Marooned With a Marine
Marooned With a Marine
Maureen Child
A torrential hurricane stranded Karen Beckett in a tiny motel room with Gunnery Sergeant Sam Paretti, the one man she never wanted to see again! Just months before, Karen had severed all ties with the gorgeous marine–but bittersweet memories of their love refused to vacate her mind.Now her rescuer demanded a hefty price for shelter from the storm. His eyes shimmered with a desire equal to the hunger clawing at Karen's control. But she had to resist! Because to surrender to their urgent need would mean exposing her past…and admitting her fathomless love for Sam….
“You Registered Us As Gunnery Sergeant And Mrs. Paretti?”
Well, she didn’t have to sound so damned insulted, Sam thought. He hadn’t intended to register them as husband and wife, but the leer in the motel owner’s eyes had decided him. He wasn’t letting any man’s sleazy imagination loose on Karen.
And what did he get for his protective instincts? A woman appalled at even pretending to be his wife.
Frustrated now, Sam asked, “What happened to our truce?”
A long minute passed before she nodded and said, “Okay, you’re right. Truce. After all, how long can a stupid hurricane last, anyway?”
As she gathered her chocolates and her purse, Sam actually thought about that for the first time and realized that he and Karen would probably be together…alone…for the next three days. And nights.
Oh, man.
He had a feeling this hurricane was going to make boot camp look like a Tahiti vacation!
Dear Reader,
Thanks to all who have shared, in letters and at our Web site, eHarlequin.com, how much you love Silhouette Desire! One Web visitor told us, “When I was nineteen, this man broke my heart. So I picked up a Silhouette Desire and…lost myself in other people’s happiness, sorrow, desire…. Guys came and went and the books kept entertaining me.” It is so gratifying to know how our books have touched and even changed your lives—especially with Silhouette celebrating our 20th anniversary in 2000.
The incomparable Joan Hohl dreamed up October’s MAN OF THE MONTH. The Dakota Man is used to getting his way until he meets his match in a feisty jilted bride. And Anne Marie Winston offers you a Rancher’s Proposition, which is part of the highly sensual Desire promotion BODY & SOUL.
First Comes Love is another sexy love story by Elizabeth Bevarly. A virgin finds an unexpected champion when she is rumored to be pregnant. The latest installment of the sensational Desire miniseries FORTUNE’S CHILDREN: THE GROOMS is Fortune’s Secret Child by Shawna Delacorte. Maureen Child’s popular BACHELOR BATTALION continues with Marooned with a Marine. And Joan Elliott Pickart returns to Desire with Baby: MacAllister-Made, part of her wonderful miniseries THE BABY BET.
So take your own emotional journey through our six new powerful, passionate, provocative love stories from Silhouette Desire—and keep sending us those letters and e-mails, sharing your enthusiasm for our books!
Enjoy!
Joan Marlow Golan
Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire
Marooned with a Marine
Maureen Child
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
MAUREEN CHILD
was born and raised in Southern California and is the only person she knows who longs for an occasional change of season. She is delighted to be writing for Silhouette Books and is especially excited to be a part of the Desire line.
An avid reader, Maureen looks forward to those rare rainy California days when she can curl up and sink into a good book. Or two. When she isn’t busy writing, she and her husband of twenty-five years like to travel, leaving their two grown children in charge of the neurotic golden retriever who is the real head of the household. Maureen is also an award-winning historical writer under the names Kathleen Kane and Ann Carberry.
Contents
Chapter One (#uf4c0202e-6394-5a4d-a617-1a0555dc1baf)
Chapter Two (#ue9f0325e-3336-5fb4-bf9f-cc3da8604dc2)
Chapter Three (#u8aacb2d8-04ab-53bf-811e-4f4c2c737dbc)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
One
What else could go wrong today? wondered Gunnery Sergeant Sam Paretti as he looked up at the darkening sky.
Standing on the small, elevated wooden platform overlooking the Field of Fire Range, he shifted his gaze to the empty landscape surrounding him. By rights, the place should be bursting with the sound of rifle fire. He should be stalking up and down the rows of Marine recruits, watching them firing their weapons.
Instead, he was out here making sure that the place had been properly policed before the recruits had been marched back to their barracks. A perfectly good day of rifle-and-pistol firing shot to hell because of a damned hurricane.
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” he demanded, tipping his head back so his shout could be heard in the heavens. A rumble of thunder was his only answer, and Sam figured that was the Almighty’s way of letting him know that God’s plans counted just a shade higher than a Gunnery Sergeant in the Marine Corps.
The wind picked up and tugged at the material of his camouflage pants and shirt. He reached up and firmly pulled down the brim of his cover onto his forehead, then stepped off the platform, planting his boots ankle-deep into the thick mud.
From the corner of his eye, he caught the glint of something shiny lying in the muck, and he bent down to pick up a brass cartridge. Thumbing the cold metal, he shoved it into his pants pocket and walked on, giving the grounds one last check before heading to his apartment to pack up for the evacuation.
“Gunnery Sergeant Paretti,” someone shouted, and Sam stopped, turned around and watched as Staff Sergeant Bill Cooper hurried toward him.
“What’s up, Cooper?” he called as the other man approached.
The Sergeant stopped right in front of him, snapped to attention and focused his gaze straight ahead.
“At ease, Marine,” Sam said.
Instantly, the man’s stance relaxed. Hands behind his back, he looked up at Sam and asked, “What isn’t up, Gunny?” The wind plucked his cover from his head and sent it hurtling back along the path he’d just taken. “Damn it,” he muttered, throwing a fast glance at it before turning back around. “Are you leaving now?”
Sam shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. Bracing his feet wide apart, he felt his body sway with the push of the wind, but he stood fast. “Not yet. Hell, traffic’ll be blocked up for miles.”
“Yes, Gunny,” the younger man said, “but my wife is ready to go now. She’s from California, y’know. They’re used to traffic and earthquakes, but they don’t do hurricanes.”
California, Sam thought, remembering. It had only been a few months since he’d been to the Sunshine State to watch his older brother get married. And it had been only a couple of months since Sam himself had been dumped by a California girl right here in South Carolina.
Karen Beckett. Just thinking of her set explosive charges off in his bloodstream. She’d stormed into his life and then stormed back out again, leaving it a helluva lot lonelier than it had been before her.
He wondered where she was now. If she’d evacuated. If she was scared. He laughed to himself at that last one. Karen? Scared?
“So,” the Sergeant said, splintering Sam’s thoughts and mentally dragging him back to the here and now. “Is there anything else you want me to do before I leave?”
“No,” Sam said with a shake of his head. “I’m going to walk the range one last time, but you can go.”
“Aye-aye, Gunny. Then I guess I’ll see you when this is all over.”
“I’ll be here,” Sam said. Hell, if he had his way, he’d stay put right here on base and ride out the storm. But when evac orders came down, you didn’t get a choice. You either evacuated as ordered, or you faced going up on charges for disobeying a direct order. “Say hi to Joanne.”
The man grinned. “I will. You watch your back, Gunny.”
“Always,” he muttered as the Sergeant turned and jogged down the muddy track back toward his still-flying hat and the parking lot beyond.
“Well,” he added to himself, “almost always.” One time he hadn’t watched his back. One time he’d let his heart rule his head. And that one time, Karen Beckett had hit him hard and low and left him bleeding.
Damn. He hoped she was all right.
Karen Beckett drove along the narrow, two-lane road, studied the traffic headed in the opposite direction and told herself it would be pointless to leave now. All she’d end up doing would be sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic. And wasn’t avoiding that kind of traffic one of the reasons she’d moved to South Carolina in the first place? Well, that and the fact that two years ago her grandmother had died and left the old family home to Karen. Giving her a perfect place to run when she’d needed to get away. When she had needed a place to hide.
She drew a mental shutter over that particular train of thought. Now wasn’t the time to revisit old heartaches. Now she had a hurricane to worry about. Though she still wasn’t entirely convinced it was going to hit. After all, this wasn’t the first time the authorities had shouted “Pack your bags!” only to change their minds an hour or two later. She glanced out her window at the brewing weather and the cloud-tossed sky. For three days now, the news had been doing nothing but tracking this nasty little storm as it picked up momentum over the ocean. Three days of warnings about possible evacuations. Three days of her friends and neighbors stocking up on everything from toilet paper to chocolate cupcakes.
But she’d been in South Carolina for two years now and she hadn’t had to run for the hills yet. Heck, she’d been in wind and rain before. El Niño back home in California wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. Not to mention the earthquakes. Karen figured if she could make it through a 6.5 quake, she could make it through a hurricane.
“Yeah,” she said, encouraging herself. “I’ll wait it out awhile longer. At least a few more hours.” She’d spend some time gathering up whatever supplies she thought she might need and then leave. Maybe she’d miss most of the traffic that way. She only hoped she’d also miss the coming hurricane.
“Give me a good old-fashioned earthquake any day,” she muttered, and unwrapped a silver Hershey’s kiss one-handed. On either side of the road, tall trees blocked any further view of the landscape beyond. It looked as though she was driving in a green tunnel that was slightly smeared because of the rain cascading down her windows. The heavy thrum of the drops on the roof beat a tempo that seemed to match the rock and roll blasting from her car radio.
Popping the candy into her mouth and singing to herself, she passed the entrance to Parris Island Marine Corps base. Though she fought the impulse, her gaze shifted to the familiar gate on her right, anyway. Her heartbeat quickened as she glanced at that long, narrow road, with marsh and water on either side. The song died in her throat.
Stretching out for what looked like miles were at least a hundred buses, filled with Marines being evacuated off the base. She knew that Parris Island was a recruit-training depot, so she suspected that most of the men and women on those buses were still in boot camp and probably looking at this evacuation as a welcome relief from Warrior 101.
But beyond those buses, farther down that road, was one Marine in particular whose image leaped into Karen’s mind with the ease of long practice.
Even breaking up with Sam Paretti hadn’t rid her mind of him. It had now been two months, two weeks and three days since she’d last seen him. Not that she was counting, mind you. But time didn’t seem to matter. Apparently, the memory of Sam Paretti wasn’t one to die easily. At the oddest hours, when she least expected it, his face would pop into her brain, leaving her struggling for breath. She remembered his touch, his scent, his taste. She remembered it all so vividly. The few short months they’d dated and the ugly night they’d broken up. She still dreamed about those pale brown eyes of his and how they’d closed her out when she’d told him she didn’t want to see him anymore.
“Oh, man,” she whispered, and tore her gaze away from the base. Heart pounding, palms damp, she forced herself to stare straight ahead. She swallowed past the knot in her throat, then reached over and grabbed up two more pieces of candy. Thumbing off the foil wraps, she tossed them both into her mouth and chewed.
But even chocolate couldn’t chase away thoughts of Sam Paretti, Gunnery Sergeant Hunk.
And despite everything that had passed between them, she hoped he was all right.
Sam slammed the trunk hatch shut with a solid thump, walked around to the driver’s side door and got in. Firing up the engine, he listened to its perfect purr for a moment before pushing in the clutch and shoving the gearshift into first.
His headlights cut a bright swath through the dark, rainy night, illuminating the road ahead of him. The base was already practically deserted. Hell, it felt like a ghost town. Imagine, thousands of Marines running from a damn storm. It didn’t set at all well with Sam or with any of the guys he knew.
Married men he could understand. What man wouldn’t want to get his wife and kids to safety? But for guys like him, what was the big deal?
His grip on the steering wheel tightened as he guided the car toward the main gate. A bloody shame that the powers that be couldn’t see that a hurricane would be perfect for teaching a survival course to the recruits.
Still shaking his head, he switched on the radio as he turned out onto the road that would take him to the highway and inland. Music blasted into the closed cab of his brand-new black SUV. Four-wheel drive, horsepower to spare, the damn thing practically grunted in pride as it rolled down the street.
“At least the traffic’s cleared up,” he muttered as he sped along the road, rooster tails of water flying up from beneath his wheels. Not many people were left around here, and at three-thirty in the morning, he had the road almost to himself.
Alone.
Well, perfect.
Karen turned the key in the ignition again and listened with disgust to the tired click, click, click that she’d been listening to for half an hour now. Her engine had inexplicably died, and now the blasted thing sounded more like a broken clock than a car. And because she’d waited for traffic to clear, she was all alone on a dark road in the middle of nowhere with a hurricane hot on her heels.
Life just didn’t get much better than this.
She grabbed a chocolate and ate it as she let her gaze slide across the darkness surrounding her. Rain still pelted her car with big, fat drops that splattered on her windshield. The wind had picked up slightly, sending the trees along the side of the road into a wild dance that made them look like deranged cheerleaders. Her compact car shuddered as the wind buffeted it mercilessly. Karen’s fingers curled more tightly around the steering wheel as if by holding on, she could steady her poor car. A slender thread of fear began to worm its way through the pit of her stomach.
What was she supposed to do? She’d already tried using the cell phone, but hadn’t been able to raise anyone. Not one of the few cars that had passed her in the last half hour had even slowed down, let alone stopped. All she could do was sit tight and hope that whatever was wrong with her car fixed itself. Soon.
Oh, she should have taken auto shop instead of home ec in high school. When was the last time being able to make a casserole had saved her life?
Something flashed in the corner of her eye and Karen shifted her gaze to the rearview mirror. There. Twin bright circles in the gloom. Headlights. Coming fast. Maybe this car would stop. And if it did, she really hoped her potential rescuer wouldn’t turn out to be a chivalrous serial killer.
But at this point, she was willing to take her chances. Hurricane Henry was on its way and she was out of options.
“Come on, come on,” she whispered, keeping her gaze glued to the mirror where those headlights shone like spots of hope in the shadows. And as she watched, the approaching car moved over and came up behind her. “Oh, thank heaven,” she whispered, and then said a quick prayer that she hadn’t been delivered from the proverbial frying pan into a fire.
Still watching the rearview mirror, she saw the driver open his door, and in the flash of his dome light, saw that he was alone. So much for the faint hope that she would be rescued by a nice, normal family. “Doesn’t matter,” she told herself firmly. “Whoever it is, he’s my hero.”
A second later, her hero was standing beside her door, rapping his knuckles against her closed window. Quickly, she rolled it down and squinted against the rain slashing at her face.
“Well, why am I not surprised?” a too-familiar voice asked of no one in particular.
Karen’s stomach fluttered. “Sam?”
“The one and only,” he assured her, then bent down to peer in at her.
Rain coursed down his windbreaker jacket, pooled on the brim of his baseball hat and dripped down on either side of his face. She looked into those pale brown eyes of his and knew that God had a sense of humor. Why else would She send the one man Karen had never wanted to see again as her rescuer?
“What’re you doing just sitting here on the side of the road?” he demanded.
Of all the stupid questions. Nervousness forgotten, she snapped, “It was such a nice night, I thought I’d park and admire it for a while.”
“Real funny, Karen,” he said. “There’s a hurricane coming, in case you hadn’t heard.”
“Well, duh.” She reached blindly for another chocolate and folded it into her closed fist, holding it like a talisman. “Look, do you have a CB or something in your truck? I tried using my phone to call for help, but it’s not working.”
He shook his head and snorted. “Honey, even if it were working, there’s no one to call. If you’re lookin’ for help tonight, I’m it.”
Her left shoulder and arm were getting soaked and she scooted farther to her right.
Muttering something unintelligible, he took a deep breath, blew it out again and said, “Come on. We’ll get your stuff and you can come with me.”
“Where to?” she asked, eyeing him warily.
He laughed shortly. “Does that really matter at this point?”
“I guess not,” she admitted, knowing full well and good this was her only option. She could refuse and sit here in her car waiting…hoping someone else would come along and stop. But what if no one did? What if his was the last car headed her way? What if she ended up right here, alone, in the middle of the hurricane?
Nope.
Even Sam Paretti was a better choice than that.
“Give me your keys,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’ll get your stuff from the trunk.”
Officious as always, she thought as she pulled them from the ignition and handed them to him. Then she turned to pick up her purse and thermos and sack of candy from the passenger seat. Rolling up the window again, she pulled the hood of her coat up over her head and stepped into the mouth of the building storm.
The wind snatched her hood off instantly, and in seconds her hair hung lankly on either side of her face. Trails of bathwater-warm rain slipped beneath the collar of her shirt and rolled along her spine. Her jeans felt heavy and clammy against her legs as the water soaked into the denim fabric, and her tennis shoes squished in the mud and water flowing across the road like a dirty river.
Here in the low country, it could take days for the water to run off the highway. Until then, every street became a lake, every highway a river and every field an ocean.
Carefully, she leaned into the wind and slanting rain to make her way to the back of the car. She was in time to hear Sam mutter, “Females. How in the hell can they possibly need so much stuff?”
“Pardon me for not being able to get along with nothing but a pocketknife and a snare,” she snapped.
“You’re not going on vacation,” he said as he lifted both bags out at once. “This is an evacuation.”
“So?” What did he expect? That she should uproot herself with nothing more than a paper sack containing a change of underwear?
“Never mind,” he grumbled, shaking his head.
He sloshed through the wet to his car and set her luggage in his trunk. Right behind him, Karen peered into the back of the huge SUV and stared at the pile of survival gear he’d brought with him.
“A tent?” she shouted, to be heard over the rising wind. “You’re planning on camping out? In this?”
“Not anymore, apparently,” he said, and stalked back toward her car. Lifting the cooler and a plastic grocery bag out of the trunk, he slammed the lid down and walked back toward where she waited in the red glow of his blinking hazard lights. “What have you got in here?” he asked as he shoved the cooler and the bag into the trunk and slammed the hatch closed.
“Food,” she told him. “Necessities.”
“Chocolate?” he asked, one eyebrow lifting. Her fingers tightened on the bag she still held. “That’s a necessity. Trust me.”
“Whatever. Just come on.” He took her elbow in a firm grip and guided her to the passenger side of the car. Opening the door, he all but picked her up and threw her inside. The door slammed shut right behind her and the sudden silence and absence of wind and rain was almost a shock to her system.
Sam climbed in a moment later, and then they were alone in the warm, confined space.
He turned his head to look at her, and when she stared into those eyes of his, Karen had to wonder which would have been more dangerous.
Being stranded in a hurricane by herself?
Or being alone with Sam Paretti.
Two
She looked like a drowned rat.
And still was more beautiful than any other woman he’d ever known. Damn it.
Sam just stared at her for a long minute, looking his fill, feeding the need that had been riding him for two long months. Damn. It felt as though it had been years since he’d seen her last. Not weeks.
His instincts had drawn him to the disabled car with its hazard lights blinking. With this kind of storm coming in, he hadn’t been able to just drive on past someone who might need help. It hadn’t been until the last minute, when he’d recognized her car, that he’d known he was about to pay a price for his chivalry.
The price being, he could look at her, but he couldn’t touch her.
And knowing that made him angry, giving his voice more bite than he’d intended when he swiped one hand across his face and asked, “What the hell are you still doing here? You should have evacuated hours ago.”
Finely arched blond eyebrows lifted high on her forehead. “Hello, Pot?” she said. “This is Kettle. You’re black.”
“Very funny,” he said, acknowledging that he, too, should have long since left town. “But my situation’s a little different.”
“Really?” she asked, and ate a piece of chocolate. “How’s that?”
“Well for one thing,” he told her, with a glance out the windshield at her DOA car, “my car works.”
She frowned at him.
“I told you three months ago,” he said, “that car was on its last legs. It’s a rolling disaster.” He shook his head in disgust. “I told you not to count on that thing.”
She shifted in her seat, unwrapped another chocolate and popped it into her mouth before answering. Like it was some sort of magic confidence pill. But then, hadn’t she always reached for chocolate when she was nervous? Or upset. Or happy. As he recalled, chocolate was a major part of Karen Beckett’s personality.
“Yes, you did,” she said, “but it lasted three months longer than you thought it would, didn’t it?”
“Sure,” he said, nodding, “it lasted until you really needed it. Then it died.”
“Look, Sam…”
Most stubborn, hardheaded female he’d ever met. “For Pete’s sake, Karen,” he blurted, frustration boiling within him. “If I hadn’t come along, what would you have done? You’d have been stuck here. In the middle of nowhere, riding out a hurricane in that worthless piece of automotive engineering.”
She stiffened and got that “queen to peasant” look on her face. “I would have been fine.”
“Yeah, right.” He nodded again, feeling that old familiar flash of irritation sweep through him. Nobody, but nobody could get to him like Karen Beckett. “First thing I noticed when I pulled up to save your butt was how well you were doing.”
Giving him a glare that would have toasted a lesser man, Karen gathered up her purse and chocolates, then reached for the door handle. “Y’know what? If listening to another one of your lectures is the price of a ride…I’d rather walk.”
She threw the passenger door open and a sheet of rain sliced into the car. Instantly, Sam lunged across her lap, grabbed the armrest and yanked, slamming the car door shut again. “Don’t be stupid.”
“I’m not stupid.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You did, too,” she countered, and pushed at him until he was back on his own side of the car. “Just now you said—”
“Okay, look,” Sam said loudly, and held up both hands in mock surrender. “This is nuts.”
She sighed heavily, folded her arms across her front and stared straight ahead.
He studied her profile for a long, silent minute, then said, “There’s no reason for us to fight, Karen. We’re not together anymore.” And just hearing those words spoken aloud was enough to tighten a twinge of regret around his heart.
“True,” she said quietly.
A rush of wind pushed at his car and rattled the windows. Rain clattered onto the hood and roof, sounding like a chorus line of Irish folk dancers. Outside, the world was wild and raw with Mother Nature shaking her fists at the people who sometimes forgot just who was in charge around here.
He shifted his gaze to the watery scene beyond the car and tried to remember what was important here. Not the fact that they’d broken up. Not the fact that his heart still ached for wanting her. But the very real threat charging down on them.
He wasn’t worried so much for himself, but now that he had Karen to look out for, he damn sure was going to see to it that she stayed safe.
Pulling in a deep breath, he swiveled his head to look at her. And in the dim, reflected light from the dashboard, she looked worried. Her teeth gnawed at her bottom lip and her gaze was locked on the raging storm. He knew she was wishing she were anywhere but there. And a part of him didn’t blame her in the slightest. But a bigger part of him was glad she was with him. At least this way, he’d know that she was safe.
“So,” he said, just loud enough to be heard above the storm, “we call a temporary truce?”
She turned her head to look at him and seemed to be considering his offer. Finally though, she nodded. “A truce.” Then she held out her right hand to seal their bargain with a shake.
He took her hand in his and the instant their skin brushed together, he felt a blast of electricity shoot up the length of his arm and dazzle his brain. Sam released her quickly, but it wasn’t in time to keep that shock of desire from rocketing around inside his chest and squeezing his heart.
She must have felt it, too, he told himself as he watched her reach for another chocolate. Her fingers trembled as she peeled off the foil, and he knew that what had been between them was far from dead.
But that hardly mattered, did it? She’d made her feelings clear two months ago when she’d walked away from him without so much as a backward glance.
Clearing his throat, he buried old hurts and said instead, “You keep eating chocolate like you do and you’re gonna lose all your teeth before you’re forty.”
“It’ll be worth it,” she muttered.
“And when they’re all gone, how will you eat chocolate then?”
She glanced at him. “Chocolate malts. Through a straw.”
“Hardhead.”
“Bully.”
Sam grinned and watched a little smile tug at one corner of her mouth. Damned if he hadn’t missed their little…discussions. Almost as much as he’d missed…other things.
“Well,” he said, and fired up the engine, “what do you say we find a place to ride this storm out?”
“Ya-hoo, Tonto.”
“Hey,” he protested. “It’s my car, I get to be the Lone Ranger. You’re Kemosabe.”
When her cell phone rang twenty minutes later, Karen was so happy it was working again, she didn’t bother to wonder who might be calling her at 3:00 a.m.
She might have known.
“Hi, Mom,” she said, and threw a glance at Sam. His chuckle was enough to make her grit her teeth.
“Karen, honey—” Her mother’s voice came through despite the static. “Where are you? Someplace safe, I hope.”
“Of course I’m safe,” she replied. Physically, anyway. Emotionally, she wasn’t so sure. Being this close to Sam Paretti again wasn’t a good idea. The memories of their time together were too fresh. Too strong. Too tantalizing.
“How far inland are you?” her mother asked, splintering Karen’s thoughts and dragging her back to the present.
“Actually, I’m on my way.”
“On your way?” her mother asked. “You should have left town hours ago.”
“Traffic was too bad to leave earlier,” she said, telling both her mother and Sam.
“Martha…” Karen’s father, apparently on the extension, spoke up. “Now that we know she’s all right, why don’t we hang up and let her get where she’s going?”
“Thanks, Dad.” She could always count on her father to keep a sane head.
“None of this would have been happening if you hadn’t moved,” her mother pointed out. “You could be safe and sound here in California….”
“Waiting for the Big One with the rest of us,” her father interrupted.
“Mom, I’m perfectly safe—”
“Now,” Sam added his two cents.
“Who was that?” her mother asked.
Karen closed her eyes and prayed for patience. “Uh…” She tossed a glare at Sam, who didn’t seem the least bit affected. “I’m with a friend,” she finally said.
He laughed at the strained tone of her voice as she stumbled over the word friend.
Fine, they weren’t friends, she thought. But they weren’t lovers anymore, either. So what did that make them…friendly enemies?
“Which friend?” her mother asked.
“Martha…”
“Say hello for me,” Sam said, in a tone loud enough to carry.
She sighed, giving into the inevitable. “It’s Sam. He says hello.”
“Sam? You didn’t tell me you were seeing him again.”
“I’m not seeing him—”
Sam laughed again and she wanted to scream.
“Karen, what is going on—”
“I hate to interrupt,” Karen said, not really minding at all, since it was the only sure way to get her mother’s attention. “But I really should help Sam watch the road.”
“You do that, honey,” her dad said, adding, “you and Sam take care now.”
“That’s right,” her mom said briskly. “Now, I’ve lived through my share of those hurricanes—which is one of the reasons I left the East Coast—so I know what it’s like. You get inland and call me when you can. The phone lines will probably go down and—”
“Martha…” Stuart Beckett’s voice became a bit sterner.
“I know, I know. Okay, honey, now don’t you stop until you’re safe.”
“I won’t. I promise.” Karen smiled into the phone. Despite the fact that her parents, like any other set of parents, could drive her insane at a moment’s notice, she did love them dearly. Missing them was the only hard part about living so far away. “I’ll call as soon as I can.”
After another round of “Be carefuls,” she hung up and tucked her cell phone back into her purse. Listening to the whine of the tires on the slick highway and the rumble of raindrops hammering the car, Karen turned her head to stare at Sam.
“Why would you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Make sure my parents knew that you were in the car with me?”
He shrugged. “Didn’t know I was supposed to be hiding.”
“You’re not,” she grumbled. “It’s just that now they’ll want to know what’s going on and—”
“And you don’t want to tell them any more than you wanted to tell me, is that it?”
She stiffened slightly at the sting in his tone. “Sam, I told you I had reasons for breaking up with you.”
“Yeah, so you said. Unfortunately, you didn’t feel the need to tell me what they were.”
“Does it matter?”
“Hell, yes, it matters!” he nearly shouted, then caught himself and lowered his voice again. “You know something, I really don’t want to do this again.”
“You think I do?”
He shook his head. “I guess not.”
The tension in the car was nearly palpable. Karen’s stomach twisted and her heart ached. Once things had been so good between them. Now…
“So,” Sam said, abruptly changing the subject a few moments later, “how’re your folks?”
Okay, she thought, she could do courteous. She could do polite. After all, they were stuck together for who knew how long; there was no point in being snotty. No point in causing each other more pain than they already had.
“They’re fine,” she said, studying him. In the glow of the dashboard lights, his profile looked hard, as if it were chiseled out of stone. But she remembered all too well how easily his rigid expression could slide into a smile. Suddenly nervous, she reached for another chocolate, unwrapped it and popped it into her mouth.
“Your mom still buggin’ you to move back to California?”
Karen smiled. “She’s getting better. It’s only every other phone call now.”
He nodded, and keeping his gaze locked on the rainswept road in front of him, he said, “I thought maybe after we broke up, you might just do it. Move, I mean.”
Oh, those first few days after she’d ended it between them, she’d wanted nothing more than to find a place to hide. But she’d refused to run away again. She’d done that once, running from California to South Carolina, and in the process, she’d run smack into the very thing she’d been running from.
So hiding wasn’t the answer. Her only choice left was to stand her ground and try to forget what she and Sam had had so briefly. Fat chance.
“So how come you didn’t go back home?” he asked.
“Because,” she said, taking a deep breath, “this is home now. I like living in the South. I like small-town life. Besides, I don’t believe in going backward.”
“Me, neither,” he said, shooting her a quick glance.
“Good,” she said, guessing that he meant he had no interest in reviving what they’d once shared. “I mean, we’re stuck together for a while, but this really changes nothing.”
“Agreed.”
“Then we understand each other.”
His hands tightened on the steering wheel, and she watched him take a deep breath as if purposely calming himself. “Yeah,” he said finally, “we do. And you can relax. I’m not interested in lining up to have my heart ripped out again.”
Karen sucked in air as if she’d been slapped.
He shot her another look, then swerved the car around a fallen tree branch. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s all right.”
“No, it’s not,” he said quietly. “You did what you had to do. I can appreciate that, even if I don’t understand it.”
Guilt swirled in the pit of her stomach. She knew she’d hurt him. But she’d had to break up with him before he’d become important enough to her that the loss of him would have killed her.
God, that sounded stupid, even to her. Which is why she’d never given him a reason for the breakup. She was sure he’d have fought her. Argued her out of her decision, and then one day, they both might have regretted it.
The miles flew past. Sam kept his gaze on the road and his mind on the problem at hand. Finding shelter. If he’d been by himself, he’d have pulled off and parked by now. All he really needed was a place to pitch his tent and ride out the storm.
But with Karen along, things were different. He needed to find a motel. Something sturdy enough to stand up to the growing winds. The trees on either side of the road bent nearly in half, stretching out their twisting limbs as if trying to grab the car hurtling past them.
He had passed exit after exit, knowing they were still too close to the coast and determined to get far enough inland that Karen would be in no danger. But judging by the strength of the wind, he was running out of time.
And then he saw it. A squat cinder block motel at the side of the highway. A dozen or so cars sat nestled in its parking lot, but the broken green neon sign out front still blinked VA C NCY.
“The Dew Drop Inn?” Karen asked as he took the off-ramp and headed for the place.
He grinned. “Sounds cozy, doesn’t it?”
“Cozy?” she repeated, staring through the rain-swept windshield. “It looks like it’s a hundred years old.”
“Good. Just what we need.”
“Huh?”
He parked in front of the office and turned off the engine. Facing her, he shrugged and said, “If it’s that old, it’s survived a lot of hurricanes. It should make it through this one.”
Sure, Karen thought, but the question was, would she?
Three
She watched him through the windshield. Waves of rainwater made his image blurry, as if this was all a dream and she was really safe at home in her own bed, with her mind tormenting her with visions of Sam.
But, as the motel owner stepped up behind the counter, scratching his dirty-tank-top-covered hairy chest, the dream notion was shattered. An older man, he had a well-rounded stomach that looked as though he hadn’t missed many meals, and his gray hair stood out in spiky tufts all around his head. He grinned at Sam and turned the registration pad toward him.
“Oh, this place is obviously the Ritz,” Karen muttered as their host picked at his teeth with a thumbnail. Her gaze briefly strayed from the dimly lit office to the motel itself. It looked like something out of a fifties horror movie. Dingy block walls, stained with years of traffic exhaust and neglect. A solitary tree stood in the center of the parking lot and was now bent almost completely in half as the wind pushed and shoved at it, trying to rip it right out of the small patch of earth it claimed. Here and there a lamp gleamed from behind threadbare draperies, and the cars that huddled side by side looked forlorn and abandoned.
“Okay,” she told herself firmly, turning back to keep her eye on Sam, “now you’re getting weird. There’s nothing wrong with this place that a nice little A-bomb wouldn’t cure.”
In the office, Sam shook the other man’s hand and the two of them shared a jovial laugh. “Hmm. A meeting of the minds,” she said wryly.
A moment later, Sam was sprinting through the wind and rain toward the car. He opened the door, jumped inside and shook himself like a big dog coming out of a lake.
“Whew!” he said as Karen wiped droplets of water off her face. “Man, this storm’s really something.”
“So I noticed,” she said, and took the registration paper from him when he handed it to her. “Where are our rooms?”
He sniffed, scooped one hand across his militarily short black hair and turned to look at her. “Well, that’s the thing,” he said.
“What?” she asked warily as the broken vacancy sign blinked off and the motel owner disappeared into his own room.
“Jonas says it’s been a busy night.”
“Jonas?” Good heavens, had he really had time to bond with the man?
“Yeah. Jonas.” Sam looked at her and shook his head before reaching for the key and turning it. The engine leaped to life, and he dropped it into gear and steered the SUV down past the line of parked cars. In the last available slot, he pulled in, parked and turned the engine off again.
Rain hammered at the car and the wind shrieked around them as she waited for him to finish. She didn’t have long.
“Anyway, he only had the one room left,” Sam told her.
“One room,” she repeated.
“Yeah,” he said, and, wincing slightly, added, “and, since this is a small southern town and since I didn’t much like the things Jonas had to say, I, uh…”
“You what?” Karen asked, giving him a wary look.
He shrugged. “Look at the registration slip.”
She tipped the paper up toward the stingy light of the dashboard and read it. Amazed, she read it again. Then, turning her gaze on Sam, she accused, “You registered us as Gunnery Sergeant and Mrs. Paretti?”
Well she didn’t have to sound so damned insulted, Sam thought. He hadn’t intended on registering them as man and wife, but seeing the leer in the motel owner’s eyes had decided him. He wasn’t about to let a guy like Jonas turn his sleazy imagination loose on Karen.
And what did he get for his protective instincts? A woman appalled at even pretending to be his wife.
Perfect.
“Relax, Karen,” he said tightly. “It’s not like I’m asking you to love, honor and obey.”
“I know, but—”
“It’s no big deal, all right?” Sam looked at her. “It’s a simple lie to make things easier.”
“For who?” she asked.
Frustrated now, he asked, “What happened to our truce?”
A long minute passed before she nodded and said, “Okay, you’re right. Truce. After all, how long can a stupid hurricane last, anyway?”
As she gathered her chocolates and her purse, Sam actually thought about that for the first time and realized that he and Karen would probably be together…alone…for the next three days. And nights.
Oh, man.
He had a feeling this hurricane was going to make boot camp look like a Tahiti vacation.
The inside of the place lived up to the promise of the outside.
Karen stood just inside the door and stared at it all in mute fascination. The walls were painted a soft orange and the rust-brown shag carpet set them off beautifully. Two lamps were bolted to tables on opposite sides of the one double bed. A closet with no door boasted three wire hangers on a bent rod, and the bathroom just beyond it looked small and seafoam green.
She plopped down on the edge of the mattress and heard the bedspread crunch beneath her. What did they make those things out of, she wondered, and gave the garishly flowered spread an amazed stare.
“Well,” Sam said, dropping her bags just inside the door. “It’s dry.”
“Mostly,” she said, and pointed to the far corner where a water stain had already begun to pool and spread across the ceiling.
He squinted up at the spot. “I can fix that.”
Naturally, she thought. That was his attitude about everything. If it was broken, Sam could fix it. Like he’d tried to fix what had happened between them. But that was the one thing no one could fix.
“Okay,” he conceded, “House Beautiful it ain’t. But it’ll stand up to the hurricane, and that’s all we should be worrying about.”
She looked up at him, and as her gaze locked on his strong jaw and slightly curved lips, she knew damn well that the hurricane wasn’t all she should be worrying about. Sharing a tiny motel room—and its one bed—with a man who could turn her inside out with a single touch scored pretty high on the worry meter, too.
He looked down at her, and it was as if he could read her mind. She saw the flash of desire spark quickly in his eyes, then disappear behind the wall of hurt she’d put there two months ago.
“This is only temporary, Karen,” he said, his voice gruff with an emotion she didn’t want to identify. “A few days of togetherness and we’ll be back to our separate lives. Just the way you want it.”
“A few days?” she asked. Good Lord.
He snorted a choked-off laugh and shook his head. “There was a time when a few days in my company wouldn’t have made you look like you’d just been sentenced to twenty years’ hard time at Leavenworth.”
The sting of his words slapped at her, and she winced at the direct hit to her heart. She hadn’t meant to hurt him. Didn’t he know that she had been hurt, too? Couldn’t he see how difficult it was for her to push him away when her every instinct told her to snuggle in close to him? To recapture the magic she’d found only in his arms?
“Sam,” she said, and pushed herself off the bed. Tilting her head back, she looked into those pale brown eyes of his and said, “It’s not you. It’s—”
“Yeah, I know,” he interrupted her, and held one hand up to keep her from finishing that sentence. “It’s something you can’t explain. I seem to remember that speech, and if you don’t mind, I’d rather not hear it again.”
She flushed. Karen felt the warm rush of it fill her cheeks. Blast it. “Fine. Sorry.”
He nodded briefly, then said, “I’ll go get the rest of our stuff.”
“You want some help?”
“No, thanks,” he said tightly, already turning for the door. “I can manage.” Glancing back over his shoulder, he added, “Why don’t you call your folks before the power lines go down? Save your batteries.”
She watched him step out into the windswept rain and disappear into the darkness. When she was alone, she walked to the closet, peeled off her jacket and hung it up. But as soon as she set the wire hanger onto the rod, the wooden bar collapsed, hitting the carpet with a thump. She stared at her jacket, crumpled beneath the rod, for a long moment, then sighed and left it there. If this was a sign of things to come, she really didn’t want to think about it.
Figuring things couldn’t get much worse, she resolutely walked to the phone, picked up the receiver and started to dial. Now all she had to do was keep her mother from doing handsprings over some imagined reunion between her and Sam.
Martha Beckett desperately wanted grandchildren and wasn’t above using the age-old weapon of guilt in an attempt to convince her only daughter to provide said babies before she was too old to enjoy them.
Karen half turned on the bed to watch as Sam came back into the room, and at the same time her mother picked up the phone on her end.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Mom,” Karen said, swinging her gaze back to something safe. Like the wall. “It’s me.”
“Honey,” her mother crooned, “I’m so glad you called back. You’re out of the storm, I take it? Safe?”
“Yeah,” she said. Safe from the hurricane, anyway.
“Good. Now, I want to hear all about you and Sam. You didn’t tell me you were back together!”
“We’re not, Mom,” Karen said, knowing it was useless but giving it the old college try, anyway.
“I was just telling your dad the other day that I just knew you two would work things out eventually!”
Karen groaned, and lifted one hand to rub the sudden throb that had leaped up dead center of her forehead.
“Now, the way I see it,” Sam said, stalking around the tiny room like a caged tiger, “we’ll each have our own areas.”
“We will?”
“Yeah.” He glanced at her, sitting on the bed with her back up against the headboard and her long legs crossed at the ankle. Even in the dim light of the pitifully low-wattage bulbs in the bedside lamps, Karen’s blond hair shone like sunlight. Her blue eyes watched him, and one corner of her mouth lifted in a half smile that teased him with memories of other times. Happier times.
Instantly, he remembered lazy Sunday mornings in her bed. Waking up with her cuddled up beside him. The soft hush of her breath on his chest, the lemony scent of her hair, the tantalizing magic of her touch.
“Sam?” she said, loudly enough to tell him it wasn’t the first time she’d called his name.
“Huh? Oh. Yeah.” He shoved one hand across the top of his head and reminded himself that those days were over. Karen had called a halt to what they’d had, and if he had an ounce of sense, he’d remember that and forget all the rest.
Or at least try to.
“Anyway,” he said firmly, “I figure you can have the bed. I’ll take the floor.”
“Deal.”
One eyebrow lifted. “That was fast.”
“Well, the feminist in me wants to argue that we should at least take turns sleeping on the floor. But…”
“Yeah?”
“The girl in me thinks the bed is pretty comfortable and really hates sleeping bags.”
He laughed shortly. “I remember. You really weren’t much of a camper.”
“It rained.”
“We had a tent.”
“Yeah, and every bug in the county came inside to get out of the rain.” She smiled, and just for a moment the problems between them dissolved in the memory of their last good weekend together.
They stared at each other for a long, tension-filled moment, then Karen abruptly ended the spell by leaping off the bed to grab up one of her bags. “Might as well settle in, huh?”
“Right,” he muttered, and mentally pushed his desire for her into a tight, hard knot deep into a corner of his soul.
A half an hour later, their respective “camps” were set up. At the foot of the bed, Sam studied his area, making sure all was as it should be. Against the wall, he’d stacked his MREs—meals ready to eat—bottled water, a battery-operated radio and a lantern. His sleeping bag lay open on the floor in front of his supplies, and he kneeled on it while he unrolled his poncho.
“What are you doing now?” Karen asked.
He glanced at her over his shoulder. Both of his eyebrows lifted as he said pointedly, “I’m getting ready for a hurricane. Unlike some people…”
“I’m ready,” she argued, not looking at him.
“Yeah,” he said wryly. “I can see that.”
Once she’d finished painting the last of her toe-nails, Karen looked up to meet his gaze. “Hey, I finished unpacking twenty minutes ago.”
“You unpacked your cooler.”
“I was thirsty.”
“Karen…”
“Lighten up, Sarge,” she said. “It’s not like there’s anything we can do beyond sitting in this room and waiting for the darn storm to hit.”
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Maureen Child
A torrential hurricane stranded Karen Beckett in a tiny motel room with Gunnery Sergeant Sam Paretti, the one man she never wanted to see again! Just months before, Karen had severed all ties with the gorgeous marine–but bittersweet memories of their love refused to vacate her mind.Now her rescuer demanded a hefty price for shelter from the storm. His eyes shimmered with a desire equal to the hunger clawing at Karen's control. But she had to resist! Because to surrender to their urgent need would mean exposing her past…and admitting her fathomless love for Sam….
“You Registered Us As Gunnery Sergeant And Mrs. Paretti?”
Well, she didn’t have to sound so damned insulted, Sam thought. He hadn’t intended to register them as husband and wife, but the leer in the motel owner’s eyes had decided him. He wasn’t letting any man’s sleazy imagination loose on Karen.
And what did he get for his protective instincts? A woman appalled at even pretending to be his wife.
Frustrated now, Sam asked, “What happened to our truce?”
A long minute passed before she nodded and said, “Okay, you’re right. Truce. After all, how long can a stupid hurricane last, anyway?”
As she gathered her chocolates and her purse, Sam actually thought about that for the first time and realized that he and Karen would probably be together…alone…for the next three days. And nights.
Oh, man.
He had a feeling this hurricane was going to make boot camp look like a Tahiti vacation!
Dear Reader,
Thanks to all who have shared, in letters and at our Web site, eHarlequin.com, how much you love Silhouette Desire! One Web visitor told us, “When I was nineteen, this man broke my heart. So I picked up a Silhouette Desire and…lost myself in other people’s happiness, sorrow, desire…. Guys came and went and the books kept entertaining me.” It is so gratifying to know how our books have touched and even changed your lives—especially with Silhouette celebrating our 20th anniversary in 2000.
The incomparable Joan Hohl dreamed up October’s MAN OF THE MONTH. The Dakota Man is used to getting his way until he meets his match in a feisty jilted bride. And Anne Marie Winston offers you a Rancher’s Proposition, which is part of the highly sensual Desire promotion BODY & SOUL.
First Comes Love is another sexy love story by Elizabeth Bevarly. A virgin finds an unexpected champion when she is rumored to be pregnant. The latest installment of the sensational Desire miniseries FORTUNE’S CHILDREN: THE GROOMS is Fortune’s Secret Child by Shawna Delacorte. Maureen Child’s popular BACHELOR BATTALION continues with Marooned with a Marine. And Joan Elliott Pickart returns to Desire with Baby: MacAllister-Made, part of her wonderful miniseries THE BABY BET.
So take your own emotional journey through our six new powerful, passionate, provocative love stories from Silhouette Desire—and keep sending us those letters and e-mails, sharing your enthusiasm for our books!
Enjoy!
Joan Marlow Golan
Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire
Marooned with a Marine
Maureen Child
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
MAUREEN CHILD
was born and raised in Southern California and is the only person she knows who longs for an occasional change of season. She is delighted to be writing for Silhouette Books and is especially excited to be a part of the Desire line.
An avid reader, Maureen looks forward to those rare rainy California days when she can curl up and sink into a good book. Or two. When she isn’t busy writing, she and her husband of twenty-five years like to travel, leaving their two grown children in charge of the neurotic golden retriever who is the real head of the household. Maureen is also an award-winning historical writer under the names Kathleen Kane and Ann Carberry.
Contents
Chapter One (#uf4c0202e-6394-5a4d-a617-1a0555dc1baf)
Chapter Two (#ue9f0325e-3336-5fb4-bf9f-cc3da8604dc2)
Chapter Three (#u8aacb2d8-04ab-53bf-811e-4f4c2c737dbc)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
One
What else could go wrong today? wondered Gunnery Sergeant Sam Paretti as he looked up at the darkening sky.
Standing on the small, elevated wooden platform overlooking the Field of Fire Range, he shifted his gaze to the empty landscape surrounding him. By rights, the place should be bursting with the sound of rifle fire. He should be stalking up and down the rows of Marine recruits, watching them firing their weapons.
Instead, he was out here making sure that the place had been properly policed before the recruits had been marched back to their barracks. A perfectly good day of rifle-and-pistol firing shot to hell because of a damned hurricane.
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” he demanded, tipping his head back so his shout could be heard in the heavens. A rumble of thunder was his only answer, and Sam figured that was the Almighty’s way of letting him know that God’s plans counted just a shade higher than a Gunnery Sergeant in the Marine Corps.
The wind picked up and tugged at the material of his camouflage pants and shirt. He reached up and firmly pulled down the brim of his cover onto his forehead, then stepped off the platform, planting his boots ankle-deep into the thick mud.
From the corner of his eye, he caught the glint of something shiny lying in the muck, and he bent down to pick up a brass cartridge. Thumbing the cold metal, he shoved it into his pants pocket and walked on, giving the grounds one last check before heading to his apartment to pack up for the evacuation.
“Gunnery Sergeant Paretti,” someone shouted, and Sam stopped, turned around and watched as Staff Sergeant Bill Cooper hurried toward him.
“What’s up, Cooper?” he called as the other man approached.
The Sergeant stopped right in front of him, snapped to attention and focused his gaze straight ahead.
“At ease, Marine,” Sam said.
Instantly, the man’s stance relaxed. Hands behind his back, he looked up at Sam and asked, “What isn’t up, Gunny?” The wind plucked his cover from his head and sent it hurtling back along the path he’d just taken. “Damn it,” he muttered, throwing a fast glance at it before turning back around. “Are you leaving now?”
Sam shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. Bracing his feet wide apart, he felt his body sway with the push of the wind, but he stood fast. “Not yet. Hell, traffic’ll be blocked up for miles.”
“Yes, Gunny,” the younger man said, “but my wife is ready to go now. She’s from California, y’know. They’re used to traffic and earthquakes, but they don’t do hurricanes.”
California, Sam thought, remembering. It had only been a few months since he’d been to the Sunshine State to watch his older brother get married. And it had been only a couple of months since Sam himself had been dumped by a California girl right here in South Carolina.
Karen Beckett. Just thinking of her set explosive charges off in his bloodstream. She’d stormed into his life and then stormed back out again, leaving it a helluva lot lonelier than it had been before her.
He wondered where she was now. If she’d evacuated. If she was scared. He laughed to himself at that last one. Karen? Scared?
“So,” the Sergeant said, splintering Sam’s thoughts and mentally dragging him back to the here and now. “Is there anything else you want me to do before I leave?”
“No,” Sam said with a shake of his head. “I’m going to walk the range one last time, but you can go.”
“Aye-aye, Gunny. Then I guess I’ll see you when this is all over.”
“I’ll be here,” Sam said. Hell, if he had his way, he’d stay put right here on base and ride out the storm. But when evac orders came down, you didn’t get a choice. You either evacuated as ordered, or you faced going up on charges for disobeying a direct order. “Say hi to Joanne.”
The man grinned. “I will. You watch your back, Gunny.”
“Always,” he muttered as the Sergeant turned and jogged down the muddy track back toward his still-flying hat and the parking lot beyond.
“Well,” he added to himself, “almost always.” One time he hadn’t watched his back. One time he’d let his heart rule his head. And that one time, Karen Beckett had hit him hard and low and left him bleeding.
Damn. He hoped she was all right.
Karen Beckett drove along the narrow, two-lane road, studied the traffic headed in the opposite direction and told herself it would be pointless to leave now. All she’d end up doing would be sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic. And wasn’t avoiding that kind of traffic one of the reasons she’d moved to South Carolina in the first place? Well, that and the fact that two years ago her grandmother had died and left the old family home to Karen. Giving her a perfect place to run when she’d needed to get away. When she had needed a place to hide.
She drew a mental shutter over that particular train of thought. Now wasn’t the time to revisit old heartaches. Now she had a hurricane to worry about. Though she still wasn’t entirely convinced it was going to hit. After all, this wasn’t the first time the authorities had shouted “Pack your bags!” only to change their minds an hour or two later. She glanced out her window at the brewing weather and the cloud-tossed sky. For three days now, the news had been doing nothing but tracking this nasty little storm as it picked up momentum over the ocean. Three days of warnings about possible evacuations. Three days of her friends and neighbors stocking up on everything from toilet paper to chocolate cupcakes.
But she’d been in South Carolina for two years now and she hadn’t had to run for the hills yet. Heck, she’d been in wind and rain before. El Niño back home in California wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. Not to mention the earthquakes. Karen figured if she could make it through a 6.5 quake, she could make it through a hurricane.
“Yeah,” she said, encouraging herself. “I’ll wait it out awhile longer. At least a few more hours.” She’d spend some time gathering up whatever supplies she thought she might need and then leave. Maybe she’d miss most of the traffic that way. She only hoped she’d also miss the coming hurricane.
“Give me a good old-fashioned earthquake any day,” she muttered, and unwrapped a silver Hershey’s kiss one-handed. On either side of the road, tall trees blocked any further view of the landscape beyond. It looked as though she was driving in a green tunnel that was slightly smeared because of the rain cascading down her windows. The heavy thrum of the drops on the roof beat a tempo that seemed to match the rock and roll blasting from her car radio.
Popping the candy into her mouth and singing to herself, she passed the entrance to Parris Island Marine Corps base. Though she fought the impulse, her gaze shifted to the familiar gate on her right, anyway. Her heartbeat quickened as she glanced at that long, narrow road, with marsh and water on either side. The song died in her throat.
Stretching out for what looked like miles were at least a hundred buses, filled with Marines being evacuated off the base. She knew that Parris Island was a recruit-training depot, so she suspected that most of the men and women on those buses were still in boot camp and probably looking at this evacuation as a welcome relief from Warrior 101.
But beyond those buses, farther down that road, was one Marine in particular whose image leaped into Karen’s mind with the ease of long practice.
Even breaking up with Sam Paretti hadn’t rid her mind of him. It had now been two months, two weeks and three days since she’d last seen him. Not that she was counting, mind you. But time didn’t seem to matter. Apparently, the memory of Sam Paretti wasn’t one to die easily. At the oddest hours, when she least expected it, his face would pop into her brain, leaving her struggling for breath. She remembered his touch, his scent, his taste. She remembered it all so vividly. The few short months they’d dated and the ugly night they’d broken up. She still dreamed about those pale brown eyes of his and how they’d closed her out when she’d told him she didn’t want to see him anymore.
“Oh, man,” she whispered, and tore her gaze away from the base. Heart pounding, palms damp, she forced herself to stare straight ahead. She swallowed past the knot in her throat, then reached over and grabbed up two more pieces of candy. Thumbing off the foil wraps, she tossed them both into her mouth and chewed.
But even chocolate couldn’t chase away thoughts of Sam Paretti, Gunnery Sergeant Hunk.
And despite everything that had passed between them, she hoped he was all right.
Sam slammed the trunk hatch shut with a solid thump, walked around to the driver’s side door and got in. Firing up the engine, he listened to its perfect purr for a moment before pushing in the clutch and shoving the gearshift into first.
His headlights cut a bright swath through the dark, rainy night, illuminating the road ahead of him. The base was already practically deserted. Hell, it felt like a ghost town. Imagine, thousands of Marines running from a damn storm. It didn’t set at all well with Sam or with any of the guys he knew.
Married men he could understand. What man wouldn’t want to get his wife and kids to safety? But for guys like him, what was the big deal?
His grip on the steering wheel tightened as he guided the car toward the main gate. A bloody shame that the powers that be couldn’t see that a hurricane would be perfect for teaching a survival course to the recruits.
Still shaking his head, he switched on the radio as he turned out onto the road that would take him to the highway and inland. Music blasted into the closed cab of his brand-new black SUV. Four-wheel drive, horsepower to spare, the damn thing practically grunted in pride as it rolled down the street.
“At least the traffic’s cleared up,” he muttered as he sped along the road, rooster tails of water flying up from beneath his wheels. Not many people were left around here, and at three-thirty in the morning, he had the road almost to himself.
Alone.
Well, perfect.
Karen turned the key in the ignition again and listened with disgust to the tired click, click, click that she’d been listening to for half an hour now. Her engine had inexplicably died, and now the blasted thing sounded more like a broken clock than a car. And because she’d waited for traffic to clear, she was all alone on a dark road in the middle of nowhere with a hurricane hot on her heels.
Life just didn’t get much better than this.
She grabbed a chocolate and ate it as she let her gaze slide across the darkness surrounding her. Rain still pelted her car with big, fat drops that splattered on her windshield. The wind had picked up slightly, sending the trees along the side of the road into a wild dance that made them look like deranged cheerleaders. Her compact car shuddered as the wind buffeted it mercilessly. Karen’s fingers curled more tightly around the steering wheel as if by holding on, she could steady her poor car. A slender thread of fear began to worm its way through the pit of her stomach.
What was she supposed to do? She’d already tried using the cell phone, but hadn’t been able to raise anyone. Not one of the few cars that had passed her in the last half hour had even slowed down, let alone stopped. All she could do was sit tight and hope that whatever was wrong with her car fixed itself. Soon.
Oh, she should have taken auto shop instead of home ec in high school. When was the last time being able to make a casserole had saved her life?
Something flashed in the corner of her eye and Karen shifted her gaze to the rearview mirror. There. Twin bright circles in the gloom. Headlights. Coming fast. Maybe this car would stop. And if it did, she really hoped her potential rescuer wouldn’t turn out to be a chivalrous serial killer.
But at this point, she was willing to take her chances. Hurricane Henry was on its way and she was out of options.
“Come on, come on,” she whispered, keeping her gaze glued to the mirror where those headlights shone like spots of hope in the shadows. And as she watched, the approaching car moved over and came up behind her. “Oh, thank heaven,” she whispered, and then said a quick prayer that she hadn’t been delivered from the proverbial frying pan into a fire.
Still watching the rearview mirror, she saw the driver open his door, and in the flash of his dome light, saw that he was alone. So much for the faint hope that she would be rescued by a nice, normal family. “Doesn’t matter,” she told herself firmly. “Whoever it is, he’s my hero.”
A second later, her hero was standing beside her door, rapping his knuckles against her closed window. Quickly, she rolled it down and squinted against the rain slashing at her face.
“Well, why am I not surprised?” a too-familiar voice asked of no one in particular.
Karen’s stomach fluttered. “Sam?”
“The one and only,” he assured her, then bent down to peer in at her.
Rain coursed down his windbreaker jacket, pooled on the brim of his baseball hat and dripped down on either side of his face. She looked into those pale brown eyes of his and knew that God had a sense of humor. Why else would She send the one man Karen had never wanted to see again as her rescuer?
“What’re you doing just sitting here on the side of the road?” he demanded.
Of all the stupid questions. Nervousness forgotten, she snapped, “It was such a nice night, I thought I’d park and admire it for a while.”
“Real funny, Karen,” he said. “There’s a hurricane coming, in case you hadn’t heard.”
“Well, duh.” She reached blindly for another chocolate and folded it into her closed fist, holding it like a talisman. “Look, do you have a CB or something in your truck? I tried using my phone to call for help, but it’s not working.”
He shook his head and snorted. “Honey, even if it were working, there’s no one to call. If you’re lookin’ for help tonight, I’m it.”
Her left shoulder and arm were getting soaked and she scooted farther to her right.
Muttering something unintelligible, he took a deep breath, blew it out again and said, “Come on. We’ll get your stuff and you can come with me.”
“Where to?” she asked, eyeing him warily.
He laughed shortly. “Does that really matter at this point?”
“I guess not,” she admitted, knowing full well and good this was her only option. She could refuse and sit here in her car waiting…hoping someone else would come along and stop. But what if no one did? What if his was the last car headed her way? What if she ended up right here, alone, in the middle of the hurricane?
Nope.
Even Sam Paretti was a better choice than that.
“Give me your keys,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’ll get your stuff from the trunk.”
Officious as always, she thought as she pulled them from the ignition and handed them to him. Then she turned to pick up her purse and thermos and sack of candy from the passenger seat. Rolling up the window again, she pulled the hood of her coat up over her head and stepped into the mouth of the building storm.
The wind snatched her hood off instantly, and in seconds her hair hung lankly on either side of her face. Trails of bathwater-warm rain slipped beneath the collar of her shirt and rolled along her spine. Her jeans felt heavy and clammy against her legs as the water soaked into the denim fabric, and her tennis shoes squished in the mud and water flowing across the road like a dirty river.
Here in the low country, it could take days for the water to run off the highway. Until then, every street became a lake, every highway a river and every field an ocean.
Carefully, she leaned into the wind and slanting rain to make her way to the back of the car. She was in time to hear Sam mutter, “Females. How in the hell can they possibly need so much stuff?”
“Pardon me for not being able to get along with nothing but a pocketknife and a snare,” she snapped.
“You’re not going on vacation,” he said as he lifted both bags out at once. “This is an evacuation.”
“So?” What did he expect? That she should uproot herself with nothing more than a paper sack containing a change of underwear?
“Never mind,” he grumbled, shaking his head.
He sloshed through the wet to his car and set her luggage in his trunk. Right behind him, Karen peered into the back of the huge SUV and stared at the pile of survival gear he’d brought with him.
“A tent?” she shouted, to be heard over the rising wind. “You’re planning on camping out? In this?”
“Not anymore, apparently,” he said, and stalked back toward her car. Lifting the cooler and a plastic grocery bag out of the trunk, he slammed the lid down and walked back toward where she waited in the red glow of his blinking hazard lights. “What have you got in here?” he asked as he shoved the cooler and the bag into the trunk and slammed the hatch closed.
“Food,” she told him. “Necessities.”
“Chocolate?” he asked, one eyebrow lifting. Her fingers tightened on the bag she still held. “That’s a necessity. Trust me.”
“Whatever. Just come on.” He took her elbow in a firm grip and guided her to the passenger side of the car. Opening the door, he all but picked her up and threw her inside. The door slammed shut right behind her and the sudden silence and absence of wind and rain was almost a shock to her system.
Sam climbed in a moment later, and then they were alone in the warm, confined space.
He turned his head to look at her, and when she stared into those eyes of his, Karen had to wonder which would have been more dangerous.
Being stranded in a hurricane by herself?
Or being alone with Sam Paretti.
Two
She looked like a drowned rat.
And still was more beautiful than any other woman he’d ever known. Damn it.
Sam just stared at her for a long minute, looking his fill, feeding the need that had been riding him for two long months. Damn. It felt as though it had been years since he’d seen her last. Not weeks.
His instincts had drawn him to the disabled car with its hazard lights blinking. With this kind of storm coming in, he hadn’t been able to just drive on past someone who might need help. It hadn’t been until the last minute, when he’d recognized her car, that he’d known he was about to pay a price for his chivalry.
The price being, he could look at her, but he couldn’t touch her.
And knowing that made him angry, giving his voice more bite than he’d intended when he swiped one hand across his face and asked, “What the hell are you still doing here? You should have evacuated hours ago.”
Finely arched blond eyebrows lifted high on her forehead. “Hello, Pot?” she said. “This is Kettle. You’re black.”
“Very funny,” he said, acknowledging that he, too, should have long since left town. “But my situation’s a little different.”
“Really?” she asked, and ate a piece of chocolate. “How’s that?”
“Well for one thing,” he told her, with a glance out the windshield at her DOA car, “my car works.”
She frowned at him.
“I told you three months ago,” he said, “that car was on its last legs. It’s a rolling disaster.” He shook his head in disgust. “I told you not to count on that thing.”
She shifted in her seat, unwrapped another chocolate and popped it into her mouth before answering. Like it was some sort of magic confidence pill. But then, hadn’t she always reached for chocolate when she was nervous? Or upset. Or happy. As he recalled, chocolate was a major part of Karen Beckett’s personality.
“Yes, you did,” she said, “but it lasted three months longer than you thought it would, didn’t it?”
“Sure,” he said, nodding, “it lasted until you really needed it. Then it died.”
“Look, Sam…”
Most stubborn, hardheaded female he’d ever met. “For Pete’s sake, Karen,” he blurted, frustration boiling within him. “If I hadn’t come along, what would you have done? You’d have been stuck here. In the middle of nowhere, riding out a hurricane in that worthless piece of automotive engineering.”
She stiffened and got that “queen to peasant” look on her face. “I would have been fine.”
“Yeah, right.” He nodded again, feeling that old familiar flash of irritation sweep through him. Nobody, but nobody could get to him like Karen Beckett. “First thing I noticed when I pulled up to save your butt was how well you were doing.”
Giving him a glare that would have toasted a lesser man, Karen gathered up her purse and chocolates, then reached for the door handle. “Y’know what? If listening to another one of your lectures is the price of a ride…I’d rather walk.”
She threw the passenger door open and a sheet of rain sliced into the car. Instantly, Sam lunged across her lap, grabbed the armrest and yanked, slamming the car door shut again. “Don’t be stupid.”
“I’m not stupid.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You did, too,” she countered, and pushed at him until he was back on his own side of the car. “Just now you said—”
“Okay, look,” Sam said loudly, and held up both hands in mock surrender. “This is nuts.”
She sighed heavily, folded her arms across her front and stared straight ahead.
He studied her profile for a long, silent minute, then said, “There’s no reason for us to fight, Karen. We’re not together anymore.” And just hearing those words spoken aloud was enough to tighten a twinge of regret around his heart.
“True,” she said quietly.
A rush of wind pushed at his car and rattled the windows. Rain clattered onto the hood and roof, sounding like a chorus line of Irish folk dancers. Outside, the world was wild and raw with Mother Nature shaking her fists at the people who sometimes forgot just who was in charge around here.
He shifted his gaze to the watery scene beyond the car and tried to remember what was important here. Not the fact that they’d broken up. Not the fact that his heart still ached for wanting her. But the very real threat charging down on them.
He wasn’t worried so much for himself, but now that he had Karen to look out for, he damn sure was going to see to it that she stayed safe.
Pulling in a deep breath, he swiveled his head to look at her. And in the dim, reflected light from the dashboard, she looked worried. Her teeth gnawed at her bottom lip and her gaze was locked on the raging storm. He knew she was wishing she were anywhere but there. And a part of him didn’t blame her in the slightest. But a bigger part of him was glad she was with him. At least this way, he’d know that she was safe.
“So,” he said, just loud enough to be heard above the storm, “we call a temporary truce?”
She turned her head to look at him and seemed to be considering his offer. Finally though, she nodded. “A truce.” Then she held out her right hand to seal their bargain with a shake.
He took her hand in his and the instant their skin brushed together, he felt a blast of electricity shoot up the length of his arm and dazzle his brain. Sam released her quickly, but it wasn’t in time to keep that shock of desire from rocketing around inside his chest and squeezing his heart.
She must have felt it, too, he told himself as he watched her reach for another chocolate. Her fingers trembled as she peeled off the foil, and he knew that what had been between them was far from dead.
But that hardly mattered, did it? She’d made her feelings clear two months ago when she’d walked away from him without so much as a backward glance.
Clearing his throat, he buried old hurts and said instead, “You keep eating chocolate like you do and you’re gonna lose all your teeth before you’re forty.”
“It’ll be worth it,” she muttered.
“And when they’re all gone, how will you eat chocolate then?”
She glanced at him. “Chocolate malts. Through a straw.”
“Hardhead.”
“Bully.”
Sam grinned and watched a little smile tug at one corner of her mouth. Damned if he hadn’t missed their little…discussions. Almost as much as he’d missed…other things.
“Well,” he said, and fired up the engine, “what do you say we find a place to ride this storm out?”
“Ya-hoo, Tonto.”
“Hey,” he protested. “It’s my car, I get to be the Lone Ranger. You’re Kemosabe.”
When her cell phone rang twenty minutes later, Karen was so happy it was working again, she didn’t bother to wonder who might be calling her at 3:00 a.m.
She might have known.
“Hi, Mom,” she said, and threw a glance at Sam. His chuckle was enough to make her grit her teeth.
“Karen, honey—” Her mother’s voice came through despite the static. “Where are you? Someplace safe, I hope.”
“Of course I’m safe,” she replied. Physically, anyway. Emotionally, she wasn’t so sure. Being this close to Sam Paretti again wasn’t a good idea. The memories of their time together were too fresh. Too strong. Too tantalizing.
“How far inland are you?” her mother asked, splintering Karen’s thoughts and dragging her back to the present.
“Actually, I’m on my way.”
“On your way?” her mother asked. “You should have left town hours ago.”
“Traffic was too bad to leave earlier,” she said, telling both her mother and Sam.
“Martha…” Karen’s father, apparently on the extension, spoke up. “Now that we know she’s all right, why don’t we hang up and let her get where she’s going?”
“Thanks, Dad.” She could always count on her father to keep a sane head.
“None of this would have been happening if you hadn’t moved,” her mother pointed out. “You could be safe and sound here in California….”
“Waiting for the Big One with the rest of us,” her father interrupted.
“Mom, I’m perfectly safe—”
“Now,” Sam added his two cents.
“Who was that?” her mother asked.
Karen closed her eyes and prayed for patience. “Uh…” She tossed a glare at Sam, who didn’t seem the least bit affected. “I’m with a friend,” she finally said.
He laughed at the strained tone of her voice as she stumbled over the word friend.
Fine, they weren’t friends, she thought. But they weren’t lovers anymore, either. So what did that make them…friendly enemies?
“Which friend?” her mother asked.
“Martha…”
“Say hello for me,” Sam said, in a tone loud enough to carry.
She sighed, giving into the inevitable. “It’s Sam. He says hello.”
“Sam? You didn’t tell me you were seeing him again.”
“I’m not seeing him—”
Sam laughed again and she wanted to scream.
“Karen, what is going on—”
“I hate to interrupt,” Karen said, not really minding at all, since it was the only sure way to get her mother’s attention. “But I really should help Sam watch the road.”
“You do that, honey,” her dad said, adding, “you and Sam take care now.”
“That’s right,” her mom said briskly. “Now, I’ve lived through my share of those hurricanes—which is one of the reasons I left the East Coast—so I know what it’s like. You get inland and call me when you can. The phone lines will probably go down and—”
“Martha…” Stuart Beckett’s voice became a bit sterner.
“I know, I know. Okay, honey, now don’t you stop until you’re safe.”
“I won’t. I promise.” Karen smiled into the phone. Despite the fact that her parents, like any other set of parents, could drive her insane at a moment’s notice, she did love them dearly. Missing them was the only hard part about living so far away. “I’ll call as soon as I can.”
After another round of “Be carefuls,” she hung up and tucked her cell phone back into her purse. Listening to the whine of the tires on the slick highway and the rumble of raindrops hammering the car, Karen turned her head to stare at Sam.
“Why would you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Make sure my parents knew that you were in the car with me?”
He shrugged. “Didn’t know I was supposed to be hiding.”
“You’re not,” she grumbled. “It’s just that now they’ll want to know what’s going on and—”
“And you don’t want to tell them any more than you wanted to tell me, is that it?”
She stiffened slightly at the sting in his tone. “Sam, I told you I had reasons for breaking up with you.”
“Yeah, so you said. Unfortunately, you didn’t feel the need to tell me what they were.”
“Does it matter?”
“Hell, yes, it matters!” he nearly shouted, then caught himself and lowered his voice again. “You know something, I really don’t want to do this again.”
“You think I do?”
He shook his head. “I guess not.”
The tension in the car was nearly palpable. Karen’s stomach twisted and her heart ached. Once things had been so good between them. Now…
“So,” Sam said, abruptly changing the subject a few moments later, “how’re your folks?”
Okay, she thought, she could do courteous. She could do polite. After all, they were stuck together for who knew how long; there was no point in being snotty. No point in causing each other more pain than they already had.
“They’re fine,” she said, studying him. In the glow of the dashboard lights, his profile looked hard, as if it were chiseled out of stone. But she remembered all too well how easily his rigid expression could slide into a smile. Suddenly nervous, she reached for another chocolate, unwrapped it and popped it into her mouth.
“Your mom still buggin’ you to move back to California?”
Karen smiled. “She’s getting better. It’s only every other phone call now.”
He nodded, and keeping his gaze locked on the rainswept road in front of him, he said, “I thought maybe after we broke up, you might just do it. Move, I mean.”
Oh, those first few days after she’d ended it between them, she’d wanted nothing more than to find a place to hide. But she’d refused to run away again. She’d done that once, running from California to South Carolina, and in the process, she’d run smack into the very thing she’d been running from.
So hiding wasn’t the answer. Her only choice left was to stand her ground and try to forget what she and Sam had had so briefly. Fat chance.
“So how come you didn’t go back home?” he asked.
“Because,” she said, taking a deep breath, “this is home now. I like living in the South. I like small-town life. Besides, I don’t believe in going backward.”
“Me, neither,” he said, shooting her a quick glance.
“Good,” she said, guessing that he meant he had no interest in reviving what they’d once shared. “I mean, we’re stuck together for a while, but this really changes nothing.”
“Agreed.”
“Then we understand each other.”
His hands tightened on the steering wheel, and she watched him take a deep breath as if purposely calming himself. “Yeah,” he said finally, “we do. And you can relax. I’m not interested in lining up to have my heart ripped out again.”
Karen sucked in air as if she’d been slapped.
He shot her another look, then swerved the car around a fallen tree branch. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s all right.”
“No, it’s not,” he said quietly. “You did what you had to do. I can appreciate that, even if I don’t understand it.”
Guilt swirled in the pit of her stomach. She knew she’d hurt him. But she’d had to break up with him before he’d become important enough to her that the loss of him would have killed her.
God, that sounded stupid, even to her. Which is why she’d never given him a reason for the breakup. She was sure he’d have fought her. Argued her out of her decision, and then one day, they both might have regretted it.
The miles flew past. Sam kept his gaze on the road and his mind on the problem at hand. Finding shelter. If he’d been by himself, he’d have pulled off and parked by now. All he really needed was a place to pitch his tent and ride out the storm.
But with Karen along, things were different. He needed to find a motel. Something sturdy enough to stand up to the growing winds. The trees on either side of the road bent nearly in half, stretching out their twisting limbs as if trying to grab the car hurtling past them.
He had passed exit after exit, knowing they were still too close to the coast and determined to get far enough inland that Karen would be in no danger. But judging by the strength of the wind, he was running out of time.
And then he saw it. A squat cinder block motel at the side of the highway. A dozen or so cars sat nestled in its parking lot, but the broken green neon sign out front still blinked VA C NCY.
“The Dew Drop Inn?” Karen asked as he took the off-ramp and headed for the place.
He grinned. “Sounds cozy, doesn’t it?”
“Cozy?” she repeated, staring through the rain-swept windshield. “It looks like it’s a hundred years old.”
“Good. Just what we need.”
“Huh?”
He parked in front of the office and turned off the engine. Facing her, he shrugged and said, “If it’s that old, it’s survived a lot of hurricanes. It should make it through this one.”
Sure, Karen thought, but the question was, would she?
Three
She watched him through the windshield. Waves of rainwater made his image blurry, as if this was all a dream and she was really safe at home in her own bed, with her mind tormenting her with visions of Sam.
But, as the motel owner stepped up behind the counter, scratching his dirty-tank-top-covered hairy chest, the dream notion was shattered. An older man, he had a well-rounded stomach that looked as though he hadn’t missed many meals, and his gray hair stood out in spiky tufts all around his head. He grinned at Sam and turned the registration pad toward him.
“Oh, this place is obviously the Ritz,” Karen muttered as their host picked at his teeth with a thumbnail. Her gaze briefly strayed from the dimly lit office to the motel itself. It looked like something out of a fifties horror movie. Dingy block walls, stained with years of traffic exhaust and neglect. A solitary tree stood in the center of the parking lot and was now bent almost completely in half as the wind pushed and shoved at it, trying to rip it right out of the small patch of earth it claimed. Here and there a lamp gleamed from behind threadbare draperies, and the cars that huddled side by side looked forlorn and abandoned.
“Okay,” she told herself firmly, turning back to keep her eye on Sam, “now you’re getting weird. There’s nothing wrong with this place that a nice little A-bomb wouldn’t cure.”
In the office, Sam shook the other man’s hand and the two of them shared a jovial laugh. “Hmm. A meeting of the minds,” she said wryly.
A moment later, Sam was sprinting through the wind and rain toward the car. He opened the door, jumped inside and shook himself like a big dog coming out of a lake.
“Whew!” he said as Karen wiped droplets of water off her face. “Man, this storm’s really something.”
“So I noticed,” she said, and took the registration paper from him when he handed it to her. “Where are our rooms?”
He sniffed, scooped one hand across his militarily short black hair and turned to look at her. “Well, that’s the thing,” he said.
“What?” she asked warily as the broken vacancy sign blinked off and the motel owner disappeared into his own room.
“Jonas says it’s been a busy night.”
“Jonas?” Good heavens, had he really had time to bond with the man?
“Yeah. Jonas.” Sam looked at her and shook his head before reaching for the key and turning it. The engine leaped to life, and he dropped it into gear and steered the SUV down past the line of parked cars. In the last available slot, he pulled in, parked and turned the engine off again.
Rain hammered at the car and the wind shrieked around them as she waited for him to finish. She didn’t have long.
“Anyway, he only had the one room left,” Sam told her.
“One room,” she repeated.
“Yeah,” he said, and, wincing slightly, added, “and, since this is a small southern town and since I didn’t much like the things Jonas had to say, I, uh…”
“You what?” Karen asked, giving him a wary look.
He shrugged. “Look at the registration slip.”
She tipped the paper up toward the stingy light of the dashboard and read it. Amazed, she read it again. Then, turning her gaze on Sam, she accused, “You registered us as Gunnery Sergeant and Mrs. Paretti?”
Well she didn’t have to sound so damned insulted, Sam thought. He hadn’t intended on registering them as man and wife, but seeing the leer in the motel owner’s eyes had decided him. He wasn’t about to let a guy like Jonas turn his sleazy imagination loose on Karen.
And what did he get for his protective instincts? A woman appalled at even pretending to be his wife.
Perfect.
“Relax, Karen,” he said tightly. “It’s not like I’m asking you to love, honor and obey.”
“I know, but—”
“It’s no big deal, all right?” Sam looked at her. “It’s a simple lie to make things easier.”
“For who?” she asked.
Frustrated now, he asked, “What happened to our truce?”
A long minute passed before she nodded and said, “Okay, you’re right. Truce. After all, how long can a stupid hurricane last, anyway?”
As she gathered her chocolates and her purse, Sam actually thought about that for the first time and realized that he and Karen would probably be together…alone…for the next three days. And nights.
Oh, man.
He had a feeling this hurricane was going to make boot camp look like a Tahiti vacation.
The inside of the place lived up to the promise of the outside.
Karen stood just inside the door and stared at it all in mute fascination. The walls were painted a soft orange and the rust-brown shag carpet set them off beautifully. Two lamps were bolted to tables on opposite sides of the one double bed. A closet with no door boasted three wire hangers on a bent rod, and the bathroom just beyond it looked small and seafoam green.
She plopped down on the edge of the mattress and heard the bedspread crunch beneath her. What did they make those things out of, she wondered, and gave the garishly flowered spread an amazed stare.
“Well,” Sam said, dropping her bags just inside the door. “It’s dry.”
“Mostly,” she said, and pointed to the far corner where a water stain had already begun to pool and spread across the ceiling.
He squinted up at the spot. “I can fix that.”
Naturally, she thought. That was his attitude about everything. If it was broken, Sam could fix it. Like he’d tried to fix what had happened between them. But that was the one thing no one could fix.
“Okay,” he conceded, “House Beautiful it ain’t. But it’ll stand up to the hurricane, and that’s all we should be worrying about.”
She looked up at him, and as her gaze locked on his strong jaw and slightly curved lips, she knew damn well that the hurricane wasn’t all she should be worrying about. Sharing a tiny motel room—and its one bed—with a man who could turn her inside out with a single touch scored pretty high on the worry meter, too.
He looked down at her, and it was as if he could read her mind. She saw the flash of desire spark quickly in his eyes, then disappear behind the wall of hurt she’d put there two months ago.
“This is only temporary, Karen,” he said, his voice gruff with an emotion she didn’t want to identify. “A few days of togetherness and we’ll be back to our separate lives. Just the way you want it.”
“A few days?” she asked. Good Lord.
He snorted a choked-off laugh and shook his head. “There was a time when a few days in my company wouldn’t have made you look like you’d just been sentenced to twenty years’ hard time at Leavenworth.”
The sting of his words slapped at her, and she winced at the direct hit to her heart. She hadn’t meant to hurt him. Didn’t he know that she had been hurt, too? Couldn’t he see how difficult it was for her to push him away when her every instinct told her to snuggle in close to him? To recapture the magic she’d found only in his arms?
“Sam,” she said, and pushed herself off the bed. Tilting her head back, she looked into those pale brown eyes of his and said, “It’s not you. It’s—”
“Yeah, I know,” he interrupted her, and held one hand up to keep her from finishing that sentence. “It’s something you can’t explain. I seem to remember that speech, and if you don’t mind, I’d rather not hear it again.”
She flushed. Karen felt the warm rush of it fill her cheeks. Blast it. “Fine. Sorry.”
He nodded briefly, then said, “I’ll go get the rest of our stuff.”
“You want some help?”
“No, thanks,” he said tightly, already turning for the door. “I can manage.” Glancing back over his shoulder, he added, “Why don’t you call your folks before the power lines go down? Save your batteries.”
She watched him step out into the windswept rain and disappear into the darkness. When she was alone, she walked to the closet, peeled off her jacket and hung it up. But as soon as she set the wire hanger onto the rod, the wooden bar collapsed, hitting the carpet with a thump. She stared at her jacket, crumpled beneath the rod, for a long moment, then sighed and left it there. If this was a sign of things to come, she really didn’t want to think about it.
Figuring things couldn’t get much worse, she resolutely walked to the phone, picked up the receiver and started to dial. Now all she had to do was keep her mother from doing handsprings over some imagined reunion between her and Sam.
Martha Beckett desperately wanted grandchildren and wasn’t above using the age-old weapon of guilt in an attempt to convince her only daughter to provide said babies before she was too old to enjoy them.
Karen half turned on the bed to watch as Sam came back into the room, and at the same time her mother picked up the phone on her end.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Mom,” Karen said, swinging her gaze back to something safe. Like the wall. “It’s me.”
“Honey,” her mother crooned, “I’m so glad you called back. You’re out of the storm, I take it? Safe?”
“Yeah,” she said. Safe from the hurricane, anyway.
“Good. Now, I want to hear all about you and Sam. You didn’t tell me you were back together!”
“We’re not, Mom,” Karen said, knowing it was useless but giving it the old college try, anyway.
“I was just telling your dad the other day that I just knew you two would work things out eventually!”
Karen groaned, and lifted one hand to rub the sudden throb that had leaped up dead center of her forehead.
“Now, the way I see it,” Sam said, stalking around the tiny room like a caged tiger, “we’ll each have our own areas.”
“We will?”
“Yeah.” He glanced at her, sitting on the bed with her back up against the headboard and her long legs crossed at the ankle. Even in the dim light of the pitifully low-wattage bulbs in the bedside lamps, Karen’s blond hair shone like sunlight. Her blue eyes watched him, and one corner of her mouth lifted in a half smile that teased him with memories of other times. Happier times.
Instantly, he remembered lazy Sunday mornings in her bed. Waking up with her cuddled up beside him. The soft hush of her breath on his chest, the lemony scent of her hair, the tantalizing magic of her touch.
“Sam?” she said, loudly enough to tell him it wasn’t the first time she’d called his name.
“Huh? Oh. Yeah.” He shoved one hand across the top of his head and reminded himself that those days were over. Karen had called a halt to what they’d had, and if he had an ounce of sense, he’d remember that and forget all the rest.
Or at least try to.
“Anyway,” he said firmly, “I figure you can have the bed. I’ll take the floor.”
“Deal.”
One eyebrow lifted. “That was fast.”
“Well, the feminist in me wants to argue that we should at least take turns sleeping on the floor. But…”
“Yeah?”
“The girl in me thinks the bed is pretty comfortable and really hates sleeping bags.”
He laughed shortly. “I remember. You really weren’t much of a camper.”
“It rained.”
“We had a tent.”
“Yeah, and every bug in the county came inside to get out of the rain.” She smiled, and just for a moment the problems between them dissolved in the memory of their last good weekend together.
They stared at each other for a long, tension-filled moment, then Karen abruptly ended the spell by leaping off the bed to grab up one of her bags. “Might as well settle in, huh?”
“Right,” he muttered, and mentally pushed his desire for her into a tight, hard knot deep into a corner of his soul.
A half an hour later, their respective “camps” were set up. At the foot of the bed, Sam studied his area, making sure all was as it should be. Against the wall, he’d stacked his MREs—meals ready to eat—bottled water, a battery-operated radio and a lantern. His sleeping bag lay open on the floor in front of his supplies, and he kneeled on it while he unrolled his poncho.
“What are you doing now?” Karen asked.
He glanced at her over his shoulder. Both of his eyebrows lifted as he said pointedly, “I’m getting ready for a hurricane. Unlike some people…”
“I’m ready,” she argued, not looking at him.
“Yeah,” he said wryly. “I can see that.”
Once she’d finished painting the last of her toe-nails, Karen looked up to meet his gaze. “Hey, I finished unpacking twenty minutes ago.”
“You unpacked your cooler.”
“I was thirsty.”
“Karen…”
“Lighten up, Sarge,” she said. “It’s not like there’s anything we can do beyond sitting in this room and waiting for the darn storm to hit.”
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Maureen Child
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: A torrential hurricane stranded Karen Beckett in a tiny motel room with Gunnery Sergeant Sam Paretti, the one man she never wanted to see again! Just months before, Karen had severed all ties with the gorgeous marine–but bittersweet memories of their love refused to vacate her mind.Now her rescuer demanded a hefty price for shelter from the storm. His eyes shimmered with a desire equal to the hunger clawing at Karen′s control. But she had to resist! Because to surrender to their urgent need would mean exposing her past…and admitting her fathomless love for Sam….