Leveling the Field

by Elise Faber

  I forced my tone to go cheery. “Anytime, bud,” I said, punching him back—hard—then sidestepped around him and used my key to escape into my room.

  “Night,” I called as I stepped inside.

  “Night,” Hannah said.

  Leo didn’t say anything.

  Which was just as well.

  Chapter Five

  Leo

  Beautiful and strong.

  And if you can’t see that, then it’s your loss.

  I inhaled as my own door shut behind me, the fatigue of travel or the day spent trying to learn the base, understand my new role with the team catching up to me. My body was exhausted.

  My brain . . . was reeling.

  That moment in the garden. The moonlight gilding Jess’s skin. The exposed curve of her neck. The way she’d smiled in triumph when she’d beaten me in five rounds. How I’d suddenly noticed how delicate her hands were, even adorned with callouses and chucking knives at a target.

  It was . . . unnerving, to say the least.

  “Tired,” I muttered.

  That was the only explanation I had for it. My body was tired, my brain was overworked, and I was out of my element.

  Weird feelings were certain to abound.

  I’d wake up in the morning, and all would be back to normal.

  “Exactly,” I said, not giving a shit that I was speaking to myself as I strode into the bathroom and cranked on the shower. I’d certainly done much worse things than lusting after Jesse, a teammate who I liked and respected.

  As a friend.

  With an emphasis on friend.

  A friend who had fingers I wanted wrapped around my cock, including the calloused tips I’d felt along my own when our hands had brushed—when I’d ensured they’d brushed—stroking up and down my shaft.

  And great, now I was hard again.

  Good times.

  I cranked the temperature to cold and stepped in, bracing myself against the icy water but not turning it hotter, not until my cock softened, until that desire that should not be there disappeared.

  Until I was finally able to get out of the shower, dry off, and crawl into bed.

  Until I was able to go to sleep.

  And if I dreamed of red hair and blue eyes and kissing my way up the slender column of a creamy throat . . . then I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell anyone.

  Least of all Jesse.

  Red hair gleaming in the sun.

  Pale skin that was at risk of getting burned.

  But almost as those thoughts flitted through my brain, I watched Jesse plunk a wide-brimmed hat on her head. It was beige straw with blue piping that came very close to matching her eyes and was absolutely out of place on a private military base filled with KTS agents.

  So were the short jean cutoffs. The frilly pink shirt.

  Neither should be within a hundred yards of the shooting range, of the mock explosive that was currently spread out in front of her—a tangle of wires and timers that made my head spin just staring at it.

  My feet were quiet as I came up behind her, but my shadow wasn’t invisible, and she spun around when I crouched down next to her. “What are you doing?” I asked. It was an unnecessary question because I knew what she was doing, and she probably knew that, too, based on the eye roll she shot me. But I’d dreamed of her last night, of the moonlight and knives flying and red hair drifting over my naked chest.

  So, the question that prompted her to speak about wires and the structure of different types of bombs gave me a moment to study her as she spoke.

  Searching for that spark.

  The beauty in the strength.

  But . . . nothing.

  I mean, objectively, I could see that she had a nice face, a pretty face, but the spark from last night was gone.

  Obviously, some combination of jet lag and adrenaline from the competition at the shooting range. The cute, smiling woman going on and on about timers and their various properties wasn’t the siren turned silver in the moonlight, delicate and wistful.

  This was Jesse.

  Strong and capable and a bit quiet, unless I got her talking about something she was passionate about.

  “I figured you’d have learned everything there was to know about bombs by now,” I said, plunking down next to her and resting my elbows on my knees, having to nudge away several watches and what looked to be a diagram.

  “Oh, no,” she said. “People are always coming up with new ways to blow shit up.” A shrug. “Which means I have to find new ways to stop that from happening.”

  I smiled.

  That was the old Jesse.

  Not moonlight owl goddess Jess, but the put her head down, great teammate Jesse.

  I knew what to do with the latter.

  The first freaked me out.

  “What’s this?” I asked, picking up the diagram.

  “What I’ve managed to piece together about the bomb that Jack detonated,” she said. “The one that took out the cars and nearly killed Olive a few months ago.”

  I remembered reading that report.

  It had nearly taken down the concrete and rebar-reinforced parking structure and had damaged more than half of the base’s vehicles. It was also the reason that KTS’s tech team was currently working on adding bomb-proof to the bulletproof portion of the SUVs’ amenities.

  She opened the box in front of her, and I watched as she pulled out the bits of the bomb she’d managed to salvage—wires, scraps of metal, a half-melted SIM card. “It was set off by a cell phone,” she said, pointing at the card, “and packed with shrapnel.” An inhale. “Jack supposedly didn’t want to hurt Olive when the bomb went off, but he sure as hell made one that was likely to kill.”

  “How’d he even know what to build?”

  Despair in her eyes. “I taught him.”

  My mouth dropped open, but before I could ask how, she went on.

  “I taught a lot of agents, actually,” she whispered. “I gave a fucking seminar on bomb composition and disabling.” A shake of her head. “All he had to do was put the steps in reverse.”

  “Come on, Jess,” I said, bumping her shoulder. “You know you’re not to blame for that. Daniel and Jack made their own decisions.”

  She began stacking her supplies back into the box, folding the diagrams. “Maybe not,” she whispered, “But I certainly gave him an easy road map to act on that decision.”

  That wasn’t a lie.

  Daniel and Jack had used the skills given to them by KTS to wreak havoc, Daniel more successfully, given that he’d brought Jack in—along with who knew how many others that we didn’t yet know about. Also more successfully, since Daniel was still on the run, still somehow evading the net we’d tossed out in order to capture him.

  And that meant he could recruit more people, draw more agents into his web.

  Which put everyone at risk.

  We needed to find him, locate any agents who were working with him, and we needed to close ranks, regroup, and get back to saving innocents instead of purging the rot from our own ranks.

  “Come on,” I said, snagging her arm when she’d zipped the bag up.

  Her brows drew together. “I have more work to do.”

  I snagged the bag. “Your brain is fried,” I said, recognizing the glazed-over look in her eyes from our years together in London. “You need a break, and you can get back to it later.”

  She nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. I have a report to look over, so I should get my workout over with then get back to it.”

  “No.”

  More frowning, confusion in her eyes. “Did you need help with something?” she asked slowly. “Is that why you came over?”

  No, I didn’t.

  I’d just finished going over some files with Hannah and had been planning on taking a swim, my London body really not happy with the heat and humidity of the Georgian weather. I was still jet-lagged, and I hadn’t exactly slept well the night before, so I figured I’d work myself into exhaus
tion, shove down some food, and go to bed early.

  But then I’d seen Jesse on the lawn, a pale blue blanket beneath her, the red hair and white skin and straw hat, and I hadn’t been able to walk by.

  I’d needed to show myself that last night was a fluke.

  That we were friends and teammates and nothing more.

  “Leo?” she prompted when I didn’t immediately answer her. “Did you need me to help you with something?”

  “No,” I said.

  Her nose wrinkled, and it was cute.

  Cute was good. That was friendship level. That was teammate level.

  “Okay,” she murmured, going back to gathering her things. The bag closed with a zip and then she slung it over her shoulder. “Well, I guess I’d better get on that workout.” A pause, her eyes drifting to mine. “Um . . . did you want to come with?”

  I nodded to the pool. “I was going to swim.”

  She grinned, tapped her hat, and the shoulder of the blouse she wore, which I realized now was less shirt and more cover-up. It had little ties running at a diagonal, a shadow of some dark material outlined beneath.

  A swimsuit, I knew instinctively, even before her lips curved, and she said, “Funny. I was going to swim, too.” Her smile widened, and I felt my pulse speed up. “I just like to warm up in the sunshine before because—I’m going to warn you now—the pool water is frigid. No heated depths for us.”

  The heat building at the base of my spine was from the afternoon sun and nothing more.

  “Business and training,” I said, ignoring that heat and its potential causes.

  She laughed. “Exactly. Pure and simple work. No pleasure in sight.”

  Her cheeks were pink, the freckles standing out in sharp relief. I wanted to kiss each one of them. I wanted to kiss her.

  What?

  No.

  That wasn’t what I wanted. It was the jetlag and exhaustion, and I was holding the fuck onto that excuse, even if it was already getting old. So anyway, I just needed to get in the cold water, to work my body into exhaustion, and I needed to find someone to have sex with.

  Jesse bent over, snagged the blanket, and began folding it, and my eyes caught on the curve of her ass.

  Someone to have sex with who wasn’t Jess.

  Because going down that route could only lead to disaster.

  Chapter Six

  Jesse

  I dropped my towel on the bench next to the pool, rolled my shoulders, and then made sure my ponytail was secure.

  Leo was to my right, kicking off his flip-flops and tugging off his shirt.

  I’d seen that chest more than once, and I knew it could easily throw me for a loop—pecs that were more than a handful, etched muscles, a dusting of hair that drifted over golden skin and disappeared beneath the waistband of his pants—or in this case, his swim trunks.

  So, instead of giving me the opportunity to stare and drool and fantasize about some man who’d never looked at me twice—

  Buddy.

  Buddy.

  I dove into the pool and started doing laps.

  The water was my happy place, even despite the cold temperature. My strokes were steady and uniform, and within a few seconds, I settled into a rhythm that barely altered when Leo jumped in behind me.

  I saw his body sluice through the water out of the corner of my eye, knew he’d catch up with me quickly.

  Not because I was out of shape or a bad swimmer—I was neither—but because the man was liquid lightning in the water. He’d been a Seal and had always had a natural affinity for swimming—maybe the name Seal was an accurate descriptor. Tall and strong and faster and . . . blowing by me.

  That was okay.

  I was happy with my steady strokes, content with my endurance.

  I liked feeling my muscles work, warming against the cold, my lungs burning, my body gradually growing tired.

  Leo turned at the far wall, swimming back toward me, passing by my side in a flash of olive skin and black swim trunks.

  I liked . . . this.

  Leo and I had done this many times in the past.

  Swimming until our limbs were heavy with exhaustion, then chowing down on whatever food was at hand. Sometimes we’d watch a soccer game, other times we’d drink a beer and shoot the shit about nothing.

  Friends.

  Until my heart had gotten involved.

  Until I’d needed distance to close it down.

  Until . . . I’d known that Leo would never see me that way.

  And now he was here again, and I was struggling with shutting down that fantasy of wanting him (again).

  But . . . I was in my happy place, and I had learned to take my small victories where I could, to let go of everything else.

  I was me.

  He was Leo.

  That was the end of the story. I may like to read romance novels with their guaranteed happy endings, but I knew enough of the real world to understand that the stories I loved were complete and utter fantasy.

  Same as anything happening with Leo and me.

  So, I was going to enjoy my swim, push my body to the limits as I preferred, and not get out of the pool until I felt like I could barely lift my arms. The exhaustion would stifle the fantasies, make me too tired to dream.

  Then I’d focus on work, on exercise, on friendship.

  Leo bumped me, slowing in the water and shooting me a grin that had my already pounding heart accelerating, my warm and lax muscles going limp, my pussy clenching, and my lungs sputtering.

  It took everything inside me to continue my strokes, to keep them even, to continue making my way back and forth across the pool.

  But I made one more vow as I swam.

  Work, exercise, friendship, and . . . orgasms.

  I needed orgasms.

  Leo brushed back by me again, and I knew him well enough to understand it was a challenge, to keep moving, to try to catch up. He was a dolphin cresting in the wake of a ship, playing with me, coaxing me to push myself further—with a poke to my side, a hair-covered leg brushing alongside mine, a hand sliding down my arm.

  Teasing, friendly touches.

  That set my body on fire, that tempted me with the promise of those orgasms.

  But those releases of pleasure wouldn’t come from Leo, no matter how much I might want that.

  So, back and forth I swam, over and over and over again.

  Eventually, though, my limbs were too heavy, and I knew I’d pushed it far enough. I made my way to the ladder, climbed out with shaky arms and legs, plunking my ass on the tile next to the exit as I watched Leo continue to swim.

  He never seemed to tire, just drove his arms through the water, slicing through the clear blue liquid, his legs strong and powerful.

  Then he was turning toward me, body angled like that dolphin again, water sluicing off him as he made short work of the ladder. He shook himself like a dog, water spraying everywhere. I didn’t mind, though, I was dripping wet myself, and not just from the water.

  Between my thighs, moisture pooled, desire stoked by the game in the pool, even though I knew that Leo hadn’t meant it that way.

  Friends. Just . . . friends.

  He plunked down next to me, his chest heaving.

  Mine was steadying, and it only took a few moments for his to match mine.

  He bumped my shoulder. “I missed this.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Swimming with you,” he said. “You’re the only one who can ever keep up with me.”

  I snorted. “And by keep up, you mean feeling like I’m going to die if I take one more lap trying to pretend I can catch you?”

  A grin that had my thighs squeezing together. “Yeah,” he said. “Exactly that.”

  My hair was dripping down my back, so I stood up and crossed to the bench to grab my towel, wrapping it around my sodden ponytail and gripping it tight as I made my way back.

  I started to sit again.

  Fingers on my thigh halted me.
>
  Shocked, I nearly dropped the towel when I glanced down and saw Leo’s hand on my leg, his fingers stroking the scar on my thigh. “I’m sorry for this,” he murmured, slowly tracing the broad pink line. “I don’t know if I ever told you that, but I’m sorry you got hurt on my watch.”

  My lungs weren’t working.

  “When you got hurt,” he whispered, “I—” He shook his head, green eyes coming up to mine. “It was my fault.”

  “No,” I whispered back. “Shit happens and—”

  “On me,” he said softly, gently tracing that line. “I’ll make it up to you.”

  “Leo, that’s not—”

  He kissed the scar, making my breath hitch, and straightened. Then suddenly, he was towering over me, his body—hot and wet and glistening and so damned cut—separated from mine only by the barest millimeters.

  “I’ll make it up to you,” he said again.

  And then he disappeared into the locker room.

  Chapter Seven

  Leo

  A scar.

  Guilt.

  Painful memories.

  And Jesse never failing to grant me absolution. Even though I was the reason she had that six-inch line on her thigh.

  I’d kissed that line, kissed her skin that was damp and warm . . . and far too close to other damp and warm places. I’d kissed her thigh. What in the fuck was I doing? This was Jess. She was my friend, and I was crossing serious lines, and she would always be too fucking nice to call me on it.

  I shouldn’t be kissing a woman’s thigh when I didn’t want her.

  Not like that. Not in the way a man should want a woman when his mouth was five inches from her pussy.

  She was . . . not my type.

  I went for pretty things in tiny packages. A woman I could lift up and fuck against the wall. A woman who was soft and sweet and shy. A woman I had to coax and tease into a smile . . . and Jess wasn’t any of those things.

  Except, my brain couldn’t let go of the moonlight and the narrow column of her throat that was begging to be kissed, the lines of her face that were cute when she was silent but striking when she laughed. I couldn’t let go of seeing Jess sitting quietly in meetings, shy coming to the forefront when pink flooded her cheeks if all eyes went to her. I couldn’t let go of the kindness she’d shown in taking me to the shooting range, even when she was tired, nor the competitiveness and humor that came out when she managed to relax.