The Littlest Marine & The Oldest Living Married Virgin Page 5

  She should have known better than to touch him. Hadn’t the memory of his kisses kept her up half the night? Yes, but by the time dawn had streaked across the sky, she had managed to convince herself that she had imagined her strange, overpowering reaction to Harding Casey. So much for that theory.

  “Elizabeth?” he asked. “Are you all right?”

  No. Definitely not. “Sure,” she said, forcing a lightness she didn’t feel into her tone. “I’m fine.”

  “Then, you don’t want another cup of coffee?” he asked, nodding his head toward the impatient-looking waiter standing alongside their table.

  Lord. Apparently a simple touch of Harding’s hand could send her into a zombielike state where she didn’t even hear conversations going on around her. How long had the two of them been waiting for her attention?

  “Actually,” she said, pushing her nearly empty cup to one side. “I’d love another, thanks.”

  Harding nodded at the young man, who shook his head in exasperation before picking up her cup and moving off.

  “So where were you?” he asked when they were alone again.

  “What do you mean?” Dumb. She knew exactly what he meant.

  He smiled knowingly. “Your body was here, but your mind was someplace else entirely. Thinking up new recipes?”

  “All right. I mean, yes.” It was better than anything she could come up with at the moment.

  He nodded slowly. “I guess your ideas must come to you all the time.”

  “Oh, yes,” she answered honestly. “My imagination is always active.” Way too active at times, but she didn’t need to tell him that.

  “Mike tells me that you’re making the wedding cake.”

  With the conversation moving to safe ground, Elizabeth smiled and breathed a sigh of relief. “I couldn’t let my own sister get married with just any old cake, could I?”

  “No, I suppose not.” He folded his large, callused hands together on the bright yellow tabletop. “Still, it’s a lot of work, isn’t it?”

  Elizabeth, despite her best intentions, was staring at those hands of his, imagining what it would be like to feel them moving over her flesh. Stroking. Caressing. Exploring.

  “Elizabeth?”

  “Hmm?” She snapped out of her dangerous daydream and caught his wary stare.

  “Are you sure everything’s all right?”

  “I’m fine, Sergeant Major,” she said firmly, determined to get past this ridiculous fascination she had for him. “As to the cake—” she sincerely hoped they had still been talking about the cake when she zoned out “—it will take some time, but it will be worth it.”

  “I can hardly wait to taste it,” he said softly.

  Unwillingly her gaze shifted to his mouth. A slow chill slithered up her spine, and she shivered. Thankfully, the waiter chose just that moment to appear, drinks in hand.

  Setting them down in front of her and Harding, the young man gave her another glance, then moved away quickly.

  Terrific. Even strangers were noticing her odd behavior. What had happened to all of the strong words she’d thrown at him the night before? Wasn’t she the one who had said that she could outlast any Marine? Wasn’t she the one who had said that spending a week with him wouldn’t bother her in the slightest?

  Well, it had only been two days, and not only was she bothered, she was hot and bothered.

  “So,” Harding asked, picking up the fire-engine red cup, “what am I having?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I told him to bring me one of whatever you were drinking. It seemed easier than trying to decipher that menu.”

  She smiled. True, there were far too many different types of drinks listed on the chalkboard over the counter. Being a creature of habit, Elizabeth always ordered the tried and true. “It’s café mocha.”

  He raised his cup to his lips, sniffed, smiled and tasted. “It’s good.”

  “Darn right,” she said, taking a sip herself. “It’s chocolate. Hard not to be good.”

  “Mike told me you were a fanatic about chocolate.”

  “Fanatic is a hard word.”

  “But appropriate?”

  She smiled. “Definitely.”

  “And is the wedding cake chocolate?”

  “On the inside, you bet. The outside will be traditional white…with a few surprising elements.”

  “A lot like the chef, then. Traditional, but with surprises.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He reached across the table and captured one of her hands. Instantly a jolt of electricity skittered up the length of her arm. Judging by the flash of awareness in his eyes, Harding had felt it, too.

  “That’s what I’m talking about,” he said softly. “Every time I touch you, I feel it. Something out of the ordinary. Something surprising. Startling.”

  She pulled her hand free, not because she wanted to, but because it was the only prudent move. “I thought we decided last night, that this…thing between us wasn’t going to go anywhere.”

  “I know what we said.” He spoke softly, keeping his already-deep voice pitched to a level that made her think of moonlight. Firelight. Naked passion. “But this is damned hard to ignore.”

  “We have to try.” She held her coffee cup in both hands and took a long sip before continuing. “Look, Harding,” she said, “we’re not kids. We don’t have to give in to what is basically just a hormonal urge.” Just the thought of surrender, though, brought another chill to her spine.

  “Is that all it is?” he whispered.

  “It’s all it can be.” She pulled a deep breath into her lungs and prayed that her voice would be steady when she spoke again. “Neither one of us is interested in a relationship. You’re a career Marine—and though there’s nothing wrong with that—”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “I grew up in the military. I’ve had enough.”

  “I didn’t ask you to marry me.”

  She blushed. Dammit, she could feel heat and color race up her neck and blossom in her cheeks. Served her right. He hadn’t suggested any long-term relationship. All he had talked about was their obvious attraction for each other. Hardly a declaration of undying love, for goodness’ sake.

  What was wrong with her, anyway? She hadn’t felt so clumsy and nervous around a man since she was seventeen. And this was no time to lose her sense of balance.

  “You’re right.” Elizabeth forced a choked laugh past the knot in her throat. “You didn’t. And if you had, I would have said no.”

  Something flickered in his eyes, but was gone before she could identify it. He nodded slowly, his mouth grim. “So, what’s the problem with talking about whatever this is that’s going on between us?”

  “It’s pointless, Harding,” she said. “And dangerous.”

  “How do you figure?” His index finger curled through the handle of the coffee cup. He lifted it, took a drink and waited for her answer.

  “Neither one of us wants this relationship to last beyond Mike and Terry’s wedding, right?”

  “Yeah, but—” he shrugged again and set the cup down “—we’ll probably be seeing each other off and on for years as we visit them.”

  Years. Years of torture. Years of watching him. Wanting him. Swell.

  “All the more reason to stop this before it starts,” she told him briskly. “If we were to give in to this…thing, imagine how awkward the situation would be every time we met.”

  One corner of his mouth turned up in a half smile. Damn. Why did he have to be so good-looking? Why couldn’t Mike’s best friend have been a one-eyed troll with a bad leg?

  “You don’t think this is awkward already?”

  “Difficult, not awkward. Awkward is making polite conversation with someone you’ve seen naked.”

  Now she couldn’t mistake the emotion flaring up in his eyes. Desire. Instantaneous, combustible desire. She recognized it immediately, because she was feeling the same thing. Just the thought of Ha
rding Casey, naked, invading her body with his own, was enough to start small tingles of expectation thrumming in her center. She shifted uncomfortably in the seat.

  A long, tension-filled minute passed before Harding tore his gaze from hers. “You’re right,” he said.

  “I am?” She cleared her throat. “About what in particular?”

  “About this. Talking about it. Thinking about it. It’s pointless. Not to mention frustrating as hell.” He stood up abruptly. Checking the total on their check, he pulled a bill from his pants pocket, tossed it onto the table and said, “We’d better get going, Elizabeth.” Picking up their packages, he held his free hand out to her, to help her up.

  She stared at it for a long moment, then lifted her gaze to his. If she put her hand in his, the flames would ignite, and they would be right back where they started.

  “Oh,” he said, finally understanding her hesitation. “Yeah. Okay.” His hand fell to his side, and he stepped back, giving her plenty of room to walk past him into the milling crowds.

  Safety in numbers, Elizabeth told herself. As long as they surrounded themselves with people, neither of them would be tempted to give in to what they both really wanted.

  A long, hot, incredibly satisfying night of lovemaking.

  Mentally grasping for a change in subject, she blurted, “What else has Mike told you about me?”

  Anaheim Stadium was crowded. Too early in the season for the Angels’ die-hard fans to be disgusted at yet another lost chance at the Pennant, the stands were filled with people telling each other that this year would be the year.

  Harding looked to his right briefly. Mike and Terry were so wrapped up in each other, they probably hadn’t noticed that the game was half-over. Shifting his gaze, he looked at the woman sitting on his left. Three days. He’d only known her for three days…and yet, it felt like forever. He hardly remembered a time when he hadn’t had the image of her soft brown eyes in his mind. Her scent haunted him and every moment spent with her was a strange combination of pleasure and torture.

  No woman had ever affected him like this.

  Elizabeth made a notation on the score book page of the program laying across her lap, then shouted at the home plate umpire.

  “If you can’t see any better than that, I’ll give you a ride home. You shouldn’t be driving!”

  Harding suppressed a chuckle and only half heard the man sitting behind them mutter, “You tell ’im, lady!”

  Who would have guessed that Elizabeth Stone, the Princess of Party Cooking, was such a rabid baseball fan? Sure, Mike had told him that she enjoyed the game…but she actually kept score. Not just listing home runs, but pitcher substitutions, pinch runners…everything.

  He smiled to himself as she reached up to push her hair behind her ears. Her gold hoop earrings winked in the glare of the overhead stadium lights. Harding curled his fingers into his palms to keep himself from touching her. All day, every day, he had been quelling that impulse. And it wasn’t getting any easier.

  His body tightened. He clenched his jaw at the discomfort. A discomfort he was becoming all too accustomed to.

  He stood up abruptly, and Elizabeth looked at him.

  “I’m going for something to eat,” he said, more gruffly than he had intended. “You want anything?”

  She glanced at Mike and Terry. Her sister was leaning in to accept her fiancé’s kiss. Muttering under her breath, Elizabeth stood, laid her program on her seat and said, “I’ll come with you.”

  So much for getting a little distance, he told himself. Glancing over his shoulder, he asked, “Mike. You two want anything?”

  Mike didn’t even look up. He just shook his head and kissed Terry again. Grumbling softly, Harding stepped out onto the stepped aisle and followed Elizabeth to the upper level. He tried to keep his gaze from locking on to the seductive sway of her bottom in those worn jeans. But he failed.

  The line at the snack bar was ten people deep. They joined the crowd silently, Harding standing directly in back of her. An inch or so of space separated them, and still he could feel the heat emanating from her and taunting him with her nearness.

  Where had all of his resistance gone? What had happened to the man who had insisted that he could spend a week in this woman’s company without giving in to desire? Humph. The answer was easy. Three days into the week, that fool of a man was discovering that he was feeling something more than desire. Something that wouldn’t be ignored and apparently had no intention of going away.

  “Enjoying the game?” she asked over the noisy hum of the crowd.

  “Not as much as you are,” he said. Conversation was good. Maybe talking would help keep his mind too occupied for dangerous daydreams.

  She glanced at him over her shoulder and smiled. “Baseball was the one thing my father and I shared. We never stayed in one place long enough to call any team ‘ours,’ so we always cheered for the Yankees. Since I moved to California, I’ve finally got a home team to root for. The Angels beak my heart annually, but I won’t give up on them.”

  “Never surrender?”

  “Exactly.”

  The crowd moved as one, inching closer to the snack counter. Mingled scents of popcorn, roasting hot dogs and beer floated in the air.

  Someone jostled Elizabeth, pushing her backward, into Harding. Her bottom brushed against his already aching groin, and he sucked in a gulp of air in response. He grabbed her upper arms and held her still. If she moved again, he was a dead man.

  “Harding,” she muttered, pressing herself closer against him. “This isn’t working.”

  “Tell me about it.” His teeth ground together when she leaned into him.

  “I’ll never last out the week.”

  He dipped his head to whisper in her ear. “Me, either.”

  She shivered slightly as his breath brushed across her skin. He dropped one hand to her waist. Sliding his arm around her front, he held her tightly to him.

  Elizabeth let her head fall back onto his chest. Her eyes closed as she concentrated on the feel of his hard readiness pressed against her bottom. She shifted her hips slightly and felt his quick intake of breath.

  “How hungry are you?” he whispered, once more tickling her flesh with his breath.

  She licked suddenly dry lips. It didn’t matter that they were standing in the middle of a rowdy crowd. If anything, that fact only made their private dance more exciting. Dangerous.

  During the last few moments, she had forgotten all about the baseball game, the snack bar, even her sister and Mike, still sitting in the stands. For now, all she knew or cared about was the man holding her. The man whose touch electrified her. The man she wanted more than she wanted her next breath.

  It was pointless to deny this attraction. This desire. Even now the flames of passion were licking at her center, stirring her senses into a whirlwind of need that threatened to choke off her air.

  “I’m not hungry, Harding,” she answered softly. “Not for a hot dog, anyway.”

  “Then let’s get out of here,” he muttered thickly. Keeping one arm around her waist, he guided her through the crowd until they were clear. He kept walking until they were half-hidden behind a concrete pillar.

  Every breath strained her lungs to the bursting point. Elizabeth looked up into his eyes, then lifted one hand to cup his cheek. “This is crazy, Harding. We’ve only known each other three days.”

  He turned his face into her hand, kissing the palm. Lifting one hand, he captured hers and squeezed it before saying, “We met three days ago. But we’ve heard about each other for a year now.”

  “Still…” She shook her head, some rational corner of her mind trying to deny what was happening.

  “I know your favorite color is blue,” he whispered. “You hate cats, love dogs and always wanted three children—two boys and a girl.”

  She swallowed heavily before speaking. “I know you have no family beyond the Corps. You kill plants by overwatering them, and you like your co
ffee black with two sugars.”

  He gave her a slow, lopsided smile. “We’re not strangers, Elizabeth. From the moment we met, I knew this was where we were headed.”

  Her heartbeat skittered, then accelerated, slamming against her rib cage. Every inch of her body felt as though it was on fire. She ran the pad of her thumb across his lips, and when his tongue darted out to taste her flesh, she gasped, feeling the intimate caress down to the soles of her feet.

  “I knew it, too, Harding,” she managed to say. “And I don’t want to fight it anymore.”

  He groaned slightly and moved in even closer to her, until they were both hidden in the shadows. “Fighting’s not what I have in mind,” he whispered. Then he dipped his head and claimed her mouth for the kiss they’d both been waiting for.

  She sagged against him, offering herself up to the flames of desire raging through her. His tongue parted her lips and swept inside her mouth, stealing what was left of her breath and charging her with a hum of energy that lit up her insides like a fireworks display.

  Time stopped. His fingers speared through her hair at the sides of her head and held her still for his gentle assault on her senses. Every stroke of his tongue brought new sensations, sharper pangs of need. She met him, touch for touch, caress for caress, their tongues twining together in an ancient dance of desire.

  A distant roar of applause and cheers from the stadium crowd finally broke them apart, reminding them both where they were. Harding took a half step backward, clearly reluctant to leave her.

  “I’ll go back to our seats,” he said softly. “Tell Mike and Terry that you’re not feeling well. I’m going to take you home.”

  She nodded, her throat too full to speak, her emotions too near the surface. She could still taste him. Running her tongue lightly over her lips, Elizabeth shivered as his gaze followed the sultry motion. There was no way she would be able to simply sit and watch a baseball game. Not now. Not when her body was alive with expectation.

  “Wait here,” he told her. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  He turned, took a step, then stopped. Looking back at her, Harding stared directly into her eyes for a long, slow minute. Finally he asked, “Are you sure this is what you want, Elizabeth?”