head
and picked up her boots, that didn’t stop the retort from blasting
open a few tormenting holes inside her head.
The hell it isn’t,
Sergeant Archer. The hell it isn’t.
Chapter Seven
Ethan had only steadily dated one
woman in the four years since breaking up with Bella. Fallon was an
airline flight attendant who didn’t just understand his insane life
but often had a wackier one. As luck had it, her routes often
landed her close to him if the team was forward deployed to a major
city, making conditions ideal for enjoying each other’s humor,
fondness for foreign food, and passion for hotels with four poster
beds and thick walls.
Though Fallon topped too
damn much from the bottom to be his long-time submissive, Ethan
never sidestepped her aftercare. Yeah, including the cuddling.
Letting Fallon watch Sex And The
City reruns always assured he’d get to
shower her with more than ten minutes of it, too. He even tried to
understand the show, though that cartridge never clicked in his
chamber. Did women actually talk like that? Did women
actually dress like that? And his gut clenched at watching the scenes where
the women snuck away in the morning light, in such a hurry to get
home and regret what they’d done that they couldn’t bother to put
on their shoes.
Ava left the wine room without putting
on her shoes.
Even through a wardrobe
change, exchanging her work jeans and blouse for a classic black
sun dress with a matching bikini underneath, the shoes were
neglected. He knew it because he kept track with a stare that was
likely a cross between an evil eye and a fuck-off glower. And he
knew that because
everyone made distinct efforts to steer clear of him.
Normally, that would be okay. After so
many years of being put on display at Mom and Dad’s soirees,
paraded into jokes about early marriage offers to someone’s sweet
Diana or Lizbet or MarySue, he valued his solitude at things like
this. But tonight was different. Tonight, he wanted to be in the
middle of the room. Right next to Ava. Telling her to put her damn
shoes on and stop looking like she’d killed someone this afternoon,
instead of making him the most fulfilled man on earth.
All right, so Bella lived
on the beach. And once she and the guys arrived for the party,
swimsuits and cocktails made shoes an afterthought for
everyone. Not the
thought to make him ease on the demonic stare. He wasn’t going to
settle for hopping back into Ava’s “afterthoughts” basket, a truth
that would start with making the woman talk to him about the real
reason behind her cut-and-run this afternoon.
From what he could see, a palm tree
would work as well as a pine for pin-down purposes. After that, it
was just a matter of creatively guiding the conversation. Thanks to
his hook-up with Bernardo Galvaz three days ago, he was
scalpel-sharp on that skill, too.
All he had to do was wait.
Just a few minutes longer…
He’d watched her carefully from the
juncture of the terrace to the living room. He was dry, having
gotten into his trunks but too tense for a dunk with the guys. Her
swim outfit went unused too, since she hadn’t ventured past the
terrace herself while handling the party logistics. About a half
hour ago, she’d stopped for a plate of food plus a glass of white
wine and a bottle of water for balance. She was breaking into the
second water now because Tait had dared her to a spicy shrimp
eating contest. The result ended in a tie but her cheeks were
adorably red and her eyes watered as she chugged half the bottle. A
trip to the bathroom for relief wasn’t long off.
“Two minutes tops,” he muttered to
himself.
She barely lasted one.
The second Ava turned from Tait, who
now had ten shrimp tails to his fingers and choreographed them to
an off-key version of the latest Lady Gaga hit, Ethan was ready. As
he expected, she headed for the palace-sized bathroom off the
living room’s upper landing. Perfect. He moved as well, starting
down the
and picked up her boots, that didn’t stop the retort from blasting
open a few tormenting holes inside her head.
The hell it isn’t,
Sergeant Archer. The hell it isn’t.
Chapter Seven
Ethan had only steadily dated one
woman in the four years since breaking up with Bella. Fallon was an
airline flight attendant who didn’t just understand his insane life
but often had a wackier one. As luck had it, her routes often
landed her close to him if the team was forward deployed to a major
city, making conditions ideal for enjoying each other’s humor,
fondness for foreign food, and passion for hotels with four poster
beds and thick walls.
Though Fallon topped too
damn much from the bottom to be his long-time submissive, Ethan
never sidestepped her aftercare. Yeah, including the cuddling.
Letting Fallon watch Sex And The
City reruns always assured he’d get to
shower her with more than ten minutes of it, too. He even tried to
understand the show, though that cartridge never clicked in his
chamber. Did women actually talk like that? Did women
actually dress like that? And his gut clenched at watching the scenes where
the women snuck away in the morning light, in such a hurry to get
home and regret what they’d done that they couldn’t bother to put
on their shoes.
Ava left the wine room without putting
on her shoes.
Even through a wardrobe
change, exchanging her work jeans and blouse for a classic black
sun dress with a matching bikini underneath, the shoes were
neglected. He knew it because he kept track with a stare that was
likely a cross between an evil eye and a fuck-off glower. And he
knew that because
everyone made distinct efforts to steer clear of him.
Normally, that would be okay. After so
many years of being put on display at Mom and Dad’s soirees,
paraded into jokes about early marriage offers to someone’s sweet
Diana or Lizbet or MarySue, he valued his solitude at things like
this. But tonight was different. Tonight, he wanted to be in the
middle of the room. Right next to Ava. Telling her to put her damn
shoes on and stop looking like she’d killed someone this afternoon,
instead of making him the most fulfilled man on earth.
All right, so Bella lived
on the beach. And once she and the guys arrived for the party,
swimsuits and cocktails made shoes an afterthought for
everyone. Not the
thought to make him ease on the demonic stare. He wasn’t going to
settle for hopping back into Ava’s “afterthoughts” basket, a truth
that would start with making the woman talk to him about the real
reason behind her cut-and-run this afternoon.
From what he could see, a palm tree
would work as well as a pine for pin-down purposes. After that, it
was just a matter of creatively guiding the conversation. Thanks to
his hook-up with Bernardo Galvaz three days ago, he was
scalpel-sharp on that skill, too.
All he had to do was wait.
Just a few minutes longer…
He’d watched her carefully from the
juncture of the terrace to the living room. He was dry, having
gotten into his trunks but too tense for a dunk with the guys. Her
swim outfit went unused too, since she hadn’t ventured past the
terrace herself while handling the party logistics. About a half
hour ago, she’d stopped for a plate of food plus a glass of white
wine and a bottle of water for balance. She was breaking into the
second water now because Tait had dared her to a spicy shrimp
eating contest. The result ended in a tie but her cheeks were
adorably red and her eyes watered as she chugged half the bottle. A
trip to the bathroom for relief wasn’t long off.
“Two minutes tops,” he muttered to
himself.
She barely lasted one.
The second Ava turned from Tait, who
now had ten shrimp tails to his fingers and choreographed them to
an off-key version of the latest Lady Gaga hit, Ethan was ready. As
he expected, she headed for the palace-sized bathroom off the
living room’s upper landing. Perfect. He moved as well, starting
down the
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