Текст книги "Hard Beat"

Автор книги: K. Bromberg

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“Yes.”

So we go through the motions again of getting the right stance, and I swear a part of me feels like she’s drawing out the time from when our bodies are pressed close to the time when she pulls the trigger. I know it’s all in my mind, though. But having her so close is an unexpected seduction all its own.

And just when my thoughts begin to run through the memory of how her body felt wrapped around mine, she pulls the trigger and shocks the image from my mind. My conscience, guilty of nothing more than belonging to a red-blooded male, appreciates the jolt before my body starts reacting to the wayward sexual thoughts. I don’t think Beaux is likely going to appreciate having my dick hardening against her ass.

I’m telling myself I need to step away from her at the same time she lets out a little whoop over actually hitting the edge of the target. It’s the perfect distraction, and I release her hands to give us the physical space that I desperately need to prevent myself from acting like a prepubescent teenager.

“You hit paper!”

She looks over to me with a little bit of panic in her eyes. “What?” She turns her body, gun still in her hands, without thought, and I immediately step in and push her arms back toward downrange.

“Keep it pointed that way,” I instruct. Her eyes go wide with panic as she realizes what she’d almost just done. “It’s okay… Your turn to do it all by yourself. The kickback will be stronger, but you know what to expect now.”

She looks at me with an expression of uncertainty, but my only response is to step farther away from her to emphasize that she can do this on her own. I watch her turn back toward the target, see her shoulders rise as she concentrates on what she’s about to do, her small frame tensing just before she pulls the trigger. Her body jars with the recoil, but she does well holding her stance, and I have to say I’m rather impressed with both her shot and her form.

I retreat toward the staging area as she glances over to me, a smile spreading on those lush lips of hers, and there is something about her in the moment that causes my feet to falter. Maybe it’s her regal beauty mixed with the rough elements around us: black hair against soft cheeks, cold metal in the hands I know are smooth, emerald eyes standing out amid the sea of camouflage netting around her. I can’t pinpoint the exact nature of it all, but the excitement in her eyes combined with the softness of her smile has that familiar feeling dropping through me that I don’t want to feel – not here, not with her.

In my head, I immediately hear Stella chastising me, telling me to step back from the ledge because my libido is leading the charge in a way that makes me want more from Beaux than just her photographs. It doesn’t seem to help to remind myself this feeling is straight lust fueled by loneliness and desire. A total fuckup of a combination.

What sane man wouldn’t be attracted to her? Shit, I fell for her ruse, so I can’t feign innocence, but at least I learned my lesson.

“Damn, Thomas, she can pull my trigger any day,” Sarge says under his breath as I pull my ear protection off. He has just proven my exact point.

“Nah, I think she bats for her own team.” The comment is off my tongue before I can stop it, and thank God he laughs. I do too. The only difference is that I’m laughing at the ludicrousness of my knee-jerk response while he’s thinking what a shame it is to waste that body of hers.

“Fair warning, I’ll start to think less of you if you, the consummate ladies’ man, can’t make her switch-hit for just one inning.” He whistles out in appreciation when Beaux sets the weapon down on the ledge in front of her and stretches her arms out overhead in a motion that gives us both a great profile view of her rack.

And as much as I want to audibly groan in appreciation of the sight, there’s no way I’m going to draw more of his attention toward her. So many confused thoughts are running through my head by now, and the situation only feels more fraught when Beaux’s smile grows wider and she holds my gaze a little longer than necessary.

“Ah, you just might have a shot, Thomas, if she keeps looking at you like that,” Sarge teases, snapping me from the wave of thoughts that don’t belong.

“What the fuck ever,” I snort. “You got her for a bit? I want to go say hi to Maverick and see how he’s doing.” It’s been months since I’ve seen him, so I know he’s probably fine now after taking hostile fire, but it never hurts to recement connections here.

And now that I’m watching Sarge interact with Beaux, I realize what a bad idea it was coming here with the hope that he might have some time to babysit. Because bringing a gorgeous woman to a military base full of men who have been on deployment for months on end is like flaunting chum to hungry sharks. Someone is going to bite, and while chivalry may be dead, my ability to throw a punch to defend her honor sure as fuck isn’t.

And that’s the last thing I need, to cause trouble and bite the hand that feeds me.

“Sure. I’ve got time before my next briefing,” he tells me right before Beaux fires another round, the pop drowning out all sound around us.

“Thanks.” I stride out of the range with the hopes of letting a few more people know I’m back in action while she stays under the watchful eyes of Sarge. I trust that he’ll take care of her without making a move.

Plus, he thinks she’s a lesbian.

If he’s watching her, that means I don’t have to. And if I’m not watching her, then I can’t keep getting irritated at how damn much I want to experience the feel of her body against mine again.

Besides, I don’t like her.

Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Tanner.

Chapter 9

When I return to the range, there’s no one there. At first, irritation flickers that Sarge couldn’t stay put for a whole thirty minutes, but then I look at my watch and realize it was more like an hour. Shit. I glance at the service bars on my phone that are nowhere near consistent – ranging from zero to one – but that doesn’t mean I’m any less irritated by their up and disappearing.

So where in the hell are they? I try to figure out the most logical place for Sarge to take her, but I come up with nothing. Add the fact that neither is answering their cell phone because their cell reception probably sucks as badly as mine.

But the more I start searching for them in places near the range without any luck, my mind keeps going to Sarge’s comments about how attractive she is.

Hell yes, I’m an asshole for the suspicion that they could be off sleeping together somewhere, but my temper doesn’t fucking care. I start poking my head into random buildings, half expecting to get my ass chewed out for it and frankly not really caring. Both of their numbers are on constant repeat on my damn phone and still no answer.

By the time I’ve searched a seventh building only to come up empty-handed, the temper I try so fucking hard to keep under control is boiling over. So I make myself stop for a moment and wonder why in the hell I am so worked up… Why am I letting this get to me? First of all, I have no claim to her. Secondly, she’s a grown woman¸ able to make her own decisions regardless of how wrong they seem to me. Like sleep with me and the next night turn around and sleep with someone else. I remember meeting Beaux a few mornings ago in the stairwell dressed in her clothes from the night before.

I stop in the middle of the street and blow out a breath as I rake my hand through my hair. I just plopped her on a base of horny men and walked away. What was I thinking? My anger turns inward as worry starts to take over. I search a few more bungalows before I hear her laugh behind closed doors followed by a man’s laugh. In full big-brother mode I jog to the door, my imagination running wild in a way that adds fuel to my temper. When I pull the door open without knocking, what I expected and what I see couldn’t be more different.

There’s a room of about twenty soldiers, and Beaux is standing in the middle getting instructions from one of them on how to aim the dart in her hand properly at the dartboard on the wall opposite them. Her back is to me; her attention is on the fresh-faced kid while his hand is on hers, showing her the proper technique. The flash of jealousy that streaks through me instantly more than pisses me off.

“Okay, guys,” she says, rolling her shoulders to make an innocent production of it all in a comical way. She garners a few chuckles from the men around her who appear mesmerized by her. It’s not a hard thing to be, considering my boots are rooted to the ground as I watch the show. She shoots and misses, laughter falling from her lips as the guys stumble around her to help pick the dart up.

The guys reach out to touch her shoulders and arms – a pat on the back, a helping hand – all seemingly innocent; but I’m a guy. I know what’s probably running through their minds, and a single touch is way too many for my liking. So when she lifts her head and locks eyes with me, I stop in my tracks even though I’ve got one foot out to move forward. There’s something in the exchange that unnerves me: her soft smile, the fact that she’s looking at me when all of these men are vying for her attention. I don’t understand it exactly, but the minute it hits me, I hate it.

“You ready?” My voice comes out in an authoritative tone, causing the conversations in the room to die around us as my posture alone lets it be known that she’s with me. Exactly what I want them to think.

She hesitates, the softness in her eyes turning to a defiance that causes me to grit my teeth.

“The lady’s having fun,” the private next to her says, squaring his shoulders to let me know that he’ll step up to the plate for her. Little does he know I can throw a fastball with the best of them.

“It’s time for the lady to leave,” I assert.

He takes a step forward, two guys stepping up beside him, and I know a fight brewing when I see one. I’m definitely not afraid to take a hit, but causing trouble on the base is not a good idea when I need to stay in the military’s good graces. More guys take notice of the showdown that looks like it’s about to go down, postures stiffening and necks craning to catch a glimpse of the stranger invading their space.

I steal a look at Beaux and use it to tell her the words I can’t say aloud: Get your ass out the door right now before fists start flying. And of course she fucking hesitates again, adding heat to my already boiling anger. She matches me glare for glare. I’m not sure what kind of game she’s playing right now, but I’m definitely not in the mood for it.

“Sorry, boys,” she finally says when the tension is so thick, it feels like I’m swimming in it. “My babysitter is right. It’s time to go.”

The soldiers let out a communal groan with some of the guys throwing out offers for their babysitting services. I don’t find it amusing. At all.

Beaux takes her sweet ass time sauntering to the door, saying good-bye to a few of the guys as she heads my way before granting me a smug little smirk, and exiting through the door I hold open for her.

I salute the soldiers inside a farewell before shutting the door and following after her as she stalks off down the street. As I quicken my stride to catch up, I’m confused as fuck as to why she’s mad at me when I did nothing wrong. With each step, my anger intensifies at her and at myself.

After all, I spent all this time worrying that I had put her in some bad situation when she was in fact sitting there flirting playfully with those guys. I wasn’t rude, didn’t act like a dick, but rather just told her it was time to go. And what do I get in return? I get her goddamn attitude and hips swaying back and forth, telling me to fuck off with each step.

“What’s your problem?” I’ve gotten sick and tired of always being the one playing chase in whatever game of cat and mouse we seem stuck in. I’m not a man used to the idea of chasing, and it doesn’t sit well with me.

“Go to hell, Tanner,” she yells over her shoulder.

“Where’s Sarge?” I ask, trying to ignore her melodramatics.

“Had to go to a meeting. You were late. He left me in good hands.”

Good hands? Really? That’s clearly what she thinks, although in my mind that was the farthest thing from it. “What the hell type of game were you playing back there?” She just keeps stalking away, and confusion riots inside me. Here I was worried sick about her, remembering what happened to Stella… and to think she was in there parading her ass around and getting the attention she must need to keep that ego of hers overinflated.

Jesus Christ. What the fuck is wrong with me? I can’t decide whether I care about her or whether I can’t be bothered to care. It doesn’t really matter, though, because I’ve got so much pent-up fury when I catch up to her just as she turns a corner toward an alley. I don’t even hesitate when I reach for her arm and whirl her around so that her back is against the wall behind her.

“Let go of me!” Her teeth are gritted, and there’s spite in her voice that I still don’t think I deserve.

“Babysitter?” I snarl, unsure why the term pissed me off so bad when it’s exactly what I am in Rafe’s eyes. Maybe it’s because in front of all of those guys I wanted to be more than that.

“Yeah, babysitter.” She tries to step into me, use that compact little body of hers to emphasize her point, but there’s not much space between the wall and where I stand, so all she accomplishes is pushing her chest against mine, causing warning bells to fire off, but fuck if I care because the goddamn alarm’s been sounding since I couldn’t find her. “You think you can issue an apology, take me to the range, and you’re forgiven? I don’t hold grudges, Pulitzer, but I also don’t forgive at the drop of a dime either —”

“Shut up!”

“You’re arrogant and condescending and an asshole —”

“Will you be quiet?” My voice escalates with each word, bouncing off the concrete around us and coming back to me.

“No, because you —”

I don’t know what comes over me other than wanting to shut her mouth, but it must be the feel of our bodies connecting, the heat of our tempers igniting the chemistry on constant spark between us, because without preamble my fingers are in her hair, and I crush my lips to hers. Savoring her taste. Goddamn it. It’s everything I don’t want but crave all the same because it tempts me and calls on me to have more.

But by the time I realize what I’m doing, and that she’s kissing me back after the few seconds of shock pass, it’s too damn late to stop. And I don’t think I could if I wanted to. Anger and emotion fuel the kiss, plus adrenaline adds a bite of hunger that makes me not care if our lips are bruised when we part. Right now I need to answer the insanity this woman brings out in me.

So I let myself fall under the haze of the kiss with the heat around us and her soft body against mine. It’s when she slides her hands up my chest and starts to respond with more than just her lips and tongue that the reality of what I’ve just initiated seeps through the desire ruling my body.

Then I break my lips from hers, feeling completely confused about how I can be so wrapped up in this woman and at the same time despise her. Our faces are inches apart, breaths warming each other’s cheeks as her eyes tell me she’s trying to understand what the hell happened. Just like I am. It’s no use trying to explain, so I hold on to the only emotion that makes sense anymore, my anger.

“I still don’t like you,” I mutter as I turn on my heel to walk away but not before I see the shock flash through her eyes. I don’t hear her footsteps follow behind me. “You’d best be following me, because I’m not going to save your ass again, rookie.”

Two hours later, the bar is loud, the drinks are cold, and I hate that I keep thinking about Beaux. It doesn’t help that she’s sitting on the other side of the room, surrounded by men. And it’s not her fault; the male to female ratio here is almost ten to one, so I get it.

But I don’t want to wonder why exactly I care so much.

The more I watch her, the more worked up I get. She’s flipping her hair, and several times she meets my eyes above the crowd around her… because, yes, she has a crowd. She just draws people to her, and it’s annoying and understandable all at the same time. But the minute our eyes connect, that sneer returns to her lips and she averts her eyes from my gaze.

“If looks could kill, man…,” Pauly says with an audible exhale, and leaves the end of the sentence hanging.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I mutter, shaking my head when he pushes a glass of something amber in front of me. “No, thanks.”

“What’d you do to piss off the princess?”

I snort at the endearment. “Nothing. She was being stupid, and I put her in her place. Now she’s pissed at me.”

“So in other words you were being an asshole? Or should I say you were being yourself?” He’s grasping for clues and fuck, I love him, but I’m not giving him the details he wants. That means confessing we were with Sarge, and that’s a Pandora’s box that needs to stay closed.

“Something like that.” I glance up and meet her eyes again, but this time she doesn’t look away. She meets me glare for glare before standing and striding over to where we are sitting. Pauly whistles at the sight of her curves swaying and tits bouncing beneath her tank. And of course I groan in reaction, and as much as I appreciate the sight of her, I know she’s going to cause a scene.

And a scene is not what I need.

When she’s a few feet from where Pauly and I are sitting, I stand up with purpose, the chair grating against the tile floor, and I begin to walk right past her. She flashes her hand out and grabs my biceps in a move I’m not real thrilled with.

“We’re gonna settle this here and now, Pulitzer,” she says, her voice low enough that only I can hear her.

“There’s nothing to settle.” I raise my eyebrows at her before looking over my shoulder to Pauly. “You know where to find me if you need me.” With that, I shrug my arm out of her grasp and walk out of the room. She mutters my name followed by a curse, and a part of me loves that I’m just as frustrating to her as she is to me.

The door sticks at the rooftop, but I welcome the chance to exert a little physical force to shove it open since it’s either up here or the gym right now, and I’m sore from pushing myself too hard yesterday. What I’d give to go for a run. Feet hitting the ground as my eyes take in the world around me, but I’m a long ass way from San Diego and my favorite beach run along Highway 101.

Instead, I take the tarp off the mattress and take up residence in my spot just in time to watch the sun start to fall from the horizon. It slips ever so slowly as I try to ignore the nagging voices in my head telling me I’m being an ass. It’s so damn easy to be an asshole with her, though, because I don’t think I’ve ever met a more frustrating woman. Or a more beautiful one.

And that is saying a lot.

The scrape of the door to the rooftop jars me from my thoughts. I’m up and looking toward it in an instant. Goddamn it. The fucking woman is invading my every thought, and now she’s in the one private space I have here.

“Go away.” Those two words are all I have for her as I sit back down and try to ignore her. Her footsteps draw closer, but I shake my head, close my eyes, and then lean back on the wall behind me. I can guess she’s standing in front of me, giving me a nasty look when the scraping sound of her boots stops. “Just once I’d appreciate it if you’d follow directions.”

Her laugh falls deep and rich around me. “Wow. I was right.”

“Good for you.” When she doesn’t answer, I can’t help my curiosity. “Right about what?”

“How far that stick’s shoved up your ass.”

Then I hear the clink of glass against glass, and my eyes flash open. She’s standing in front of me, her body framed by the sunset’s colors blazing across the sky, with a bottle of Fireball and a glass in one hand while the other is at her hip.

She’s looking for a reaction, and I refuse to give her one. “It only seems to be there around you.” I shrug. “What can I say? You bring out the best in me.” I finally meet her gaze on the last word, and damn it to hell, she has this cute little smirk on her face like she knows my game.

“Here’s how we’re going to play this, Pulitzer,” Beaux says as she kneels down on the mattress beside me, glass still clinking like a cowbell in a warning that she’s here to stay. “I’m going to ask you a question, and if you refuse to answer it, you take a shot. Then my turn.”

I slide a glance in her direction and see that she’s leaning over, cleavage on display, as her proposition takes up real estate in my mind. Kind of ballsy on her end, and I like that. “We only get to ask the question once, right?” I need to make sure the rules of this game are clear before I agree, because in my line of thinking, she’ll ask the questions she wants to know the most first, I can take the shot, and by the time I’m drunk and a little looser in my responses, the most pertinent ones will be off the table.

Plus, I make a living asking questions and then re-asking them in a completely different way after they’ve been evaded. This shouldn’t be a problem for me.

“Agreed.” She finally sits with her back against the wall with a sound of satisfaction. “You can go first, since I’m sure your ego’s going to need nursing once I drink you under the table.”

I snort. The amusement in her tone told me she knows there’s not a chance in hell of that happening, but I respect that she can talk a good game.

“Thanks for the mulligan. What to ask… what to ask…” I make a production of coming up with something. “Where were you coming from that morning I met you in the stairwell?”

That’s most definitely not the question I had planned on asking, and it sure as hell isn’t any of my business, but the whole idea of her being with somebody else is driving me crazy. I stare at the night beyond us as the city begins to come alive, not wanting to see the look on her face and whether my question has surprised her. But the clink of the bottle’s neck against the glass gives me the only answer I need.

She clears her throat from the sting of the straight whiskey and blows out an audible breath. “Your turn. What really happened to Stella?”

Knew that one was coming. I reach over and take the bottle from her without so much as a word and toss back the shot, welcoming the burn.

“Beaux versus BJ. Which one and why?”

“I used BJ for work. It was easier to get my foot in the door if people thought I was a guy. Show them my portfolio via a Web site, reel them in, then meet them in person. It’s ass backward, but when you’re up against the good ’ol boys club, sometimes you have to do what it takes. Beaux is the real me.” Her voice softens, causing me to turn my head and watch her in the waning light. When she averts her gaze immediately, I’m intrigued. “Very few people get to know Beaux.”

Something about the way she says the last sentence tells me there’s more to the story.

“Beaux.” I murmur her name, and for the first time she doesn’t reject it coming off my lips. A part of me warms from the thought while the rest of me listens to those damn alarm bells ringing again. “Why do—,” I start to ask, but she immediately reaches up and puts her finger against my lips. Her touch causes my body to stand to attention, my instincts warring with that first shot beginning to hum through my bloodstream.

“Be warned. Asking a follow-up question out of turn earns you another shot.” She moves her finger away just in time for me to speak.

“You’re changing the rules on me now that we’ve already started? I have a feeling you don’t play very fair.”

A smile plays at the corner of her mouth momentarily, and it takes a whole helluva lot for me to tear my eyes from those lips of hers. “There’s no such thing as playing fair. Besides, playing dirty is a whole lot more fun,” she murmurs, the suggestion in her voice as clear as damn day. “So what does your wife think about all of this?”

Her question takes me completely off guard and has me sputtering out a laugh. I swear she just mentioned playing dirty to throw me off track. “What in the fuck are you talking about?” There’s nothing I can do but shake my head and stare at her like she’s lost her damn mind.

She shrugs innocently enough. “It’s the quickest way to know the truth. I thought maybe the stick up your ass was because you were feeling guilty about your wife back home, and so I just figured I’d ask… but now I have to keep trying to figure out why it’s there.”

“Gotta love a woman who’s straight to the point,” I murmur. “Let me be clear. There is no spouse at home.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Or girlfriend,” I add on, and immediately question why I felt the need to clarify that point as well when she didn’t ask.

“You and Stella weren’t…” Her voice trails off as she leaves the question open-ended.

“Once upon a time… but no, we weren’t. Not for as long as I can remember,” I answer her, but that last night we spent up here on the rooftop flashes through my mind. The kiss. The promise. The once-in-a-lifetime.

And for just a moment I get caught up in the memory before I realize she threw me off my game. “Uh-uh. Don’t think I didn’t catch that you just asked me a question twice.” I go to reach for the bottle, and she swats my hand away.

“In your dreams. You didn’t answer the first question, so if I have to drink, then you have to too! Your call or your turn.”

I just narrow my eyes and hold her stare, weighing my options and the shot ratio between us. “Rule breaker.”

“Sometimes it’s worth the risk,” she says, the air electrifying with sexual tension. The silence stretches between us, her eyes darting down to my lips and then back up to my eyes. “Your turn,” she whispers.

My body suddenly becomes very attuned to the proximity of hers along with that addictive scent of her perfume that calls on my libido. The memory of her lying out on my bed before me, tits jostling as we connected, hair like a wave of seduction, mouth parted on a moan, hijacks my thoughts. It causes my next question to die on my lips, and the one I tell myself I don’t even care about comes out before I can stop it. “That first night… in my room —”

“I’ll stop you right there and just save myself the embarrassment of answering whatever your question is.” She takes the shot, and my mind spins with the possibilities of what she thought I was going to ask her. Over what question was so bad that she wants to avoid it.

If this shit keeps up, I have a feeling I’m going to be carrying her down to her room, because she won’t be walking.

She shakes her head subtly to try and clear the alcohol that I’m sure is starting to warm her up some. “Why do you blame yourself for Stella’s death?”

Her question smothers the air around me. It’s a question I’ve asked myself a million times but one no one has said aloud before. And now that it’s out there, hanging like a flag in the breeze, I hear the ludicrousness in it… but I still don’t want to answer it.

“In case you missed it the first time you asked, what happened to Stella’s off-limits.” The steel in my voice is hard to miss. “Ask again.”

I hear the stutter in her breath as she exhales into the silence. “Why were you being so nice to me today? I mean… why’d you take me to the range?”

“Because regardless of what you think, chivalry isn’t dead, and I look out for those who are with me. Besides, that ass of yours is too fine to see something happen to it.”

I hear her breath catch again, and a riotous ache settles deep down inside me at knowing that a simple comment like that affects her so easily. And I don’t want to feel like this or to know my simple remark has that effect on her, so I stumble along to find a new question for her.

“Where are you from? What’s your story?”

“Ha! That’s two questions. Drink up, baby!” she shouts into the night as I cringe, realizing my mistake the minute the second question was out of my mouth. Beaux pours a shot of liquid and hands it over. I toss back the drink, and she immediately takes the glass from me and pours one for herself. This time she hisses when she downs it.

“Wait, you’re not answering the question?” I’m a little surprised since the question was so innocent in nature, no hidden agenda other than getting to understand her background better.

“And there’s another question!” She laughs. “Before you know it, Tanner Thomas, you are going to be putty in my hands.”

“I see how you are. Trying to win this little game by default.” I laugh. And it feels so good to laugh after all of the shit over the past few months. It feels even better to have someone next to me even if I’m not supposed to like her. When she reaches for the bottle and I shift it away from her at the same time so that she falls partially on top of me, it jolts me back to reality.

And makes me so very conscious of the heat of her body against mine, the scent of her shampoo as she moves her hair out of her face and angles her face up to meet my eyes. Her breath hitches and fingers grip tighter over mine on the neck of the bottle at our sides. Everything about her is like a high-definition television all of a sudden, so damn perfect you want to touch but know it’s not real.

“Your turn,” she murmurs, her whiskey-scented breath feathering over my lips. “Why’d you kiss me today?”

I stare at her, my free hand itching to touch her, drag her beneath me, and lose myself in every goddamn contradiction she has to offer – but I know that would only complicate things even further. But it seems that lately everything about my life has become complicated… so why should I care if I add one more thing to the mix?

“I think the question you should ask yourself is why did I stop?”

Her hand moves up the plane of my chest, teasing me with an unnecessary reminder of temptation because what she has to offer is already permanently etched in my mind. My muscles tense; the need to take and plunder those lips of hers that are in a devastatingly close range to mine is more than most men would be able to resist.