Code Name: Forever & Ever (A Warrior's Challenge series Book 5)

by Natasza Waters

  Weird.

  Could he be the guy who’d been in the house with them? Pat changed direction, intending on finding out when he heard Marg call out to him.

  “Where’re you going?”

  He’d taken his eyes off the guy for just a second, and when he looked back, he was gone.

  “Something wrong?” She trotted up to him and glanced in the direction of the post.

  “Nah, all’s well.”

  “What is it?”

  He turned his attention back to her. “Nothing. Let’s get going.”

  They had to wait fifteen minutes until they got a seat in the restaurant, and while they did, he said, “Hand them over.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “Marg, hand them over,” he ordered. She burrowed in her purse and plopped the pack of Pal Malls in his palm. He curled his finger around the soft package, crushing it. “No more.”

  “I don’t smoke a lot.”

  “One is too many. How long have you smoked?”

  “Two years. Started in college. Only at parties. You know.”

  “Yeah, I know exactly.” He leaned in, and saw her take a stuttered inhale, then he kissed her. He didn’t retreat very far when he said, “Don’t even think about cheating. You’re done with these.” She nodded, her eyes still wide. “Promise me.” She wrinkled her nose. “You have any idea what it’s like kissing a girl that smokes?”

  She grinned at him. “Never kissed a girl.”

  He didn’t lapse into a smile to mirror hers. “That’s also good to know, now promise me.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “I’m serious.”

  “Fine, I promise I won’t smoke anymore.”

  He gauged her answer, and then nodded.

  “Cobbs for two,” the hostess called out.

  “After you,” he said. He chuckled once she had her back turned. Marg had a bit of a stubborn streak in her, and he didn’t mind that. He also would never mind walking behind the woman, because her ass worked like a homing device on his desire to follow her wherever the hell she went.

  Little lights hung from a dark ceiling like stars in the sky above their table. Between them, a candle flickered. Marg was a stunning woman in the sunshine, but in candlelight she cast a sinful spell on him.

  “What are you going to have?”

  Still mesmerized, the question drew him from his thoughts. “Already had some fantastic Chicken Parmesan this week, so something different.”

  “Did you really like it?”

  He laid the menu down and the urge to clutch her fisted hands into his, pulled at him, but touching her wasn’t a good idea. “I really did.”

  When the waiter came, he ordered a bottle of wine and their meals.

  Marg leaned back in her chair. The candle cast beautiful shadows across her face. Her blue eyes shining like gems.

  Tilting her head, she stared straight into his eyes. “Who is Patrick Cobbs?”

  He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Not going to lie to you, Marg. I’m a guy from the wrong side of the tracks.”

  “You said you didn’t have any bad habits. It can’t be that wrong.”

  “Maybe not, but I don’t want to mislead you.”

  “Into what?” She leaned toward him.

  He couldn’t resist meeting her halfway. With a slight shove, he moved the candle and brushed her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. She was as beautiful as a fairytale princess, but he was no prince. How could he answer her? He hadn’t forgot that tomorrow her friend Bruce was taking her into the mountains for the morning. Nor the fact that he and Marg would only have two weeks before he headed out for his Jump School training in Georgia. The official start to twenty-six weeks of SQT. He’d have little time to spare for her. Maybe on weekends, if he was in town, but shit, how could he keep his mind on his goals when they were so easily distracted by her damn legs?

  “Still have your date with Bruce tomorrow?”

  Her long dark lashes swept against her cheek when she studied the table. “I exercise a lot. Have to in order to keep in shape.”

  He waited. He’d promised to work at the garage tomorrow so he couldn’t even make her a better offer.

  “I don’t like to break my promises,” she said quietly.

  Jealousy bit at his ass, but he had no right to demand she cancel her date with the prime cut of meat her father wanted her to marry. Two weeks is all he had with Marg. For once, he didn’t want to look into his future because more than likely when he had to leave, Bruce would come swooping in to offer her a better deal. The kind of offer, he couldn’t.

  * * * *

  Marg didn’t move when Pat swept around the fountain at her condominium and pulled up to her front door on his motorcycle. Placing his feet on the ground he stabilized the bike. She removed her helmet, then rested her head against his broad back as he turned off the engine. Pat’s warm hand curled over hers and raised it to his mouth. She smiled sweetly when he kissed her fingers. Finally, she lifted her head and sighed as she swung her leg over the bike.

  Even with all the excitement of surviving another fire, she was relaxed. Content. Pat gathered her under his arm and walked her to the front door, then slid his strong arms around her waist and drew her close.

  “Pat, who do you think told you to get me out of the Haunted House?”

  “Don’t know. Don’t even have a guess.”

  She snuggled closer, and he didn’t seem to mind. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

  His baritone chuckle reverberated through her. A roguish grin creased his face. “Haven’t met one yet,”

  “Me either, but did you feel the temperature in the room drop just before that?”

  His silver eyes surveyed her and he nodded.

  “My dad told me a story this afternoon about his father. He’s never talked about him before. He explained that for many years he was angry at him for not coming home. After Dad learned his father had been killed in Vietnam, something happened that was a little odd. It made me wonder if it’s possible for someone who’s passed to reach out to the people they love. Somehow let them know they’re okay.”

  Patrick’s silver eyes warmed with a shallow smile. “Maybe if you love someone enough, heaven gives you that chance.”

  “Do you believe in heaven?”

  “I was raised a Catholic. It’s kind of ingrained at an early age.”

  “Do you go to church?”

  “If it wasn’t for mom, I probably wouldn’t, but she still likes to go when she’s feeling up to it.”

  Marg wanted to meet his parents. Maybe Patrick was being too hard on himself and his roots. “It must be terrible for your family to deal with her cancer.”

  He nodded. “Sometimes it’s hard watching her struggle. Other days, she’s not so bad.”

  “If I can do anything, especially when you’re gone, please let me know.”

  Patrick grazed her cheek with his finger. “Thanks.”

  She bit her lower lip for a moment. “Guess I better let you get going.” She drew back, but Patrick didn’t release her, and when his eyes gazed into hers, her knees weakened.

  “Marg, I know we’ve just gotten to know each other, and I’m probably the last choice your parents would ever want for their daughter. I should do the honorable thing and step back so I don’t screw up your future—”

  She pressed her finger against his lips. “I’m the one with bad habits, remember? Just kiss me and tell me you want to see me again.”

  His carved jaw tightened and his silver eyes flared with heat. “Right now, that’s all I want.”

  Patrick Cobbs made her toes tingle with his full lips and possessive kiss. For all his mysterious, bad boy looks, he was a gentleman underneath. Trustworthy. Strong. Confident. Her heart flared not with lust, but with an ache she’d never known before. When he stepped away, she wanted to pull him close again.

  Patrick winked at her. “I’ll call you tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Goo
d night.”

  He waited until she was inside before he started the bike and drove away. She hugged herself and smiled, watching his tail light disappear through the lobby window. Patrick Cobbs. SEAL recruit. Catholic. From the wrong side of the tracks. Caring. Handsome beyond belief. Soon, she’d run out of fingers to cover all of his best qualities.

  She turned for the elevators, and a glaring Kit Harper stood only three feet behind her. She screeched. Clutching her chest, she exhaled. “God, Kit, you scared the shit out of me.”

  He didn’t speak. Just leered at her with his jaw clamped tight. His posture relaxed a little when he spoke. “He’s not just taking you for a ride on his bike. He’ll lure you down a spiral path into his depraved life.”

  “Patrick is not depraved. What are you talking about?” She didn’t like the fact Kit had found his way into her building.

  Kit pulled out a cigarette and lit it. “Smoke?” He offered her one.

  She paused. “No thanks. I don’t smoke.”

  “I’m guessing Austen and Cobbs have been talkin’ trash about me. Whatever they’ve said, don’t believe them. Cobbs comes from the Heights, Marg. The worst part of San Diego. He works at a garage that takes in stolen vehicles and cuts them down to parts. His father’s a goddamn drunk. Believe me, you don’t want anything to do with Pat or where he comes from.”

  She swallowed thickly. “I don’t care how wealthy he is.”

  “You should. The only reason he’s interested in you is because you come from money.” Leering at her, he lowered his head. “I came by earlier. Saw that guy, who must be your father, pick you up in his jag.”

  She stood stock still, contemplating her options. The first one was to get away from Kit. “I’m tired. If you don’t mind, I’ll say good night.” There was something very wrong in the way Kit stared at her. When she took a step toward the elevator, Kit blocked her. “What exactly do you want?”

  In the next few seconds, two things happened. The elevator doors slid open and her pulse clattered with relief, then the sound of a motorcycle roaring up to the lobby made her turn her head.

  Patrick.

  He hadn’t seen Kit yet, but he did when he walked through as one of the other residents opened the door to leave. When Patrick laid eyes on Kit, he stopped dead and his entire body flexed.

  Kit shuffled a step back.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” Patrick’s expression morphed with disdain and a dangerous glow ebbed through his eyes.

  She backed up, and Pat pulled her under his arm.

  “I asked you a fucking question, Harper. What are you doing inside Marg’s building?”

  Marg didn’t know what she feared more. The look on Patrick’s face or the knowledge Kit held about her and Thane.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Marg held her breath when Patrick took a step to shield her from Kit.

  “The next words out of your mouth better be your aunt lives in this building and she’s dying,” Patrick warned.

  Kit’s gaze flicked between them, but wedged inside the shards of unease, he held some damning information. Why the hell hadn’t she told Patrick about her and Thane from the very start? This is what she got for keeping a secret. Her zeal for defying her parents dislike for the military and jumping into bed with Thane tossed her into this mess. She trained her gaze on Kit and prayed.

  Taking a long drag on his cigarette, the ash burned and then flittered to the tile floor. “Just making sure Marg knows who she’s dealing with. She’s new in town.” He paused. “She needs to know who’s fucking worthless.”

  Patrick vaulted across the five feet separating the men and rammed Kit up against the mailboxes with his forearm across his throat. “You’re nothing but bad fucking news, Harper. Shit like you makes me look like a superstar. I don’t give a good goddamn whether your brother is already a SEAL or that you screwed over your swim buddy, but I’ll make sure you never use your hands again if you touch Marg.” Patrick powered his bulging arm into Kit’s throat with a thrust, making Kit wince. “Understand what I’m saying?”

  With another thrust that had Kit coughing and grabbing his throat, Patrick stepped back.

  Kit drove a hateful glare at Patrick. “You sure you wanna stand up for her reputation? Might be a little smudged,” he said and coughed again.

  Here it comes. Marg stilled her rampaging heart. The ash on the floor would be in better shape than her future with Patrick, if Kit squealed.

  She hugged her purse to her side. “Kit, if you’re going to start calling me names next, think a better place for you is out that door. Before I call for security and this turns into an ugly scene—leave.”

  Kit gave a slow nod. “Don’t want your boyfriend to know the truth.” He jerked a shoulder. “He’ll find out. If not me, somebody else. You’re making a mistake hooking up with a guy that cuts cars. He’ll end up screwing whores like his old man one day. If that’s what you want, be my guest.” Kit straightened his leather jacket and headed for the door, opening it with enough force it slammed against the wall, and he walked into the night.

  Her nerves leaped with anxious energy. “Why did you come back?” Glad he had.

  Patrick’s temper cooled and he jerked a brow. “Gut feeling. I was riding down the road and it felt like someone was poking me in the shoulder blade. Telling me to turn around.”

  “That guy scares me.”

  “Has he done this before?”

  She shook her head. “He called me once. Wanted a date.”

  “And you said ‘no’.”

  “He freaks me out a little. I don’t like him.”

  Patrick hadn’t pulled her into his arms like she thought he might. His stony expression remained in place.

  “Is something wrong?”

  He didn’t mince words or pause. “What will I find out?”

  Curling her arms around her purse, she didn’t know how to respond.

  “Did the modeling agency force you into doing pictures you didn’t want to do?”

  “No.”

  “What’s he talking about then?”

  She swallowed. “He’s making trouble where there is none.”

  “That would be him alright. You okay?”

  She nodded. “Thank you for coming back. He didn’t want to let me leave.”

  Patrick took a long step to the right and hit the elevator button. “Go on up.”

  “Do…do you want to come?”

  “I would, but I have to work in the morning.”

  “At the garage?”

  “I don’t cut cars, Marg. I won’t lie and say it doesn’t happen, or that it doesn’t happen at the garage I worked at. I know more than a few guys who earn a living, go to prison, get out and cut cars again. I promised I’d help out tomorrow for legitimate reasons because they lost a couple of mechanics. They conduct a different business at night, but I have nothing to do with it.”

  “Are you going to quit?”

  “Already have, but once I’ve got my Trident, I won’t be going back.”

  He held the elevator door open, and she stepped inside. “I don’t think any differently because of where you grew up, Patrick. You know that right?”

  His lids fell to half-mast and his expression remained stony. “So you say.”

  Patrick stepped back and she slapped her hand against the sliding door to stop it from closing. “Patrick. I don’t.” His expression scared her. Dark and somehow haunted. “Patrick!” He gently pushed at her hand, to allow the door to close, but she clung to it.

  “I hate that little prick, Harper. Probably more than Thane.” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “But he’s right, Marg. History repeats itself. No matter what we do, we might grow a new branch on the family tree, but our roots don’t spread far away. I don’t want to be my old man. I won’t be, but you and I…”

  Her blood chilled, and then heated with anger. “So you don’t care if I go mountain biking with Bruce tomorrow? Don’t care at all about me.” />
  His gaze sharpened, and he barely shook his head as her heart fell, as did her hand, and the doors closed, shutting her out from Patrick.

  She squelched her memories from the temptation in tight jeans and leather jacket sitting on his motorcycle so mysterious and damn sure of himself. The thought that she’d never had a crush on a guy, except maybe some TV heartthrob when she was a teenager, made her pause. She’d never really been crazy about any guy. She’d never experienced the funny feelings in her belly like her friends described, which made her wonder if there was something wrong with her. Patrick was her first and probably her last for a while.

  Kissing him on the street like she did tonight had been a do or die move. She'd loved every butterfly his nearness caused in her belly.

  When he’d kissed her, she ate him up like a sinful dessert and heat soared straight through her body and into her toes. The concealed harlot inside her had leaped to her feet, and Marg had pressed her hips to his. The hardness behind his zipper didn’t lie. It couldn’t hide behind silver eyes and pretend he didn’t want her. As the elevator rose, a tear slid down her cheek.

  She wanted him, too. The man from the wrong side of the tracks.

  Marg opened her condo door to hear the beep of a message left on her answering machine. She held little hope it was Patrick and hit the play button.

  “Hey, Marg, it’s Gary. I’ve found the perfect backdrop for some extra shots. Invited a few other models as well. Give me a call and we’ll work out the details, but I’m hoping you’re free on Monday.”

  She curled up on her couch and stared at the little gas fireplace. Her heart weighed heavy and so did her eyes. She’d call Gary back tomorrow. Instead, she picked up the phone and dialed Thane’s number, but he wasn’t home, so she left a message of her own.

  * * * *

  When Marg woke up Saturday morning, Thane’s deep voice on the message machine relayed the location of Patrick’s garage. Good sense reminded her she should have waited to see if Patrick would have second thoughts and call her. Her first thought when she opened her eyes was of him. Her heart ticked with every second that passed, knowing Patrick would leave soon.

  Pacing her living room, she tossed out the pros and cons about being tagged a stalker or some lovesick girl. The invisible dos and don’ts littered her floor by the time she had finished and flopped down on her couch. She had a staring contest with her phone. It didn’t flinch, nor did it ring. A solid tug-o-war ensued. Reaching for the phone, intent on calling Thane and acting like a full blown teenager by asking if Patrick was or wasn’t interested in her, it rang and she nearly jumped out of her skin.