Her Soldier

by Annette Fields

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events reside solely in the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual people, alive or dead, is purely coincidental. All characters are eighteen years of age or older.

  ©2017, Annette Fields. No portion of this work can be reproduced in any way without prior written consent from the author with the exception for a fair use excerpt for review and editorial purposes.This title is for adults only. It contains explicit sex acts, adult themes, and material that some folks may find offensive. Please keep out of reach of children.

  Table of Contents

  Her Soldier

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  EPILOGUE

  Her Soldier

  A Military Bad Boy Novella

  by Annette Fields

  A note from the author: Thanks for downloading Her Soldier! I hope you enjoy reading it! To check out my other books, visit my Amazon Author page!

  CHAPTER 1

  MIA

  I hate the military and everything it stands for.

  Call me unpatriotic, un-American, an ungrateful hippie, whatever works. It’s just how I feel.

  As an animal-loving, violence-hating vegetarian, I’m an outsider in my highly patriotic, all-American hometown right next to an Air Force base.

  I’m leaving Highfield, Colorado for greener pastures the first chance I get. Something like 45% of our residents are either retired Air Force or currently serving. Rather than going to college, high school kids are expected to enlist in the military as soon as they graduate. I’ve lost a lot of friends to the military, most of them due to shipping off to basic training and then getting stationed far away. But a few have also lost their lives, which is where most of my hate comes from. I can never support an organization that allows people my age or younger to die “fighting for their country”.

  So I smile and chat politely with all the new and familiar Airmen who visit Grady’s Pub where I work, but I never give special treatment like some of them seem to expect.

  When he walks in though, I have to do a double-take and scoop my jaw off the floor.

  He stands head and shoulders above every other man in the room and even they have to look at him more than once. His smoldering gray eyes zero in on me and freeze me to my spot behind the bar. I realize my lips are parted and I lick them instinctively.

  He walks with swagger on long, powerful legs that carries a lean, narrow torso that also fills out the blue Air Force T-shirt he wore. His sculpted arm muscles, decorated in tattoos, are the biggest clue as to what the rest of his body looks like under his clothes. Strong, powerful, and oozing sex.

  I keep my cool behind the bar as he approaches, trying to look busy and not like I just got hit in the chest with Cupid’s arrow.

  He slides his lithe, powerful body into a barstool and only then do I look up and smile.

  “Hi! What can I get you?”

  His lips turn up in the hint of a smirk toward his sharp cheekbones. Up close, I can see the rough texture of dark stubble coating his jaw. Just from that, I know he’s a rebel. The Air Force has extremely strict standards on clean-shaven faces. He’s either high enough up the chain that no one tells him what to do, or he just doesn’t give a fuck what his boss says.

  “Give me a second to think, will ya, sweetheart?”

  His voice is dark, smooth, and laced with a hint of Southern drawl. It makes me want to lean in and feel the vibrations of that sound against my skin.

  “Sure, of course,” I say, kicking myself mentally. How desperate can I be, jumping to serve him the minute he sits down?

  He eyes the assortment of liquor bottles behind me with a careful, calculating look. “I’ll take a Bombay Sapphire. Neat.”

  I try to hide my surprise as I pick up the blue bottle and carefully pour a shot into a glass but he sees my look and seems amused by it.

  “Let me guess. You expected me to go for the cheap stuff,” he says as he brings the glass to his lips and sips half of the shot down.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever touched that bottle since I started working here,” I reply. His guess was right on the money. Military men usually liked their booze cheap and their women cheaper.

  “And how long is that?” he asks.

  “About a year. Since I turned twenty-one.”

  “Local girl, huh?”

  “Born and raised.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  The amusement never leaves his face but his eyes are locked onto me like a sniper’s gun. It’s almost paradoxical how his mouth is turned up playfully but his eyes are smoldering and intense. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, if he’s trying to flirt or teasing is just his conversation style. Either way, I feel sensations over my skin like the gentlest warm breeze from the way he looks at me.

  “Yeah, me too,” is all I can say before Angie, one of the waitresses, comes up to me for a drink order and I must be pulled away from the handsome, mysterious stranger.

  "Who is that?" she asks in a voice that's a bit too loud. It's obvious who she's talking about. The bar is empty except for Mr. Bombay Sapphire.

  "No idea. Some new airman," I mutter, keeping my voice low as I prepare her drinks.

  "He's fucking hot," she says, still not bothering to keep her voice down and obviously staring. "And available. He's not wearing a wedding ring."

  "That doesn't mean anything," I say as I aggressively stab an olive with a toothpick and plop it into a martini.

  Maybe I'm biased but I've heard too many stories about airmen cheating on their wives and girlfriends. It happened to my best friend Jessa, who just divorced her cheating ex. He claimed it was unreasonable to expect faithfulness after being away for eight weeks of basic training and two years of tech school. I'm not sure why he chose to say vows then.

  In any case, I don't trust that a man without a ring is an unmarried one.

  I can feel Mr. Bombay's eyes studying me as I finish Angie's drinks and place them on her tray. It's not a creepy feeling, just not one that I'm used to.

  Working behind a bar means I get hit on pretty often but I'm not a supermodel by any means. I have brown hair, brown eyes, not too skinny but not overweight either. Sometimes I don't think I could be any more average.

  But Mr. Bombay is looking at me like I'm the only thing capturing his attention and I have no idea why.

  "Another shot?" I ask him when nothing is left to distract me.

  "Please. A double this time, sweetheart." He sets the shot glass on the rubber mat near the sink.

  "Sorry, we don't do doubles," I tell him.

  He narrows his eyes but he doesn't seem angry. Just curious.

  "And why the hell not?"

  I shrug. “It’s the boss’s policy. I assume to keep people from drinking too much.”

  "So what's stopping me from buying shot after shot, local girl?" He says it like a challenge.

  "My judgement and nothing else," I reply and can't help but add, "So you better be nice and treat your bartender right."

  His cautious smirk breaks into a wide grin.

  "Oh I'll treat you right, sweetheart but I'm definitely not nice."

  I'm not sure what that's supposed to mean or how I should respond so I busy myself with pouring him two single shots of Bombay. My stomach is flip flopping as I do so.

  "Best I can do," I say apologetically as I place the two glasses before him, wondering too late if it's a du
mb move to give a double serving of booze to someone I don't know.

  He nods in appreciation as he takes a small swig from the first glass. I notice he doesn't shoot his liquor which I take as a positive sign. He chooses to take his time and enjoy it.

  "What's your name, sweetheart?" he asks.

  "Mia," I reply.

  "I'm Adam. Adam Gunn." He says it with all the charisma and charm as, "Bond. James Bond."

  "Newly stationed in this lovely shithole, Adam?" I ask.

  "Nah, just here on a training assignment. Nothing but classes and certifications for two weeks, then I'm gone again."

  "Gone where?"

  I'm not sure why I ask. It's none of my business and I'll never see him again, wherever he goes. The question comes out almost involuntarily like my body is desperate to know.

  "Who knows. Wherever my skills are needed." He finishes the first shot and picks up the second, never taking his eyes off me.

  "And what skills are those?"

  I bite my tongue but the question is already out there. I don't know why I'm asking so many questions, especially to someone I'll never see again. But something in me wants to learn more about Adam, to know intimate details about him.

  "I have many skills, sweetheart." There's that teasing again with the suggestive smile and this time it's accompanied by a wink. My face grows hot and my heartbeat quickens.

  "But as far as my job goes, I'm a jet mechanic." He leans back in his chair as if to ease the pressure off me.

  "I see." I can't seem to say anything else. I probably should stop talking before I embarrass myself further.

  "So what's your story, sweetheart?"

  So much for taking pressure off. Inwardly I squirm, knowing I can't dish back clever innuendos like he can. If he's hoping to be impressed by me, he's about to be sorely disappointed.

  I made it through twenty-two years of life without much to show for it but I hoped that would change soon.

  "Not much of a story," I say with a shrug. "Born here, raised here. Saving up the cash to get the hell out."

  "You never joined the service?" he asks with a hint of surprise.

  "Hell no."

  "Why not? If you want a ticket out of here, it's the fastest way while also having a career."

  "Not interested in signing my life away to be a government tool," I answer with more than a hint of bitterness.

  A throaty chuckle rises from his chest. "Oh we're all government tools, sweetheart. Might as well get a guaranteed paycheck and benefits rather than fight it."

  "Agree to disagree," I huff.

  "You can disagree all you want. You're still wrong."

  I narrow my eyes and my temper flares. This guy is getting under my skin for reasons I can't explain and he's thoroughly enjoying it.

  "Relax, Mia." It's the first time he says my name rather than sweetheart. "I didn't mean to get you all worked up."

  "Somehow I doubt that," I say, crossing my arms in front of my chest.

  "Well, maybe just a little worked up. But you're so cute, I couldn't resist."

  He stands from his chair and pulls out his wallet while I feel like I've been knocked off my feet.

  He thinks I'm cute? So he was flirting with me? I realize he's about to leave and I'm suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling of not wanting him to go.

  "What do I owe you, sweetheart?"

  "Oh! Um, fifteen," I stammer, waffling over whether to ask if he'll come back.

  He rifles through his wallet for a moment before taking three 5's out and placing them on the bar.

  "I didn't bring enough cash for a proper tip," he says apologetically.

  "It's okay," I say. I honestly don't expect tips from airmen anymore. Most of them are cheapskates. "You can get me next time."

  "I got a better idea," he says, leaning his forearms on the bar. "How about a life tip?"

  I roll my eyes, knowing he's going to tell me to enlist. "Not necessary."

  "No, really." He beckons me closer with his index finger. "This is important and I want you to hear it."

  I lean forward to humor him. "What?"

  He takes my chin in his hand and kisses me.

  He kisses me!

  His lips are surprisingly soft as they press against mine fully and firmly. But they're gone before I have time to react.

  "Thanks for the drinks, sweetheart."

  And before I even realize what's just happened, I'm watching his broad, muscular back walk out the front door.

  CHAPTER 2

  ADAM

  Was it ballsy of me to kiss the bartender girl? Hell yeah. I half expected to get slapped with how pissy she looked. But I'd been wanting a taste of those pretty lips since I walked in. And to my pleasant surprise, I think I felt her kiss back in that brief moment my lips were on hers.

  I picture her face as I add more weight to the barbell the next morning at the gym. Oval-shaped and delicate with an adorable smattering of freckles over her nose and cheeks. Sexy dark hair and eyes and the sweetest, pink lips I've ever seen on a woman.

  I wonder what her other lips look like.

  She's dark, stormy and intriguing, the complete opposite of the type I'm used to. Bubbly blondes are the ideal back home in Tennessee. So far I've appreciated the diversity out here in Colorado, but Mia is sticking out in my mind more than anyone else.

  I finish loading the bar and and shake out my limbs before I do my last set of deadlifts. It's carrying 360 pounds and will be a personal record if I can do five reps.

  Carefully, I position my hands on the bar, adjust my feet, take a deep breath, and lift.

  The first three reps are easy. By the fourth one, I start to struggle against gravity and the amount of weight pulling me down. It's 160 pounds more than my body weight and I need sheer strength to finish my last rep.

  My mind drifts to Mia again and I remember how her mouth tasted. Only this time I picture kissing her properly. Holding her against me and swiping my tongue against hers as she opens her mouth to me.

  Grunting with renewed effort, I make it to the top of my rep and set the bar back down.

  I double over panting, exhausted from exerting more effort that I ever had before.

  Guess I'll have to go back to the bar and thank Miss Mia for the motivation.

  "Holy shit, Big Gunn! Nice lifts!"

  I wipe my brow and look up to see Conner, one of my fellow Sergeants clapping and beaming at me. He's the only one allowed to call me that nickname.

  "Thanks," I say when I catch my breath. I wipe more sweat off with a towel and peel off my tank top, ready to hit the showers.

  "Hey, you going to that party tonight?" Conner calls after me.

  "What party?" I say automatically, not really caring.

  "Some house party off-base at a civilian's place. I don't know much about it but at least half the squadron is going."

  I shrug with reluctance. The last thing I want to do is party with a bunch of freshly enlisted underage drinkers who've never left the nest before. Especially since I'll be their boss once my training is completed.

  "Come on Big Gunn, I need a wingman," Conner urges, slapping me on the back. "There's bound to be civilian hotties at this party. I dunno about you but I'm tired of looking at the same old women on base every day."

  "Dunno, man. These types of parties aren't really my thing," I say.

  "Aw come on, what else are you gonna do? Stay home and jack off?"

  I could visit the bar and see a pretty girl again. But then I realize I don't know if Mia works tonight. I don't know anything about her except that she's anti-military and tastes like mangos.

  I also don't know how she'll react to seeing me two nights in a row. That surprise kiss may have really put her off. Maybe it would be good to keep my mind off her for a night.

  "Fine," I sigh. "Just to wingman for you."

  "That's my boy!" He slaps my shoulder again, grinning widely. "We gonna have a hell of a night." He puts his headphones in and practically ski
ps off to the treadmills.

  I shake my head and chuckle to myself as I flick my towel over my bare shoulder and head off to the showers. So many of my fellow servicemen are desperate for pussy and I'll never know why. I've been fortunate to have my pick whenever I want a girl.

  But Mia.

  Now that girl may be worth begging for another kiss.

  ***

  The party is already in full swing by the time we show up. I keep it casual with jeans, a T-shirt, and a light splash of cologne but Conner is acting like he's looking to impress somebody. He's got a button down shirt on that's way too big for him and keeps popping tic-tacs like they're candy and checking his hair in the car mirror.

  Worst of all, he's absolutely drenched in Axe body spray. I have to roll my windows down just to get some fresh air and not pass out from the chemical smell.

  We enter the large two-story house and it's about what you'd expect for a party with people in their early twenties. Music is blaring, people are dancing, drinking, chatting and playing beer pong. I'm only twenty-seven but feel too old for these parties already.

  "Looking for somebody special?" I ask Conner, watching him as he scans the room.

  "A girl I've been talking to," he admits as we find red Solo cups and make our way to the beer keg. "Her name's Sheila. She works at the diner just off base. Said she'd be here with friends." His eyes stop scanning and he breaks into a wide grin. "There she is!"

  "Hiiiiii, Connerrrr!" A high-pitched voice with a distinct Valley Girl inflection cuts through the air. The blue-eyed blond making her way over to us suddenly sees me and roams her eyes from my belt buckle to my face. It's a look I'm used to from women.

  "Who's your friend?" she asks in a lower, sultrier voice.

  "This is Sergeant Gunn," Conner says, already sounding deflated at Sheila unashamedly eye-fucking me.

  "I'm Sheila," she says breathily with an obvious bite of her lower lip. "I bet you sure know how to use a gun."

  "Conner's actually better with guns than me," I say. "I haven't touched one since basic but he does combat training for his squadron. We call him Conner McKiller."