A Marine for Christmas by Beth Andrews

Author:Beth Andrews [Andrews, Beth]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: A Little Secret, Category
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2010-11-01T00:00:00+00:00

J.C. JERKED HER HEAD BACK, her hair tightening around Brady’s finger before sliding away. She tucked it behind her ear. “So, is this how you usually spend your Saturdays?”

He fisted his hand. “I’m working.”She tipped her head and studied him. “You get paid to stand around and look…”

He raised an eyebrow. “Intimidating?”

She opened a bottle of water and gestured at him with it. “I was going to say grumpy but intimidating works, too.”

“I didn’t say I was happy about working. And I sold three bottles of wine, didn’t I?”

“That you did.” She crouched to pull a box out from underneath the green cloth covering her table. “Do you get a commission?”

“Just a regular paycheck,” he said absently, his attention caught by the way her bright pink dress swirled around her knees when she straightened.

“You’re working here for real? That’s great. You must not be—” She blushed and concentrated on setting out more of her candy. “Your knee. It…uh…must not be bothering you as much.”

And if that was what she’d meant to say, he’d kiss bin Laden’s ass. “I don’t drink on the job.”

As per his brother’s instructions, he’d been sober every day. Hungover, but sober.

“I never realized you were interested in working here,” she said, choosing to ignore him.

“I’m not.” He helped himself to a white chocolate truffle. “It’s temporary.”

“Do you still want to go into law enforcement?” At his sharp look, she shrugged. “Liz mentioned you wanted to attend the police academy when you got out of the service.”

“I’d never pass the physical.”

Not to mention the psych evaluation.

“Maybe if you find a good physical therapist—”

“My knee will never be a hundred percent,” he said, tossing a second half-eaten chocolate in the garbage.

“I’m sorry,” she said, laying her hand on his forearm. His muscles tensed under her warm fingers. “Now stop wasting my inventory.”

He stepped back and her hand fell to her side. He nodded to the middle-aged couple approaching them. “Customers.”

As J.C. went into her sales pitch—offering them a sample, explaining the different flavors and wine pairings—Brady edged away.

He didn’t need her pity. He’d known the risks going in. Those risks were part of the reason Liz hadn’t wanted him to join up. For as long as he could remember, he’d wanted to be a Marine. To be in the middle of the action.

Right. Action. He saw a snow-covered road carved from the side of a mountain. Heard the echoing, rat-a-tat of machine gun fire. His commander’s shouts. His buddies’ curses. Felt the surge of adrenaline as he dove for cover. Returned fire.

His mouth dried and his heart began to race. Taking J.C.’s water, he drained it, his fingers denting the plastic.

“I could’ve gotten you your own water.”

He lowered the bottle. “Sorry.”

J.C. regarded him seriously. “Hey, are you—”

“Another sale?” he asked, motioning to the couple walking off.

“No,” she said, drawing the word out. “But they seemed to like the Turtles.”

He twisted the cap back on the bottle. “Can’t win them all.”

“That’s so inspiring,” she said. “I think I’ll put it on one of those needlework samplers and hang it in my living room.

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