Love of a Marine (The Wounded Warriors Series Book 2) (6 page)

“You didn’t always.” He embraced her from behind. “Thank you for the best night’s sleep I’ve had in way too long.” He nipped her earlobe.

“You’re entirely welcome, but you’re getting me wet!” She shrugged him off. “Now beat it. These pancakes are getting cold.”

He returned to his bedroom, dried off, and dragged on a pair of shorts, showed up at the table, and was quickly ordered to get a shirt. “When did you get shy?”

“Like I said, I have my limits.”

He looked around the kitchen. “Where’s Queen?”

“I unlocked her door and let her out. I fed her too. Now, I’d like to feed you and be on my way. I have another long drive today. Shirt!”

Cluny stood at attention, saluted, cast a snarky grin her way and said, “Yes ma’am, Master Sergeant, ma’am.”

“And don’t you forget it.” She poked his bare chest.

Misty’s pancakes were as delicious as he remembered. Even the burned bacon tasted good. He grinned through a big mouthful.

She glared. “Don’t you dare speak until you swallow. I can’t believe you’re turning into such a slovenly pig. You need to find a full-time woman to shape you up. That’s an order.”

“Hey!” He stared at her. “You want to drop in on Dwayne and Marla before you take off?”

“Nah. I gotta get on the road. I’ll catch up with them at the reunion in July. Tell them I said ‘hi.’” Misty stabbed the air with her fork and smirked. “She still got that ring in Gunny Dempsey’s nose?”

“Yep, and he’s loving every minute of it. Never saw him happier. You might consider it sometime, if you find the right guy.”

“Not for me. The idea of marriage is a total turnoff.” She pinched her lips together and shrugged. “Not sure why, but as soon as the
L
word enters the conversation, I’m outta there.”

“Too bad, Mis. You’d make some lucky man very happy.” He winked.

“Not you though?” She arched an eyebrow.

“You’re one of my best friends. Why would I want to take a chance of screwing that up?”

“You know what? We’re weird, Mac. Even if you recorded this conversation, nobody would believe it.”

“I don’t believe it myself. You show up every so often. No advance notice, just—there you are on my doorstep. We talk, we settle down in front of the TV, we cuddle the night away—you leave.” He grasped her hand. “Being your
girlfriend
is not very flattering to my massive male ego.”

She squeezed his fingers. “Every time I leave here, Mac, I don’t expect there to be a next time. Then here I am using you again. I’m really screwed up.”

“Don’t talk about my favorite lady friend like that. You haven’t figured it out yet.”

She picked up her plate and carried it to the sink. “Time to hit the road.”

He carried her duffle to the Jeep, hugged her hard, and kissed her forehead.

“You’re the only man who ever called me a lady, Mac.” She clung to him a few seconds longer than usual, then gave him a shove and punched his chest. “Remember, I’ve got your six.”

“And I’ve got yours. See you July 4th.” He stood at the curb and waved until her car turned the corner and disappeared from sight, then murmured a quiet, “Semper fi, gorgeous.”

Queen studied him with a curious stare.

“Yeah, She’s a mystery, huh, Queenie? Maybe I imagined the last twelve hours. Want to go for a run?”

His cell phone vibrated and he grabbed it.
Graciella Jefferson
. He felt guilty, but why should he? Nothing had happened. Misty was his pal.

* * *

Graciella had mixed feelings about whether she should call Cluny or not, and was surprised when he answered on the first ring. “G’mornin,’ Graciella.”

She smiled when he pronounced her name correctly. Few Americans could get their tongues around it. “I hope I didn’t wake you. It’s still kind of early.” Unbidden, she imagined how he’d look first thing in the morning. Rumpled, curly black hair, beard growth, blue eyes smoky with sleep, bare chest? She shook herself.

“Nah, I slept in till seven this morning. I’m usually up about four. So, no, it’s not too early. How are you?”

“I’m fine. I called to ask if you’d be free to have dinner here with me and Santos tonight. I should have given you more notice.”

“Hey, I’d love to. What time?”

His quick answer caught her off guard. “Six?”

“What can I bring?”

“Just bring yourself. Our complex doesn’t allow pets, so you’ll have to leave Queen home.”

“Don’t worry about Queen. She’ll be perfectly happy with a pan of water and a chew-bone in my car. She’ll sleep the entire time I’m away. Are you sure I can’t bring something? Wine?”

“Bring some if you like, but I don’t drink.”

“What a coincidence, neither do I.”

“Are you just saying that?” The man probably didn’t want to put her in the awkward position of explaining why she didn’t drink.

“No, it’s the truth. Alcohol hasn’t passed my princely lips for over eight years.”

She laughed. “You’re teasing me. But if you’re not, you can elaborate on it later.”

“Why don’t we get it out of the way now? While I was recovering from my head injury I started drinking too much. Amber’s dad thought I was on my way to becoming an alcoholic, so he smacked me into shape and we made a pact: He’d never drink again if I didn’t.” He laughed. “I think Gunny spends more time explaining why he doesn’t drink than I do. What’s your excuse?”

“It makes me throw up.” Here was a man who didn’t drink and had no qualms about telling her why. She wanted to know Cluny McPherson a lot better. “Is that a good reason?”

“Excellent reason. I’ll knock on your door at six. Tell Santos he and I will take Queen for a walk after dinner. She’ll like that.”

“Oh, he will too. See you then.” She clicked off. Suddenly excited, she didn’t know where to start. She had a rough idea what she wanted to serve for dinner, but now she’d have to make sure she had what she needed.

“Santos! Are you finished dressing? We have to go to the
mercado piexe
for some fresh camarao. Macfearsome is coming to dinner.”

“Camarao malaqueta, mama?”

“Of course, it’s your favorite.” She jingled her car keys. “Ready?”

They drove to Rosarito Fish Market in San Fernando where she pointed to a large tray of shrimp behind the glass counter. “Is it fresh this morning?”

“Si, señora. We got these fat beauties an hour ago. How much you want?”

“Two pounds.” She turned to Santos. “Go to the baking section and get a large brick of chocolate and a bag of sprinkles.”

His eyes lit. “Are you making brigadeiros?”

“No, you’re becoming a good Brazilian chef. Your brigadeiros are just as good as my mama used to make. Now go. We have a lot to do before Mr. McPherson gets to our house tonight.”

They carried their purchases to the car and Graciella put the shrimp in a small cooler. She wrapped the chocolate in a blanket. Next, they headed to a carniceria nearby. The only meat market specializing in Brazilian cuts of beef had closed, but the Mexican butcher would do. They left with a heavy package of steak. She added it to the shrimp in the cooler and returned home.

She put Santos to work on the brigadeiros then swept quickly through their small apartment to make sure it sparkled. Why she thought Cluny would notice a little dust or a stack of newspapers and magazines was silly. Men didn’t notice such things. For some reason she wanted everything to be perfect for him.

“Santos, when you finish with the chocolate balls, why not find the photo album Grandma Jefferson made for you? You can show Cluny your pictures of Marvin when he was growing up.”

Her adorable son grinned and stirred the melting chocolate in the double boiler. He was absolutely her pride and joy. Her reason for living. She planted a quick kiss on his head then arranged the spices to prepare the shrimp and steak seasoning.

At six on the dot, her doorbell rang. She put down a potholder and started for the front door.

Santos ran to answer. “Mom! Macfearsome is here!” He opened the door, and Cluny stood there holding a bouquet of mixed flowers. Santos grinned. “Are those for me?”

“What do you think?”

“Mom! Macfearsome brought flowers for you!”

CHAPTER SIX

Cluny grinned at Graciella strolling to the door.

“Don’t yell, son. You know I can hear you in every corner of this apartment.” She returned his smile and reached for the bouquet. “Thanks. You shouldn’t have.”

He handed them over. “Why do women say that whenever men bring flowers?” She had her riotous, curly dark brown hair piled on top her head giving the illusion that she was almost as tall as he. A few wisps had escaped at the back of her slender neck and over her ears. If she’d looked this good the night Marv had walked into that club in Sao Paolo it was no wonder he’d married her and whisked her away.

Her warm brown eyes glittered devilment. “Don’t you know our mothers taught us to be wary of a man bringing flowers? It usually means they’re guilty of something. So are you, Mr. McPherson?”

“Am I what?”

“Guilty?”

He grabbed his chest, feigning shock and indignation. “Me?” For a split second he thought of last night with Misty and actually did experience a tiny twinge of unearned guilt. “I’m extremely guilty of too many things to list. You name it, and I’m probably guilty of it.”

From the corner of his eye, Cluny caught Santos, standing at his elbow listening intently, plainly wondering what this was all about. It was about playful flirting, but the kid didn’t need to know. His mother was beautiful and sexy, and for some reason she wasn’t hiding it from Cluny this evening. She had him turned on and seemed to enjoy every minute of it.

Santos asked, “What did you do?”

He gazed into the boy’s eyes with the solemnity of a priest. “It would be ungentlemanly for me to say. You’ll have to ask your mom later.”

She broke the spell when she laughed and threaded her fingers through the springy black curls on her son’s head. “Mr. McPherson is joking, Santos. He didn’t do anything.”

The boy pushed a loud exhale through his nose. “I don’t get grownups sometimes.” He looked out the still-open door. “Where’s Queen?”

“She’s sleeping in the car. We’ll take her for a walk after dinner, buddy. She said she was excited to come and see you tonight.”

“Are you teasing me again?”

“Yep.” He landed a fake punch on Santos’s bony shoulder. “She’s in the car, but as smart as she is, she hasn’t learned to talk yet.”

Graciella reached behind him to close the door. He caught a faint whiff of her hair. A warm spicy scent drifted around her. “That’s nice.”

She eyed him over her shoulder. “What’s nice?”

“You smell good. Is it OK for me to say that?”

“Of course.” She grinned. “Come in and sit down. Santos has some photos to show you while I put the finishing touches on dinner.”

“Come on, Macfearsome.” The boy tugged his arm. “Over there.” A red photo album lay on the coffee table between glasses of sparkling water and a small plate of bruchetta.

Reluctant to take his eyes off Graciella as she sniffed the flowers and carried them into the kitchen, he turned his attention to Santos. “What have you got here, my man?”

* * *

Graciella held a vase under the faucet, added water then arranged the flowers. Her heart skipped a beat when Cluny gave her the flowers. She shook herself. It was just a friendly gesture…or was it more?

Santos had set the kitchen table earlier, as he’d been taught when much younger. Their small apartment had no formal dining room, but the spacious kitchen, once she dimmed the lights over the cooking area, made presentation for their guest very pleasant.

She went about her task as quietly as possible in order to eavesdrop. Santos described each picture in his album as they went through it page by page. Cluny expressed appropriate interest and asked questions of her son as if the album were as important to him as to Santos. He had demonstrated his decency in every word and gesture since they’d met him. Still, she remained cautious, conflicted about involving herself in a relationship.

The only men who’d been in her apartment the past several years were the complex maintenance man and her father-in-law, Earl, and his old buddy, Chief Williams. Hearing Cluny’s deep voice, asking and answering questions, sent a warm buzz of comfort coursing through her. She’d never fooled herself into thinking that she was capable of providing the rounded parenting her son needed. He should have the influence of men. That was why she encouraged him in team sports and asked him to help her in the samba classes whenever it didn’t interfere with school or other activities.

Lifting the lid off one of the pots, she inhaled and rolled her eyes at the familiar fragrance of Brazilian cooking Marvin had loved. It was perfect. She dished up the shrimp and side dishes and set them on the table, next came the steak, which she placed on individual plates she’d been warming in the oven. “Dinner!”

Santos ran to the table, and Cluny followed behind, a wide smile on this face, blue eyes sparkling. “If this kitchen smelled any better I might start drooling. What is that? Heaven?”

Santos giggled. “That’s what my Dad used to say. Right, Mama?”

She blushed deeply at Cluny’s wink.

“You’ll have to explain all these dishes to me, Santos. I can’t wait to dig in.” He went to the other side of the table and held Graciella’s chair for her.

“Thank you, Cluny.”

The heat of her blush deepened when he leaned close to her ear and said, “You’re welcome.”

He’d been close enough for her to detect his aftershave. The sensation was not at all the same as when she danced with a male student. That was business. Cluny’s masculine attention was pure pleasure, and had been missing from her life for a long time.

* * *

Cluny leaned back and groaned. “What can I say?” He patted first his stomach and then Santos’s head. “That was the most delicious meal I’ve had in years. You outdid yourself, Mrs. Jefferson.”

“I’m so glad you enjoyed it. I love any special occasion to cook. Santos did his part. You’ll love what he made for dessert.”