“Brody,” she said again, this time more reverently. “You’re dreaming. Wake up.”
If only this were a dream. If only he hadn’t just watched two more of his fellow Marines make the ultimate sacrifice...
“I was cool with you crashing out here, but now you’re drooling on my pillow.”
Huh?
“Come on, soldier. Shake it off.”
He jolted upright and the pretty brunette from the bar jumped back from the side of the bed. Her navy sleeping shirt rose high on her thighs as she slapped a hand over her mouth to cover a yelp. The whole friggin’ room smelled like the hyacinths his grandmother grew in her garden every spring and, given the woman’s damp hair, it was easy to figure out why.
His dry, sleepy eyes slid down the length of her body, cataloguing every curve she didn’t bother to hide, particularly where her skin glowed, unabashedly bare from high on her thighs and down. What the hell time was it anyway? Apparently he’d been out long enough for her—what was he name again? Jessie? Jenny?—to shower and get ready for...what exactly? As far as he could remember she hadn’t been interested in conversation, much less undressing for him.
“Call me a soldier again, sugar. I dare you,” he growled as he finally made his way back to her face, though there was less bark in his tone than he normally gave those who confused him with his lesser skilled military counterparts.
Her cheeks flushed a soft pink, but her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Drool on my pillow again. I dare you.”
Such a spitfire. He liked that. “You know there’s a big difference between a soldier and a Marine, right?”
She pursed her shiny lips and cocked her head to the side, her hair falling in a sweeping curtain off her shoulder. “There’s also a difference between my offer to accompany you downstairs and you baptizing my pillow with your drunken slobber.”
“Yet you chose to shower instead of waking me up.”
“I tried, but you wouldn’t budge.” She lifted a shoulder and padded over to the bathroom, grabbed a tube of something, and flipped off the light. Then she shocked the hell out of him—she climbed onto the other side of the bed like they belonged there together. “You’ve only been out for an hour, but I’m guessing you crashed hard since you were talking in your sleep.”
Shit. “You heard that, huh?”
“Wasn’t much,” she began, slowly rubbing lotion onto her bare legs, not looking at him. “Just something about making it out alive. I saw the ID in your wallet before and since you know Josh and Tony, I put two and two together. You were dreaming about being overseas, right?”
Hell, he might as well add another tat to his body. Nutcase right across his forehead. Everyone thought it anyway.
“Is that why you drank so much tonight? Are you celebrating coming home?” She flicked a quietly curious glance at him from beneath thick eyelashes and he trained his focus on her hands, small, but long-fingered, smoothing that fragrant lotion over her skin. Her toes were painted a pale pink, a color so natural it matched the hue of her lips. For a second, he wondered what she’d look like all made up, but then he chased off the thought, because this woman didn’t need that shit. She was already an angel.
Which meant he needed to draw a firm line in the sand. He was an asshole. A certifiable, ornery as hell jerk. This chick had saved his ass and then she’d let him zonk in her bed. She was good people. He was not, and he needed to remember that.
He could fix that fast. He was good at scaring people off.
“No offense, but that’s none of your business.”
She arched an eyebrow and squeezed another dollop of crème into her hand. “Yet you thought it okay to crawl into my bed.”
“You’re half naked right now. I can see your panties,” he countered, drawing on what he knew best. “You looking for a meaningless Vegas fuck, sugar?”
She blinked at him for a few seconds, her expression unchanged, before she capped the tube and set it on the bedside table. Like he hadn’t just insulted her. “Sorry to disappoint, soldier, but this is just me doing my normal bedtime routine, hoping you’ll get the hint and get the hell out.”
Ah, she liked to play the defensive game of self-preservation, too, huh?
There was no doubt in his mind that’s exactly what she was doing and that was another reason he should leave and fast. Only, he wasn’t ready to go and not because he was still drunk. Which he was, but that was beside the point. He really liked this woman.
“You said your name’s Jenny, right?”
“Yes. And while you prefer Marine to soldier, I definitely prefer Jenny or even Jenn to Reed’s girl. Maybe we can call a truce on that.” She offered him a hand and, though he wanted to touch her—all of her—he hesitated.
“Am I violating man-code right now, Jenn? Or were you hoping to chase off bad memories with that tequila earlier?”
She dropped her hand onto the fluffy white comforter and sighed. “You’re perceptive. Your only superpower or one of many?”
A slow, perverse grin tugged at his lips. “I’m told I’m a multi-talented guy.”
She rolled her eyes and hit him with a pillow. “Stop trying to talk me out of this shirt, Superman. It’s enough that your ass is imprinting my mattress, isn’t it?”
Not even a little, but not for the first time tonight, he acknowledged that he was interested in more than just sex with this girl. The pull could’ve been something as simple as one lost soul attracting another, but it didn’t really matter the reason. She hadn’t kicked him out yet, so maybe the tethers that kept him from leaving also kept her from showing him the door.
“How about this? I’ll tell you why I was drinking if you tell me why you were.” She pulled her knees to her chest and rested her cheek on top of them. He wasn’t lying about her panties, and if she wasn’t careful, she was going to show him a lot more than just a little pink lace. But, nice guy that he was, he shifted his gaze back to her face, where she waited patiently for his response. Thank God for whiskey dick, because he’d only gotten half hard again before he reined it in.
“It’s after one o’clock in the morning. We should both be sleeping, not hashing out shit neither one of us really wants to talk about. Besides, I’m starving.” He rubbed a hand over his stomach when it growled loud enough to be embarrassing.
She gave a bark of laughter. “Oh, so it’s okay to eat at this late hour, but it’s not okay to talk?”
“Hey, I skipped dinner. Don’t judge.”
Her stomach rumbled even louder than his and she buried her face in her arms and chuckled. “I can’t believe I’m going to suggest this, because I really do want you to leave, but maybe we should order room service.”
She was such a liar. But that was okay, because so was he—he’d eaten less than five hours ago. “As you said, it’s after one in the morning.”
“And we’re in a city that never sleeps.”
Point taken. “I’ll pay if you order.”
She hopped off the bed and sprinted across the room, pulling out a binder full of local menus before he could finish the thought.
***
An hour and a basket of chicken strips later, Jenny fell back on the bed, her belly full. “So tell me your sob story, Superman.”
Brody leaned against the headboard and crossed his ankles, one over the other, his toes wiggling beneath white socks. He’d lost his boots shortly after they ordered room service and it was clear he wasn’t leaving anytime soon. Now she had the pleasure of lounging on one side of the king bed while he took up residence on the other.
“Who said I had a story? Maybe I just wanted to celebrate the New Year.” He winked down at her and she reached over, twisting his shirt in her hand. Like she was tough or something. He laughed.