by Dawson, Zoe
“What about the beach? Surfing?” he asked.
She dropped the camera for a second and frowned at him. “This isn’t social hour, Petty Officer.”
The caffeine must have bolstered her. Was she this feisty all the time? She eyed him for a few seconds, and he’d love to know what she was thinking. Damn, he loved the way she looked when she was laying down the law. She brought the camera back up.
“Well?” he prodded.
“Shush,” she answered, “and I’ll tell you.”
“Willow—”
“God, keep your mouth closed, or I’m going to get dead fish pictures. I don’t want to waste my storage space on dead fish.”
He smiled.
“Oh, that’s nice,” she said. “But I’d prefer dark and mean, like you’ve just lopped off the head of a demon and are looking for the next dangerous monster to kill.”
Damn.
“Come on, he’s heading right for a village of innocents ready to massacre everyone there. His skin is oily and scaled, and he’s got blood dripping from his pointed teeth, his claws covered in gore. His red eyes gleam with evil, and he dares you to attack. He knows only you can stop him, but he’s going to try to kill you with everything he’s got.”
His body shifted, and she made a soft noise as his mind went to being an angel warrior, the only force who could stop carnage and death. He thought about striding across the bloodied ground, swinging a sword in an arc that sang true with the light of his courage, determination and purpose. The blade would gleam with golden light as he swung it, using his powerful wings to give him the needed force to leap at the demon.
“Yes, beautiful,” she murmured as she moved around him, but he barely heard the clicks.
His sword embedded in the demon’s hide. But it wasn’t enough, and it was stuck in its scales. He reached out and grabbed the monster by the throat, crushing the brute’s windpipe in his fist until the beast was gasping out his last breaths, tinged with brimstone and blood. He squeezed until cartilage and bone broke and gave way, until he tore the horror’s throat out. It hung suspended in his hand as the light in those demonic eyes faded out.
“Got it. Wow,” she said with a husky tone.
Hollywood was breathing hard when he came back to himself. He turned to look at her, chest heaving, sweat rolling down his temple and his hands clenched. “What the hell just happened?”
“You gave me some really good head,” she said then winced and added. “Um…shots. Headshots.”
He looked a little more closely at her. She seemed as hot and bothered as he was right now, with that primal, raw need to protect coursing through him. He wanted to do her right here, right now. Understanding washed over him, and he closed his eyes to get a hold of himself, the wild, barbaric part of him reined in on a short leash.
Their eyes met, and they just stared at each other as the air in the room heated from sheer sensual friction. Then his cell chimed.
“See? Itchy neck,” she said. “I bet you’re being deployed.”
Hollywood pulled out his cell, and sure enough, he was being called in for a brief. “I’ve got to go.”
“Right, to far off places to fight monsters.”
He had to wonder if that’s what her father used to tell her as a little girl. This woman just about made him senseless with imagined violence. He couldn’t imagine what she would do with passion.
Hollywood walked toward her, and she backed up a step as if he was going to plow right into her. God, he wanted to. “I have something you’re going to want.”
“What,” she asked breathlessly.
“Your hat.”
She blinked a couple of times. Then her shoulders relaxed. Without another word, she walked toward the door.
“You’d better get going,” she said, her voice still a bit wobbly.
He was a bit wobbly as well. Damn, she was amazing.
Willow opened the door as he approached, and he passed her to get out the door. He swore he could feel the heat of her body, the contours of her curves, hear the beat of her heart.
Fuck, she fired up his imagination.
Hollywood came back with the crushed Panama hat, and she took it from his hands. “Too bad it got damaged.”
She nodded. “Text me when you get back, and we can finish—”
“Getting head?”
Willow tilted her head and laughed. “Right. Make sure you text me, mister. I don’t want to be late with the copy.”
“Yes, ma’am. Sorry about this.”
She shrugged. “Duty calls. I’m used to it,” she said as she stepped back, swinging the door closed, her last words barely audible. “Stay safe.”
He went back to his car. Damn, if her perfume didn’t linger, adding to the mystery of her. It made him want to break his own fucking rules.
5
Willow leaned against the door. She really didn’t need this man coming into her life and knocking her around like a prizefighter. She closed her eyes and tried to get her heart rate back to an even beat.
Jude Lock would have been hard to handle on a good day.
Today was not a good day. Hell, the last two weeks hadn’t been good. Who was she kidding? Ever since her dad had come home, life had been downright heartbreaking. She didn’t know how to help him. She clenched her jaw. Dammit! She should be able to help him. She was his daughter, and they had a special bond, no matter how long he’d been away. Her face contorted as tears flooded her eyes, anger and frustration mixing in with the despair. She drew in a heavy breath.
She had looked for her dad all night and most of the day. She couldn’t sleep, she was barely eating, and she’d told her boss at the diner that she had to take some time off. He wasn’t happy, but Willow had the luxury of being independently wealthy. She worked at the diner because it got her out of the house, and she enjoyed interacting with people.
On her off days, she dabbled with her photography, whimsical illustrations, graphic novel, and animated short films called A Dog’s Life.
The majority of her time had been spent on those pursuits until her dad had lost his squad and retired from the Navy. Now she spent way too much time worrying. Thanks to his irresponsible behavior and his refusal to get counseling, she’d almost broken down in front of total strangers too many times today, least of all Hollywood. The fact that he knew her dad kinda gave him the right to ask, but she hadn’t trusted herself to answer. His interest had set off warning bells. Her attraction to him was palatable, and she was getting that vibe right back. He needed to cut that shit out!
Willow had no intention of getting involved with a Navy SEAL. She saw firsthand what they went through, how they were torn between family and the team, and how they had to juggle so much between combat and home life. Not to mention, the kind of woman who signed up for that life gave herself over to it body and soul. She surrendered to the needs of her man and Uncle Sam. She was as much in the service as her partner.
Of course, Willow understood that lifestyle because she’d lived it. As a child, she’d been robbed of her dad, and she hated it. Her mother was there for her and from a young age, Willow took on the responsibility of the family, including the finances when she was old enough to understand that money had to be handled to keep lights on and food in the fridge.
Her dad needed someone responsible at home, and she became that person while her mother lost herself in her art. But her dad loved her just the same, so much so, that when her mom was killed in a car accident, he was devastated. She might have had to take care of her mom, but Willow had loved her fiercely and her mom had shown her love as best she could. She had been a brilliant artist who even now provided them both a very comfortable living.
Fatigue drew on her, and she looked at her watch. There would be no time for a nap.
Her whole body still tingled and shivered from the photos she’d gotten of Hollywood. She couldn’t look at them now. She was too raw, too connected. Willow wanted a discerning eye when she went through the
m to get the best out of him for this all-important project. But she was excited. If she got this much out of him from just a short headshot—automatically smiling at her faux pas—session, she couldn’t imagine what the actual photo shoot was going to be like once she got him…
She swallowed.
Once she got him out of his clothes, she could paint the armor on him, give him the kind of sword that would do him justice.
None of the other ten men had tempted her one whit. Then she’d met his deep blue eyes in that bar, and he’d come to her rescue, but she’d been no pushover. She was thankful for Hollywood’s intervention. She still had the bruised knuckles from that night.
Willow closed her eyes, getting lost in the memory of those deep, dark pools of midnight.
A knock reverberated through the door, and she jumped. Pulling it open, she’d had the very faint hope it would be her father, but it was a very tall man—yowza, he towered over her in the doorway.
“Hi, I’m Kevin Case,” he said in a deep baritone.
“Force Recon Marine?”
“Yes ma’am.”
He was clean cut, handsome, spit and polished, had muscles on his muscles, but she couldn’t seem to get one unkempt, sexy petty officer out of her head.
“Come on in.”
There was no going down that road because it led to nowhere. She’d learned a valuable lesson from being the daughter of a Navy SEAL.
The sacrifice was too damn much to ask.
* * *
Dragon was in combat but with a feeling like he’d lost something. His heart sped up by the second. Everything was blurry and out of focus like a watercolor gone bad. His mouth was dry, adrenaline slamming into his system with the force of a Mack truck. Loud noises everywhere so he couldn’t get his bearings, rounds passing in front of him, the pinging sounds of ricocheting. He didn’t have a weapon. As bombs, gunfire and general mayhem continued in a relentless stream and burst around him, he searched for something, for anything. He needed a weapon. He crossed dusty ground that got drier and dustier as he ran, looking for a weapon, for cover or for someone he recognized.
But there was no one. Not one team member.
He ran for what seemed like days, but there wasn’t a familiar face. Was he behind enemy lines?
“Dragon.”
A chill rippled across his skin, his heart going into his throat. He knew how to handle fear. He had to breathe. He had to keep calm. He had to function even as fear washed through him at the sound of that voice. He’d rather face danger or death than face the man on the other end of his spoken name.
“You have all left me. The least you can do is face me.”
Dragon, sweat dripping down his temples, making his shirt stick to his chest, turned to find Justin “Speed” Myerson standing in front of him. He looked haggard, bruised, beaten and bloody. The pain and despair in his eyes told Dragon that he’d been broken rough and hard. There had been no hope, not even at the end.
Tears welled in Dragon’s eyes. “Speed. What can I do?”
“My kids. Are they safe? I hear them calling for me all the time. Tell me they’re safe and happy. Tell them I didn’t want to leave them. I fought. I fought so hard.”
Dragon dropped his head, his tears mingling with the sweat and dirt on his face, making his tears turn black.
“Daddy? Where are you Daddy? Why did you leave us?” The sound of girlish voices was all around him anguished and sounding lost and alone. Dragon whirled to find nothing except blood, mutilated bodies and death.
“Dragon?”
He jerked awake, murmuring, “They’re safe. They’re safe.”
For a moment, he thrashed until strong hands grabbed his arms and said, “Whoa there, buddy.” His chest heaved. Soaked in sweat and disoriented, he blinked up into Hollywood’s concerned face. “You okay? Nightmare, huh?”
The plane was dark, and luckily all the other guys, including Ruckus, were still sleeping. He was in his hammock, and the team—no Ruckus’s team—was flying to South America. Dragon’s team had been fractured and broken from Myerson’s death, and they hadn’t known how to pick up the pieces. That’s what the dream had been trying to tell him.
They would be parachuting out of the C-130 above the outskirts of the city of Betacas in the country of Attiago nestled between Colombia and Venezuela to rescue three aid workers who had fled from Venezuela’s unrest right into the arms of a drug lord. They were currently being held by Inés Alízon, a former guerilla’s wife who had taken over and built a cocaine empire. She was holding the three of them for ransom. The country was not as industrialized as its neighbors, mainly jungle and villages. The government was corrupt and under her thumb. There had been no quarter there.
“Yeah, sorry,” he said, his voice rough. “Did I wake you?”
“Not exactly.”
“Nightmares too?”
“Nope.”
Dragon chuckled, the horror of the dream fading. He cantilevered his body out of the swinging bed. With his feet on the deck of the aircraft, he reached for a small towel and wiped his face and neck. He shivered, and he knew the drill. It wasn’t the first time he’d woken up in a cold sweat.
“What’s going on, then?” Dragon asked. Pulling open his rucksack, he grabbed a fresh tan T-shirt and worked his damp one over his head, donning the clean one. Undoing his camo pants, he tucked the shirt in then fastened the button. He moved over to the webbed seating and plopped down next to Hollywood.
Hollywood grimaced. “Don’t fucking judge.”
“I wouldn’t judge you. I might make fun of you, though. Teammates, even fill-in guy teammates, prerogative.”
“Fair enough.” Hollywood sighed and leaned his head back. His eyes straight ahead. “It’s a woman who is keeping me awake.”
Dragon snorted. “I suspect that doesn’t happen often.”
“It doesn’t happen at all,” Hollywood groused. “I don’t like it one bit. Feels like a goat fuck coming down the pike.”
“As in you’re interested in this woman and that means your one-night stand rule goes out the window?”
“You’ve been paying attention, even for a fill-in guy teammate.”
“Where did you meet this babe who has the audacity to catch the whoredog of the group’s attention?”
“That’s whorehound, man.”
“Right. I had a head injury, so cut me some slack.”
“Slack cut.” Hollywood grinned then sobered. “I’ve been snagged by the brass to be part of a charity project in collaboration with Home and Heart, a charity organization downtown. I’m posing for a calendar. It’s for homeless vets.”
“Hoo-yah. What does that entail?”
“I don’t know yet, but she’s the photographer, and she’s great. From the moment I met her, at All In, by the way, I’ve been sinking in deeper. She got attacked by some drunk sailors, and she coldcocked one of them, gave him a bloody nose. I love solving a woman’s problem for her, makes me feel manly, but seeing her take on those guys—instant erection.”
“Cock and erection in the same breath…”
Hollywood ignored him. “Then I find out she’s the daughter of Shadow, Senior Chief Will Blackmoon.”
“No shit!” Dragon rolled his shoulders. “What is this woman doing to you?”
“She made me act like a savage, demon-killing angel.”
Dragon huffed a laugh. “Not much of a stretch from being a savage, tango-killing warrior.”
“No, but she did it with words, made this feeling of protection crash over me, made me realize that it’s a big part of what we do.”
Dragon nodded. “You want to see more of her, and I’m not talking about just, dare I say it, dating.”
“That is a foul word in my lexicon, pal.”
“But?” He heard the hesitation in Hollywood’s words.
“She’s weird. She has attitude and confidence but is vulnerable too. I think she’s going to make me do things I haven’t done. I’m afraid she
’ll make me see more things about myself I didn’t know, some things I might not like, and she’ll make me…feel.”
Dragon gasped. “No, not that!”
“You prick,” Hollywood said.
“I guess she’s a hot babe.”
“She is…beautiful, but more. Does that make sense?”
Dragon thought of Jo back in New York City. He thought about her complexities and bare bones basic qualities. He remembered how she’d touched him, how they had meshed and melded together on the night he was too drunk for his own good and she was too willing for hers. His heart felt the tug every time he thought of her. Every. Damn. Time. That had to mean something.
“It makes sense,” he murmured.
“Hmmm. Skeletons in your closet too?”
“Just one,” Dragon said.
“I think it’s best for me to steer clear, even though everyone on this damn team has gotten sucked into it. It still can’t be good for me. Complicated and messy. Time consuming and weighted down. Not for me.”
“Looks like you have yourself sorted out.”
“Yeah. It’s the smart way to go.”
It might be, Dragon thought, but smart and getting involved with someone who couldn’t be easily forgotten were two very different things. Sometimes smart got in the way.
“I’m not even drunk. What is it about you that makes me feel like we’re gal pals?” Hollywood said.
“My pretty eyes?”
“Haha! Gotta be. I think that’s what those corpsmen were swooning over.”
“Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful,” he said, and Hollywood’s barked laughter made some of his teammates stir. “Shh, you’ll wake up the judgmental assholes.”
Hollywood laughed again, but it was quieter.
“I think it’s easier to talk to me because you don’t have to see me every day. As time passes, we can pretend we didn’t bare our souls. Not macho, but hey, we guys are complex people.”
“That we are, brother.” Hollywood fist bumped him and nodded. “But just a warning. If you tell anyone what I said, I’ll have to kill you.”
