Page 104 of Men of Fort Dale: The Complete Series

“Dean? Hey,” Marco said in surprise but grinning all the same.

“What are you doing here?” Carter asked.

Dean cocked his head, eyes darting between Marco and Carter. “Having a night out.”

“With who?” Carter asked, wrinkling his nose.

And then, to answer his question, a large man materialized behind Dean, wrapping a hand around his waist to squeeze. The man’s eyes were locked on Carter, though, and Carter returned the look of annoyed recognition with a sneer.

The head of the Military Police at Fort Dale.

“Marshall,” Carter said by way of greeting.

“Grant,” came the curt reply.

Dean’s brow came up. “You know each other?”

“You could say that,” Marshall growled, eyes flashing. “Though I’m surprised Reynolds was stupid enough to let you off the base.”

“Sloane,” Marco protested.

Huh, so that was his first name.

“Maybe you should have chosen a better babysitter then,” Carter snarled back at him.

He didn’t care if the man outranked him, they weren’t on the base, and they were intruding. And Marshall, or Sloane, whatever his name was, had been the one who assigned Reynolds to watch over Carter, knowing full well the man was a dick.

Marshall’s eyes swept his face, lip curling. “Nice bruises. Apparently, I should’ve got you a better babysitter.”

Dean glanced over his shoulder, frowning, but Marco stood up. “Please.”

Marshall glanced at Marco, brow rising. “Are you hanging out with him? C’mon, Marco, you can do better than this.”

“Sloane,” Dean warned slowly, his eyes now on Marco.

“I’m sorry, Dean, but Grant is nothing but trouble. He’s done nothing but cause trouble since he arrived and has been tossed out of half a dozen places before coming here. He got tossed on our doorstep because they hoped being here would help, which has the same chance in hell that a snow?—”

“Enough!” Marco barked, his voice cold and furious. “Jesus Christ, Sloane, what the hell?”

Marshall’s eyes widened, but Dean’s closed in a wince. “Marco?”

Carter snorted, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it, Marco.”

Marco’s nostrils flared. “Carter, I’ve decided I don’t want to dance and drink anymore. Could you wait for me by the door? I’ll meet you out there.”

“I don’t like that idea,” Carter growled, sizing up Marshall.

Marshall’s eyes narrowed. “Try me, Grant. Give me a reason.”

“Carter, please,” Marco said, eyes still on Marshall.

“Fine,” Carter snapped, downing the rest of his beer and stomping away.

He refused to let Marco out of his sight, though, especially while he was still near Marshall. Crossing his arms, he watched, brow rising slowly as he watched Marco’s angry mouth.

Dean had his head bowed forward, rubbing his forehead.

Marshall’s face was stony, and he said nothing as Marco gestured sharply.

Carter winced when Marco jabbed a finger into Marshall’s chest repeatedly, but the man, also known as Sloane, didn’t react.

By the time Marco was done, he had finished his drink and marched off.

Dean finally looked up, shooting Sloane a dirty look, which only tightened the muscles of the man’s face.

“This is not the door,” Marco informed him, grabbing Carter by the elbow and dragging him to the entrance.

“I’m not fucking leaving you with that asshole,” Carter told him.

“He is an asshole, but he’s not normally a bastard. I don’t care if he thinks he’s helping me. He doesn’t have the right to be an absolute prick,” Marco said heatedly as he thumped through one of the double doors.

“I don’t need you to stand up for me,” Carter growled at him. “I can do it myself.”

Marco whirled around, dark eyes burning with anger. “I know that.”

Before Carter could think of what to say, Marco’s hands were on either side of his face, pulling him down.

Carter grunted in surprise when Marco’s lips pressed against his.

It was pretty chaste compared to the kissing Carter was used to, but he could taste the fruity cocktail on Marco’s lips and feel the thud of his heart as he pressed close.

“The fuck was that for?” Carter asked, feeling a little dazed.

Marco huffed. “Because I wanted to. And because it was the only way I could think to show you that I don’t give a shit what was just said. I’ve seen enough of you that I like having you around, and I wanted to kiss you, damn it.”

Carter wrinkled his nose. “You’re getting my language.”

Marco gave another, albeit lighter huff, smiling. “Sorry. Lost my temper for a second there. But I meant it. I did want to kiss you. Wanted to the moment I saw you standing on the dance floor waiting for me to stop.”

Damn it. He had no idea what was wrong with this man.

He was so intent on trying to get close to Carter.

Marshall had been right. Carter was nothing but trouble.

But how the hell was he going to tell Marco that when the man had just kissed him fiercely, and his eyes were practically glowing with hope?

“Let’s get out of here,” Carter grunted at him. “Somewhere where we don’t have to deal with bullshit.”

“My apartment it is,” Marco said and for a moment, something sharp and hungry flashed in his gaze and was gone.

And God save him, Carter felt his stomach flip nervously.

Fuck.

“Sounds good,” he said instead.