The Assignment

by M. S. Parker

  I grabbed the shirt that was hanging on the back of the door. I wondered if he'd washed it in the sink. It smelled of the hotel soap. I pulled it over my head, the material soft against my skin. It hit me mid-thigh which wasn't surprising. He was at least ten inches taller than me and twice as wide, so I was practically swimming in the shirt. That was good though, since my underwear was currently hanging over the towel rack to dry.

  I came out of the bathroom and paused in the doorway for a minute, letting myself get a good look at him for the first time.

  He sat on the bed, wearing black boxer shorts and a clean white t-shirt that stretched across that broad chest. His hair was short, not quite as closely buzzed as it probably had been when he'd first joined up. It was blond, matching the faint scruff I could see on his cheeks. He didn't have Ricky's pretty-boy looks, but rather the sort of rugged good looks that fit with the rest of his tough-guy persona.

  “I figured we could watch a movie since it's easier to keep an eye on you if we're both awake.” He didn't look at me as he flipped through channels. “Any requests?”

  “Just one,” I said, suddenly deciding on what I wanted.

  He looked up, his eyes widening slightly as he saw me in his shirt. I didn't give him – or me – the chance to overthink things. I crossed the short space and crawled onto the bed, keeping my eyes locked with his. He sucked in a sharp breath when I climbed onto his lap, my knees settling on either side of his thighs.

  “Make me forget,” I whispered as I leaned forward and pressed my lips against his.

  The flash of heat that went through me at the contact surprised me, and I pushed myself closer. A moment later, he pulled away, and I waited for him to shove me aside, to tell me that I was just some foolish little girl, and I should go home and play with my dolls.Instead, his hand drifted to my cheek, the rough fingers gentle as they trailed down to cup my chin. His gaze was steady, searching, seeing too much, seeing everything I was too tired to hide.

  Finally, I dropped my eyes to his left arm where a tattoo peeked out from under his sleeve. Two arrows crossed above a dagger. I wondered if it had to do with the sort of work he did in the military. He pulled his shirt over his head, exposing the delicious expanse of muscles and tanned skin. And another tattoo. It was one of those design styles that they called Celtic and it was a sun. Around his right nipple.

  I had the sudden urge to lick it.

  Who was this man? I had a name. Knew he was military. But that was it. One thing I did know for certain, he was everything I was not: purpose and training, focus and selfless ambition.

  “Leighton.” His voice was rough, his eyes nearly black. “I don't think this is a...”

  “Shh.” I ran my fingers down his stomach. “I want this. I need this.”

  He looked at me for a moment more, and then his wide hand curved around the back of my neck, pulling me to him for a searing kiss that I felt in every cell. My fingernails bit into his iron muscles as I opened my lips, welcoming the hot strokes of his tongue. I ground down on him, building a charge between us that almost exploded when he pulled his shirt over my head, leaving me naked underneath. His hands swept up my spine, then slid around to my front. My breasts weren't small, but his hands were large, covering them completely. He didn't seem to mind though, his thumbs rubbing up and over my nipples until I had to break the kiss and arch back in ecstasy.

  When his hot mouth followed his thumbs and closed over my right breast, I rocked against him. His throbbing erection strained against the thin material of his boxer shorts and we both shuddered as it pressed against my wet apex. I made a mewling sound as his teeth scraped against my sensitive skin. He dragged his head from my taut nipple and caught me in a harder, deeper kiss, his tongue plundering my mouth.

  I needed him inside me. Now.

  “Condom?” I tore my mouth from his to ask the important question.

  For one heart-stopping moment, I thought he was going to say he didn't have any, and that wouldn't have been good because I didn't either.

  He reached over to the side table, one arm sliding around my waist to hold me in place as he used his free hand to work open his wallet and pull out a foil square. I rose up on my knees as he tore the packet open and reached between us, freeing himself from his boxers and putting on the condom.

  I put my hand on his shoulder, balancing as I lowered myself onto him. I was wet, but tight. He was bigger than Ricky, both in length and width, stretching me with even the slightest movement. His hands slipped to my thighs and tugged me open, the pressure of him sending a wash of desire through me as I dropped further down.

  “Fuck,” he groaned.

  His hands tightened on my hips and, suddenly, he pushed all the way inside me, burying himself deep. I cried out as I rode that line of pleasure and pain. He was hard all over, thrumming with restrained power that melted me, turned me liquid, hot, and wet around him. I rocked, my nipples rubbing the granite expanse of his chest as I slipped up and down. The pressure built, his fingers digging into my thighs, his hips thrusting up.

  “Leighton,” he moaned my name.

  I wrapped my arms around his neck, my body rocking against his, every cell burning with the need to come. I was so close, and I could feel that he was too. And, suddenly, it wasn't only about my pleasure. I wanted to feel him let go too.

  I pressed my mouth against his ear. “Come, Haze.” I flicked out my tongue against his earlobe. “Come with me.”

  I heard him swear, and then I was coming. I quaked around him, the release more shattering than I'd ever felt before. He folded me tight in the iron circle of his arms, holding me against him as he came. He kept himself deep inside me, the pulsing aftershocks ravaging us both, until, slowly, the room came back into focus.

  Still, I didn't want to let him go. His hand stroked up and down my spine as I settled against his chest. My leg muscles were aching, and his boxers rubbed against my skin. I wasn't exactly comfortable, but I still didn't want to move.

  “Can I ask you something?” I finally broke the silence.

  The movement of his hand paused, then resumed the soothing motion. “I won't promise that I'll answer.”

  “Fair enough.” I traced the tip of my finger around the sun tattoo. His nipple was tight. “You're in the army, right?”

  “Yes.”

  I felt him tense slightly, but he still kept his fingers moving up and down my spine.

  “And you're on leave?”

  “Yes.”

  “Am I...I mean...have you...” I suddenly felt childish. Immature.

  I sat up and started to move off him.

  “Leighton.” His voice was gentle, and I looked at him. Our eyes met for a moment, and then his slid over to the window.

  A faint pink light shone under the edge of the curtain.

  “It's morning.” He shifted, easing me off of him onto the bed. “Why don't you go get cleaned up? It's time to get you home.”

  When I came back, there was a piece of paper with the number of a taxi company on the bed, a fifty-dollar bill...

  And Haze was gone.

  Chapter 1

  Haze

  THREE AND A HALF YEARS LATER

  I watched the newly enlisted men march by, and it was like watching a line of babies take their first steps. They didn't know the language or the terrain, and it hadn't quite sunk in that the odds weren't in their favor. Newbies never believed the odds.

  “Since when are we babysitters?” Donald Owens, Special Forces Engineer Sergeant, asked me under his breath.

  “Since they're here and still alive,” I said.

  “So far,” he shrugged.

  The sun was setting over the jagged foothills, promising our nightly relief from the scorching heat. Normally I welcomed the long shadows and darkness, but tonight I was unsettled.

  We'd been embedded for sixteen months, my longest tour since I'd enlisted at eighteen, and so far, it had been the toughest. Nightfall was the best cover for our direct raid
assignments. Get in, destroy the munitions, and get out. The twelve-person team I was a part of had completed four successful missions. Always conscious of the odds against us, we were starting to count each hour, each still-breathing soldier, a success.

  The enlisted men, a fresh-faced battalion straight from Fort Draper in Utah, had been charged with delivering supplies to the town near our camp. They were a month late and unwelcome even by the desperate locals. There might've been some parts of this country where American soldiers were wanted, but this wasn't one of them.

  I turned away from the battalion and made my way back through the narrow canyons, no wider than fissures between the sharp rock walls. The light was almost gone, but the route was ingrained in my steps. In camp, our team leader kicked a soccer ball around as the other men bet he couldn't make a goal in the dark. A crack of light came from the mess tent along with the smell of dinner.

  “Remind me to liberate a goat while we're out,” Owens said to me. “Before our ration of meat product kills me.”

  We settled onto the nearest bench and caught the trays slipped our way. Talk around the table was the same as always: food we missed, places we'd rather be, and women. Women we'd seen, had, wanted, wished for, and missed.

  “Course Haze's got nothing to say.” Keith Handley, our team leader, grinned at me. “What's the name of that corn-fed Kansas girl you left behind?”

  Owens slapped me on the back. “No, she had brown hair. He's partial to red.”

  “I don't recall telling you what I'm partial to,” I said, trying to keep from snapping at him. I seriously regretted ever having gotten drunk enough to spill to Owens that the reason I didn't fuck around wasn't because of the high school sweetheart from back home like I always claimed, but rather someone else.

  “Natural red curls. And what were they? Bright blue eyes?” Owens asked.

  The image was a punch in the gut, and I busied myself chewing my rations until my breath came back.

  I couldn't stop the images though.

  Leighton rocking against me, her flame red curls tangled around my hand, her small creamy breasts so soft against my chest. I could remember every inch of her with less effort than it took to remember what home looked like. Clearest of all, were those eyes.

  There had been pain there, hidden behind a hard plastic facade. She'd been every inch the spoiled LA girl from her designer dress to her spiked heels. Her looks had screamed money and privilege, but her eyes had held something more. Not the vacant desires of starlets or heiresses, but something sharp and direct. She'd wanted more than what she had.

  Just like I wanted more...of her.

  Three and a half years, and I still couldn't get her out of my head. The few times I'd hooked up with some random girl while on leave since then, it'd been Leighton's face and body in my mind.

  “Redheads aside,” Handley said, his expression sobering. “We've got work to do.”

  Conversation died and nothing more needed to be said. We suited up and were on the trail within minutes. The cluster of farmhouses, no more than huts, was dark when we reached them. The fourth one, its threshold more worn and scraped than the others, hid a cache of weapons that we had orders to destroy.

  Our team took up positions, ready to begin.

  And then we all froze as a small line of soldiers came over the rise.

  They carried crates of grain and pouches of clean drinking water. As we watched, they headed along the narrow path to the farmhouses. It was clear they'd missed the signs that I now saw with painful clarity. The absence of crops or animals. The fortified base of the fourth house. And the footholds up the canyon walls.

  The guerrillas opened fire before my team could decide what to do. The soldiers dropped to the ground behind the remnants of a low stone wall. I heard cries of pain and hoped they were from superficial wounds. Then came the sound of returning gunfire, and I knew that at least some of them were healthy enough to handle their weapons.

  “Hold your fire, soldiers!” Handley yelled at them. He was giving away his location, but his only other option was to risk friendly fire.

  Gunshots kicked up the ground in front of him. He ignored them and signaled to us. He shot off a few rounds to keep the focus on him as we moved. We fanned out, up the steep canyon walls, knives out. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a quick slice of silver and Owens dispatched one of the shooters. The rest of my team had already disappeared into the darkness, and Owens followed.

  The shooters weren't my concern though. My job as the Medical Sergeant was to take care of those wounded soldiers.

  While my team covered me, I skidded down the hill. When I was close enough, I called out my rank and name so I didn't get shot. When I got a response back, I moved around the wall to where the soldiers were crouched. Their pale faces were clear in the dim light, and I knew I’d have to take charge.

  “You'll move out in pairs,” I said. I pointed to a man with a bleeding leg. He looked to be unconscious, but I couldn't see any other injuries. What I could see was that he was their commanding officer. I snapped my fingers at the two soldiers closest to him. “You two take him.”

  They grabbed him under the arms and waited for me to roll over and deliver a few shots to keep heads down. Fortunately, my team had been trained to handle situations like this and firing without risking my men was almost second nature.

  “Next two,” I said without looking at them.

  The men moved out behind me until I had only two soldiers left, one of whom had been shot in the stomach. I could hear his breathing getting more shallow, more labored. I hadn't been able to take a good look at him, but I could see the blood soaking the sand. Even if I'd been able to get him into an operating room right this second, he still wouldn't have had much of a chance.

  “Name, soldier?” I asked the young man who was crouched next to the wounded soldier.

  “Machus,” he said. His green eyes were bright in the darkness. “Ian Machus.”

  “We're going to move, now,” I said. I saw the kid look down, and I followed his gaze.

  The soldier's breathing had stopped, and he'd already taken on that stillness that only came with death.

  “He's gone,” I said. We'd try to take the body, of course, because his family deserved that, but we had to move now.

  Even as I thought it, the guerrilla charged from the fortified farmhouse, an automatic flashing in his hands. His wild shots sprayed the dirt in front of us, skittering up the right side of Ian's body. The young soldier spun against me, and, on automatic pilot by then, I caught him.

  Shit.

  I fired once at the guerrilla, and the noise stopped. I was sure he was dead, but I didn't know if there was anyone else waiting. I needed to move.

  While I hated to leave the soldier's body, Ian was still alive. I knew he was injured, but I still had a chance to save him. I hoisted him up onto my shoulder, and he groaned. He was still breathing, but I could feel hot blood soaking my shirt. I needed to get him out of there. The rest of my team would take care of the initial objective.

  I'd only made it two steps when the first explosion knocked me off my feet. Ian fell in front of me, and I didn't stop to think. I heard the second explosion even as I threw myself over the young soldier and prayed that at least he'd make it out alive.

  Chapter 2

  Leighton

  “It's the key to my heart,” Ricky said, sweeping the diamond-encrusted necklace around my neck.

  “If you had a heart,” I said, almost to myself.

  “Maybe that's my problem,” Ricky said, spinning me around. He gave me his patented charming smile. “You stole my heart, and now I don't know what to do with myself.”

  “Everything I've seen says you know exactly what to do with yourself.” I glanced at his reflection, but was careful not to meet his eyes.

  The necklace was beautiful, but I didn't smile at him. I had an entire jewelry box full of trinkets he’d given me over the years. An engraved jewelry box he gave me af
ter photographs of his trip to Cancun three days after my nineteenth birthday appeared in full color all over social media. Three or more indiscretions were followed by something bigger and engraved, while one night stands cost him flowers and something shiny. At least Ricky was consistent. Though I had a feeling the necklace was less about his recent series of flings and more about what he wanted for the future.

  An open relationship where explanations and apologies weren't necessary.

  “You're the only one who means anything to me, Leighton,” Ricky said.

  He'd always been careful never to mention the other women. He never denied what happened, but he wasn't the kind of guy who bragged to me or made comparisons. He knew better. Our friends did too. I knew they referred to them by identifying features. But no one ever talked about them to my face. Blondie, Short Legs, Booty, Black Braid, Brown Frizz, and Tube Top were the latest.

  Never any redheads, I thought, pushing back my own short curls. I looked in the mirror again, this time focusing on everything but the necklace. I wore my new peacock blue wrap dress and sleek, black patent leather sandals. The blue made my naturally red hair even brighter while the sandals matched the black streaks I'd recently put back in my hair. I'd toyed with different colors over the past few years, mostly because it still pissed off my grandfather, but I always ended up coming back to the first color I'd tried. Raven black.

  Sort of the same way I kept coming back to Ricky. We'd been a couple on and off for a little more than four years now, and he appeared to be the perfect boyfriend for me: two years older, from a wealthy LA family, charming, and handsome. And he was, despite it all, consistent. I knew that no matter what he did with other women, he'd always be there for me.

  Being with Ricky wasn't just about fun, though. It took the pressure off. Being young and beautiful in Hollywood had its advantages, but it also came with disadvantages. While my family name offered protection, having Ricky around was easier because it didn't involve my grandfather. He'd also been there for me through one of the worst times of my life, supporting me in his own way. And he never reminded me of it, never tried to make me think about what had happened four-and-a-half years ago.