0222 ZULU (2122 EST)
BED-AND-BREAKFAST
NANTUCKET ISLAND
Slowly, unwilling to part company from my contented sleep, I come awake. And aware. And the thing I'm most conscious of is the body spooned against me, the masculine arm draped around my waist, and the firm nose pressed against my neck. The mouth, just as near, warms my shoulder with each rhythmic breath.
I listen to Harm breathe, such a mundane aspect providing immense peace and, strangely, happiness. I shift around a little, trying to wrap myself deeper into his embrace. The movement causes Harm to nuzzle my neck and I immediately still, not wanting to disturb his slumber. I try to convince myself to go back to sleep but I can't.
I feel the grin start to spread and I'm powerless to stop it.
I, Sarah MacKenzie, just made love with Harmon Rabb, Jr. Normally I don't publicize those kinds of things, but maybe I wasn't clear.
Sarah MacKenzie—me!—made love with Harmon Rabb!
I may take out a full-page ad.
I sigh quite contentedly.
Nope. There's no way in hell I can sleep now.
I peel off the arm slung around me, and slip carefully out of bed. I'm immediately accosted by the chill as goose bumps pimple out all over me. Hastily I search for something to cover myself with and finally I come across something suitable.
Now for my feet. I rummage through my bag and pull out a pair of socks.
Ahh, better.
I look at the large brick fireplace, and wish, momentarily, that we had taken Mrs. Paxton up on her offer to have someone start a fire for us. That, however, would have entailed someone bringing up some kindling, and lighting it, and stoking it. That would have involved time.
That would have involved waiting.
I stumble over a shoe—Harm's—and brush it aside.
I wish I could say that we received our key and the bellboy took our bags and led us up the grand old staircase and down the hall to our room.
That I slipped into the bathroom while Harm and the bellboy exchanged a few respective instructions and pleasantries, and while Harm tipped him I slipped into something slinky and sexy.
And, in the few minutes between the bellboy's leave and my appearance, Harm took the opportunity to dim the lights, flip on the stereo, and fold down the bed. And then I stepped out and Harm looked at me with love and awe, and pulled me gently to him and guided us to bed where we made love all night.
I wish. But…
As soon as that door clicked shut it's like the levee broke. It started building in the lobby. Mrs. Paxton asked if we would like Sam (the bellboy) to carry our bags up and Harm's polite but firm no seemed to make the reality hit home. We were here. In Nantucket. But mere minutes from being alone—truly alone—with each other. Suddenly, the urgency took over.
Mrs. Paxton mentioned preparing a fire in our room, and again Harm smiled and politely refused and I found myself shaking my head no along with him. I even heard myself say that we did not wish to be disturbed. And Mrs. Paxton smiled knowingly (they always do that and I hate it) and presented us with our key and wished us a pleasant stay.
And slowly we made our way up the stairs, hardly talking except to point out a trivial amenity.
And when we reached our room and that door clicked shut, Harm was all over me. And I him. We were fused together, all mouths and hands and bodies and uniforms be damned. They were soon gone in a frenzy of passion. A pump tossed over there, a tie lost near the window; both our jackets lost somewhere near the door; my skirt slipped and kicked off near the cold, dark fireplace; my blouse and a few scattered buttons lying in a heap by the divan.
Anyway, to borrow a boring, and wholly inadequate cliché, we had wild passionate sex and it's only 2130.
Not that I'm complaining, mind you. Wild, passionate sex with Harmon Rabb is nothing to scoff at. And, as they say, the night is young. The relative early hour gives us a chance to eat dinner—and after that thoroughly enjoyable little foray, I'm famished. And, now that we've taken care of our loud libidos we can take our time and do things right. And I fully intend on making Harm's—and my—night tonight. That lovely little piece of lingerie from Russia will be putting in an appearance—most likely a brief one, I think with a smile—later tonight.
"Well, aren't you a pretty picture?" A decidedly smug voice calls from the bed. I turn around to find Harm propped up on one elbow with a cocky grin on his face. "Imagine what the Corps would do if they saw you in that. And with white socks. Very sexy, marine."
I blush but smile all the same. The attire he refers to is that of his white uniform blouse, complete with Navy commander's bars—retrieved from the floor because it is long-sleeved and in my hour of packing, I didn't think to pack a nice warm, fuzzy, robe. The socks, likewise, are to keep my feet shielded from the ice-cold hardwood floor.
"Sorry. It's the only thing remotely warm that was nearby."
"I don't mind," he says, and I can tell from his admiring gaze that he certainly doesn't. His blouse falls to my knees, and the cuffs extend well past my fingertips, where they flap about annoyingly. Still, in a moment of fancy I twirl around, modeling my latest fashion.
"Very nice, indeed," he murmurs appreciatively. He sits up and plants his feet on the rug, the blankets bunched around his waist, and looks around wonderingly. "Where did you toss my boxers?"
Good question.
I look around the bed, assuming they would most likely be nearby as they were the last thing to go, but they're nowhere in sight.
"Hmmm . . . I don't know. I don't see them."
Harm leans forward to peer underneath the bed and then twists around to scan the area behind him. I notice a faint scar on his lower back, putting to view what my fingers found earlier. He has never really talked about his first crash, but I reckon I am seeing a couple of the more tangible effects from it.
"A-ha!"
"Find them?" I ask, returning to the matter at hand.
"Yes, over there." He points to an area near one of the dormer windows.
"Where?"
"On the plant." He gestures to a tall potted plant, and sure enough, a pair of regulation white boxers hangs from one of the stems. I toss them to him.
"Thank you." Deftly he slips them on and stands up. He gives me a lopsided grin. I twist my hands together and smile nervously, suddenly self-conscious.
The appraising eye Harm casts over me does not help my nervousness. He observes my hair, and I quickly bring a hand up to smooth it down. His eyes travel languorously down my body, my hands following hastily behind to smooth away any perceived wrinkle or defect. I'm growing more uncomfortable by the second. His jade eyes, after finishing their cursory sweep, return to mine.
"God you're beautiful," he says softly. My face warms at the praise and I find myself floating a little higher than before. I look away before he sees how pleased his comment has made me—wouldn't want a squid thinking he can easily charm a marine. When I glance back I have my emotions under control. Mostly.
However, I seem to have forgotten how to talk because I'm suddenly unsure of what to say.
Evening? Hey you. You're not so bad yourself. Thanks?
So instead we stand there and stare at each other and with each passing second Harm pulls me further and further into his gaze. I'm amazed and a little frightened at the depth of what I see there. And there's no place for me—for either of us—to run and escape it.
Finally, he looks away, surveying the room while I feel the break of the connection almost physically. I'm both a little relieved and disappointed.
"Wow," he chuckles somewhat abashedly. I follow his gaze and chuckle also. Our clothes are nearly everywhere. They lead a messy and incriminating trail to the large, four-poster bed.
"Wow." He looks at me, hands on hips, and chuckles again.
"Yeah," I agree, noting the disarray doesn't end with the clothes. A lampshade is bent at an angle. The pad of paper, pens, and pamphlets from the desk has been brushed to the floor, which is weird because I don't recall using the desk. A pillow from the divan lies on the floor. And the comforter is heaped at the end of the bed, one corner trailing down across the floor.
Actually, come to think of it, I think we did make a brief stop at the desk while Harm removed my pantyhose. I wonder where those are.
"We may have been a bit overzealous," Harm muses sheepishly.
"Been a while, has it?"
"You tell me," he returns. Touche. I bite the inside of my cheek but it doesn't dim my smile.
"I don't know," I say teasingly, "I think it added to the moment." Harm nearly knocks me off my feet with the wattage behind his trademark flyboy grin.
"Well, we can clean all that up later," he suggests.
"Much later." His eyebrows spike towards his hairline as he considers my statement.
"I'm hungry," I clarify.
"When aren't you?" He replies rolling his eyes.
"I've worked up quite an appetite, thank you." The smug grin is back.
"Your welcome," he replies grinning. I roll my eyes. His ego is one that does not need to be stroked. But I have to say, he's kind of cute and sexy when he's like this. Some great sexual tension always arises when his arrogant side turns up—inevitably we start flirting. And now that we have an outlet for all that tension, flirting can really lead somewhere enjoyable…mmm…well, anyway. Focus on the topic at hand, MacKenzie. Food.
"I haven't eaten since noon," I remind him.
"Just when I think you might be paying me a compliment."
"Haarrmm…"
"All right, all right. We wouldn't want you going hungry," he murmurs stepping close enough to pull me into his arms. He slips his hands around my waist and pops a nearby button from its hole.
"It wouldn't be pretty," I second.
"Mmm," he murmurs as he traces his mouth over my ear and neck. Another button pops loose and his hand slips in to caress my stomach. The other one cups my face as he continues to massage my profile with his mouth. Damn he has great hands. Large and masculine, but soft with nimble fingers…
Nimble fingers that are unbuttoning my shirt. His shirt.
His hand moves away from my waist on an upward trajectory as he loosens yet another button and I know I'm going to have to put a stop to this or we may never make it to dinner, and then, well, I wouldn't want to be him around a starving marine. There are days when I could just eat him up anyway…
Besides, we both need the chance to regroup. Me, so I can break out the heavy artillery; Harm, so he can, er, prepare for the next onslaught.
"All right, that's enough of that, Navy," I say pulling away with smile.
"What? Maybe I just want my shirt back."
"Really? Is that all?" I slip it off and let it drop on the floor between us. "There you are." Grabbing my bag, I smile at the expression on his handsome face. He finally snaps his jaw closed and manages to blink once by the time I step into the bathroom.
"I'll just be a moment."
***********
I feel Harm's eyes tracking every curve of my body and I take this opportunity to congratulate myself on a job well done. Shopping, that is. The time and money spent, and it was a hefty bundle, is well worth the reaction I've received. I'm just slightly ahead of him as we make our way down the oak staircase to the lobby of our B-and-B. I think Harm's lagging behind is due more to the opportunity to stare at me then on any gentlemanly gesture on his part. Not that I would accuse Harm of being anything less than a gentleman, it's just…I know that look.
That look that he gave me when I stepped out of the bathroom and found his eyes on me, so soft and gentle, awed and admiring. Desire churning from their depths. He had managed to dig out some black pants and a beautiful charcoal gray dress shirt, and looked to be in the middle of slipping on his shoes when I caught his attention with the twist of the doorknob.
"Damn."
Well put. This isn't the heaviest of my artillery, but it's an effectual weapon nonetheless. A seemingly benign outfit, the black sweater set hugs my frame, and the neckline, combined with a pushup bra, makes for a nice hint of cleavage. The red skirt falls two inches short of my knees, its deadliest attribute being the way it drapes over my hips. A pair of strappy stilettos completes the look, and gives my legs an extra boost. Okay, it is a bit chilly for a skirt, but I think the initial sacrifice of warmth is made up with the heat of Harm's gaze as he looks me over.
All in all, when used properly by a well-trained marine this weapon can make a squid fall to his knees in mercy. Or at least murmur a mild expletive and proceed to gape in awe.
We often (often?! Try all the damn time. Try six plus years! Anyway…) have to hide our attraction to one another, so when the opportunity presents itself for open admiration I can understand the desire to want to take advantage of it. Sometimes you just want to look. And stare.
So I'm letting him look and rejoicing in the fact that I have Harmon Rabb straining to look. And not doing much to hide that fact.
I reach the front desk and wait for Harm to catch up.
"Ah, Mrs. MacKenzie," a voice greets me, startling me out of my own starefest at Harm. "And Mr. MacKenzie," Mrs. Paxton raises her voice to greet Harm. "How are your accommodations?"
"He's not—we're not—" I start to say but I'm shushed by Harm who talks right over me.
"Wonderful, Mrs. Paxton. The room is beautiful." I wonder when he found the time to really look at it, between pressing me up against the furniture and the catnap he took. All I can take credit for noticing is the bed…and the divan…and the desk and such, but I couldn't accurately describe what color they were, what type of wood they were made out of, even whether it was light or dark.
"Oh, good, good," Mrs. Paxton answers happily.
"Actually, we were thinking about taking you up on your offer to start a fire." We were? "Is it too late for that?"
"No," Mrs. Paxton exclaims, reminding me of Harriet, "I'll just get Sam to get a load of kindling ready."
"Thank you," Harm says, gracing her with his trademark grin. Mrs. Paxton seems to melt in front of us. "We're just going out for a bite to eat, but I assume everything will be in order when we get back?"
"Of course. I'll send Sam up in about half an hour or so."
"Sounds good. Well, I think we're ready to go eat," Harm looks to me for confirmation and I smile in agreement although inside I kind of want to hit him. Hard.
"You know, the Fisherman's Café has wonderful smoked crab," Mrs. Paxton calls as I guide Harm out the doors.
"You feel like crab?" Harm asks, gathering his bearings.
"No, I feel like hitting you," I reply, looking around also.
"Why? What did I do now?"
I ignore the implied accusation that he is often wrongly slighted. I take a few steps with Harm before realizing we're headed the wrong way. I slip my arm through his and pull gently. "It's this way." We turn and head south.
"So why are you mad at me?"
"I'm not mad at you."
"Okaaaay. So you just feel like hitting me often then? Wait, don't answer that."
"Actually, yes." I grin, and smile even more when I feel Harm's fingers lace through mine. Harm is not much of a PDA person, not that I am either, and I suppose handholding is not that big of a deal. To me it just brings home the fact we are now a couple, and at least here, we don't have to hide it.
And I hope soon, too, at JAG.
We walk a few paces in silence. "What place are we looking for?"
"Endetto's."
"So what back there upset you?"
"I don't—oh, God!" We both stop. "Harm!"
"What?" He looks worried.
"You told Mrs. Paxton to get a fire going?"
"Yes. That's what you're mad about?"
"No—our clothes, Harm. Did you clean any of that up?"
"What? No—" he breaks off suddenly. "Oh. Whoops. I didn't think of that. Oh well."
I wonder how he can be so relaxed about it, but then, he's wearing his under shorts. My bra and panties' whereabouts are still unknown. As much as I want to help educate the youth of America, I really don't want to give teenage Sam the thrill of discovering my skivvies hanging from the mantle—or wherever the hell they are.
"Great. I could handle you knowing what color my underwear is, but I'm not sure if I can handle some sixteen year-old kid."
Harm chuckles. "Actually, I'm not sure if I could tell you what color your underwear was."
"That doesn't surprise me how fast you slipped them off."
"I didn't hear any complaints."
My face flushes, but I manage to rejoin, "Again, you really didn't give me the chance."
"Again, I didn't hear any complaints. You being the semper fi marine, I'm sure you could have gotten your point across quite clearly if you had really wanted to. Your elbows are certainly sharp enough." He rubs his stomach in remembrance.
I jab him gently in the side with one.
"You don't feed me soon, I'm going to semper fi you in a minute."
"Well, where is this place?" We both stop and peer around.
"Ah, there it is."
"Where?" he asks, still looking ahead of us.
"Back there." I point to cape coddish looking façade about a half block behind us.
"I'm disappointed, marine. I was sure that stomach would lead us straight to the place."
I jab him again in the side again, only this time a little harder. He smirks in response.
**********
I stand in front of the mirror putting the final touches on my hair. I am adorned in my long white nightgown that enthralls Harm so much. Harm's in our room, clearing away our scattered garments, and tending, periodically to the fire.
After dinner, we sat on the divan for a while and just enjoyed each other's company and the warm flame lapping against the logs. I decided to take a bath, and even though I was tempted to share my space in the tub, I left Harm to tend to the room. I promised myself this gown would make an appearance and it's going to. Everything's going to be as close to perfect as possible—and so far, we've been riding pretty close to that line. I check to make sure nothing's stuck between my teeth and my breath smells minty fresh and spritz on a light dusting of Harm's favorite perfume. I hear a clink as I replace the bottle on the vanity and gasp in horror as I watch my Marine Corps ring slide down the basin.
Whew!
It's too big to slip down the drain grating. I pick it up and place it carefully in the soapdish next to Harm's shaving kit. I slip off my watch and place it in the soapdish also.
I take one last critical look at my reflection and square my shoulders. It's time to storm the beaches.
**********
"Watcha reading, squid?" I ask nonchalantly, peering over the arm of divan and Harm's shoulder to take a closer look at what has him so engrossed that he missed my grand entrance. He jumps. "I hate it when you do that," he grumbles and then stops.
I can pinpoint that exact second he realizes what I'm wearing when he looks at me because he does a double take and his green eyes darken. He stares at the tops of my breasts that my bent figure affords him a great view of before licking his lips and locking eyes with me.
"You smell good."
"Thank you."
He sets the pamphlet—one of the many from the desk about Historic Nantucket—down on the floor beside him and focuses his attention on me. I share the space by his legs, taking a nearby seat on the divan facing him.
"That is some gown," he remarks, almost reverently.
"You think so?" My tone is that of this old thing? Okay, so I'm being coy. I'm entitled to a little flattery, I think.
"Mm-hmm. Definitely. You look good in it."
"Thank you." I accept a lingering kiss and slide a little bit closer to my handsome sailor. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me against him, and I sigh with pleasure as I lay my head against his chest. His shirt is nearly open and I run my fingers through the dark patch of chest hair and listen to his heart beat fiercely against his rib cage. Its pace matches my own quickening one. We both stare at the fire as Harm places a kiss on the top of my head. And then another one to the right. And another one to the right of that.
"You'd look even better out of it."
"You think so?" I ask as a giggle almost escapes me. Marines don't giggle. Especially when they're trying to seduce tall, handsome squids.
"Mm-hmm," he says as I straighten. He takes my face delicately between his fingers and for a moment we are frozen staring into each other eyes and I see what I saw earlier deep within his. I only hope my own mirror it just as clearly.
"Definitely."
TBC…