Falling for the Marine (A McCade Brothers Novel) (Entangled Brazen) by Samanthe Beck Page B

the cool porcelain of the toilet bowl. “I wish your bathroom would stop spinning.”
    He reached into the medicine cabinet and shook two ibuprofen tablets into his palm. Then he crouched beside her and rubbed her back. “Sorry. I should have warned you. When you drink too much, my toilet turns into a teacup ride. Open your eyes. That will help.”
    She smiled weakly and fought one bloodshot eye open to stare at him. He held out the ibuprofen. “Full recovery is a three step process. Step one—the magic pills.”
    “Thank you.” She let go of the toilet, sat straighter, and reached for the painkillers with the slow, carefully executed movements of someone with severely impaired reflexes.
    Her fingers brushed his palm as she took the pills, and he flashed back to that afternoon, at the clinic, feeling those fingers of hers running all over his shoulders and back. An instant twitch in his shorts told him there was nothing impaired about his reflexes.
    “Step two—wash them down with the magic green juice.” He handed her the sports drink he’d placed on the counter.
    “Uh-uh,” she groaned. “One sip of that stuff and I’ll hurl for sure.”
    “Nah. I’ve put the magic green juice to the test more times than I care to count, and it never lets me down. Plus, it’s loaded with electrolytes. You need them.”
    She looked at him as if he was asking her to swallow live cockroaches with bilge water, but tossed the pills in her mouth, chased them with a swig of the Gatorade, and made a face. “God, that’s nasty.”
    He fought a smile and lost. On top of margaritas and stomach acid, it probably fell short of the refreshing lemon-lime citrus splash the bottle promised. Feeling for her, he reached out and brushed her hair off her forehead. “Drink half and I’ll backfill the bottle with water.”
    She took another big gulp and swallowed before answering, “What’s step three?”
    “Step three is the most magical step of all.” He dug into the drawer below the sink, withdrew his hand with a flourish, and handed her a new toothbrush, still in the box. “Toothpaste is on the counter.”
    Those beautiful, pink lips curved into a grateful smile as she accepted the toothbrush. “I love you.”
    The words came out soft and heartfelt, which he knew was part of the joke. But in his imagination, he heard her saying the phrase again, in a breathless, husky voice as he emptied himself inside her.
    Disconcerted by the detour his brain took, he forced a laugh. “Yeah, I know all about your kind of love.” But now he had the image of them stuck in his head—her writhing under him, panting his name—and a completely out-of-line hard-on that wouldn’t back down. Time for a little more distance than his bathroom afforded. He stood, held out a hand, and pulled her to her feet. The forward momentum caused her to bump into him, and the slight impact of her breasts against his chest sent his dick surging. Still playing with fire, McCade .
    One glance at her face settled him a little, because she was clearly fighting just to keep her eyes open. While he watched she yawned and rubbed the heel of her hand over her forehead.
    “Brush up, drink some more of that,” he pointed to the Gatorade, “and make yourself at home. I’ll get your purse. Be right back.”
    Her “Thank you,” followed him out of the bathroom.
    It only took a few minutes to retrieve her bag, but total silence greeted him when he entered the apartment.
    “Chloe?”
    She didn’t reply. He dropped her purse on the counter and absently rolled his shoulder as he stepped past the kitchen and dining area, and into the hall. A few steps later, he saw her—sacked out on his bed. Good girl , he thought when he spotted the empty bottle of Gatorade sitting on his nightstand.
    He pushed the door all the way open and walked in. She laid on her side, facing the door, her amber-honey curls curtaining her face. She’d folded her right arm across her chest, pushing her