Honeybun Hottie (Plus Size Romance 5) (3 page)

“Final?”

“Yes.  Camp Semper Fi is my full-time job now.  My feet will remain on American soil for the remainder of my days.”

“What about the assassin? Is he dead?”

“That’s classified information.  Let’s just say the threat was neutralized.  You, me and the rest of this great country is a little bit safer now.”

“You killed him, didn’t you?”

“That’s need-to-know only.  Let it go.”

“I can’t.  I
need
to know, Sean.  I need to know you aren’t a ruthless killing machine.  That you aren’t some damaged psycho.  A mentally scarred marine like—”

“Like who, Blythe? Who hurt you before me?”

She smirked.  “That’s classified information, Sergeant.  Need-to-know only. And the only damn thing you need to know is after I fulfill my two-week commitment here, I never want to see you again.”

SEAN STORMED INTO CABIN B.  “Shelly Eleanor Matthews, tell me the name of the fucking marine who hurt Blythe.  I mean to end him.”

Tapping her chin, she said, “Let me see.  The name is right on the tip of my tongue.  Yep, I got it.  His name is Sean Davis Warrington.”

“Very funny, but I’m seriously pissed here.  Blythe obviously hates marines.  Who seared those ill feelings onto her beautiful heart? I’ll break his neck.”

“Settle down, big guy.”  Shelly patted him on the shoulder.  “You don’t have to do that.  He hung himself years ago.”

The breath gushed from Sean’s lungs as he sank down into a nearby chair.  Each cabin was furnished with two plush leather ones and a sofa that folded out into a bed.  He had hoped to spend some quality adult time with Blythe on the one in his cabin.  Now, that was kind of doubtful.  No, make that impossible.

“Who was he to Blythe?”

“Her father.  Michael Dalton fought in the Persian Gulf War.  Shortly after coming home in 1991, he was diagnosed as being bipolar.  Throw in a touch of paranoid schizophrenia mixed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and he was seeing Ali Baba—the enemy—everywhere.”

Sean shook his head.  “Poor guy.”

“Yeah, he was a mess.  Unfortunately, his mental illness made Blythe and her mom’s life a living hell.  He wouldn’t take his medication because he was convinced the doctors were trying to poison him.  Whenever he had a really bad episode, he would lock Blythe and her mom in the closet for days under the guise of protecting them.  All of his horrible behavior was done in the name of ‘saving’ them.”

Sean shook his head.  No wonder she changed her phone number and never wanted to see him again.  She hadn’t noticed the assassin that night; only he had.  Blythe probably thought Sean suffered from the same psychological issues that had plagued her father.  He felt terrible.

“
Shit
. That’s rough, Shelly.  I had no idea she had been through so much.”

Shelly sighed.  “You have no idea.  When Michael’s paranoia was at its worst, he thought Blythe and her mom were traitors.  He accused them of joining forces with the enemy.  He then used them as bait to lure Ali Baba.”

“My God. 
How
?”

Tears filled Shelly’s eyes.  “He forced them to strip naked, marched them through the woods at gun point, put gags in their mouths and tied them to trees.  They were left out there for twenty-four hours at a time while ants crawled all over their bare bodies and bees repeatedly stung them.  Blessedly, something would snap Michael back to reality.  He would release them, apologizing and promising it would never happen again.” 

Sean stood and began pacing.  “Is that what finally drove him over the edge—his failure to keep his promise?”

“No.  I don’t know.  Maybe.  It could have been a million things, but I suspect the lynchpin was Blythe and her mother, Carla, leaving him.”

“I can see how it would have felt like the ultimate betrayal to a man in his state of mind.”

“Yeah, the whole thing was tragic.  But, Michael left Carla no choice.  He wouldn’t get help, and his sickness was destroying their little girl.  Blythe was only five years old when her dad got back from the Gulf.  After a year of his brutality, she started wetting the bed and stopped eating.  Carla couldn’t abide by that.  Even if she could have survived, her daughter wouldn’t have.  So they fled to our house.”

Sean furrowed his brows.  “I don’t remember seeing them there.  I was always hanging around your place.  Seems like I would have noticed you having houseguests.”

“They were only with us for three days.  Carla went back home to try and talk Michael into getting help.  When she got there the front door was ajar, and the stench was horrendous.  According to the coroner, Michael had been dead for nearly seventy-two hours.  He hanged himself shortly after his wife and daughter walked out the door.”

Knifing his fingers through his hair for the second time that day, he asked, “How the hell do you come back from that?”

Shelly smiled.  “When you’re Blythe Dalton, there’s nothing you can’t do.  The woman is amazing.  She graduated valedictorian of her high school, put herself through college and graduate school while staying rock-solid for her mom.  She’s dedicated her life to counseling young people, giving them the hope and coping skills that hadn’t been at her disposal.  Her door and her heart are always open, Sean.”

“Not to me they’re not.  On our date, I screwed up royally, Shelly Bellybutton.  It was out of my control, but that’s irrelevant.”

“What did you do, Sarge?”

“She didn’t tell you?”

“All she said was, a nice time was had by all, but she wasn’t ready for a romantic relationship with an overly-macho, domineering marine.  I just assumed there wasn’t any chemistry and let the subject drop.”

Sonofabitch!
Blythe really
was
amazing.  She had covered for him.  Despite how much he had hurt her that night, she placed the onus on herself.  By not telling Shelly how badly he had behaved, Blythe was protecting his childhood friendship.

“Oh, there was plenty of chemistry,” he said, smiling sadly.  “But given her heartbreaking experiences with her dad, hooking up with a soldier is probably the last thing she wants or needs.”  Walking to the door, he paused.  “What’s in her other two suitcases?”

Shelly smiled.  “Her self-medicating drug of choice.”

“Nothing illegal, I hope.”

“As far as I know, honeybuns are still lawful in the state of South Carolina.”

Shaking his head, he chuckled and left the cabin.

FOLDING THE PILLOW OVER her ears, Blythe groaned.  The bugle call of
Taps
being played at five thirty in the morning should be a felony.  Lots of stuff about summer camp was equally offensive: severe cases of poison ivy, homesickness, relentless practical jokes, horrible cafeteria chow that inevitably ended up as flying weapons in spontaneous food fights.  And worst of all, the branding of nicknames—surely that was the worst. 

Slowly, creakily, she dragged herself from the bed.  She was starting her day in a sleep deficit.  Last night hadn’t gone as she had planned.  After her encounter with Sean, she had made her way to the lake, lugging all three of her suitcases behind her.  Blythe had felt the heat of his stare boring into her back.  She knew it went against his well-trained grain to stand by and watch the weaker sex struggle with her luggage. 

Hearing his heavy, bull-like breathing made her smile.  She had enjoyed causing him some discomfort.  Assassin or no, his behavior on their date deserved a degree of payback.  Blythe looked for Cabin B, assuming she would be bunking with Shelly.  But when she passed Cabin A and saw a CAMP COUNSELOR plaque mounted on the door, she knew she had found her home—at least for the next two weeks. 

Blythe shook her head at the thought.

The best way to cope with a bad situation was to mentally remove yourself from the reality of it.  Yep, that’s what she would do.  Pretend she was on a fantastical adventure, a safari through the wild jungles of Africa.  Only she wouldn’t be admiring the Western Lowland gorillas swinging from tropical tree to tree. She would be hiding in the thick bush, using the foliage as camouflage, creating a natural barrier between herself and the most maddening marine on the planet.  

Who was she kidding? There was no way to avoid him in the light of day when she hadn’t even managed to dodge him under the dark of night. He had invaded her dreams and consumed her body in the wee hours of morning.  During fitful sleep, she had felt his hands caressing her skin, roaming all over, making a study of each curve, each dip and valley.  His lips trailed close behind, setting her skin on fire with pent-up passions and long-neglected desires.

Wetting a washcloth with cold water, she wiped it across her cheeks, then pressed it to her forehead.  She had to get a grip on herself.  She was here for the campers.  To fulfill a two-week commitment.  Then she could leave these tick-infested woods.  Walk away from the hottest-assed marine to ever live and forget all the longings he had awakened inside her. 

Quickly, she tugged on a pair of khaki shorts, a pink V-neck top and a pair of white Keds tennis shoes, no socks.  Securing her chestnut brown hair into a loose ponytail, she checked her look in the mirror. 
Not too bad
, she thought to herself. 

The outfit and the casual hairdo made her look eighteen instead of twenty-eight.  The soft, pink cotton T-shirt complimented the healthy glow in her cheeks.  Her skin had always been creamy and flawless like her mother’s.  Blythe was thankful for good genes.  With no need for foundation or blush, she brushed a touch of mascara onto the tips of her already long, thick lashes.  A quick smear of mauve-colored lipstick accentuated her cute, pouty, bowtie lips.

For a woman who wanted to lay low for two weeks, do her time and get out, she sure was making a fuss over her appearance.  Admittedly, she wanted to look her best in case she happened to run into a certain someone.  Not that it mattered how she looked, she wouldn’t get involved with a marine.  She couldn’t bear to live like she had before—terrified, never knowing what horror she would face from one day to the next. 

SEAN WAS GRITTING HIS teeth.  The bugle had sounded fifteen minutes ago, and still Blythe was nowhere in sight.  The rest of the staff was standing at attention before him, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, awaiting his orders.  Turning his attention to Shelly, he growled, “Go get her.”

“Sir! Yes, sir!” Shelly shouted.  She couldn’t help but giggle at his gruffness as she scurried off to retrieve her bestie.  Shelly had known Sean all of her life, and his tough exterior didn’t fool her one bit.  Sure, he was a lethal warrior.  Of that, she had no doubt.  She wasn’t privy to his classified missions but knew being a SOCS was crazy dangerous.  Special ops was not for the weak of mind, body or spirit. 

Sergeant Warrington would willingly fight to his last breath in order to preserve the freedoms most people took for granted on a daily basis.  To protect his country and the people he loved. 

But underneath all his hard armor beat a heart bigger than all outdoors.  And what made it beat the loudest and strongest were the kids who would be showing up at Camp Semper Fi this afternoon. All of them were sweet sixteens—juvenile delinquents, one conviction away from long-term imprisonment.  Their lives had been anything but sweet. 

Sean would turn things around for them.  She had seen him do it countless times.  He had a gift.  A magic that transcended all logic.  He took what was broken and made it whole again.  He instilled worth and esteem where none had existed before.  He fortified and strengthened what fear and hate had weakened.  His success rate with the troubled teens who attended his camp was one hundred percent.  With him, failure was never an option.

SHELLY AND BLYTHE WERE walking up the hill toward him and the rest of the group.  Their arms were linked together like a couple of school girls. He couldn’t make out their feminine chatter, but the animated expressions on their faces told him the conversation was cheerful.

Sean’s breath caught in his throat when Blythe caught his gaze.  Her face broke into a beaming smile and, even though he knew it wasn’t intended for him, he cherished it just the same.  His chest tightened at the sight of creamy, curvy thighs peeking out beneath her khaki shorts.  On the morning breeze, a ponytail of thick brown hair playfully bounced against her shoulders.  His fingers itched to release that glorious mane, allowing it to flow freely down her back. 
God, she was even more beautiful today than she was yesterday.

When they got to within earshot, he barked,   “Glad you saw fit to join us, Counselor.”

The expression on her face turned from lighthearted to disdainful.  He tamped down a grin.  There was a price to be paid for insubordination. 

As they filed into a horizontal line, he lifted the pen from his clipboard. Looking to his left he yelled, “Potato Peeler!”

Private Kean’s face turned bright red.  “Present and accounted for, sir!”

Moving down the line, his eyes rested on a petite, blond-haired, green-eyed woman in a white, tight-fitting dress.  The top two buttons were open, revealing an abundance of cleavage. 

“Nurse Nightingale!”

She batted barely-visible lashes.  Her voice was soft and breathy as a summer breeze.  “At your service, sir.”