21 Marine Salute: 21 Always a Marine Tales (6 page)

Always a Marine, Book 2

A 1Night Stand Story

By

Heather Long

~
Author’s Note
~

On May 28th, 1918, the 2nd Battalion, 5th Marines of the 4th Marine Brigade was sent to help in the Belleau Wood sector. As they approached, the French commander of the troops already on site advised that the discreet thing to do was retreat.

Captain Lloyd Williams of the 5th Marine Regiment replied "Retreat Hell! We just got here!" The Marines stayed and drove the numerically superior Germans out of Belleau Wood and other strongholds. It was there that the ferocious fighting of the Marines caused the Germans to refer to them as
Teufel hunden
, which means, "Devil Dogs.”

~
DEDICATION
~

For John: he returned home injured in body and soul, but never stopped supporting his brothers, living for his family, or loving his country.

The toe ring felt damned weird. It rubbed, and despite the clucking of the woman painting her toenails, Jazz couldn’t stop wiggling.

“Toe rings are sexy, sweetheart. Now sit still.” The chiding voice carried a level of amusement that she didn’t share.

With a long sigh, Jazz looked away from the
fuck me
red that the woman, Christine might be her name, applied to her toes, and stared in the mirror. Her normally smooth, even hair cut had been replaced by a mussed mass of curls clinging to her cheeks. Eyeliner magnified her eyes and one of the other women had given her
the smoky look
, whatever the hell that meant.

She’d never looked so much like a girl.

Ever
.

The opulence of the spa matched the refinement of the rest of the Castillo Resort. The feminine reflection staring back at her made it hard to believe she’d arrived that morning in jeans, an old Kiss band T-shirt and sneakers that she’d bought in high school. The whirlwind packing that led to her early morning flight out of Dallas hadn’t left her much time to shop, but everything from the soak in the hot tub, to the hour-long massage, to the hair dresser, personal shopper, makeup artist, and now her nails, all came in the prearranged package.

Her nails
.

Stealing a second glance at her toes, she swallowed a laugh. The guys would be hooting if they could see Gunnery Sergeant Winters wiggling long, toes against the plush foot rest. Her legs were waxed smooth along with every other part of her body except her bikini area. When the spa technician suggested it and came at her with wax, Jazz had threatened to put her down like a two-hundred-pound trainee.

She’d earned her sergeant stripes and she wasn’t kidding.

“There, all done. Now sit here for a few more minutes, dear, and we’ll take you back so you can change.” Christine patted her leg in an almost motherly fashion, before rising to clean up her tools. Sinking back in the massage chair, Jazz studied her reflection in the mirror. She was that sexy thing the men loved to swap tales about late under the cover of darkness to disguise the urge to go home. She saw exactly what she’d hoped—a woman. Not a sergeant.

Not a Marine.

Her fingers were painted the same sexy shade of red. A set of acrylic tips camouflaged her squared off and blunt nails. Nothing could hide the calluses on her palms, worn grooves from years of handling weapons and driving. But the nails definitely added a level of feminine grace, making her short stubby fingers tapered and elegant.

“Ready?” Her personal shopper returned, her name might have been Anne, but after the whirlwind of men and women fussing over her throughout the day, it could have been Amy or Annabelle.

“Yes.” No.
No, I’m not ready
. She still couldn’t believe her mother had taken her late night confession to heart and signed her up with the exclusive 1Night Stand dating service. Even harder to believe that in seven days the mysterious Madame Eve, of the mile long interrogatory questionnaire, identified and arranged the perfect night to meet Jazz’s goals.

Jasmine
.

With white cotton balls still peeking between each toe and the toe ring flashing silver up at her, she followed the shopper back, and reminded herself that tonight she wasn’t Jazz. She wasn’t one of the guys. She was Jasmine.

For just one night, she would be a woman, not a Marine. But the woman needed the Marine when she nearly had a heart failure at the almost-not-there dress.

***

Zach tipped the bellman who insisted on carrying their two bags up, and retrieved the duffels before shuttling the gregarious and welcoming young man from the room. Zach didn’t think,
hoped
, he’d ever been that wet behind the years. Across the room, his best friend and
brother-in-arms
, Logan, stared out at the sun-splashed Strip below. They had an hour until their date would arrive.

The suite at the Castillo Hotel and Resort appeared exactly as described in the brochure: plush. He spared the décor a glance, itemizing the location more on layout than on content. A square, oversized wraparound sofa took up much of the central part of the room. The smooth taupe tapered down to the cream-colored carpet with a splash of color reflected against the southwest style pillows. Beyond that sat a blonde oak dining table and four chairs, lamps, some side tables and a fifty-inch television screen.

Zach’s gaze zeroed in on it. Dropping the bags next to the door of the suite’s single bedroom, he located the television remote and pressed the on button. They had time to catch the last quarter of the game.

“I’m going to go ahead and order dinner up.” He found the room service menu waiting on the table. “Any preferences or should I just order one of everything?”

“What I’d prefer is to head down for some blackjack.” Logan’s clipped words betrayed neither fatigue nor excitement. “Then you can make like bunnies with your project.”

“Survey says, ehhhhh.” Kicking his feet up onto the polished table, Zach caught the score. The Cowboys were down by three. But they could still rally. “The date is for both of us and you agreed to it.”

“Only because I thought you’d come to your senses. What the hell kind of woman agrees to a blind, one-night stand with two men she’s never met?” Logan didn’t bother to wait for a response. “The kind who is going to be less than thrilled when she finds out one is a cripple and here for a pity fuck.”

Rubbing his right forefinger against his thumb, an old trick that helped him relax his nerves, nerves he didn’t have time for right then, Zach twisted to look at the stiff line of Logan’s back. He still stared down at the Strip. His brother missed the joke, poor one that it was. “Dude, you agreed. It’s both of us or neither of us. Just give it a shot.”

“Why?” Logan swung around, revealing the harsh twist on the left side of his face, the corner of his mouth permanently turned in a grimace. Scar tissue puckered from his cheek to his throat would never again allow the easy grin. He’d been more relaxed before his injury—a reminder of the burning, twisted metal coffin that led to five surgeries, three pins, one in his knee, one in his hip and the last one in the shoulder. Months of physical and mental therapy later, Logan walked and talked, but he refused to live.

After weeks in Germany, they’d relocated to Bethesda Naval Hospital until Logan took his first real steps twelve weeks ago. It took some cajoling—and no small amount of bullying on Zach’s part—to convince him to accept the offer from the recently opened Mike’s Place in Texas. Captain Luke Dexter—Marine and son of Colonel Dexter, Zach and Logan’s commanding officer who’d been killed in the same bombing that put Logan in the hospital—wanted to offer them the first berths in his new mental and physical health center.

Zach didn’t need the mental or physical therapy, but he and Logan were a package deal. So, he’d taken a job working with the children’s sports teams, coaching the sons and daughters of the service families currently residing on property or using the facilities. Logan benefitted from the therapy and the work.

“Because a deal’s a deal and we all signed up when the Captain did.” Dexter didn’t need the service anymore than Zach did, but they’d been in agreement. Some of the men, like Logan, wouldn’t even contemplate looking at another woman. Particularly after his bitch of a girlfriend, Rochelle, made a scene in front of the others, calling Logan’s impotence to light.

It didn’t help that every doctor called the condition psychosomatic. Logan had convinced himself sex wasn’t going to happen. But they’d shared girls before, twice in high school and once on leave in Germany. Logan would’ve turned down this opportunity solo, so a threesome it would be.

“Whatever. What’s the score?” He ended the conversation, his posture closed off and his expression remote. Zach left it alone. He knew fear when he saw it. Fear was a tangible part of the everyday life of a Marine. They’d done their tours overseas, Afghanistan, Kuwait, and Iraq. Their ‘soft tour’ as diplomatic support landed them front and center in the Egyptian riots. Catching a bullet at any moment was their reality.

Fear didn’t stop a Marine.

And it wasn’t going to stop Logan tonight.

“Ten-seven, but we’ve got another quarter to go. They could pull ahead.” Zach glanced back down at the menu. “I’ll get us some of these appetizer platters, three steaks and maybe one of the fish and veggie dishes. I didn’t see anything on her sheet about being a vegetarian.”

Logan grunted, pacing the room behind him. The nervous energy pressed against the back of Zach’s head, but he did his best to ignore it. Pacing served as a coping mechanism. After the two and a half hour flight, Logan had to be stiff.

Ordering the food, Zach kept one eye on the game. The fumble gained the Cowboys ten yards, but not enough for a score. He glanced at his watch. The fifteen minutes since they’d arrived seemed a hell of a lot longer. Logan’s pacing continued, promising an even longer forty-five minutes until their date got there.

The paperwork described their date, Jasmine, as five-foot eight inches tall; she enjoyed sports, preferred baseball to football and wanted a night of total escape with two partners. The rest of the information focused on the Castillo Resort, their room reservation and the time of the date. It wasn’t a hell of a lot to speculate on.

The Cowboys lost the ball, Zach sighed. The Packers seemed intent on flattening his home team. His thoughts returned to their date. She wanted a night with two men. He only hoped that she lured Logan out of his shell or it would all be for nothing.

Forty-five long minutes later, the food waited patiently under silver lids. The staff had rolled in a no-frills table with a simple white cloth covering the portable surface. Zach could damn near taste the steak, but at least Logan wasn’t pacing anymore. A pair of light staccato raps on the suite door echoed through the sitting room. Muting the game, Zach headed for the door. He didn’t miss the hard tension stiffening Logan’s posture.

Not letting himself dwell on the dozen ways this could go wrong, he opened the door to the sexiest pair of legs he’d ever seen. Zach’s entire body went taut, his cock thrumming into an erection between one heartbeat and the next. The long tan legs were attached to a pair of flared hips. Flat tummy, curvy waist and higher still to the firm, full breasts threatening to spill out of the plunging V neckline that ended at her belly button. Her skin was a rich golden sheen, kissed by the sun, but not quite tanned.

A winsome face, smoky black eyes and a pixie cap of curls completed the package. If not for the silk sheathe, she looked like she’d just tumbled out of bed.

Fuck me
…
please
….

The thought echoed through his brain, locking his tongue.

“Mr. Evans?” The woman’s—Jasmine’s—brows lifted, her sexy mouth tilted up into a half smile, the patient kind women used when a man behaved like an ass.

“Zach, ma’am.” He pulled the door the rest of the way open. “Would you like to come in?”

His position gave him the full view of her first hesitant step inside and the way the dress swished around her ass. His attention rebounded to Logan, whose eagerness warred with satisfaction. He stood frozen, in mid-rise from his position at the table, his stare fixed on their date.

And he’d wanted to go play blackjack
.

Closing the door, Zach blew out a long breath. His cock already ached with the idea of the next few hours, but his soul managed a fist pump. Hard-as-nails-and-down-on-himself Logan watched, transfixed, at the goddess striding into the room as though she owned it.

Hell, she already owns me. And Logan is a goner
.

Knocking on the door took more willpower than walking down the long, carpeted hallway from the elevators in the black Christian Louboutins with their
fuck me
red bottoms. The four-inch heels added a sharp definition to her already muscled legs. She’d been damn grateful for that uncomfortable wax job after she’d slipped on the satin and silk number that hugged every curve with just the slightest flare over her hips before it dropped down her thighs. The skirt’s slit left very little of her right leg to the imagination.

The heels forced a hip-rolling saunter and despite a brief moment of discomfort, every step increased the aura of the illusion she’d sought to create. She felt almost desirable by the time she knocked on the door to 2106. One deep breath and a roll of her head later, she smiled when the door opened to a heart-stopping blond man in a white dress shirt and black pants.

Holy crap
.

The four top buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned, revealing a well-muscled chest decorated by sprigs of white-blond hair. His sun-kissed face broadened into a hesitant smile, but no words came out.