Page 9 of Her Marine Master (Master Me #4)

"Thank you." She peeked around the corner and caught sight of his broad-shouldered back as he left. Yep, she had called from the bedroom. She hadn't gone out to flirt, or fawn. Or thank him. She was a chicken.

Her phone rang.

Damn. It was Becky, probably calling to hear about her date. The sick feeling returned to Kaitlyn's stomach. Was she ready to talk about it? Hardly. But it would probably help. She answered the phone and plopped down on the couch.

"Hey, Becky."

"Hey, how did it go?"

"Short version? Horrible. He choked me and tried to rape me, but the Marine next door broke down my door and kicked his ass."

Becky was silent a half-second longer than usual. "Wait… what ?"

"True story."

"Oh my God, are you okay? Do you want me to come over?" Becky's concern brought tears of self-pity to Kaitlyn's eyes, but no, she didn't need to feel sorry for herself. It had ended up all right. Rob had taken care of her.

She gave her friend the horrible details on her attack. With each word, it got easier to talk about and the remaining shame she felt about the whole thing faded as Becky raged for her.

"Thank God Rob was home. I wish he would've beaten the guy to a pulp."

"Well, he said if we didn't turn him over to the cops, he'd kill him. And I think he was serious."

"Well, yes, you have to press charges even though it's an ugly situation. Otherwise, this asshole will just do it to someone else."

"That's true. When you put it like that, I guess it is worth the additional nightmare. Rob offered to do all the court stuff with me and everything."

"He sounds like a keeper."

"Yeah." She tried not to sigh.

If only you knew how much.

She hung up with her friend and considered what she might do to thank Rob. More brownies?

Nah. She'd already gone that route.

Some other food?

He seemed like a meat and potatoes kind of guy.

Maybe he'd appreciate a steak or something.

Yes, she should head to the grocery store to buy some meat.

It was better than sticking around her apartment by herself.

She grabbed her purse and shut the door as best as she could.

Hopefully no one would shove it open and rob her blind.

Of course, she didn't have that much to take, so it probably didn't matter that much.

When she returned, Rob stood in the frame of her doorway, a heavy wooden door hefted between his two hands, his biceps, shoulder and back muscles bulging.

Yum.

She reached out to touch him, but changed her mind at the last minute and retracted her hand. "Hey." She kept her voice soft.

"Oh, hey." He swiveled his body and the door to make room for her to pass. "This won't take me long."

Too bad.

"Take your time. I'm going to make you some lunch," she said.

"Oh yeah? What are you making?"

"Ribs."

He set the door down. "Are you serious?"

Was it too much? She tried to play it off. "Yeah. It's no big deal, but they take a while."

"Holy hell." He sounded awestruck.

She stopped and turned back. "What?"

"Ribs are my favorite." He shrugged his solid muscle shoulders. "I'm just excited, that's all."

She grinned. An old-fashioned boy who liked to be fed. Well, she loved to cook. If there was a way to this guy's heart through his stomach, she definitely was going to try to find it.

"Are there more groceries in the car? I'll bring them in for you."

Her heart gave a double-pump. He was a total gentleman, despite his gruff exterior.

"No, it was just this one. Thanks, though." She turned on the oven to preheat it and unwrapped the meat, putting it in a pan with enough water to cover it.

"How's your ass?"

Was he actually calling down the hall to her about the state of her backside?

Her face grew warm. "Fine."

He looked around the door at her, like he wanted more information.

"I mean totally fine." Oh sheesh. Was she really answering this? "I was actually a little disappointed."

The corners of his mouth crooked into a smile. He stared at her for a moment, his light-blue gaze glittering with… what? Hunger?

"I really didn't think you had it in you, Dimples."

"What?"

"A submissive side. A masochistic side."

"Why not?"

He turned back to the project and lifted the door onto the hinges. "You're too sweet." He slid the top pin in. "Too optimistic. Totally not the type I'm used to."

She tossed some garlic powder, salt and pepper in the pot of meat and set it to cook on the stovetop.

"What type are you used to?" Wait—did she really want to know the answer to that question?

He just shook his head. "Not you."

She wasn't sure if that was good or bad, and he didn't seem inclined to go on.

"These ribs are going to take a couple hours."

"That's fine. It will probably take me that long to finish changing the locks and do the finish work."

The soaring in her chest at the simple knowledge that he'd be in her apartment for the next two hours went way beyond anything she'd felt for another guy. This one had really gotten under her skin.

The ribs finished cooking and she placed them on a baking sheet and slathered them with barbecue sauce. After covering them in foil, she put them in the oven.

Rob crouched beside her door, screwdriver in hand.

He looked so dang capable. And sexy. She wanted him with a yearning that went all the way back to her first gangly teen years of sizing up guys and deciding what she liked.

She used to read military hero romance novels and dream of a strong, capable man like Rob.

But her yearning could come off as needy. She should take a step back. Give him space before she scared him off.

Was it weird that the fact that Dimples made him ribs turned him on? It fit right in with his 1950's wife fantasy. His little wife working hard to please him while he worked to support the family.

Oh, man. What was wrong with him? This girl had seriously thrown him for a loop.

"Food is ready whenever you are." He swiveled to take in his little doll. She wore a halter top and the jean shorts that made him salivate. Her dark red hair spilled down her shoulders in thick waves.

Fucking beautiful.

He tried the lock again to make sure it worked. "Perfect timing. I just finished here. Let me wash up."

He headed to her bathroom, which was in the same place as it was in his apartment—through the bedroom. Pink panties lay on the floor. They were as adorable as Dimples—the very girly kind, with lace trim and satin body. He'd love to pull them down before he spanked her luscious ass.

He gave his head a quick shake. He needed to stop thinking about her that way. A) He was taking advantage of her in a weakened state, and B) He was not exactly great boyfriend material right now.

He washed his hands and headed back out to sit at the table, which she had set with placemats and plates.

Like a good little 1950's housewife. A plate piled high with ribs sat in the middle of the table.

He reached for one and bit into it. And nearly jizzed in his pants.

They were delicious—melt in your mouth tender and full of flavor.

Kaitlyn cleared her throat. "I've heard that a lot of service people need jobs that match the stress level they were used to while in tour."

He lifted an eyebrow. Please don't let her start on this shit.

She dropped her gaze to her plate, but persisted. "Have you thought about something… I don't know—high energy, or dangerous? Maybe bouncer at a nightclub?"

His stomach felt a little sick. Maybe he'd eaten the ribs too fast. More likely this conversation just pissed him off. He set the last rib bone down on his plate and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "I don't want to have this conversation." He stood up.

"Wait—why not?" She surged to her feet, as well. "I mean, I'm not trying to pressure you into anything, I'm just opening the lines of communication. Maybe you could tell me what you've been thinking about."

He made a grumbling noise in his throat and moved to stalk toward the door, then changed his mind and faced her again.

This was exactly why he couldn't be in a relationship—especially with a do-gooder like Kaitlyn.

"Listen, Dimples, I'm not your social work case.

You have no clue. About anything. So go back to your rainbows and unicorns and stay the fuck out of my shithole life plan. "

He expected to see hurt. Instead, she slapped her palm down on the table and made the plates jump.

"My name isn't Dimples, and I've had it to here with your condescension." She sliced her palm through the air at neck height. Her face flushed and her green eyes flashed. "And you know what? That's bullshit."

He figured she must be seriously pissed off if she was cursing, because he hadn't heard her curse once before. Well, good. The madder she got, the more she'd keep away from him. This wasn't going to work.

"You figure you know about me. You think I'm too sweet and innocent to understand whatever you're going through—what's happened to you. Well, you don't know me. You don't know what I can handle."

Her words struck him like a javelin to the heart. There she went, talking about him again. And he sure as hell didn't want to talk about what had happened to him. You know what? He wasn't even going to stick around for this conversation.

Her jaw thrust forward and she jabbed a thumb at her chest. "I'm strong."

He turned and stalked to the door.

"Don't walk away from me when I'm talking to you!"

He stopped, still facing the door, not because he took orders from her, but from indecision. She was strong. She wasn't backing down now. She hadn't fallen apart last night, even though she'd been brutally attacked. He admired the hell out of her resilience.

He leaned against the new door he'd just installed, smelling the scent of oak. He sighed. "You're right." He turned to see tears dripping down her cheeks as she silently cried. It ripped open his chest.

"Come here."

If she came, he would stay and figure things out. If not, he would let her go.