The Marine's Embrace

Selfish of him, really.

Ridiculous, she told herself as she opened a new registration form on her computer. There was plenty of air in the room. Air tinged with the scent of sunshine and spring and something spicy—his aftershave? She sneaked a glance at his face, most of it hidden by either his shaggy hair or his beard. Okay. Not his aftershave. And he didn’t seem like the type to use cologne. Whatever it was, it was...nice. Clean and masculine.

And she had absolutely no right to be thinking about the man’s scent. Or liking it. She was a married woman.

She touched her wedding ring, the slight bump of it under her shirt reassuring. She would be a married woman again soon.

Clearing her throat, she forced a smile. “Let’s get you registered.” She bit back a grimace. Well, that had come out quite...enthusiastically. And loudly.

She tried again, softening both her tone and expression. “Is it Zachary?” At his nod, she typed it in, followed by his last name. “Address?”

He hesitated and shifted in his seat. Both actions so subtle, done so quickly, that as he gave her an address in Houston, she wondered if she’d imagined his unease.

“How many nights will you be staying with us?” she asked.

“How many nights are available?”

She felt her brows drawing together at the odd question. Smoothed her expression as she checked future reservations. “That room is open until mid-May.”

“That’ll work.”

Her hands stilled. “You want to stay here for four weeks?”

“Is that a problem?”

She wasn’t sure. “No problem at all.”

But it was strange. Most guests booked Friday to Sunday with the occasional weekday visit thrown in by a rare business traveler or day-trippers wanting to immerse themselves in the local flavor.

Unless...

Unless he wasn’t looking for a place to stay. He was looking for a place to live, for however long he could get it.

He was homeless. That had to be it. And the reason he’d been so uncomfortable when she’d asked for his address was because he didn’t have one. So he’d made one up.

Her heart went out to him. How had he gotten here? What had happened to him? She was curious, as anyone would be, about how he’d gotten those scars and lost his arm. Had it happened a while ago, long enough for him to be used to his limitations? For acceptance?

Maybe it had happened recently and he was still railing against the unfairness of it all. Did he curse his fate? Or blame himself for the choices he’d made that had led to that one moment when his entire world had changed?

Like she blamed herself for her choices. For her world imploding.

Whatever had happened to him, he was here now. Giving her the opportunity to help him try to put that world back together.

Or at least give him a place to stay.

It would be nice to give back. To be the person giving help instead of needing it. To be someone else’s strength. Maybe then she’d be able to figure out how to be her own.

“I’ll need to see photo ID,” she said, adjusting the room’s rate on the form to give him a significant discount. Bradford House wasn’t the most expensive place to stay in Shady Grove, but even their reasonable rates would stretch someone of limited resources.

He handed her a Texas driver’s license along with a second card.

She frowned at it. “What’s this?”

He lifted his eyebrows. “A credit card.” When she stared at him blankly, he added, “To pay for the room.”

She typed in the card information and printed out the form for him to sign. He had a credit card? How was that possible? Where would the bill be sent? Confused, she did what she did best: second-guessed herself.

Maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe he wasn’t some homeless drifter in need of help. The address on the driver’s license was different from the one he’d given. And while the man in the photo had dark hair, it was short, the face clean shaven, showing an angular jaw and sharp cheekbones. So different from the man in front of her now.

What if her instincts had been right and he really was dangerous? A criminal on the run or a con man out to fleece his next victims, or an identity thief, using Zach Castro’s license and credit card for his own gain? What if he was a serial killer, here to murder them all as they slept?

Control your thoughts. Don’t let them control you.

Dr. Porter’s voice was so loud in her head, Fay glanced around the cramped room, just to make sure he hadn’t somehow appeared out of thin air, his ever-present notepad in hand.

Fay sighed. Control your thoughts. Control your thoughts.

Easier said than done, Dr. Porter. Much easier said than done. But she’d give it a go.

“This is wrong,” Zach said, his low voice dragging her back to the present before she could put the whole controlling-her-thoughts theory into practice.

“Excuse me?”

He pointed to the paper she’d printed out, specifically, the room rate. “This isn’t the price listed in the brochure.”

Caught. She hadn’t realized he’d checked out the prices when she’d shown him the pictures of the fitness area.

“Oh. Yes, well, that’s...that’s a special we’re running.”

“Is that so?” he murmured, his quiet voice doing odd things to her nerves. To her pulse rate.

She nodded. Swallowed. “April is slow—not much going on around here this month, what with skiing season being over—and May isn’t much better, so we decided to offer a discount.” She waved her hand in what she’d wanted to be a casual gesture but ended up being more of a frantic, flopping motion. “To draw in more guests.”

He studied her and she squirmed. Rolled up the corner of an invoice she had to pay. Unrolled it. Rolled it again. She didn’t like to be the center of attention, didn’t like to be singled out or watched with such...intensity.

And she really didn’t like how this particular man watched her. As if seeing through her was no challenge at all.

Finally, thankfully, he shifted forward, and she thought he was going to sign the agreement, only to slowly, deliberately crumple it in his hand. “I’ll pay full price.”

She opened her mouth and immediately wished she hadn’t when she made a squeaking sound, like a mouse caught in a trap. “But...the sale...”

Her words trailed off as he leaned forward to lay the crumpled paper in front of her. “Full price.”

Embarrassment swept through her, a wave of heat that flowed from her toes to the top of her head. Honestly, she might as well just stay red, as often as she blushed in front of this man.

Her own fault, she was sure. But part of her wondered if he couldn’t accept some of the blame, as well.

She fixed the room rate and printed out a new form. Handed it to him wordlessly.