Military Monday: A Santini in Love - Melissa Schroeder

Military Monday: A Santini in Love

May 15, 2017



“I can open my own door,” she said in a crisp tone.

“And I thought it might be best if I was the first person through the door.”


He shrugged. “Because I’m a Marine.”

“I was a Marine too.”

“Are,” he said walking to the door and ignoring her.

She didn’t follow right away. “What?”

“You are a Marine.”

There was a beat of silence then she strode closer. “And so I should open the door.”

Damn, he stepped right into that one. He fell back on the one important thing that separated them.

“I’m a guy.”

A string of cuss words fell from her lips that would embarrass even Anthony, who had the worst mouth of the lot of them.

“Madison Baker! I’m embarrassed by your use of the English language. Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

She settled her hands on her hips and gave him a suggestion that was anatomically impossible. He shook his head and tsked as he unlocked the door and stepped into the house. He walked through. He knew she came in behind him because he saw the front hallway light turn on and off then heard her shut the door and do the same thing with the deadbolt.

He went from room to room, making sure nothing had been disturbed. If it had been, the intruder had left no sign of it. Nothing had been touched. When he returned to the foyer, she was standing with her arms crossed. She was tapping her foot. Charlie was sitting by her giving him a doggie look of sympathy. Damn, when the dog was showing him pity, he knew he was in trouble.

“You’re a guy? That’s your argument?”

He should be formulating some kind of escape from the fight she was itching to have with him, but he couldn’t.


Brilliant, Santini. Just brilliant.

“Seriously? That’s all you have to say?”

“What do you want me to say? That I think you need someone to take care of you? I do.”

“I don’t need anyone.”

“Oh, sure, you’re a freaking island,” he said.

Dante didn’t understand where his irritation was coming from, but it was boiling beneath the surface. He didn’t often show his temper, but when he did, everyone avoided him. On an intellectual level, he understood she could take care of herself. She was a fucking Marine and had seen combat. The PTSD might give people a problem, but not him. She was still fucking tough.

On some other level, the one that involved his heart and his soul, he wanted her to want his protection. Her reluctance caused his anger to surge. It made him feel like a Neanderthal, but he didn’t give a damn.

“What that’s supposed to mean?”

He shoved his hands through his hair trying to calm himself. He still didn’t understand why he was acting like this or why he wanted to yell at her.

When he spoke, he couldn’t hide the frustration he was feeling. “It means that every now and then, can’t you just give in?”

Confusion flittered over her features. She truly didn’t comprehend what was clawing at him. Hell, he didn’t understand it. It was overwhelming his every rational thought and action. From the moment he heard her voice again, something had been humming in his blood. He wanted her…but worse, he needed her. Needed to feel her flesh against his, to taste her desire, and to experience the way her body gave way as he sunk his cock deep within her hot core.

Dante didn’t understand his feelings, and he really didn’t give a flying fuck at the moment. He just knew that at this point, this woman was whom he needed.

So, he did the one thing he’d been dreaming to do since the last time he had kissed her. He stepped forward and grabbed her. She was tall, but she seemed so dainty in his hands.  Her eyes widened when he jerked her against his body and slammed his mouth down on hers.

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