Terms of Surrender (9 page)

She did as he asked, then handed the phone back. Danny glanced at the screen, knowing he’d be dialing that number very soon. Hell, maybe even tonight. He was rapidly growing addicted to her and phone sex seemed like a good way to spend a night in a crappy bed at the Norfolk Naval Station.

“I really should go,” she said. “I had to call my neighbor to ask her to check in on my cat last night, and I’d prefer to get home while she’s at church. Otherwise, she’ll definitely come snooping around and will notice if I come home looking like I’ve been well-and-truly done.”

“Well and truly, huh?”

She grinned. “
So
well,
so
truly.”

“Okay, you get going. I’ve got to batten her down.”

“Do you want me to stay and help?”

He waved a hand. “Nah, get on the road. You’ve got a hike. I’ll talk to you Wednesday. Thursday at the very latest. I promise.”

Nodding, Mari brushed a kiss against his lips and whispered, “Thanks, Danny.”

He grabbed her hips and kissed her more thoroughly. She was wobbling on her high heels when he finally let her go.

“You’re welcome.”

Smiling, she let him help her onto the dock, and walked to the parking lot. She’d left her car right beside his, and he watched her get in, lifting a hand as she drove away. He waited until her car had completely disappeared from view before he got back to work, stowing his gear, getting
Jazzie Girl
properly bedded down for the windy few days predicted.

It took a while—possibly because everywhere he turned, he was confronted with another hot memory about something he’d done with Mari the night before. It was almost an hour later before he, too, was finally ready to head home to prepare for his trip down to Norfolk.

He had just grabbed the keys and was climbing down to the dock when his phone rang. Tugging it from his pocket, he saw his youngest brother’s name, and was about to answer when his wet shoe slipped a little on the ladder. He didn’t fall, or even stumble, but when he grabbed for the rung, the phone slipped out of his hand.

Danny lunged for the small device, almost catching it in midair. His fingers actually brushed against the thing. But he didn’t quite make it.

The phone fell with a plop into the murky waters of the marina.

“Hell,” he muttered, watching it sink beneath the surface. The phone wasn’t terribly new, or expensive, so for the first second, he was only mildly annoyed.

Then something sunk in. Something that was a whole lot more important to him than spending a couple of hundred bucks on a new phone.

Mari. The woman he was rapidly becoming addicted to. The woman whose last name he didn’t even know.

Her number—the only way he had to get in touch with her—was in that phone.

Which was right now resting in several inches of silt at the bottom of the Chesapeake Bay.

5

Monday 5/9/11, 07:00 a.m.
www.mad-mari.com/2011/05/09/whataday

Don’t you just love spring?

I do. I swear, all day yesterday, I walked around with a smile on my face, sure I’d never seen such a beautiful day. The sky was more blue, the sun more bright, the air more clean…okay, well, scratch that. You guys know I live in Baltimore. The air’s not really that clean. Ugh.

Then today, I woke up, and it was raining. Pouring. Cats and dogs and Noah’s ark type stuff.

But you know what? It’s still absolutely gorgeous! I’m still smiling!

I’m still very happy.

Okay, before I go on, I’ll admit, I met someone pretty spectacular. Yes, this is still me, still Mad-Mari, the man-hating shrew (or so says John L. from Wyoming, who wrote me that nice, chatty email last week. John, if you ever break into my house to teach me a lesson, as you threatened to, be prepared to come face-to-face with my .22. I’m an army brat and my dad taught me to shoot when I was ten).

Back to the subject—I’ve never said I hated men. And I don’t hate men. Remember, people, a sense of humor is your friend! Sarcasm does not equal hatred.

I’ve had some crappy relationships and known some real jerks and that might have started this whole Mad-Mari thing. But if you’ve been around here for a while, you know that’s not what I’m all about. I have known some really great guys. In fact, I have two fantastic, wonderful younger brothers. I just haven’t had much luck in the romance department.

My luck, it appears, has changed.

But (to quote Forrest Gump) that’s all I’ve got to say about that. The rest of the story is strictly Noneya…as in none ya bizness. I’m not one of those kiss-and-tell types who’ll spill my guts all over the internet.

Suffice it to say, I met a nice man. In fact, maybe a perfect man.

And this rainy day is suddenly looking a whole lot brighter.

Wednesday 5/11/11, 07:00 a.m.
www.mad-mari.com/2011/05/11/humpday

It’s hump day!

Don’t you just love that even mature, adult people use that term? Whenever I hear it on the radio, it always makes me giggle. Some people who know me in my real life would probably be horrified, but, yes, apparently there’s a ten-year-old-boy’s sense of humor lurking inside this grown-up exterior. Shh! Don’t tell.

There’s this great writer I read (actually, it’s two writers, a husband-and-wife team.) They produce these supersexy Harlequin books that have definitely tided me over during some romantic dry spells. (Ahem. Uh, sorry, TMI!)

Anyway, they have a Facebook page, and every Wednesday, for hump day, they offer up a naughty quote, often by Mae West. Like, “Between two evils, I always pick the one I never tried before.” Or “A dame that knows the ropes isn’t likely to get tied up.” (My addition: Unless she wants to!)

But here’s my absolute favorite of Ms. West’s words of wisdom. Might be a little too romantic for hump day (and, to be honest, for Mad-Mari). But I’m in that kind of mood.

“A man’s kiss is his signature.”

You got that right, Mae.

Thought for the day: Would hump day still be as much fun if it were called middle-of-the-week day?

Or, I guess for you traditionalists, we could still go with Wednesday.

Whatever you call it, hope it’s a great one!

Mari

Friday 5/13/11, 07:00 a.m.
www.mad-mari.com/2011/05/13/Friday

It’s Friday the 13th! Do you think it’s unlucky? I never have. I’m not a big believer in luck. I much prefer the idea that you get what you want out of life because you worked hard and you deserve it. I guess I do have a bit of my father’s no-nonsense blood in my veins after all.

But not too much.:)

Quick question for you: How soon is too soon to start wondering why he hasn’t called yet? It’s been a while since I’ve done this dating thing.

Thanks!

Mari

Oh, P.S. Thought for the day—do people still say dating? My teenage sister just says “hooking up.” Which, to me, means something else entirely. (And the thought of my teenage sister doing that really shocks me. Yikes!) So, what do you think?

Discuss!

Monday 5/16/11, 07:00 a.m.
www.mad-mari.com/2011/05/16/goodnews

I got the job! Yay!

Monday 5/16/11, 07:32 a.m.
www.mad-mari.com/2011/05/16/goodnews
Comment #6

Thanks for the kudos on the job AllyBMe!

SandyT, JLoNo, Sucrebby, Franni from Frisco…the whole point of me posting about the job, and not about him was because no, (to answer your much-repeated question) I haven’t heard from him. Yet.

Monday 5/16/11, 08:45 a.m.
www.mad-mari.com/2011/05/16/goodnews
Comment #21

Thanks again for the congrats. But to those of you who are just determined to ask…no, I am NOT worried that he won’t call. I don’t know him well, but I know a lying scumbag when I meet one, and he’s not one.

Monday 5/16/11, 07:20 p.m.
www.mad-mari.com/2011/05/16/goodnews
Comment #48

You guys really aren’t making me feel any better here. Am I totally crazy to be telling myself there’s a good reason I haven’t heard from him? He did say he was going out of town for a few days. And I did tell him he didn’t have to call.

Monday 5/16/11, 07:58 p.m.
www.mad-mari.com/2011/05/16/goodnews
Comment #62

No, Joanie from KY, of course I didn’t mean it when I told him he didn’t have to call. Duh!

And yes, Tiredmommy, he did promise he would.

Monday 5/16/11, 08:18 p.m.
www.mad-mari.com/2011/05/16/goodnews
Comment #70

Yeah, I’m pretty sure there are phones where he was going.

And no, I don’t suppose he could have lost my number…unless his cell phone got run over by a truck or something!

Hey, anything’s possible, right?

Monday 5/16/11, 10:32 p.m.
www.mad-mari.com/2011/05/16/goodnews
Comment #92

PLEASE stop trying to cheer me up about how all men are scum! I am NOT ready to concede that about this particular one. Something could have happened.

Or…not. Shit.

It’s been a long day. Think I’ll go drink a bottle of wine and eat a quart of Häagen-Dazs now.

P.S. Maybe he got sick?

Tuesday 5/17/11, 07:00 a.m.
www.mad-mari.com/2011/05/17/stillhope

I got a good night’s sleep and woke up feeling better. I’m not ready to give up hope. There was a trip involved. And we all know crazy things can happen when you travel.

Okay, he was only traveling about a hundred miles so there’s no way he lost a passport or a plane ticket or got some rare tropical disease. But still, cars do break down.

Well…okay, maybe not that one. (Can’t say why—I’m trying to be discreet about who he is, remember?)

But his business could have taken longer than he expected. So I am not going to panic here. Not going to doubt my own judgment. I’m a pretty good judge of character and I’m not a pushover.

Say it with me: There’s no reason to fear the worst!

Tuesday 5/17/11, 8:48 p.m.
www.mad-mari.com/2011/17/05/stillhope
Comment #73

Screw that shit. I’m fearing the worst.

Thursday 5/19/11, 07:00 a.m.
www.mad-mari.com/2011/19/05/blue

Not much to say today. Honestly, I’m feeling pretty down.

I liked this guy. A lot.

Too much, I fear.

Monday 5/23/11, 07:00 a.m.
www.mad-mari.com/2011/05/23/hell

He still hasn’t called. And it’s pretty obvious now that he isn’t going to.

FML

6

DANNY WILKES HAD BEEN in the navy for several years. He’d trained rigorously, had flown dozens of missions, had landed multi-million-dollar aircraft on carriers hundreds of miles from shore, had endured tests of strength and endurance that would have made a lot of men quit. He’d had his plane shot out from under him and had spent a brutal day in an Afghan desert with a torn-up leg, a broken radio and about enough ammunition to take on one small enemy foot patrol. Thankfully, none had come along.

He’d done all that because he didn’t know how to quit.

So he sure as hell hadn’t quit trying to find
her.

“Marissa Marshall,” he muttered, glad he had finally learned her last name, at least.

It had been two weeks, and he was still kicking himself for being stupid enough to lose his phone. That was on a long list of stupid shit he’d done since meeting Mari, starting with not getting her last name. Followed by not writing down her number, or getting her address, giving her
his
number, making a date to meet her, getting in his car and racing up toward Baltimore to see if he could catch her on the road that morning—the one after the best night of sex of his life.

He hadn’t gone after her; she’d had an hour’s head start. She’d probably been arriving home, somewhere in downtown Baltimore, right around the time his cell had gone in the drink.

Yes. He’d been desperate enough that he’d dived into the water to look for it. Finding it was a long shot, and he was 99% sure it wouldn’t work if he did, but he’d gone for it anyway.

No luck. The water was cold as shit, not to mention murky and slimy with grease and boat oil. And deep.

The trip to Norfolk had been critical, but as soon as he’d come back, he’d begun to search. He’d scoured the internet, trying to find anything he could—a graduation announcement?—for a Baltimore-area PhD, first name Marissa.
Nothing.

He’d also tried calling in favors. He’d gotten a buddy who was dating somebody in personnel to ask around.
Zip.
He finally decided to trust in fate. Serendipity had been hard at work on the day they’d met. He didn’t doubt he was meant to see her again. He just had to trust it would happen.

And it would, soon. Very soon. Because his last-ditch hope had played out. Mari had apparently landed the job here at the academy. A flyer had gone out to all the instructors last week, informing them of the upcoming guest lectures for at-risk students. Marissa
Marshall,
PhD, would be talking to the middies about how the military affected family life.

Armed with her last name, he’d searched again. He’d had more luck, finding her in a journal that had reprinted a section of her dissertation. But her number and address were unlisted. There was no contact email or website in the article and nobody at the journal answered his request for more information.

So he’d finally accepted the fact that he’d have to wait until she came to deliver her first lecture to talk to her again. Hopefully she’d give him the time of day and let him explain, instead of ignoring him, or slapping his face.

He’d find out soon. In an hour, she’d be in a lecture hall not far from where he taught his aeronautics class, his assignment during this shore rotation. Of course, the way his luck was running, it just figured that he’d been ordered to attend a hoity-toity reception for some visiting dignitaries right before she was supposed to arrive.

“So, Midas, any luck finding your mystery woman?” a voice asked.

Recognizing it as Quag—aka Quagmire—he turned to his aviator buddy and lifted a corner of his mouth. “As a matter of fact, yes. She’s going to be here this morning.”

The other man gestured toward Danny’s dress whites. “Dressing to impress, huh? You really think that’ll get her to forgive you for not calling?”

“Nope. Pure groveling is going to be required. As for the uniform—some special guests are arriving on base and I’ve been invited to the dog and pony show.”

Whether as the dog or the pony, he wasn’t quite sure. But he had no doubt he’d be paraded.

“Showing off a hotshot flyboy, huh? Why wasn’t I invited?”

Danny playfully punched the other man in the shoulder. “Your call sign is Quagmire for a reason, pal. You always seem to land in them.”

“Sure. Gotta have the golden boy, the one with the Midas touch to get those guests to loosen up the purse strings, huh?”

“You forgetting I got my call sign because I’m a damn good mechanic who gets stuck fixing everybody’s cars?”

“Yeah, but you know the bigwigs won’t tell anybody that,” Quag said with a smirk. “They want the gold, not the grease.”

“I guess.”

“Consider it prep work for NASA,” Quag said, being one of the few who knew of Danny’s hopes to get into the astronaut program. “You gotta get used to schmoozing.”

True. Danny knew he had to play the game. If the brass wanted to show him off now and again, liking that medal on his chest, he’d go along.

He glanced down at the medal, feeling rather emotionless about the visible reminder of his adventure in the Afghan desert. The scar on his leg was a much more effective one.

Mari hadn’t seemed at all revolted by that scar, which was, in his opinion, pretty damned ugly. During the long, sultry night hours they’d spent together, she’d touched him there, kissed the puckered flesh, murmured something sweet about how much she hated that he’d been hurt.

He swallowed hard, remembering what else she’d done when exploring that part of his body. He really needed to not think those things right now. Hopefully he’d be able to later.

Fortunately, at the time she’d discovered the scar, they’d both been…distracted. She’d asked no questions about it.

That was a good thing. Talking about that ordeal in the desert wasn’t something he enjoyed. Considering she was a shrink, it would probably be especially hard to share it with Mari. She’d be the double whammy—her female instincts trying to coddle him, like his mom and sister had. Her psychologist ones wanting to heal him.

Screw that. He was fully healed. His head was on straight and he was back where he belonged, flying Mach speed toward his future.

“Good luck, man, hope she buys your story.”

“She will ’cause God knows it’s the truth.”

The other man grinned. “If she doesn’t, send her my way. I’ll tell her how crazy you’ve been, trying to track her down.”

“You’re the
last
person I’d send a woman I wanted to!”

That was only part-joke. Quag had a rep as a ladies’ man.

“Oh, yeah, look who’s talking. You might have turned into Mr. Straight And Narrow, but don’t think I haven’t heard the stories about your early years. You put me to shame, pal.”

Maybe once. But not anymore. When he had been younger, more carefree, sure, he’d played the field. Like every other Naval Aviator, he had gotten a lot of female attention. Movies like
Top Gun
and
An Officer and a Gentleman
had created something of a cult status around guys like him. Which he’d always thought was really stupid…but hadn’t exactly disliked when it got him the attention of girl after pretty girl.

But he was no longer a kid. No longer in his twenties.

Quag wasn’t, either. So maybe it wasn’t just age.

Maybe it had something to do with flying out of the sky without a plane. Thinking long and hard about life and death.

Yeah. He suspected that’s when he realized there was a whole lot more to life than meeting women. And ever since that time, he hadn’t come across a single one who truly interested him.

Until Mari.

“Later, dude,” said Quag. “Go be
charming.
”

Saying goodbye, he headed to his meeting, playing his role—the
charming
Naval Aviator. He answered the same questions every visitor asked, evaded the same flirtation from the bored-looking wives and the same hearty, I’m-a-pasty-middle-aged-guy-but-I’m-still-as-strong-as-you-are handshakes from the rich men.

He knew this was part of the job, knew it would be worse if he ever became an astronaut, so he went along. It was worth it, the way things got done. Who you knew was almost as important as what you stood for or what you could do, at least if you wanted to go any further than he’d already gone. And he did. All the way to Houston. Then, when the politicians got their heads out of their asses and realized the U.S.A. had to regain its scientific edge in space, he hoped to go straight to the moon.

Finally, after what seemed like forever but was probably not much more than an hour, he ducked out of the reception. Glancing at his watch and realizing there were only ten minutes left in Mari’s lecture, he hurried across the nearly deserted grounds. This was like a different place without all the regular students. There were still a few hundred around, but, right now, most of them were attending remedial classes.

When he got to the lecture hall, he saw the door open from within, and stepped out of the way. Exiting the room was Kyle Riddick, one of the deans. Riddick was a prickly, fussy old guy, who probably had come just to make sure the new guest teacher didn’t mistakenly treat the students like young adults, rather than fifth graders, as Riddick seemed to think they should be treated. Danny’d had run-ins with the man on more than one occasion.

“Commander Wilkes,” the other man said with a slight nod.

“Is the lecture still going on?” Danny asked, worried for a moment that he’d missed her.

Riddick frowned, his lips pursing tightly. “It is. And I can’t say that’s a good thing. No, indeed, I cannot.”

Had the remark come from anyone else, Danny might have worried about Mari’s presentation. From this guy? He knew damn well what the problem was. Mari was young, attractive and the students were bound to like her. Three strikes in Riddick’s eyes.

“She’s far too young for this job.”

Strike one.

“She’s also much too attractive—those boys might pretend they’re listening, but it’s obvious they’re just ogling her.”
Strike two.

“And they’re altogether too fresh and friendly with her already.”

And you’re out.

Damn, he was good.

“She’s highly qualified,” Danny said, knowing it was true.

“Perhaps,” Riddick said, tsking a little. “Still, I’m afraid I might have to do something about this. I don’t like that inexperienced young woman in a room full of my boys without an adult present.”

Danny nearly snorted. An adult? As if Mari was a seventeen-year-old girl playing at being a teacher? Of course, to this old geezer, she probably did seem very young. “I think the Deputy to the Commandant is pretty impressed with her.”

Pursing those lips even tighter, and crossing his arms across his narrow chest, the old man sniffed. “Well, we’ll just see about that,” he said, then strode away.

Fortunately, the guy was a blowhard, who kept his job by virtue of being an institution, so Danny didn’t really worry about Mari’s job security. Hell, if Riddick had the power to get rid of anybody he wanted to, this place would have about a third the faculty and a quarter of the students.

Hearing the murmur of voices in the lecture hall, Danny pushed the door open, and immediately realized why the campus seemed so empty. It appeared every midshipman left on campus was in this room, crowded shoulder to shoulder, filling every seat and lining the walls.

Considering every single student in the room was male, he had a feeling he knew why. And looking toward the front of the hall, seeing Mari standing at the lectern, he knew he was right.

“Damn, the bun’s back,” he muttered.

But, as he’d suspected, her severe hairstyle didn’t matter one little bit. Mari’s clothes might not be quite as tight as they’d been the day they’d met, but there was simply no disguising the fact that she was a beautiful, sexy female. It didn’t matter whether the blouse outlined those breasts, or merely skimmed over them, they were still jaw-droppingly perfect. Nor did it make any difference whether her skirt clung to her hips and ass like shrink wrap or merely covered them modestly, they were still begging to be held, caressed.