Semper Fi

  She shot me a look.

  “No, really. I’m not just saying that. I kind of assumed you were ex-Forces because of the way you understood the military. And we were all expecting you’d be a guy. Obviously somebody screwed up on the background checks…” Dickwad Crawley was supposed to be taking care of that. “But as far as your online presence, you’re definitely a man.”

  She smiled happily. “That’s the general idea. I’ve had quite a few assignments given to me because people assume I’m a man; jobs they wouldn’t give to a woman.”

  “Yeah, but there could be a good reason for it, too. I mean, some of the places you go are dangerous and…”

  But she stopped the rest of my rant by pressing her fingers over my lips.

  “Shh, tesoro. They’re a lot less dangerous than where you go, and we’re not having this conversation.”

  “The fuck we aren’t!”

  “No, I mean it. This is my work. Please drop it.”

  I could tell by the look on her face that she meant it. I wasn’t happy, but a smart Devil Dog knew when to withdraw and regroup.

  “You were going to tell me what you thought when you first saw me,” she repeated.

  “Shock. At first I thought you’d done it deliberately somehow. And then I saw the look on your face, like you didn’t know what to say to me either, and I realized it was just as weird for you as it was for me.”

  “And then?”

  “I just kept thinking how mad I was at you; blaming you for all the shit. I kept trying to hold on to all that anger, but you just looked so … you looked just the same. And I kept thinking, maybe I got it wrong. And then I remembered that you hadn’t come looking for me and … it was so fucking confusing, Caro.”

  I stared out at the surf washing across the beach, smaller now as the high pressure continued to push in from the west.

  “And then you tried to talk to me and I just freaked. I couldn’t … not in front of all those people, not with all the things I wanted to … I found a bar and just started drinking… getting up the courage to go see you. I really screwed that up, didn’t I?”

  “Completely,” she said, her voice sad.

  I dropped my eyes and stared at my hands. They were still callused from all the training I did, despite the fact that I’d had a desk job for most of the last three years. I wondered again what she was doing with a guy like me who’d never even gotten a college degree. If I left the Marines I’d be nothing, no one. What then?

  “It doesn’t matter now, Sebastian,” she said quietly.

  I shook my head, trying to fight off the darkness that was threatening to pull me down again.

  “What did you think, when you saw me?” I asked.

  “You mean after the oh-my-God moment? I thought you looked bitter: your eyes looked so cold and hard. Gorgeous, of course, but you looked like you’d really changed. I was … intimidated. And then Liz told me you had gotten this reputation … as something of a lady-killer…”

  Fuckin’ bitch.

  “Well, you did ask,” she said, reaching out to take my hand.

  “Yeah, well … what else did you think?”

  “She said you were brilliant, too, if that makes you feel any better.”

  “Not much.”

  She sighed. “I just thought I’d try and talk to you by yourself, but you kept avoiding me. So, I assumed you didn’t want anything to do with me. I was … hurt, but I guess I accepted it. Can we talk about something else? This is making me feel blue.”

  “Sure, baby,” I said, kicking myself because my depression was bringing her down, too. “How about we plan the rest of the trip?”

  “Yes, please,” she responded quickly.

  I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out the map.

  “Well, it’s up to you, Caro. We could keep going down the coast road to Salerno, look up your dad’s old village. Or take it slower, go see some of Tuscany. Siena is supposed to be amazing and there’s this old hilltop town, Montepulciano that looks really cool. Or go right down to the bottom—check out Sicily.”

  She studied the map for a moment, her eyes tracing the route south.

  “What do you want to do, Sebastian? I don’t mind having another day on the beach if you want to do some more surfing—it’s your vacation, too.”

  “Nah, that’s okay—it’s going to be flat tomorrow—I already checked.”

  She smiled and shook her head. “Of course. Silly me.”

  “It’s about 250 miles to your dad’s village. We could be there this time tomorrow. If you want.”

  I thought she’d go for that, but I could see unease on her face, as well. Maybe she was afraid of building it up too much. Neither of us had been given a great hand when it came to family, but her dad was different. I could tell she was afraid of hoping too hard that there’d be some trace of him. Realistically, that wasn’t likely. He’d left Italy more than 40 years ago and Caro didn’t know if he’d left any family behind.

  “No, let’s take it easy,” she said at last. “I’d like to see some more of Tuscany. I’ve heard of Montepulciano: they have good wine. And honey.”

  She always made me smile. “How come you know all this food stuff?”

  She stared back as if I was missing an obvious point. “I’m Italian, Sebastian.”

  I laughed out loud, making the waiter at the next table spill the wine he was pouring. But I was too busy sweeping Caro’s hand into mine and kissing her fingers. A sultry look crossed her face, and I could feel myself getting hard again. Fuck me, I hadn’t had this much sex since I was 17 and with Caro for the first time—although there was that one weekend I went to Tijuana for Ches’s bachelor party. That had been memorable, too. But I didn’t want to think about what I’d done with other women—not anymore.

  The waiter arrived with our order and smiled apologetically as I was forced to let go of Caro’s hand.

  The food was good and I chowed down hungrily. I hadn’t been joking when I said I needed to consume some calories after breaking a fucking record for fucking; my stomach thought that someone had cut my damn throat. So we were quiet for several minutes as we ate.

  But I could tell that Caro was distracted. I gave her a few minutes to ask whatever was bugging her, but she sat in silence, pushing the remainder of her food around her plate.

  “What is it?” I asked at last, laying down my knife and fork.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You have that look on your face—like you want to ask me something. You can ask me anything, Caro.”

  She looked surprised that I’d noticed.

  “Well, there was something … did you mean what you said about quitting the Marines?”

  My stomach clenched, but I kept a smile on my face.

  “Sure. I mean, I re-upped two years ago, so I’d have to do another two before I punch out…”

  She sucked her lower lip and looked down.

  “Do you think you’d have to do another tour in Afghanistan?”

  I wasn’t sure how much truth she wanted. The answer was ‘yes’, but I could tell she didn’t want to hear that.

  “I don’t know, Caro. Most guys wouldn’t be sent out again that quickly, but … well, they’re short of interpreters, especially non-locals, and military intelligence...”

  Fuck! I wasn’t supposed to tell her that I was working for Chair Force Spooks.

  She saw my hesitation and leaned forward so our conversation was more private.

  “Sebastian, whatever you tell me, that’s between us. I would never use it in my work.”

  “I know that, baby, but there are some things I can’t tell you … and some things that it’s better you don’t know.”

  She smiled sadly.

  “They’re not going to be pleased that you’re dating a journalist.”

  “Nope. Don’t think so,” I agreed, “although they couldn’t stop me...”

  “So … I guess it would be better to keep this between us, just for now?”


  I nodded, then leaned back in my chair.

  “Would you give it up, Caro? Working in war zones, traveling all over the world?”

  She didn’t seem surprised by the question—perhaps she’d been expecting it ever since our truncated discussion about having some rug rats of our own.

  “I wouldn’t want to give it up completely, Sebastian, that’s the truth. But I could agree to a maximum amount of time I spent away in a year, maybe.”

  A better answer than the one I’d expected. “Okay, I guess.”

  I stood up and stretched, gazing around the restaurant for the bathrooms. I wanted to take a leak, but I was on a mission, too.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Restroom. I’m hoping they have vending machines that sell rubbers.”

  She smiled. “We still have one left.”

  Just one. Fuck that!

  “Yeah, but that’s not nearly enough for what I have in mind … unless you want to do what we talked about earlier?”

  She shook her head determinedly.

  “That’s another discussion for another time, Sebastian. When you’ve finished this next tour: we’ll talk about it then, I promise.”

  I guess that was the best offer I was going to get—for now.

  The waiter pointed me in the direction of the bathrooms, but it was a BS mission.

  “Fucking useless!” I fumed as I walked back to our table. “They didn’t have any in the restrooms and I checked with the waiter—all the nearby supermarkets and pharmacies are closed on Sunday evenings.”

  “Oh, dear,” she said, although not sounding concerned. “Well, never mind. We’ll just have to get creative.”

  “Yeah, okay,” I sighed. Why did women always want ‘creative’? I didn’t have a problem with it, but what was wrong with good, hard fucking and watching a woman come apart under me … watching Caro come apart under me?

  She raised an eyebrow. “I hope you’re not getting bored with me already!”

  I had to laugh at that. “You’re like a freakin’ drug to me, Caro. I can’t get enough of you. And I really like wake-up sex.”

  She smiled, her quiet laugh heating my blood unintentionally. “We’ll figure something out. Don’t sweat it, Hunter.”

  Nope. Wasn’t working. Still want to fuck hard.

  But then again, we still had that one condom left—and I was intending to make the most of it as soon as possible.

  The second Caro put her fork down and pushed her plate away, I was on my feet and hunting down the waiter to pay for our food. Then we were out in the parking lot and on the bike.

  I accelerated hard, racing back to our cabin. I could feel Caro gripping me tightly, which turned me on even more.

  I was so intent on getting back and getting naked, that my reactions were fucked. I groaned when I saw two Italian Polizia waving me down. Fuck, I thought I could get away with it on this road. Guess they were bored and trying to fill their quotas.

  I pulled over to the side of the road and dismounted, pulling off my helmet and walking toward them.

  “Sei Francese?” asked the first policeman, looking at the bike’s license plates.

  “Americano.”

  The policemen looked surprised.

  “È questa la tua moto?”

  “Si.”

  “You have papers for this motorcycle?”

  “Yes, in my wallet.”

  I started to reach into my jacket when the younger officer immediately went for his gun.

  “What the fuck?”

  I raised my hands quickly, and the dumb fucker pushed me down to my knees, reaching for his handcuffs.

  Caroline ran towards us with her hands out.

  “No, per favore! He was just trying to show you his papers.”

  “Signora, he was driving at 120km an hour; the speed limit here is 90km an hour,” said the older guy.

  “Please, let him show you,” she said, her voice polite but firm. “I’ll get his wallet!”

  She moved slowly so they could see exactly what she was doing. That was my girl—always cool in an emergency. She reached into my inside pocket and carefully lifted out my wallet.

  “What am I looking for?” she whispered, urgently.

  “The Certificat d’immatriculation—the papers in gray. Caro, I…”

  “Just don’t speak, Sebastian,” she hissed. “Let me handle this.”

  Probably a good idea.

  She handed over the document that proved I was the bike’s owner, watching as the two officers looked at the papers even though it was obvious neither of them could read French.

  “Are you authorized to ride this motorcycle, signora?” asked the older guy.

  “No, but…”

  “Then we’ll arrange to have it removed,” he said.

  Shit! My CO was not going to be happy about having to bail me out of jail a couple of weeks before we deployed. But I hadn’t figured on Caro, either.

  “Please don’t arrest him!” she begged. “He’s only on leave for two more weeks, then he’s going back to Afghanistan.”

  The two men looked at each other and I kept my mouth clamped shut. There was a chance that the military/police solidarity that existed back home also held true in Europe. It hadn’t so far, in my experience, but Caro was my lucky mascot. When she showed them my military ID, the older officer looked more sympathetic.

  “My son-in-law is serving out there,” he said, shaking his head. “Very well, we will let you go, but this one time only. Obey the speed limits.”

  He signaled for me to stand up, and the younger officer put his gun away. Thank fuck for that!

  “Thank you so much,” Caro said quickly, throwing me an angry look that I didn’t understand.

  “Make him obey the speed limits, signora,” said the older officer, wagging his finger at her.

  “I will. Thank you!” she gasped out.

  “I will pray for you both,” he said.

  We watched as they wandered back to their car, relaxed and at ease.

  “You were great, Caro,” I grinned at her.

  She slapped my arm hard. “No more speeding!”

  “I don’t know … I’ve got my own Caro-shaped ‘get out of jail free’ card.”

  “Yes, well, do that again, and you might be finding out what Italian jails are like,” she snapped.

  “You wouldn’t let that happen to me, baby.”

  “Don’t bet on it, Marine! I’ve got enough gray hairs without you giving me anymore.”

  I pulled her in for a hug.

  “Nope, can’t see any,” I said, kissing her hair.

  She pushed me away—I guess I wasn’t entirely forgiven yet.

  “Another two weeks with you and I’ll have to color my grays,” she snorted.

  I laughed, which was probably another mistake.

  “It’s not funny!”

  “God, you’re beautiful, Caro!”

  She climbed onto the bike, and I drove back to the campsite like a Sunday-afternoon granny-driver—nothing she could complain about there.

  While I locked up our helmets, Caro stomped off to the cabin. I was confident that she’d chill out, or hopefully want to work off the calories we’d just eaten. But when I walked into the room, she looked like she was ransacking the place, every drawer hanging open. Yeah, that didn’t look too good.

  If I knew my girl—which I did—she was building up a good head of steam. I suspected that when I was in firing range she’d launch her attack. I stood back and watched her for a moment.

  “I can’t open the fucking wine!” she snarled, her eyes shooting darts at me.

  Wow, she really was pissed.

  “What’s the matter, Caro?” I asked warily.

  “I just told you!” she yelled. “I can’t open the wine!”

  I used my Swiss Army knife to pry out the cork, frowning at the furious energy that was radiating from Caro.

  “I think some of the cork fell in,” I said mildly, pl
acing the wine on the table.

  “Thank you,” she muttered.

  “Caro…”

  “What, Sebastian?” she grit out. “You could have got arrested back there? That was so stupid and reckless!”

  Is that this was all about? “Nothing happened…” I started to point out.

  “It could have!” she yelled. “And if you take chances like that out in…”

  Finally, I understood what was upsetting her. That little speeding stunt had made her think that I was reckless. It was only partly true.

  “Hey, come here,” I said softly. “It’s okay.”

  I pulled her into a hug, but her body was still unresponsive and stiff as a plank of wood.

  “Caro, tonight was just dumb, I admit that, okay. I’m just enjoying being … free, here and now, with you. Don’t cry.”

  “I’m not crying!” she yelled. “I’m mad at you!”

  “Yeah, got that message, baby.”

  She pushed me away and grabbed the wine bottle, taking another long slug. Then she threw herself on the bed, piled the pillows behind her and tipped another large quantity of wine into her mouth, scrubbing the back of her hand across her face to catch the drips.

  “Are you going to share that?” I asked carefully.

  “No. You drink too much.”

  “You’re just going to sit there and finish the whole bottle by yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t like drinking,” I pointed out reasonably.

  “I do tonight.”

  “It’ll make you sick.”

  “I’m being reckless. You do it all the time.”

  Ah, shit.

  “Caro,” I said, rubbing my forehead, “come on, that’s enough.”

  I hated seeing her like this. I knew it was hypocritical, but her getting wasted wasn’t going to solve our problems. I pulled the bottle out of her hands and put it on the other side of the bed.

  “Give me my goddamn wine, Sebastian,” she snapped.

  “No,” I said, sitting next to her.

  She tried to reach over me to get it, but I blocked her.

  “Fine!”

  She leapt off the bed and stormed out of the room. I hoped she’d come to her senses and turn around, but she didn’t. This relationship crap was hard.