His agony bleeds through his words. I spent years after my injuries beating myself up for running into the arms of Uncle Sam, but after enough therapy, I realized no amount of misery would change the past. I drain the last of my lemonade and type out a quick reply.
FlashPoint: You’re not alone. If I’d known I’d get blown up, I’d have gladly begged my family to take me back. But at the time, joining the army was a lot more attractive. All we can do is make the best of what we have now. Your wife and son and the baby-on-the-way should be your main concerns. Ignore your mother-in-law as best you can, and tell your wife how much you love her and how committed you are to finding a solution. And if you haven’t, find a professional to talk to. My shrink saved my life. More than once.
Half an hour later, I take a break from the card key module to find a reply.
HuskyFan: Thanks, but my jobs are eating up every spare minute. I’m checking in from my side job, and I won’t be able to go home for another three or four hours. Once things calm down and the baby’s born, I’ll look at that list you sent me. But, if you don’t mind me asking, what happened with your family?
I’m not ready to answer that question. Even fourteen years later, the pain of that day can send me into my own private hell, clutching my grandmother's letter—the one with the only photos I have left of my family—as the burn of tear-brined bourbon masks the overwhelming guilt at my cowardice. But I can’t ignore him. That won’t help either of us. With one last look at the bottle I keep on my kitchen counter, I shove the memories away—back to the dark recesses of my mind where they can’t hurt me tonight.
FlashPoint: I was a stupid kid. The details aren’t important, but I ran off to the army to try to fix what I broke. Don’t make my mistakes. Put your family first. You can do that by taking care of yourself. I know it probably feels like you don’t have time to see a shrink right now, but trust me—make the time.
HuskyFan: Did it work? Running away?
FlashPoint: No. I don’t think it ever does.
I log off, unwilling to relive those dark days for anyone, and return to Oversight. My eyes water. Well after midnight, I run system diagnostics on the card reader module and the error rate skyrockets. Again.
“Come on, baby. Talk to me.” After another hour, I’ve debugged another module, but West hasn’t called. As I fall into bed, the meds turning the world fuzzy and warm, I hope he’s okay and that HuskyFan finds some peace.
9
WEST
T he squawk in my ear might as well be a whisper for all I react. Training I’d thought long forgotten races back in a heartbeat as another member of the security team offers the “all clear” from the parking lot.
From my post at the south corner of the room, I watch one of the richest men on the West Coast waltz across the dance floor with his wife. At least he’s not an ass—or hasn’t been. Ryan Meltzer introduced himself to each member of the security team when we arrived, apologized for the dress code—tuxedos don’t exactly let a guy move freely—and assured us that he’d follow our orders to the letter should anything go wrong.
I resist the urge to snort. The agency—Security Agents For Everyone—or SAFE—vetted tonight’s guest list. Meltzer’s greatest danger comes from his wife’s spiked heels. He’s a much better dancer than she is.
Tapping the button hidden inside the jacket sleeve, I relay my own check-in. “Ballroom South—all clear.”
Once my counterpart on the north side of the room confirms he’s seen no trouble, I gesture to Meltzer. As the band plays the closing notes of the song, he draws his wife in close, claims her mouth in a lingering kiss, and then laughs when everyone around them bursts into applause and wolf whistles.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. I’m afraid Sarah and I have an early day tomorrow. We’re flying to Washington to speak on the behalf of all underprivileged youth in America. Please, enjoy the open bar and don’t forget to call your congressperson.”
Meltzer waves to the crowd as he and his wife glide off the floor. I resist the urge to check my watch. Six hours on alert, surrounded by tired music, Seattle’s business elite clinking glasses of champagne and tossing back shots, and droning speeches leaves me needing two aspirin and a double cheeseburger.
Phillips, a former marine and the owner of SAFE, shakes my hand as Meltzer’s car service whisks him out of the country club parking lot. “Thanks for filling in, Sampson. Grab an application when you come pick up your check tomorrow. I’d love to have you on my roster—officially. I can bump you up to thirty bucks an hour once you’ve passed the background check.”
My pride takes a swift kick. A hundred bucks—after taxes—for six hours of work isn’t worth the constant pressure of a tie around my neck, the throbbing pain of a cheap earbud in my ear, and the loss of repeated nights talking—or making love to—Cam.
As I pull away from the drive-thru and my stomach rumbles, I swallow the last bit of resolve I had.
“I knew you’d call.” The deep voice on the other end of the line carries a hint of bemusement and a truckload of exhaustion.
I take a deep breath to keep from hanging up on the arrogant ass. “You win, Ryker. Set up a meeting with your team.”
Thoughts of Cam keep me going until I collapse into bed well after one in the morning. I can’t sleep until I call her. Except…she doesn’t deserve my shitty mood.
Fuck.
Three text messages wait for me.
Just got home and changed into my robe. And nothing else. Wish you were here.
Now that you’re thinking about me naked, I need a favor.
Missed you tonight. Headed to bed, call me first thing tomorrow?
Before I can stop myself, I’ve dialed her number.
“Hey, soldier,” she says, then yawns in the cutest high-pitched moan. “Long night?”
“You have no idea…” My screen flickers to life as Cam connects to FaceTime, and I can’t remember what I’d been about to say. Her breasts threaten to spill out of a black tank, her hair curls over her bare shoulders, and in the dim light, her eyes shine.
“West?” She frowns, and I ache to wrap my arms around her, to feel her curves mold against me, to taste her. “Can I see you?”
With a deep breath I hope centers me, I tap the video button. “Better, angel?” I try to smile, but I must not be very successful, because she cocks her head and adjusts her grip on the phone.
“You’re tired. I thought you were just working a country club party. Did something happen?”
The concern in her voice smooths the rough edges of my mood. “No. Nothing. The band couldn’t even play any good music. I don’t know why the guy hired us. The only danger in that room came from the salmon mousse. By the end of the night, it smelled rank.”
She laughs, deep and raspy, and her eyes unfocus for a moment before she stretches and shows off a bit of her toned stomach. “Can I see more of you?” she asks and then slides one strap of her tank off her shoulder.
The sheet tents as I imagine her in my bed. Ripping off her tank. Sliding her panties down her long legs. I angle the phone so she can see my abs, and then—as much as I hate myself a little for it—do a half-crunch to define the muscles. Her appreciative purr encourages me to slide my free hand lower, and I show her as my fingers dip under the sheet and wrap around my shaft.
“God, Cam. You have no idea how much I wish you were here.”
“If I were there, my mouth would be where your hand is right now. I’d start by caressing the tip with my tongue, slowly. Once. Twice.”
I groan. Her hair would cover her face, but I’d smell her—cinnamon and gardenia and aroused woman.
“Then I’d take you in my mouth, using my tongue to trace the underside of your cock. With one hand, I’d guide you deeper, and with the other, I’d cup your balls.” She writhes on the bed, grinding her hips against the mattress. She’s miles away and I can smell her like she’s right next to me.
“How does that feel, soldier?”<
br />
My dick throbs in my hand, and the tip is already leaking as my fingers do a poor job of replacing her mouth. “Don’t stop, angel.”
Her eyes glitter as she watches me. “Then, I’d start to suck. Hollow out my cheeks, let you think I’m about to pull off, but then I’d go down again, harder, faster. I’d hum when you were at your deepest, then, for good measure, I’d probably trail my fingernails along your inner thighs.”
I feel everything. Every sensation, even the soft locks of her hair brushing my hips. When she moans, the vibration rockets directly to my shaft, and my balls tighten.
“Come for me, West. Come so I can taste you.”
With a strangled cry that might have been her name, I follow orders. Cum spurts up my stomach to my chest, and I can’t help the jerk of my hips.
“See, if I were there, I’d take care of that for you.” Her voice drops another few notes. “Then…” The phone angle changes, and her hand dips into her panties.
I almost lose my grip on the phone as she gasps and her hips start to roll. “Easy, angel. Slow down. I want this to last. Let me see your fingers.” She obeys, and even on the small screen, they glisten. “What do you want, Cam?”
“Fuck me, West. Take me and make me scream.”
“Oh, you’ll be screaming soon enough. Touch yourself. Slowly. Slide your fingers along the edges of where my lips should be right now.” As she delves back under the red lace, she moans and my cock starts to throb again. “Good girl. If I were there, I’d slide lower, exploring. Maybe I’d dip one finger inside you. You’re so wet, sweetheart.”
She gasps again as she follows my running commentary, and her stomach quivers.
“Find the spot, angel. I’m tasting you now, my tongue tracing that hard nub. You’re sweet, like honey and rain. God, you’re so fucking hot. Faster now. I can’t get enough of you.”
I’m ready again, and as I palm my shaft, I can barely maintain my grip on the phone. “I’m inside you now. Two fingers curling deep, taking you higher.”
We’re both panting, and as Cam whimpers my name, I rush to the edge of the precipice. Her phone slips from her grip, and I only catch her hips bucking against her hand. Her cry, half-scream, half strangled groan sends me falling with her.
“West.”
I don’t know how long I’ve been staring at the ceiling, but her quiet voice brings me back, and I snag my t-shirt off the floor to clean myself up. “God, Cam. I can’t wait for tomorrow.” Picking up the phone so I can see her again, I sober immediately. “What’s wrong?”
She bites her bottom lip for a moment, squeezes her eyes shut, and runs a hand through her tangled tresses. “Work isn’t going well. Royce…something’s going on with him.”
“Your boss?”
“My former CO, too. We used to be close. Now…he won’t talk to me.” Her voice cracks, and does her chin wobble? Damn video. I can’t tell. “He’s been off for weeks, and everyone’s noticed. He’s called a happy hour for tomorrow—after work. I can’t bail. Not—”
“You need to reschedule our date.”
“Please don’t hate me.”
Her unsteady voice suggests she thinks I might. “Angel, we just had mind-blowing sex over FaceTime. You could call me an ugly son of a bitch with garlic breath and tell me you think my sheets came from the dollar bin at the clown store and I wouldn’t hate you. But if I don’t get you tomorrow night, I have one request.”
Her gaze pierces mine through the camera. “Anything.”
“Well, I was going to say I wanted you all day and all night on Saturday, but now that you’ve dangled the possibility of anything…”
Her cheeks flush, and a nervous laugh bubbles up. “Shit. I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”
My first genuine smile of the night eases the strain of the past few hours. “I promise to go easy on you. So what do you say? All day and night?”
“I’m yours.” She quirks a brow. “What are we doing?”
“A man’s got to have some secrets. I’ll pick you up at eleven—with coffee. After that, it’s need to know.”
“Bastard.” She grins and pulls the covers up to her chin. “Just for that, no more peep show for you.” An odd expression flickers over her features, but before I can ask her if she’s all right, she settles back against the pillows with a sigh. “I couldn’t sleep before you called—and now I’m too aroused. Tomorrow’s going to be one long-ass day.”
“Why couldn’t you sleep?”
“This job is getting to me. I don’t understand. My code was running flawlessly until this week. Now, all of a sudden, whenever I try to test it on the new server we bought for the hotel, it wigs out on me. With Lucas supervising the cabling, I don’t have anyone to help me figure this out, and I’m stumped.”
“I don’t know crap about programming. I can handle a universal remote and my Xbox, but that’s about it. But when I’m frustrated and I can’t see my way clear, sometimes taking a step back helps. I’m wiped, but we could play a little Call of Duty if you think it’d help.”
“I wish. Save that for the weekend, soldier. I’ll own that tight ass of yours.”
“I’m counting on it.”
CAM
Nursing my second glass of scotch, I watch Lucas flirt with the bartender. His shoulders shake with laughter, and he tucks a dread behind his ear as the tattooed man with a beard to rival the hippest of hipsters mixes Lucas's manhattan. With happy hour long over, and the rest of the company gone, I asked Lucas to have another round with me. By the time his drink sloshes into the glass, he’s jotting digits on a cocktail napkin. He floats back to the table, a silly grin plumping his cheeks.
“Smooth, Luc. You think he’ll call?”
His phone buzzes on the table, and Lucas glances at the device, then back at the bartender. “Just did.” He types a quick reply and then tucks his phone away. “You sure you don’t need to go see lover boy?”
“You just want me to cut you loose so you can go back to flirting.” I brush my finger over the rim of my glass, the tumbler warming in my hand. “We need to talk about the other day.”
The easy camaraderie we’d enjoyed with the rest of the company around us slips away, and Lucas purses his lips as he stares over my shoulder. My discomfort festers as I wait, and desperate for a distraction, I glance around the crowded bar. The awkward first date behind us can’t get past a discussion of the guy’s new computer, while to our left, three women toast with the brightest blue drinks I’ve ever seen and complain about the lack of eligible bachelors their age. When Lucas meets my gaze again, sadness lingers. “You’re going to tell Royce, aren’t you?”
“No. But if you’re really planning on leaving, you have to tell him soon.” I settle back in my chair, trying for my best boss stare. “You heard him tonight. Emerald City only works if we’re all invested. As soon as this job’s done, we need to finalize the facial recognition module for ZoomWare. With the state Oversight’s in right now, I won’t be able to do that unless I have a kick-ass programmer at my side.” I soften my tone as his eyes have taken on a bit of a shimmer. “I want you to run the install.”
He fiddles with the cherry stem jutting from his drink, and I have to strain to hear his next words. “You wanted me to handle all the debugging for Coana. Look how that turned out.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Royce made the call, but…” Shame flushes my cheeks, mixing with the warmth from the scotch. “I’ll talk to him—get him to promise he’ll never ask you to pull cable again.”
“That’s not enough.” At my frown, he sighs heavily. “I suck. I know. Royce gave me a job when no one else would. I owe him for that. You too, as I’m pretty sure you went to bat for me.”
“I just told him what a fan-fucking-tastic coder you were. Nothing more.” The situation’s slipping through my fingers, and I can’t manage to say the one thing I want to. I’m sorry I let you down.
He takes a sip of his drink, nods, and turns his attention to the napki
n under his glass. “You’ve taught me a lot, Cam. Got me on VetNet, helped me work through some of my demons. And you gave me a chance to get certified in Python, turned my rusty skills into something marketable, helped me write my first app. I love working with you. But I’m always going to be second fiddle.”
“No, you’re not. Luc, we’re about to have more clients than we know what to do with. Once word of Oversight gets out and we have a couple of glowing testimonials, I’ll need you to take the lead on multiple projects—and I won’t be there to back you up because I’ll be dealing with projects of my own.”
“Even so…Oversight is your system. Your code. Sure, Emerald City owns it, but if things go the way we all hope, the world is going to know that Camilla Delgado is the genius behind it.” The passion in his voice surprises me, but he’s right, and I don’t have an easy retort. “I want my own Oversight. Something that’s just mine.”
I nod, twisting my napkin in my lap. “When did you start looking for another job?” I don’t want to know, don’t want to face the fact that Lucas didn’t feel he could talk to me. I can count my friends on one hand, and right now, I feel like I’m losing him.
Breaking His Code (Away From Keyboard Book 1) Page 8
