Читать книгу Basic Training - Julie Miller - Страница 8

TESS BARTLETT had tits.

Theoretically, Travis had always known they were there. But he’d never really noticed. Not the way a guy noticed an attractive woman. His body hadn’t cared before.

But there they were, small but scrumptious things, sitting high and proud, on the opposite side of his father’s living room where Tess chatted with her mother, Margaret, and one of the matriarchs of the community, Nixa Newhaven. He was damn sure Miss Newhaven hadn’t noticed the beaded tips outlined beneath the cling of Tess’s lavender T-shirt. No doubt they were jutting out in protest of the air-conditioning that ran constantly in the summer heat as partygoers streamed in and out of the house.

But Travis noticed.

His body had been misfiring with overheated aftershocks of physical awareness ever since that hug this afternoon. He’d felt them then, pressed against him like…well, not like Tess.

Hell, yeah, he’d been glad to see her. The two of them had hugged before. Countless times. But this afternoon it was…well, not like Tess.

He’d been pleased at first to see her. Finally, someone with whom he could drop the brave face and relax. He’d been on his best behavior at Quantico, not wanting to give his superiors any more reason to drum him out of the Corps. His father and brother were far too worried about his recovery, adding guilt onto the layers of frustration that already plagued him.

Maybe Hal could be content with retirement, spending half his time on his fishing boat, or camping in one of the ocean-view parks. But Travis had been bred and built for action and adventure. A dozen steel pins in his left leg weren’t going to stop him from getting back to the job he loved so much.

Though they’d done a damn good job of it so far.

That was the truth that scared him the most. His injuries might be the one enemy he couldn’t defeat. Captain Travis McCormick, leader of a Special Ops unit that was the Marine Corp’s equivalent of a Navy SEALs team, wasn’t used to feeling fear. He wasn’t used to feeling like a member of the losing team.

That’s probably what had made him so testy this afternoon. So quick to jump down Tess’s throat when she mentioned physical therapy. Man, he needed to apologize for being such an ass. Instead of trading hello’s and falling into their comfortable routine, he’d dumped on her. No wonder she’d found a way to stay on her side of the living room all evening long.

But he couldn’t afford four to six weeks of R and R at home, squeezing a rubber ball between his knees and lifting weights. He had to get back to his unit. They’d already assigned a new commander, but there was a chance he could still rejoin the team. They’d be stateside within the month, home to regroup, retrain and refit the team for a new assignment. He had to be there to join them. He had to prove he still had what it took to get the job done. Or else he’d be stuck serving out the remainder of his military career pushing papers—or worse, he’d be drummed out on an honorable discharge because he just couldn’t cut it as a Marine anymore.

Yeah, that’s all this crazy notion about Tess was. That was T-bone standing over there, making nice with her mom’s friends—not some sexy woman he was itchin’ to get his hands on. With his future in limbo, he just wasn’t feeling right in his own skin, so his perception of things was way off.

He closed his eyes and tried to picture her in her softball uniform, complete with sweat-stained visor and clunky cleats. He remembered the first day he’d met her, a gawky fourteen year-old, ankle deep in mud with her wavy brown hair flying in all directions, crabbing in the slough at the end of the street.

Travis opened his eyes and glanced across the room.

Nope. They were still there. And she had a mighty fine pair of ’em from where he was standing.

Correction. From where he was sitting on the sofa, being waited on hand and foot like some damn invalid. It seemed as if most of Ashton’s nontourist population had filed through his father’s front door to shake his hand or kiss his cheek and wish him well as they welcomed him home. Every woman over the age of eighteen, it seemed, had brought some kind of food to tempt him with. Every man, it seemed, had some sort of anecdote to tell about his own service experience. Travis had a beer, an iced tea and a frosty lemonade all within his reach, and enough plates of food to feed his entire platoon. He could quote stories from Omaha Beach to Grenada to Iraq.

But neither the tiring hoopla nor his worries about his military career could completely distract him from his recent discovery.

Damn. Travis shifted uncomfortably in his seat and reached for the beer beside him. He drank two long, cold swallows and forced his attention back to Morty Camden, who didn’t have a war story to share, but who had an apparent fascination with statistics and the numbers of troops from nearby bases at Norfolk, Newport News and Camp Pendleton he expected to flood the town for the Summer Bay Festival.

Travis dutifully listened to the amount of money that would pour into the town coffers next week. But if Tess Bartlett didn’t stop propping her hand on her hip and standing in a way that made those little marvels jut out like temptation itself, then certain parts of his anatomy were about to prove, despite the opinion of a dozen doctors and half that many months of rehabilitative therapy, that he was no invalid.

He took another drink.

She was the girl next door. The tomboy who’d saved the world right by his side in their imaginary neighborhood games as kids. The good buddy who’d gotten him through Physics and Calculus, and introduced him to the three best dates of his high-school and college years.

Tess Bartlett was one of the guys. Somebody he could drink a beer with and rag on the Redskins to. She’d sent those newsy letters when he’d been stationed overseas and held his hand when he’d finally gotten home to visit his mother’s grave.

Tess Bartlett was every bit the buddy that his dad, his brother, and a handful of Marines he’d served with were.

So when the hell had she sprouted boobs?

Morty adjusted his plastic-framed glasses on his nose, reminding Travis that his attention had wandered again. “We hope that you’ll be able to help us with one of the booths or competitions next week.” Morty dropped a glance to where Travis’s black boot was propped up on the coffee table. “If you’re up to it, that is.”

Travis tugged at the leg of his camo pants and rested the beer bottle between his thighs. Oh yeah, he was gettin’ up to something, all right. And my, my, wasn’t that an uncomfortable realization to make.

He should go over there and apologize to Tess, then hook up with one of the willing young ladies who’d come to the open house, and get this unhealthy fascination with Tess Bartlett out of his system.

“We’ll see.” He had nothing against Morty. Like Tess, they’d been classmates back in high school, even if his jock-centered path had rarely crossed with the nearsighted valedictorian’s. Still, he didn’t want to make any promises he couldn’t keep. “I’m not sure how long I’m going to be in town.”

“Well, at least we hope you stick around long enough to come down and have some fun.” Morty stuck out his hand and Travis automatically shook it.

Surprised at the solid strength of Morty’s grip, Travis shook hands a second time. Either Tess wasn’t the only Ashton resident who’d gone through a few changes since he’d been gone, or he needed a mental evaluation to go along with the physical he’d flunked last week. “Thanks, man. Appreciate the invitation.”

Morty nodded and pushed to his feet. “No problem. I know you’ve got lots of folks you want to spend some time with so I’ll head on out. Welcome home.”

“Thanks.”

Using Morty’s departure as a chance to effect his own escape, Travis braced his hand against the back of the couch. He lowered his foot to the floor and pushed himself to a standing position. A pathway cleared instantly, and the roomful of guests turned in his direction.

He’d have laughed at all the unwanted attention if he wasn’t so busy gritting his teeth while his left leg adjusted to holding his weight, and the sharp shaft of pain eased to a dull ache.

“No show here, folks.” He waved aside his father, brother, and a couple other offers of help. Standing at near attention, he fixed a trademark smile on his lips, reassuring everyone enough to return to their conversations. He made an excuse to be dismissed. “I’m just off to the latrine. I think I can manage that on my own.”

Fresh air was the ticket. Night. Solitude.

But if locking himself inside the john was the only way to get some time to himself so he could get his head on straight, then that was exactly what he planned to do.

His careful stride took him past Tess, allowing him to eavesdrop on the plea coming from Nixa Newhaven’s pruney lips. “It would only be for four hours on Monday evening.”

Four hours sacrificed for Miss Newhaven and her dowager cronies? What a downer.

A kindred spirit of being forced into something unpleasant made Travis stop there and exchange a few words with his father regarding his sister, Caitlin, her husband, Sean, and how they were going to make Hal a grandpa in the next two weeks. He already knew the facts and was delighted he was about to become an uncle, but at the moment, Travis was only listening to the short list of prospective baby names because it gave him an excuse to linger close enough to hear Tess’s response.

“I was hoping to check out the festival myself Monday night. Before things get too crazy.” Her tone, while polite enough, lacked the conviction to talk Miss Newhaven out of anything. “Besides, I’m working three other nights at the concession stand already.”

Nixa tutted between her teeth. “Do you have an escort to go with you?”

“You mean a date? Well, no, not yet. I thought Amy and I—”

“You girls can’t go out by yourself.” Nixa’s silver hair bent closer to Tess’s golden brown ponytail to whisper, “There’ll be sailors in town.”

Oh, the shock of it all! Travis twisted his lips to hide his grin. There’d be Marines and soldiers and civilians, too. And he’d bet good money that if any one of them was a little too forward with Tess, she could handle herself just fine.

Of course, she might be wanting one of them to be a little forward. Maybe a lot forward. Travis’s grin slipped. He hadn’t been home to Ashton for a year. Maybe he didn’t know Tess as well as he thought he did anymore. Was she seeing someone now? Dating around? Just because he’d never thought of her in that way before didn’t mean some other guy hadn’t noticed what a sweet package she’d morphed into.

Was she looking to meet someone? Get married? Have a fling? A one-night stand? And why the hell should her love life—in whatever form it might exist—get him all curious and itchy inside his skin like this? It wasn’t any of his business. She was a grown woman—She could sleep with anyone she damn well liked. As long as the man respected her. Made it good for her.

Hell. Why was it turning him inside out to think about Tess and sex in the same sentence?

No. Tess and sex with some man Travis didn’t know. Some jerk who wasn’t good enough for her.

“Miss Newhaven,” Travis heard Tess pipe up, “I have a right to a social life.”

“Of course, you do, dear.” Nixa Newhaven was patting Tess’s hand now. “But you’ve always been so good about helping out when you’re needed. I don’t know who else to ask.”

A breath of cool-headed logic seeped in to calm the unsettling stab of emotion. Tess had said she was working three nights next week. Nixa Newhaven seemed to think she was available to work a few nights more. And the older woman had asked whether Tess had a date.

Tess was unattached. Safe. He’d gotten himself all worked up over nothing.

Travis shouldn’t be breathing any easier, but he was.

He relaxed and savored his next swallow as Tess tried again. “Miss Newhaven—”

“I don’t claim to understand all these modern mores that you young people follow. But I really could use your help. Doris Mead simply can’t tolerate the heat the way she used to and I said I’d find a replacement to work her shift at the concession stand. Since you don’t have any specific plans…”

Since there was no date currently in the picture, Travis should do the gallant thing and give Tess the excuse she needed to get out of the assignment by asking her out himself. Yeah. He could just step up, offer Nixa a bit of a flirty smile to knock her off her garters, then chime in with something like, “Sorry, she can’t be bored to tears for four hours. Tess and I have plans—sharing a couple of carnival rides, strolling through the historic shops of Ashton’s Main Street, sipping margaritas on the dock, and then maybe taking a sailboat out onto the water to do a little canoodling under the moonlight.”

Sure, he could do that. An unexpected rightness seemed to lift his mood. Lord knew it wouldn’t be the first time he’d offered his services to a damsel in distress. He turned to join their conversation. Nixa tipped her chin, waiting expectantly when he smiled down at her. It sounded like a perfect evening. It sounded…

Wrong with Tess.

He swung his startled gaze over to lock onto Tess’s green-gold eyes, tilted up with curiosity. “Trav?”

Travis rubbed his knuckles along the newly healed skin at his jaw, frowning at the bitter taste in his mouth. He shouldn’t be thinking about canoodling with Tess. Or kissing or hugging—or stripping off that lavender T-shirt and whatever sensible thing she wore underneath to get a firsthand look at those perky, provocative breasts in all their naked glory.

“I’m sorry,” he finally ground out between clenched teeth. He turned away from plain, practical Tess and mustered a smile for Nixa. “I figured you’d be turning in early, and just wanted to say goodnight in case I missed you later.”

“That’s so considerate of you. Isn’t it, Tess?”

“Yes.”

Before he could hear what else either of them had to say, before the intuitive concern shining in Tess’s eyes figured out his crazily inappropriate urges, Travis walked away.

No. He limped.

He wasn’t in a position to rescue anybody—even from something as harmless as Nixa Newhaven’s pushy assumptions.

He had to get out of there. And fast.

TRAVIS HAD ROLLED up the sleeves of his camo shirt and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. He stood in the shadows beneath the log pier and watched the moon rise high into the midnight sky.

The gray-green water of Chesapeake Bay lapped against the Virginia shoreline, throwing up an occasional spray to cool the steamy July night. Tomorrow, he’d get to dress in his civvies. Shorts or jeans, and a beat-up top that would be thin enough and cool enough to deal with the summer heat.

But he wasn’t looking forward to it.

The Corps actually expected him to shed his uniform for four to six weeks. Forced R and R to get his body back in shape and his head in the right place. Even two weeks was too long to suit him. It felt like quitting. Like throwing in the towel when he knew there was still some fight left in him.

But what if he didn’t have it in him anymore—the skills, the edge, the drive—the able body and clear-headed mindset to be a captain in Special Ops? If that were the case, he’d have been better off if that explosion had killed him.

“Hell.” He shook his head and inhaled a deep, steadying breath, focusing his attention on the gentle rocking of the boats anchored beneath the pier. He didn’t need to go to that dark place again. Men and women in uniform died every day, not because they wanted to, but because they understood their duty. They fought to survive, to carry out their assignments, driven by the faith put in them by their country and the Corps.

He needed to fight just as hard to carry out his duty.

Because if he couldn’t fight his way back to his field service assignment with the Corps, he didn’t have a clue about what he would do.

His hometown thought he was some kind of hero. What a joke. He couldn’t even help an old buddy get out of a boring night working the fair next week. The Action Man might not be fit for action anymore. How the hell was he supposed to deal with that? It scared him senseless.

But Travis’s senses weren’t so far gone that he couldn’t hear the soft squish of footsteps approaching across the golden sand beach. That he didn’t recognize the intruder who’d found his childhood hiding place, even before she spoke.

“Hey, stranger.” Tess’s familiar voice feathered across his eardrums like a soothing breeze in the night. “Skipping out on your own party?”

“I’m not much of a partier.”

The top of her head barely reached his shoulder as she stood barefoot beside him. “Since when?”

Since blowing my body to kingdom come and being sentenced to half a life because I can’t function as a man or a Marine should any longer.

He stared sightlessly out into the water. This was as comfortable as he’d been since leaving the hospital at Quantico with his dad and Ethan. This hiding place reminded him of simpler times. Or maybe it was Tess’s rock steady presence that had finally taken the edge off his mood.

Travis shrugged. “Since I got tired. Seems I get that way a lot lately.”

“It’s not surprising. You almost died. You’ve been through several major surgeries. Months of rehabilitation. Your body’s still in the process of healing. You have a right to be tired.”

“It’s no excuse.” He turned to face her. He captured a caramel-colored tendril that blew across her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. “It’s no excuse for jumpin’ down your throat the way I did this afternoon.”

Her smile glinted in the moonlight like a fond memory. “You have many fine qualities, Travis. But patience has never been one of them. Your body needs time. Your spirit, too, from the sound of things.”

He nodded and pulled his hand away before sensations of silky hair and warm skin imprinted themselves on his fingertips. “I know Dad’s worried about me. Hell, half of Ashton’s worried. But I don’t know if I can do the vacation thing here. It feels like I’m hiding out, like I’m running from the fight.”

“Do you want to hire someone else to do your PT?”

“No. I don’t want to admit that I still need four more weeks of physical therapy, period.” A bit of the now-familiar frustration licked through his veins again. “My men are in a war zone right now. Hell. They’re not even my men anymore. I need to be there. I need to do my job. I’m letting them down.”

“Because you nearly lost your leg? Your life? I know you McCormicks live and breathe the military, but do you really have to be a superhero every waking moment?”

“You wouldn’t understand, T-bone. There’s never been something you wanted so bad for so long that that wanting becomes a part of you.”

With a sound that was almost a snicker, she turned away, leaving the shadows of the pier’s giant support pylons and heading along the beach, back toward their homes a half-mile away. Her dismissive sigh was a sobering reminder that he really knew how to spoil a mood these days. After grabbing his boots and socks, he followed her down near the water and watched her pick up a small stone. She drew back her right arm, waited for the right moment, and skipped the stone across the waves. Four, five, six hits. Nice.

“Hey, I see you’ve still got your throwing arm. Did you ever figure out how to hit a curve ball?”

Tess laughed and he felt a little less like the jerk he’d been earlier, a little more like the friend he’d been forever. She scooped up her sandals in her fingers and fell into step beside him. “I don’t play much hard-core softball anymore. The hospital has a team, but it’s pretty much for fun and not all that competitive. Not like what we played back in school.”

“So that’s a no?”

“Travis!” She swatted his arm and dashed ahead to pick up a relatively straight piece of driftwood, about three-feet long. She dropped her shoes, turned and lifted the skinny log up onto her shoulder like a baseball bat. “Okay, hotshot,” she dared him, “let’s see if you still have a curve ball before you start criticizing my game.”

He laughed. This was what he needed. Something normal. Something familiar. Something that didn’t depend on the state of his leg or his questionable ability to play the hero. “You want me to throw you a curve ball?”

The bat danced against her shoulder. “If you think you’ve still got it in you. Find a rock.”

He followed the nod of her head and picked up a palm-size rock. The little lady wanted to play, huh? Travis dropped his boots, spit on the rock and rubbed it smooth between his hands. “I led the baseball team to a state championship my junior year,” he reminded her.

“And I led the softball team my senior year.” She pointed the bat in his direction, tapped the sand, then put it back on her shoulder. “So far, you’re just a bunch of talk, McCormick. Let’s see some action.”

It didn’t take long to get into the spirit of a midnight game of stickball on the deserted beach. With his stronger right leg to brace himself, Travis reared back, went through the dramatic motion of an overhead pitch, then stopped his momentum to toss it underhand. Tess swung and missed, and the rock plopped into the sand behind her.

“What, are you afraid I’m going to actually hit the thing?” She tossed the rock back to him. “Now put it over the plate.”

Travis pitched. Tess swung. The smack of rock against wood startled them both into laughter. She jammed the rock into the sand just a few feet in front of her.

Travis snatched up the rock and moved in behind Tess. “You call that a swing?”

“You call that a pitch?” she countered.

“Like this, T-bone.” Travis grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her back against his chest. He tucked his chin against her temple and adjusted the bat over her shoulder. With one hand covering both of hers on the bat, he wrapped his free arm around her waist and turned her so that she was lined up with the imaginary plate. He tossed the rock into the air and swung the bat with her, making solid contact with the rock and driving it deep into Chesapeake Bay. He moved the makeshift bat back up into place and repositioned her, repeating the movement a second time. “You have to swing under it like this so you can drive the ball up instead of down into the ground.”

The sharp catch of Tess’s breathy sigh reached him over the rustle of waves on the beach. She went still in his arms, except for the curly tendrils of golden brown hair that blew against his cheek.

Travis froze. But he didn’t move his hand from the nip of her waist or move his face from the salty fresh dampness that clung to her hair. He didn’t want to move. Unless he moved closer.

Oh, man. He was in worse shape than he’d thought. This was not normal. If he was in this position with any other woman, he’d be nuzzling her neck right now. He’d be tossing the bat and pulling her down into the sand. He’d slide his hands beneath her shirt and unzip her shorts.

But Travis stood there, holding his breath.

This was Tess! A year off his game couldn’t have short-circuited every instinct in him, could it? Hot, needy urges careened through his body, but his brain couldn’t make any sense of them. This was so completely not the feeling he usually got hanging out with her. Yet the evidence was right there, nestled against his crotch and stirring things that were better left alone.

Tess Bartlett had a rockin’ ass to go along with those tits.

And he wanted them. He wanted her.

Bad.