Marine Ever After (Always a Marine) Read online

  “No.” She denied it with a slow shake of her head. “You are. That was…I don’t have the words for that.” Another series of quakes clamped her sex around his softening cock and he choked on the overload of sensation.

  He never wanted to let her go.

  Chapter Five

  She woke slowly, cocooned in warmth, her body aching in every right way. Stretching her arm out from the covers, she shifted with care. A heavy weight rested on her waist. Glancing down, she studied the arm wrapped around her. It surprised her and didn’t in the same moment.

  Blaming alcohol for sexual escapades had never been a concept she embraced. Hell, even if she wanted to blame drinking, she couldn’t. She’d had exactly one sip of champagne during the toast, and stuck to water and coffee for the rest of the night.

  No, she lay naked in bed with a man because that’s exactly where she wanted to be—last night. The sun peeking through the blinds reminded her of the time. She needed to go. Time to box the wildly sexy Paul Torres into the smallest mental compartment she could find and shut the door. Easing forward, she slid out from under his arm. He tossed restlessly and rolled over. Freezing, she stole a glance over her shoulder and waited until he settled, before slipping out from beneath the covers and off the bed.

  Finding her bra and panties took a bit of work. The first sat on the dresser, but the other turned out to be under the bed. She felt a bit ridiculous, her hose was still on, but she’d apparently ripped one sometime between stripping for him and his delicious assault on her senses. Shivering with desire, she sighed.

  Crawling back into bed and waking him up sounded so good.

  Bad idea. Get your clothes and go. No muss. No fuss. No awkward morning-after conversations. The sensible thing to do, particularly when their one night was just that. A one-night stand—an erotic, sensual, fantastic one-night stand she would remember with a smile. Wedding fever—it happened to everyone.

  Okay, it’s never happened to me, but I’ve certainly seen these hook-ups enough to put it into perspective. Dragging her gaze away from the man candy in the bed, she found her dress and scanned the room. Her purse and shoes were by the front door. She climbed into her dress and zipped it in the living room. Finger combing her hair would suffice, especially while fighting the craving to dive back into the bed and explore. Again.

  It was just after eight in the morning. Her chances of running into other people rose with every passing minute. Unclipping her garters, and stripping off her hose, she stuffed them into her purse, grabbed her shoes and hesitated at the door.

  Should she leave him a note? In college, one-night stands ended with one or both darting out for class. There really wasn’t time for social protocol. Did that change in adulthood?

  How sad is it that I have no idea? Guilt nibbled at her. It didn’t seem right to leave without a word, but if she did say or write something, wouldn’t that imply she wanted him to stay in touch? Or some kind of expectancy? She tossed the idea back and forth.

  “Screw it,” she muttered and glanced around his living room. It was pretty barren of personal objects, but then he mentioned being on leave and borrowing the apartment for the duration of his stay. How personal could he make it? And unless she wanted to open drawers and be nosy, she didn’t see anything resembling a pen and a pad of paper.

  Text message. That would be the simplest solution. She fished her phone out of her purse and scowled. She didn’t have his number. His uniform lay neatly on the back of a chair where he’d set it after stripping. Poking through his pockets was not an option. Okay, no easy way to leave a note, so…gotta go.

  She let herself out of the apartment and glanced around to get her bearings. He’d carried her all the way in the dark. Heading right, she followed the path toward the greenbelt. They’d come right through one from the reception hall. Sure enough, she found the parking lot and grimaced at the rough pavement under her bare feet.

  Her car, parked by its lonesome, stuck out like a sore thumb. She’d left it there prior to riding to the ceremony with the other bridesmaids because she needed a way to get home. Fortunately, no one witnessed her quick escape and she was on the road minutes later.

  First stop, Starbucks. Second stop, her apartment and a much-needed shower and change of clothes. Her phone rang while she waited in the drive-thru and she glanced down at the screen.

  The hospital.

  Lillianna groaned. Ignoring the temptation not to answer, she answered the cell. “Hansen.”

  “Lillianna, it’s Jodi.” The clinical nurse specialist in charge of ER scheduling. “I know I promised I wouldn’t call and you had the wedding….”

  “It’s okay.” Not really, but she wouldn’t snap at Jodi. Lillianna had all of fifteen hours off shift, it wasn’t the other nurse’s fault that she got less sleep than planned or spent the night having wild monkey sex with the talented and way-too-attractive Marine. “What’s up?”

  “We’ve got three more nurses down with the flu.” Jodi sighed, exhaustion dragging on each word. She’d been at the hospital when Lillianna left, which meant she probably hadn’t gotten any sleep either.

  “I can be there in an hour. I’m at a Starbucks right now, but it’s still a drive to get there.”

  “God loves you and thank you. I wouldn’t ask, but….”

  “I know you wouldn’t. I’ll see you in an hour.” She rang off and opened the window to give her order to the speaker. She would need double or triple shots before the day was over. Pulling forward, she waited her turn to pay for her drink and fished around in the back seat. Encountering the plastic-wrapped, freshly laundered scrubs, she let out a sigh of relief.

  Driving straight to the hospital and showering there would save her time. She had a flattening iron in her locker, but worst case, she’d pin her hair back. It was a good thing she hadn’t woken Paul—another twinge of guilt struck her. Of course, if she had, she wouldn’t have heard her phone.

  Let it go, girl. Gotta go to work.

  ***

  Paul scowled at his phone. Of all the stupid, boneheaded, ignorant-ass choices he made in his life—he never asked for her phone number. It never occurred to him while they danced, chatted, or played. Even when he got her back to the apartment….

  And why would I? We were getting naked, not swapping contact data. Bad enough that he woke to find her gone…that irked him and he planned to have a very long conversation about that…except he couldn’t, because he didn’t have her damn phone number. His options were limited, he didn’t know the other bridesmaids, and the bride was long gone on a well-deserved honeymoon with the Captain.

  Yeah, if I call him, the chances of his answering are slim to none. The chances of him answering to find out I need the number of the bridesmaid I banged—yeah, not going there. Still pissed at himself, Paul grabbed a shower, changed into comfortable clothes and put his uniform back in order. He had to be on a plane the next day if he wanted to report for duty on time.

  Packed, save for the uniform he’d wear on the flight, he grabbed the keys to his rental and headed out. He’d been meaning to stop by Damon’s restaurant since he got into town, the restaurant wasn’t that far, and even at ten in the morning, now was as good a time as any.

  He parked on the nearly empty side street and stared at the shuttered windows of Lagniappes. Damon had always enjoyed cooking, and opening a New Orleans-style restaurant near Mike’s Place married two of his greatest loves—although from what Paul saw at the wedding, Damon had added a third to that list by way of an attorney he’d met.

  The window sign declared the location didn’t open until eleven. Leaning his head back against the seat, he closed his eyes. It didn’t take much for his mind to turn back to Lily. Her name conjured the memory of her scent, the soft sounds and hard gasps as he explored her body. Sweet, sassy, bold, and shy—the fusion of wild contradictions made her all the more desirable.

  Damon opened the front door of the restaurant and waved him inside. Relieved to not hav
e to chase his own failure around in his head, Paul climbed out of the car, locked it and followed his friend.

  “Hungry?”

  “Starved.” The food at the reception had been great, but that had been hours ago. “Hey, you know the bridesmaid I was paired with? Lillianna?”

  “The nurse?” Damon pointed him toward a table in the kitchen and started putting together a plate of food. He didn’t ask Paul what he wanted and Paul didn’t complain.

  As in everything, beggers couldn’t be choosers.

  “Yeah.”

  “Not really, saw her a couple of times at the earlier get-togethers and the engagement party. But she kept mostly to herself or talked to Rebecca.” He set a bowl of gumbo and a plate of ribs on the table. Crossing the kitchen, he returned with a serving of red beans and rice, and a basket of bread. “Why? And thirsty? We’ve got water and water. Liquor license doesn’t allow for alcohol ’til we’re open.”

  Paul chuckled. “Water’s fine. And no reason, really. Just hoped.”

  The chef checked on his people and came back over to sit opposite him. “No reason to ask me about a woman in a bridal party that must have included a half dozen people we don’t know and a reception with a hell of a lot more.”

  “The gumbo’s good.” Paul ignored his curiosity and stirred a breadstick into the rich, meaty fish stew.

  “I know it’s good. We don’t serve bad.” But he beamed at the compliment nonetheless.

  “Don’t suppose your girl might know her?” It was a lame attempt at fishing and he was a lot better at gathering data, but he knew exactly four things about her. Her first and last names, she went to college with Rebecca, worked in an ER, and she’d grown up military—Army. Not a lot to go on.

  “I have no idea.” Damon raised his brows. “Would you like me to call her and ask?”

  He wanted to say no, keep it cool, but twenty-four hours ticked away at him. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

  “You slept with her, didn’t you?” Damon laughed and pulled out his phone.

  “Does it matter?”

  “No. But you screwed her and didn’t get her number. Good job.” But he had the phone to his ear, amusement bright in his expression. Paul wouldn’t hear the end of it, but if Damon scored him the number that would be worth it. “Hey, babe. Hey, yeah, I know you’re going to court this afternoon, but can you do me a favor real quick?” He waited, listening.

  Paul demolished the gumbo and the bread and moved on to the ribs. Hungrier than he thought, he barely tasted the food. It was a shame to waste good cooking on him. He waited as patiently as he could while Damon nodded.

  “Got it. I’ll make sure a table is set aside for the whole family. Now my turn.” Damon laughed again. “Yes, but if we were keeping score, you’d be a lot further in debt.”

  The easygoing expression and warmth in the chef’s voice filled Paul with envy. So many of the guys had found a good woman, paired off, and settled into civilian life. He never thought he would be much interested in that. The last couple of years though—they’d been hard ones. He liked the idea of having someone just for him, someone he shared that easy warmth with.

  “Yeah, okay, we’ll discuss repayment terms later. For now, my buddy Paul is here and he hooked up with one of the bridesmaids….”

  Paul scowled, but Damon’s smirk didn’t waver.

  “Yeah, Rebecca’s roommate.” He paused. “Any chance you have her number?” Shaking his head, he said, “Okay, thanks for checking, babe. I’ll see you tonight. Knock ’em dead in court.”

  Paul exhaled and opened the top on the water bottle. “She doesn’t have it.”

  “Nope. Said she wasn’t at most of the bridal planning because of her schedule and even did her fittings with Rebecca without the others. Sorry, man, you’ll have to wait until she and Cap are back from the honeymoon.”

  “My own fault.” He found the perfect woman, and let her go. Scratching the back of his head, he sighed. He needed a haircut. “So, how’s it going with….” Hell, he didn’t remember the lawyer’s name.

  “Helena.” Damon elongated her name, giving it sweet emphasis. Damn, the man was completely gone on her. “She’s good. We’re good.”

  “She going to marry you yet?” Paul heard the stories from a half-dozen of the others. Damon proposed. Helena said no. He’d done four different ones so far, from the romantic to the utterly serious. Paul’s favorite involved Damon sending an attorney to her office to broach contract terms for a permanent merger. The man was a lunatic. Good-hearted, generous, and bat crap crazy.

  “Yep.” And he didn’t lack in confidence, either.

  “Does she know?” He couldn’t resist tweaking him.

  “No, she’s convinced she’ll remain single to the end of time. But I’m wearing her down. Took her a whole week to say no last time.” He grinned.

  “That’s an improvement?”

  “Oh yeah, she said no thirty seconds after I made the first proposal and then didn’t talk to me for a week. Took her almost fifteen minutes the second time and a day the third.”

  “At that rate, by the time you get to your tenth proposal, it’ll be a year before she says no.”

  ‘Exactly. All I do then is get her to a justice of the peace before the year is up and then it won’t matter. But enough about me. When do you report?”

  “Day after tomorrow. Flight leaves tomorrow morning, I’ll be in Germany the day after and thus goes the rest of my year.” Teaching was a hell of a lot better than chasing intel in hotspots, but he was good at the latter. He hadn’t done the teaching gig before.

  “Looking forward to it?”

  Paul shrugged and finished the last of the food. He was stuffed. “Should be interesting. Do you miss it?”

  “Yes and no.” Damon rose and stacked the plates. “I like being home. I like the life we have here. Miss the guys. Miss the action. Don’t miss the heat or the food.”

  Paul laughed. “Yeah, I wouldn’t miss the food either.”

  “You hanging or heading out?” He passed the plates off to another of the workers.

  “Out. I need a haircut. Have to call my parents, and promised James I’d swing by and pick up some of the materials to take back with me.”

  “And so he can make sure your head’s on tight.” Damon guessed.

  Nodding, Paul rose and stretched. “Yeah, probably. Doc’s a good one though, so no complaints. See you around.” He held out his hand and Damon caught it in a firm shake before pulling him into a hard, easy hug.

  “Don’t get dead, Master Sergeant.”

  “Do my best.”

  The chef let him out of the restaurant and Paul scanned the area. Maybe he’d check the local hospitals—how many did Dallas have? If he called, they might tell him if a Nurse Hansen worked on staff.

  ’Cause stalking her at work would be the way to show her you care. He grimaced. I can wait. Captain can get me the number. I’ll apologize when I call her. Chicks like that.

  Still, he couldn’t get the aching sensation of disappointment out of his gut.

  It would have been damn nice to see her again before he left.

  Chapter Six

  Eleven Weeks Later

  Lillianna sat and put her head between her knees. Deep breathing quieted the gurgles in her stomach.

  “Oh, come on, not you, too.” Jodi’s voice came from somewhere behind her. But Lillianna didn’t dare sit up and look at her boss. “Go home, Lil. Get some rest. I’ll find someone to cover your shift.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Lillianna exhaled a hard breath and straightened. A hard swallow kept the bile down and she managed a small smile. “We’ve been dramatically understaffed and you don’t have anyone who’s been off in the last twenty-four hours.”

  “I know I don’t. I also know you’ve covered more than your share of shifts three months ago and in the last two weeks.” Jodi squeezed her shoulder. “Go home. Forty-eight hours. Stay there. I’m taking you off the call rotation. Get some slee
p, puke your guts up, do what you need to do. Take a saline bag or three home, too. Make sure you stay hydrated.”

  She left before Lillianna protested. Jodi was good people. Her stomach swam on another wave of nausea and she had to stuff her fist to her mouth and race for the stalls on the far side. When she didn’t think she would lose any more of the contents of her stomach, she leaned on the cool siding. Jodi was right, no matter how hard Lillianna tried to avoid the reality—she hadn’t managed to avoid the viral gastroenteritis. It took out most of Peds and then made its round of the surgical nurses. Apparently it was the ER’s turn.

  Exiting the stall, she rinsed out her mouth at the sink and washed her hands fastidiously. Praying for luck, she grabbed her purse and the duffel with her change of clothes from the locker. She would make do with the scrubs. She stopped by to grab the recommended bags of saline on her way to the car. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to have the fever and misery everyone else had suffered from—or maybe she had that to look forward to when she got home.

  Joy and rapture. The humid August air slapped her in the face as soon as she cleared the doors. The Texas heat soared into the upper 90s if they were lucky and beyond three digits when they weren’t. She couldn’t really tell what the day’s temperature was stuck at, but hurried to her car anyway. Pulling open the door, a blast of congealed humidity struck her.

  Her stomach revolted at the overabundance of heat—cars turned into convection ovens in the Texas summer. Leaning in, she started the engine and dialed the A/C to its coldest setting and opened all the windows to let out the suffocating air. Maybe she should have put the saline bag in and laid down in an on-call room.

  She positively melted. Finally, the nausea subsided and she climbed in. Driving with the windows open wasn’t pleasant, but as soon as cold air filtered out of the vents, she closed them and sighed. Bless the coolness.