The Hot Sergeant (Second Chance Military Romance) (Hargrave Brothers - Book #2)

by Alexa Davis

  "Mom, Dad, I thought you weren't coming until tomorrow," I stammered. At least Tristan had taken the time to pluck his underwear off the hallway floor and put them on so he hadn't opened the door completely naked. Still, with our clothes littering the hallway, Tristan in just his boxers, and me in a towel, it was obvious they had interrupted something sinful and we all felt awkward.

  "That much is obvious," my father grumbled angrily, but my mother tried to be more diplomatic.

  "We thought we'd surprise you by coming a day early," she said with a quivery voice.

  "Well, it worked," I said. "Mom, Dad, I'd like you to meet my boyfriend Tristan Porter."

  Chapter Four: Tristan

  I sat on a Olivia's cheap-ass couch staring across the living room at her parents as they sat uncomfortably in separate armchairs, glaring at me like I was Satan himself. I couldn't say I blamed them; after all, the only things they knew about me were the bullshit stories the newspapers had been reporting and the fact that I had just been fucking their daughter. It didn't give me the best starting point for winning them over, but I'd been in more tenuous positions than this one going into business negotiations and still managed to come out on top, so I was confident I'd be able to win over these two.

  Marjorie Harte was a sweet looking lady of about fifty-two, with a pear-shaped body stuffed into khaki-colored capris and a floral cotton blouse from some God-awful fucking clearance bin. She kept wringing her hands and glancing from the floor to her husband and back again. I knew from talking to Olivia that she was a housewife and always had been. She had raised four children and Olivia was her youngest. I had a feeling all I had to do to fucking win her over was to let her know that I loved her daughter, and that I would do everything in my power to make her happy. As long as she thought things were leading towards fucking marriage she'd be all right; and who's to say they weren't? I wasn't in any fucking rush to tie the knot again after my disastrous divorce from Janice, but I hadn't ruled out the possibility, either. Olivia made it sound better every day and I knew her mother would like hearing that. It was Marjorie Harte's husband, however, that was going to be the hard sell.

  Russell Harte was fifty-six years old, balding, with a slight gut. He was just nine fucking years away from retirement and he'd been a loyal employee at Summit Power and Energy since he'd fucking graduated over three decades ago. He was a Deacon at their church and a pillar of their community. All his life, he'd worked damn hard to provide for his family and raise them up to be good Christians. He wasn't going to like his baby girl getting banged by some asshole who was twice her age, especially since we weren't married. The fact that our relationship started out with me hiring her as a BDSM prostitute only made things worse. For him, I would have to appeal to his sense of logic over emotion.

  "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. Olivia's told me a lot of great things about you." I extended my hand towards Olivia's father in welcome, but he crossed his arms over his chest, blatantly refusing to shake hands with me.

  "Well, I'm sure you've heard a lot of good things about us, but she hasn't said a word to us about you. Seems she's got good cause to be ashamed to be associated with you, especially according to the Sunday paper." Russell didn't waste any time firing the first shot. It was a technique I admired.

  Smiling at him with an easy grin, I leaned back casually and said, "I don't blame you for distrusting me after all the outrageous lies that newspaper has printed about me. It's why I wanted to meet you, sir, so I could set the record straight. If you would allow me, I'd like to treat you and your wife out to dinner at the famous Josteau's."

  Margie fucking perked up immediately and clasped her crotchety husband's arm excitedly. "Oh, Russ, I've always wanted to go there. It couldn't hurt to have dinner with the young man, for Olivia's sake."

  Just then, Olivia stepped out of her bedroom fully dressed in a sophisticated black pencil skirt that went tastefully down to her knees, a pale blue silk blouse that complimented the green and gold her eyes, and sensible black heels. She'd left her blonde hair loose and it hung to her shoulders in soft waves. Her make-up was subtle and gave her a rosy glow. She looked poised and elegant and I knew she was dressing to impress her fucking parents and show them that she was a capable adult. I liked her better in the jeans and tee-shirt she'd been wearing when she first let me in earlier that afternoon. It was so much more naturally her. Even better than that, I liked her naked in my arms with no make-up or clothes at all. Thinking of her like that started to make me fucking horny, and I quickly pushed the thought from my mind and focused on the task at hand.

  "Sorry I took so long. How are things going out here?" Olivia asked, and she looked nervous and strained as she looked from me to her parents and back again.

  "Great." I stood up and put my arm around her waist. "I was just telling your parents that I'm taking us all out to dinner at Josteau's. My car is waiting outside. Let's go before they run out of their famous Duck Foie Gras."

  Clucking happily, Olivia's mother led the way out the door. Her father hesitated and I knew he fucking wanted to object, but he held his tongue and followed his wife and daughter out the door.

  Marjorie oohed and ahhhed as she approached my black limousine and Adam opened the door for her.

  "This is nice. I didn't know you were getting to be chauffeured around in a limousine, sweetheart," she said to Olivia as she patted her daughter's hand. "This is much better than when you were riding that awful bus. I used to worry about you getting mugged all the time. Now it seems my prayers have been answered."

  "Looks like a waste of money if you ask me." Russ wasn't so easily impressed, refusing to even look out the window as we drove through the city towards Beverly Hills. "How much did you pay for this foreign hunk of metal? Probably enough to pay off my mortgage. And, how much do you pay that driver of yours to do something you could do yourself?"

  Smiling at the bastard to show he didn't fucking ruffle me, I said easily, "I would think a man like you would be in favor of job creation. Adam's worked for me for years and has proven himself to be worth every raise I've given him."

  "Job creation. Is that what you call it when you take innocent young girls and lure them into prostitution? Our Olivia was a good Catholic girl before you tricked her with your devilish ways into being a woman of ill repute. You've ruined my daughter, you low life pimp."

  Marjorie turned bright red and looked like she'd stopped breathing, but Olivia rushed to my defense. Before I could even speak, she said to her father proudly, "I'd taken a job working as a prostitute at Whip before I even met Tristan. He had nothing to do with my fall from grace; and he wasn't my pimp, he was my favorite and only customer. Jesus Christ walked with the prostitutes, Daddy, so if you were really such a good Christian you wouldn't hold that job over my head, but forgive me for it."

  "How can I forgive you for something you're still doing? You're a disgrace to the family," Russ shouted at her. This time it was my turn to rush to her defense.

  "Olivia's not working as a prostitute anymore. It was how we met; there's no denying that, but she stopped having sex for money once we realized we were in love. You raised a strong daughter, Mr. Hart. One who was willing to do what she had to do to make it through a tough spot; but she never let it change her good heart and was quick to leave the profession despite the money she could have kept making from it. You should be proud of what a fine young woman she is. I know I am."

  Olivia looked up at me with shimmering eyes and a grateful smile on her lips. Her father snapped his fucking mouth shut and huffed unhappily, but he was done with the insults for now.

  The car pulled up in front of Josteau's and I paid the maître d a handsome tip to seat us at his best table. We placed our orders with the waiter, and I had him bring their best bottle of Merlot. For a while things were pleasant, and Olivia chatted easily with her parents about hometown matters while we ate our salads. By the time the entrees were served, however, things became fucking ugly again rather qui
ckly.

  "So, how long have you two been married?" I asked Marjorie congenially.

  "Thirty-five years," she chirped happily, after pausing to do the math on her fingers.

  "That's terrific." I smiled. "Not very many couples are able to make a marriage work for that long anymore. Congratulations."

  Marjorie clucked and smiled under the compliment, but for some unexpected reason, it set Russell to fuming again. Glaring at me from across the table, I heard him grumble under his breath, "You sure as hell couldn't make it work."

  "What did you say?" I called him out. Mumbling was the chicken-shit way to act, and I wasn't going to let him get away with it. If he wanted to insult me for being divorced, the least he could do was own up to his words.

  "Nothing." the asshole stared down at his Steak Au Poivre, but Olivia had heard him as clearly as I had.

  She said to her father, "Daddy, not every marriage can work. You don't know what his ex-wife was like. I think Tristan was right to divorce Janice under the circumstances."

  "Why is that, so he could keep doing drugs or so he could keep beating women?"

  "Neither," she said in my defense. "The lies you read in the paper are completely untrue. Tristan doesn't do drugs, and he doesn't abuse women. I wouldn't be with him if he did."

  "No, but you'll let him make a whore out of you."

  "Daddy, how can you say that? Tristan did not make me a whore. Yes, I took a job temporarily as a prostitute when I was desperate to make ends meet, but I don't do that anymore and even when I did, it was my choice, and not because Tristan influenced me."

  "So what's this little show about, having him drive us around in his fancy car and show off by treating us to this over-priced dinner? He's clearly sucking up to us for some reason, and it's because he wants my permission to keep taking advantage you. Well, he's not going to get it. When this meal is over, we are helping you pack up your things and you're coming home with your mother and me, back to Ohio."

  "Isn't it my decision how and where I choose to live my life?" Olivia asked, but the asshole refused to even listen to her.

  "If you made decisions that were worth two cents, I'd say yes; but you don't. Every choice you've ever made has been a bad one. Taking the wrong classes in high school and wearing slutty clothes just so you could flirt with boys, crashing my car when you were seventeen, breaking up with your fiancé Scott while he was heroically serving our country, and now running off to California, which is the modern day Sodom and Gomorra, to pursue some foolish idea of being a model."

  Olivia opened her lips to speak, but her asshole father just kept running his mouth so loud and so fast, she couldn't get a word in. Her mother flushed and wrung her napkin with her hands. I had to focus on keeping myself calm before I cracked my wine glass over his fucking head and used it to slit his motherfucking throat for being so rude.

  I watched helplessly as Olivia blinked back tears and began to tremble. Meanwhile, her jackass father kept rambling on, making an embarrassing scene in the middle of the restaurant and causing all fucking eyes to turn on us. "I mean, look at you. How could you ever think you could be a model? You're not pretty enough and never have been. Of course, you weren't smart enough to graduate college and have a career, either, so your only option left was marriage and you ruined it. I should have put my foot down when you came home that day crying and said the engagement was off. Scott was a good kid with a solid future. He would have taken proper care of you, not turned you into a worthless whore."

  "Enough," I shouted so loudly, Russell Harte couldn't ignore me. All eyes in the restaurant were now focused solely on me, but I didn't give a shit. I'd had enough of listening to this asshole hurl insults at my beloved Olivia. Standing up, I towered over the out-of-shape old man and got within inches of his face. Speaking quietly, with barely contained rage, I said to him, "How dare any man speak with such disrespect to his own daughter, let alone someone as incredible and wonderful as Olivia. This woman has a brilliant mind that is quick and creative; in fact, I'm going to use the idea she came up with to be my next business endeavor, if she'll agree to let me be her business partner. The reason she's not a model isn't because she's not pretty enough; it's because she's not plain enough. Producers want models who all have the same generic look, so they blend into the background and the product they're advertising stands at the forefront. Olivia could never fade into the background. She stands out in any crowd with her effervescence, beauty, and inner strength. She has a power of spirit that pulled her through the tough times and kept her from giving up or taking the easy road and going home. She was willing to do whatever she had to do to persevere, but through it all, she remained true to herself. She is still kind, sweet, and caring; and those are qualities to nurture and celebrate, not demean and destroy. You are trying to crush your daughter's spirit and bully her into thinking she is less than what she is: a vibrant, spectacular, capable woman who can do anything she sets her mind to."

  I paused for breath and saw that Olivia's mother was crying quiet tears into her napkin while her father fumed silently. His entire face had turned red, and I could see his hatred for me boiling in his reddened eyes. Olivia stood up and took my hand, pressing her slender body against my side. In a voice that was quiet and yet strong, she stated firmly, "I'm sorry, Mom and Dad, but I'm not going back to Ohio with you. My life is here and I'm happy that way; I hope one day you can be happy for me."

  "Let's go," I said to her and took a step towards the door.

  Her father slammed his fist against the table, stopping us in our tracks and said, "Sit back down Olivia. You're not going anywhere with that twisted degenerate. He's ruined your life and made you into something disgusting, but I'll fix it all when you come home with me and your mother where you belong."

  Olivia's mother, who had been mostly silent during the night, finally spoke up. She looked at her daughter, and said pleadingly, "I know your father sometimes sounds harsh, but we're your family who loves you, and this man is nothing but a stranger. Come back to your family. Come back home. "

  I balled my hands into a tight fist. God, how I wanted to tell them both to fuck off, but for Olivia's sake I held back. Clasping her hand gently, I stared into her beautiful hazel eyes and said softy, "None of the awful things your father said about you are true, but I won't stand in the way of your relationship with your family or block you from following your dreams. What is it that you want to do, Olivia?"

  Long moments passed and I felt the air being squeezed from lungs by the tension. It was impossible to breath, and then suddenly she said, "I want to be with you."

  It was all I needed to hear. I threw down a pile of hundred dollar bills onto the table to cover the cost of the meal, and guided Olivia from the restaurant. Adam knew better than to ask me where the rest our party was as he opened the car door for us. Olivia's parents could catch a fucking cab or walk back to their hotel for all I gave a shit.

  "Take us home," I said to Adam, as he started the engine.

  "Miss Harte's apartment or your home, sir?" he clarified.

  Squeezing Olivia's hand I said, "To the mansion, the home we now share together; that is, if she's willing to move with me."

  Kissing my lips happily, Olivia smiled and said softly "I am."

  Chapter Five: Olivia

  Tonight had been more disastrous than my worst fears – and more wonderful then my best fantasies. I had been dreading my parents’ visit from the moment I first heard they were coming. I knew my father would be overbearing and critical. He always was when it came to me and how I chose to live my life.

  I never was like my older brother and sisters. They all did the right things, got good grades in school, played the right sports, got the right jobs, married the right people, and had perfect children for my parents to love upon.

  I was never like that. Even when I was engaged to Scott, it was never my life's ambition to get married and raise a bunch of babies out in the suburbs. I craved something far more exci
ting. I longed the chance to show off my uniqueness in a way only the city of Los Angeles could provide. I needed to express myself, meet new people, see new things, and impact the world in a way that was uniquely me.

  I had found that with Tristan and the way the BDSM lifestyle allowed me to express myself sexually and teach others the joy of personal and sexual freedom such a lifestyle could provide for them. It was a unique talent to be able to express such ideas to others and influence them to open their minds and try new things, and it was a talent I was particularly good at. Tristan had made me see that and allowed me to flourish. How could I give that up to go back home and attempt to squish myself back into the perfect little peg hole they wanted me to fit in? It would never work and I would be miserable. The only way to for me to achieve happiness in life was to stay here and to keep doing what I was doing. Even if it meant having to sacrifice my family, it was better than having to sacrifice myself. If I went back home with them, I would not really be me anymore and the daughter they loved and cherished would not really exist anymore.

  I was grateful beyond words to Tristan for standing up for me in the restaurant and saying all those incredible things to my father. He gave a voice to all the things I had long believed in my heart, but had never had the courage to say. Every other person in my life had told me it was my duty as a good Christian daughter to respect and obey my father. Tristan was the first person to stand up for me and proclaim to my father that I, too, was worthy of respect, and that I had value and worth as an individual, just as I am.

  I thought my heart would explode with love and joy at his words, and yet when he asked me to leave with him, I was torn between my dedication to my family and the idea of staying with him. Was I being selfish to abandon my parents and the moral values they had taught me for my entire life? Was it sinful vanity, obstinacy, or wanton lust for me to think that I could strike out on my own and live a life that was so different the way I'd been taught to live; or was I simply following the path that God had laid out for me? I had been taught that in moments of indecision such as these, it was best to open one's heart and mind to the Heavens and listen for guidance.