Married to a Marine Page 5

  “Hello, there,” the older woman called out again.

  “Hello,” Kelly replied, since she was certain that Justice wouldn’t make a similar friendly greeting.

  “My name is Marge and this is Amelia. We’re here about the turtles.”

  “The turtles?” Being a chocoholic, Kelly’s thoughts immediately turned to the classic chocolate-covered pecan and caramel candy.

  “The sea turtles,” Marge clarified. “We’re volunteers with the local turtle rescue organization and since you’ve only recently come to the island we wanted to touch base and remind you that May is the middle of the turtles’ nesting season. So we’re asking residents with oceanside property to leave their lights off at night.”

  “All the lights?” Kelly still vividly remembered the intimate shadows created by the darkness last night when the storm had temporarily knocked out the electricity.

  “Your outside lights,” Marge replied. “It’s imperative that no bright lights appear along the beach because it affects the sensory devices in the baby sea turtles as well as the mother. The sea’s natural reflection of light is the only course of movement their instincts give them. They’ll follow the lights and end up inland where they can become dehydrated and die.”

  Kelly didn’t like that picture at all. “I had no idea.”

  “Most people don’t.” Marge smiled as if sensing Kelly was a kindred spirit. “Loggerhead sea turtles are older than the dinosaurs and can weigh up to 350 pounds. We have one of the few beaches unspoiled enough for them, and we’d like to keep it that way.”

  “I can certainly understand why,” Kelly agreed.

  “During nesting season the females haul themselves out of the surf and pull themselves across the sand with their huge paddle-like flippers to dig a nest above the high-tide mark. After she’s laid the eggs, they’re covered with sand and then the female moves back to the sea with tears in her eyes.”

  “Tears,” Kelly repeated in amazement. “You mean she’s actually crying?”

  “Only to keep the sand out of her eyes while she’s on the beach,” Marge said.

  Kelly left her chair to sit on the deck steps, closer to the women. “And what happens to the eggs she’s left behind?”

  “They’re a great delicacy for the raccoons and ghost crabs. That’s why our watch group marks a new nest with chicken wire and red flags to protect them from being trampled by humans and being eaten by animals. We also move them by hand, relocating their nest if it’s below the tide mark. There is a chain of similar networks all along the East Coast. After surviving a hundred and fifty million years, these turtles are now listed as threatened on the endangered species list because their natural breeding grounds are being taken over by coastal development.”

  Justice felt like the turtle women had been visiting for two hundred million years. Not because of the information about the plight of the turtle; he actually felt a little sorry for the critters. He knew what it felt like to be like a fish out of water, or in this case a turtle—stranded…unable to return to his natural habitat.

  He’d noticed the curious looks the newcomers had given him and his still-scraped-up legs. He’d never been wild about meeting strangers, and since the accident that feeling had certainly increased. He didn’t feel like making small talk, he didn’t feel like talking period. He had his “war” face on, which was no doubt why the women were giving him a wide berth. They were smarter than Kelly.

  “You should keep your dog away from the nests,” the younger woman added, speaking for the first time.

  “He’s not my dog,” Justice growled.

  As if to prove him a liar, the mutt had the nerve to get up, walk over to Justice, and lie down at his feet to gaze up at him adoringly.

  “Do you know who he belongs to?” Kelly asked the women.

  They both shook their heads.

  “Well, thank you for the warning about our outside lights,” Kelly said. “We’ll be sure to keep them out at night.”

  Our lights? Justice couldn’t believe she’d just referred to them as our lights. There was no our here. Next she’d be calling the mutt at his feet our dog.

  But no, next she had the nerve to invite the turtle women to stay even longer. “Would you ladies like some coffee or iced tea?”

  Eyeing Justice’s frown a tad nervously, both women wisely refused. Following their gaze, Kelly caught Justice’s thunderous expression.

  Once they’d left, she told Justice, “That was rude of you.”

  “I didn’t say a word.”

  “You didn’t have to. Your glowering look said it all. And you did say a word. Several of them. You said, ‘He’s not my dog.’”

  “Well, he isn’t.”

  “The dog clearly thinks otherwise.”

  “I don’t care what the aforementioned canine thinks.”

  “You don’t care what most people think, either, do you? I wonder why that is.”

  Justice didn’t like the speculative way Kelly was eyeing him. He didn’t need her getting curious about the dark places in his life. “I thought you were a physical therapist, not a psychologist.”

  “I’m interested in why people react the way they do.”

  “Well, don’t get interested in me,” he warned her.

  “Of course I’m interested. You’re the son of a good friend of mine. You’re a patient of mine. As for anything further, I told you last night that there was no chance of that happening. Overbearing Marines still aren’t my type. I’m just saying that if you want to talk, I’m willing to listen.”

  “I’ve been talking all day.”

  “I meant talking about your emotions.”

  He looked as horrified as if she’d just suggested he eat sand. “Force Recon Marines don’t have emotions we talk about.”

  “Makes your life easier that way, does it?”

  “Emotions cloud judgment,” Justice stated impassively.

  She could tell she wasn’t going to get any further with him tonight. At least not on that matter. But a tiny part of her couldn’t help wondering if he’d have opened up more if she’d been as beautiful as her sister Barbie.

  Kelly had read a recent study about female therapists indicating that patients found attractive therapists more competent, effective and trustworthy than those less physically attractive. And while Kelly was merely average in the looks department, she’d noticed that a number of people in her profession looked as if they could have been homecoming queens in high school…like Barbie.

  The study also found that a female therapist’s facial attractiveness affected a patient’s comfort with self-disclosure. Obviously Justice wouldn’t have been more open with his ex-wife as his physical therapist, but perhaps he might have opened up more if Kelly had been beautiful….

  Don’t even go there, she warned herself.

  But once started, the thoughts were hard to rein in. Kelly knew firsthand how popular culture valued the attractiveness of women. She’d grown up in a household where beautiful was good. It followed that anything less than beautiful was therefore bad, or at least, less good.

  Kelly had certainly felt “less good” than her sister.

  Okay, so she still had some issues on this subject. But she’d come a long way from the insecure teenager to whom Mrs. Wilder had reached out a helping hand.

  Kelly knew her own strengths. She also knew her weaknesses. And feeling insecure when compared to Barbie was one of those weaknesses. She usually hid it well, but sometimes it sneaked up on her, like now…and made her feel vulnerable.

  Which was stupid. Logically Kelly knew it was stupid. Logically she knew she had things her sister didn’t—a strong sense of purpose and accomplishment, a career she loved, a circle of close friends who genuinely cared about her.

  But that didn’t change the past—the way her parents had always seemed to love Barbie a bit more, the way Kelly’s high school math teacher had told Kelly to be more outgoing so she’d be more popular like her sister, Barbie
, the way no man she’d ever gone with who’d met her sister had ever reacted the same way toward Kelly as they had toward Barbie.

  After Kelly had introduced Dave, the last man she’d been serious about, to her sister, he’d suddenly started saying things like, Have you ever thought of changing your hair color to blonde? Have you ever thought about wearing more makeup? And finally the real kicker, Can’t you make more effort to look nicer?

  Upon realizing that his comments were whittling away her self-confidence, Kelly had broken up with Dave a few weeks later. That had been two months ago, and it had been a difficult time for her—dredging up all her previous insecurities about her looks.

  And now here she was with Justice, her sister’s ex-husband. Someone else who had chosen Barbie over Kelly.

  Barbie had claimed she was the one who divorced Justice, and Kelly believed her. Justice wasn’t the kind of man to give up easily. Her sister was.

  Or perhaps it was more accurate to say that Barbie was always moving on. She’d get bored with a job or a city or a man, and she’d move on. Looking for perfection, she would laughingly tell Kelly. “And I’ll find it, too,” her sister had added.

  Kelly had no doubt of that. If Barbie wanted perfection, she’d get it, as she’d gotten anything she’d ever wanted. Barbie seemed to have found perfection in her Atlanta fiancé and was currently totally wrapped up in elaborate wedding plans for her August nuptials.

  Kelly was glad for her sister, she truly was. But Barbie lived in “Barbie’s World” and rarely took notice of what went on outside that limited sphere. Which was a good thing in this case. It meant that Kelly could come here without arousing suspicions at home. Her father thought Kelly was taking a vacation, and she aimed on keeping it that way. He wouldn’t understand her being here.

  At moments like this Kelly wondered if she understood her being here. Looking over at Justice, she remembered his comment about emotions clouding judgment. She could certainly vouch for that. As long as she did not allow her emotions, whatever they might be, to cloud her judgment where Justice was concerned, she’d be fine.

  Meanwhile, all this self-introspection had made her hungry. “So what were you planning on making for dinner tonight?” she asked Justice.

  “I make a mean chili.”

  “Sounds good.”

  And so they made their way into the kitchen, leaving the dog outside to gaze at them. “I’ll bring you out some later,” Kelly promised the animal. “Just don’t tell the big, bad Marine.”

  “I heard that,” Justice informed her.

  “I meant you to,” she said with a grin.

  Kelly and Justice worked surprisingly well together. She anticipated things that might be difficult for him with his injury, and smoothly accomplished them before he could comment or protest.

  Once they sat down, she said, “This really is a lovely place. It was nice of your friend to lend it to you.”

  Few people referred to “Striker” Kozlowski as “nice.” Justice met Striker in a Fort Bragg training course called Special Forces Target Acquisition and Exploitation. They’d both learned things they couldn’t talk about, things that kept them alive, things that civilians wouldn’t understand.

  Noting Justice’s preoccupied expression, she teased him. “Are you planning tomorrow’s menu? Waffles for breakfast?”

  “Dreamer.”

  “Then what were you thinking?”

  He couldn’t tell her the truth, that would be too close to talking about those emotions he wasn’t allowed to have, so he said the first outrageous thing he could think of. “I was thinking of challenging you to a game of strip Scrabble. But then I reconsidered.”

  Kelly refused to let him rattle her. “Smart move. I’d win.”

  “In your dreams,” he countered.

  “I’m the one with the prodigious vocabulary.”

  “Oh, like I’m some big dumb Marine, huh? Fine. Put your money, or in this case your clothes, where your mouth is.”

  Rats, she couldn’t back out now. “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  As he retrieved the game box from the shelf beneath the bookcase, Kelly reminded herself that this wasn’t about her inability to walk away from a challenge, it was about maintaining control. If she gave Justice an inch, he’d take a mile—if she showed weakness, he’d see that as his chance to wrestle control from her.

  Unlike poker, she had no tricks up her sleeve where this game was concerned. She only had her own good memory and love of language to count on…and the fact that she’d played innumerable games with her hospital buddies and had won the hospital championship last month.

  “Okay,” Kelly said, “if you’re serious about this game, then you need to understand the terminology.”

  “Which isn’t to be trifled with, right?”

  “Right. Now during the game I may balance my rack…”

  Justice almost choked on his beer.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  He coughed and nodded.

  “This is my rack.” She pointed to the wooden shelf that held the letter tiles.

  “I knew that.”

  “Then you also know about hot spots?”

  Having just taken another swig of beer, Justice choked again. “What kind of question is that?”

  “I’m referring to areas of the board that have excellent bonus-scoring opportunities.”

  “I knew that, too.”

  “Good, then since it appears that you already know everything, you can go first.”

  An hour later Justice was left sitting in his military shorts and nothing else.

  “I guess the best woman has won yet again,” Kelly noted with a triumphant grin.

  Chapter Five

  After last night’s game of strip Scrabble, Justice didn’t get much sleep. He couldn’t believe Kelly had conned him again. Once more he’d been careful to make sure she hadn’t cheated. She hadn’t. She’d just outmaneuvered him. Right out of his pants.

  It had been a disconcerting experience. A Marine never fails. No excuses, no exceptions.

  Just as disconcerting had been his reaction to Kelly, who, while she’d won, hadn’t gotten away completely unscathed. The memory of her stripping off her shirt to reveal the skinny pink cotton camisole beneath still made him hot. And that freaked him even worse than losing.

  Justice couldn’t believe the way she’d gotten to him. It’s not as if he hadn’t seen women with more attributes wearing far less. But there was just something about Kelly, about the way she’d sat there across the table from him with a big grin on her face, her big brown eyes shining, her wavy caramel-colored hair coming undone from its braid. Just as he’d come undone.

  He couldn’t let her get to him. He’d already had his heart broken once by a Hart woman, there was no way he was ever leaving himself open to that kind of pain again.

  Of course, the fact that she aroused him didn’t mean his heart had to be involved at all. But even her having the ability to stimulate his anatomy and his sexual fantasies gave Kelly too much power over him.

  Had she deliberately tried to tempt him in the hopes of ingratiating herself even further into his life? He still wasn’t completely buying the story about her being there simply because his mother had asked her to come. There was something else going on, something she wasn’t telling him. He sensed that much, and he’d always been one to trust his instincts.

  Granted, those instincts had been blinded by his love for Barbie, but he’d been a horny teenager in those days. Now he was a seasoned warrior in his early thirties.

  A seasoned warrior with the hots for his ex-wife’s younger sister.

  Justice had to get some air. Being cooped up in the small beach house with Kelly was wearing him down. She was everywhere. He could smell her fresh perfume when he walked in the bathroom, hear her humming in the shower while he drank his coffee in the kitchen, see her tumbled sleeping bag on the couch and imagine himself lying beside her with her naked skin pressed ag
ainst his….

  He muttered as hot coffee sloshed over his good hand. Slamming the coffee mug on the table, he pushed away from the table and headed for the front door.

  “Where are you going?” Kelly inquired from the hallway.

  Spotting a fishing pole near the door he said the first thing that came into his mind. “Fishing.” Too late it occurred to him that his inability to lift his right arm very high might affect his ability to fish. Too bad. He wasn’t about to back down now.

  He waited for her to point out that fishing was a dumb idea, given his injury. He’d already prepared his comeback, that he’d use his left hand—although he shuddered to think what that would be like. Talk about ugly fishing. Given the fact that he wasn’t ambidextrous, he’d probably end up with a fish hook in his own back.

  But Kelly surprised him yet again. “Fishing?” she said, all bright-eyed and bouncy. She was wearing denim cutoffs that showed off her long, tanned legs and a red tank top. Her hair was loose for once, which only increased her image as a sexy temptress in his view. “I’ll come with you.”

  “No way,” Justice stated emphatically.

  She blinked at him. “Why not?”

  He clearly couldn’t tell her the truth, that he needed to get away from the temptation she presented. So instead he said, “You’ll scare all the fish away with your constant talking.”

  “I will not. And I don’t talk constantly.”

  “There’s no way you could be quiet long enough.”

  “Want to bet?”

  Red flags immediately went up in his head. “Betting with you has already gotten me into trouble.”

  “You’re just upset because you lost.”

  “I’m used to winning.”

  “Then consider this a learning experience.”

  “I don’t intend to learn how to lose.” He shifted the fishing rod to his left hand, aggravated by the continuing lack of strength in his injured arm.

  “How about this? If I talk while you’re fishing then I make dinner tonight.”

  “It’s your turn to make dinner tonight, anyway,” he replied.