Mary Had a Little Problem (6 page)

Frantic in a matter of seconds when she couldn’t find proof of whether or not Brock was who he said, she opened and closed drawers again, slammed cabinet doors, and finally slapped her hands on the counter and took a deeply troubled breath. “You should go.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Mary,” Brock said softly. “If I’d had a wife, a wife I loved as much as Luke loved you, I would’ve expected Luke to be there for her.”

His hands fell to her waist. Using his thumbs, he applied pressure to her lower back. “Turn around, Mary.”

He held the stealthy grace of a panther, as if he were hiding something in plain sight. Still, she realized his truer motive would soon be revealed. His eyes were dark and possessive, predatory. He looked eager to lay claims to new prey.

Mary buried her face in her palms. “I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can,” he whispered against her knuckles. “I’m interested in you, Mary.”

“Why?” Mary asked, dropping her arms to her sides. “If you were Luke’s friend, why would you do this?”

“I have my reasons,” Brock told her, pulling her into a tight embrace.

She didn’t know what his intentions were, nor did she care. What mattered then was the physical aspect. Brock’s broad, muscular arms opened wide, and he held her. A rock-hard chest was there to support her. For some reason, she was willing to let Brock supply what she needed most.

This was what she’d missed. A man’s body was
exactly
what she’d needed and maybe even what she’d desired most in the world.

There was nothing to stop her from taking what she yearned for, so Brock was right. They needed to get the sex out of the way. After that, maybe she could concentrate on more important things, like finding out what had happened to her husband.

If she played her cards right, maybe Brock Taylor would help her find the answers she needed. If he didn’t, he’d still serve his purpose.

Chapter Five

Brock was being used. Maybe that would’ve bothered him if he hadn’t planned on sticking around. Perhaps a better man would’ve refused Mary, but Brock never thought of himself as the better man, unless of course he was in a combative situation. That’s where he stood out, and most in the field considered Brock better than the rest.

He was one tough son-of-a-bitch, and he knew it, but for some reason, this petite blonde-haired vixen had him by the balls. She was already his weakness, and he’d known she would be. She’d had a hold on him since the first day Luke showed off those damned-ass pictures of his wife, talking about a love like no other. And she had no idea how he’d carried a torch for her.

Maybe he should’ve been ashamed of himself for that kind of distant lust, for wanting another soldier’s woman. He’d craved this beautiful creature in front of him long before Anna introduced them.

Brock thought back to the night when he’d told Luke he was infatuated with Mary. Luke handled his confession well, much better than Brock expected. He’d said, “You think my wife is sexy. So what? Do you think you’re the first man who said he had a thing for Mary? Hell no.”

The liquor had been running rampant, and the booze had inspired him to speak freely. He’d said, “If you were any kind of man at all, you’d share her with your best friend.” Luke had chuckled, taking it all in stride. His reply then was instant and firmly delivered. “When hell freezes over, man. I’d go crazy watching her with you or anyone else.”

Now, Brock understood why. Mary was like a slow moving dream. Full of grace, she walked through the hallway, casually peering over her shoulder once or twice, as if she thought he wouldn’t be there behind her.

There was no stopping him. He possessed motives. He was focused. If he’d learned anything from Luke at all, it was about Mary. This whirlwind of a fling was exactly what they both needed. This was precisely how she and Luke had started their romance, what Luke once described as the most intense love affair of his life.

Brock wanted a piece of that.

If he and Mary had chemistry—and it was already obvious that they might—he planned to see this thing through. He was twenty-nine years old, and he wanted to settle down. Maybe Mary wasn’t prepared to give her heart to another, but Brock believed one day soon she would be, and he’d wait. He was a patient man.

He followed Mary to her bedroom. She walked over to the round bedside table and turned on the lamp. Tucking her hands behind her, she leaned against the wall. Sadness crept across her face, and her expression broke his heart.

She glanced around the large area, appearing as if she’d just entered her bedroom for the first time. From where he stood, Brock could see Luke’s clothes still hanging in the walk-in closet, right across from hers. His shoes lined the bottom rack, and they were fully polished, much better than a spit and shine.

“You can have my body. You’ll never have my heart,” she said softly, acting as if she thought he was prepared to take what she wouldn’t willingly give.

Brock stalked her. He wrapped his arms around her and held her. “I don’t want one without the other, Mary.” He tilted her chin toward his and brushed his lips past hers. “It’s non-negotiable. If you think I’m only interested in a one-night stand, then you’re mistaken. Maybe you should return to that bar and pick up another soldier.”

“I could,” she muttered, a lame attempt to make him think she’d considered that very thing.

If she even dared, he’d stop her. He’d step in front of her and say something he’d likely regret.

“I didn’t pick you up,” Mary remarked following a brief silence.

“You didn’t have to. I was there for you. Somewhere deep inside, you already know this.”

Mary swallowed hard. “Why?”

He shrugged. “When the time is right, I’ll tell you.”

“What if you never get another chance to say what needs to be said now?”

Brock sighed, backed away, and took a seat on the bed. With his legs splayed, he dropped his hands between his knees and said, “You’re right. In this line of work, a soldier doesn’t know when he may have another opportunity to say what’s on his mind.”

Mary sat next to him. “Luke taught me that, if nothing else.”

“What else did he teach you, Mary?” Brock asked, turning to study her beautiful face, immediately impressed by her flawless skin and impeccable features. Her small button nose and high cheekbones were perfect, but her mouth was guaranteed to ruin a good man.

With full, pouty lips, Brock might have suspected collagen treatments if he hadn’t seen Mary’s childhood pictures. One in particular stood out in his mind—a photograph of Mary and a dog named Pigeon.

Brock grinned as he thought about Luke telling the story of Mary and Pigeon. He wondered when he might find the appropriate time to let her know how Luke often tried to locate a similar dog. Someday, he’d relay the stories her husband once shared. If nothing else, maybe Mary would realize he paid attention. He cared enough to listen. In fact, through Luke, Brock halfway fell in love. And Brock didn’t like to half-ass anything.

It was time to finish what he’d started.

Mary stood all of a sudden, and he was taken aback by the brazen way she seemingly decided to go after what she wanted, too. Slow hands cascaded across small oblong buttons. Her eyes were heavy and laden with pure unadulterated lust.

“Tell me, Mary,” he whispered, watching as she slid her slender arms away from rolled sleeves. The soft silk top drifted to the carpet, and Brock’s gaze fell to her full chest. Lace covered her, but did little to hide the hard nipples pressing through the material. “Show me how you were taught to love.”

Her blue eyes sparkled like the royal waters of the Pacific as she tossed her long, straight golden hair over thin shoulders using both hands to slide her skirt away from shapely hips. Bowing her head and lowering her eyes, she said, “Luke taught me everything a man like you expects a woman to know.”

Brock’s heart threatened to collapse right there. Had Luke trained her to enjoy the things he’d come to expect from his lovers as well? Was Mary his submissive little bride?

Reining in his need, Brock imagined what Mary held in store. This was too good to be true. How had he overlooked what was in front of him the whole time? How had he missed what Luke must’ve been trying to tell him in so many words?

He recalled key words Luke had said in the past, statements like “presenting” or “knelt”, but he also remembered how Luke often made light of the comments, too, which was why Brock never thought twice about Domination and submission. Until now.

“Come here, Mary,” he said, reaching for her.

She followed his request, inching closer to where he sat. She stood in front of him, stepping in between his open legs.

Mary’s tiny waist was a perfect fit for his large hands. Placing both palms on either side of her torso, he brought her closer. His lips met her skin, and he dragged his tongue across her warm silken flesh, savoring her taste. The honey sweet smell of her sex engaged him, taunting him to take what he wanted most.

“Show me what you were taught,” Brock encouraged her, raising his gaze to meet hers while avoiding the temptation her body brought. Holy hell, what he’d give to dip his head a bit lower, strip that thong away from her body, and wedge his tongue inside her wet pussy.

Mary backed away from the bed, reached behind her shoulders, and unhooked her bra. As she freed herself, Brock did the same—releasing his belt, lowering his zipper, and yanking off his pants as he kicked away his shoes. Lastly, he shrugged out of the tight shirt confining him.

The only clothing to speak of was the thong Mary sported as she sashayed around the tall post at the end of the bed. She gripped the dark wood so tightly, her knuckles looked pronounced, whitened by the loss of circulation.

As she teased him, Brock relaxed against the bed, observing as this remarkable woman twirled around like a stripper taking to her pole. Long locks shimmied down her back as she swayed right then twirled around to the left, wrapping her body around the furniture as an exotic showgirl might.

“You like to dance, don’t you?”

“I like to please,” she replied. “But you’ve already gathered that, haven’t you,
sir
?”

Sir?
Dear God. Was she so practiced in Domination and submission that she recognized an impetuous Dom, a dominant partner ready to train and connect with his submissive?

He caught himself closing his eyes. Her words were like music to his ears. Mary and Luke had been in the lifestyle to some degree. No question there. Whether they toyed with a little bondage and role play or lived in the throes of the BDSM community wasn’t a matter of question. The military wouldn’t have allowed their soldiers the opportunity to collar a wife, much less visit and frequent known BDSM clubs. It would’ve been greatly frowned upon, which led Brock to several questions.

How much did Mary know? What had Luke taught her?

Mary’s pale skin was flushed. Her high cheekbones were the perfect shade of pink. She smiled, and for a split second, Brock was lost in expectation, as if he fully expected Mary to give herself to him without reservations, without holding back.

About the time he ran his hand across his cock for the first time, her eyes watered. He held his breath and waited for the tears to come, expecting a widow’s guilt to emerge. Instead, to his sweet surprise, the only expression remaining there was unharnessed lust.

Chapter Six

This was a hell of a way to get involved with another man. There were so many similarities here, too many to consider. This night was reminiscent of her first evening with Luke. Brock reminded her of Luke, too, yet the notable differences appealed to her as well.

Brock was harder. His cold eyes warned of a harrowing past, a troubled history a woman didn’t want to know about. But she was curious what his eyes had seen, where his hands had traveled. She longed to know more about him one minute, and the very next, she didn’t care to understand him at all.

One minute, she was interested in asking questions. The next, she became as indifferent as humanly possible.

Brock had a story to tell. She didn’t want to hear it. He had past lovers, friends and family, maybe even an ex-significant other. She didn’t care.

She focused instead on the physical aspect, on the chemistry between them. The journey that led them there really didn’t matter.

Brock cared about yesterday enough to mention his association with Luke. While she was grateful for his honesty, she didn’t want him to stick around tomorrow.

There were enough warning signs to stop this potential catastrophe before they even began, but she couldn’t throw on the brakes. Luke was gone. Brock was right here. And he was looking at her as if she were the sexiest woman in the world, as if he understood her desires and needs. What woman turned away a man like Brock Taylor?

Certainly not her.

Her motivation for getting carried away seemed valid, legitimate enough for understanding, not that she sought approval from outsiders, but at the same time, she’d never want to disrespect Luke’s memory. Still, at that moment, she found the courage to shelve the past, to get on with a future, and lay down with a stranger for the very reasons he suggested.