Major Attraction (11 page)

Now
that
was a lame line she would have to print. It was a little too practiced to be original or sincere. But since Ethan showed no interest in rescuing her, she might as well make practical use of her time and see what other flirtatious nuggets she could glean from Kyle.

“Well, if it's for the troops, I suppose I could handle another glass of wine.”

They traded the perfunctories about hometowns and tastes in music while they waited in line to be served. “So. It must have been a whirlwind kind of thing between you and the major,” Kyle observed.

“I suppose.”

Had his fingers brushed against her left hand on purpose?

Kyle's query sounded casual enough, but there was something she didn't quite trust in the sudden change of topic. “Mrs. Craddock wondered why you weren't wearing an engagement ring.”

A ring? Duh. Make-believe 101. At least dress the part.

J.C. curled her bare fingers into a fist and said the first plausible thing that popped into her head. “It's in the shop being sized.” She expanded with the story she and Ethan had rehearsed. “Everything happened so fast. It was love at first sight, I think. Lust, at least. It didn't take long to figure out the reason we clicked so well so quickly was that we belonged together.”

“That would explain why he never mentioned you before today.” Kyle had been talking with Millie Craddock. Was it her curiosity or his that had him probing for answers?

She remembered General Craddock's observation and came up with a logical response. “Ethan doesn't talk much about work with me, so I imagine he doesn't talk about me at work, either.”

“True. But to be honest, I didn't think the major was even seeing anyone. He works a lot of late nights. Off the clock.” Kyle's hand settled at the small of her back to shift her forward in the line. “Where did you say you two met?”

“I didn't.” J.C. turned to face him, breaking contact. Somehow, a bar parking lot didn't seem like the most auspicious place for a man of Ethan's reputation to find a wife. Should she make up a story or pretend she hadn't heard the question?

“Look, I work a couple of jobs myself and keep odd hours, so Ethan and I catch time together whenever we can.” It wasn't exactly a lie—they'd met in the wee hours of the morning at her car, and before lunch at a clothing boutique. Okay, so maybe those were the
only
times they'd met before tonight. But Kyle Black didn't need to know that. J.C. arched her brow and looked him straight in the eye. “I don't suppose he reports many details to
you because he's your commanding officer. Not the other way around. I'd think you'd be doing everything you could to support him and respect his privacy instead of ferreting out information for the gossip mill.”

Despite the subtle accusation coloring her tone, Kyle didn't miss a beat. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I am supporting him. If he gets this job, I could move up, too. Believe me, I'm just asking the questions that Craddock and the others are asking.” He cupped her shoulder in his white-gloved hand and brushed his lips against her ear. “If you're helping a friend get a promotion, I'm good with that. I'll do whatever I can to help the act be a little more convincing.”

Huffing out an affronted sigh, J.C. pulled away. “This is no act. Ethan asked me to marry him. I said yes.”

Kyle put up his hands in surrender. “If that's the case, then put me to work making wedding arrangements. Let me clear the major's calendar, reserve a hall or church, line up the chaplain.” His blue eyes darkened with a self-importance that seemed unsettlingly familiar—and as unwelcome as a stern word from her father. “The major counts on me to get the job done. You should, too. I have connections you wouldn't believe.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” Kyle Black's offer sounded friendly enough, but J.C.'s stomach tensed as if he'd just issued a threat. Maybe it was after midnight and the Cinderella factor that made the ball enjoyable had finally worn off. Or maybe she was right to worry about Kyle's interest in her engagement. Maybe Ethan should worry, too. “You know, on second thought, I think I'll pass on the wine. The orchestra leader just announced the last set and I don't want to miss it.”

“So you do want to dance?”

J.C. shook off Kyle's hand and backed away. “Nothing
personal, Captain. But there's someone else I'd rather spend the last few minutes of the evening with. If you'll excuse me.”

Even from the rear, Ethan cut an impressive figure. Though the members of the group had changed from before, he was still holding court, his head bowed to listen to whatever the woman in the long-skirted uniform beside him was saying. He nodded his head sagely and straightened, then turned his attention to a man who wore a turban and spoke with a melodious accent.

For a man who was loathe to talk, Ethan had spent his entire evening in one conversation or another. Either he had a split personality or he was avoiding something. If he was avoiding her, that was about to change.

Fixing a confident smile on her mouth, J.C. linked her arm through Ethan's and pulled herself into the circle. “Sorry to interrupt, but do you mind if I steal this guy for a little while?”

She didn't wait to respond to the supportive, go-for-it answers. Beneath her fingers, J.C. felt resistance in every corded muscle along Ethan's forearm and biceps. But he let her turn him around and lead him away from the group. “You've done your duty long enough, Major. It's time to dance with me.”

Like an anchor digging into the ocean floor, Ethan halted. “I'd rather not.”

The sudden loss of momentum spun her around to face him. J.C. reached up to cup the smooth firmness of his cheek and angle his ear close enough to whisper. “You
need
to dance with me.” He frowned in question. Her explanation was brief. “Captain Black is asking a lot of questions.”

Keeping his face close, he lifted his gaze over the top
of her head. She imagined he was glaring straight at Kyle. “Like what?”

“Like where's my engagement ring? And why hasn't he heard of me before today?”

“It's none of his damn business. Black will do what I tell him.”

Feeling more than thinking, she stroked her fingers across the tense muscles that clenched his jaw tight, betraying some of her own alarm as she tried to soothe his. “I don't think he's the only one who needs convincing. Ethan, if we don't make this look good right now, I think the charade will be over.”

D
AMN THE TORPEDOES
.

Ethan held tight to J.C.'s fingers and scanned the swirling sea of dancers as she led him to the center of the dance floor. It felt like invading enemy territory. He stood tall and stiff as she curled her hand over his shoulder and twisted her hips to the beat of the music. The poof and swing of her long skirt hid her feet from view, but he gamely tried to match every other step or so.

He'd rather face that bay full of mines with Admiral Farragut than venture onto a dance floor and relive that humiliating night when Ambassador Mead had tapped on Ethan's shoulder and said he was cutting in to dance with his wife. His
wife!

Surprise!

Did J.C. or anyone else in this crowd know what kind of battle he was facing? But it was too late to back out now. J.C. was right about being the object of unwanted scrutiny. The Craddocks gave him a thumbs-up as they twirled by, and Captain Black toasted him with a drink and watched from the sidelines. Ethan took a steadying breath and shifted from one foot to the next.

Full speed ahead.

Whether he liked it or not.

The music from that night in Cairo beat a loud rhythm inside his head, drowning out the orchestra. It was bad enough that he'd paid twenty American dollars to learn a
couple of dance steps from one of the locals. Worse that he'd traded two weeks of the graveyard shift for the night off to attend the cultural festival with Bethany before the ambassador's arrival. But the real kicker had been when she'd giggled as if the joke was on him.
“Sorry, McCormick,”
she'd whispered.
“I guess we're done.”
Bethany turned into the arms of a man he would have pegged as her father, planted a not-so-daughterly kiss on him, and left Ethan standing alone in the middle of the crowded dance floor.

He was done, all right.

He'd been screwing a married woman. The young trophy wife of the man he was there to protect.

And her husband, his commanding officer, and most of his unit were there to see his stunning stupidity firsthand. Ethan McCormick—all around tough guy, leader of men—had been duped by a devious woman.

It was enough to turn any man off public dancing and thinking with his pants.

But J.C. thought the solution to proving their engagement was the real deal to a few doubters was to stand out in the middle of this crowd and act as if there was no place else he would rather be. She spun out of his grasp, expecting him to know the steps. She bumped into his chest when he went to retrieve her.

“Oops,” she laughed, excusing his incompetence.

“My fault.” He reached for her hand again.

Man, it was getting hot in here. Ethan fingered the stiff band of his collar and wished there was some other way to prove his value to the Corps.

J.C. dodged to the side as another couple glided past them, then curled herself around his arm and held on to stay out of the path of the next couple. “Please tell me you know how to dance.”

Ethan knew enough to put his hand at the nip of her waist and pull her out of the current of dancers to a relatively empty spot in front of the orchestra podium. “I'm usually asked to guard the door, not take center stage.”

Her stricken look of apology was almost worse than a laugh. “That's why you never asked me.” Pity quickly gave way to a gleam of determination in her upturned face. “It's not hard. Why didn't you ask me to teach you some basic steps?”

“And when did we have time to do that?”

“How about right now?” She grabbed both his hands and pulled him toward her.

“J.C.—” He crunched her foot beneath his and recoiled, throwing up his hands between them, afraid to touch her. His war with the dance floor continued. “I'm sorry.”

“You're not going to start that apology thing all over again, are you? I was okay when you kissed me last night. I'm okay with this.” She kept moving closer. He kept looking for a reason to back away. “Don't you want to hold me in your arms?”

Her blue eyes blazed with a challenge he found far more seductive than any of Bethany's come-hither looks had been. Ethan planted his feet and let the other dancers brush past him. He could do this. For J.C. For the promotion. For the Corps.

Hell. He'd been dying for an excuse to take J.C. into his arms and explore those opportunities she'd mentioned back at her apartment. He'd counted seven other men who'd put their hands on her on the dance floor. Seven other men who'd gotten to touch her and hold her and maybe even flirt with her while he tried to distract himself by working the room.

It was his turn. He was going to step up to the challenge and do this for himself.

Still, she should know there might be casualties.

Ethan reached for J.C. His stiff arms held her beyond harm's reach. He raised his voice to be heard over an ominously timed drumroll. “You asked for it. Just remember that you insisted that we dance when your feet are black and blue in the morning.”

Her triumphant smile drew his attention to the creamy, coppery curve of her mouth, reminding him there were other things he wanted to do for himself. “I'll take my chances. Now hold me like you mean it.” She moved half a step closer, forcing him to bend his elbows and slide his palm behind her back. Her warmth radiated through the silk and stays of her dress, and her hips swayed, lithe and limber beneath his hand. “Just follow my lead.”

The fates took pity on his lack of skill and the orchestra eased into a slow tune. “Yes, ma'am.”

“One-two-three, one-two-three…” Ethan craned his neck to see down to the floor between them, trying to catch a glimpse of her feet. Okay, so maybe his gaze kept straying to the gentle swells of her breasts rocking like the generous ebb and flow of the tide against the straight neckline of her dress. Man, he'd like to kiss those, too. “One-two-three…”

The swells were gathering, rising above the edge—

“Ow.”

“Hell.”

He'd stepped on her foot again.
Eyes back to the floor.

He turned his brain back on and counted the numbers out loud with her. “One-two-three.”

Her hand squeezed his. “Is it at all possible for you to relax?”

Better trained men swept by them with their partners.
Ethan raised his head and looked into her upturned eyes. “I warned you.”

J.C. was the one to stop this time. “Wait a minute. You know how to march, don't you?”

He raised a
duh
eyebrow. “You know a Marine who doesn't?”

“But you can keep right and left straight, can't you?”

“Of course. We did precision drilling at the Academy.”

“Well, this isn't exactly
precision.
But think of dancing in the same way. If you learned those steps, you can learn these.” She slipped her hands down to his hips and nudged him back and forth. “Left, right, left. You're just changing the rhythm.”

“But my movements have to coordinate with yours, and if I watch my feet, I look like a dope.”

She veed her fingers and pointed to her eyes. “Look right here, Major.”

The clip of a command in her voice earned his instant cooperation. Possible mistake. That challenge still taunted him from her eyes, daring him to look away, daring him to surrender. Strength flowed in to replace self-conscious doubt. Adrenaline buzzed through his system.
Surrender
wasn't part of his vocabulary. He held his hands out to either side and awaited further instruction. “Then what?”

“I'll do the hard part, like Ginger Rogers. I'll do everything Fred Astaire does, only backward. You just follow my lead, Fred.” She arched one eyebrow, silently telling him that she was more than up to handling the task. She slid her hands beneath his jacket and latched on to his waist, guiding his body from side to side. “Left, right, left. Right, left, right.

“No.” She turned her palm and splayed her fingers down over the point of his hip. “Do you feel the down-
beat of the music? Like this.” J.C. squeezed, startling him out of step. He grasped her shoulders to right himself and save her feet from his. She patted his hip. Twice. Then squeezed him again.

“What are you reaching for back there, Ginger?”

“Listen.” Her fingers squeezed. Pat, pat. Squeeze, pat, pat. The soft, mellow thump of a bass filtered into his senses, resonating with the beat of his pulse, matching the teasing rhythm of her hands. “Do you hear it?”

The deafening cadence of that last dance with Bethany faded into a distant echo. This music soothed, seduced. Or maybe it was the teacher who made the cool, melodic strains and low, vibrant beat feel so intimate. His feet began to move in sync with J.C.'s.

“This is dancing?” It sure wasn't drill marching.

J.C. grinned and his gaze drifted down to the tempting sight. Oh, yeah, he'd never had any rewards like that to motivate him through basic training. Her husky words were as encouraging as that smile. “If you can feel the beat, you can do this.”

His hands were moving up and down her arms now, in time with the guiding rhythm of each squeeze and pat.

Left, right, left.

One, two, three.

Grab, my, ass.

Ethan's groin lurched in response to the coaxing combination of her touch and his success. “Um, J.C.?”

He forced his gaze back to hers, forced it over the top of her head to glimpse the other dancers—all holding each other in a different, more conservative way. The next lieutenant colonel of the Corps had better follow suit.

Ethan plucked her right hand from the warm spot at his hip and cradled it in his palm. He moved her left hand
back to the neutral position on his shoulder and offered a rueful smile. “We are out in public.”

But the instant he lost contact with her guiding hands, he lost the beat and stumbled across her foot. Ethan huffed his frustration between gritted teeth and swore. “I can field strip an AK-147 blindfolded, but I can't master a damn two-step.”

“Three-step,” J.C. corrected. Before he could straighten her out on the lousy timing of that amused sparkle in her eyes, she wrapped her arm behind his shoulders and moved in to butt her thighs right up against his. Knee to hip, silk to wool. Left, right, left. Touch, touch, touch. Glued to him like another, suppler layer of his uniform, she moved their bodies as one. “Does this help?”

Oh, yeah. The dancing was better, too.

His little major drifted to attention as his senses absorbed every detail about the woman he held. Beneath the orchestra's melody, he heard the rustle of her dress, a whisper of sound caressing his ear with every graceful step. The friction of her skirt brushing against his pant legs created little tugs of pressure in counterpoint to the thrust of her thighs and hips. The heady scent of her gardenia corsage cocooned them in a tropical, decadent heat that spurred the fire simmering through his veins and pooling behind his zipper.

And that didn't even begin to take in his fascination with the long earrings dangling against her creamy neck, or the silky wisps of chestnut hair that clung to her face and framed those luscious lips. Who wanted to watch his feet now? This view was infinitely more enticing.

That need to kiss her, which was never far from his mind, shouted for action.

Winding his arm behind J.C.'s waist, Ethan pulled her torso flush against his. Her startled breath was a warm
caress against his neck. Their whole bodies moved as one now, with the slow, drugging music playing as a pulse beat in the background. “How am I doing?” he asked.

She tipped her head back, putting her lips right there, in reach of his mouth. “Drill instruction paid off.”

He saw her lips move, heard the clever compliment. But all he really knew was the firm give of her breasts, pillowing against his chest, and the warm cup of her womanhood, cradling the jutting arousal in his pants. He'd never wanted a woman as badly as he wanted this one. He'd never needed to claim her so quickly.

Dipping his head, he brushed his lips against hers.

She shuddered at the contact, triggering a ripple effect that cascaded throughout his body.

Hitting his stride now, Ethan tongued the arc of her lower lip, then caught the tasty morsel between his own. The kiss assuaged his need like a tiny pinhole in a dam eased the pressure of the water trying to break through behind it.

It wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

He heard J.C.'s throaty moan, felt her fingers tickling his nape, her palm abrading the back of his head. General Craddock and future plans and bad memories all faded beneath a man's driving need to possess the woman who aroused him so completely. She was strong. Intelligent. Drop-dead sexy.

Judging by this lesson, Ethan needed to rethink his aversion to this dancing thing. It seemed a lot like making love to a woman. Hold her in your arms. Look into her eyes. Let the music create a mood. Then you start to feel the rhythm.

“Left, right, left. Right, left, right.” He whispered the mantra like an invitation beside her ear. The answering moan in her throat vibrated against his lips.

One year, four months, two weeks and a handful of days was a whole lot of need to store up inside a man. And this woman was a whole lot of sexy. It was a combustible combination that could provide an embarrassing, unwelcome end to the evening if he couldn't retake control of his body. And, damn, but he didn't want anything to spoil his taste for dancing a second time.

He slid his hand down to her hip, keeping them together as he turned with her. He was smoother than he knew. Instead of tripping over his feet and breaking the spell, the move felt just like rolling over in bed together.

For her, too, apparently.

“Ethan, um…” She licked her lips. He wanted her to lick his. “I think we made our point. Maybe we should—”

“May I cut in?”

Ethan felt the tap on his shoulder like a jolt of gunfire. Captain Black, indispensable aide with a knack for rotten timing, smiled his Tom Cruise smile and expected a shot at J.C.