The Littlest Marine & The Oldest Living Married Virgin Read online

  “Well,” Terry said, apparently not noticing her sister’s momentary lapse of attention. “Mike told me. It started in boot camp. Mike says Harding refused to accept less than the best from himself. He pushed himself higher and harder than any of the others—which only earned his squad mates extra duty—because he would show them up so badly.”

  Elizabeth nodded. That sounded like what she would have expected from Harding Casey.

  “When the guys called him on it, he only challenged them to improve.” Terry shook her head and smiled. “Anyway, his stubbornness started the nickname there. But when he was sent to Grenada, some of his men were pinned down by enemy fire with no way out.”

  Immediately Elizabeth, the daughter of a soldier, envisioned the scene in her mind. She saw a small group of Marines, trapped, with bullets biting into the dust at their feet, zinging off rocks by their heads.

  Terry continued. “Apparently, when no one else could think of what to do, Harding went in, under fire, and risked his own life to pull his men out—one by one. He went back time and again until they were all safe.” She shrugged, stopped and faced her sister squarely. “He simply refused to give up. Refused to accept failure.”

  Her eyes teared at the mental picture of Harding risking his life repeatedly for the lives of his men. It was so clear to her, she could almost hear the bullets flying.

  “Lizzie,” Terry whispered urgently. “There’s something between you two, isn’t there?”

  So much for keeping it a secret, Elizabeth thought as she nodded miserably.

  “I knew it,” Terry crowed. “I knew you two would be good together.”

  “Don’t book the church,” Elizabeth said, before her little sister could get up a full head of steam. “Whatever Harding and I have, it’s not going to end in marriage.”

  “Lizzie…”

  “Let it go, Terry.” She looked directly into her sister’s eyes. “Please. You know I never planned on getting married. And Harding is shipping out in less than three weeks.”

  “He’ll be back, though.”

  Yes, he would be back. But would he be coming back to her? Or would the heat of the fire between them burn itself out while he was gone?

  She didn’t voice her thoughts, merely shook her head sadly.

  Grabbing both of her hands, Terry bent in close and whispered fiercely. “Lizzie, don’t blow this. Don’t blow a chance to be happy.”

  “Stop, Terry. You don’t know—”

  “I know, I know. You hate the military.”

  “Not the military itself,” she corrected. “It’s the constant moving, never belonging I don’t like. And the absences. Don’t you remember all of those times when Dad was gone? All of the birthdays he missed? The Christmases?”

  “Sure I do,” Terry said. “But I remember everything else, too. I remember his homecomings and having him there, at home every night. I remember the love.”

  “So do I, Terry,” Elizabeth said softly, “but—”

  “No buts,” her sister said. “I told you how stubborn Hard Case is, right?”

  Elizabeth nodded.

  “If he loves you, Lizzie, he won’t stop. Just like in Grenada, he’ll keep coming back. He’ll slip under any bullets you throw at him and keep coming back until you’re convinced. As for the travel and deployment,” she shrugged. “It wouldn’t be hard, Lizzie. Not if you really love him.”

  She wanted to believe, which surprised her. A week ago she wouldn’t have even entertained the notion of marriage at all. Now, here she was having a heart-to-heart with her baby sister about a Marine of all people.

  Taking a deep breath, she gave her weary mind permission to shut down for a while. There was simply too much to think about. And now wasn’t the time for it.

  “I appreciate it, Terry,” she said, leaning into her sister for a quick hug. “But Harding and I don’t love each other.” Not a lie, was it?

  The blushing bride didn’t look convinced.

  “Look,” Elizabeth said, “just enjoy your own wedding day, all right? Quit worrying about planning mine?”

  “Okay,” she finally answered. “But we’ll talk about this again. When Mike and I get back from Jamaica?”

  Elizabeth nodded, grateful for the respite. Hopefully, by the time the honeymooners were back, this firestorm with Harding would have fizzled out, and there would be nothing to talk about.

  “There you are,” Mike announced, coming up behind his new wife and swinging her in a wide circle. “No one will dance with me.”

  “Well,” Terry retorted, “we can’t have that, can we?”

  As the newlyweds started for the dance floor, arm in arm, Terry looked back over her shoulder. “Later?”

  Elizabeth nodded, relieved to be alone again.

  “Dance with me?” A familiar, deep voice rumbled from behind her and she slowly turned around. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, her blood raced through her veins and her knees wobbled unsteadily.

  Would she always react like this to him? she wondered. Would his voice always sink to the base of her spine and send chills coursing up and down her back?

  His clear blue eyes locked with hers, and Elizabeth felt herself drowning in their depths. She couldn’t have looked away if her life had hung in the balance.

  “Dance with me,” he repeated, this time making it a command, not a request.

  She nodded slightly and took the hand he offered her. Sizzles of heat snaked up her arm from their joined hands as she followed him to the dance floor. There, he turned, pulled her into his arms and began to lead her around the floor. Swaying, their bodies touching, she let her mind wander, giving herself over to the sensation of being held by him.

  Remembering that in less than three weeks he would be gone from her life.

  Harding clenched his jaw tight and somehow managed to keep his grasp on her gentle. “Nice wedding,” he said.

  “It was, wasn’t it?”

  “They look happy.”

  She turned her head and looked at the happy couple. He did too. Mike and Terry were lost in each other. Joy radiated from them like warmth from the sun.

  “What were you and your sister talking about?” he asked quietly. He had come up on them too late to overhear anything, but from the expression on Elizabeth’s features, she hadn’t been any too pleased with the conversation.

  Elizabeth shifted her gaze to meet his. He studied those soft brown eyes for a long moment, but whatever she was thinking, she was managing to conceal it from him.

  “Nothing, really,” she said, and he knew she was lying.

  The only reason she would have to lie was if she had been talking about him. Damn, he wondered what she had said.

  “You’ve made quite an impression on my parents,” Elizabeth said and moved with him through a slow turn.

  “They’re nice people.” Lord, it was as if they were strangers. This polite conversation was tearing at him.

  “I saw you and Dad talking together earlier,” she commented.

  He stiffened slightly. He wasn’t about to let her know that he and his father were discussing her. She would immediately want to know what had been said—and the truth was, he wasn’t very sure of that himself.

  “Anything you want to tell me about?” she asked.

  “No,” he said, avoiding her gaze. Just like her, he was lying. Now he was convinced she and Terry had been talking about him. “Just two old Marines exchanging war stories.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes delving deeply into his. He would never get tired of staring into her eyes.

  “My parents will be leaving tomorrow.”

  “So soon?” he asked, despite the fact that this seemed like the longest weekend of his life. Not being able to be with her was harder on him than boot camp had ever been.

  She smiled wryly as if reading his mind. “Yes. Dad’s anxious to get back to his cronies and the golf course, and Mom’s sure that the volunteer staff at the local hospital can’t get along without her
.”

  Her smile didn’t falter, but he could see that the thought of her parents leaving made her sad. “You’ll miss them.”

  “Yeah, I will.” Elizabeth inhaled sharply. “We don’t get together often enough. But, ever since Dad retired, they’re almost never home. Always off on some little trip or other.”

  “So even though he left the Corps, they still travel a lot.”

  She nodded. “I hadn’t thought of it like that, but yes. Sometimes,” she added wistfully, “compared to them I feel like a stick-in-the-mud.”

  He frowned slightly and pulled her closer against him. He inhaled the soft, sweet scent of the fresh lavender and sterling rosebuds that made up the wreath encircling her head. Harding concentrated on that scent, trying to memorize it, so that when he was alone, in Okinawa, thousands of miles from her, he would be able to draw on that memory and bring her close.

  She laid her head down on his shoulder, apparently deciding to ignore whoever might be watching them. His right hand smoothed up and down her back, caressing the silk covering her flesh.

  Silent now, they danced together with controlled, yet fluid movements. The intimacy of their dance announcing that they were more than polite strangers. He felt her soft sigh, and all he wanted to do was pick her up, carry her to the Mustang outside and drive like a shot to her condo.

  But he couldn’t. Not with her parents in residence.

  Memories of the past few days filled him, making his body tight and hard and filling his mind with erotic images of Elizabeth.

  He saw her as he made love to her, looking into her eyes as a climax took her. He saw her smile and reach for him. He saw her naked in her kitchen, scrambling eggs for the two of them at one in the morning.

  His right hand slipped lower on her back, riding just above the swell of her behind. His fingers itched to touch her. The crowd of dancers swirled around them, but for him, it was as if they were alone in the room. All he saw was her. All he felt was her.

  All he wanted was her.

  A warning jolt shot through him. For all of his care, all of his noble intentions of keeping his distance, he wanted Elizabeth. Not just for the few short weeks he had remaining stateside, but for a lifetime.

  But a lifetime of Elizabeth meant marriage.

  The truth shocked him.

  The depths of his feelings rattled around inside him like a sword in a scabbard.

  He loved her. More than he had ever imagined it possible to love a woman, he loved Elizabeth Stone.

  Yet that simple fact was met and challenged by another.

  She didn’t want a husband. And even if she did, he had already tried marriage…and failed miserably.

  Ten

  Two weeks slipped by with almost eerie speed.

  Elizabeth tried not to notice the calendar. She made every effort to not think beyond the moment. Daily, while working in her kitchen, testing new recipes, she had to focus to keep her mind on the work at hand. And still her gaze drifted to the clock on the wall, slowly counting down the hours until Harding would arrive.

  She turned the water on, sending clouds of steam rushing up into her face. Squirting liquid soap into the sink, she absently watched bubbles froth and blossom on the surface of the wash water. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she noticed that the Beethoven CD had ended, but she didn’t move to replace it. Instead, as she picked up a dishcloth and began to work, she indulged herself in thoughts of Harding.

  They had eased into a familiar routine over the past two weeks. He reported for duty at the base every morning, then as soon as his shift was finished, he drove to her condo. They had dinner, rented movies and sometimes went for walks on the beach.

  And they loved.

  Elizabeth shivered as she washed a cherished ceramic bowl and set it in the dish drainer. She rarely used the dishwasher, since most of her equipment was too treasured to trust to machinery. Besides, washing dishes freed her mind, and she had thought up some of her best recipes while her hands were buried in soapsuds.

  As she turned off the water, she reached for a fresh towel and began drying the mountain of mixing bowls and utensils. While she worked, her mind wandered back to the subject that seemed to fascinate it most.

  Harding Casey.

  Images raced through her brain. Erotic images. Loving images. Together they had christened nearly every room in her condo. There wasn’t a place in her home where she could go and not be reminded of him. His touch. His kisses. His deep voice and the whispered words of passion that had been ingrained in her memory.

  All night, every night, they lay in each other’s arms, talking of their pasts, because any mention of a future would only destroy their present. And every morning at dawn he rose from her bed, showered and dressed. Then he left her to return to the base.

  And every morning when he was gone, she moved over on her queen-size mattress to lie where he had lain. The still-warm sheets comforted her, his pillow rested beneath her head, and she dreamed of that night, when he would come again.

  But the few short days they had left were quickly passing. In no time she would be alone again.

  What would she do when he was gone?

  Mechanically she walked around the kitchen, returning her equipment to its proper places. Soon, he would be leaving. Six long months when she wouldn’t see him…be held by him.

  And there was no guarantee that she would see him again when he returned, either. She stopped short, caught by that thought. Did she want a guarantee? Wasn’t she the one who had insisted from the start that she wasn’t looking for a long-term relationship? Hadn’t she insisted that marriage wasn’t in her plans?

  Marriage? Where had that come from?

  She almost laughed aloud at the pitiful attempt at self-delusion. Thoughts of marriage had been lurking near the edge of her consciousness for days. So far she hadn’t let them get any further.

  Tossing the damp towel down onto the butcher-block counter, Elizabeth stared around at the world she’d created for herself so painstakingly. Up-to-the-minute appliances. Plenty of workspace. Homey, yet modern. Everything she had wanted her home to be.

  And yet…until meeting Harding Casey, she had never noticed just how empty it was. How the wind blowing across the shutters sounded like a soft sigh. Folding her arms over her chest, she leaned against the countertop, feeling the edge of the butcher block bite into the base of her spine.

  Had the place always been this quiet? she wondered. Was that the reason she was constantly feeding the CD player or flipping on the TV? Or had she noticed the quiet now merely because the past three weeks she had rarely been alone?

  Rubbing her face briskly with both hands, she then reached up and yanked her tortoiseshell headband off. Instantly a budding headache eased. She combed her fingers through her hair and tugged at the hem of her pale pink tank top.

  Glancing down at herself, she wondered vaguely if she should change clothes before Harding arrived. A white splotch of flour and water had crusted over, in the center of her shirt between her breasts, and there was a grease stain on the right leg of her cutoff denim shorts.

  Then she heard the front door open.

  “Elizabeth?”

  “In here,” she called out, a familiar excitement already flooding her system. Her stomach muscles tightened, and every inch of her body went on red alert. Would she always feel this incredible surge of elation just at the sound of his voice?

  He stepped through the kitchen doorway, a white paper bag resting in the curve of one arm. A familiar, somehow cloying, aroma filled the kitchen and Elizabeth swallowed heavily.

  “Chinese?” she asked.

  He shrugged and set the bag on the table. “I figured you might like takeout for a change.”

  Thoughtful. She loved Chinese food. Her stomach jumped again, but this time it wasn’t as pleasant a sensation. Licking suddenly dry lips, she tried to ignore the flutter of unease rippling through her.

  “Getting tired of my cooking?” she teased as
she took a step closer to him.

  “Nope,” he assured her with a wink. “But I’ve got plans for you lady…and they don’t include cooking.”

  Oh, Lord. Her knees turned to jelly, and damp heat rushed to her center. “What kind of plans?” she asked, after clearing her throat.

  He pulled her up tight against him and wrapped his arms around her. Elizabeth closed her eyes tight, wanting to always remember what it felt like to be held this close to him. There were six months of lonely nights ahead of her, and she would need every one of her memories to survive them.

  She bent her head and buried her nose in his shoulder, hoping to avoid the almost overpowering odor of sweet-and-sour sauce.

  Harding threaded his fingers through her hair, cupping the back of her head in his palm.

  The need didn’t ease. The hunger he felt for her only strengthened with each passing day. He kept telling himself that a passion as hot as theirs couldn’t last. Couldn’t sustain itself. But not only did it continue to burn, it continued to surpass itself.

  She shuddered in his arms, and he told himself he was a lucky man. There weren’t many men, he would wager, who had a woman as eager for him as he was for her. Smiling to himself, he looked down and eased her head back until he could see her clearly.

  Eyes closed, her lips clamped tightly, she looked a bit paler than she had when he had walked in. As he watched her, she swallowed heavily, inhaled, then grimaced.

  “Elizabeth?” he asked, sudden concern overriding his desire. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “Well, you don’t look fine,” he told her. As he spoke he saw tiny beads of sweat break out on her forehead. Alarmed, he laid the back of his hand against her clammy skin to check for a fever.

  She pushed back out of his arms. “I’m not sick, Harding,” she said, her voice ringing with determination. “It’s just that smell.”

  Frowning, he studied her. “What smell?”

  Elizabeth waved one hand at the sack on the table. “That.” She inhaled sharply again, scowled and took a few steps away from the food. “Can’t you smell it?”