Make Mine a Marine (76 page)

He'd sent his fingerprints to Kel Murphy for an international check, suspecting they'd come back unidentified as they had in the past. The natives in Tenebrosa either didn't know him or wouldn't admit to it. How the hell was he supposed to help Hawk or Jonathan or anybody else when he couldn't even help himself?

Where was that voice in his head to guide him now?

Drew peeled off his shirt and kicked off his shoes and walked over to his workout mat. Running through his kata would help clear his mind, empty it of the nightmares that plagued his sleep. At least he could rest in oblivion until the physical exhaustion wore off. After that, sweet dreams were up for grabs.

He pushed open the windows, took his position, and bowed.

Halfway through the second set, he heard a knock at the door. With his left arm extended and his right hand fisted at his chest, he paused. The intrusion sifted through his consciousness, canceling out the peace he had not quite attained. Ignoring the second knock, he exhaled deeply, returned to his original position, and bowed again.

He slipped the dead bolt open before the third knock. "How the hell do you expect me to find what you want in one day…?”  His temper evaporated at the unexpected visitor. "Emma."

The first thing he noticed were the deep lines of stress that grooved the pale skin beside her eyes. The second thing he noticed were the tiny bruises at either side of her jaw. Five bruises. In the shape and scope of a man's fingers.

A white-hot poker of protective rage burned through him at the knowledge she'd been hurt. "Son of a—"

"Drew." Keeping a tight rein on a ragged sob, she stepped forward, buried her face in his neck, and burst into tears.

With one arm shielding her, he guided her inside the apartment and locked the door behind her. Then he turned and surrounded her in his embrace. He tunneled his fingers into her hair and rubbed his cheek against hers.

"What happened? Are you all right? Kerry?"

"She's with BJ tonight." He felt a hot tear scorch his skin as it cooled from his workout. "Just hold me, Drew. Hold me tight. Kiss me." She lifted her mouth in an irresistible temptation, asking for what he was so willing to give. "Kiss me."

He looked into her clear blue eyes, saw the need etched there, felt an answering need inside himself to give all she asked for and more. He angled her face and claimed her lips, gently at first, seeking the conscious acknowledgment of her request.

She opened beneath him, and he seized the offer, deepening the kiss. She moaned in her throat, tunneled her fingers into his hair, anchored herself to his probing mouth.

Drew swept her away into a world of his making. A world of security. A world of trust.

The world of his love.

Chapter
Thirteen

Emma gloried in the possessive claim of Drew's mouth on hers. He tasted familiar and intoxicating. She felt no fear in the needy exploration of his hands on her back, her bottom, and tangled in the length of her hair. She knew no hesitation when he pushed her coat off her shoulders, dipped his arm behind her knees, and scooped her up against his chest.

Her pain and powerlessness vanished in the instant her fingers touched the damaged skin on his shoulder. He was such a unique man. Lonely. Just. Brave. Jonathan's suffering had changed him into a man she didn't know, a man she could no longer trust. Drew bore his suffering with dignity. He wore it like a badge of honor, evidence of his strength, proof of his ability to endure.

He wore his scars on his skin. They hadn't touched his soul.

She hugged her arms around him and pressed a kiss to that fearful mark on his shoulder. He carried her to his bed and laid her down with urgent care. He knelt beside her, holding back, skimming her body with a look of cherished adoration.

He made her feel so different than Jonathan did. With Drew she could be strong. Proud of her strength. She could be equal. As she'd been with the old Jonathan.

Her body thrummed with the anticipatory thrill of promise shining in his eyes. She had been primed for this moment since the night he'd kissed her at Lucky's. Then, she had consciously denied the need he aroused in her. Tonight she accepted it, and gave that need free rein.

She reached for him, and he came to her with willing haste. He lay half on top, half beside her. The unyielding strength of his muscled chest butted against the softer contours of her arm and breast. One lean, powerful thigh pinned her legs, and she felt his heat rising against her hip.

He brushed his fingers across her cheek in that loving way of his, then traced the path with his warm, firm mouth. He drew his thumb down the line of her throat, and she arched her neck, giving greater access to his lips and tongue which followed the pattern of his hand.

He found that bundle of nerves in the hollow of her throat and then kissed her with exquisite thoroughness. A muscle clenched low in her belly. "Yes," she moaned, seeking the mindless pleasure he could provide. "Like that."

"Ah, Emma." His husky words rasped against her skin. "You're so beautiful. So damn beautiful."

He moved over the top of her, and she took his weight, losing herself in the differences between them. She demanded and he gave. She clutched his shoulders, dragged her fingertips down his back. She felt the hitch in his breath as her nails found a sensitive spot near the base of his spine. She felt powerful. Sexy. An equal partner in this embrace.

His shoulder flexed against her breast, hard male against soft female. The tiny shock kindled a flame that he stoked into a blazing wildfire when he caught her knee and bent her leg beside his hip. He glided his hand along the length of her thigh. The whisper of silk and callused palm opened a wealth of sensation in every pore. As he pushed aside her dress and slip, and neared that most sensitive part of her, she clenched her legs together, adjusting to the corkscrew of sensation spiraling down to her core.

His hand closed over her an instant before his mouth closed on her breast. He pressed his palm against her, and she cried out on that long-held breath. She clutched him to her as the heat of his tongue stroked her through the knotted caress of shantung silk.

She stretched beneath him, seeking relief from the pressure building inside her. She felt his need press into her thigh. Her belly tightened another notch, and the fire neared its flash point. She dipped her long fingers inside the waist of his pants and felt the sheen of sweat and powerful muscle as she grasped his buttocks. "Drew," she pleaded, wanting more, wanting all of him.

He slid his hand up under her dress to the waistband of her hose and pulled. She lifted her hips, struggling with him to free herself to the promise of skin on skin, and so much more. Feeling the rasp of his palms along her legs, all the way down to the tips of her toes, he peeled off the hose and tossed them aside. Before she could analyze her pounding heartbeat, before she could second-guess her wary catch of breath, he was on top of her again, running his hand along the inside of her thigh, spreading her legs, reaching higher. She sank her fingers into his hair and tugged his mouth back to hers.

She hadn't felt this free, this out of control in years. Jonathan hadn't made her feel this way, not this new Jonathan, at any rate. She shouldn’t be doing this. She was cheating on her husband. The thought escaped, but she denied it. Her fingers gathered the silky tendrils of Drew’s hair in a bunch.

"Hey."

She'd tugged too hard and pulled his hair. "I'm sorry." She kissed a second apology. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."

His hand stilled on her hip, tangled in the hem of her dress. He found the ripped seam.

"Em?"

He held the torn corner of her skirt between his fingers for her inspection. She felt the change in his body, the ragged tension, the forced withdrawal. She knew she had lost the moment before it had ever fully been hers.

"No. Don't leave me," she said. He raised himself up on his elbows above her. She laced her fingers behind his neck, wanting him back, needing him. "I want to forget."

"Forget what?" The scowl on his face gentled when he looked into her eyes. "Lady, tell me what happened. Tell me what's wrong."

More than the fire of his passion, more than the power of his embrace, the gentle brush of Drew's fingers across her cheek undid her. Heat stung her eyes, flooded them with tears that spilled over onto her cheek and across his hand.

She sat up, tried to roll away. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have used you like that. I wasn't thinking. I only wanted to feel. I'm sorry."

She wiped at the moisture on her face, but his hand was already there. His fingers caught each drop, carried it away, until the dam broke inside her and the tears came too swiftly for any kind touch. "Oh, God," she sobbed. "I can't stand… I can't be with him. My husband is finally home and I can’t be with him."

Drew gathered her into his arms, settled her beside him on the bed. He cupped her head and turned her face into the crook of his neck. "Hush." He rocked her back and forth as the tears flowed unchecked. "Hush, lady."

Emma wept for all she had hoped for, all she had lost.

She wept for broken dreams and foolish resolutions and shattered hearts.

She wept for brave men betrayed by their past and loyal women haunted by their future.

She cried until her head hurt and her sinuses ached. She cried until her throat felt raw. She cried until she could cry no more.

And Drew held her. He held her long into the early hours of the morning, long past the time her tears had dried up and her body continued to quake in weary, bone-shaking sobs. He held her snug in his arms until her body surrendered to exhaustion and she drifted into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Drew slept through the night with Emma in his arms. He stirred just a time or two, to straighten her dress around her and to cover her with a blanket.

Though his body ached with unfulfilled need, he slept the sleep of those at peace, the kind of sleep he couldn't remember.

She had needed him, in a way that couldn't be neatly explained by lust or circumstance. Something had frightened her terribly, shaken her to the very core. And though he railed against the most likely suspect, the one man who could hurt her the most, she hadn't come to him to fight that battle for her.

She had come seeking a sanctuary.

Emma had finally let go. Her will battered down, her faith exhausted, she'd lost that cool reserve that made her so strong and had let go of all the pain and fear and heartache she buried inside her.

He awoke with Emma tucked to his side, her arm slung across his chest. Her hair fanned in a profusion of sable-rich glory across his arm and the pillow behind her.

Drew hugged her tight, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and silently thanked her for the honor. When the strain of a lifetime had become too much to bear, when she no longer had the strength to protect herself, she had come to him.

He crawled out of bed and tucked the blanket around her. He wanted her to sleep and regain her strength. As he stood over her, he frowned. The bruises on her face stood out starkly on her freckled alabaster skin. He remembered the ragged edge of her torn dress and wondered just what that bastard had done.

Knowing Emma, she had put up one hell of a fight.

Keeping that thought foremost in his mind so he wouldn't tear the place apart, he showered and dressed. He was pouring himself a glass of milk when Emma wandered into the kitchen. Although statuesque as ever, she seemed small and vulnerable with the blanket hugged around her, covering her from shoulders to ankles.

"Good morning." He offered the gentle greeting with a smile. "How are you feeling?"

With one hand gripping the blanket at her throat, she pulled her hair free and shook it loose around her shoulders. The resulting cascade framed her face in a dark cloud. Barefoot and without makeup, she looked a far cry from the cool, confident corporate-exec facade she normally showed the world. "I want to apologize."

"For what?"

Her gaze snapped to his, wide and questioning. "For barging in on you last night. For not finishing what we started." She tucked a curl of hair behind her ear and huddled into an even more closed posture. "For taking advantage of your good nature.

"My good nature?" He laughed and drank a long swallow of the wholesome milk. "I thought you liked me for my less sterling qualities."

She stepped to the table, opposite him, gripped the back of a chair and gave him a stern look. "You may have questionable talents that help with your work, but you're a good man. You could have taken advantage of my hysteria last night, but you didn't. I needed a friend more than I needed a lover, and you were there for me."

"Taken advantage?" He narrowed his eyes at her choice of words. "Is that what this is all about?"

She shrank inside the blanket. Everything stern or strong seeped from her pale features.

Drew pulled a platter from the microwave and set it in the center of the table. Then he pulled a mug from the cabinet. "Coffee or milk?”

"I beg your pardon?"

He set the mug on the table in front of her. "Coffee or milk? Which do you want with your breakfast?" She eyed the toast and scrambled eggs he'd set on the table and made a polite but thanks-but-no-thanks face. She was too upset to eat.

"You shouldn't have gone to the trouble."

"I planned to eat, anyway." He ignored the defensive dodge of her shoulders when he moved around her and pulled out the chair for her. "Sit." He touched his fingers to the indentation of her waist and guided her to her seat. "Last night you needed to vent. This morning we need to talk."

He felt her gaze rise to him and follow him around the table. When he sat, she sought his eyes. He offered her a supportive smile and set about eating his eggs and toast. For several minutes, she simply watched him in silence. He waited for her to fill him in on whatever had happened to make calm, rational Emma Ramsey go through an emotional upheaval like the one he'd witnessed last night.

"I called my lawyer yesterday evening. Interrupted his dinner." This was not what he'd expected to hear, but he schooled his curiosity and took another drink of milk, waiting for her to elaborate. "I filed for a divorce from Jonathan."

The food in his mouth went sour. He dropped his toast on to the plate and shoved it to the middle of the table. "Did he hurt you?"

"Not the way you mean." There were numerous ways a person could get hurt in an abusive relationship. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. None were acceptable in Drew's book. Not with any woman. Especially not with Emma.

He donned a more detached demeanor, assumed the role of a dispassionate counselor. Letting her see his anger wouldn't encourage her to talk. Sharing his opinion of the sort of justice he wanted to wreak on the husband to whom she had fought so hard to be loyal, wouldn't help Emma. "He's been home for less than a month. Divorce seems like a drastic step if you're not getting along."

She lifted her shoulders, but seeing them tremble made a mockery of her show of strength. "I should have done it sooner."

Drew asked the question he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer to. "Did something happen last night to force this decision?"

Her gaze darted to his, then down to her plate. She picked up a slice of toast and toyed with it. "He was a little aggressive, a bit needy." She dropped the uneaten food. "I left before he could really scare me. I'm sure things have calmed down by now."

Her rote recitation appalled him. Is that how her mother had sounded when she'd been abused? "Don't defend him to me."

"I'm not. I… he…" She sought his gaze with a frantic need. "It wasn't just last night. He's… he's not himself." She loosened her grip on her woolen shield and fisted her hand in front of her. "He's so demanding. I hoped he'd come home the same man I once knew. I expected that maybe he would be more subdued after being held prisoner. That he'd have problems to work through. But this Jonathan is… strong."