Married To A Marine

“Rise and shine!” a voice boomed over Kelly’s head.

Startled, she jerked awake and almost ended up rolling right off the couch in her sleeping bag.

“Hold on there.” Justice grabbed her with his good hand.

She’d been dreaming. Blinking rapidly, Kelly tried to take stock of her surroundings. But her immediate attention was focused on Justice.

He’d caught her, preventing her fall with his body. He was so close to her she could feel the warmth of his lean body, could almost hear his heartbeat. She could certainly feel her own heart beating wildly.

She could also feel every one of his fingers. He wasn’t holding her that tightly. She was just super-sensitized to his touch, deliciously rough against her soft skin. He had calluses. He smelled of soap and shaving cream. She was wildly tempted to sniff his cheek, to lean closer and fall into his incredibly blue eyes….

“Hey,” he said gruffly, “I thought you promised that you weren’t going to throw yourself at my feet.”

A bucket of cold water couldn’t have snapped her out of her momentary reverie faster. “I’d like to throw something, all right,” she muttered, shifting away from him on the couch. “And not at your feet. At your head. What time is it?”

“O-five hundred.”

“Five in the morning?” She hadn’t gotten to sleep until after one, tossing and turning on the couch. And that dream she was having was just getting really good. Not that she’d been dreaming about Justice. She hadn’t. She was sure that the man in her dreams bore a striking resemblance to the sexy actor Dylan McDermott. That was her story and she was sticking to it.

“Affirmative. Time to rise and shine and get this physical therapy thing going,” Justice stated. “The faster we get started, the faster we’ll be done, and then you can go your way and I can return to my tour of duty.”

“First I need to see your medical records.”

“I’ve got them here.” Using his left hand, he waved them in front of her sleepy face. “Had them faxed from the mainland.”

“Fine. I’ll read them.” She barely stifled a yawn. “But first I need coffee and a shower, in that order.”

“Go ahead, but be fast about it. No dawdling for an hour in the bathroom trying to make yourself beautiful.”

“I could stay in the bathroom for a week and I still wouldn’t be beautiful,” she wryly retorted. “I told you, I’m not my sister.”

“So I’m learning.”

“Oh, so you are capable of learning? That’s an encouraging sign.”

“You sure are a feisty little thing, aren’t you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh puhlease! For one thing, I’m not little. I’m five foot seven in my bare feet. For another I’m not feisty.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“Yes, but then you’re a Marine, easy to fool.”

“You’re just saying that to get to me,” Justice calmly replied. “See? I am learning.”

“Yes, you are. And you’re blocking my way to my morning caffeine so move, or face my wrath.”

“Wrath, huh? Is that anything like trifling with a trouncing?”

“No, it’s much worse. Now move.”

“Not a morning person, are we?” At her fiery look, he backed up. “Okay, okay, I’m moving.”

Still bleary-eyed, she headed for the kitchen and the thermos of coffee she’d left there last night. Cold coffee was better than no coffee. It was actually still a little warm, and she felt the caffeine hit her system as she grabbed clean clothes from her backpack on her way to the bathroom.

A shower helped restore her. She dressed quickly, pulling on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. Her hair was still damp as she returned to the kitchen to confront Justice.

Only now did she notice the shirt he was wearing, which was one of those brilliant multicolored Hawaiian designs. How could she have missed that before? “Nice shirt,” she noted.

“It’s not mine,” he growled. “My buddy Striker owns this beach house and a collection of gaudy Hawaiian shirts.”

Judging from Justice’s disgusted expression, she figured he hadn’t chosen to borrow his friend’s clothes out of a desire to make a fashion statement. No doubt his injury made getting in and out of a button-down shirt easier than a T-shirt like he’d been wearing last night. And no doubt Justice hadn’t brought any shirts of his own, or he’d be wearing them and not this tropical number. He hadn’t done up all the buttons, leaving a sexy amount of his chest bare.

Time to change the subject, she decided. “So what’s for breakfast?”

“Toasted physical therapists,” he drawled.

Kelly cracked up. “I don’t believe it. The brooding Justice Wilder actually made a joke. This has got to be a first.”

“Who said it was a joke?”

“I’m tougher than I look. You don’t want to dine on me, believe me.” She opened the fridge and pulled out the fresh eggs in the box of provisions she’d brought with her yesterday. “How do scrambled eggs sound?”

His growling stomach was answer enough. Hers quickly followed suit. “Okay.” She reached for a frying pan. “A big rasher of scrambled eggs coming right up.”

Justice surreptitiously watched her as she moved around the kitchen with a speedy efficiency. She was into multitasking—beating the eggs with a fork in one hand while she popped pieces of bread into the toaster with the other. She seemed to have recovered from her earlier grouchiness.

Today she was wearing a pair of khaki walking shorts and a plain pink T-shirt. The sandals she wore displayed her feet and the neon pink nail polish on her toenails. Her question mark earrings once again dangled in her ears. Her damp hair was gathered up in one of those plastic clip things to keep it out of her way. She didn’t look particularly gorgeous but he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off her.

Maybe it was her can-do attitude, or her off-key humming of a Faith Hill country song. She wasn’t her sister. She hadn’t spent a lot of time in the bathroom messing with makeup. In fact, he doubted she was wearing any. But as she passed by his seat at the small dining table, he noted that she smelled really good. Not all perfumy, but fresh and sexy.

Sexy? Dismiss that thought. This was his ex-wife’s baby sister here. Okay, so she was only five years younger than Barbie, which also made her five years younger than he was. Not a big deal. Age wasn’t the issue here. Family connections were.

She was here for one purpose, or so she said. To increase his chances of recovering the full use of his right arm. His shooting arm. He’d been one of the best sharpshooters Force Recon had ever seen. And now he sat here barely able to pick up a damn cup of coffee.

“What makes you think you can do anything to help me recover the mobility in my arm?” he abruptly demanded.

“The fact that I’m good at what I do. But I need to review your medical records before I can tell you anything definite, read the doctor’s orders for your treatment.”

“It’s all right here.” He impatiently shoved the file across the table, wanting those incriminating papers away from him. He already knew what they said by heart. Prognosis: unknown. Critical ligament damage…full recovery of mobility unlikely.

Well, Justice had dealt with “unlikely” and “unknown” before. More times than he could count, in fact. It had been unlikely that he would survive that last mission in a certain Middle Eastern country rumored to harbor terrorists.

But he had survived. Only to come back to the States to get injured.

“I forgot to ask you last night, how does it feel to be hailed a hero for rescuing that little boy from that burning car?” She placed a plate of fluffy scrambled eggs in front of him.

“It stinks.”