U.S. Marines - Book 3 - Midnight Truce E-Book

Romano Arria

• Herausgeber: So Romance
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: U.S. Marines
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 335

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Keir and Scarlett's passionate relationship is put to the test: will Keir be able to resist the call to the front?

After a shocking encounter, Scarlett and Keir indulge in a relationship laced with provocations and insolence. But beyond their bickering, the intrepid redhead and the scarred captain harbor a mutual attraction that neither can contain. The passion soon becomes irremediable, and the two lovers live out their story feverishly... until the day when the Marine, afraid of romantic commitment, rushes back to the front.

Don't wait to discover the third volume of the successful U.S. Marines saga and dive into Scarlett and Keir's tumultuous love story!

EXCERPT

A bit of a bohemian at heart, Scarlett always felt more comfortable barefoot, especially on the dance floor.

Leseprobe

Cover

Title page

Prologue

Beaufort, South Carolina, Spring 2001

Scarlett weaved her way through the crowd gathered for Hudson Rowe’s birthday, her neighbor and honorary big brother. Since the day she was born, he had watched over her like a guardian angel, their bond as unbreakable as tungsten.

Scarlett adored Hudson, her war hero, a lieutenant in the U.S. Marine Corps and a source of pride for their small town. Every week, she wrote him letters to help him stay grounded while he served in conflict zones, far from home in hostile lands. At just sixteen, this teenager contributed in her own way to the war effort, lifting the spirits of the troops with her words.

Most of the guests at Hudson’s party, now celebrating his twenty-seventh birthday, were from the military. Around sixty Marines and their partners filled the Rowe family home, creating a lively and bustling atmosphere that could easily overwhelm someone like Scarlett. It was her first time attending an adult party, though her house—and her father—were just next door.

With determined steps, she made her way to the man of the hour, a towering figure over six feet tall, broad-shouldered, with piercing green eyes and jet-black hair. He was the epitome of a Southern gentleman, the kind of man who could have starred alongside John Wayne in a Western if he’d been born a few decades earlier.

“Good evening, Hudson,” she greeted him warmly, her voice carrying the lilting drawl typical of the region’s locals.

Busy arranging appetizers on the buffet, Hudson spun around on his heels, his face lighting up with joy at the sight of his young neighbor. Scarlett was hard to miss with her long mane of red hair cascading down to her hips, her bright green eyes sparkling with mischief, her charming freckles, and her vintage adventurer style. She exuded a bold spirit reminiscent of Calamity Jane.

“Miss Scarlett!”

Hudson mimicked the voice of Mammy from Gone with the Wind to perfection, playing the role of her chaperone whenever he had the chance. Scarlett burst into laughter at his exclamation and rushed into his open arms, where he pulled her close to his chest. Nearby, onlookers glanced their way, both surprised and touched, unaccustomed to seeing Lieutenant Rowe so openly affectionate.

“You look stunning, my little wildcat,” he said, running his hands through her fiery waves. “Your dad should be worried.”

“Nonsense! I’m chubby, I have braces, freckles, and I dress like a farmer. The boys at school aren’t into that,” she replied, utterly unfazed by her lack of appeal to her peers.

“You’re beautiful to me. Those little idiots don’t know what they’re missing, but that’s not urgent. You’re just sixteen, and only I’ll allow someone to touch you when you’re twenty-five. The age of consent,” he declared with mock seriousness.

Scarlett’s laughter rang out, bright and infectious, warming the room like a summer breeze.

“I think the age of consent is a bit earlier, but never mind. I brought you a gift.”

She pulled a smsall, sealed pouch from the pocket of her jeans and handed it to him with a shy smile.

“It’s not much… but I hope it keeps you safe.”

Hudson accepted the gift and opened it deftly, revealing a thick leather bracelet woven with turquoise beads arranged in the shape of a Native American dreamcatcher.

“It’s to chase away your nightmares and fears when you go back to war,” she explained, taking it from his hands to fasten it around his right wrist. “It’s a charm to protect you. I bought it from real Native Americans during my trip to Colorado. Do you like it?”

“It’s a beautiful gesture, Scarlett,” he said, planting a kiss on her forehead.

He then invited her to climb onto his broad back, as he had done since she was a child, and once she was securely perched, he began making his way through the room.

“I’m going to introduce you to my best friends. The ones I wrote to you about in my letters.”

After nine years in the U.S.M.C., Scarlett was finally going to meet the companions Hudson would lay down his life for without hesitation in the flesh.

The Marine and the redhead made their way through the bustling living room, where people mingled to the sound of Southern rock, until they reached two men whose imposing builds matched Hudson’s.

“Guys, I’d like you to meet my Southern belle. Scarlett Swanson,” he announced in his deep, resonant voice, drawing the others’ attention.

They turned in unison, and Scarlett’s heart raced as she took in two ruggedly handsome faces, both exuding strength yet distinct in their unique allure. They appeared to be around the same age.

“Hello, Southern belle,” said the one who, objectively, was the more striking of the two. “Your name suits you.”

Scarlett.

Her name was a nod to her hair, though it wasn’t as vividly red as the color suggested. In truth, her auburn locks were a natural blend of golden threads and mahogany highlights, reminiscent of autumn leaves carpeting the ground.

The first to greet her was John Arlington, a man with prematurely graying hair and piercing Arctic blue eyes. He had grown up among the Amish before leaving his community to join the outside world and enlist in the U.S. Marines. The second man, Alexei Lenkov, or Lex, was a towering figure with a shaved head, a face marked by a broken nose, and wolf-like amber eyes as sharp as Baltic amber. Of Russian descent, he had an intimidating presence but posed no threat to the innocent and kind-hearted. Scarlett already knew he had a gift for clairvoyance and healing.

After the introductions, Hudson noticed the absence of the fourth member of their group, a man named Keir Dalglish, and asked:

“Where’s Scarface?”

“He was making cocktails when I saw him leave with Emily,” John replied. “They went off to find some privacy.”

“Why do you call him Scarface?” Scarlett asked, intrigued.

“Because he came back with a nasty scar on his face,” Lex explained.

The redhead shivered, clinging tighter to her honorary ­brother’s shoulders.

“A scar?”

“A huge one. It covers half his face and makes him look like a wild bear,” Lex continued, tracing an imaginary line down his own cheek to illustrate the scar. “A souvenir from a Taliban fighter before he bit the dust.”

“Good Lord…”

“Don’t worry, kid. He’ll show up, and you can even touch it if you want.”

“Guys, can you keep an eye on Scarlett while I greet the new arrivals?” Hudson asked, gently setting her down. “Don’t let her out of your sight.”

“Yeah, we’ll guard her like she’s the apple of our eye,” John promised with a wink at the teenager.

With Hudson gone, the two Marines kept Scarlett entertained with canapés and juicy stories about the U.S.M.C. and their tight-knit group. The more time she spent with them, the more she enjoyed their company, feeling a thrilling sense of maturity as they discussed topics her father would surely have forbidden. She appreciated their straightforwardness, which taught her about life, at least in theory.

Half an hour later, Scarlett excused herself to use the restroom. Finding the downstairs bathroom occupied, she headed upstairs to the quieter second floor. She knew this house like the back of her hand, as hers was built identically.

Here, the noise from downstairs and the garden was a distant hum. Scarlett savored the peaceful moment as she strolled down the hallway, but suddenly, a woman’s screams pierced the air from behind the laundry room door.

A chill ran down her spine, freezing her blood. The woman sounded like she was crying for help. Scarlett knew she had to act immediately—to find the woman in danger and alert the Marines.

Forcing herself to stay calm, she scanned the area. The hallway was empty, save for a glass whiskey bottle abandoned near the laundry room entrance.

Without hesitation, driven by a heroic instinct, she grabbed the bottle as a makeshift weapon and flung the door open with a swift turn of the handle. A startled cry escaped her lips as she took in the scene: the broad back of a blond giant, his pants around his ankles, moving with animalistic fervor against a red-haired woman pinned to the wall, moaning as if in agony. It looked like she was in terrible pain.

Oh my God…

It was an assault. A rape!

Horrified by the woman’s strained expression and the man’s brute force, Scarlett acted on a surge of courage. She charged at the stranger like a bull, wielding the whiskey bottle, and smashed it against the man’s thick neck with precision and strength. Hudson had taught her some basic self-defense and attack moves.

The sound of shattering glass was followed by a wounded roar, filling the cramped room as the assaulted woman’s eyes widened in shock.

“What the hell?!” growled a deep, slurred voice, thick with alcohol and anger. “What’s going on?”

The blond man staggered sideways, releasing the woman as he clutched at a shelf for support, dazed. His jeans and underwear were still bunched around his ankles, and the hem of his shirt barely covered his exposed, erect manhood. He pressed a hand to his neck, his stormy gray eyes now fixed on Scarlett.

Standing her ground, a strand of red hair falling into her eyes, the teenager held the broken bottle tightly in both hands, ready to defend herself against the towering figure with a scarred face, his gaze as steely as a blade.

“Where the hell did you come from, you crazy little brat?!” he bellowed, feeling the sticky warmth of blood on his fingers. “You smashed my neck open!”

The unsettling light in his eyes made Scarlett shiver, but it was the wide scar running from the corner of his right eye down his cheek to his chin that sharpened her fear. The wound, still pink, looked fresh.

Maintaining the calm Hudson had drilled into her for such situations, Scarlett turned to the woman and said:

“Go, ma’am. I’ll handle him.”

The other redhead, about ten years older than Scarlett, stared at her with wide eyes and a gaping mouth, like a fish out of water.

“Are you insane? Can’t you see we were just having some fun?” the scarred man barked as Hudson appeared in the doorway, alerted by the commotion.

“What’s going on here?” Hudson demanded, instantly on edge.

His eyes widened as he took in the broken bottle in ­Scarlett’s hands, the disheveled woman, and the half-dressed man—his best friend. It didn’t take long for him to piece together the misunderstanding.

“That man was… he was…” Scarlett stammered, her face flushing crimson with emotion.

“…having a private moment,” the blond man grumbled. “I was just enjoying myself with Emily when this firecracker attacked me! Damn, I think I’m really bleeding.”

Scarlett felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment as she realized her mistake. Mortified, she lowered her arms, wishing she could crawl into the washing machine and never come out.

“Hudson, I swear I thought he was assaulting her. She was screaming so sharply,” she defended herself, burying her face in her friend’s chest, tears welling up in her eyes. “I just wanted to help her. And he… he doesn’t look trustworthy.”

She whispered the last part, casting a wary glance at the man she had injured, who was now pressing a sheet to his neck, his stormy eyes never leaving her.

Hudson hugged her reassuringly and said:

“You have nothing to fear from him. That’s Keir Dalglish, the last member of the group.”

“And definitely not a woman-assaulter,” Keir added with a grimace, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Who is this kid, Rowe?”

“Scarlett Swanson,” she replied. “I’m truly sorry for the misunderstanding.”

“She’s my neighbor.”

Still smarting from being mistaken for a predator and wounded so foolishly—especially after being interrupted mid-pleasure—Keir grumbled, his irritation filling the laundry room:

“Remind me never to be in the same vicinity as this wild little fox again.”

And with that, Keir muttered something in a language unfamiliar to most Americans, but Scarlett recognized the guttural tones. It was Scottish Gaelic.

A language that carried a certain magic, one he was likely using to curse her.

Chapter 1

Oldfield Golf Clubhouse, South Carolina, May 17, 2008, seven years later

The party was in full swing under the vast marquee adorned with crystal chandeliers, twinkling string lights, and an abundance of flowers.

Champagne flute in hand—her fourth of the evening—Scarlett sat at the bridesmaids’ table, surveying the lively and elegant gathering before her. Nearly eighty guests had been invited to celebrate the union of her best friend, now Major Hudson Rowe, and her stunning English cousin, Livia. The two had met less than a year ago in the small town of Beaufort, and it had been love at first sight. Immediate, intense, instinctive.

Scarlett was enjoying the evening, which celebrated their love in a setting of exquisite beauty, blending elegance and rustic charm. After a vibrant ceremony at Rose Hill Plantation, a historic estate built on the eve of the Civil War, the reception and dance were now taking place at the heart of a magnificent golf course, a Southern gem surrounded by ancient oaks, wildlife, and a cluster of lodgings designed to host guests overnight. These were villas built according to a typical antebellum South aesthetic, perched along the edges of mysterious marshlands.

Scarlett sighed contentedly. For this day of bliss, she had been given the role of bridesmaid, which she assumed proudly in her apple-green silk chiffon dress, backless with a halter neckline. The airy fabric perfectly hugged the lush curves of her body, while the color complemented the ivory of her skin and the long red curls cascading in waves down to her waist. A floral tiara crowned her head, giving her the appearance of a Celtic nymph.

“Scarlett, can you help me fix the flowers in my hair, please?”

Livia, the star of the evening, simply divine in a wedding dress worthy of the finest designers, approached her with a cheerful smile. Forget-me-nots had been pinned into her blonde chignon like a natural hair brooch, and half of them were threatening to fall out.

Scarlett set her flute down on the table and helped put them back in place, then took a step back to admire her cousin from head to toe. This sophisticated Englishwoman from a prominent bourgeois family was stunning. Porcelain skin, blue eyes as vivid as the forget-me-nots, golden hair, a Hollywood starlet’s figure—she was a timeless beauty, paired with a radiant personality and unshakable determination. To marry the love of her life, an American mMarine from a world so different from hers, she had given up her former life in England.

“Thank you, my angel,” Livia said, her London accent lilting. “You know you’re gorgeous, don’t you?”

Scarlett felt her cheeks flush. She wasn’t used to wearing such silky outfits or attending events like this. A bit sharp-tongued, loud in her laughter, and self-conscious about the freckles that dotted her cheeks and small nose like a trail of stars—not to mention her curves, which she found too voluptuous—she didn’t feel particularly gorgeous.

“It’s just the makeup.”

Indeed, her sandy-green cat eyes, nearly as light as her dress, were accentuated with eyeliner and mascara, while a touch of crimson lipstick adorned her lips.

“No, it’s you. You look like a Celtic goddess. And if you don’t believe me, just look at the way the men here are staring at you. Especially dear Lieutenant Warren,” Livia added mischievously.

Most of the men present were military, Hudson’s brothers-in-arms. They had all donned their black-and-white or black-and-navy dress uniforms for the occasion. The rest were friends from various walks of life, including Scarlett’s date, Lieutenant Erik Warren, a firefighter she had met a few months earlier at the hospital where she worked as a nurse. She had fallen for him at first sight after he saved her from a drugged patient charged with trying to stab her with a syringe.

“I’ve noticed his fiery glances… the more I see him, the more I like him,” Scarlett admitted, sneaking a glance at the dashing firefighter in his sharp black tuxedo.

Standing a few meters away, surrounded by other men, he was chatting while occasionally stealing glances at her. Dark-haired, tall, athletic, with azure-blue eyes, he was the most handsome and youngest of the group, fitting in seamlessly.

Scarlett had hesitated to invite him to Hudson and Livia’s wedding, having always assumed he was in a relationship. When news that he was single came out four weeks ago, her cousin had practically pushed her to take the leap. To her delight, the firefighter had enthusiastically accepted.

“There’s no mistaking his looks, Scarlett. I think it’s time you gave in to his charms.”

Scarlett turned her attention back to the bride. Less than a year ago, it had been her encouraging Livia to fall into Hudson’s arms, and now they were bound in the most sacred of ways. Deep down, her heart hoped for a similar outcome with Erik. After all, they had been friends for nine months, with a few flirtatious undertones emerging in recent weeks.

Nine months was enough time to get to know someone and decide if you wanted them or not. And Scarlett was convinced she was deeply smitten with the firefighter. A feeling amplified by her romantic, slightly dreamy nature, nurtured by a youth spent watching old Hollywood films.

“Come join me on the dance floor; let’s liven things up a bit. Of course, my husband is too busy playing poker with his friends to venture onto the dangerous terrain of dancing,” Livia said, feigning despair.

Everyone knew Hudson avoided the dance floor like the plague, though he had mustered all his willpower to open the ball with a slow waltz—a Herculean effort made out of love.

When the two cousins joined the dance floor, accompanied by the three other bridesmaids—friends of the bride from Britain—the band launched into Candyman by Christina Aguilera. The energetic song, a mix of pop and swing, perfectly suited the evening filled with U.S. Marines, especially given the song’s music video.

Watching the five young women light up the atmosphere with their grace and sensuality, the mMarines abandoned their activities to admire the muses calling them to move with the sway of their bodies.

Seated near the dance floor, a cigarillo between his lips, Keir Dalglish watched the captivating display offered by Livia and her group of bridesmaids. He had stopped playing cards and was now devouring them with his eyes.

Even that little firecracker Scarlett was having an effect on him in that green dress, angelic on others but scandalous on her curvaceous figure, hinting at the bare skin beneath the silk chiffon.

In truth, it was mostly her that was setting his internal thermometer off.

“Rowe, if you can’t dance with your wife, I’ll do it for you!” John called out, abruptly abandoning his game, shrugging off his medal-adorned jacket, and heading straight for the dance floor.

Feeling a pang of jealousy he never thought he’d experience toward one of his brothers-in-arms, Hudson suddenly left his seat to follow John and join Livia. The bride burst into laughter when she found herself facing two suitors.

The young bride admired her husband, the embodiment of martial beauty. In this, he mirrored his wife, a symbol of grace and elegance.

“I want to dance with both of you,” she said mischievously.

Other male guests gathered around the bridesmaids, who tossed their floral tiaras as a playful way of choosing partners. Only Scarlett kept hers perched atop her head.

“Well, Dalglish, what are you waiting for to join the ladies? You’re always the first to get swept up by the music,” Lex teased gently, gathering the cards into a single deck.

Hypnotized by the sway of Scarlett’s full hips and round backside, Keir didn’t respond immediately. He didn’t even notice the cigarillo ash falling onto his white trousers. The redhead moved with a sensual fluidity, like a cobra swaying to the sound of an Indian pungi. The music coursed through her body, possessing her until she was dancing like a devil.

Never would he have guessed that this little firecracker, this feisty tomboy who had dared to hit him seven years ago, could exude such sensuality. Not once had she revealed her dancing prowess.

As if the redhead had sensed his steely gaze on her, her peridot-green eyes, flecked with golden triangles that sparkled when she was deeply moved, turned toward him and locked onto his. She taunted him from afar with just a glance, filled with her signature impudence, never stopping her dance as she played with her fiery curls.

Keir had always had a weakness for redheads. They reminded him of the natives of his homeland, Scotland.

Until recently, Scarlett had been the exception. As his best friend’s protégée, he had always forced himself to see her as an untouchable little spitfire, a bit hysterical, who inspired more exasperation than desire. But a few months ago, he had kissed her to make a woman believe they were a couple, and it had been a revelation: she attracted him as much as she irritated him.

Attraction, repulsion.

Tonight, watching her move like a demon, as fiery and enchanting as a flickering candle flame, the attraction swelled until it ached in his lower abdomen.

Lord, what wouldn’t he give to sweep her off her feet, drag her to a room, and have her all to himself until morning! Or perhaps punish her for her indecent behavior, which was tying him up in knots of excitement for all to see.

The young woman broke their visual exchange when a tall, dark-haired man in a black tuxedo—her firefighter date—joined the dance floor. He caught her attention and grabbed her by the waist just as Let’s Get Loud by Jennifer Lopez filled the marquee. A fiery cha-cha-cha was about to begin.

Keir barely felt the cigarillo ash on his hand as he watched, stunned, while Scarlett danced provocatively against her firefighter’s body. From the moment he first saw the guy, something about him had rubbed Keir the wrong way. He was too handsome, too smooth. His bad side itched to punch the firefighter, to mar that angelic face, but there was no justification for it.

“I’m impressed; Scarlett moves really well,” Lex continued.

Keir couldn’t agree more. To the rhythm of J-Lo’s voice, Scarlett had shattered her tomboyish image with a sultry sway, revealing her inner Aphrodite.

She must be a little drunk to let loose like this. And passionate and fiery in bed, Keir would bet his life on it.

Fascinated and strangely annoyed by the firefighter’s wandering hands, the captain kept watching them, smoking his cigarillo. Moments later, she stumbled on her heels and fell to the floor in a burst of infectious laughter.

The crowd around her applauded as she sat on the floor, methodically removing her high heels.

Your move, old man.

Without hesitation, Keir stubbed out his cigarillo in the ashtray on the table and rose from his chair, his steps leading him toward the dance floor.

Chapter 2

A bit of a bohemian at heart, Scarlett always felt more comfortable barefoot, especially on the dance floor.

Electrified by the two previous dances, particularly the steamy cha-cha-cha she had just shared with Erik, she was finishing removing her heels on the dance floor when two strong arms lifted her off the ground, catching her by surprise.

At first, she thought it was her firefighter, but she soon realized it wasn’t him. The body her back was now pressed against felt broader and sturdier than Lieutenant Warren’s, and it wasn’t adorned with medals on a tuxedo.

It was a Marine who held her captive in his arms, leading her to the rhythm of a new song: Sex Bomb by Tom Jones.

“Where did you learn to move like that, firecracker?”

Scarlett jumped at the sound of Keir’s voice. She immediately turned her head toward the table where he had been sitting just moments ago, noticed his empty chair, and cursed herself for not seeing him approach. Reflexively, she tried to escape, but he tightened his grip around her waist, spinning her so quickly in his arms that she would have lost her balance if he hadn’t held her so firmly against his rock-solid chest.

“Well?”

He slid one of his calloused hands down her bare, delicate back so languidly that the touch of his skin against hers made her hair stand on end. She hated how positively her body reacted and nearly whimpered when he dug his short nails into the small of her back.

“Nowhere. I just follow the rhythm of the music and the desires of my body,” she replied, tossing her head back to look him in the eye, her fiery hair now cascading below her hips.

Her field of vision was filled only with Keir’s face. His steel-gray eyes, sharp as blades and shadowed by thick chestnut brows, were shaped like those of Josh Hartnett, one of her favorite actors. True to his military nature, his blond hair was cropped short above a scarred face—less perfect than Erik’s but no less captivating. Keir was attractive because he was rugged and devastatingly charming when his lips curled into a smile, revealing dimples in his cheeks—lethal weapons of seduction.

“This song is quite fitting,” he said with a smile that revealed a slightly sharp canine tooth, giving him a predatory look.

“If you think you’re a sex bomb, you’re sorely mistaken, Dalglish.”

The music lent itself perfectly to another cha-cha-cha.

“No, the bomb is you,” he murmured, sensing her tense, as if frightened by the tension he was transmitting through his embrace. “Am I scaring you?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Keir had to step back slightly to execute the first steps and allow her to mirror his movements. Heart pounding, Scarlett followed him robotically, completely yielding to the rhythm of this unpredictable partner. Despite his solid build, he moved with feline agility, seamlessly executing the steps with fluidity. He proved to be a skilled dancer, more passionate and adept than Erik, who had since returned to his seat nearby.

Scarlett cast a glance in Erik’s direction and noted his supportive smile. He didn’t seem fazed by the audacious way the captain had taken over.

“Are you worried he’ll get jealous?” Keir asked, noticing their exchange of looks.

“He’d have to be crazy to be jealous of you.”

In response, he spun her deftly, then pulled her back against him, his hands settling on her hips. She startled, rising onto her tiptoes, then twisted her arm behind her back to guide his large hand up her spine. Once again, he intertwined their fingers in an intimate gesture that unsettled her more than she cared to admit, before letting their hands slide back down to her hips.

“Really?”

“It would be even crazier to think I’m attracted to you. Erik is the only man I want, and I intend to make that clear to him.”

“I see. That’s why you’re trembling with pleasure every time our bodies touch, right?”

Scarlett would have loved to wipe that smug smile off his face with a slap, but her hands were captive to his.

“You’re not exactly modest… you’re far from the most attractive man in this room.”

“I’m not claiming otherwise. I’m just saying I’m the man you want more than anyone else.”

Scarlett inspired mockery, irritation, and desire in him—a paradoxical mix, both unsettling and disconcerting. Since they had met, the relationship between Keir and this fiery redhead had been marked by an insolence neither could restrain. It was stronger than them. A cat-and-mouse dynamic dominated their interactions, and rather than trying to resolve it, they seemed to revel in their bickering and provocations.

Tonight, with his body taut like the strings of a cello under the strain of sexual tension, he wanted to provoke her.

“Go ahead, tell me I’m wrong,” he teased, spinning her again before dipping her backward in an artistic and sensual move.

She felt her hair fly, her floral crown fall to the floor, and his hand press against her stomach, sliding upward toward the valley of her breasts, too slowly for the tempo of the melody. Scarlett should have bolted, pushed him away, and fled the dance floor. Yet a treacherous pleasure arose from his caresses.

She surrendered involuntarily, her eyelids fluttering closed over eyes clouded with excitement, while her lips stifled a moan she refused to release.

Keir felt her response and swelled with satisfaction.

“We could leave this dance floor, head to a room, and do some very indecent things, you and me,” he murmured in her ear after gently pulling her upright.

“Go to hell.”

Her whispered words were firm and only fueled his desire further. His gaze fixed on her scarlet-red lips—not too thin, not too full, perfectly shaped, just the way he liked them. He could devour those lips for hours, savoring them like he had that time they kissed at the military camp… that day, she had tasted of peaches and candy, her texture velvety, her kiss a promise of innate sensuality.

Tonight, she must taste of champagne, wild raspberries, and fire…

“That’s the idea. Your room or mine?”

He spun her around so her back was to him, then she slid into his arms, swaying languidly, savoring the heat of his hands as they moved against her.

Scarlett had to keep moving with the music, pretending he didn’t affect her.

“We don’t have to go to a room,” he remarked, pulling her closer, their bodies undulating in sync as his hand roamed over her throat, coaxing her to tilt her head back onto his shoulder.

She let him guide her, resigned to follow this warrior’s lead. A flicker of shame teased her as she realized how much Keir’s hands affected her as they traced the contours of her curves. They were even more magical than Erik’s…

Impossible.

Only her mind seemed to still respond to reason.

“If no one were here, I think I’d have already taken you right here, on the dance floor.”

His words were muffled by the music, but Scarlett heard them with a clarity heightened by the emotions they stirred. She couldn’t tell if it was exasperation or pleasure. Likely a mix of both.

“Stop talking to me like I’m one of those women who wants to sleep with you because you have a tough-guy scar, muscles, and medals. It doesn’t do anything for me.”

“Fiery and venomous. I like it when you sting like that.”

“I didn’t want to dance with you.”

“Yet you couldn’t stop teasing me earlier, swaying all by yourself.”

“You were in my line of sight.”

“Come on, Scarlett, don’t play coy with me.”

“I don’t want you, Dalglish, and I’m certain of it.”

As the song ended and the orchestra transitioned into Murder on the Dancefloor by Sophie Ellis-Bextor, Keir and Scarlett stopped their dance, now facing each other in stillness. She had to tilt her chin upward to meet his gaze.

“Ready for another dance?”

“Erik has this one and all the others reserved. You should find another woman to charm.”

“Seduce.”

“Call it what you want.”

“I fully intend to spend my evening in a beautiful woman’s sweet and pleasant company. Someone who doesn’t argue all the time like you.”

To save face, Scarlett shot him a dark look, both stung by his provocations and his relentless predatory instinct. He was going to spend the night with another woman, and it should have relieved her, but she realized, to her horror, that the thought bothered her. Yet she had Erik, and that man was worth most of the men here. In fact, he was leagues ahead of this scarred Don Juan…

“Happy hunting, then.”

Without giving him a chance to reply, the redhead took several steps back, retrieved her heels from the edge of the dance floor, and reappeared at Erik’s side. As she passed, she drew appreciative glances from the men, while Keir’s vision seemed magnetically attracted to her curves.

Damn it! He had been so electrified by the proximity of their bodies that he had danced with a semi-erection the entire time.

He needed to escape this marquee, where Scarlett’s essence saturated his personal space, and find another companion to decompress, to dispel the desire this wildcat had insidiously ignited in him.

It was a fact. Keir was utterly vulnerable to a redheaded beauty, especially when her name was Scarlett Swanson and she matched his own insolence.

Bad luck. Scarlett was supposed to be untouchable, given her brotherly bond with Hudson. No matter! She was ­irresistible.

Think carefully about what you’re going to do, Dalglish! he thought.

His mind cooled by inner admonitions but his body still heated by their last dance and the surrounding humidity, the captain deserted the dance floor, heading toward the golf course.

Chapter 3

Scarlett had been trying to forget the memory of those warrior hands on her curves for over an hour when Erik invited her to slow dance to I Still Believe by Mariah Carey. The song drew more couples to the dance floor than the previous ones, and amidst the crowd, they managed to slip to the center of the floor.

“Aren’t you afraid of stepping on something sharp?”

Scarlett was still barefoot, and Erik seemed concerned.

“Not if you promise to take care of me afterward.”

A spark lit up in the lieutenant’s blue eyes—a light that hinted at a desire of which she was undoubtedly the object.

Scarlett didn’t think of herself as beautiful, even though everyone agreed she was very pretty and charming. At best, she found herself cute when she took the time to doll up. But despite her lack of confidence in her natural allure, she had gradually realized that her fiery hair, generous curves, and the way she swayed her hips stirred fantasies in some men. Erik seemed particularly attuned to these three assets, and Scarlett wanted to use them to fulfill the dream she’d nurtured since meeting him: spending a night in his arms.

“I’ll give you all the care you want.”

His voice sent a shiver of pleasure through her, making her blush.

Scarlett wasn’t used to flirting with men. In her twenty-three years, she had only exchanged two kisses: the first in high school, the second with Keir. While the first experience had been disappointing, the second had been a delicious but purely deceptive illusion.

With Erik, it would be different. She wanted to push her boundaries with him and choose him as her guide in the sensual discovery of love. He seemed like the most sensible choice to make her a woman in the biblical sense of the term. It would never have crossed her mind to choose the immoral womanizer who had danced with her so feverishly an hour earlier…

Tonight would be the perfect opportunity to take that step, in one of the magnificent rooms made available to them in the villas.

After taking a deep breath, as if to summon the courage to speak, the redhead declared bluntly:

“Erik, I’d like you to join me in my room when the wedding winds down…”

Scarlett didn’t know how to phrase things like Livia, to make her desires known through metaphors and sweet expressions. She wasn’t a politician’s daughter, accustomed from childhood to the codified rules of diplomatic relations. She had always spoken bluntly, never filtering her thoughts, even if it wasn’t the most proper approach in certain situations.

The flame in the lieutenant’s eyes grew brighter, and his hands settled on Scarlett’s hips. She swallowed hard at the contact, even though it wasn’t the first time he’d touched her… However, a small, pesky, unpleasant inner voice—the kind you’d rather do without—reminded her how much less thrilling this was compared to what she’d felt under Keir’s hands.

With a mental whip, she forced herself to stop thinking about that irritating captain.

“That’s… bold,” Erik murmured, a little surprised by a request he had long hoped for.

“I know, but I really want this. You must think I’m reckless and…”

Erik silenced her by placing his finger on her red lips, which he then caressed softly.

“I’ve been waiting for you to make the first move.”

“Really? Lucky for you I’m the bold type, then. Even if it did take me nine months to act,” she joked as other couples brushed past them, accidentally bumping into them.

More amused than annoyed by the surrounding clumsiness, Erik led Scarlett off the dance floor toward the buffet, where the magnificent wedding cakes had just been displayed. There was an artistic array of pastries, with cream puffs, macarons, and fruit-flavored cupcakes surrounding a three-tiered white and navy-blue cake adorned with baroque swirls and subtle, elegant U.S.M.C. symbols. At the top of the stunning cake stood figurines of a blonde bride and a groom in Marine dress uniform.

Scarlett admired the confections with wide-eyed delight, then grabbed a plate and piled it high with desserts.

“Would you mind coming with me somewhere quieter, away from everyone? We can eat and talk in peace.”

Erik didn’t need to be asked twice and followed her to the golf course, where they found a bench a few meters from the marquee. They sat close together, savoring the sweets in unison, playfully feeding each other. It was a mischievous, sensual way to get to know each other step by step before taking the plunge.

“Scarlett, what made you… ask me to join you?” he finally asked, wanting to gauge the sincerity of her desire, as she might have spoken under the influence of champagne.

“I like you, and I don’t want to waste time…”

“But have you ever done this before? Invited a man to your room?”

“Would you feel less nervous if I were experienced?”

“I haven’t had many relationships, and even fewer with…”

“…virgins?”

He nodded as she bit into a pink-and-blue cupcake with relish.

“There’s a first time for everything, Lieutenant Warren,” she whispered, smearing a bit of custard on the firefighter’s lips with her fingertip.

He let her do it, mesmerized by the mix of innocence, playfulness, and sensuality that Scarlett exuded. She had intrigued him from the start, initially on a friendly level, then in a more physical way as he got to know her. She had revealed herself to him as a tomboyish daredevil who didn’t shy away from conflict and faced opponents stronger than herself. Scarlett was the bold, slightly reckless type, but her company was never dull.

Tonight, he was discovering another side of her personality—a blend of tenderness and mischief, modesty and audacity—that made her resemble the heroines of old films she so adored and collected.

“I want to kiss you,” she confessed, bringing their faces dangerously close.

That was the signal Erik had been waiting for. He wrapped his arms around Scarlett’s waist and pulled her against him, kissing her deeply and languidly. It was pleasant and intoxicating, so much so that she wrapped her arms around his neck to deepen the kiss, her eyes closed, her senses focused on the sweet taste of his warm, moist lips, flavored with custard.

They were still exploring each other with lips and tongues when three figures passed by, catching their attention. High-pitched voices, laced with thick British accents, chattered alongside Keir, who stood between two women as he answered their questions. He wore his white dress cap, adding to his martial bearing.

“…Keir, I heard you’ve cheated death over nineteen times… is that true?” asked one of the women, both of whom were bridesmaids.

“The number’s higher, but who’s counting?”

“I also heard I should be wary of you because you’re a ladies’ man,” added the second, casting a knowing glance at Scarlett.

For a moment, Scarlett felt like she was in a modern adaptation of Northanger Abbey, with Keir Dalglish playing the role of Captain Tilney, the unrepentant rake who preyed on virgins at balls, and the English bridesmaids as the naive little doves.