Below the Belt(25)

“I don’t think anyone wants you to be their mother,” she said softly. “I think they see a leader in you. Above and beyond the obvious rank situation. You’ve got something in you that guys look up to.”

He raised a brow at that. “What, being old?”

“There is that,” she conceded, and grinned when he laughed. “No, there’s more. I watch you . . . all of you,” she added quickly when he flashed her a grin. “The younger guys watch you. And sometimes, they want to show off for you. When one of them whizzes past, you just keep going at the pace you’ve set, and it doesn’t bother you.”

“Oh, it bothers me,” he said darkly. Settling down in a chair, he rested the ice bag on top of his knee. She ached to sit in front of him, to use her hands to massage at the different points, to prod and find the problem so she could fix it. It was her calling, and it was painful to sit back and not be allowed to do her job.

“Just think about it.” She waved at his knee. “Want to talk?”

“About this? No. About other things?” He sucked in a breath, then shook his head. “Not really, but it needs to be done.”

Oh, great. Here came the “it’s not you, it’s me” speech. Honor and duty and whatever. “There’s not much to talk about, is there?”

He watched her a moment, shifted the bag a little to the outside of his knee then looked down. “Probably not.”

“I should apologize, actually.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but she held up a hand. Manners had him holding back, though he looked like he would rather not. “I do need to apologize and just get this out of the way.” With a deep breath, she put on her most remorseful face. “I know it’s hard to resist this.” She indicated her entire body. “It’s rough, being so hot. The number of men I’ve had to swing at with bats to get them to back up . . .” With a dramatic sigh, she rolled her eyes. “But you know, eventually everyone has to take the hint. You’ll just have to do your best not to lust after my luscious curves.”

The corner of his mouth kicked up. “It’s a tall order.”

“Being a Marine? Kid stuff.” She pffted that. “Keeping your hands off Marianne Cook? Good luck.” She laughed when he did. “It’s fine, Brad. Seriously.”

He looked relieved. And she hoped, with the humor she’d practiced with Kara, the situation wouldn’t be awkward for either of them now.

“Which Marines?”

When he blinked, shifted the ice bag to the inside of his knee and shook his head, she knew he hadn’t followed.

“The ones you’re in charge of. Your babysitting job,” she added with a silly face.

He reached into his bag and, from one of the outer pockets, pulled out a folded sheet of paper. She took it and sat in a chair next to him.

“Chalfant is a good guy, and he’s one that idolizes you.”

“He’s known me three days,” Brad growled. “He doesn’t know me enough to idolize me.”

“He senses something in you to aspire to.” She let the paper fall to her lap and faced him. “Why is that such a big deal? Why are you fighting being a role model? You lead people all the time when you’re at your regular job. So why not here?”

“I’m here to box.”

“You’re here to be a part of a team.”

“Boxing isn’t a team sport.”

“The Marines are not a solo act.”

He narrowed his eyes at that, but said nothing. She considered that a point in her favor.

“These two I don’t know very well,” she went on, running her finger over the middle names. And this last one . . .” She started to laugh, then her belly cramped and she doubled over with laughter. He grabbed for the paper, but she rolled her chair out of the way. “No . . . oh,” she gasped out. “You’re babysitting Tressler. Oh, this is great.”

“That little half-wit has nothing but trouble written all over him.” Brad lunged to get the paper, but she danced out of the way. The ice bag fell to the floor with a plop as he caged her between a table and the wall of the storage room she’d commandeered for her temporary training room. “List back, please.”

She pursed her lips together and held it behind her back. With a shake of her head, she made a “nope” sound.

He snaked one arm around her back and gripped her wrist, but didn’t pull her arm out. Instead, he flexed, bringing her body flush against his. Through the thin mesh of his athletic shorts, she could feel his erection growing. Her own nipples tightened in response to being pressed against his wet shirt and hard chest.

Oh, sweet mercy. She was going to do it again. She was actually going to kiss him again; this time in her training room.

There were at least seventeen things wrong with the last part of that statement.

She couldn’t remember a single one of them.

His eyes changed; his pupils dilated slightly, darkening them. And he made a sound in his throat she interpreted as frustration and lust, a fifty-fifty combo.

A cough at the door sent them both into panic mode. He stepped back quickly, catching himself on the table when his right leg wobbled. She breathed, then crossed her arms over her chest as if she were cold to cover the fact that her nipples were so hard they hurt.