Major Attraction (23 page)

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What are you talking about?” Guerro danced in his chair, his bound wrists pleading for mercy. “I didn't do half that stuff.”

Ethan grabbed the opposite chair and flung it aside. Guerro jumped. Good. “Do you deny threatening J. C. Gardner so I wouldn't make any trouble for you?”

“No, sir.”

“You haven't seen trouble yet, believe me.”

“But I didn't shoot anybody.”

“You fired a flippin' rock through the window of her apartment. I was there.”

“No.”

Ethan shoved the table out of the way. “You called her last night and threatened her.”

Guerro lurched to his feet, knocked over his chair, backed into the wall. “No, sir. I didn't. I swear.” Ethan kept coming. “
Madre Dios,
I didn't call anybody. I got arrested for drunk and disorderly two nights ago. I haven't been anywhere but my cell since then.”

Ethan halted. He could smell Guerro's fear. The man would be a fool to lie to his face. “You didn't make any calls from the brig last night?”

“No, sir. You can check with the guard. I did stop your fiancée that morning by the river. But that was the last time I talked to her. Hell, I've been locked up pretty much since I got back to the base.”

“But if you didn't…” Ethan barely voiced the thought out loud. “Son of a bitch.”

“Sir?”

But Ethan was already moving. He pounded on the
door, alerting the officer outside before barging through. Guerro's story checked out. His damn story checked out!

Ethan cleared the gates and ran to his truck. He intended to make the drive into D.C. in record time. He intended to put his arms around J.C. and hold her as close as she'd let him.

Because if Guerro wasn't stalking J.C., that meant someone else was. Someone she'd never even suspect.

Someone who was probably a lot closer to home.

 

“N
ORMAN
?”

J.C. sat in her Camaro outside the gate to her apartment parking lot, wondering where the trusty watchdog who guarded her building so diligently had disappeared to. She'd honked her horn once, but didn't want to raise too big a ruckus at this late hour.

She could park on the street easily enough and walk in. But what was the point of having a secure building if she didn't take advantage of it? Even if Norman was taking a break, he'd still be in the guardhouse. And if he'd gone inside to use the facilities, well, he wouldn't be gone from his post this long.

Unless something was wrong.

J.C. killed the engine but left her headlights on to check outside. She'd worn a short-sleeved blouse with her slacks. But despite the sunny day, night had brought with it heavy cloud cover and ozone-scented air that threatened rain. The chilly breeze blowing off the river brushed across her bare arms and raised goose bumps.

She rubbed at her chilled skin, wishing it wasn't so late, wishing it wasn't so damp, wishing she wasn't so alone.

Tonight she'd let Lee take her out after work, just to have the company. Ethan hadn't called; he hadn't come to see her. She'd jumped through hoops today, trying to
stop the presses to delete or alter her columns. But she'd only been able to pull one. No doubt this morning's exposé about how big a turnoff giving orders in the bedroom could be was less flattering than her caller wanted to see. But she'd run out of reasons to keep Lee up past her bedtime and had finally driven home.

To an abandoned guardhouse and shadowy parking lot.

She knocked on the door before peeking inside. “Norman?”

Empty. Her breathing deepened in counterpoint to her quickening pulse. What if he'd taken ill or had a heart attack? What if he'd been mugged on his rounds? Was he lying unconscious between a couple of parked cars?

J.C. went back to retrieve her phone and a flashlight. Then she shimmied under the locked gate and began her search. She checked the utility bathroom first. Empty and dark. Norman's prolonged absence was reason enough to call the super. Maybe even the police.

Flipping open her phone, she finally turned it on. Her voice mail was completely filled with Out of Area messages. She didn't want to hear that voice again. Not here in the shadows. Not anywhere.

But what if one of them was Ethan?

Taking a chance, seizing a tiny shred of hope, she pushed the button to let them play while she searched the lot with her flashlight, keeping well to the center of each row.

“You stupid bitch. I warned you—”

She deleted the message.

“I tried to do this nice, but—”

She hit delete.

“I know where you live. You can't—”

Delete.

“Where the hell are you, Norman?” She'd reached the
far side of the lot, without so much as a candy wrapper to leave a trail to his whereabouts.

She'd go back to her car. Park it on the street. Go inside and wake the super.

“Dammit, J.C., pick up!”
She stopped and pressed her knuckles to her mouth, squelching the ridiculous urge to laugh with joy or cry out with relief at the sound of Ethan's stern voice. Stern. She frowned. More like angry. Desperate. And what was the whooshing sound of wind in the background of the recording?
“Do not go out alone. Lock yourself in your car or your apartment or your office—wherever the hell that is. I'm coming for you. If anything happens before I get there, call the police. I did some investigating on my own. I talked with Guerro. He's not the man who called you.”

She'd had twenty messages on her phone. Someone had called.

J.C. stumbled as adrenaline jerked through her body. Thunder rumbled in the distant sky, an ominous portent that shaded the warning in Ethan's voice. She hurried toward her car, looking for something more in the shadows than her old pal Norm.

“It's nine o'clock. I'll be at your apartment in an hour, tops. Be careful, Jo. And don't be scared, honey. I'm coming.”

The first drop of rain hit J.C.'s skin and she screamed as if someone had grabbed her.

Ethan's next message had been recorded a few minutes later. It repeated the warning.
“I'm in the city now, hon. I'm coming.”

Forget the phone. She was running now. Lightning split open the sky and the rain poured down. She turned the corner around the last car and ran for the gate. Straight into the headlights, sloshing in puddles. Goose bumps
tightened her skin beneath a tense assault of lightning-charged air; cold, wet cotton and fear.

She jammed her phone into one pocket, pulled her keys from another. Should she dive under the gate or climb over the top? She was there. She was safe. She…

A large, black figure stepped from behind the guardhouse and crossed in front of her car, silhouetting himself in the blinding headlights. J.C. slammed into the gate, crashing to a stop. The flashlight flew from her hand.

“Who are you?” The figure moved. J.C. backpedaled. “Stay away from me!”

“I told you you'd be sorry.” Tires squealed in the background, an engine roared. But the sounds were lost in her stopped-up ears as her eyes strained to bring the man into focus. “I warned you and you wouldn't listen. I guess I'll just have to show you what a real soldier can do.”

He stepped out of the lights and she could make out the pattern of a camouflage uniform. Black, calf-high boots. But his face. She couldn't see his face. “I'll scream my head off,” she warned, feeling no advantage now that she could make out the bulk of a knife belted at his waist—and the barrel of a gun pointed at her stomach. “There are sixty apartments in that building. Someone will hear.”

“Scream away, bitch. I've rewritten your columns the way they should be. All I have to do is get rid of you and no one will ever know who Dr. Cyn really is.”

Lightning flashed, giving her a split-second glimpse of the green and black greasepaint that distorted the features on his face. And the glasses. This sicko wore glasses. She knew this sicko.

“Ben?” Chunky brainiac with the sweet personality and the enlistment brochures? “My God, Ben, why?”

Her hips hit the fender of a car. She was out of room to retreat, but he kept advancing. She jumped at the thunder smacking the sky overhead, or maybe it was the roar of an engine. It didn't matter. Ben snatched her arm above the elbow and dragged her into step beside him. He jabbed the gun into her ribs and marched her toward the river.

“You give soldiers a bad name, J.C. I tried to tell you to stop. Now I have to do this.”

“But you're not a soldier.” She jerked against his arm. He nearly jerked hers out of its socket, forcing her back beside him. For an out of shape computer nerd, he was surprisingly strong. “Why are you dressed like that? Where did you get that gun?”

“Do you know how many women give a four-eyed fat guy a second look?”

She imagined she heard her name on a rumble of thunder.

“But you're cute. You're funny. Nice. Smart.”
Psycho.

“I tell them I'm a soldier and they're all over me.” He laughed. At his own cleverness? At her imminent demise? “You can buy anything you want over the Internet. I got the costume, the weapons—”

“It's not a costume,” she argued, feeling an odd sense of pride overriding her fear. “It's something you earn the right to wear.”

“Why the hell couldn't you say
that
in your column, Dr. Cyn? What is that about, anyway?
Sin
ful? Even your nickname's lame, Dr. Josephine Cynthia Gardner.”

“J.C.!”

She turned along with Ben to see a golden-haired tank of a man hurtling toward them.

“He has a gun!”

But the warning was a moot point. Ethan McCormick
plowed into Ben. J.C. sailed out of harm's way. The struggle was one-sided and brief. She saw a fist, heard a grunt.

Then Ethan was on his feet, tucking the gun and the knife into the back of his jeans. Ben was out cold on the asphalt and J.C. was flying into Ethan's waiting arms. He scooped her up off the ground. Kissed her hard, muttered a curse, then set her down and stepped away as he pulled out his phone and called the police.

“Are you hurt?” he asked between deep, ragged breaths.

“No. Ethan, you came back. I needed you and you were there.” She clutched at his shirt, wondering why he was shielding her from an unconscious man, wishing he'd hold her in his arms again. “I couldn't find Norman, though. He might be hurt.”

“I found your security guard knocked out in a car parked on the street. I saw your abandoned Camaro. I heard what that bastard said to you. What he called you.
Dr. Cyn.
”

And now she understood why he hadn't kept her in his arms.

The cold night soaked into her very soul.

“I tried to tell you, Ethan. At the Craddocks'. I tried to explain, but you wouldn't listen. Can we sit down and talk about this?”

“Talk?” No emotion whatsoever registered on his rain-streaked face when he looked down at her. “I don't consort with the enemy, Dr. Cyn.”

“M
C
C
ORMICK
!”

Ethan snapped to attention in General Craddock's outer office. “Yes, sir.”

“What the hell took you so long?”

With a nod from the general's aide de camp, he strode into the roomy Pentagon office and resumed his ramrod straight posture. He stared straight ahead, not looking at the general until given permission to do so. “You called my office five minutes ago, sir. I came down as soon as I got your message.”

“We have a situation, McCormick.”

“Situation, sir?”

Ethan's whole life was a situation. It had been since that night a week ago when he'd learned the truth about J.C.'s duplicity. He'd gone and done the same stupid thing he had with Bethany Mead. He'd fallen in love with a woman who was using him. Hell, yeah, he'd been using J.C., too. But at least he'd been up-front about it.

But then J.C. had complicated things by insisting on pursuing that inexplicable sexual chemistry between them. He still thirsted for the taste of her lips, still hungered for the feel of her firm, responsive body against his. Then she'd gotten him all mixed up by tapping into his heart, sensing his fears and regrets—convincing him to share what he hid deep inside him, healing the rawness with
funny words and luscious kisses and the hot, ready welcome of her body.

Bethany's betrayal had stung his ego, damaged his career. But J.C.'s lie had cut his heart straight in two. He'd been so scared he wouldn't get to her in time, that he couldn't keep her safe. And then she'd stabbed him in the back.

He had a situation, all right.

Dr. Cyn, not J.C., had been the target of Benjamin Grant's delusional wrath. The crazy kid had tried to enlist in three different branches of the service and been turned down each time because he couldn't pass the physical. So he'd created, armed and defended his own little army of one against the advice columnist he blamed for giving him a bad rap with the women he wanted to date. Crazy.

Hell. Like wearing the uniform made meeting the right woman any easier. He sure knew how to pick them. He'd fallen in love with a traitor to the Corps.

General Craddock was looking through his window blinds, searching for something at ground level outside. “Damn,” he muttered. “Too late.”

Ethan dragged his thoughts back to the job that had always been there for him. “Is there a problem, sir?”

Craddock turned away from the window and propped his hands behind his back. “I'll say. Your fiancée was just in here.”

Ethan nearly jerked from his attentive posture. “Sorry, sir. She shouldn't have bothered you. She's not really my fiancée.”

“I know the whole story. She seems as miserable as you.”

His gaze darted to the general. “Sir?”

Craddock swore and crossed to his desk. “Romance is wasted on the young. Too much plotting and contriving.
I swear to God, if you like the girl, just say so, and give up all these stupid games.”

“I don't understand what you're saying, sir.”

“At ease, McCormick. Sit.” With a steadying breath, Ethan perched on the edge of a chair. “Do you love J.C.?”

“I don't think my personal—”

“Well, I like her. A lot. She'd make a damn fine addition to the Corps.”

Ethan flat out stared at his superior officer. “Sir?”

“You know the story about her father, don't you? Damn bastards like that give all of us a bad name.”

Bigamy, cheating on her mother, abandoning her—Earl Gardner's choices had all played a factor in J.C.'s unwillingness to trust him with either her heart or the truth. Hearing it from a third party helped Ethan understand just how far J.C. had to come to feel anything for him at all. Wait a minute. A third party? “She came here to tell you about her father?”

“She was here to make a formal apology to the Corps and show me her final Dr. Cyn column about military relationships.”

There it was. She'd taken a final parting shot at the Corps because of him. “I didn't know that's who she was, sir. When she said she was a relationship therapist, I thought—”

The general picked up the newspaper and tossed it across the desk. “Good stuff, McCormick. I like her style. Tells it like it is and isn't afraid to admit when she's wrong.”

Ethan scanned the article.
This
was Dr. Cyn? Writing how her firsthand education with a certain Marine changed her mind about loving a man in uniform. Loving?

Craddock continued. “She said that you're a man of
character and integrity—that you stuck by her when she had that imposter stalking her. She made a very convincing argument about why I should give you that lieutenant colonel promotion.”

“She had no right to, sir.”

But he kept reading, hearing her voice in the words.
Don't prejudge a military lover the way I did, ladies. It's the man that makes the uniform—not the other way around.

Good God, what had he done? What could he do to make this right? Bethany had cast him aside without so much as batting an eyelash. But J.C. was fighting for him. With her words and actions, she was trying to do right by him. She'd made the tough choice he hadn't been able to make. Until now.

Ethan laid the paper on desk and stood. “J. C. Gardner is the kind of woman who says what she thinks and means what she says. She's got a good heart, and she's not afraid to use it to help others. If that kind of honesty has been a black mark on the Corps, I won't apologize for it. For what it's worth, I like her style, too.”

“So what are we going to do about this situation, Major? An advocate like this would be an asset to the Corps. And I have a feeling she could go a long way toward improving the morale in this office if we can get her back on the team.”

Get her back.

Ethan snapped to attention. “Request permission to take care of the situation myself, sir.”

“Permission granted.” General Craddock grinned. “I just saw her leave the parking lot. She said she was headed home. If you hurry, you can catch her.”

“Is that an order, sir?”

“Does it have to be?”

 

J.C.'
S HEART LURCHED
in her chest when she opened her apartment door. Ethan stood there in his blue and khaki uniform—tall, proud, strong—intense as always. But the message in those gray eyes confused her.

She held tight to the door, desperately wanting to believe what those eyes promised. Forgiveness. Trust. Forever.

“May I come in?” he asked.

Once she realized how hard she'd been staring, she blinked and backed aside. “Of course. Sorry.”

He strode in, closed the door for her and fastened all three locks. “Don't apologize to me,” he said, tucking his flat white hat beneath his arm. “I'm the one who owes you an apology.”

“For what?” She crossed into the living room, trying to warm herself in the light shining through her replacement picture window. “I'm the one who lied to you about Dr. Cyn and got you into trouble.”

“The only trouble was in my own stubborn head.” He set down his hat and followed her to the purple chaise lounge. “Craddock loves you. The Corps loves you.

“I love you.”

J.C. snapped her head around. He meant that metaphorically, right? But those eyes said it was the real thing. A nervous swarm of bees buzzed in her stomach. “What?”

Not her snappiest comeback.

He snatched her left hand up between them and frowned. “Where's my mother's ring?”

“Oh.” It was a metaphoric
I love you.
She hurried into the kitchen and retrieved the ring in its box from her purse. “Here.” She handed it over, feeling as if she was handing over the best part of her life. “I didn't think you wanted me to continue the charade. I talked to General
Craddock this morning and explained everything. The fake engagement, my research, Ben Grant, Dr. Cyn.”

He opened the box and pulled out the ring. “I talked to Craddock, too. I explained that I was an idiot to judge you by what some other woman did to me. You didn't betray me—I betrayed us by not giving you and me a real chance. And I'm sorry. Here.”

He lifted at her left hand and slipped the ring onto the tip of her third finger. “I said I'd take it back when you and I were done.” She watched his eyes as he slid the ring down into place. He
did
love her. “I hope you'll always keep it.”

The chill vanished from her heart and sunshine flooded her soul. Smiling with her whole body, she launched herself into Ethan's arms. “Oh, yes, Ethan. Yes. Yes.” She hugged her arms around his neck, kissed his ear, his shoulder, whatever she could reach. “I love you, too.”

His hands slid down to cup her bottom through her jeans and lift her. He split her legs around his hips, spun, and plopped down onto the chaise with her straddling his lap. “You make me crazy, Jo. You make me happy. You make me feel alive.”

His fingers combed through her hair, cradled her head. And he kissed her. Wildly. Wetly. Long and deep. She hugged his swelling heat and kissed him back. “You make me crazy.” Their fingers fumbled for shirt buttons together. “You make me happy.” She arched her back as he swept her blouse and bra off her arms. He shrugged those massive shoulders as she pushed his shirt down to his waist. And then they were holding each other tightly, chest to chest, skin to skin. And kissing. Oh, God, she loved kissing this man! “You make me believe in us.”

Ethan leaned back into the chaise's cushions, pulling her on top of him. He was kissing her breasts now, rolling
the tips beneath his tongue and stoking the heat at her most feminine core.

“I was so scared when I saw that crazy kid dragging you along to the river. When I saw his gun.” He unzipped her jeans and slipped his hands inside to squeeze her bottom. “Hell, J.C., the minute I heard your voice on my phone saying you needed me, I wanted to be here with you. I thought I could settle it with Guerro, but it wasn't him. By then I was scared I couldn't get to you in time.”

J.C. pulled his mouth back to hers and kissed his deeply, apologizing for the fear she heard in his voice. Sitting atop the jutting ridge of his desire, she pulled back just far enough to frame his square jaw between her hands. The love shining from his eyes amazed her. “That wasn't fair of me to put that kind of pressure on you. I understand now that it's as hard for a Marine to be away from the people he cares about as it is for us to miss you.”

She dropped a humble kiss to his lips. “I can take care of myself.” She felt him shift beneath her, sensed the protest on his lips. She pressed two fingers over his mouth and shushed him. “If I have to.” Searching his eyes, she saw that he could reluctantly accept this truth. Then she arched one eyebrow and smiled wickedly. “But I love it when you're here to save the day.”

He rewarded her for that one with a swat on the rump that thrust her against every delicious part of him. She was more than game to try something a tad on the kinky side with this man. But she had a better idea for right now. Something just for him.

Hushing his questions with a reassuring kiss, J.C. climbed off Ethan and shed her jeans. Then she backed toward her bedroom, slipping two fingers beneath the elastic of her panties. She teased him as she touched herself, and found her lips swollen and wet and ready for
him as always. He sat up, definitely interested in her invitation. She turned around, wiggled her bottom at him, then slipped the panties off and tossed them into his lap.

“Lose the uniform, Major,” she ordered. “And follow me.”

She led him to the bed where they tumbled onto the sheets together, completely naked, completely happy, completely in love.

And when he filled the heart of her with the gift of himself, and carried them both to that place of infinite joy and release, she knew she finally understood what it was about a military man that made him so irresistible. The knowledge was well worth losing that fifty-dollar bet.

Some time later, lying in the center of her bed, covered with a little bit of sheet, a lot of man and utter contentment, J.C. sighed. “Wow. Naked in the bed, missionary style. I like trying new things.” She trailed her fingers along the back of Ethan's neck and felt him shiver in response. “I don't think sex with you will ever be boring.”

He trailed his fingers along the inside of her thigh and cooed with drowsy anticipation as he slipped them inside her. “I don't think life with you will ever be boring.”

And just like that, it started again. A kiss. A touch. A word.

A phone rang, leaving J.C. gasping for breath and satisfaction as Ethan left the bed to retrieve both their cells. “Yours or mine?” she called after him when his big, gloriously naked body disappeared from sight.

He came back, his phone to his ear, a smile on his face, and his eyes promising everything her aching body wanted from him. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He climbed back into bed, straddled her hips and knelt above her,
giving her something to play with while he finished the call. “I'll be there first thing in the morning. Yes, sir.”

He disconnected the call, dropped the phone on the bedside table and slipped inside her. “Now. Where were we?”

“I love you, Major.”

He gathered her into his arms and claimed her lips in a long, drugging kiss. But then he pulled back, smoothing aside the wisps of hair that clung to her cheeks and forehead. His eyes glinted with a hint of mischief she wasn't used to seeing. “That's not quite right.”

“What do you mean? Of course, I love you.”

“Love me all you want,” he teased. He was moving inside her, leaning in to kiss her again. Taking her to blissful heights and showing her the love and devotion and security she'd always craved.

“But it's Lieutenant Colonel.”