The Littlest Marine & The Oldest Living Married Virgin Read online

  “One?”

  A flush of heat stormed up her neck and stained her cheeks. “Apparently I’ve given you the wrongimpression, here. Believe me, the way I acted with you tonight is not my normal behavior. I don’t ordinarily hop into the sack with someone I’ve known for three days.”

  “That’s not what I meant—”

  “I can understand why you might not want to believe me, what with the evidence all to the contrary…”

  “Elizabeth,” he said, and took a step toward her.

  She jumped backward. As insulting as his comment had been, she didn’t trust herself if he was to touch her. Damn his eyes, anyway, she would probably melt into him and find herself flat on her back again.

  He took a deep breath before speaking in a slow, too calm voice, “I didn’t mean that. I was only surprised that a woman like you—”

  “Fast and loose?”

  “Dammit, stop putting words in my mouth!”

  Her bottom lip trembled, and she bit down on it, hard. She wasn’t going to cry, blast it. Not now. Not in front of him.

  Harding saw the sheen of unshed tears swimming in her eyes and cringed inwardly. Damn, he’d made a mess of this. When he’d awakened with her in his arms, he had experienced an inner peace that he had never known before. Staring down at her features while she slept, his mind had taken an incredibly wild turn.

  His imagination had leaped from this one night of passion to a lifetime of promises and children. Just the thought of it had terrified him—and yet, somehow intrigued him almost as much. That was the moment he had realized that he’d been a careless idiot.

  Children? A baby?

  Hell, how could he not have used a damn condom? Fine, he had the excuse of being somewhat out of practice. He’d been living a practically celibate life since his divorce. One-night stands didn’t interest him—and anything more might have led to a relationship. Definitely something he didn’t want.

  Even the threat of which he’d managed to avoid neatly.

  Until Elizabeth Stone.

  Gritting his teeth, he started toward her again, determined to say his piece. She backed up, her feet tangling in the quilt she clutched to her chest as if it was Superman’s cape. Her balance dissolved, and she swung one arm wide, searching for a handhold. Before she could fall, Harding caught her, dragging her up tight against him.

  “Let me go.”

  “Not yet,” he said, and lifted her chin with his thumb and forefinger until she was looking at him. Those eyes of hers mesmerized him. The deep brown color shimmered beneath a teary film. He wanted to hold her, kiss her, make love to her again until they rekindled the fire between them. Instead, though, he said, “All I meant was that I couldn’t believe there were so many stupid men in the world.” Not that he was complaining. He much preferred the fact that there hadn’t been many men in her life.

  She stopped twisting and wriggling to get free.

  “A woman as beautiful and warm as you should be fighting them off with a stick.”

  “I have,” she said pointedly.

  “Until me.” He smiled sadly. It wasn’t an easy thing, knowing that he had allowed his hormones to rage so out of control that he’d put her at risk.

  She stiffened in his arms. “Harding, let me go.”

  “Not until I say what I started to say before.”

  “Which is what exactly?”

  The watery film in her eyes had dissipated some, to be replaced by a flash of anger. Anger, he knew, was much easier to deal with.

  “Elizabeth, I wasn’t worrying about diseases.” Hadn’t it occurred to her yet? Apparently not. He paused, still holding her gaze with his own. “I was thinking more along the lines of a baby.”

  Her jaw dropped.

  “Oh, my God,” she whispered.

  “Is there a chance?” he asked.

  “Of course there’s a chance,” she muttered, moving away from him as his hold eased up. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she continued to talk. “Not much of one, probably. It was only the one time.”

  “Two times.”

  She flushed again. “Two.”

  He hadn’t known that there were still women who blushed. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth, this is all my fault.”

  “Stop saying you’re sorry,” she snapped.

  “What?”

  “I mean it, Harding.” Glaring up at him, she went on. “Tonight happened because we both wanted it. You’re in the clear, Sergeant Major.”

  The clear? Did she expect him to disappear? Leave her to pay whatever consequences might arise because of tonight? A strong surge of anger shot through him. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “That means that if I hear another apology from you, I’ll scream.” She scooted back onto the bed, wrapped in the cocoon of her quilt. “Will you please leave, now?”

  He inhaled sharply and blew the air out of his lungs in an exasperated rush. Staring at her, he saw that she had closed herself off from him as effectively as if she had slammed a door in his face. There wouldn’t be any talking to her tonight. Not if he expected her to listen. Really listen.

  Fine then. They could talk tomorrow. When she would hopefully be reasonable. Bending down, he snatched at his clothes and hurriedly pulled them on. Glancing at her, he noted that she kept her gaze averted.

  In a matter of minutes he was standing beside the bed, waiting for her to acknowledge him. Finally she shot him a look from the corner of her eye.

  “We’ll talk about this tomorrow. I’ll call you in the morning.”

  “I’ll call you,” she countered firmly, “when I’m ready to talk about it.”

  Harding bent down, picked her up by the shoulders and planted a hard, quick kiss on her lips. Briefly he thought he felt her kiss him back, but then her defenses went up and she turned into a block of wood. Disappointed, he dropped her back onto the bed, turned and marched to the door. There he stopped, pointed at her and ordered, “Zero nine thirty hours, Elizabeth. You pick up the damned phone.”

  Seven

  She pulled up to the main gate at Camp Pendleton just as dawn was streaking the sky. Sparing a quick glance for the deep rose-colored clouds, she turned her complete attention on the young Marine guard standing beside her car. She must be getting old, she thought. The kid didn’t look more than nineteen. She rolled down the window.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?” he asked.

  Boy, she hated being called ma’am. Dismissing the distraction, she got straight to the business that had brought her to the Marine base.

  “I’d like to see Sergeant Major Harding Casey, please.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the Marine said, his gaze drifting over a paper attached to the clipboard he carried. “Is he expecting you?”

  “No,” she confessed. “He’s not.”

  “Which battalion is he with, ma’am? I’ll have to call the Sergeant Major before letting you in.”

  Battalion. Dammit. Of course they would have to know which battalion. And which regiment. Why hadn’t she thought of that? She’d been raised on Marine bases. She knew firsthand the thoroughness of the gate guards.

  And she didn’t have the slightest idea which battalion Harding was assigned to.

  Lifting one hand, she rubbed her forehead right between her eyes. Her head was pounding, and her eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep. All night, she’d lain awake, remembering everything that had passed between Harding Casey and her. Everything from the incredible passion and closeness they’d shared, to the moment when he’d destroyed the magic by apologizing and then capping that off with an order to answer her telephone.

  Just who the hell did Hard Case Casey think he was, anyway? One night of lovemaking…no matter how mind-shattering…did not give him authority over her.

  But it might have given her a baby.

  No, no, no. Don’t even think it. The chances had to be astronomically slim. Surely the odds were with her. And yet, something inside her turned over. She had always wanted a child. Th
ree, actually. And lately she had begun to think it would never happen. What if it had, now? What if she was pregnant this very moment? She glanced down at her flat belly, covered by the jeans Harding had manipulated so nicely the night before, and cautiously laid her palm protectively over it.

  “Ma’am?” The young Marine cleared his throat meaningfully. “His battalion and regiment?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted, not sure what to do now.

  He must have seen the indecision in her face because he almost smiled. “If you’ll pull your car off to the side there, ma’am, I’ll see what I can find out.”

  She did as she was told, turned the engine off and waited. Watching the Marine, she saw him step into the small cubicle inside the gate and reach for a phone. Before he could use it, though, another guard appeared from behind the building. The two men spoke in tones she couldn’t quite hear, until the second Marine said loudly, with a glance in her direction, “A woman to see Hard Case?”

  She didn’t know whether to be relieved or insulted. But there was definitely a part of her delighted to hear that women weren’t streaming in and out of this gate visiting Harding. Elizabeth watched the second guard grab the phone, speak to someone for a moment, then hang up. He walked to her car, briefly gave her directions to Harding’s quarters, then smiled and stepped back out of her way.

  As she steered her Toyota along the streets of the base, an eerie feeling began to creep over her. Though her father had never been stationed at Pendleton, the base was so much like all of the others she’d lived on, she felt almost as if she were coming home.

  Memories rushed into her brain, and even the air seemed almost too thick to breathe. The drive to Harding’s quarters became a short, personal tour of her past. She noticed tricycles and skateboards that had been left out on front lawns, and immediately remembered bravely pedaling her first two-wheeler down a sidewalk while her father ran along behind, tightly gripping the back of the bike to keep her safe.

  She saw basketball hoops and chalk-marked sidewalks, which released the memory of her, Terry and her mother playing hopscotch on hot summer afternoons. Shadow pictures raced through her brain as she passed a tidy church, the PX, restaurants and the parade grounds. All of it so familiar.

  Strange, but for years, whenever she thought about her childhood, all she remembered was the pain of always moving around—never belonging anywhere—constant uncertainty. Now, though, other images reared up and demanded to be noticed. The good times. And there had been many of them. Life on a military base wasn’t always easy. But almost in compensation for the trials, came the joy of feeling as though you were part of a huge family. A family where each member looked out for the other. A family where arguments and old injuries were put aside in times of need.

  An unexpected sheen of tears filled her eyes, and she was nearly blinded by the past. But she blinked them back as she pulled up in front of the senior staff NCO billeting barracks. Determinedly, she put her past where it belonged. She would need all of her wits about her during this little confrontation with Harding.

  Especially since she wasn’t at all sure what it was she’d come to say.

  As if the thought of his name had conjured him up, a door in the barracks building opened and there he was. Standing on the threshold of his quarters with a frown on his face and his silver dog tags gleaming against his tanned flesh, he had one bare shoulder propped against the doorjamb, his arms folded across his chest. He had pulled on a pair of uniform trousers, but otherwise he was naked.

  Instantly memories of the night before flitted through her already-tired brain. Elizabeth’s mouth went dry, and she had to force herself to move suddenly shaky legs. Once out of the car, though, she walked directly to him without stumbling once.

  She stepped past him, entering the apartment. He followed her in and silently closed the door. Taking a deep breath, she turned around slowly and her gaze collided with his.

  “Good morning,” he said. “Zero nine thirty already?”

  “No,” she snapped, refusing to rise to the sarcasm. “I had to talk to you and couldn’t wait for my ‘assigned time.’”

  He looked mildly surprised, but he nodded and started for the kitchen. “Come on. I think we’re both going to need coffee.” Over his shoulder, he added, “Sorry, but I’m fresh out of café mocha.”

  “I’ll suffer,” she countered and wanted to bite her tongue. If she expected to have a civilized conversation with the man, she shouldn’t start by firing a warning shot.

  The kitchen was small, barely big enough for two people. Faded green curtains graced the only window and on the tiny, two-seater table, was a plastic basket filled with apples and bananas.

  While he started the coffee, she walked a slow circle around that table. “Look, Harding, I think there are a few things we have to get straight.”

  “I agree.”

  “Good.” That was a start, wasn’t it?

  Finished, he turned, propped himself against the countertop and crossed his arms over his chest again. Above the gurgle and hiss of the coffeemaker, he asked, “So who goes first? You or me?”

  “Me,” she said quickly. “I’ve been thinking about this all night.”

  He gave her a slow nod, but his expression was unreadable.

  She stopped behind one of two ladder-back wooden chairs. Curling her fingers over the top slat, she said firmly, “What you did last night was way out of line.”

  He smiled wryly. “I think we established that much before I left.”

  “I’m not talking about the sex,” she snapped. “I’m talking about the way you apologized, took all responsibility, then walked out.”

  “You asked me to leave.”

  She waved that comment aside for the moment. “I’m a big girl, Harding. I make my own choices, and I take responsibility for those choices myself.”

  “Fine.”

  “And,” she added, “nobody orders me to be waiting at a telephone at a certain time and place.”

  “All right.” He half straightened and reached up to rub one hand across his hair. “We’re both to blame. Happy?”

  “Yes, thanks.” She sat down on the chair and waited while he poured them each a cup of coffee. When he was seated in the chair opposite her, he started talking before she could say another word.

  “Look, Elizabeth,” he said, and she knew she wasn’t going to like whatever was coming next. “I did some thinking last night, too. And whoever is to blame, what happened last night was a mistake. A big one.”

  Even though she’d thought the same thing herself earlier, hearing him say it out loud sent an aching emptiness ricocheting around inside her.

  “And,” he went on, staring into his coffee cup as if looking for the right words, “once this wedding is over, I think it’s best if we don’t see each other again.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah.” Leaving his drink untouched, he jumped up from the chair, walked the short distance to the sink, then turned around to face her. In the dish drainer behind him, there were one plate, one glass, one cup and one set of silverware left overnight to dry.

  Rubbing a hand across his naked chest, he added, “There’s no point. Neither one of us wants a relationship, Elizabeth. If we keep seeing each other, it’ll only cause a lot of pain.”

  Speechless, she stared at him. Well, what had she expected? Hadn’t she come to the base to tell him the same thing? Wasn’t this the only reasonable solution to a situation that was already getting out of hand? Why, then, did it hurt to have him say it to her?

  She took hold of her coffee cup with both hands and scrambled for something to say. “I thought Marines were supposed to be able to take pain.” Did her voice really sound so soft and injured? Or was it only her imagination?

  Harding crossed to her and squatted alongside her chair. Looking directly into her eyes, he said, “Yeah, we can take it. We just don’t like causing it.” Trying for a smile, he added, “Except, of course, to the enemy.�
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  How strange this all was. A week ago she had never met this man. Now she was sitting in his kitchen, talking about dissolving a relationship that didn’t really exist, not knowing if she was or wasn’t carrying his child.

  “It’s better this way, Elizabeth,” he said softly and reached for one of her hands. He paused for a long moment before saying, “I deploy in less than a month.”

  Her gaze shot to his. Deployment. More memories rose up to kick her in the stomach. Memories of her father, gone for six months at a time. Summers missed, lonely Christmases, cards and letters and posing for pictures that Mom could send to Dad, so far away. She remembered occasional phone calls and listening to the sound of his voice, so faint and distant.

  Visions of her mother, trying to be both mom and dad to Terry and her. Echoes of her mother’s lonely tears when she thought her daughters were asleep. So many absences. So many missed birthdays and kisses and hugs. So many missed chances.

  She swallowed back the images and forced herself to ask, “Where?”

  Grimly he said, “Okinawa.”

  The other side of the world. In less than a month he would be thousands of miles away from her. Elizabeth nodded and pulled her hand free of his, missing the electrifying warmth of his touch even as she told herself to get used to missing it.

  Unable to sit still a moment longer, she stood up and walked back into the small, neat living room. For the first time she noticed the military beige walls and carpets. So familiar and yet…so different.

  Her mother had always prided herself on making all of the different quarters they’d lived in home. Photos, framed postcards, hers and Terry’s artwork splashed across the refrigerator, rag rugs and always, fresh flowers. Things to let people know that a family lived there. People. Not just Marines.

  Small personal touches that were sadly lacking in Harding’s place.

  A handful of framed photographs lined the mantel over an empty fireplace, and one lone plant stood limply in the corner. Otherwise the place might have been vacant.