The Two and the Proud (2 page)

“That’s awesome. No seriously.” He raised a hand as if she’d protested the compliment. “Been thinking about what I want to do—got the letter a few weeks ago offering me an out. Don’t want to go back to the family business. Didn’t think about law enforcement.”

“I work cold cases, mostly, but everyone deserves to have answers. What does your family do?”

The waitress swung through and she didn’t bother with the flirt or come hither looks this time, replacing their beers with fresh ones. Rowdy waited till she left and turned sideways, their knees brushed and another finger of tension tightened inside of Kim.

A deliciously provocative tension.

“Military contractors. The family is Navy through and through. I’m the black sheep. I went Marines. Didn’t want to hoist the yardarm as it were.” His self-deprecation disguised the conflict his choice must have caused for his family. “Don’t get me wrong—they’re proud—but I’m not a nine-to-five paper pusher who enjoys blocking out the day with back-to-back meetings, inspections, and compliance reports.”

She promised herself she wouldn’t make a face, but couldn’t help sticking her tongue out in a grimace. “Bleh.”

“Exactly.”

The third beer would be her last. The warm and fuzzy radiating out from her belly didn’t need any alcohol to fuel it.

“I can appreciate that. I work for a living, and it’s not going to change.” She enjoyed his swift wit. “So why did you join?”

“For the Marines? Or….” He lifted his eyebrows teasingly.

“Both.”

“Well there’s a long reason and a short one—”

She arched her eyebrows at his dramatic pause, and laughed. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

“Hey, you like my shoes—that’s the long reason.” He added salt to the tease with a wink, and she shook her head, laughter vibrating through her. “The short reason is I wanted to. I know a guy who knows a guy—as it were—and he said it was worth the experience.”

“Yeah?” Curiosity aroused, she leaned toward him. They were close enough and the heat of him seemed to warm the air between them.

“Yup. There’s this unit—have you heard of Mike’s Place?” He brushed a hand across the back of hers, a light touch—exploring.

She liked it.

“Rehabilitation facility in Dallas.” She’d heard of it. She’d even written a check the month before to the fund the men and women in her former unit who were planning to donate. They were fortunate, they hadn’t lost any on their team…but not everyone was lucky.

“Exactly. Friend of a friend is there, and he said a number of the Marines who got the operation started used this service. Some were pretty damn successful.” He stroked the back of her hand, light casual touches. Each brush of his skin on hers created another tickle of sensation to skate through her.

He spoke with a beautiful cadence, every word measured and enunciated clearly. She’d thought his eyes were brown, but they were a distinct hazel—a sparkle of green against the earthier shade. When he tipped his head back to laugh, they darkened, but when he stared at her intently—like he did now—they seemed to gather the ambient light. Like glitter embedded in paving stones.

Slow down before you gush that he glitters in sunlight
. She shook her head a little trying to shake the mooning, girly swoon out of her. Realistically, Rowdy was a good-looking man with even features, a slightly crooked nose and a strong jaw. His lips were firm and his eyes captivating. He was no cover model, but everything, from his manner to his speech, pulled at her and the desire curling through her belly had nothing to do with sunshine or sparkles.

“You okay?” Concern edged out his amusement.

“I’m fine. I’m just imagining you naked and it’s very distracting.” Once upon a time, her commanding officer warned her about being too candid. But Rowdy didn’t seem to mind.

Two heartbeats followed her statement and his humor resurfaced. “Well now, if you’re done with your beer, we can take care of your imagination with a reality check.”

She put the half-full bottle down, not really caring if she finished it. He motioned to the waitress. The action pulled her gaze to the way his shirt tightened over his chest.

Oh, yeah.

She definitely preferred reality.

Chapter Two

Rowdy noticed the resemblance in the elevator on the ride to the fifteenth floor. He glanced sideways at Kim. Like him, she stood next to the back wall of the elevator, posture ramrod straight, hands relaxed at her sides, feet parallel and perfectly pointed forward. At his chuckle, she aimed a questioning glance in his direction.

He opened his mouth to answer, but the elevator dinged and the doors swished open. They both started forward, right foot first. His chuckle turned into a full laugh. She paused and pivoted to face him while he struggled to get himself under control. He laughed like some sixteen year-old, certain he would make it to third base before the date was over.

The humiliating, if humbling thought, sobered him.

“Dare I ask?” Her eyebrows arched in a delicious curve and the corners of her mouth flattened. Fortunately, she didn’t look annoyed, only curious.

“Just noticing some similarities. Had I seen you walk in, I would have pegged you Marine from the get go.” He glanced at the wall sign and gestured for her to precede him down the hall.

“Ahh, then you have discovered why I staged it to watch you arrive.” The teasing look she tossed him evaporated the rest of his humor and sent awareness flaming through his blood.

“Not really sure I care who got here first….” Admittedly, there was a hell of a lot about the lady he didn’t know yet and—if he thought about it for any length of time—too many unasked questions.

At the door of their reserved room, he pulled out the electronic keycard that he’d gotten earlier from the dating service, along with the address and the confirmation of their date. The lock flicked from red to green and he opened it.

The suite was far more sumptuous than his utilitarian apartment on base. From the plush, thick carpet, cheerful fireplace and candles waiting to be lit set romantically about the room to the champagne chilling on ice…it cried out luxury and hedonism. He held the door until Kim entered. She let out a low whistle, but her expression didn’t say impressed.

The room’s low lighting didn’t mute the storm’s increased force outside. Sheets of rain coated the windows and lightning flashed in the distance.

“I’m thinking you’ve been holding out on me, Marine.” The entry way descended three steps into the main suite. It was a luxurious room, but the sitting room was framed around the fireplace, with the bed tucked into the corner. It was cozy, romantic, and everything a couple needed for a night of passion.

He flipped the security bar shut and followed her casual path through the room.
Does she just see the affluence
? The Castillos did a fantastic job of blending wealth and comfort. The expense didn’t matter, but the effect did.

“It’s a nice room in a nice hotel in the capitol.” The deflection rang hollow and he could only imagine she heard the same emptiness. Kim walked over to the windows as though watching the storm, but he sensed the weight of her regard via the reflection in the glass. “Champagne?”

“You’re suddenly uncomfortable.” It wasn’t a question. “What changed between downstairs and now?”

He’d had alcohol downstairs. Considering the options, he bypassed the champagne and rummaged around the small wet bar until he found a bottle of tequila. He ignored the price tag, pulled it out and held it up.

She turned. “We need salt and lime to do it justice.”

“Yes we do.” He couldn’t agree more. Setting the bottle on the table, he dialed room service. “You want anything to eat?”

“Whatever is fine.”

When they answered on the second ring, he blew out a breath and managed a calm that did not reflect his inner turmoil. Something was off in the whole situation and he couldn’t put his finger on it. His instincts screamed, however, and he chose to listen to them right then.

“Hey can you send a couple of sampler platters and a pair of limes cut up for drinking and some salt? You can deliver the limes and salt early.” He replaced the phone in the cradle, pulled off his jacket, and rolled up his sleeves.

“Okay, now you’re really not comfortable.” She studied him with a faint frown.

“You’re right. I’m not. Never thought I’d be the guy who said an empty one-night stand didn’t appeal to me.” He threw the jacket on the bed and stared back at her. She was even more beautiful in the room than in the low light in the lounge downstairs or the fluorescent in the elevator. Her skin was like fine porcelain, pale enough to make the freckles—freckles she tried to cover with makeup—stand out. But she didn’t look washed out. Far from it. She was peaches and cream, a fine white wine, a rich sauce. Her amber eyes reflected the light occasionally and her red hair, tucked back into a neat ponytail, needed to be let loose.

“Okay, I’m usually pretty good at following a train of thought, but I think yours got off somewhere and caught a cab to the next station. You’re not interested in the one-night stand after all?” The first sentence came out as sassy as any she delivered downstairs, but the question echoed with a quiet vulnerability. It revealed a chink in her armor, an utter femininity. It attracted and baffled in the same breath.

“Didn’t say that.” A knock on the door interrupted and he answered it long enough to accept the lime and salt, passing the waiter a quick five and a “thank you” before shutting the door in his face. He carried the condiments over to the bar, opened the tequila and filled two shot glasses. “Lose the jacket and come have a drink with me.”

Her lips pursed and for a moment, the barest of moments, he thought she might refuse. She stripped off her jacket and hung it over the back of a chair next to the window. She wore a shoulder holster with a nine millimeter strapped under her arm.

Eyeing the gun, he waited.

“No one leaves the office unarmed. Standard procedure.” Her explanation made sense, but rang as hollow as his earlier deflection.

Hollow
.

He snapped mental fingers.
She’s been deflecting since the opening bit downstairs with the shoes
. He could almost hear his libido release a low groan. Agent Kim Wakefield was no more comfortable with this night than he was—she simply played it better—keeping him off center and distracted until….

What
?
She fucks my brains out
?

Not sure how those results could be a bad thing, he tapped the side of the shot glass. “Put the piece in the safe. They have the kind you can program here. I’ll keep my eye on the tequila.” He wouldn’t have tried to memorize her combination anyway, but he didn’t miss the minute relaxation around her eyes when he told her he’d watch the drinks.

True to his word, he kept his attention on the alcohol while she stowed the gun. When she leaned against the bar next to him, he pushed a shot glass over to her. “Let me preface this by saying I absolutely want to have sex…but I don’t want to be limited by the one-night stand.”

She hesitated in mid-reach for the glass and stared at it, not him. “Clarify?”

“I like you. You’re smart—which is both good and bad.”

“How can it be good and bad?” Her chin came up and she swung a hard gaze at him. Temper flared beneath the surface, bright as the lightning outside, enhancing the outrage in her eyes.

Gotcha
. One little nudge to crack the cool façade and the passionate woman beneath glared at him.
Yeah, that’s more like it
. A second knock on the door interrupted, and he let her think about it while he took the tray from room service and sent them away. He set the food on the luggage stand and ignored it for the moment.

Sprinkling salt onto the side of his hand, he said, “It’s good, because it’s sexy.” He licked the salt, tossed back the tequila, and finished the ritual by sucking one of the lime wedges. “It’s bad because you’re playing a game with me.” He poured another shot since the first had warmed his gut and loosened more of the tension. He’d barely added more salt to his wrist when she caught his hand and stroked her tongue over his pulse point before gliding along the side of his hand to take the salt.

All the blood in his head rushed south and he let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

She slammed back her own drink and sucked on a lime, her gaze never leaving his. “Courage isn’t doing something because you know you can do it.” She moistened her lips and he couldn’t look away. “It’s doing what you’re not sure you can be successful at.”

Rowdy poured another shot and damn near swallowed his tongue when she offered her hand, the salt waiting for him. Taking the bull by the horns—or the agent by the wrist, as it were—he sampled the sweet flavor of her skin under the condiment.

“We don’t have to do anything,” he assured her. Hell, the last time he’d forced a woman was never, and he had no intentions of starting now.

They took turns with the ritual, her tongue laved against his palm and his balls went tight. He pressed the lime wedge to her lips after she finished her drink. He could almost see the hard tips of her nipples through her shirt when he bent down to lick salt from her fingers.

Her free hand glided under his chin, tipped his face to look at her, and their mouths collided. He wasn’t entirely sure which of them initiated the kiss, but their tongues dueled for dominance. Cupping his hands on her ass, he lifted her. She locked her legs on his hips, and it took four steps to get to the bed. They landed together, on their sides, facing each other and he delved deeper into her mouth, tasting the traces of their drinks.

Impatient with the ponytail, he slid two fingers beneath the band and worked it free. Her hair spilled in a glorious mass against the white comforter. In addition to the red, there were several streaks of gold, either kissed by the sun or on purpose—he didn’t know and didn’t care. “Talk to me,” he murmured against the corner of her mouth, nibbling a couple of kisses, which led to a series of them. He wanted to nuzzle her ear and feel her hair against his skin.