The Marine's Embrace

She was stunning, her short cap of dark glossy hair accentuating her long neck and high cheekbones, her full mouth slicked red, her eyes a dark green. She wore black leggings, high-heeled black ankle boots and a knit light gray sweater that molded to her breasts and bulging belly. Her dangling silver earrings swayed as she tipped her head and raked her gaze over Fay before giving Fay a tight, mean smile, like a cat about to pounce.

Unease prickled Fay’s scalp. Had her wanting to take a step back—but Zach was there, behind her, close enough to sense. To touch if she moved more than a few inches.

“Hello,” she said, using her most professional, warmly welcoming innkeeper tone. “May I help you?”

“That depends,” the younger woman said, her low, husky tone a soft purr. She set her hand on her bulging belly, a small, plain diamond ring winking on her ring finger. The move should have been maternal. But somehow it came across as less protective and more arrogant. As if she’d done something singular and spectacular that no other woman in the history of the world had ever accomplished. “Are you Fay?”

“Yes,” Fay said slowly, wondering at her own hesitancy.

“Then you can definitely help me. You can help me,” she repeated, her eyes gleaming with what could only be described as malice, “by not screwing my fiancé anymore.”

CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_1105c9e5-93a3-5e4d-9646-c9dbc5dc2a44)

ZACH RAISED HIS EYEBROWS. Glanced at Fay—who, for all her blushing earlier, had gone completely white.

It was like he’d walked onto the set of one of Abuelita’s stories, the Mexican soap operas she watched religiously every afternoon. The ones he might have caught a glimpse of once or twice while recovering from his injuries at his mother’s house. Enough of a glance to know they were filled with beautiful people and intrigue, and pregnancies, infidelities and secrets reigned supreme.

Enough to recognize the lead-up to a hair-pulling, face-slapping catfight when he had a front-row seat. Looked like more fun on TV.

Fay shook her head, her hair swishing against her shoulders, the sweet scent of her shampoo releasing into the air. “You have the wrong idea,” she rushed out, eager, it seemed, to state her case. “I’m not...” She gestured between herself and Zach. “We’re not having an affair. We just met.”

Upgraded from the front row to smack-dab in the middle, Zach thought.

“Not me,” he said, but if Fay’s frown was anything to go by, she wasn’t getting it. “I’m not her fiancé. I’m not in the habit of proposing to teenagers. Or getting them pregnant.”

That would be following a little too closely in his old man’s footsteps.

The brunette’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I’m twenty-one.”

Zach smirked. “Not even if you showed me a birth certificate.”

She crossed her arms. “I’m almost twenty-one.”

Right. Like his younger sister, Daphne, had been almost twenty-one when he’d found out she’d been bar hopping as a college sophomore.

Nineteen and a half wasn’t almost twenty-one no matter how you did the math.

“Who...who is your fiancé?” Fay asked the brunette, her voice unsteady. Her expression made it clear she was not only lost in this little unfolding drama, floundering for a way back to somewhere safe, but that she was out of her element, too. Uncomfortable with confrontation.

Unable to stand up for herself.

The brunette snorted out a laugh. “What’s the matter? Are you screwing so many engaged men you can’t keep track?”

“I’m not...sleeping with any man. With any engaged man,” she added, her voice getting stronger.

“You’re a liar.” The brunette raised her chin. “And a slut.” She edged forward and Fay shrank back. “I know he was here last night. Don’t bother denying it. He admitted the whole thing. How you called him, begging him to come over. How you threw yourself at him. Well, I’m here to tell you that Shane is mine.”

At the name, Fay’s head snapped back and she seemed to crumple into herself. “You’re not... Shane’s not your...he’s not getting married.”

Zach’s eyebrows rose. A new twist to this drama. But one thing was clear. Shane—whoever he was—was a lying, cheating bastard.

“This ring,” the brunette said, holding her hand up to show off what had to be the smallest diamond in history, “and the fact that I’m carrying his baby, say otherwise. You need to stay away from him.”

“No,” Fay repeated louder. “You’re lying.”

The brunette rolled her eyes. “Yes, because I don’t have anything better to do than track down my fiancé’s ex-wives and pretend to be engaged.”

Zach ducked his head to hide his grimace. Mystery solved. Shane was Fay’s ex-husband. And she didn’t want to let him go.

“I’m Shane’s wife,” Fay said, and Zach was surprised to hear a bit of steel in her voice. “His only wife.”

“You’re forgetting the ex part. The part that leaves him free to move on with his life. With me.” The brunette patted her stomach. “With us. So quit calling him. Stop chasing him. And for God’s sake, stop being so freaking pathetic.”

The brunette whirled on her high heels and walked away, shoulders back, head high, belly leading the way.

Leaving him and Fay once again alone in the too-small room.

Fay covered her face with her hands, murmuring under her breath. Zach glanced at the door. At his escape. Wished like hell he could take it.

But he’d never been good at walking away when someone was in trouble.

He really needed to work on that.

“Are you all right?” he asked, harsher than he’d intended, but damn it, he’d thought his superhero complex had died in that blast in Iraq, along with his arm and leg.

Looked like he was putting the cape on once again.

“I’m sorry...” Fay gasped from behind her hands, and he waited for the rest of her apology. Waited for her to say she was sorry for the drama. Hell, she apologized so much, he wouldn’t be surprised if she took the blame for global warming, the price of gas and his injuries.

“I’m really sorry, but...I can’t...” She lifted her head, her gaze terrified. “I can’t seem to breathe...”

Shit.

Her hair was damp at the temples, her face pale, her body trembling. She was at the start of a panic attack. He should know—he’d had more than a few since waking up in the military hospital in Germany three days after the explosion. Times when the fear was so real, he wanted to run, if only to escape his own thoughts.

But he wouldn’t leave her. Couldn’t.

She needed him.

He gestured to the chair. “Sit down.”

She remained rooted to her spot, her eyes wide, her body rocking slightly, her fingers curled into her palms.