The Gunny & The Jazz Singer (Birchwood Falls #1) (6 page)

Her eyes flashed with knowing. She
was reading his expression. And not hating it.
Okay.
He meandered toward her. "Hey, heading home?" They
were only a block from their respective houses. She licked her lips, the sight
of that tongue torturing him all the more.

"Yes. Are you?"

He fell into step next to her but
couldn't get a glimpse of her face because of the floppy hat.
Crap.
"What have you been doing
today?"

"I work part-time at Clarke's.
It's a resale shop just down there." She pointed to the cinderblock
building just past the church's parking lot. "What did you do today?"

"I hunted up some old friends."

"How long is your leave?"

"Six weeks."

"Are you deployed overseas?"
She lifted her head to give him a serious gaze.

God.
He wanted more than anything to kiss those rosy lips. "Yep."

"How often do you get leave?"

"Not often. This is my first
long-term leave in a few years and my first trip back to B Falls."

"I bet it's a strange
adjustment. All I know is what I see on the news though."

"Yeah, it's different, that's
for sure." They turned the corner onto their street. He glanced again at
her upturned face. He should be happy that a beautiful woman seemed sensitive
to his job. He wasn't used to talking about it with anyone.

"Are you happy to be home or
does the contrast between here and there make it too hard?"

Sensitive
and perceptive.
"Interesting question, Phoebe. No one's ever asked
that."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to
pry."

He lost sight of her face again
when she turned and hid behind the hat brim. "It's not that. Most
civilians just don't know what to say to us."

"I guess we're glad you're
home safe and don't want to remind you that you have to go back."

"Exactly!" They'd reached
her house, but she seemed to dawdle as if not wanting to go inside. He sure
didn't want to leave her.

"What's your rank?" She
tipped her lips up in a smile.

"Gunny. Gunnery Sergeant, to
be precise."

She saluted him, her expression
serious but her eyes sparkling in amusement. "Yes sir."

"You don't have to salute me,
and don't call me sir," he said in his sternest voice. "I'm not an
officer."

"Got it!" She again
lifted her hand to her brow, then laughed. "Oops."

Her adorable giggle went right to
his nuts, and he choked out, "That's okay. You'll learn."

"So what do gunnys do?"

The last thing he should do was
palm his aching cock in front of her.
Control
yourself, Marine.
He cleared his throat. "Simply put, we're experts in
anything to do with guns and ammunition, hence the gunnery part." He
couldn't say he didn't like her rapt attention, but he didn't want to talk
about war, not with the beauteous Phoebe. He was home with a sexy woman, and he
wanted more of her. "But I want to forget about all that for a while.
Okay?"

She nodded, the hat brim bobbing
with her movements.

He followed her as she headed up
the front walk of her house. They stepped up on her porch, she paused at the
mailbox, pulled out a sheaf of envelopes, and leafed through them. Scratching
the back of his neck, he asked, "Would you like to go out to dinner? We
can make it quick if you're singing tonight."

She lifted her head. "I'm
sorry. I can't."

That wasn't what the look on her
face was saying. She wanted to but something held her back. He held up his
hands in a surrender pose. "It's just dinner. No strings."

She tapped the edges of the
envelopes against her palm and gave him a regretful look. "I already have
plans tonight."

Crap.
Butch.
He'd acted all possessive last night. On the other hand, she'd
kissed
him
pretty hungrily.

He heard a growl come from his
throat. Between his suspicions of Wilcox Sr. and a little bit of his own
possessiveness, unreasonable though it was, he didn't consider Butch good
enough for her. Turning the growl into a cough, he asked, "Rain check?"

"Sure. I'd like that." She gave him an expectant
smile and didn't hurry inside. Her face tilted up, her leafy-green eyes
sparkling, eyes the color that reminded him of the countryside and bounteous
expanses of grass and home.

It was looking like she wanted a
kiss. Suddenly the tension between them tightened. Her lips parted in a hiss.

He plucked the straw hat off her
head. "This is really cute, Phoebe, but in the way." He tossed it
onto a chair. Before she could respond he folded her in his arms, angled his
head, and gave her the kiss he'd been wanting—pretty sure she wanted it too.

Well aware they were outside in
broad daylight and the neighbors could be watching, he kept the kiss soft. It
was a struggle because his body was telling him to take her, seduce her, make
love, fuck her. He'd been in a long dry spell, and it was torture for him to
control himself.

Blood pumped through his veins,
filling his cock to a throbbing, aching thickness. He could feel her hard
nipples pressing into his chest through the thin cotton of her blouse. His
knees weakened at the promise of that little ring at the tip. If he could just
get his tongue in the golden circle and tug, he'd make them both moan.

He groaned. Wouldn't it be hot if
her clit were pierced? Too much to hope for but his hips rotated subtly against
her belly at the fantasy. He lifted his lips just long enough to say, "Inside."
Then he recaptured her lips, indulgently caressing their soft surface. Just as
he nudged her toward the door wanting to continue this in private, she balked.

"Oh, Marc. Stop!"

"Why? God Phoebe, you feel so
good." Good Lord, he sounded pathetic.
Way
to signal how horny you are.

"I have to go in." She
sounded agonized. "Please."

Her hands on his shoulders, she
gently pushed him away. Too gently. He didn't think she really wanted to stop,
but when she shook her head, struggling harder to get out of his arms, he was
finally convinced. "Okay, darlin'." He could have swept her into the
house and taken her against the wall—he was that primed.

Needing a cooling-off period and to
make sense of what almost happened, he backed down the porch steps. She looked
pink-cheeked and rumpled and so beautiful his heart hurt. Her eyes narrowed
sleepily. Her lips were swollen from the kisses. He slid his fingers through
the short strands of his hair just for something to do with his hands—otherwise
he'd reach for her again. "Tomorrow?"

She gazed back at him with wide
eyes, the pupils so dilated the green was just a narrow border. "Sure,"
she whispered.

The door clicked shut. Yeah. She
was interested too.

She consumed his thoughts as he
walked across the street, up the porch steps, and into his own house. The
mixture of all she was—sexy woman, sprite with the colored stripe in her bangs,
guarded and naïve—all intrigued him.

A warmth melted through his belly,
around his hips. His eyes closed in the pleasure of the sensations. His balls
tightened, his cock hardened instantly as he remembered the feel of her through
the golden ring the first time they'd kissed, her taut nipple on the tip of his
finger. Through his jeans, he squeezed his penis. That alone didn't help. His
cock wanted her mouth or the hot depths of her sex, either or both, hot and
juicy. He wasn't choosy.

Damn.
He was much too used to having sex with his hand. Yes, he was on a mission here,
but a man had needs. Trouble was those needs centered right now on Phoebe
Barnes, and she wasn't giving it up.

Her sweet little body—slender hips
and thighs, full breasts with that suspected nipple ring—almost brought him to
his knees. Groaning, he knew he'd have to take care of himself. Storming
through the house and into his bedroom, he shucked his clothing, grabbed the
lube from his bedside table and spread it over and around his searingly hot
cock. He curled his palm around his dick before he even lay down.

Jesus, it felt good. His hand
tightly slid up and down his length, his thumb passing over the slit every time
he reached the head. He pressed the hole, massaging pre-cum into his skin,
combining it with the lube.

He lifted his knees to help his
heels get traction. Closing his eyes, he imagined Phoebe's head bent over his
hips, her hair sweeping his belly and thighs. Her mouth would have the heated
wetness he needed.

He grasped his cock firmly and
whipped his hand up and down, mimicking the blowjob he imagined, digging his
feet into the bed until his balls disappeared into his groin, signaling a tingling,
roiling boil of spunk. "Oh God, just come, damn it. Come on, fuck, fuck
yes, yes…"

Cum shot out as his hips surged off
the sheets. He kept stroking, squeezing it all out. The stream plopped onto his
chest, steaming then chilling on his hot body.

"Son of a bitch. Yeah."
His arms dropped heavily to the bed, legs next, his cock, still hard, bobbed.
He couldn't move. "Jesus." This climax had been more forceful than
any he'd remembered in the past.

Chapter Seven

His crooked smile had been
irresistibly devastating. Phoebe had almost grabbed him by the shirt and pulled
him inside just like he'd wanted. Only her heightened sense of
self-preservation had kept her from doing that.

She trusted so few people—mainly
Moira, Davy, and her adoptive parents. And to take an almost-total stranger
into her house even after two devouring kisses would make her too stupid to
live. Oh she wasn't afraid for her
life
with Marc Rahn. It was her peace of mind that was in danger.

She could get used to his kisses
and the promise of the hard cock he'd pressed against her stomach. The reality
was that she intended to blow B Falls as soon as an opportunity to sing in a
larger venue presented itself. She didn't want any man—even an admittedly hot
man—holding her back.

Which reminded her. Butch Wilcox.
She intended to break it off with him at dinner tonight. It wasn't like they'd
had a long relationship. Two dates and nothing more than a peck on the cheek.

Absently fanning her hot cheeks
with her hat, she closed her eyes, and relived what she and Marc had shared,
which was much more than a peck. The kisses had been full-blown, heated,
sweating lip-locks. His arms—it had been like his whole body had enfolded her.
She'd never been kissed like that in her twenty-two years. When they'd kissed
last night and his hand had roamed, she was certain he'd felt her nipple ring.
But no man had ever seen it, let alone touched it.

If he thought having one made her
easy, he had another think coming.

On her twenty-first birthday she
admittedly got a little tipsy. Throwing caution to the wind and relaxed just
enough to think it was a good idea, she'd had it pierced. So many times over
the last year, she'd thought to take it out, but it made her feel edgy, a
little dangerous.

Heat exploded throughout her body at
the thought of Marc Rahn playing with the ring, tugging on it, sucking her
nipple. She closed her eyes and touched herself, smiling at the prickling rush.
It probably wouldn't take long to climax with him. Not long at all.

No!
Don't fantasize about the man. You have a life to lead, a singing career to
promote, and a date to get ready for.
She'd tell Butch in the nicest way
possible that she didn't want to get serious with anyone. He'd have to back
off. She hoped.

***

Butch stood on the front porch, his
knock peremptory. Did he think since he was a cop, he could demand anything and
get it? If she wanted this evening over and the breakup with him behind her she'd
have to start by opening the door.
Ugh.
"You're right on time."

"Sure honey, you ready?"
He leaned in to kiss her.

She sidled out of his way, his lips
all wrong, his face not the one she really wanted to see. Grabbing her purse,
she shooed him out ahead of her, and locked the door. When they reached Butch's
car in front of the house, she spotted Marc sipping a drink and lounging in a
rocking chair on his front porch.

Butch growled.

He actually growled like an animal.
Whoa.

"I wish I knew what he came
back for. He doesn't have any family left in town. And why isn't he living in
his own house instead of over here?"

"How do you know each other?"

"High school football team. He
was such a hotdog," Butch said with a sneer. "Always had to be the
center of attention with—well, with everybody."

"He was a good player?"

"He thought so. Things changed
after his folks died."

She ignored the hint of
satisfaction in Butch's voice. "That must have been awful for him."

"Yeah."

Phoebe glanced at Butch, appalled
at his smirk. Breaking it off with him was the best idea she'd had in a long
time. He was one cold bastard.

"We're going to the country
club," he announced, changing the tenor of the conversation, dismissing a
friend's sorrow.

"Okay." She knew he liked
to go out to fancy places, so she'd dressed accordingly in a lavender silk
sleeveless dress with ruching across the bodice to hide the nipple ring and a
skirt that hit her just above the knees. The neckline was a demure shallow V,
and her sandals had only three-inch heels. She didn't want to appear too
provocative and teasing since this was the end.

She really should break up with him
right now. It wasn't fair to make him buy her dinner and then get dumped. "Butch,
can we go back inside? I want to talk to you."

"No. I have reservations at
seven. We only have ten minutes to get there. We can talk at the club."

She was extremely aware that Marc
watched them every step of the way to Butch's Jeep, his Grand Cherokee with its
white-gold exterior. He'd made sure to brag about it the first time they'd gone
out, said it cost thirty-five grand with all the bells and whistles. What a
jerk. She couldn't be bought by his bragging about an expensive car.