Breaking His Code (Away From Keyboard Book 1)

by Patricia D. Eddy

  “You’re the first person I’ve met in a long time I want to truly know. Everything. How do you like your eggs in the morning?”

  Laughing, I start to relax. “I’m more of a pancake girl.”

  “Steak? Rare or medium? Please don’t say well done.” West leans back as he waits for my answer, and I feign embarrassment. I can’t hold the ruse, though. “Medium rare.”

  “Oh, thank God. I thought we were going to be doomed before we even got started.” With my injured wrist held lightly in his hands, he kisses the fingers that haven’t felt a damn thing for ten years, accepting a part of me I didn’t know needed acceptance. A single tear burns as he continues to caress the ivy, following the vines with his lips.

  “I refused to look in the mirror for six months after the bombs. I wore long sleeves and pants every day, even to bed.” I clear my throat, trying to stay in the moment. West pulls me on top of him, then kisses his way along my jaw, and I take a steady breath. “My therapist lost a leg in Desert Storm. She’d tattooed her stump with this amazing aquatic design. Said every time she saw herself naked now, she saw the tattoo first, then the missing limb. She was right.”

  “Smart woman,” he says as he scrapes his teeth along the curve of my neck. “Like that, do you?” he murmurs against my ear as I shiver.

  “Uh-huh.” I arch my back as he teases a finger under the hem of my lace thong.

  “Patience, angel.”

  West worships me—that’s the only word that fits his slow exploration, the way he appreciates every moan, every gasp. By the time I’m naked, dew glistens over my skin, and I’m close to begging. He’s taken me to the edge time and time again with his tongue, his teeth, and his fingers.

  Lifting his head from between my legs, he licks his lips. “You said something?”

  “Bastard,” I pant. “You know damn well what I said.”

  “Something about not stopping?” With that, he nibbles my inner thigh.

  I yelp, squirming against his grip.

  “Maybe I’ve teased you enough.” He rolls to the side and then fumbles for his pants next to the bed, coming away with a condom that he tosses onto the sheets next to me. If he’s not inside me soon, I won’t survive, and though I want to take as much time exploring him as he took with me, I don’t know that I can. It’s been a long time since I had anything but my vibrator for company, and a warm, willing man in my bed who’s sculpted like a Greek god has me feeling wanton.

  I don’t have enough leverage—or enough strength left—to tug off his briefs, but he stills my fumbling fingers as I try. “We’ll get to that.”

  I can’t help pouting.

  “This is all about you, angel.” Despite his words, he yanks off the offending material. No disappointment there, as I think whoever tried to approximate perfection with him came damn close. Short, wiry curls surround his cock, and I palm his length, sliding my hand up and down until he groans, captures my wrist, and pins my arm over my head.

  As he returns his attention to my throbbing clit, I writhe against the sheets. Any higher and I’ll shoot into the stratosphere without an anchor, but the firm pressure of his hands keeps me grounded, even as I lose all ability to think or breathe. Waves of pleasure buffet me, my entire body dissolving into the roar of my release.

  I don’t know when he moved, but he’s holding me as I come down, and when I kiss him, I taste only me on his lips. Trailing a hand over his chest, I’m amazed this man wasn’t snatched up years ago. A jagged scar bisects one of his obliques, another slashes over his shoulder. I trace the SEAL insignia. “What team?”

  “Eight.” His eyes darken—I’ve touched a nerve. I try to smooth over my gaffe with another kiss. Soon, his breath quickens, and as I stroke his firm length, I’m rewarded when his eyes flutter closed.

  Before I can do much more, he pushes up on an elbow, then tears through the foil packet. “Tell me how I won’t hurt you.” His voice holds a rough edge.

  “Don’t ask me that question.” I cup the back of his neck to pull him closer. “Just fuck me.”

  He slides halfway home, accompanied by my gasp. Just as I relax, he pushes deeper, the tenuous hold on his own control evident in the veins pulsing in his neck.

  “Oh God, Cam. You’re so fucking tight.” His first thrust spears me in two, and a lance of pleasure curls my toes. The muscles of his arms cord as he bears himself over me, increasing his pace, and we’re both breathing heavily. I can’t tear my gaze away from his. He shifts down to one elbow so he can reach between us, and when he finds my sweet spot with a finger, I implode.

  A second later, his eyes roll back as he comes, and then he’s on top of me, sliding his arms around me so he can hold me close and bury his face in my hair through the aftershocks of our shared climaxes. “I wish I didn’t have to leave.”

  I want to ask him to stay, but he’s got an early morning—as do I. Easing back so I can meet his sated gaze, I sigh. “This Coana job is going to take every spare minute of my time this week.” I link our fingers. “But what are you doing on Friday night…and Saturday morning?”

  “Well, there’s this woman I usually play Halo with, but I think she has plans on Friday.” He grins and then kisses me so thoroughly, I’m breathless once more. “Maybe she wants company?”

  “Hell, yes.”

  6

  CAM

  Royce lumbers through the door, a scowl twisting his lips. “You two. My office. Now.”

  Lucas rolls his eyes when Royce is gone. “Good morning to you too, boss,” he mutters so only I can hear.

  “He’s still in a mood. You don’t want to fuck with him.” When Royce is like this, you’re better off putting your head down and riding it out.

  “Guess you didn’t get through to him yesterday.” Lucas heads into Royce’s office, and I sigh.

  Whatever’s up Royce’s ass must be serious, as he’s never gone this long in one of his moods. Still, the guy’s as loyal as they come, which is the only reason I stay when really, I could write my own ticket with a lot less stress.

  Once I’ve taken a seat next to Lucas, Royce stares us down. “I went over Cam’s schedule yesterday afternoon. Given LaCosta’s deadline and the amount of work we’re going to have to do to get the cameras up and running, I asked Al to find us some help. He’s bringing in two guys to start tomorrow.”

  “Does that mean I can have Lucas back on debugging?”

  Lucas swivels his head in my periphery. Oh shit. Royce didn’t tell Lucas he’d have to help with the cabling.

  Royce runs a hand over his jaw, though he doesn’t quite manage to cover his scowl. “Al’s new. He’s run electrical before, and he’s got great references, but he doesn’t know CAT-5. Not well enough to supervise a job like this on his own. The temp agency needs at least a week’s lead time to get me anyone qualified, and Brian’s got a week left on his medical leave.” With a terse shake of his head, Royce meets Lucas's gaze. “Even with Al bringing in two of his friends with electrical certifications, we’re still two men down. I need Lucas to supervise the cabling.”

  I can’t look at Lucas. Focusing on my knees instead, I try to come up with something to ease the sting. It’s no use, though. Lucas is so much better than cabling, but he’s fast and such a perfectionist that nothing gets by him.

  “Cam?” The strain in Lucas's voice tugs at my heart. “You wanted me to start the final customizations today.”

  “My decision’s final,” Royce snaps. Someone knocks on the door, and Lucas flinches as I mouth a pitiful apology. Royce stands, bracing a hand on his desk. “Al, come on in.”

  The man hovering in the doorway smiles as he strips off his jacket. By the look of his brown leather bomber, this summer storm is a doozy. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  “You’re not. Al Hagen, meet Camilla Delgado and Lucas Parker. They’ll be overseeing your work.”

  I extend my hand, and Al’s firm grip is accompanied by an odd expression. Almost surprise. Then again, most p
eople look twice at my cane when they meet me. “Call me Cam.”

  “You're the programmer?” Vague disbelief infuses his tone.

  I’m used to being looked down on in the tech world. Not only am I a woman, but I'm also Mexican. My brown skin and inky locks don’t earn me as much prejudice in Seattle as they would in Fresno or Modesto—where I grew up—but for every five enlightened Seattleites, one is still stuck in the dark ages.

  “I am.” I plant my cane and push to my feet. Al’s stocky but short, and I have a couple of inches on him. Thank you, Papa, for your height. “Ever since I left the army.”

  “Oh. Great.” He can’t turn away fast enough, and when he gets to Lucas, he offers another handshake. “So…what’s the plan?” He addresses Royce, rather than either one of us, and I’m starting to really dislike this guy.

  “Cam’s the project lead. Lucas is going to oversee the cabling. You’ll take your orders from them. Get to work.” Royce stands as well, dismissing us, and I can’t help the twitch in my right arm. The urge to salute him lingers, even a decade after our last mission together. But I manage to limit myself to a curt nod, and the three of us head for the bullpen.

  “Listen,” I begin when we’re standing at my desk, but before I can give Al a piece of my mind—professionally, of course—he holds up his hand.

  “Please. Let me say something first. I really need this job. And I don't want to let anyone down. You tell me what to do, I’ll do it. Hell, I’ll crawl through the dingiest, darkest ventilation ducts the hotel has just so I can work. And I’m sorry for earlier. I didn’t mean to imply a woman can’t handle this job. Royce called you ‘Cam’ when we met the other day, and I thought it was short for Cameron.”

  He's so earnest, I relent and gesture to the conference room. “Schematics are in there. Get yourself some coffee, and we’ll go over the plan.”

  By midday, Lucas, Al, and the crew are set up in the parking garage, and I’m headed back to Coana to check on them and install Oversight’s base framework. None of her modules are fully customized yet, but what I have to do today will form the foundation of the entire system.

  My phone buzzes as I step onto the elevator.

  How am I supposed to go all week without seeing you? Will you have time to game tonight?

  If my heritage allowed me to blush easily, I’d be crimson right now. I had more than one dream that involved West last night, so I rush to reply.

  You’ll be begging for mercy, stud.

  By the time we’ve exchanged a few racier texts, I’ve set up my laptop and hooked into Coana’s network. Their existing security feeds reveal Lucas and the crew hard at work. Al and his friends chat amiably, with Lucas off on his own, miserable. I’ve got to find a way to make things up to him.

  The next few hours drag on, though the install goes off without any major hitches. Well past six, as I’m contemplating packing up, I call Lucas up to the server room, hoping I can find a way to cheer him.

  “What’s up?” He’s covered in cobwebs and dust, with a particularly thick smudge under his eye. “We’re done for the day. About to head home.”

  The keycard slides across the narrow desk. “Royce has three interviews scheduled on Thursday. I can’t override him—and we won’t finish this job without you running cable this week. But consider this a promise. As soon as he hires someone, I’ll rely on you here. In this chair.”

  Lucas spins the card in his palm. “Cam, I…Thank you.”

  “How’s everything going?”

  After a shrug, he drops into the chair next to me. “Al’s good. Hard worker. His buddies could use some social skills, but they’ve done what I’ve asked without complaint. We’re going to try to get through the seventh floor by the end of the week.”

  I glance down at the schedule and smile. “If you can do that, you’ll be back in this chair before you know it.”

  “Did you ever call that guy and apologize? The SEAL?” The coat of Lucas's frustration slides away, and all of a sudden I’ve got my friend back. “Do I need to steal your phone and take matters into my own hands?”

  “Never!” I snatch the phone up and hold it to my chest. “We’re having dinner on Friday.”

  “That’s all I get? Spill it, Delgado. I need details.”

  Before long, we’re laughing like there’s never been any tension between us, and a piece of my life slips back into place.

  WEST

  “You ready to admit defeat, soldier?” Cam’s laugh carries over the speakers, and I pull a couple of advanced combo skills out of my bag of tricks, sending her avatar tumbling off the edge of the spinning satellite.

  “Never.” Her character respawns, and as we wait for the game to take us back to the save point, I trace a finger through the condensation gathering on my water glass. “You’ve been quiet tonight, angel. Bad day at work?”

  Her sigh carries over the line. “The client moved up the schedule, and we’re all scrambling. Royce assigned Lucas to cabling, so all of the code’s on me now. I can handle it, but I know Lucas is upset.”

  “How’d you two meet?” For six weeks, we’ve talked and laughed and joked every day, but Cam’s often danced around her past. Now that we’re…more…I want to know everything about her, tell her everything about me—even the dark, painful pieces that haunt my nightmares.

  She snorts, such a delicate and irreverent sound, and I’m so mesmerized that I don’t realize her character’s taken off running. “When I first moved to Seattle, I lived in this tiny studio apartment on Capitol Hill. I’d left rehab—well before they wanted me to—and I was on crutches.”

  Her voice softens, a bit of nostalgia creeping in, and I pause the game. “Angel, turn on your webcam.”

  After a long minute, her picture pops up on the screen, and she smiles shyly at me. “I’m a mess.”

  “You’re gorgeous. So, you’re on crutches…”

  She runs a hand through her hair, and I wish I could feel the silky strands over my own fingers. “I was going stir crazy stuck in my apartment. The Egyptian Theater had a showing of Enemy of the State—remember that one?—and I trekked through the rain, four blocks, on crutches, to get there. I’m soaked to the bone, everything hurts, and I probably looked like a drowned rat. A few seats away, this big guy starts shaking his head and muttering at the screen whenever they get the tech wrong in the film.”

  I raise a brow. “And you didn’t poke him with one of your crutches so he’d shut up?”

  She laughs. “I thought about it, but he was right about every scene. As the credits rolled, I leaned over and said, ‘Don’t you hate it when bad tech ruins a good movie?’”

  “You should never watch reruns of CSI: Cyber.”

  “I saw the first episode and almost lost my voice yelling at the television.” Cam shakes her head. “Lucas and I criticized the movie’s computer scenes the whole way out of the theater and down the block. We probably would have gone our separate ways, but then it started to hail. We ducked into a pizza place and ended up talking for two hours. I admit I was a little disappointed to learn he was gay.

  “The storm passed, and he walked me back to my apartment building. I stopped at the door, stared at him, and said, ‘Aren’t you going to say something?’” Cam jams her hand on her hip in an exaggerated motion. “’Say something about what, hon?’ he asked. When I gestured towards my crutches, he just looked baffled. ‘Your terrible taste in rain coats? Because, damn. You need something better than that to survive in this town.’” She looks down and whispers the next words with so much emotion that I ache to wrap my arms around her. “I hated myself back then. Hated what I looked like, hated that my injuries were the first thing everyone saw. Everyone but Lucas.” When she looks up again, she’s almost beaming. “After that day, we saw a movie every Sunday afternoon for almost a year.”

  “He sounds like a good guy.”

  “He is. You’ll like him.”

  Knowing she wants me to meet her friends soothes the raw frus
tration of spending half the day with my accountant, and as we launch another campaign, I can’t help but wonder how I’ll make it to Friday without kissing her again.

  CAM

  Back in the office the next day, I try to ignore Royce’s closed door in favor of working out some of Oversight’s bugs. The longer I sit at my desk, though, the harder this becomes. When Royce stalks out of his office and heads for the lounge, I roll my eyes at Orion, our mobile developer.

  “Say something,” Orion whispers. “He’ll listen to you.”

  I’m not so sure about that, but I have to try, for all of our sakes. This gruff, pissy Royce isn’t helping anyone, and with ZoomWare coming up, and the Coana job on such a tight schedule, despite Lucas's excellent job finishing the second floor in a single day, we need our “fearless leader.”

  Off I go, and I can’t help hearing “The Imperial March” as I shuffle into the lounge to find Royce slumped in the bean bag chair, playing Grand Theft Auto with the sound down.

  We’re all geeks. Even Royce—sort of. Gaming is the one thing everyone in the office can agree on.

  “You okay?”

  He looks up, swears under his breath, and pauses the game. “Can’t a guy decompress in peace?”

  “Whoa. You want to be alone, you be alone.” I wish I could stalk, but all I can manage is a slow lope back to my desk. Nothing I do today is working, from Oversight’s cataloging module to talking to the man who used to be my surrogate big brother. It’s a damn good thing I’m not planning on seeing West tonight, or I’d find some way to screw that up, too.