Marooned with a Marine Read online

  “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 20 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

  Books by Maureen Child

  Silhouette Desire

  Have Bride, Need Groom #1059

  The Surprise Christmas Bride #1112

  Maternity Bride #1138

  *The Littlest Marine #1167

  *The Non-Commissioned Baby #1174

  *The Oldest Living Married Virgin #1180

  *Colonel Daddy #1211

  *Mom in Waiting #1234

  *Marine under the Mistletoe #1258

  *The Daddy Salute #1275

  *The Last Santini Virgin #1312

  *The Next Santini Bride #1317

  *Marooned with a Marine #1325

  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

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  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 kill
er.

  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.”