21 Marine Salute: 21 Always a Marine Tales (60 page)

“Mary Phillips. Well, you don’t let the moss grow on you. It only took you ten years to ask her out.”

The cheerful glint in her eyes roasted his ego, but Kyle laughed. “Yes, but I still asked.” He winked. “Even better, she said yes.”

Florence waved to the table. “Sit down, I’ll fix some sandwiches and you can tell me all about it before you rush off.”

“Mom, there will be food there—” He swallowed the words at her stern stare. “Yes, ma’am.” It didn’t matter that he was a multi-millionaire or a decade past being a minor. If his mother wanted to take care of him, the least he could do was do as he was told.

Pulling out a chair, he sat and didn’t offer to help. She wanted to fuss, better to let her get it out of her system.

“How did you two meet again?” His mother knew him too well.

“Ran into her at The Orange Rind a couple of days ago. We chatted and swapped numbers, and I took her out to dinner.” He kept it casual, played it cool.

“And now you’re going to the reunion together?” She spread a thin layer of mayo onto bread slices and added a combination of turkey, ham and Swiss, his favorites.

“Yes, ma’am.” He cleared his throat.

“I thought you decided against going to the reunion.”

“Things change.” His evasion techniques left a lot to be desired.

“That they do.” She carried the plates out and set one in front of him. “Kyle, do you really think I don’t remember who she is?”

“One could only hope that even if you didn’t remember, that you’d let me make my own mistakes.”

She ran her fingers through his hair as though straightening it. “Now, why would you think it’s a mistake?”

“Because she’s the one, Mom. The one I really liked and never could ask. But I’m not that nerd anymore. Well, to be fair I’m a nerd, but I’m damn proud of it, and she seems to like me just fine. So get your coffee and your sandwich and let’s talk about something else.” The key to dealing with Florence meant giving her the sense her questions were answered and then moving on.

“So where has she been? I’m assuming she moved away because otherwise you two would have run into each other.” She walked away and missed his rolled eyes. Sure, because in a city of four million, running into each other happened all the time.

“She joined the Marines.”

“The Marines?”

Ha. Got her with that one
. He leaned back in the chair and took a healthy bite of the sandwich.

His mother carried the coffee cups out and set his in front of him before taking the chair to his right. “A Marine. Her mother must have had a coronary.”

Determined not to snicker, Kyle managed to hold onto a solemn face. “But she’s been doing great. She works with women in Afghanistan and is trying to help them get education and more. I think she’s seen combat, but she hasn’t talked about it. And if it’s possible, she’s even more gorgeous now than she was then—still—with her brains, she didn’t need the beauty.”

“Only a man could say that.” His mother beamed at him. “When do I get to meet her?”

“In a year, when I’m positive you won’t ask her about potential grandchildren.”

Florence laughed and slapped his arm lightly. “You are a terrible son.”

Widening his eyes, he gave her his most contrite look. “It is a burden for you, I know. I’ll try to do better.”

Her inelegant snort reminded him so much of Mary’s that he couldn’t help but grin.

“Fine, I will leave you alone about it. But you must promise to get me a picture of the two of you together, and I want that corsage on her arm when you do it.”

“Okay.” He frowned. “Why?”

“Because I never got the prom picture you wanted, and I still have the frame we bought for it—”

The donkey kick to the gut evaporated his humor. They had picked out a frame. When he finally confessed he wanted to ask a girl out, his mother coached him on how, used her gas money to rent him a suit and bought the frame that complimented it. When he hadn’t asked Mary, she never once gave him hell about it.

“I’ll get you your picture, Mom. I promise.”

“Thank you.” She picked up her coffee cup and gave him another smile.

He sighed. She won. “What do you want to know?”

“Do you still like her?”

“Very much.” Enthusiasm filled his response. “She’s a hell of a woman and one I want to get to know a lot better. But—” He held up a hand. “She’s on leave. So I don’t know how long we have before she goes back to work overseas. You know, a few thousand miles away.”

“That part doesn’t matter.” His mother continually surprised him.

“No?”

“No.” Putting the cup down, she covered his hand with hers. “Moments, Kyle. Remember that. All we have are moments. When you make the moments count—that’s what matters. If you like her, then you go for it. You enjoy your date, you dance, you laugh and you talk. You make it a great moment. Tomorrow will take care of itself. After all, you waited ten years for this tomorrow, didn’t you?”

“I love you, Mom.”

“I know, dear. Now eat your sandwich.”

***

Wrapped in a towel, Mary stared at the contents of the closet with her hands on her hips. Reunion meant fancy dress. Asking for a limo and corsage meant she better damn well wear a spectacular dress but nothing in the closet appealed to her. Half the dresses hung there still had their tags and the others were mummified in dry cleaner plastic. Shoving one organza peach nightmare to the back, she tried to arrange the other dresses in order of acceptable to no-effing-way.

Very few made it to the acceptable spot. She’d had a basic black number the last time she visited. She left it behind because she deployed a week after returning to base.
So where is it
? Sorting through the dresses one more time—because shifting them back and forth on the rack might make the dress reappear, she glanced at the clock. Less than an hour until Kyle arrived. No way she could make it to a shop and back with the right dress, even if she found her mother’s magical dress genie locked up somewhere in the house.

“Mary, a letter arrived for you today from your—what
are
you doing?”

Gritting her teeth, she looked over her shoulder at her mother, all four-foot ten of her. In her late fifties, Lianne Phillips maintained her figure well and dressed in conservative silk pants and jacket. A pair of peep-toed heels peeked out from beneath the hem of her trousers that had to be hemmed exactly right to fit whatever shoes she purchased to match.

“I left a black dress here on my last visit. The one I wore to the opening of the Kensington.” Mary impressed herself that she even remembered the event her mother dragged her to during that leave. Fortunately, the Kensington hosted an opening of a local photographer—a man who spent years photographing war zones. His images were stark, devastating, and left her moved.

“Hmm. I remember that dress. Too short for you. Wear the sienna, it’s far more flattering and it has a lovely slit that will allow you to accentuate your legs.” Setting the manila envelope down on the dresser, she strode across the room and sorted through the closet. The dress she pulled out didn’t boast of any bustle or frills. It gathered tight at the bodice and fell in a straight line to the floor.

Completely unremarkable.

Unconvinced, Mary stared hard at the closet. She really liked the black dress.

“Mary Elizabeth Phillips, the black dress made you look like a hooker. This dress is elegant, and I wasn’t sure it would fit after your last visit. But your lines are cleaner now than they were at eighteen. Put it on.” She thrust the dress at her and Mary chewed her lip.

“It’s for a reunion, Mom. I don’t really want to arrive dressed as the Great Pumpkin.”

Her mother didn’t dignify her with a response, merely pointed to the oriental divider Mary used since junior high to change behind when her mother came in to help her pick out clothes.

Grabbing a pair of panties and a bra, she walked behind the divider obediently and hung the dress up. Stripping off the towel, she pulled on her undergarments and then frowned. “I don’t have a strapless bra.”

“You won’t need it.” Her mother opened another door on the closet and pulled out a pair of three-inch heels in the exact shade of the dress.

I’d bet money she has an army of personal shoppers, all outfitted with swatches to find the right match
.

“Just to be clear, you’re advising me to go out bra-less.” Her poker face held out.

“Don’t be indelicate. The dress is designed to cup and shape your bosom. Even the sag from the lack of a good bra should be corrected easily enough.”

Sag
? Mary gaped. Did her mother just say her boobs had gotten saggy? She glanced down at herself. They looked the same. Okay, maybe they hung a little lower, but she worked out regularly and her chest never developed much beyond a B-cup anyway. Grumbling she unzipped the plastic wrap on the dress and slid into it. It hugged her from breast to flat midriff, flaring just over the hips and falling to the tops of her feet.

Perfect length
.

Walking out from behind the screen, she studied herself in the mirror. The color was outstanding against the rich, warm cocoa of her skin. If anything, it almost gave her a golden sheen. Her mother walked over and set the shoes down in front of her. Sliding into them, it took her a moment to adjust to the height and the feel. She pivoted and the slit played peekaboo with her leg. Damn the shoes made her calves look fantastic.

A moment later her mother beckoned with a gold choker and she slid it around Mary’s neck. Patting her hair, she twisted it into an elegant knot and fixed it up in two quick gestures, pinning it in place with another gold hair clip.

“The hair up emphasizes your neck and you’ve always had a beautiful one. The necklace is perfect, and I have a bracelet in here that should match.”

“No.” Mary declined, finding an apology because her mother was right—the dress did suit her. “I mean, no thank you. I asked Kyle to bring a corsage.”

“Hmm.” Tapping a finger to her lips, Lianne nodded. “Give me one moment.” She hurried out of the bedroom and left Mary to study her own reflection. She looked good. Elegant, but good. Turning sideways, she ran a hand over her stomach self-consciously. She’d put on muscle weight, but the dress didn’t emphasize that. It smoothed her out—‘better lines,’ her mother said.

Lianne sailed back in with a gold cuff and wrapped it around Mary’s right bicep. “There. Wear the corsage on your left wrist and don’t forget the gold earrings I set out. I have a clutch bag that would match this but do you prefer a strap?”

“Sure. Whatever you have, I bet it’s perfect.” Impulsively, she leaned forward and hugged her mother. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now, go do your makeup. The cake should always have a fine frosting on the top.” Lianne waved her off and disappeared down the hallway again.

Stomach fluttering, Mary laughed and walked over to the vanity. She added a light touch of eyeliner and a dusting of eye shadow. Inheriting her mother’s fine skin and her father’s complexion eliminated the need for base. She just applied a shiny gloss to her lips by the time her mother returned. Approval radiated the air around her.

“He must be a worthy man.” She set the purse down on the dresser.

“What does that mean?” Mary met her gaze in the mirror.

“It means exactly what I said and a car just pulled up out front. I imagine he’s here. Shall I have your father meet him?”

Was her mother messing with her?

“I think I can handle it.” She smiled.

“Good. Call if you don’t plan to come home. You know I worry.” And with that, Lianne sailed out of the room again. Yes, her mother did worry.

Putting her keys, mirror, lipstick, a credit card and a couple of condoms into her purse, Mary glanced at the envelope.

Her new orders had arrived.

Wrinkling her nose, she patted them. They would be there tomorrow.

Tonight she had other plans.

Kyle’s tongue felt permanently stuck to the top of his mouth. He always forgot how close to Beverly Hills her parents’ house sat and the fact that they had staff. Reminding himself money didn’t define a person sounded a lot better when a housekeeper didn’t answer the door. Mary descended the stairs, her thigh flashing with every step. Ten years of success melted away. The words
I’m not worthy
echoed in his mind.

“Hey.” Her mouth curved around the word and all the blood rushed from his head to his cock, then bounced back up again.

“Hey, you look—” He needed an adjective. “Fantastic.”

“Thank you. You’re pretty tasty, too.” She lifted her chin. “Is that for me?”

Following her gaze to the corsage, he chuckled. He’d forgotten all about it. “Yes, ma’am. As requested, one lovely flower sacrificed for the pleasure of being against your skin.”
Okay, lay off the poetry, you are not Shakespeare
. He opened the box and took the corsage out. The orchid was a lovely enough flower, but it truly did not come close to matching her.

She held out her wrist. “The sacrifice is duly noted and I will honor it.”

Sliding the band over her hand, he fastened it and caught her fingers with his. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Her brows lifted.

“For being you.” He pivoted and swept an arm toward the limo with a half bow. “Your chariot.”

Taking one step forward, she brushed her lips to his cheek and murmured, “Marines are infantry, not cavalry.”

“Then would you like a lift?” The kiss, the teasing words, and the ease of her manner relaxed him. He flashed forward from awkward teen to accomplished adult again.

“I would love one.”

Inside, she crossed one leg over the other and leaned back. “This is nice.”

“It’s not bad.” A closed partition separated them from the driver. Since he was about to share her with their entire graduating class, he wanted the privacy for the ride there. “I don’t do this that often.”

“Me neither. Usually it’s a MRAP that’s roasting us alive or freezing our private parts to death.” She rubbed her palms against the soft leather seats.