The Gunny & The Jazz Singer (Birchwood Falls #1) (12 page)

Marc lifted her to shift her aside
and stepped toward the other man.

Butch raised his hands in the air
and backed up a fraction. "Rahn, you're just like you used to be in
school. Thought you were the best thing since sliced bread. Well, things didn't
turn out so well for you did they?"

"Butch! That's a rotten thing
to say," shouted Phoebe.

"Never mind what he says,
honey," Marc added in a silky, dangerous voice. He leaned close to Butch
and muttered something she couldn't hear. She had a feeling it involved
ordering him to stay away from her. If only Butch would but she didn't trust
him and was beginning to be afraid of him. At the very least, his father owned
Marietty's and could fire her. She didn't want to think about what Butch could
do to her as a cop. Maybe already had.

"You little bitch…"

Marc's fist instantly shot up.

"No, Marc!" She didn't want
any more fighting, and she especially didn't want to risk Marc getting into any
trouble over her.

"Get the fuck out of here,
Wilcox."

"What's going on back here?"
It was the manager of the club. "People can hear you out front."

"It's over, Mr. Nelson,"
Phoebe said. "Butch is just leaving, and we are too."

Butch finally did turn away but not
before he shot her a venomous look. She knew it wasn't over.

"I'm going to change."
She backed into the bathroom where her street clothes were. Closing the door,
she leaned against the sink and forced herself to hold back her tears. Good
Lord, that had been awful. She'd been so scared Butch and Marc would hit each
other.

There was no telling what Butch
would do since he was a cop. It wasn't as if she thought Marc couldn't take him,
but Marc could be charged with assaulting a police officer even though it wasn't
what would have actually happened at all. It would be their word against Butch's.

I've
got to get out of this town.
Her belly knotted with her longtime desire to
become famous. She had no doubt it would happen, but what if it didn't? She
couldn't stand that.

There was a tap at the door.

"Phoebe, it's me. Are you
coming out soon?"

Marc.
What am I going to do about him? He's only home on leave. He'll be going back
to the Marines in a few weeks. Surely we can just be friends until then.
It
was obvious he wanted more, and as much as she was attracted to him, she couldn't
afford more of a relationship. In her mind, she reinforced her career plan and
then opened the bathroom door.

"Come on, Phoebe. Let's take a
drive. Okay?"

Gazing up at his face, she searched
for a Butch-like ulterior motive.

"Just talk. I promise."

She met his smile and slipped her
hand around his crooked elbow. Safe. Where she was always uncomfortable and on
guard with Butch, she felt safe with Marc even knowing he wanted her.

"I have to say hi to Moira and
Davy. I can't ignore them."

"Okay, but I really want to
take you away from here."

"Sure," she agreed.
Things were happening fast. She needed to leave town—move on, maybe to Chicago.
She had to initiate the next step herself. No agents were calling.

Forty-five minutes later, after
having a drink with her friends, Marc ushered her into the passenger seat of
that fabulous BMW and went around to take the driver's seat. The night was warm
enough to keep the top down.

"Do you mind?" he asked.

"No, of course not." She
collected the long strands of her hair, pulled a butterfly clip out of her
purse, and snapped it on. "I'm okay now. Thanks." She smiled back at
him.

The engine purred like the
beautiful creature it was as Marc pulled out of Marietty's parking lot. They
crossed the river, turning right onto River Road and heading out of town. When
they passed the last twenty-five-mile-per-hour speed limit sign, he opened up
the car, and they sped along the two-lane highway.

Cornfields lay on both sides with
white clapboard farmhouses at intervals. She chuckled to herself that the air
would have been refreshing if not for the skunk smell but then that was part of
the countryside.

Marc pulled off the highway at an
area overlooking the local hills and valleys. The purring stopped. He angled
himself into the corner of the seat, resting his arm on the doorframe. Leaning
her head back, she gazed up at the stars. The sight gave her a feeling of
familiarity and well-being.

Neither spoke for a while. Finally
Marc said, "You know, Phoebe, Butch is wrong. You are really good. I know
you'll have a successful career."

She didn't look his way. "Thanks,
Marc. He has such a skewed way of thinking. I never encouraged him. As a matter
of fact, we had exactly two dates before his crazy way of telling me we were
getting married. He acted like it was a done deal." She angled herself
into her corner of the car and turned to look at him. "We barely even
kissed."

"Butch was obnoxious in high
school too. We were buddies, but our only connection was the football team. I
never hung out with him one-on-one like I did with Mike Banning."

"He's a creep who uses his
police department job to make himself look more important. I should never have
gone out with him a second time, but I didn't realize at first how disturbed he
is. Besides, I don't intend to make B Falls my home."

"You've mentioned that. Where
do you want to be? New York or Hollywood?"

"Yes!"

He laughed. "Well, if you're
not sure… How long have you been singing?"

She wasn't sure how much she wanted
to tell him about her past.

"Do you have folks in
Parkersburg?"

"I'm adopted."
Maybe I shouldn't have told him.
All he
did was extend his arm across the back of his seat and over onto the back of
hers. He didn't touch her though.

"As a baby?"

She held her breath and hesitated. "No,"
she finally said.

"How old were you?"

In her peripheral vision, she could
see his long fingers resting on the leather. They'd been on her body, inside
her body. After closing her eyes, she opened them again in a flash. With her
eyes shut, the car seemed too intimate. He felt too close. "All my life I've
wanted to be a famous singer. My parents, the ones who adopted me, let me take
singing and dancing lessons. I'm so grateful for their support."

"They sound wonderful. Must
love you very much." He stretched a little and picked up her left hand to
play with her fingers.

"They do," she agreed,
her voice trailing off. His big, warm hand cradled her smaller one.

"Are they in Parkersburg?"

"Yes." He gently rubbed
his thumb across her palm. She remembered reading that the palm is a notorious
erotic point. It kind of felt that way to her right now. Her stomach knotted
but in a half-comforting, half-aroused way. After Butch's craziness, Marc was
sane and wonderful and sexy.

Oh
my God!
She jerked her hand out of his grasp. He was getting to her. She
couldn't allow that. It wasn't in her plans.

"Marc," she began in a
stern voice. "I want to be famous. I want to sing on Broadway or in
important nightclubs. I want to be known. Until I was ten and the Barneses
adopted me, I was a nobody, ignored and on my own in foster homes. They took
me, loved me, and I loved them back. But I never really belonged to them. I'll
never belong to anyone. I'll get to the top on my own. So don't try to seduce
me. I don't plan to stay around."

His hand was back on the top of the
seat again, near her shoulder. "Honey, I'm only home on a few weeks'
leave. I'm no danger to you long-term, but you gotta know I'm attracted to you,
and I think you are to me."

"But nothing's going to happen
between us," she interrupted.

"You aren't alone here. You have
good friends with Davy and Moira, and probably a lot of other people. I'm sorry
you were alone when you were a child, but you aren't now. Remember that. You
don't have to cut yourself off from me—"

She opened her mouth to—she wasn't
sure what.

"Me or some other guy but I'm
here right now."

She turned her gaze outside the
car. Why was he being so sweet and reasonable?

"Hey, Phoebe." He cupped
her shoulder. "I like you. We're friends. We can figure it all out later."

He was persistent, she had to give
him that. "There's nothing to figure out, but yes, we can be friends. Just
friends." He grinned with a flash of white teeth. She had the strongest
yearning to lean against his big, hard body just for a moment. Just for
comfort.
Damn.
Not now when she was
sure the big city and bright lights were just around the corner.

He started the engine and headed
back to town. Her heart was in turmoil. Nothing had been stated outright, but
they were going to make love. He'd been her protector and hero. He wasn't
demanding or even hinting at sex because of that—which made it all the harder
to resist thinking about it.

Neither of them talked on the way
home. She became lulled by the sound of the tires on asphalt and the wind
shooting past the open car. He drove with one hand on the wheel, his other big
hand engulfing the shift lever. She knew the feel of those hands on her body.

She wanted him more than she'd ever
wanted a man. Limited though her experience was, she knew the truth of this.
His kisses were amazing, his kisses—everywhere—were incredible. Would he be as
good at the rest?
Duh, yeah.
A
thoughtful smile curved her lips when they pulled into his driveway.

"What are you smiling about?"
He reached for a strand of hair lying loose on her shoulder and played with it
while waiting for the convertible's top to come up and shelter them in an even
closer darkness. The windows whirred up.

Leaning back on the headrest, she
turned her face toward him. "I think you know."

"I think I'd like you to say
it aloud, so I know for certain."

"We're both leaving town soon.
We both—um—want each other." She couldn't continue. Her spit had dried up
with nerves. He was ready to make love, but she had to be the one to move it
forward.

"Make up your mind, because I'm
holding myself in check now." He brushed a fingertip over her cheek, swept
it around the shell of her ear.

"Let's go inside," she
whispered.

"Yeah." As he climbed out
of the car, he cautioned, "Wait 'til I come around."

When her door opened, she glanced
around the street to see if anyone might be watching.

"No one's here."

With his reassurance they weren't
being stalked, they headed inside.

You
can do this. It's just sex. No commitment.
He swept her into his arms a
second after the front door snicked closed. She gasped at the sudden
weightlessness, then again when he sat down on the couch. Her heart beat madly,
her sensitive nipples pinged and the folds protecting her throbbing clit were
swollen and hot, preparing for his touch.

He plucked the butterfly clip out
of her hair and dropped it she didn't know where. When he took her lips she
didn't care where it went.

His palm cupped her head as he
devoured her. It wasn't a sweet kiss or tentative. Massaging her lips, spearing
his tongue inside her mouth, he brought out her response—immediate and fierce.
She gripped his head and whimpered at his intoxicating, wicked skill.

Lying across his lap left him with
room enough to begin opening the buttons of her blouse. The anticipation alone
heated the golden ring pierced through her stiffened nipple, which was now
growing more and more sensitive the closer he got to it.

"Jesus, I can't get over how
gorgeous you are. How perfect." His breath came heavy, his voice a barely
heard growl. His lips trailed over her chin to her neck.

He nipped sharply at her skin.
There'd be marks. She didn't care. Each stinging bite shot straight to her
clit. She squirmed, trying to relieve the agonizing arousal.

He groaned, his hand clamped around
her hip. "Hold still, baby. You're killing me."

A laugh burst from her at the same
moment he unhooked her bra in the front and spread the cups wide.

"Oh fuck."

Glancing at him, she saw his
attention was focused on the ring. "Suck it," she begged.

"Thank you for doing it. The
thought of it's been driving me nuts since I first saw it. He gave a brief
chuckle before closing his lips over her.

The tip of his tongue immediately
slid through the small hoop. The combination of that and gentle tugging and
suckling escalated the fire in her belly. Gripping his head, she arched her
back and grasped her other breast, pinching and twisting her own nipple.

He paused, raising his head. "Too
many clothes…" He stood up and carried her toward the bedroom. "I
need you naked and stretched out on my bed."

"Oh Marc." When he put
her on her feet to remove her blouse and bra, she attacked his shirt buttons,
sliding them free one by one. She pulled off his shirt, and they both
surrendered their jeans and underwear, dropping them on the hardwood floor.

"Just stand there, sweetheart,
and let me feel you."

She moaned as his hands cupped her
shoulders, drifting down her arms. Her insides quivered as his fingers trickled
over her breasts, thumbs brushing her nipples. Then his hands spanned her
waist. She didn't think she could take it any longer when he palmed her ass and
pulled their bodies together to press his thick, iron-hard cock between them.
She rolled her body and grasped his bottom.

"Oh yeah," he murmured.

Inside her is where she wanted his
erection imprinting on her belly. She was wide open, empty, and aching. He was
big. He'd fit, but it would be tight. So delightfully tight.

"Marc." She couldn't tell
him what she wanted, could she? Why not? "Fill me up. Fuck me." She
leaned up to kiss him, found his lips open and waiting for her.