Major Attraction (10 page)

J.C. rose more slowly and followed him, matching his position but keeping the width of the window between them. “I'm not prying into your secrets, Ethan. But if you need to, I'm willing to listen. I'm actually pretty good at that.”

“I fought in a war, Jo.” She took note that in this outflux of pain and anger, he'd used a shortened, personalized form of her name. She angled her head to study his profile. That square jaw was set tight, defiant, battling for control over whatever memory had spooked him. “I guarded embassies in countries where Americans weren't exactly popular. I've lost buddies and men whose lives I
was responsible for. People took advantage…” He caught himself and snapped his mouth shut. “Yeah. Stuff happened.” He swiveled his head and looked down at her, capturing her with his eyes and holding her prisoner in their shadowy depths. “I don't know what kind of therapist you are, but that's not what I need from you.”

His solution to handling all that
stuff
was to keep it bottled up inside? Did he detach himself from his personal life so he could survive his professional one? She'd seen things on the news which were disturbing enough to give anyone nightmares. To actually live through the horrors of war, though, to endure the violence and omnipresent threat of danger in a job such as Ethan's, must change a man inside. He would guard his thoughts, turn off his emotions. Trust would be hard to earn. Actions would come more easily than words.

All of which fit Ethan to a T.

Was that where his intense sexual energy came from? Was it the one outlet of free expression he allowed himself?

J.C. chose her next words carefully. “I wasn't speaking as a therapist, Ethan. I know all you need from me is two weeks of acting like you're the love of my life and pretending I understand what it means to want to marry a Marine and take on this life you're describing to me. Which, to be honest, you're not selling me on.”

The blunt reminder shocked him out of his anger. A muscle in his jaw twitched, then relaxed. “J.C…. Hell, there's good stuff, too.” Back to
J.C.
Back on guard. “Lifelong friendships. A sense of community. The value of self-discipline, the adrenaline rush of meeting tough challenges. Feeling—on most days—like you're doing a good thing.”

“Now you sound like a recruitment brochure.”

He almost laughed at that. Almost, but not quite. “I didn't mean to dump on you like that.”

His definition of dumping had barely glossed the surface, she suspected. “I'm sorry if I hit a touchy subject. But, we do need to know something about each other before we meet your general.”

“I know. But that's no excuse for snapping at you.”

“You're just nervous about tonight.”

He nodded. When he turned and faced her, he said something completely unexpected. “
You
make me nervous.”

“Me?”

“This is a turning point in my career, a chance to get on the fast track to making top brass, to pass on my wisdom and experience to the next generation of the Corps. But all I can think about is how much I want to kiss you again.”

With the tip of one gloved finger, he reached over and toyed with the long filigree earring that dangled against her neck. It was just a whisper of a touch, tickling her earlobe and sending shivers along her neck that danced across her skin and pricked goose bumps. J.C. caught a stuttered breath as he traced the same path with the tip of his finger, grazing her collarbone, then running out across her shoulder until he met a ribbon of strap. It was like drawing silk across all those sensitized nerve endings, only this silk was warm and strong, and the pulse beneath it beat in rapid time with her own.

J.C.'s lips parted, giving herself room to breathe, urging the heat to gather someplace besides the beading tips of her breasts. This was one of those familiar touches that every real couple shared, one of those touches she and Ethan seemed to have no problem faking. Her lips popped
in a wishful smack as she forced herself to speak. “Kissing me makes you nervous?”

That white-gloved finger curled into its fist, and Ethan drew his hand back to his side, denying her the magical caress. “Sounds like involvement to me. And I promised there wouldn't be any tie-up's at the end of this arrangement.”

J.C. was flattered, flustered, when she turned to face him. “Sounds like hormones to me. And I'm relieved I'm not the only one who can't keep them in line.”

“Right. Hormones.” Ethan's tongue darted out to moisten the rim of his lips.

J.C. followed the movement with hungry interest but refused to take the action they both craved. “I'll make you a deal. We'll talk about kissing and other…opportunities…later. You said to think about how I wanted to be compensated for helping you, and I've got an idea. If you're up for it.” He narrowed his eyes, questioning the double entendre in her tone. J.C. coyly left him hanging. She stepped forward with another one of those proprietary touches and brushed a speck from his sleeve. “This evening, you and I are just going to focus on that promotion of yours.”

With that promise, Ethan finally seemed to relax as much as a man with his shoulders perennially arched back at near attention could. “But we
will
talk about those opportunities later?”

J.C. smiled like seduction itself. “Oh, I'll insist on it.”

“Did you take a tumble?” Ethan gently snagged her wrist as she pulled away and pointed out the deep, blue-violet bruise on her forearm where Corporal Guerro's thumb had nearly cut off the circulation in her arm that morning.

Though he conveyed nothing but curiosity and a touch
of concern, frissons of alarm cascaded through her, interrupting the fluid heat growing inside her at the hushed, private banter she'd been sharing with Ethan. It was definitely bad karma to think of Guerro right now, in the middle of getting personal with Ethan.

She made light of the injury, pulling away to glance at it as if it was no big deal. “I bumped it against my desk at work.”

“That's a mean desk.”

Juan Guerro was a mean man when he was drunk, or hungover the next morning. “I taught it a lesson.” She made up an amusing cover story. “I tossed my coaster and left a water ring stain on it.” She quickly changed the subject, opening the corsage box again and unleashing its scent and all the possibilities it conjured. She pulled the creamy flower out and held it up between them. “Will you do the honors?”

His gaze darted from her shoulders to her breasts and back up to her eyes. “I'm not sure where—”

“Relax, Major. It's a wrist corsage. You just slip it on.”
And cover the bruise.
Out of sight, out of mind. And no more questions until the timing was right to broach the subject of Juan and Manny's punishment.

“Shall we?” Ethan turned and offered his arm. “Our limo awaits.”

“You splurged on a limousine?”

“Another one of Captain Black's suggestions,” Ethan admitted. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Sounds like a great idea.” J.C. pulled up her skirt and revealed her bare, painted toes. “But if we're going first class, I'd better go pry my feet into some shoes.”

“Ouch.” He grimaced in sympathy to her high-heeled plight.

She nudged the jut of his chin as she walked past him. “I'm making the sacrifice for you, big guy.”

He grabbed her hand, stopping her in a rustle of silk and organza, and turning her back to face him. “Thank you. For everything.”

Good God, if he didn't stop looking at her like that, they would never get out of the apartment. “Maybe you'd better wait and see how I do tonight before you thank me.”

“G
ENERAL
C
RADDOCK
, are you flirting with me?” J.C. asked, leaning back against the older gentleman's arm as he swept her around the dance floor in an old-fashioned waltz.

“Now, now, Miss Gardner, I thought I told you to call me Walter.”

J.C. batted her eyes with false innocence. “But you make Ethan call you
sir
or
General.
”

“Ethan's just one of the men under my command. You will find out, my dear, that being a Marine Corps spouse has certain privileges.” He leaned in for a conspiratorial whisper, never missing a step. “Mrs. Craddock has been reminding me of that for over thirty years.”

J.C. laughed as they spun into the crowd of dancers waltzing their way in a counterclockwise circle around the room. Despite pushing sixty, his shiny bald pate and his lovely wife, Brigadier General Walter Craddock considered himself quite the ladies' man. He was light on his feet, quick-witted, and he'd danced with every woman seated at his table at least once. Though Millie, his wife, had had the honor of the first dance, the general seemed more inclined to entertain his guests than to spend time with her or even the four promotion candidates.

This was J.C.'s second dance with the general, and she was honest enough to admit she was enjoying herself. The dinner had been delicious, the dessert decadent, the com
pany interesting, and the orchestra's music—well, she'd already danced with an ambassador, a doctor and, of course, the general. She loved the beat of the music pulsing through her body. She loved the swirl of her petticoats brushing against her legs, and the soft lights glimmering in the iridescent material of her gown. She loved the endorphic high of rhythmic exercise and intelligent conversation.

Amidst all the uniforms and gowns and tuxes, she felt like a regular Cinderella. Except the Prince Charming who'd brought her to the ball in his long, black carriage wasn't dancing with her. Hadn't asked her to. Had turned down her invitation twice and opted to fetch a drink for Millie Craddock and chat with a retired master gunnery sergeant who'd served with his father instead.

Ethan was sending her a message she didn't want to receive. His business with the Corps—scoring points, schmoozing with the top brass—was more important than their personal relationship.

Even though they didn't really have a personal relationship.

J.C. frowned at the tentacles of hurt and disillusionment trying to get a grip around her heart. She and Ethan both had made it very clear that they didn't
want
a relationship. But the sting of disappointment she was feeling couldn't seem to grasp the logic of that.

“…background in the military yourself, Miss Gardner?”

She nearly stumbled as Walter Craddock's question jerked her from her little pity party. But the general's steady arm, as well as his surprising patience, kept the dance moving smoothly. She quickly replayed the words only her subconscious mind had heard and came up with an appropriate response. “Me? Serve in the military? No,
thanks. I mean, I'm glad you and your men and women are there to do their job, but it's not for me. I have too hard a time taking orders.”

Craddock laughed at the joke, but grew serious again just as quickly. “Sometimes, it's a hell of a lot harder to give an order, J.C.”

He nodded toward the banquet tables beyond the edge of the dance floor. Ethan, standing almost a head taller than anyone else in the circle, chatted with a group of officers.
Some days I think I've seen more than a man should have to.

“Are you talking about Ethan?”

The general nodded. “A few years back, your fiancé was on a detail guarding an embassy setup crew in the capital of one of our newer Central American allies. Hell, they were a skeleton team just moving in themselves. Rebel forces, backed by a local drug cartel, attacked with a car bomb before dawn and tried to lay siege to the place. Local authorities weren't in a position to help. Armored support was at least twenty-four hours away.

“Being the ranking officer with a crisis on his hands, Ethan ordered a counterattack to rescue injured troops and help the civilians escape. He lost two men to sniper fire before the rest of the team broke through the perimeter and neutralized the enemy.”

This time, J.C. did miss a step. “Oh, my God.”

The couple dancing behind them bumped into J.C.'s back. Fielding an apology, General Craddock pulled her into his chest and spun her out of the path of the next group of dancers. “Ethan and his team saved nearly one hundred lives that day. But it's the two you lose who stay with you.”

She stared at the two stars adorning Walter Craddock's shoulders, hearing the melodic strains of music as a dis
tant, discordant noise in the back of her mind.
Stuff happened.
Ethan McCormick, master control freak, was a wizard at understatement.

Despite the press of bodies and almost continuous dancing, a chill crept down J.C.'s spine. She cared that Ethan and the other Marines in his unit had suffered that day. She ached for the families who had lost their loved ones in the line of duty.

Her gaze strayed back to the taut, proud shoulders of the Marine who'd asked her to be his fiancée for the next two weeks. Whatever burdens Ethan carried, he hid them well. He hadn't asked for her help in coping with any of them. Still, she couldn't get past the idea that Ethan needed to talk. That he needed to be held. Or, in his archaic notion that sex was the only way he could express himself freely, he needed to get laid.

The chill of compassion turned into something much less altruistic. A frisson of anticipation. A call to duty. The tingling excitement of destiny waiting to be fulfilled.

She was more determined than ever to offer Ethan all the freedom of expression he could handle. After all, she'd learned that good sex could be a great stress reliever. And if there was any way she could help…

Walter lifted her chin with the tip of his finger. “Sorry. I didn't mean to bring down the mood of the party. I don't suppose Ethan talks much about his heroics.”

“No, I'm glad to learn more about him.” J.C. held tight to the general's gloved hand and followed along as he urged her to complete the waltz with him. She hoped she hadn't revealed her thoughts with a hungry look or wistful smile. “Ethan's pretty quiet when it comes to talking about himself.” She cocked a teasing brow and changed the topic. “But I guess that also makes him the kind of man who can keep a secret for you.”

“I have no doubts that Major McCormick is trustworthy and loyal as they come. But then I suspect you already know that.”

Her ideas of trust and loyalty had been skewed by her father's self-absorption and infidelities. But, for a military man, she supposed Ethan was about as reliable as they came. “He's the best Marine I know,” J.C. answered glibly, pleased that she could tell General Craddock the truth.

“Present company excepted?” he teased.

“Of course.” She smiled right back.

“Say, I didn't get a chance to follow up on my original question. What about your family? Any of them in the service?”

Compassion, anticipation and good humor all stalled behind a wall of resentment. Not this topic! But J.C. kept her feet moving and her mouth smiling. “My father was in the Navy. Enlisted out of high school. I'm sure he and my mom never went to any fancy functions like this.”

The general surveyed the room, shaking his head. “It is a little over the top, isn't it?” J.C. thought she'd skirted the issue and could steer the conversation back to Ethan and one of the topics they had familiarized themselves with on the limo ride to the ball. Hobbies. Siblings. Favorite foods. Birth dates. Favorite holiday. But General Craddock had a sharp ear for details. “You said
was.
Your father isn't a career man, then?”

“I think he served about twenty years.” And dozens of women. “After my parents divorced, he and I sort of lost track—”

The last strains of the music ended in a round of applause, offering J.C. a natural reprieve from delving too deeply into the fact she hadn't heard from Earl Gardner in two whole years, hadn't seen him in five, hadn't hugged
him in ten. She and the general separated and added their praise for the orchestra.

The woodwinds trilled the beginning of a modern tune. “This one's definitely not my style. Do you mind?” General Craddock offered her an apologetic smile and escorted her back to their table. “Maybe you could get that major of yours to take you around on this one.”

“I'll try,” J.C. answered without any real hope of success. She thanked the general and excused herself before he could do any more following up on her personal life. She picked up her water glass and concentrated on polishing off the last of the cool drink, sending off
don't talk to me signals
to any would-be dance partners and buying herself some time to regroup.

Like a slap of reality, the mere mention of her father had banished any Cinderella fantasies and brought back the reason she was here in the first place. To prove a point to Lee Whiteley and her readers. These men might provide stimulating conversation and charming dance partners—they might even get her hormones buzzing—but they weren't marriage material.

Even General Craddock, whom she had to admit had been winning her over to the red, white and blue side, headed straight for a group of officers sitting nearby. He slapped two on the back and said something funny, judging by the laughter that erupted from their table. Then he sat down and joined them in animated conversation, without a touch or word or look to his wife.

Of course, Millie Craddock wasn't exactly alone. Ethan's aide, Captain Black, sat beside her. Angled toward the older woman, his black hair nearly touched her silver-blond curls as they carried on a hushed discussion involving touchy-feely hand gestures and secretive smiles.
Like mother and son or sister and brother—they seemed to be curiously close friends despite the gap in their ages.

J.C. frowned at all the camaraderie surrounding her. Maybe
she
was the was the only one who felt alone. Abandoned. She set down her glass and searched the crowded room until her gaze collided with Ethan's.

Maybe not so alone as she thought.

Above the heads of several official-looking men and women, Ethan's dark gray eyes stared intently into hers, suffusing her with warmth and awareness. How long had he been watching her? Had he sensed her loneliness? Had he felt her longing looks and lustful thoughts from the dance floor? His gaze touched her like a physical caress, lingering on her lips until they pouted, studying her breasts until they thrust against their constrictive binding of shimmering silk. Her arms beaded with goose bumps. Her breath stuttered and caught in her chest.

What that man could do with a look.

Caught in that gray-eyed assault on her senses, J.C. wiggled her toes inside her strappy sandals. She felt flushed and female, and antsy to do something about the simmering heat that threatened to steam through every pore. She wanted to touch him. To talk to him. To feel the weight of him inside her. She wanted him to act on what those eyes were telling her and quit driving her mad with this long-distance, I-want-to-be-a-gentleman-but-I'm-dying-to-do-you torture.

J.C. was moving toward him, drawn like a compass point to its magnetic pole, determined to take this crazy desire into her own hands, when Ethan blinked, breaking the spell. His gaze darted to the left, giving her a split-second warning before a firm grip latched onto her wrist.

“C'mon. Dance with me.” If Kyle Black had opened
the bedroom door and caught her buck naked in Ethan's arms, she couldn't have felt more interrupted or exposed.

J.C. jerked self-consciously at the touch, flashing back to her encounter with Juan Guerro. But these were handsome blue eyes, sparkling with mischief, not bleary brown ones filled with menace and fatigue. Ethan's aide. A friend, not a threat. J.C. pressed her free hand over her thumping heart and mustered up a friendly smile. “Captain. You startled me.”

“Sorry about that. But I thought I'd seize the moment. And didn't I tell you to call me Kyle?” He was already pulling her toward the dance floor without giving her a chance to accept or refuse his invitation. “My job is to assist the major in whatever way I can. And if that means dancing with a pretty woman when he's too busy to, I'm the man to do it.”

A quick glance behind them revealed Ethan watching them serpentine their way through the crowd. His frown might be one of concern or curiosity. But the interpretation made no difference. Without so much as a nod, he dragged his attention back to the conversation at hand. Hmm. J.C. bristled at the easy dismissal. Even if he did think she was in good hands, she needed to have a chat with him about asserting his territorial rights. Passing her off to his second in command didn't make for a very convincing engagement.

For one catty moment, she considered blowing their cover. If Ethan wasn't going to do anything more than introduce her as his fiancée and sit next to her at dinner, then why should she bust her buns to act like a couple? Fortunately her practical streak asserted itself before she shot off her mouth. This was all fodder for her articles. If she abandoned Ethan now, she might as well abandon her bet, too.

Along with two weeks of potential bliss.

When her shoes hit the smooth dance floor, J.C. dug in her heels and tugged Kyle to a halt. “This is above and beyond the call of duty, Kyle. I'll be sure to tell Ethan to write up a commendation for you.” She squinched her face up into an apology as she pulled away. “But my feet are screaming at me in these high heels. I really just want to sit out a couple of numbers and spend some time with my sweetie.”

Kyle looked beyond her shoulder at Ethan and shrugged. “He's in the middle of a big confab with Colonel Reese and the other candidates. If you want a break, let me buy you a drink, instead.” He hooked his arm through hers and steered her toward the refreshment table at the far end of the room. “C'mon, J.C. It'll be bad for troop morale if you say no.”