Hot Pursuit

by Julie Ann Walker

  She looked up, held Christian’s gaze, and finished with, “Just like my parents. Just like my grandparents.”

  “Emily, you’re not like—”

  “But I am, don’t you see?” she interrupted. “I’m exactly like them. If there was one man on the face of the planet I should have fallen in love with, it was Richard. And I did fall in love with him. At least I think I did there for a little bit. In the beginning. But because I’m a Scott, it didn’t stick.”

  Christian had his own ideas about what had happened. “It sounds like this guy was needy and controlling, maybe even downright overbearing. And you’re an independent woman. It’s no wonder you began to feel suffocated.”

  “Of course you’d say that,” she scoffed. “You’re trying to get me to throw caution to the wind and do the horizontal mambo with you.”

  Christian snorted. The things she said delighted him nearly as often as they made him fancy taking her over his knee and paddling her sweet ass. “That may be true. About the…uh…horizontal mambo. But it doesn’t change the fact that I think Neely was all wrong for you, and I’m hardly surprised you kicked him to the curb. What bothers me is that your relationship with him has made you determined not to give a relationship with me a go.”

  When her face blanched of color, he quickly added. “Not that it’s a relationship I’m after.” Liar, liar! a voice singsonged inside his head. “Ruddy hell, I haven’t the first clue how to be a boyfriend. I even hate the word. It’s juvenile sounding. I’m hardly a boy.” And he didn’t just want to be her friend. He wanted to be her everything. Her every thought. Her every smile. Her every witty quip. Suddenly, he understood how Richard Neely had felt. A woman like Emily turned a bloke into a possessive prat. “I’m a man. A hard man. A difficult man. An uncompromising man. And I haven’t got it in me to change.”

  She smirked. “You say all that like you’re telling me something I don’t already know.”

  He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “So the difference between me and Neely is he wanted to be your everything. He wanted forever. Which meant that when things between the two of you came to an end, he was devastated. But I’ve no need to be your boyfriend. I’ve no need for forever.”

  Liar, liar! that vexing voice sang again. The buggering shit needed to shut its gob.

  “So when things between us end, it’ll be easy. We’ll go back to being coworkers and acquaintances. No harm, no foul,” he finished.

  What are you doing? What are you doing?

  Well, the voice hadn’t shut up, but at least it was on to a new refrain.

  Truth was, Christian wasn’t sure what he was doing. He only knew that Emily would put the kibosh on any chance of something happening between them if she thought it might hurt him in the long run or affect her position within BKI. So he was lying through his teeth to convince her neither of those things would happen.

  Perhaps it was arrogance…bloody hell, in the end he might look back and realize it was flat-out stupidity…but he couldn’t help but think that if he could only get close to Emily, if he could convince her to share her body with him, then eventually she would also share her heart and soul.

  He didn’t believe for a split second that she was anything like her parents or grandparents. Emily was one of the most caring, most loyal, most determined people he had ever met. When and if she ever decided to take on a man for the rest of her life—Please, God, let it be me!—she would be a smashing success at it.

  The trick would be convincing her to give it a go in the first place. And he figured the first step toward accomplishing that goal would be to convince her to let him into her bed.

  “I’m speaking of scratching our itch, Emily. Finding pleasure in each other’s bodies and leaving it at that. I’m speaking of keeping it casual,” he lied.

  “People say that, but they always have trouble keeping it casual.” She told the truth.

  “I won’t.”

  She eyed him for a long moment. Then, “You really don’t want anything more from me than a quick slap-and-tickle?”

  “No, I daresay I don’t. And we must work on your euphemisms, woman.”

  “Says the man who unrepentantly admits he comes from a land with about a bazillion colorful terms for dick and balls.”

  He hardened his stare, his eyes demanding, Stop stalling. What will it be, Emily? Yea or nay?

  When she swallowed and nodded, everything inside him grew still. Her eyes held an invitation to which he RSVP’d by pushing up from the chair and joining her on the sofa.

  Her breath caught when he cupped her face, rubbing a thumb over her mouth because, ruddy hell, it begged for attention when it wasn’t being kissed.

  “Come then, Emily.” He dropped his voice so his words were a bare growl. “Let me show you why God made beautiful women and well-hung Englishmen.”

  * * *

  Christian’s words fell like sexy-as-hell anvils and crushed the argument poised on the tip of Emily’s tongue. His mouth smiled, but his eyes didn’t. In fact, she’d go so far as to say his gaze was downright predatory.

  A million reasons why what he was proposing was a terrible idea tumbled through her head. But none of them outweighed his offer.

  Maybe because she wanted him more than she’d ever wanted another man. Or maybe it was simply because her self-destruct button was bigger than most people’s and she had this annoying habit of pushing it. Regardless of the reason, she found herself saying two words that were likely to come back to haunt her. “Okay, Christian.”

  Victory blazed in his eyes, making his irises shoot green fire. Then he was kissing her.

  No. Wait. Calling it a kiss was misleading. It was so much more than a mere kiss. It was a claiming. A warning. A dark promise of unspeakable pleasures to come.

  She had just twined her arms around his neck, ready to settle in and get the show on the road—once she made a decision she didn’t see the point in dillydallying—when the sound of someone clearing his throat came from the open doorway.

  Christian broke the seal of their lips enough to bark, “Go away!”

  Emily chuckled at the fierceness of his tone.

  “I hate to interrupt,” Angel said.

  “Then don’t!” Christian snarled.

  “But Rusty and Ace are tearing into each other downstairs, and I think Emily should intercede before they kill one another.”

  Christian let his forehead fall against Emily’s. “To be continued?”

  “You betcha” was what she told him, but she had a sneaking suspicion that if she had time to think about what she’d agreed to, she might waffle on her decision.

  Christian sat back, taking his lovely mouth, sweet-smelling breath, and delicious heat with him. He dropped his hands from her face, and her cheeks stung at the cool kiss of the air.

  “What in the world could Rusty and Ace have to fight about?” He turned to Angel.

  By way of answer, Angel simply shrugged.

  “I think—” Emily had to clear her throat. Passion had thickened it, making her words no more than a hoarse whisper. “I think it has something to do with Ace being out of the closet and Rusty being in,” she managed. “It’s caused tension.”

  Christian frowned at her before posing a question to Angel. “And what, precisely, is Emily meant to do about that?”

  Again Angel shrugged. This time he added a set of splayed hands to the gesture.

  Christian sighed and stood from the sofa. Emily took the opportunity to suck in a deep breath and will some feeling back into her limbs. Christian’s kiss had caused all her blood to rush to her core. It was still tingling.

  When he glanced down at her, he caught the look on her face and smiled. Or smirked rather. As if he knew the effect he had on her.

  The arrogant SOB.

  When she stood, she hoped he couldn’t tell how
rubbery her legs were. His ego was big enough as it was.

  “Not that I think it’s any of our business, but let’s go stop the bloodshed, shall we?” He offered his hand.

  She hesitated to take it. Number one, because Angel was watching, a spark of curiosity in his hell-black eyes. And number two, fuck buddies didn’t hold hands. Fuck buddies just…well…you know.

  “No use closing the barn door after the horse has bolted, Emily.” Christian tilted his head toward Angel. “He’s caught us kissing. Twice.”

  “Right.” She took his hand, doing her best to ignore the zing she felt when his rough palm rubbed against her much softer one. “It’s casual,” she told Angel. “We’re keeping it casual.”

  Instead of answering, Angel simply raised a brow. Which infuriated her. Because that cocked brow said whatever you have to tell yourself louder than words ever could.

  “Are you going to announce that to everyone we meet?” Christian asked as they walked past the mahogany end table parked beside the chair where he had previously sat. With her. In. His. Lap.

  “I think it’s best to disabuse our coworkers of any ideas to the contrary, don’t you? Put everything out there so there’s no confusion. I mean, living and working with them day in and day out will mean they’re hip to what’s happening. No keeping that cat in the bag. But they might not be hip to what we’re thinking, and then they might assume…um…things.” It was only when she ran out of steam that she realized she’d said all that without taking a breath.

  One corner of Christian’s mouth twitched.

  “Wind her up, and watch her go,” Angel said. “I think you make her nervous, Christian.”

  “He doesn’t make me nervous,” she lied. Oh, he made her so nervous. “He makes me annoyed. And horny.” She figured a dose of honesty was a good way to cover up her untruths. “Which is a seriously unfortunate mix and one of the many reasons—hundreds of reasons actually—why we’re keeping it casual. Like I said.” Her hard stare said, Tell him, Christian.

  “Mmm,” he hummed noncommittally.

  She opened her mouth to demand exactly how she was supposed to take that mmm when she tripped over the edge of the rug.

  Christian was there to catch her, strong hands wrapping around her arms. “Careful,” he whispered. “You’ll have to remember to watch your step after one of my kisses has turned your kneecaps to Jell-O.”

  She glared at him. Partly because he was right. Partly because it embarrassed her that he was right. But mostly because she’d had about all she could take of his smug, arrogant, self-satisfied—

  “I know because I have to concentrate extra hard not to melt into a puddle after one of your kisses.”

  Her pique leaked out of her faster than water through a sieve. When he said things like that she…felt things she had absolutely no business feeling. Soft, bright, sparkly things.

  “Now that you two have agreed to bump uglies,” Angel grumbled in his sandpapery voice, “you are going to get on my last nerve. I can already tell.”

  “Bump uglies?” Emily was grateful for the distraction from Christian’s blistering gaze and from all those soft, bright, sparkly feelings. “I’ve already had to get on Christian for trying to sound ’hood-ratty. Don’t make me do the same with you. Both of your accents make slang sound ridonkulous.”

  And besides, she had the sneaking suspicion that what Christian was packing in his pants was anything but ugly. That she was poised to find out—and soon—had her knees loosening again.

  “For some reason,” Christian said as he retook her hand and resumed their journey across the room, “she thinks she has the right to claim ownership of all slang and pop culture references.”

  His smile and the humor twinkling in his eyes threatened to infect her with something truly dangerous. A good mood. Because like good days, good moods were usually the precursor to life rising up to bite her on the ass.

  “You know what?” she said. “I think I like it better when neither of you is talking.”

  Christian turned to her then, the heat in his eyes asking, Would you rather I was using my mouth for something else?

  She swallowed, unable to answer back, even with her eyes.

  Angel glanced back and forth between them and made a face. “Yes. My last nerve. Mark it as official.”

  She frowned at him. “No, it is not official. Because we’re not going to get all lovey-dovey like everyone else back at BKI.” Most of Emily’s coworkers were married, engaged, or otherwise coupled up. Love was definitely in the air in Chicago. So much so that sometimes walking around the shop and seeing so many pairs making googly eyes at each other had her fighting the urge to gag. Of course, other times she could admit how nice it was. How terribly refreshing it was to see couples that lasted. “We’re keeping it casual.” She stressed the word to Angel. “Nothing sickening or annoying about us. Spread the word.”

  Chapter 14

  “I do not have a holier-than-thou attitude about my sexuality or my life!” Ace roared.

  That Rusty Parker had the unmitigated gall to accuse him of being judgmental not once, but twice, was bad enough. That the man had actually sought him out, herded him into one of the bedrooms, then slammed the door and proceeded to rip him a new asshole, advancing on him the entire time until now they were nose to nose, was even worse.

  Especially since Rusty was so very large. So very impressive. So very…sweet smelling. No cologne or aftershave, just healthy male mixed with the great outdoors. It was almost enough to make Ace lose track of his end of the conversation.

  “Yes, you do!” Rusty growled. “You think ’cause you got no problem with everyone in the world knowing what happens in your bedroom, that everyone else ought to be the same! And if they aren’t the same, then they should feel ashamed!”

  “It’s not like I’m videotaping my sexcapades and posting them on the Internet! I simply don’t hide the fact that I’m attracted to men. I work in the shadows, but I live in the light. That doesn’t make me holier-than-thou; that makes me honest!”

  “So now you’re calling me dishonest?”

  “Oh, for…” Ace spun away, pressing the heel of his hand to his head. His heart pounded with anger and excitement, and he decided it was best if he focused on the first and ignored the second. “I’m not calling you anything. You can live your life however you see fit.”

  “Thank you. I will.” Rusty was breathing hard. He looked absolutely glorious. All hulking shoulders and heaving chest.

  Damn him! Ace had to look away. “But I have to tell you,” he continued, his teeth clenched so hard his molars made a sound similar to a rusty blade caught in a garbage disposal, “it’s a hard row to hoe. Not only for you, but for whomever you might one day fall in love with. Believe me. I’ve been there.”

  And he wasn’t going back. Not ever. He made sure that fact was plastered across his face when he met Rusty’s hostile gaze.

  Rusty swallowed and stood straighter. For a moment, only silence passed between them. And that hostility? Ace watched it slowly disappear. Eventually Rusty asked, his voice low and soft, “Who was he?”

  Grief sliced into Ace as hard and as sharp as a knife’s edge.

  Who was he?

  Only the most beautiful man Ace had ever seen. Only the bravest man he had ever met. Only the man who had given his all to his country and who had tried, truly tried, to give his all to Ace.

  Only the love of Ace’s life.

  “Glen Brogan.” He said the name like a prayer. “A pilot. A major in the air force.”

  “What happened between you two?” There was curiosity in Rusty’s hazel eyes.

  “He died.” The two words stuck in Ace’s throat like they were covered in superglue. “And I couldn’t be there.”

  “I’m sorry.” The apology sounded so sincere it made Ace want to forget what a douchewad Rusty ha
d been not two minutes ago.

  Ugh. He really was a sad sack. A sucker for a macho, macho man.

  “Was it Don’t Ask/Don’t Tell? Is that why you couldn’t be there?” Rusty asked, referring to the now-defunct U.S. policy on gays, lesbians, and bisexuals serving in the military. Under DA/DT, they had not been allowed to reveal their sexual status—and weren’t allowed to be asked about it either. Basically, the policy had turned any sort of sexuality besides heterosexuality into a dirty little secret.

  “That was part of it,” Ace admitted. “Another part of it was his family. They didn’t know, and he couldn’t bring himself to tell them.”

  And oh, how they had argued! Ace hadn’t spent most of his teen years standing up to his narrow-minded father, preachers who promised damnation, and headshrinkers who tried conversion therapy only to become a closeted adult. He had fought too hard to be who he was. To be accepted for who he was. To accept himself for who he was.

  But he had loved Glen with all his heart. And when he hadn’t been allowed into that hospital room in those last hours…

  He swallowed, opened the lid on his mental lockbox, and shoved the heartrending memory back inside.

  “How did he die?” Rusty’s deep voice was quiet. “I mean, I don’t want to pry or anything, but—”

  “Of course you do,” Ace countered. “But that’s okay. I don’t mind telling you.” Well, actually he did. It hurt to talk about Glen. But if it could help Rusty reassess his situation, then maybe it would be worth it.

  Taking a deep breath, he said, “He was shot down over Afghanistan in 2011. He managed to survive the crash. Managed to survive ten days of Taliban torture before a SEAL Team was sent in to get him. But he didn’t survive his rescue. At least, he didn’t survive for long after his rescue.”

  Ace closed his eyes, the memory of the phone call he’d received still as clear in his mind as if it’d happened yesterday. Gina, Glen’s sister, had phoned to tell him Glen had been rescued. Ace had muffled his tears of joy at the news. But those tears of joy had soon turned to tears of anguish when Gina had gone on to say that Glen had been taken to Ramstein Air Base in Germany, and that he wasn’t expected to live. Gina had said she thought Ace would want to know since he and Glen were “best friends.”