by N. A. Alcorn
“I h-have to get home,” she stutters in a quick rush of quiet words.
“Okay.” He nods and holds his hand out to her. “I’ll go with you.”
“That’s not necessary.” Frustrated, she sighs.
Why does he have to make this harder than it already is?
“Yeah, sweetheart, it is necessary.” His voice is stern yet gentle, soft but firm.
Hearing the sweet sentiment from his lips reminds her of them together—young and in love. Irrational tears threaten her eyes as she follows his lead. He pulls her off the dance floor and back towards their table. She glances at the clock above the bar and realizes that it’s almost one thirty a.m.
Shit. I had no intention of closing down the bar.
One drink turned into two and two into three, and then, the next thing she knew, she was dancing with Nix. Her body can still feel the heat of his skin pressed against hers, almost like he scorched her, left his mark on her. His touch is the only touch that’s ever resonated within her. One stroke of his fingertips turns her into someone she thought she had forgotten.
“I’m going to make sure she gets home okay,” Nix tells his friends, who are perched comfortably on their barstools, casually sipping from their beers.
Approving, both Slade and Julian grin.
“All right. Nice meeting you, Felicia,” Slade says as he stands up and pulls her into a quick hug. “Don’t be afraid to smack this dick around if he gets out of hand,” he goads into her ear.
She laughs despite the nervous, uncertain, hesitant energy that’s rolling around inside her belly. “Have a good night, guys,” she offers with a wave and grabs her purse.
Nix throws down enough cash on the table to cover everyone’s drinks and takes Sloan’s hand, promptly pulling her out of the bar.
THE CAB RIDE TO HER apartment feels like an eternity as Nix fights the urge to pull her onto his lap and kiss her until their lips are sore and swollen and chapped. His cock aches relentlessly underneath his dress slacks, and he has to discreetly adjust himself several times just to relieve the discomfort.
Desperate—the only word strong enough to describe his current state.
He is desperate to be inside her, desperate to claim her again.
In an instant, Sloan is back in his life, and his body is already responding to her as if she’s a necessity for him. Her importance rivals his lungs need for oxygen and his hearts need for blood. He feels like he needs her to survive.
His mind can’t stop the visuals of dancing with her from replaying over and over and over again. Their bodies moving together, her soft curves pressed against him—these are images that are ingrained in his brain. His skin is still buzzing from the feel of her. That dance might as well have brought him to his fucking knees. One glance from her dark gaze and she still possesses the power to unravel him.
And for once in his life, Nix has no idea how to navigate this. Yes, this is Sloan—his Sloan—but things are different now. So fucking different. She’s changed. She’s living her life under a completely different name—a goddamn façade—and he has no idea why. His military instincts tell him that there’s an important reason for this. I will find out. There is no other option.
As the cab pulls into the parking lot of her apartment building, Nix makes a mental note of the address and location. He turns his face to hers, watching her closely. Dark eyes stare blankly out the window as her teeth bite down on her bottom lip. Her face is filled with apprehension and uncertainty.
His brain takes inventory of their current state in the back of the taxi cab. Her leg is touching his in the backseat. Her flowery perfume fills the small space with a delicious scent that goes straight to his head. He watches her chest move up and down as she takes a deep breath, her pulse fluttering wildly in her delicate neck.
She’s visibly worked up about something, but what? Is it from me?
The irrational side of him is pissed at her for lying because she should know that she can trust him with anything. The rational side of him—the Navy SEAL who understands the need for anonymity and to protect information—fully recognizes that whatever reason she has for having a different name and not verbally expressing her recognition of him must be pretty fucking important. An ‘if I tell you, I’ll have to kill you’ kind of reason.
He runs through the long list of possibilities…
Is she in some kind of trouble? Part of Witness Protection? Is she some sort of criminal?
None of those seem viable considering she just spoke in front of hundreds of current and former military tonight.
An international spy? Probably not.
Military? Secret Service? FBI? CIA? These seem like better options.
The outline of a knife that’s barely visible under her black dress proves that she has a need to protect herself. But from what?
And yeah, the fact she has a knife strapped to what he presumes is a garter belt isn’t lost on him. That’s really fucking hot.
The cab stops in front of her building, and Nix hops out to open her door.
She slides out with ease, her stilettos and black clutch in her hand. A warm breeze stirs past, softly blowing through her thick, brunette hair.
Fuck, he always loved her hair, loved the feel of his fingers clasping the silky waves.
She peers up at him through her delicate, black lashes, her big, brown eyes hesitant.
Those eyes still manage to be one of his favorite things about her. They had the power to suck him in and leave him completely entranced. They still have that power.
“It was really nice meeting you, Nix.”
The sound of his name on her lips speeds his heart rate up.
“You too, Felicia,” he responds huskily as he slides his hand into her brunette locks, tucking them gently behind her ear.
Her eyes close and her breath hitches slightly.
Nix doesn’t miss her reaction to his touch.
“Well…” She pauses for a moment, staring up into his eyes. “Thanks for the drinks. I had a really nice time. I never get to go out for drinks.” A self-deprecating laugh escapes her mouth. She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, rolling it softly under her teeth.
Fuck. He needs to adjust his cock again, and he can’t deny the overwhelming urge to bite, lick, and kiss those lips until they’re both breathless and gasping for air. God, he wants to kiss her. Taste her. Leave a mark on her mouth. He wants to force her lips to remember him.
After his brain regains the majority of his body’s blood flow, the corners of his mouth crease down from her words. His chest twinges at the idea of her rarely getting out, rarely enjoying herself. The Sloan he used to know lived for moments where she could let loose and be carefree. She thrived and shined and was at her most beautiful when she was simply loving life.
“I think you need to change that. A beautiful woman like you should be able to go out and enjoy herself from time to time.”
She shrugs her shoulders. “My job doesn’t exactly allow for much free time. Zero free time to be exact. This was the first time that I had a night out that didn’t revolve around business or patients or whatever else in a very long time. Years probably,” she whispers quietly into the warm night air.
He grabs her black clutch from her hand and opens it immediately before she can argue. His fingers grasp the iPhone that rests inside.
Sloan continues to look at him questioningly, but he ignores her scrutiny.
After adding his name and number to her list of contacts, he pushes send and calls his cell from hers—promptly giving him the ability to get in touch with her again.
“There,” he states as he places her iPhone back inside her purse. “Now you have my number and I’ll always be willing to take you out for drinks or dinner or whatever your little heart desires. We can’t have you wasting that gorgeous face behind closed doors.” He unleashes a smile that usually has women ripping their clothes off in a matter of seconds.
Her jaw goes slack and she stares
back at him. “Very smooth, Lieutenant. Is that your signature move?”
The look in her eyes exudes irritation, but from what, he’s not sure. Is she pissed that he just took it upon himself to get her number? Or is she pissed because she is thinking about him with other women? He’s hoping for the latter of the two options.
“Actually, yours is the first woman’s phone I’ve ever hijacked. Most chicks just hand me their numbers, but with you, I knew I needed to find a different kind of way.” A sly smile spreads across his mouth.
“You’re kind of incorrigible, you know that?” A small chuckle escapes her throat.
A chuckle is a good sign, but a giggle—that would be even better. He used to love hearing the sound of her girlish giggle. Best fucking sound in the entire world.
Nix shrugs his shoulders and rocks back and forth on his feet. “So…are you going to call me?”
“I wouldn’t wait by the phone…or hold your breath for that matter,” she responds sharply.
Yeah, she’s kind of pissed at him, but he doesn’t care. He’d much rather have her mad than completely indifferent. Her being pissed off proves one thing—she still cares.
Nix leans in and gently kisses her cheek. “I had a really nice time tonight.”
She startles slightly when his lips brush across her skin.
After a few seconds, he leans back and looks deep into her eyes. “And just remember…” he whispers, stopping mid-sentence.
Their faces are mere inches apart, and her breath hitches involuntarily.
“Just remember what?” Her voice is breathy and raspy, audibly affected by his close proximity.
“I have your number and I plan on calling you…soon.” He steps back, giving her space to breathe—space to get her head in order. A huge grin encompasses his face. “Goodnight, sweetheart,” he says warmly before heading back towards the cab, leaving her speechless and standing in front of the door to her apartment building.
For the entire cab ride back to his apartment, Nix can’t squelch the giant smile on his face. He just managed to get her number and find out where she lives in San Diego. A huge fucking victory.
One week. He has one week before she leaves for Guadalajara, and he plans to spend that time working his ass off to get closer to her. If there’s one thing SEALs are known for, it’s always stepping up to the challenge, and this woman—who he knows with one hundred and ten percent certainty is Sloan Walker—has become the ultimate challenge for him.
I will make her mine again. One smile. One laugh. One kiss. One touch. One delicious fucking lick at a time.
Game. On.
WHAT IN THE HELL JUST happened?
Sloan quickly makes her way into her apartment, slamming the door shut. The frame rattles from the harsh movement. Her body leans against the closed door. The feel of the cool wood spurs goose bumps on the exposed skin of her back. Her head falls back against the hard surface with a thud. She’s mentally berating herself for the entire evening. What was I thinking?
Drinks—lots of drinks—with him.
Dancing with him.
Riding home in a cab with him.
Now he knows where she lives in San Diego, and not only does he have her address, he has her phone number. Obviously, it’s the number to her iPhone and not her CIA-issued Blackberry.
She’s just asking for trouble.
Trouble that begins and ends with a certain Navy SEAL with eyes as blue as the sea and a smile that makes her legs tremble and her core ache in a deliciously painful way. She must have left her sanity at home tonight. That’s the only logical explanation. Nixon West is the reason.
She sighs heavily at the realization that a man who hasn’t been in her life for over a decade can have her acting irrational and reckless after just a few hours in his presence. Sloan shakes her head and runs frustrated hands through her hair. She’s worked so hard to establish herself as one of the best CIA agents in the Clandestine Affairs Division, and she seems all too willing to throw everything out the window after one night with him.
No one else has ever gotten to her like this.
How can he still hold this much power over her?
Her iPhone beeps with a text message notification. Her heart races at the mere thought of Nix having her number. She pulls it out of her black clutch and sees that it’s from Agent Matthews. Her stomach foolishly drops from disappointment.
Frank: Home?
Felicia: Just got in.
Every aspect of her life is a façade. Even her text messages are coded.
She takes a deep breath as her body slowly slides to the floor. She stares blankly at the ceiling, trying to understand how everything she thought she knew could change in a single night. She can’t help the anger that overcomes her as she thinks about the way things ended with Nix.
If only he would have contacted her. If only he wouldn’t have given up…
It has taken years for her to get to a place where she was convinced that she was over it. And now, all of a sudden, he’s back in her life and had the audacity to approach and convince her to spend the evening with him and his buddies. And that dance! Oh my god!
His hands were all over her—seducing, caressing, and leaving her almost too willing. She was so close to crashing her lips to his in the middle of that bar and kissing him ravenously.
Her rational brain is screaming for to keep her distance from Nix. She’s just praying that the irrational, wild, reckless side of her will keep its cool and not allow her to take part in any more nights like tonight. Fingers, toes, and any other flexible body part crossed that she can stick with this plan of action.
SLOAN WAKES UP WITH THE San Diego sun shining in through the large window that highlights her bedroom. Her eyes squint in defiance and the relentless pounding in her skull resonates tenfold. Taking shots was a terrible idea last night. Her mouth is dry and scratchy and might as well be filled with cotton balls. She licks her parched, chapped lips as she endeavors to get her ass out of bed.
The floorboards creak loudly in the stillness of the living room as she walks into the kitchen.
Coffee is her first order of business.
She hasn’t felt the remnants of last night’s alcohol since she was a sophomore in college. That was before she started her internship with the CIA. It was a time in her life that didn’t necessarily revolve around partying, but she definitely took part in some good old-fashioned, college-style debauchery. That was a time in her life where she still went out, had friends, and socialized.
She still can’t believe how she threw caution to the wind. Sloan knows she should put last night in the past, along with everything else Nixon West, but for some reason she just can’t. She can’t stop thinking about every detail of that dance. She thought if she had one more night with him, that maybe she would be sated, that maybe she could really move on. But she isn’t sated. The urge to itch that Nix scratch has now grown ten-fold, engorging her, and leaving her feeling equal parts gluttonous and starving.
While the coffee pot brews, she thwarts off her wayward thoughts by going through some of her mail from Project Smiles. She opens a small thank-you card filled with kind words from a young boy’s mother. His name is Jose, and over a year ago, he underwent a plastic surgery to fix a facial deformity. The beautiful picture his mother added inside the envelope puts a huge smile on Sloan’s face. She hangs the card and picture on her fridge, next to several other thank-you cards and pictures she’s accumulated over the years through mission trips with Project Smiles. She loves starting her day by seeing evidence of the good things that being Dr. Felicia Santora has done for children like Jose.
Once her giant yellow mug that easily holds sixteen ounces of coffee is in her hand, she chooses to spend her morning researching. She turns on her favorite iTunes playlist, tapping her feet and bobbing her head to the music. Sloan focuses on finding anything and everything she can possibly find out about Nix. This is one perk for not only being a part of the CIA, but having the hi
ghest clearance within the Clandestine Affairs Division. She can track down anyone and anything.
Yeah, this could be considered a breech in protocol, but there is one thing that Agent L-55 is really good at—computer hacking. She’s highly skilled when it comes to breaking into databases and ensuring that no one will ever find out that she was even there. It’s not like she’s hacking into the Federal Reserve and wiring money into an offshore account only she could access—which she could probably do. She’s just going to snoop around and dig for a little more information on him.
She logs onto her personal laptop—the one that even the CIA doesn’t have access to—and breaks into one of her neighbors’ Wi-Fi networks.
I Love Porn. Interesting choice in network name. She’ll have to find out which one of her neighbors has this little ditty as their main source of Internet later—after she’s found out all she needs to know about a certain Navy SEAL.
Fifteen minutes later, she’s retrieved an endless amount of information on Nix.
His family moved to L.A. when he was around seventeen years old. His mother and father are still living. His father, Marshall West, recently retired from his career as a pilot for a commercial airline. His mother, Debbie West, never got another job after the West family left Honolulu.
Sloan smiles from happy memories of Nix’s parents. She always did love them. His mother made the best chocolate chip cookies and his father loved to tell her corny jokes that made her giggle from their absurdity. They were the picture-perfect couple with a relationship that proves there are still people out there who can maintain a happy marriage.
Nix graduated from the Naval Academy and went straight into the Navy as an officer. He was stationed on several naval bases throughout the country before he entered into BUD/S training. The first three years of his SEAL experience is easily visible. Every assignment, every mission—all of them are found without difficulty. But the last few years seem to be nonexistent. Almost like he retired or just…disappeared.
That is odd. She decides to do a little more delving and searches for information on his two buddies she met last night. Slade Hammersmith and Julian Knight. She seems to receive the same results on them. What they did and accomplished after the first couple of years of becoming SEALs is found without difficulty, but that’s all she can find… Interesting.
