Nobody's Angel (30 page)

Out of the blue, Adam crossed the kitchen and for the first time he could remember, he wrapped his arms around Karla. He looked at Marc and the others and explained, “Karla lost her brother in a motorcycle accident a few months back.”

“Oh, God, Karla! I’m so sorry!” Angelina crossed the room and rubbed Karla’s shoulders, above Adam’s arms.

Shit
. Marc felt a stabbing pain in his chest, remembering how his own brother’s death had affected him—for years. No wonder she’d been so somber since she came to the club. Her wound was still raw. Why hadn’t Adam said anything to him? Well, it might have helped if he’d been around more than just to work during club hours.

Marc cleared his throat. “Karla, I lost my brother in the war. If you ever need someone to talk to.”

She brushed tears off her cheeks and pulled away from Adam’s arms with some reluctance. “Thanks, everyone. I don’t like to talk about it much. It’s still too…hard.”

Luke said, “Sometimes talking about it helps.”

“Look,” Karla began, “I didn’t mean to start a sob fest here. If I haven’t totally ruined your appetite, I’m sure my casserole will finish the job.”

Adam picked up two potholders and the baking dish. “Nonsense. Everyone’s going to love it. Let’s eat.”

* * *

Marc couldn’t say that tuna-noodle casserole was something he could eat a couple times a week, but he liked it well enough. He’d certainly cleaned his plate. But he was sure Angelina would be able to bring out the hidden chef in Karla. “Thank you for going to all the trouble to make us dinner, Karla. It was great.”

Luke put his fork down on his equally empty plate. “Karla, if I could cook that well, I’d look like a linebacker.”

“Thanks, Marc and Luke. You’re sweet.”

Marc placed his napkin beside his plate. “No, we’re stuffed.”

Adam sat back in his chair and smiled at her. “I’ve tried to tell her that—after years of Meals, Ready to Eat—this Marine appreciates home cooking…period. Thanks, Karla.” Adam smiled at the black-haired Goth, who blushed and looked down at her half-empty plate.

Marc wondered if there was something developing between the two of them—finally. Adam had been a widower longer than Luke had. Maybe it was time for both of them to find someone.

Marc watched as Luke glanced over at Angelina and tried to tamp down the stabbing pain he felt in his chest. She deserved someone like Luke. But why did the thought of them together bother him so much?

“This is one of my brother Tony’s favorites, too. Easy to make and filling.”

The mention of Tony’s name brought a pained look to Luke’s expression. Should Marc have kept him from telling Angelina about his connection to her father’s death? Why did he want to keep the truth from her on these two counts? She was a strong woman. She’d be able to forgive them both.

He hoped.

“Well tomorrow, I want to be challenged, up to a point.” Karla glanced over at Angelina with something akin to worship. It was good to see the sparkle in her eye that he’d seen when she’d first seen her come out to welcome Angelina. She seemed like a sweet person, but he could tell there was an inner resolve. The woman would get what she wanted out of life, once she’d recovered from her recent loss.

Angelina smiled. “We’re going to start out early for the farmer’s market and you’re all invited to dinner tomorrow night to enjoy Karla’s gourmet creation.” When she turned her big brown eyes in his direction, Marc felt his groin tighten. “Marc, I hope it’s okay if I invite everyone over to your place for dinner. It just seemed to make more sense than transporting the food back here.”

Marc grinned at her. “Absolutely. My place could use a little life. I’ll be out on the mountain most of the day, but should be back by six or so. Adam has a…” he caught himself just in time before saying Adam had a spare key to his house. Damn, he was going to trip himself up yet. “I’ll leave you a spare key so you can get in. Adam, if you have a GPS, I can program the address in it for you.”

Adam glared at him. “Great.”

Marc looked back at Angelina and then Karla. “Just make yourselves at home, but don’t expect there to be any staples in the kitchen. I tend to eat out a lot. Navy corpsmen aren’t much better at cooking than Marines are.”

Adam cleared his throat. “I’ll give Damián a call and see if he can join us.”

Marc nodded and realized he wasn’t supposed to know Damián either. Crap. Someone else to bring into the lie. “Damián?”

Adam was not at all happy at the moment. “Damián served with me in Iraq and is one of the co-owners of my club here. He’s like a son to me.”

“He used to live here in the same room I’m staying in now,” Karla explained to Angelina.

“Just what kind of club do you run, Adam?” Marc asked. He watched Angelina take a sudden interest in her fork. Adam looked like he was ready to spit nails at Marc.

Adam grinned. “A BDSM club. Have you ever heard of BDSM?”

Angelina blushed at the mention of the fetish and Marc smiled. “Yes, actually. I’m quite interested in the subject. You wouldn’t happen to have any membership openings, would you?” He would so pay for this later, but was actually beginning to have fun with it now.

“Why don’t we go have a little talk about it, Marc. In my office.”

Shit
. Okay, so he should have known Adam was just setting him up.

“Adam, what are the chances Angelina and I might use one of the theme rooms tonight?”

Adam glared at him. “If the lady is willing, she has full access to the house during her stay.”

Marc looked back at Angelina, whose pupils had just dilated. He smiled. “Oh, I think the lady definitely is willing. We have some unfinished business to take care of from the ride up here.”

The smile left her face as she nibbled on her lower lip and pleaded with him silently to forget about that. She clearly remembered the punishment she’d earned for disrespecting him. Just warning her ahead of time would have her on pins and needles tonight.

Adam stood. “Well, if everyone will excuse us, Marc and I need to work on some…paperwork.”

Hoping for just a small reprieve, Marc offered, “Let me help clear the table first.”

Luke just smiled at Marc and said, “Don’t worry. I can take care of it.”

Traitor.

Chapter Seventeen

“You want to tell me what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Marc looked across the desk where Adam sat with his shirt sleeves rolled up and a laptop open to his right, doing his best to avoid eye contact. The screensaver showed photos of him and his wife, Joni. Marc stared at them a while—scenes of Joni and Adam on their wedding day, ones of her walking along an icy lakeshore, more couple shots in front of a lighthouse, on a sunny beach, and dressed in ski gear in the mountains.

A photo of a tombstone with the Montague name on it flashed on the screen for a second before Adam reached over and closed the lid on the computer, forcing Marc’s attention in his direction. The man’s wife had died of cancer nine years ago this November. Marc knew the month, because, every year for the past five years, Adam had made an annual pilgrimage to her gravesite in Minnesota a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving. Damián and Marc knew that date was non-negotiable on his calendar.

He usually came home and had some pretty dark days until he got past all the holidays. Marc and Damián had learned to steer clear of him during those dark times—and to not let the subs decorate the club for the holidays. They could never do it to Adam’s satisfaction, which upset them because they wanted to please him. He’d thanked them, but asked that they not bother after the first year the club was open.

“I’ve been letting you stew in your own juices for nearly a year now.” Adam’s words brought him back to the dressing down he was about to receive. “What the fuck is going on? What are you thinking, lying to that woman? You said you cared about her when you rescued her last month. Prove it.”

The man wasn’t one to mince words. Marc met Adam’s gaze. “I do. I swear to God, I don’t know why. In the beginning, she didn’t recognize me and there was no point reminding her of that time.”

“When did you start negotiating scenes with her?”

“The next night. At her house.”

“You should have told her then.”

Marc ran his hand through his hair and looked down at the floor. “She insisted she wasn’t a submissive. I wanted to prove her wrong, but I didn’t want to tell her I had insider information.”

“Is she?”

Marc looked up. “Is she what?”

“Submissive, damn it. Keep up with this conversation.”

Marc smiled. “Hell, yes, sir.”

“Well, you can do what you want off-premises, but you’re not going OFP in here.”

The man was channeling his inner master sergeant today, for sure, referring to a Marine expression Marc knew well—OFP, or going off on your Own Fucking Program, rather than following the rules of the mission or group.

Of course, Adam had gone OFP on a couple of occasions, but those involved saving the men in his units, including Marc on one occasion. But Marc knew the BDSM community had established strict protocols, as well as general rules, that Doms and subs, Tops and bottoms, Masters and slaves were to follow. Made it easier to navigate the social waters when new people became part of the subculture.

“Doms do not lie to submissives in this club. Now, tell me how and when you’re going to tell her who you are.”

“Give me a couple days.”

“Why?”

Marc hated to admit this to his friend and mentor, but met his steady gaze. “I already failed her once.” His voice was husky with unfamiliar emotion. He shifted in his seat. “I need to prove she can trust me to be there for her if she needs me.”

“Come again?”

Marc looked away, remembering the night he just hadn’t wanted to be here. “I arrived at the club late that night. By the time you brought me up to speed and I began to make the rounds, she’d already been on that damned cross nearly an hour. If I’d been on time, I would have ended that scene long before she went into deep subspace.”

“You sound like Damián.”

Marc looked at Adam, puzzled.

“Instead of blaming the insurgents for killing Sarge, he blamed himself. Well, I’ve got news for you both, Doc. Shit happens. Sometimes diarrhea happens.” Adam hadn’t called him by his corpsman’s nickname for years. He continued, “There were other DMs on duty that night, too, and I’d been by to check on them. The scene went downhill fast. All that matters is that you were there in time. The only person to blame for what happened to Angelina that night is the dickwad Dom she was with who went beyond her limits.”

Marc wasn’t convinced he could be absolved from guilt. He diverted his gaze to the wall to his left where a huge painting hung that Karla had given Adam, trying to brighten up his dark office—an oil on canvas with a stand of quaking aspens against a deep blue Colorado sky.

Adam captured his wandering mind. “Damián didn’t believe me either. But deep down, you both know I’m right. I may not outrank you now—”

Marc smiled at him. “You’ll always outrank us, sir.”

“Good to hear. Now tell me about this burr you’ve had up your ass for the last year.”

Definitely a straight shooter. When Damián had been on the brink of suicide, Adam had given him a similar shock therapy session to wake him up and turn things around. Damián didn’t laugh a lot back then, but he usually did when he recounted how he found himself recruited to become a Dom in a BDSM club.

So, it looked like it was Marc’s turn. He sure as hell hadn’t been able to sort out the problem in all this time. Maybe Adam could help. The man might not have gone to college, but he sure as hell had a wealth of wisdom about life.

“I was dating a woman last year for a few months.”

“Pamela?”

Marc looked up. “Yeah. How’d you remember her?”

Adam smiled. “That was a track record for you, Doc. What—four months?”

Marc grinned. “Three. Well, therein lies the problem. She wanted to take it further than I could go.” He grew serious and looked down at the floor. “I freaked, Adam. Not a full-blown panic attack, but close to it.”

“Who was she?”

Puzzled, Marc looked up again at Adam. “Pamela?”

Adam sighed. Marc thought he’d been paying attention, but had better pay even closer attention.

“No, the one who still has you running.”

Marc didn’t want to talk about that part of his life. His heart pounded until he heard the blood rushing through his ears. “That was a long time ago.”

“Judging by that jackrabbit pulse in your neck, I’d say not long enough for you to talk about her without another near panic attack.” Adam paused, then closed in for the kill. “What did she do to you?”

Marc could feel his throat closing. He really didn’t want to talk about this. Getting up, he said, “Look, Luke and I haven’t had much sleep and I’m sure he’d like to head home now.”

“Sit down.” The command was spoken in his normal voice, but was a command nonetheless. When Marc remained standing, he added, “Take that as a direct order from your former top sergeant. You’re not leaving this office until you spill it.” Adam leaned back in his chair and put his feet on the edge of the desk. “I’m not going anywhere. Neither are you.”

Marc tried to swallow, but his throat had gone dry. Adam had been there for him during one of the darkest times of his life. The man had never done anything but love and support him ever since. He didn’t want Adam to think him less of a man for what he’d done.

Adam won’t abandon you
. He also wouldn’t share anything outside this room. When Marc sat back down, Adam smiled almost imperceptibly. Bastard. Marc gritted his teeth, trying to decide what to say. How much did he want to divulge about a time in his life he’d really like to forget?

He blinked. “She screwed Gino. The day I was going to propose to her, I found her and Gino together in my bed.”

“That sucks, but it doesn’t sound like a woman who’s worth at least nine years of anxiety.”

Adam would know exactly how long ago Gino had been killed. He’d been there with him in Afghanistan.