What Part of Marine Don't You Understand? (The Challenge Series) (7 page)

Gut tightening, she blew out a hard breath. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“No, not really. Look, you’re in Massachusetts….”

“Actually, I’m in Dallas. It’s a two-hour flight.” She checked her watch. “Let me book some tickets and I’ll text you the flight numbers. How long are we in the studio?”

“We have twelve hours. I’ve listened to what you have so far—I like it. But I’ve only got seven, what are you doing with the last three?”

That was the rub. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she wrestled a few ideas mentally. “I can write two more before then. Just get the studio time. I’ll get the tickets. I like the theme I have and I want to stay in that wheelhouse.”

“Military themes are strong and you’ve got the right jacket story for it.” Phil agreed swiftly enough to tell her she was on the right track. “You need anything?”

“No, but I don’t want to stay over. You mind if I just fly out that night?”

“If I need to pick up tracks, we’re going to have to have you back.”

“No problem.” Frankly, she had more than a few problems. But she could make it work. “I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

“Great. Get me the rest of the songs by tomorrow. And scan in that sheet music….” He listed off a few more items before ringing off. Naomi chewed the idea around and glanced at the clock. She was usually in the park by noon at the latest. She didn’t have a lot of time to get the sheet music scanned in. Gathering her things, she called Luke Dexter’s office.

Hopefully they didn’t mind doing her a favor.

It was almost one by the time she found her way to her favorite spot. Her heart did a little skip—Matt waited for her. Relief spread through his smile when he saw her.

“I’m so sorry I’m late.”

He rose and caught the guitar case, and she gave him a quick, fierce hug. The gesture seemed to startle him, but he slid one arm around her and gave her a firm squeeze. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s great. My producer called and they moved up my recording time.” Stepping away, she dropped down to give Jethro a greeting. The dog held up his stick to her, and she threw it across the common area where he streaked after it.

“You have to leave?” His expression grew troubled.

“Thursday.” She settled on the blanket he’d spread out. She didn’t usually bother with a blanket when the grass was so soft, but he’d brought lunch again. Pleasure fluttered through her at the thoughtfulness. “But just for the day.” She hated the disappointment creasing his face. “I’ll fly out first thing in the morning. I have a four-thirty flight to Nashville. I’ll be in the studio by seven-thirty, we have twelve hours, so I should be able to make the last flight out at nine-fifteen and get to Dallas before midnight.”

It took some arm-twisting and pleading with the booking agent—not to mention cashing in more than a few of her points to get the same-day return at a price that didn’t rival the deficit.

“Thursday…wow.” Matt set the guitar next to her. “Are you going to be ready?”

“Just need to write two more songs and I’m golden.” Her words carried a lot more confidence than she felt. “Do you want to go with me?” Instantly regretting the impulsive invitation, she held her breath.

His expression shuttered. “I’d like to.” He joined her on the blanket, took the stick from Jethro, and tossed it again. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Of course it’s not a good idea
. Time to throttle back the desire to blitz through his defenses. “Okay, how about I bring a copy for you? I’m sure I can bribe the technicians to give me a sample….”

A smile eased through the stress tightening his jaw and he nodded. “I’d like that.” He went silent while she unpacked the guitar and settled it in her lap. Watching him from beneath her lashes, she tried not to stare. For the most part, Matt was an upfront guy, but the quieter side of him held a certain appeal. She wished that he didn’t look like someone had just taken away his dog.

Jethro returned with his stick, but instead of offering it, he curled up next to Matt and shoved his head on his lap. The Marine began to pet him automatically, the hard line of his mouth softening with a faint curve of a smile.

“We should probably let you compose—without distraction.” He didn’t sound like he wanted to go.

“No, you’re exactly the kind of distraction I need.” Did she dare tell him? Oh, what the hell. He deserved to know. “You inspire me.”

Surprise rippled across his face. “I do?”

“Oh yeah. I even wrote a song about you last night….”

Wariness creased his brow. “Oh?”

Grinning, she started playing. If only performing in front of the world was as easy as singing for Matt. By the second refrain, he relaxed and by the last he laughed. The song detailed their kiss and exposed her vulnerability, her growing affection for him laid bare in every note. When the song ended, she held her breath and waited.

Matt leaned forward, rested a hand atop hers and brushed her mouth with the lightest, sweetest, and most heart-wrenching kiss. “Thank you.”

Her pulse jackrabbited. “You’re welcome.”

The bubble of tension wrapped around them burst with his slow grin. “No, I mean it. Thank
you
.”

“I didn’t do anything—I completely blame you for the song. You knocked on the door.”

He chuckled. “You opened it.”

“But you kissed me….”

Slanting his mouth across hers, he silenced any further words. He brushed his thumb across her knuckles, sending tingles racing across her nerves until she hummed like a guitar strung too tight. Every time she thought the kiss would end, he tilted his head to the other side and darted his tongue in and out, teasing her.

Nose to nose, he finally let her come up for air. “You kissed me back.”

“Yeah.” She laughed. “You kissed me again.”

“I did.” He nodded, brushing their noses together, whispering another kiss on her cheek and again to the corner of her eye. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Her laughter rode on a shuddering breath. “No, not at all.”

Catching her guitar, he pulled it away and then she straddled his lap, arms wrapped around his neck. He kissed her with a singular intensity and the whole world faded—until a cold nose pressed against her belly and she jerked. Somehow her shirt had ridden up. Glancing down, they laughed at Jethro, who stared back with bright curiosity in his dark eyes, his tail thumping.

“Hmm…I should be writing….”

Matt curled a lock of her hair around his finger. “I’ll help.”

“Yeah?” She lifted her eyebrows. Music was the last thing on her mind.

“Uh huh.” He kissed the soft spot behind her ear and need bubbled through her. “I’m trying to inspire you….”

And how
….

Chapter Seven

Watching her create music and songs from scratch amazed him. Matt left her composing and jogged with Jethro to the mess for sandwiches, chips, and soda. They ate and she wrote some more. The process—
her
process—defied description. She strummed notes, played them over and over while she hummed to them, then jotted them on paper. Eventually she added words.

Her last composition became a personal favorite. They walked, side by side and he insisted on carrying her guitar. The sun set. Hungry, he offered to order pizza for both of them, but she suggested Chinese. He called while she packed up her music.

“So what happens next?” Jethro trotted to his right while she walked on his left.

Naomi smothered a yawn. “Sorry, um….” Her game smile waffled between embarrassment and shyness. “I will swing by Captain Dexter’s office in the morning and borrow their scanner so I can scan it in and send it over to my producer. He’s already got the early sheets. The backup players he has will have a day or so to familiarize themselves with the music before I get there and then I fly in, rent a car, drive to the studio and sing. Hopefully they let me play, too. But that’s not a guarantee.”

At her door, she held up her keys and unlocked it. He nodded his approval. Unclipping Jethro’s leash, he set her guitar on the floor. She walked into the kitchen and got a bowl of water and a small bag of food. “I picked this up this morning—it’s what you said he ate, right?”

Pleased that she remembered, he grinned. “Yes, that’s exactly what I said he ate.” She filled the bowl and Jethro dug in eagerly then slurped water. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I like him.” She slid off her shoes and picked them up. “Almost as much as I like you.” With a wink, she waved him to the sofa. “Make yourself comfortable. I want to change.”

He slid his hands into his pockets and stared after her. The urge to follow her into the bedroom and pick up where their kisses in the park left off raged through him. He’d canceled his one-night stand that morning, after leaving James’ office and before talking to the admissions counselor. The agreement with his unit was they all signed up for the dating service, but his inactive profile wasn’t going anywhere, and he didn’t want a faceless, nameless one-night stand with a stranger.

Naomi. He wanted her.

But what the hell did he have to offer? He didn’t have a job. Couldn’t take her out on dates—well he could try—but she didn’t deserve a brutal, public meltdown.
Why am I even here
?
I should go. I walked her home. She’s leaving in a couple of days. She has a life—a decent one. All I have is a lot of broken pieces to finish gluing together
.

Jethro padded out of the kitchen and rubbed his leg. The dog had a sixth sense about his moods. The moment a spiral started, he distracted him.

“What’s wrong?” Naomi’s quiet question floated across the room, and he found her leaning against the doorway separating the living room from the hallway to her bedroom. She’d changed into a T-shirt and yoga pants. The casual clothing, along with her hair pulled back in a ponytail and the gentle expression on her face, eased some of the panic brewing in his gut.

“Not sure why I stayed.” An honest, if not particularly kind answer.

“We haven’t had dinner yet,” she teased.

“No, I mean this—with you. You’re amazing and I’m not.” Self-deprecation was simple. He was damaged. She deserved so much more than he could offer.

Folding her arms, Naomi studied him. “Thank you.”

The lack of argument surprised him. “Thank you?”

“Thank you.” She shrugged, still smiling. “You think I’m amazing. It’s okay if you don’t think you are. I like you just fine.”

“But didn’t you hear what I said?” Patting Jethro on the head, he crossed the room to look down at her. He wasn’t sure what closing the distance would do but give him a better look into her eyes.

“I heard you. I would be more worried about you if you said you were the catch of the century and I’d be a fool to pass you up.” Her nose wrinkled. “Truth shouldn’t be smarmy.”

Okay, I’m missing something here
. “You—I would never say that.”

“My point exactly.” She straightened and patted his chest. “You’re a fun guy. You listen to me. You listen to my music. You’re thoughtful, you’re protective, and you’re honest. These all qualify you for someone worth my interest. And even if you were none of those things, you’ve never treated me with anything less than respect.”

The weight of her hand in the vicinity of his heart eased some of the constriction banding his lungs. “You are not hard to be with.”

“Thank you. Again.”

He touched his fingers to her lips to silence her. “Naomi, I’m a mess. You need to know this about me. I’m—”

She stopped his words with a kiss to his fingertips. “Matt, I’m going to stop you right here. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. Okay?”

But I do want to
…. “I think that’s exactly why I want to tell you. You haven’t asked me for anything—for answers—for more. I want to tell you.”

“Okay then. Take your shoes off and get comfortable.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Dinner will be here in a few minutes and I will listen.”

She disappeared into the kitchen and he glanced at Jethro. The dog walked over to the sofa and flopped down next to it. Apparently he liked telling her, too. The knot in his gut returned, boots echoed in the hallway and he shook his head. It wasn’t a hallway out there, it was sidewalk and grass and apartments—not Iraq, not Marines racing to meet the enemy—and no explosions splitting the night in two.

The doorbell rang and he jerked around.

“It’s the Chinese food, Matt,” Naomi soothed, walking over to the door. She waited for his nod before opening it. Exhaling, he let her pay and accept the food. When the door closed, he motioned toward the hall separating the living room from the rest of the apartment.

“I’m going to wash up.”
Wash up and clear my head. I’m not in Iraq
.

He could tell her without reliving it—he
could
do that and he
would
do it.

In the bathroom, he stared in the mirror. “That’s an order, Marine. Be upfront. Let her know everything, and if she doesn’t kick your ass to the curb, well…we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

He really hoped she didn’t kick him to the curb.

The lost look in his eyes sucker punched her in the gut. Brent had looked the same way when he’d come home—only his outbursts had been far more violent—and usually ended with him throwing she or their mother out. They took his temper, they took his apologies, and they didn’t let him cut them off, no matter how hard he tried.

Matt didn’t know enough about her history to understand she wouldn’t let him push her out the door nor would she let him cut himself off unless that’s what he wanted. She set up their food—sweet and sour chicken for him, moo goo gai pan for her—and carried the plates out to the coffee table.

He rose and took them from her. The gentleman in him wouldn’t stay seated when she walked in the room.

Another reason she adored him.

She grabbed water bottles and while she wouldn’t mind a glass of wine, Matt was on edge. He opened both and they ate quietly. She didn’t push, preferring to let him work it out in his own head. Quelling the urge to tell him it didn’t matter turned out to be harder than she would have liked. Of course it mattered. But Naomi didn’t live in a glass bubble, war was hell, and coming home harder still. She devoted many volunteer hours at veteran’s centers, actively raised money and awareness, and recording her album would help with both.