Once Her Man, Always Her Man (1 Night Stand Series)

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Once Her Man, Always Her Man

Copyright © 2012 by Heather Long

ISBN: 978-1-61333-260-3

Cover art by LFD Designs

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC

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Once Her Man, Always Her Man

Always a Marine - Book 1

A 1Night Stand Story

by

Heather Long

~
DEDICATION
~

For every spouse, child, or parent who waited for their Marine to come home.

They also serve, who stand and wait.

Chapter One

Luke Dexter handed his keys over to the red-corseted valet driver, his gaze skimming the generous globes peeking above the open buttons of her white shirt.
The Sybarite Club definitely offers the Dallas area generous access to every pleasure
. He slipped a membership card from his leather wallet and displayed it to the doorman. A tall, lanky figure dressed in topcoat and tails, the man exuded a sense of elegance that the club’s exclusive clientele enjoyed.

Examining the card, he scanned it with a small device before handing it back to him. Luke admired the caginess of the action. A pen scanner would be out of place with the old world atmosphere encouraged by the man’s uniform. “Good evening, Mr. Dexter. Welcome to the Sybarite Club.”

He passed through the opening double wide doors. Their gothic style was dark cherry, aged like a fine wine and decorated with wood cut carvings of a man and woman engaged in cunnilingus and fellatio. The subtle joining left each crying out in pleasure when the door opened, only to be reunited when the doors closed.

Amused by the art, he smiled before plunging into the velvet darkness of the club’s jazz-infused atmosphere. Every night featured a different style of music, but Fridays were reserved for jazz. Old world, cool, smooth music with smoky voices, haunting guitars and lonely horns played to the soul. The doors barely closed behind him when his phone buzzed.

Pulling it out, he thumbed it on. A new message from Madame Evangeline of the 1Night Stand dating service populated the screen. She’s dressed in green silk and sitting at the bar. Remember, Luke, life doesn’t always offer a second chance….

Clicking the screen off, he walked down the four red-carpeted steps into the lounge proper. He’d only agreed to the dating service in a show of solidarity with the men in his unit. Many of his men struggled with reintegration and forming new relationships. He couldn’t excuse himself from that same issue or the expected invitation to the Sybarite Club. His gaze roamed the room, coming to a halt and fastening on a pair of to-die-for tan legs at the bar. The sweet length of them, one crossed over the other and ended in black heels with crystals glittering around dainty feet.

A green skirt skimmed her knees. He studied the line of her back, curious about the rest of her. His gaze slid higher to the pile of unruly auburn hair fighting to escape a pair of crystal hair combs.

As though sensing his appraisal, the mystery woman turned on the bar stool and his heart tripped.

Rebecca
….

***

Eleven years earlier
….

She raced across the field, the sunrise illuminating auburn hair streaming behind her. Luke paused, football helmet in hand. His heart squeezed every time he saw her. He’d known her since kindergarten, dated her since the day she’d turned sixteen and now in the autumn of their senior year, he couldn’t believe she still showed up two hours early for school every morning just to watch him practice and eat breakfast with him.

The guys razzed him about being whipped, but he ignored their ribbing. After all,
he
had Rebecca. He opened his arms and braced himself for the crushing hug as she wrapped her arms and legs around him. He adored her enthusiastic greetings. He’d adore them more if he weren’t battered, bruised and battened down in football pads.

“Good morning!” She kissed him, simple, sweet and sensational.

“G’morning, sunshine.” He chuckled, nuzzling the corner of her mouth and the scrape of sugar that alerted him to powdered donuts for breakfast. His heart squeezed again. Powdered donuts were his favorite, but he had a strict diet during the season, a diet that she managed to add at least one powdered donut meal to per week.

Two of the new guys catcalled, but his co-captain, Brent, shoved the whistlers onward to follow the rest of the team. After a year of her openly affectionate displays, the team was used to Lowell High’s lovebirds.

She waved to Brent and leaned back, tilting her head toward Luke. “You didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

“History paper,” he sighed. “Really couldn’t give a damn about the Archduke Franz Ferdinand, but Mr. Paulette didn’t ask for my opinion.”

“Only the facts, Mr. Dexter, or take a seat and zip it.” She dropped her voice an octave, mimicking their world history teacher. Her perfect white teeth bit her lower lip. “Want me to read it over while you practice?”

“Yes, I’m not too proud to admit it, either. It’s in my backpack.” Setting her down, he carefully avoided giving her rump a good squeeze. As affectionate as she was, she had boundaries. Explicit boundaries he respected. No sex in private or carnal petting in public. Of course, that didn’t stop him from looking at her perfect heart-shaped rear. She always complained about her weight and wanted to lose ten pounds.

He really had no idea why, either. Curvy as hell, she filled out her shirts and jeans beautifully and he loved wrapping his arms around her. She felt real against him. The one time he’d gotten her shirt off, he’d gaped at the sweet roundness of her breasts peeking out over the simple white bra. Her nipples stiffened under the fabric, dark and dusky. He’d damn near choked on his own drool at the thought of being able to touch them with his lips.

Maybe after homecoming
.

“What are you thinking about?” She set her bag down on the riser next to his.

“You.” He admitted. “Naked.”

She laughed. “You need to think about your end zone and running backs and whatever it is they were doing that got you tackled yesterday.”

And her lack of knowledge about football never stopped her from coming to practice and showing up at every game, even the away ones, to cheer him on. When they’d made divisional the previous year, only strep throat kept her home. Worried about her, he’d sucked hard during that game.

“Yeah, but I don’t want to think about their butts or how they look naked.”

Her cheeks pinkened, a ripe, sweet color and his heart jerked and shook like a dog with a toy.

The coach whistled, done with their dawdling.

“See you in an hour?”

“I’ll be right here.” She pointed at the risers. “Reading your paper.”

“Love you.” His voice dropped, not because it embarrassed him to say it or worried that someone might overhear, but because loving Rebecca was a privilege, his privilege and he sure as shit didn’t plan on sharing it with the team.

“I love you, too.” She mouthed the words, but they drove right into him and lit his insides. Her love honored him. Blowing him a kiss, she shooed him away. He jogged out to meet the team, sure she kept his heart as safe and sound as his homework.

***

“Rebecca.” He barely managed to mouth her name. Just like that, the jaunt in his step faltered, his heart stuttered and he half-turned to head back out the door. The valet probably hadn’t even parked his car yet.

That’s the coward’s way out
.

Luke Dexter wasn’t a coward.

Not anymore
.

He thought back to the all-too-knowing text message.
Life doesn’t always offer a second chance
….

Walk out the door and run away—again—or walk across the floor of the Sybarite and take his chance?

I’m through running
.

Rebecca Rainier glanced at her watch. She’d had some crazy clients over the years, but Delilah Swanson had to be the most eccentric. Becca began her event planning business in college and Rainier’s Intimate Introductions catered to the concept that people needed intimate situations to celebrate, meet, and mark special moments in their lives. She’d split her time between classes and meetings, carrying her supplies, her notes and her files around in the trunk of her car.

After graduation, Delilah made her an offer. She forwarded the financing for a storefront, let Rebecca choose her own clients, save for the once a year soiree Delilah hosted for a handpicked guest list. The ideal silent partner, she maintained a tidy investment, even after Rebecca paid off the initial stake.

For five years, she did exactly as she pleased, planning birthday parties, welcome home parties, wakes, weddings, and everything in between. This year’s grand shindig for Delilah sent Becca to the Sybarite Club in Dallas, only a few miles from where she’d grown up.

If it had been anyone else, she would have said no. But Delilah insisted that no life outside of work would impact her career more than she could imagine, so she’d let her not-so-silent partner sign her up for the 1Night Stand dating service. Delilah chose the Sybarite Club for the meeting, she knew the guys who ran it and that guaranteed her a measure of security. Instead of a huge party on some far-flung island or cruise ship, she waited for the man of the hour.

Delilah’s text had been specific: The Sybarite Club, nine PM., wear a forest green dress. She’d even sent a silver bracelet for her to wear for luck and love. The simple band shackling her wrist was heavier than most of the pieces she favored, but its weight comforted and warmed her.

A mournful melody of horn, piano and guitar tugged her back from the past—a place she rarely ventured anymore. She’d give her partner’s crazy idea another half hour. The white wine, the intimate atmosphere and the jazz were certainly worth another half hour of her time.

Maybe the guy chickened out.

Sadly, it wouldn’t be the first time.

A delicious scent of woodsy vanilla stroked across her senses, locking every muscle in her body. Tension knitted a chain of knots up her spine. Trembling, she set the wine glass down before spilling it. The scent teased her, conjuring memories of high school, football and love. Tears clogged her throat, and the colorful collection of liquors on the bar back rippled as the curtain shrouding her heart ripping away.

Luke
….

***

Eleven years earlier

“I don’t understand.” She sat on the edge of the picnic table. Instead of the movies, they’d planned a quiet Saturday night together. But he’d been late and just when she thought he wouldn’t show up, he’d arrived, agitated, out of sorts and distant. “What happened?”

“September 11th happened, Becca. We’re retaliating and I plan to help.” The sweet autumn of their graduating year had turned into a nightmare a few weeks before. She’d been with him when the first reports of the terrorist attacks came in. School dismissed early, but not early enough to stop the news of the flight numbers involved. His mother and sister had been on a flight out of Dulles that morning, returning home from touring colleges on the east coast.

He’d taken the news without a glimmer of emotion. Her heart ached for him. For weeks, he pressed through funerals, obligatory family visits and bore the brunt of the hushed pity that rippled through the halls of Lowell High wherever they went.

He quit the football team.

His grades slipped.

He stopped coming to school regularly.

But Rebecca hadn’t left him. She brought his homework, bullied him to eat, cleaned up after both he and his father. After 9/11, his retired Marine, Navy reservist father informed them over dinner that he’d been activated. She held Luke’s hand through his father’s speech.