by N. A. Alcorn
A scowl mars her face as anger begins to boil below the surface of her skin. After so many years, she finds herself face to face with a man she assumed had moved on. He left her brokenhearted, utterly bereft, and without the slightest reason why. How could any woman be sane when faced with something like this?
She clears her throat as she racks her brain to remember what in the hell he just asked her. Then she finally answers his question—a question that might as well have been spoken two hours ago.
“For right now, yes. I tend to travel all over the world because of Project Smiles.”
“How long are you in San Diego?” His tone reveals no inkling of nervousness or unease, but his face flashes with irritation for a quick moment. He looks away. His fingers run through his thick, brown hair as his chest inhales a cavernous breath.
Why in the hell is irritated with me?
HE gave up on us. NOT me.
“You sure are asking a lot of questions,” she scolds as she decides to see where in the hell this is going to go. It’s not like they can chat it up about normal shit. She’s facing her first love under a completely different name—a name that belongs to the goddamn CIA.
Nix’s eyes find their way back to hers and a low chuckle passes his lips. The irritation is now replaced with amusement. “I can’t help myself. I’m a curious kind of guy.” He shrugs is broad shoulders.
“I can see that.” She shoots a playful glare and can’t hide her laughter.
His emotions are beginning to appear just as erratic as hers.
And she’s thankful she’s not the only one on the verge of losing it.
“I’m in San Diego for another week or so and then I’ll be back on a plane for another Project Smiles mission. What about you”—she peeks down at his military insignia—“Lieutenant West? Do you live in San Diego?”
“Yes. When I’m not being shipped out to some shithole town in the middle of nowhere, I call this lovely city home,” he answers with an all-too-familiar smile—the smile that once had the power to make her panties fall right off. Hell, it probably still does. “Do you have plans this evening?”
Her brow squints in confusion. She’s completely taken aback by the way he’s handling their little run-in with each other. “Uh…my plans include heading back to my apartment, getting my feet out of these heels, and putting myself to bed.”
He has to know that it’s her. How couldn’t he? She’s shocked that he hasn’t even attempted to address the reason for the palpable tension that flows between them like a goddamn electrical current.
“Well now your plans have changed,” he announces confidently as a mischievous grin kisses his mouth.
Her eyebrows rise in incredulity. “Is that so?”
He nods his head up and down in three determined movements. “Very so. You look like you could use a drink, and I know just the place. A few of my buddies and I are heading over to Gallagher’s Pub. It’s only a few blocks from here.”
“I don’t even really know you,” she lies. Her index finger involuntarily reaches up to her face, tapping the side of her nose in a fidgety movement.
Nix’s laser-sharp gaze hones in on that pesky finger, scrutinizing the motion.
Once she realizes the awkward placement, she quickly moves her hand back down to her side. “I don’t think it would be prudent of me to just follow random men to a bar I’ve never been to.” There’s another lie. Sloan knows all about Gallagher’s Pub. Hell, she knows all about everything that resides within San Diego. This is what makes her great at her job. She makes herself acutely aware of her location and surroundings—painstakingly so.
“But we’ve already met.”
Her eyes go wide. “Huh?” she asks with feigned confusion.
His pearly whites flash a vivid smile, nearly knocking her on her ass. He glances down at his watch before peering back up at her through his thick lashes. “Yeah, about five minutes ago,” he jokingly reminds her. “You didn’t already forget, did you?” He holds his hand to his chest and fakes discomfort. “Talk about hurting a man’s ego. Am I really that forgettable?”
Sloan lets out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding, her head involuntarily shaking at his antics. She can’t hide the hilarity that radiates from her face. “Are all Navy SEALs like this?” she questions amusedly.
Nix’s brow creases, highlighting those gorgeous eyes of his. “Who said I was a SEAL?”
She points her index finger towards his perfect chest. “Your trident.”
He quickly glances down before locking his gaze with hers. “Keen observation, Dr. Santora. So what do you say? Will you trust me and two of the best guys I know to buy you a drink and entertain you for a few hours?”
“Please, call me Felicia, and I have a feeling you’ve used that line on a lot girls, Lieutenant.” The flirtatious retort flies out of her mouth before she could even process it. What the hell? Am I really flirting with him right now?
Nix chuckles and shakes his head. “I’m not the kind of guy who resorts to cliché pick-up lines to get what he wants.” The corners of his mouth quirk up, accentuating his strong jawline. “So what do you say, Felicia? Will you grace us with your exquisite presence this evening?”
Her eyes hone in on his lips. God, he always had the most perfect mouth. Full, soft, yet firm, with lips that gave the best kisses. Kisses that could make a girl forget her name. Kisses that could make a girl get down on her knees and beg for his hand in marriage.
Incredible, perfect kisses.
Nix clears his throat, abruptly pulling Sloan from the inventory of the brazen man before her.
She glances into his intense, blue orbs one last time, taking in every inch of their spectacular beauty. Her brain mulls over his question. The rational side of Sloan is practically screaming for her to bid the sailor goodnight and head for the door, but the other side of Sloan—the irrational side that once allowed herself to fall in love—is pushing her to accept his offer.
And she shocks herself to her very core when, “Yes,” slips from her lips.
His face instantaneously lights up.
Before Nix can respond, two men are standing next to him with knowing grins etched across their faces. “You ready, Boss?” One of them asks as his face glances back and forth between Nix and Sloan, curiously gauging their current state.
“Yeah. I hope you don’t mind, but I’m bringing my new friend.” Nix nods his head in her direction. “Julian, Slade, this is Felicia Santora.” He kindly introduces her to his buddies and both men flash looks that say, “We more than approve of this.”
“Very nice to meet you both.” She politely offers her hand and proceeds to shake the strong hands of both men. Her mind has a difficult time processing the fact that all three of these men are Navy SEALs, and all three of them are ridiculously good-looking.
Get it together, Sloan.
Ten minutes in Nix’s presence and she’s morphed into her sixteen-year-old self all over again. He has her appreciating men like a giggling teenager and managed to get her to agree to drinks. She doesn’t do drinks. Nights out at bars are never on her agenda. The last time she went out for drinks with friends was in college.
This. Is. Ludicrous.
“Well, let’s go.” Impatiently, Julian urges, “It’s already after ten and I’ve got several beers with my name on them.”
Slade chuckles and pats Julian on the back. “We better get out of here before Julian starts harassing the staff. I have a feeling, if we don’t leave soon, he’ll start begging them to sneak him booze while they’re trying to close down for the night.”
Julian and Slade walk out of the ballroom, leaving Nix and Sloan to follow their lead.
“After you, Felicia.” Nix gestures with his hand.
She wills her feet to move—no easy feat considering her insides are practically shaking from his close proximity. His hand gently presses against the small of her back—one of her most sensitive spots—and she immediately thinks, This.
Is. Bad.
She feels reckless and out of control, yet she can’t find the ability to care. She’s setting herself up for trouble with a capital T. And for some unknown reason, the exciting thrill that buzzes under her skin seems to be the only feeling she can discern. It must be the only goddamn thing that’s motivating her hasty decisions tonight.
“Do you mind if my driver takes us to the bar?” she asks.
The four of them stand outside the conference center, stopped just under the elegant awning that encompasses the entrance.
Nix’s head cocks to the side questioningly.
She lifts one of her strappy, heeled feet just slightly off the ground, indicating her reason for not wanting to walk. This isn’t the real reason. She could walk miles in heels. Hell, she could run in heels. Her CIA training has turned her into the type of woman who can do anything, anywhere, anytime, no matter what she’s wearing. Heels, boots, flip-flops, bare feet—nothing creates a challenge for Sloan.
Her real reason for wanting Agent Matthews to drive them is so he knows her exact location—just in case. It’s not that she’s worried that these men will put her in danger. She’s concerned about being out in public without having anything but a small knife strapped to her thigh and zero access to someone like Matthews to watch out for her.
“I’d prefer not to walk in these stilettos,” she expresses as Nix looks down at the little bit of leg that’s revealed through the side slit of her black dress.
His eyes greedily appraise the small sliver of thigh that’s on display before finally making eye contact with her. He chuckles as she displays a fake pout.
“Sorry to disappoint you, but my feet are already aching. And I have a feeling you wouldn’t enjoy carrying me to the bar,” she attempts to bring her ridiculous point home.
“I wouldn’t go that far. Carrying you to the bar wouldn’t be a misfortune for me…at all,” he tells her with a wicked gleam in his eyes.
The heated expression he exudes has her involuntarily biting her bottom lip. She doesn’t even realize she’s doing it until a sharp, piercing sensation radiates from her mouth and the faint metallic taste of blood touches the taste buds of her tongue.
“Is this your driver?” He motions with his forehead towards the black town car that just pulled up to the turnabout.
Agent Matthews promptly gets out of the driver’s seat and heads over to the back passenger’s side door, holding it open for Sloan. That man really does have impeccable timing.
“Yeah,” she replies quietly once she manages to dislodge her teeth from her lip.
“Julian! Slade! Get over here!” Nix shouts in the directions of his buddies, who are currently standing off to the side, waiting impatiently to get the show on the road.
Both men look at him, confused.
“We’re using her driver. Slo—Felicia’s feet hurt.”
“Hell yeah!” Julian shouts before quickly walking in their direction with an amused Slade following in his wake.
“Hi, Frank,” Sloan greets a very curious Agent Matthews. “These are a few friends I met tonight at the dinner. Nix, Slade, Julian, this is Frank.”
The men exchange pleasantries before the three SEALs pile into the car.
Slade takes the front seat, leaving Nix to sit in the middle of Julian and Sloan.
Once Agent Matthews gets back in the driver’s seat, Sloan instructs him to head towards Gallagher’s Pub. He nods his head in understanding through the rearview mirror, and she doesn’t miss the nonverbal questions he asks with his eyes.
The ride to Gallagher’s may have been short, but Sloan practically jumps out of the backseat once the town car stops in front of the pub. The feel of Nix’s thigh pressed against hers was almost too much to handle.
“Go ahead, guys.” She gestures for them to head into the bar. “I just need to have a quick chat with Frank about my schedule this week.”
Nix peers at her inquisitorially but heads inside with Julian and Slade.
“You sure about this?” Matthews asks quietly.
“I know this isn’t exactly the best idea, but I need a night out,” she declares with a hushed tone.
“I get that. I really do. Fuck, you deserve more than just a night out. You deserve a whole fucking year away from all of the bullshit. But I’m worried about the backlash you’ll get if Chief finds out.”
Sloan’s hands fly up in the air from frustration. “I’m well aware. Seriously, I’m thankful you’re looking out for me, but can you just do me this one favor? If any questions are asked, just act like you took me home tonight promptly after the dinner,” she begs.
A get-out-of-jail-free card for one night seems like a much-needed reprieve from her normally calculated life. Yeah, Chief Dubois could track her—he could easily find out about this—but she’s never given him any reason to doubt her. Besides, the man is far too busy with other things than to worry about the location of one of his agents who isn’t currently on a mission.
It’s definitely not protocol and Sloan could face some repercussions, but in the long scheme of things, if Chief Dubois finds out about tonight, it wouldn’t really hurt her career. He’d just be really pissed off for a few days. Chief is adamantly against anything or anyone that could distract his agents.
A heavy sigh is the only reaction Matthews gives. “All right. Go in and have a good time, but make sure you call me if you can’t get yourself home safely. And I expect a text from you no later than two. If I don’t hear from you by then, I’m getting back in this car to come find you. Affirmative?”
She nods in understanding.
She walks towards the bar as Matthews climbs into the driver’s seat. Before pulling open the door, she turns around and makes eye contact with him through the passenger’s side window.
“Thank you,” she mouths with a smile.
He shakes his head in mild exasperation as a small grin threatens the corners of his lips.
As she strides into the bar, her eyes search out the crowded pub and it only takes a few seconds before she finds that all-too-familiar blue gaze staring back at her.
She can’t stop the smile that spreads across her full lips.
Nix grins in response, watching her intently as she moves towards him.
Each step in his direction pushes away the nagging thoughts of this being a really, really bad idea. And those thoughts are practically drowned out by the excitement that races through her blood stream from having his eyes on her. Her irrational, wild, reckless side is making a reappearance into her life, and Sloan can’t seem to find the motivation to stop it.
SHE MANAGED TO TAKE TWO shots and consume two beers in the first thirty minutes of arriving at Gallagher’s Pub. She can’t remember the last time she drank—the last time she actually enjoyed a night out. This isn’t exactly the best idea, but Sloan has found that SEALs are all about the peer pressure. She is enjoying the company of three gorgeous men in their dress blues. They’re quite the sight, and she hasn’t missed the interested, appreciative looks they have been receiving from the surrounding female bar patrons. This is probably the norm for them, and it has her a little curious about the women Nix has been with over the years.
Was it easy for him to move on? Did he find her replacement?
God, that hurts. The thought of him with another woman is painful enough, but the idea that he could have found someone else—someone he loves more than he loved her—is downright excruciating. It’s a shock that she still harbors all of these feelings. Everything she felt for him so many years ago is still here. It’s still fucking here.
She hates him.
She wants him.
She despises him.
She’s desperate for him.
Get it together, Sloan. Dear god, get it together…
She can’t deny the happiness she feels from seeing him again, but it’s greatly overshadowed by the fact that she can’t be herself. She can’t just be Sloan. Yeah, they’re Navy SEALs and no doubt they would underst
and the need for her to keep anonymity as a CIA agent, but that doesn’t give her a free pass. She can’t be anything but Felicia Santora right now, and she’s finding herself mournful over this fact.
Sloan peels the label from her bottle of beer as the three guys chat around her. Her mind is distracted and confused, her heart hurting over the entire scenario. Nix is back in her life and she can’t even enjoy it. She can’t talk to him about what he’s been up to over the years or ask him about his parents or anything of real relevance. She has to continue to act aloof and like this is the first time they’ve ever met.
But he knows.
She knows that he knows.
How couldn’t he? They spent nearly two years of their lives in love. Yeah, they were torn apart after a year of being together, but they still wrote letters and fought to say in touch. A feeling of resentment blossoms inside her stomach as she thinks about the last letter he sent. One day, he just stopped writing, stopped responding, stopped everything. Why? WHY?
Would everything be different right now had he stayed in touch? Had he not given up on them? Because, in her eyes, that’s what happened—he gave up. She has the irrational urge to yell at him. Her palm itches to smack him clear across the face. She wants to tell him just how much he broke her heart and demand answers—reasons for what he did—but she can’t. She doesn’t have that luxury.
What a complete and total mindfuck.
Sloan starts to think of a way to extricate herself from the evening. Being in his presence is way more agonizing than she could have ever predicted. She feels a need for self-preservation.
“I’m surprised a beautiful woman like you came to that dinner alone.” Julian directs his attention towards her, a flirtatious tone lacing his voice.
A scowl overcomes Nix’s handsome face, his features hardening immediately.
Sloan laughs as she looks at Julian—the gorgeous, green-eyed SEAL—from across the table. “I’m too busy for dates. I’m rarely home, and when I am home, I’m either in the OR, speaking at events, or working on my column.”
