The Littlest Marine & The Oldest Living Married Virgin Read online

  “What do you mean, ‘nope’?”

  “I mean,” he said, opening the car door for her, “I have no intention of telling Mike that I can’t handle being around you for a week.”

  “But—”

  “Princess,” he said, “I’ve been in battle. I’ve been stranded in jungles with nothing to eat but my own shoes.” His voice deepened as he loomed over her, and Elizabeth’s head fell back on her neck as she struggled to maintain eye contact. “I’ve taken lazy, unmotivated teenagers and made them into first-class Marines. I’ve been in charge of hundreds of men and tons of equipment.”

  “So?” She managed to ask.

  “So, I’m damn sure not running up the white flag because of a couple of kisses.” That said, he jerked his head toward the car. “Now, get in and I’ll take you home.”

  Bristling at the command, Elizabeth pitched her wet shoes and stockings into the car, planted her fists on her hips and gave him a glare guaranteed to melt stone. “We’re not leaving yet, Marine.”

  His black eyebrows lifted.

  Who the hell did he think he was? Did he really think that he could ignore her better than she could ignore him? This was precisely why she had always steered clear of the military type. Giving orders was second nature to them. Well, if he thought he could tell her to do anything, he had a big surprise coming.

  Poking him in the chest with the tip of her index finger, she went on. “I’ve never been in battle or a jungle. But I have faced down a hungry crowd with nothing to feed them but a ruined soufflé and overdone bread. I’ve met deadlines, done book tours that left me so tired, death looked like a vacation, and, mister, there isn’t a Marine alive who can outlast me.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off.

  “And as for those kisses, don’t flatter yourself. I’ve been kissed before, buster—and if that’s the best you’ve got, believe me, I’ll be able to keep from hurling myself at your manly chest.”

  A glimmer of a smile raced across his features, then disappeared.

  “Manly chest, eh?”

  “A figure of speech,” she said. A true figure of speech, but that was beside the point. Also beside the point was the fact that she had lied about the potency of his kisses. Sure she had been kissed before. But never like that.

  “You finished?” he asked.

  “For now.”

  He nodded slowly. “Fine, I just want to say one thing.”

  “What?”

  “You may be tougher than you look, princess. But this Marine can outlast you anytime.”

  “Humph!” She’d lost track of exactly what they were talking about here, so she figured that answer was her only safe one.

  “Then we’re agreed?” he asked.

  “Agreed,” she snapped, then added, “Agreed on what?”

  “That a couple of kisses are no reason to admit defeat.”

  “Oh. Sure.”

  “Fine, then, it’s settled.” He set one hand on the top of the car door and ushered her inside with the other. “We can’t be friends, but we can last out the week in each other’s company.”

  “No problem,” she said firmly, and settled back in the seat as he closed the car door and walked around to the other side. He slid into the driver’s seat, jammed the key into the ignition, then looked at her before firing up the engine.

  Blue eyes locked with brown. Elizabeth’s heartbeat jumped into high gear. The palms of her hands were sweaty, and deep within her a core of heat burst into flame.

  “No problem,” she whispered.

  “Right,” he said, with as little conviction as she felt.

  The South Coast Plaza mall was packed. Saturday-morning crowds teemed through the cavernous place. Moms pushing strollers, crying babies, lounging teenagers, professional types with cell phones glued to their ears all competed for walking room.

  Elizabeth came to an abrupt stop beside the escalator. A stroller clipped her heel and rolled on past without even slowing down. She winced, shot the oblivious mother a glare, then turned back to the man on her right.

  Harding looked hopelessly out of place. That spit-and-polish Marine exterior stood out like several sore thumbs, in the midst of suburbia. She shook her head as she looked up—way up at him. Without the benefit of her three-inch heels, Elizabeth felt short for the first time in her life.

  Mercy, he was gorgeous. Just for a moment she allowed herself to remember how it had felt to be cradled against that massive chest of his. Memories rushed into her brain. The strength of his arms. The warmth of his kiss.

  The abrupt way he’d left her at her front door the night before.

  She drew one deep, shaky breath. This was going to be a long week.

  “So what’s first?” Harding asked, startling Elizabeth out of her reverie.

  “Oh!” She glanced down at the list in her hand. Her sister, Terry, was nothing if not efficient. On the small memo pad, there was a different list for every day during this last hectic week before the wedding. Looking under Saturday, Elizabeth read out loud, “Pick up going-away dress at the Flim Flam.”

  “Flim Flam?” Harding echoed.

  “A new dress shop here in the mall.”

  He nodded. “Anything else?”

  “Yeah, she wants us to pick up Mike’s wedding present at Macy’s.”

  “Where’s that?” Harding asked, staring into the distance.

  “At the other end of the mall.” Elizabeth checked her watch. They had plenty of time, actually, but it gave her something to do. “Why don’t you go to Macy’s, I’ll pick up her dress then meet you at the coffee bar.”

  “All right,” he said. “What am I picking up?”

  She laughed shortly. “Sorry. Go to the jewelry counter. Terry bought him a watch last week, and the engraving is finally done. They’ll be holding it for her there.” She dug into her shoulder bag and came up with a receipt. Handing it to him, she said, “Show them this. You shouldn’t have a problem. It’s already paid for.”

  He glanced at the paper, folded it neatly into fours, then tucked it into his pants pocket.

  “Macy’s is right at the end of that concourse,” she told him, pointing off to the left.

  He smirked at her. “I think I’ll be able to find it.”

  She shrugged. “Okay then, see you at the coffee bar in one hour.”

  Elizabeth turned to go, but he grabbed her hand, pulling her back to his side. Carefully he checked the time on her wristwatch, then adjusted hers to match his exactly.

  “Synchronizing our watches?” she said on a muffled laugh.

  “Yep.” He gave her a brief nod, then said, “Coffee bar, eleven hundred thirty hours.”

  She stifled the groan building in her chest. Memories of all the years she had spent living according to military time flashed through her brain and left again just as quickly. It didn’t matter. She was through with all of that. She and Harding were only going to be around each other for a week—there was no point in arguing with him all the time.

  “Fine. Eleven-thirty. The coffee bar’s on the second level,” she said, “right next to—”

  “I’ll find it.”

  “But this mall is really big, Harding. It can be very confusing.” Elizabeth shopped there all the time, and even she had been known to lose her bearings a time or two.

  He gave her a slow, patronizing, infuriating smile as he shook his head. “Elizabeth, in the Corps, I am what is known as a pathfinder.”

  That was a new one to her. One eyebrow rose as she asked, “As in Last of the Mohicans?”

  He frowned briefly. “As in I am trained to be able to survive in a jungle with nothing but a piece of string and a knife. I think I’ll be able to find my way around a shopping center.”

  She felt she should point out that very few jungles are equipped with banks of elevators, hundreds of people, strolling musicians, a double-decker carousel and dozens of corridors, each of them just like the last. But…who was she to argue with a
pathfinder?

  “Okay, Hawkeye,” Elizabeth said with a half smile. “Go to it! On my mark, I’ll meet you in one hour.” She looked down at her watch, snapped out “Mark!” then turned on her heel and disappeared into the crowds.

  Amazing. One minute she was there and the next she wasn’t. In the constantly shifting crowd of people, he couldn’t even catch a glimpse of her. He didn’t even want to think about what this place must be like during the Christmas shopping rush.

  Minutes ticked by before he told himself to get moving. He wanted to be sitting at that blasted coffee bar having a nice, leisurely snack by the time she arrived. Mumbling “Excuse me” to the elderly woman who crashed right into him, Harding stepped onto the escalator and descended into Suburban Hell.

  Fifty-five minutes later, Harding tightened his grip on the small Macy’s package in his hand and started down yet another corridor. He glanced from storefront to storefront, sure he’d been that way before. Frowning, he came to a dead stop in front of a kitchenware shop. Dammit, he recognized that three-foot-tall chicken in the display window. Either he was walking in circles or there was more than one chicken wearing a chef’s hat decorated with big red hearts somewhere in this blasted mall.

  Scowling furiously, he glanced at his wristwatch. Nearly time. So much for having a leisurely snack while waiting for Elizabeth. At this rate he’d be lucky to find the damned coffee bar before the wedding.

  A logical voice in his head told him he should just find a directory kiosk. He seemed to recall seeing one…somewhere. But that went sorely against the grain. Of course, he could simply ask someone for directions. He shook his head at the thought. No. He’d made his brag. He’d told Elizabeth that he could find his way through this overpriced maze, and blast it, that’s just what he was going to do.

  He still had five full minutes. Plenty of time. He would not be beaten by a shopping mall!

  “Excuse me, private,” a soft voice said from behind him.

  Private? He stiffened at the insult, turned around and looked down into the sharp green eyes of a woman at least seventy years old. Her silvery hair was permed and sprayed into submission, and her bright pink sweatshirt had the words Mall Walker emblazoned across the front. He assumed the term had nothing in common with another well-known phrase…street walker.

  “Yes, ma’am?” he asked.

  “Don’t you look handsome?” she said softly, with a slow shake of her head. “My, I always did love a Marine uniform better than just about anything….”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he started, already looking for a chance to get away. He had only five minutes to find that coffee shop. Harding glanced at the short woman planted firmly in front of him. What was it about a uniform that got people talking?

  “You know, my dear late husband, Edgar, was a Marine.”

  “Yes, ma’am?” He gave a mental sigh and wondered how he would be able to escape without hurting the woman’s feelings. He didn’t want to be rude, but he simply didn’t have the time to listen to a stream of memories from a military admirer.

  “Oh my, yes. He was a private, too.”

  He winced inwardly at the slap at his rank. It couldn’t hurt to straighten her out a little. “Actually ma’am, I’m a Sergeant Major.”

  “No matter.” She waved one hand at him and gave him a small smile. “My Edgar was a part of D Day, you know.”

  “Really?” People streamed past him like a swiftly moving river rushing past a rock. A rock buried deep in the mud and moving nowhere. Fast. He resisted looking at his watch again.

  “Oh, yes. Why, if it hadn’t been for my Edgar, who knows what might have happened on that horrible day.” She paused, and when he didn’t prompt her, she added, “World War II? D Day? The Normandy Invasion? Surely they teach privates about World War II these days.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, and bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling wryly. “I believe it’s been mentioned a time or two.”

  “Well, thank heavens. I’d hate to think Edgar’s sacrifice was in vain, you know.”

  Sacrifice? Immediately contrite that he hadn’t given her his complete attention, he told himself that the widow of a fellow Marine deserved better. Quietly Harding said, “I’m sorry ma’am. He died at Normandy, then?”

  She jerked her head back and stared at him, horrified. “I should say not! Why he’s at the Golf Pro shop this very minute.”

  Now he really was lost. “But you said ‘his sacrifice’?”

  She frowned at him. “My Edgar was deathly ill at the time…his sinuses have always been a source of travail for the dear man…yet he put his own misery aside in order to drive the men to the harbor where they boarded the ships to mount the invasion. If not for my Edgar—” she shook her head slowly “—why, everything might have turned out differently.”

  Oh, for— Giving her a polite nod, he sent his best to Edgar and made his escape as quickly as possible. Pick a direction. Any direction. Some pathfinder, he told himself. Yet in his own defense, he had to admit that the people now rushing through familiar territory would be completely lost in a jungle. He, on the other hand, would shine in such a situation.

  He glanced at his watch and grumbled in irritation. Eleven thirty-five. Shifting his gaze to sweep across the crowded mall, he was almost ready to cry defeat and look for a directory when he had a better idea.

  Casually he strolled toward a group of four teenage girls and stopped just a foot or two short of them. Then he wondered aloud, “Now where was that coffee bar?”

  One of the girls giggled and elbowed her friend who was staring at Harding in wide-eyed appreciation. “Are you looking for Lola’s Latte?” the giggler asked.

  Lola? Latte? “Would that be the coffee bar on the second level?” he asked, just to make sure.

  “That’s the one,” another girl piped up.

  “Then, yes,” Harding told them. “I am looking for Lola’s.” He swallowed what was left of his pride and asked, “Do you know where it is?”

  “Sure,” the giggler spoke up again, pushed past her friends and sidled up close to Harding.

  She couldn’t have been more than seventeen, so he took a hasty step back. Quite a day. First Grandma, then a kid.

  “Go right along here,” the girl said, “turn right at the Pokey Puppy, go past the Discovery store and Lola’s is right next to Potato Pete’s.”

  Potato, Pokey, Discovery, he had to get out of this place. “Thanks, ladies,” he said, and started moving, ignoring the giggler’s heavy sigh as he brushed past her. He was already late, but if he hurried, maybe he’d get lucky. Maybe Elizabeth had gotten held up at the dress shop. Maybe he would still beat her to their appointment.

  Then again, maybe not.

  He slowed down purposely when he saw her sitting at a small round table outside Lola’s, leisurely sipping from an oversize yellow coffee cup. Bad enough that he was late. No sense in looking like he was running.

  In the instant before she saw him, Harding took a long minute to appreciate the picture she made.

  No one should be able to look as good in jeans as she did in black silk. But somehow, Elizabeth managed it. Those worn, faded Levi’s of hers hugged her long, slender legs like the hands of a familiar lover. Her tight blue T-shirt clung to her full breasts, defining a figure made to drive a man crazy. She shook her soft brown hair back from her face, and her gold hoop earrings glinted in the sunshine spilling in from the overhead skylight.

  Harding gritted his teeth. He’d already had one long, sleepless night, thanks to memories of her and the kisses they’d shared on a moonlit beach. Studying her in such close detail wasn’t helping any.

  She spotted him and raised a hand to wave at him. He swallowed the groan rising in his chest as his gaze locked on the smooth expanse of lightly tanned skin exposed between the hem of her shirt and the waistband of her jeans.

  He walked to the coffee bar as quickly as he could, ignoring the ache in his groin caused by just the sigh
t of her. He had the distinct feeling that as long as he was around Elizabeth Stone, he wouldn’t be walking in comfort.

  A smile curved one corner of her mouth as he dropped into the chair opposite her. Glancing first at her watch, she looked at him through amused brown eyes. “Eleven forty-five, Sergeant Major.”

  “I know.” He shifted in the chair, set the Macy’s bag on the table and tried to ignore the tantalizing temptation of her luscious mouth.

  She grinned, and something inside him tightened.

  “Lost?” she asked.

  “No,” he corrected. “Just…delayed.”

  “Uh-huh,” Elizabeth nodded, set her cup down and signaled for the waiter. Looking back at Harding, she asked, “Would you like a cup of coffee? A compass? Or perhaps just a knife and a piece of string?”

  The glimmer of amusement in her eyes couldn’t be ignored. Neither could the knot of need centering low in his belly. Humiliating as it was to admit, he wanted her more than anything. Even her laughter at his ineptness wasn’t enough to quash the desire building within him.

  Determined to ignore the direction his thoughts were taking, he forced a smile and admitted, “Coffee would be great. And if you’re going to leave me alone in this place again…a compass wouldn’t be out of line.”

  Elizabeth looked surprised, then a short chuckle rippled past her throat and settled over him. Reaching across the table, she lightly laid her hand atop his.

  “Congratulations, Harding. You’re the first man I’ve ever known to admit to being lost.”

  He looked down at their joined hands. Jagged streaks of heat stabbed at him. Lifting his gaze, he met hers and saw the same staggering sense of awareness reflected in her eyes.

  Immediately she pulled her hand back and buried it in her lap.

  A waiter silently came up to the table.

  And the moment was lost.

  But Harding had a feeling that during the next week with Elizabeth, there would be plenty of such moments.

  Five

  That was a mistake.

  Under cover of the tabletop, Elizabeth rubbed the fingers of her right hand together. It did no good, though. Her flesh still tingled as if she’d received a small electrical shock.