A.”

“An A plus, actually.” He moved closer still and Marie took a short half step backward. “They like us to be able to walk quiet in our line of work.”

“Yeah,” she said. “It probably comes in handy. In a jungle.”

He laughed and Marie didn’t even want to admit to herself what a nice sound it was.

“So,” he asked, “my car ready?”

“Yes,” she said. “It is.” And the sooner he took it, the better. She’d spent way too much time already thinking about him. The last two days, his face had cropped up in her mind far too often for comfort.

“Good.” He reached out and laid one hand on her forearm. Even through her sweater’s bulky material, a series of small electrical charges pulsed through her. Marie’s breath caught and she pulled away, stepping around him to lead him into the office. Mentally she did the multiplication tables in a futile effort to reclaim her mind.

As she walked behind the counter, he took up position directly opposite her. Laying his palms flat atop the laminate surface, he waited for her to look at him, then asked, “So how about lunch?”

“No thanks,” she said and stopped silently counting at four times twelve. If she went out to lunch with him, that would mean she was interested in him. Which she wasn’t. Besides, with her stomach twisting and untwisting, who could eat?

“I remember,” he said. “You don’t date your customers.”

“No, that’s not it,” she said quickly before she could lose her nerve. Just ask him, she told herself. Ask him to come to dinner and prove to her sisters
and
to Mama that she wasn’t attracted to him. Heck. Maybe she could prove it to herself, too. “I just thought maybe you’d like to have dinner tonight instead. At my house.”