Below the Belt(72)

His brows rose in surprise, but his eyes didn’t leave the TV screen.

“It’s a brochure.”

He snorted and settled her feet more comfortably in his lap. One hand ran light fingertips up and down her shins. Just to her knee and back; nothing sexual at all. He probably didn’t even sense he was doing it. But the touch charged her more than it probably should have.

“A brochure for what?”

“It’s for Kara, actually. She’s a blogging queen and can change out the skin of her website in ten minutes flat, but never gets the proportions or margins right on promo items.” She spun the laptop on the board and showed him. He spared it a three-second glance—generous, given his interest in the fight—before turning back to the screen.

“She needs to get some new yoga and Pilates clients. I’m helping her gear this one toward potential military clientele. Adding in some key phrases that might attract a jarhead’s attention.”

“‘Yut’?” he asked in a primal, caveman voice, and she laughed.

“Exactly.” A few more clicks, then she saved the presentation and emailed it to Kara for first-round approval. Closing her computer with a quiet snap, she set it on the coffee table and picked up the pad with her list on it. She realized, with a flash of embarrassment, she’d never torn off the doodle-hearts page. Before he had a chance to glance her way, she ripped it off, crumpled it up and stuffed it down the couch cushion behind her.

He didn’t even blink.

As she made out her to-do list for the next day, she asked, “Are you still mad at me about Tibbs?”

He was quiet for a while, then a commercial came on. He muted the TV and turned to her with her feet still in his lap.

“I’m sad. I’m sad for him, and for our group, because he’s the first to go. But I get it. And I’m not going to stand in the way of your job. Me telling you how to be an athletic trainer would be about as useless as you telling me how to be a Marine.”

She smiled a little at that. When he kept watching her, she raised a brow. “What?”

“Everything good?”

She nodded, then sucked in a breath. Time to try again. Be bold. “Brad?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

He blinked, and for a second, she wondered if he actually heard her wrong. But then he set her feet down gently, covered her body on the couch and kissed her. He kissed her with such passion, she knew he’d heard her this time.

It didn’t occur to her until later, when they were tucked in bed and he was breathing deeply beside her, that he hadn’t responded in kind.





CHAPTER


21


“Look over the list of travel dates, make any arrangements you need to, and we’ll be set.” Reagan set the sheet by her paper, started to leave then thought better of it and spun on her heels to come back.

Marianne couldn’t help holding her breath until the woman was firmly standing still again.

“You really have to stop wearing those death traps on your feet. You never know when there might be melted ice that we missed mopping up.”

Reagan looked down, brows raised in question. “These are kitten heels. They’re practically the same thing as flats.”

“Oh, yeah. Twinsies. Except for the heel and flat part.” Marianne sighed and settled back in her chair. She held the paper up. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong?” Propping the hip of one business skirt–clad hip on Marianne’s desk, Reagan studied her closely. “You’re all upset today. What’s going on?”

Gee, I dunno. The guy I’m seeing is in pain and won’t confide in me about it. I’m in love with him and have no clue how he feels. I lost another guy this morning to an injury, which was my call, and now all the Marines are staring at me like I’m Public Enemy Number One?

“Just a lot on my mind.”

Reagan huffed and shook her head. “That was pathetic. If you’re going to lie, at least do the job some justice, please?”

“Hey, pretty lady.” Kara halted at the entrance to the training room, hand clutched around her yoga tote. “Oh, sorry . . . pretty ladies.”

Saved by the friend. “Kara, you remember Reagan, right?” She stood as the other women acknowledged each other. “Reagan has a date with an orthopedist in about ten years to have her knees replaced from wearing all those heels, and we have a lunch date.” She nodded to Reagan, who was smiling smugly.

“But they’re so cute,” Kara said. She looked down at her own flip-flops, which Marianne knew for a fact she’d gotten for one dollar at the Old Navy flip-flop sale.

She knew, because she’d been standing with her, buying a few pairs of her own.

“Thank you,” Reagan said, and held out a foot delicately. “I’m really getting into this whole ‘working woman’ thing. It’s fun.”

Kara snorted at that. “Right. I think I’d drown myself if I had to wear a suit every day.”

Marianne started packing up her own bag. “And that’s why you’re good at what you do, Kara. You’re working in your own talents, at things you’re passionate about.”

“Yeah.” Reagan watched Kara for a moment as Marianne searched her desk for her cell phone. “You run your own blog. I found it. It’s cute. The layout, I mean, not the subject.” Her eyes widened and her jaw slacked a little. “Oh my God, that’s not what I meant. I’m so sorry. I know you talk about your son and—”