by Taylor Lee
“Enough, men. We’ve now recounted at least eleven incidents where one of us would have been shot up the ass if it wasn’t for our illustrious Major, Code Name: Red Rock. If I remember correctly and I do, it was us who gave you that name when you saved a mission and three of us with your unfailing courage and remarkable cup size. As I recall, those hajis were so distracted by our Major’s sumptuous ‘assets’ that our mission was over faster than a knife fight in a phone booth.”
Jesse laughed along with the rest of them knowing that the jibes and insults were backed with respect and gratitude for the part she’d played in their many successful missions. Several of the team members had tears in their eyes not explainable solely by the amount of alcohol they’d consumed.
After the rowdy cheers had quieted for the moment, Sergeant White turned to her.
“We thought long and hard about what to give you in memory of us yokels. After much thoughtful discussion and more beer than Macintyre could handle given that he pissed his way to the john, we came up with the one thing we agreed that you do not have.”
The Sergeant Major’s eyes gleamed with laughter as he handed her the velvet covered jewelry box. Several of the men were unable to hide their amusement.
Jesse frowned as she opened the box and lifted out a sterling silver necklace with an unusual pendant. When she held it up, it took her a long moment to realize that the pendant was a highly stylized but remarkably accurate sculpture of a penis.
Jesse joined in the chorus of raucous merriment, laughing so hard tears rolled down her face.
Sgt. White explained. “We wanted to give you something that you didn’t have, hence the honorary dick. But the more we thought about it, this is unnecessary given that your own special equipment has us all beat. But should you ever feel lacking in any way, please wear this pendant to remember the group of dicks who love and respect you.”
When the cheers and well wishes died down, the Sergeant Major spoke again for the team.
“Even though you are an officer and we won’t hold that against you, every man here respects you above all others. You are the de facto leader of our team. You never let us down even in the most challenging circumstances.”
Storm Cloud, one of her special friends, called out from the back, “Sure as hell can’t say that about that loser Colonel!”
At the shouts of agreement, voices chimed in bringing the unspoken issue on all their minds to the forefront.
“Hell, yeah. He never had our backs no matter what happened.” Wildfire muttered.
Scorpion agreed. “Sure as shit, that asshole should be a General, not a Colonel. He belongs behind a desk, not overseeing men and women in dangerous missions.”
“You know the only reason he even went on the last mission was because it was a joint venture with the Brits and the ARRC muckety-mucks were watching closely.” Frogman grunted.
Whiplash shouted from the back of the pack. “Just think, if he’d stayed at headquarters where he usually is, Major O’Donnell wouldn’t be leaving us.”
Storm Cloud hit the subject head on with a scornful sneer.
“There isn’t a man or woman in this unit who doesn’t know what really happened, Jesse. Hope you know, Major, every one of us thinks you got a raw deal. We all think it’s a fuckin’ crime that you’re takin’ the fall for that piece of shit Colonel.”
Jesse acknowledged the chorus of affirmatives but demurred.
“Rory, I know it looks like that. And in a way it is. First, thank you for your support. I’d try to tell you how much it means to me, but if I did I would start crying and you’d see what a wussy girl I really am. And, guys, thanks for the dick. My father will be thrilled. Some of you know my Sergeant Major father, Sean Casey O’Donnell. As much as he loves me he’s never forgiven me for being born without that particular piece of equipment.” Cupping her breasts and lifting them up and out in front of her, she giggled, “Especially when I came equipped with these instead!”
Hoots of laughter and shouts of “More!, More!” echoed through the rowdy bar. When the boisterousness quieted for a moment, Jesse continued.
“I appreciate that you think I’m good, because dammit, I am!” She laughed with the rest then added, “In a crazy way, I now get a chance to do something I haven’t been very good at. That is being a mother. My former husband is trying to get full custody of my son. Don’t worry, men. You guys taught me who I am. You named me. I’m Red Rock and I’m not going to let go of my son without a hell of a fight. And you all know better than anyone, I’m a damn good fighter!”
~~~
The choruses of praise and well wishes were still ringing in her ears when Jesse walked through her dismal quarters for the last time. In so many ways the stark interior summed up her life. Nothing in it belonged to her except her clothes and personal items. Everything else from the furniture to the dishes came with the furnished apartment. The place looked more like a motel room than a home. It was distressing to know that she could pack everything that belonged to her in three cardboard boxes and ship them to the U.S. via Federal Express. She didn’t need a moving van, that was for damn sure.
It was how she’d lived for ten years. With every transfer, she’d rented a similar place. She always made sure it was a two bedroom unit with a place for her beloved Trey.
The sterile room spoke to her lonely nomadic life. She offered up a silent prayer, grateful that she was leaving this life behind and that her path was about to change forever.
Tucking her photograph of Trey in her backpack, she put on a pair of khaki pants, a t-shirt and her running shoes. She pulled her long fiery hair into a ponytail and tugged it through the hole in the back of her baseball cap. Slipping on her jean jacket she headed for Heathrow.
As she hopped into the cab, a wave of queasy anticipation flooded her. She was about to embark on her most critical mission ever. Her goal? To get her son back.
She gave a dismissive snort, wondering if it was asking too much that she might also find happiness and, if not that, perhaps peace.
*****
Sneak Peek
Coming July 2013
“Red Rock Rises”
Book 1
“Red Rock’s Sizzling Romantic Suspense Series”
*****
“Red Rock Rises”
Chapter 1
“Damn. My grandfather was right. Gramps always warned, ‘Beware of red-headed women.’ “
Charlie Rockford chuckled.
“Thought your grandfather married a redhead.”
“He did. That’s why his advice is worth taking.”
Dameon Macarios pinned the smiling officer with a mock frown.
“Ever met my grandmother, Rocky? You’d never forget her if you did.”
Dameon turned back to the woman standing in the entrance to the ballroom and whistled softly in appreciation.
“That is some woman. Who is she? I sure haven’t seen her around.”
If he had, he sure as hell would have remembered. In a word she was breathtaking. She had the kind of classic beauty that could have stopped ships or launched ’em. Or bring a man to a dead stop—even a man like Dameon who’d spent a lifetime surrounded by beautiful women. Her cheeks were flushed, a rosy hue that matched the shiny gloss on her full lips, lips that begged to be kissed. From this distance the most remarkable thing about her eyes were her thick dark lashes and brows that contrasted with her glorious hair. Dameon would have to get closer to see what color her eyes were. Something he intended to do. Soon.
In the meantime he focused on the rest of her. Taller and slender, her body was as extraordinary as her face. She was all woman. Curved where she should be curved, and, Dameon noted appreciatively, some of those curves were downright monumental. Her dress was a work of art. Its deceptively simple design made the most of her amazing body. A shimmering drape of sea green fabric hugged her voluptuous frame. Cut low across her breasts, it made no secret of the treasures beneath. The hem of the dress hovered si
x inches above her knees revealing toned, gasp-worthy legs that didn’t quit. Her strappy high-heeled stilettos added more alluring inches.
But it was her fiery red hair that had Dameon’s dick straining at his trousers. That in itself was noteworthy. He’d been so caught up in his divorce he hadn’t responded to a woman for a long time. And I was worried about my dick, he thought with a disparaging snort. No question it had risen emphatically from the dead, thanks to the redhead. Her long thick mane was piled up on top of her head, secured by a four-inch silver clip. Errant curls hung tantalizingly around her face and neck. Dameon’s breath hitched at the thought of removing the clip and freeing that fiery mass.
As captivating as her appearance was, her demeanor was even more interesting. Although she affected insouciance, through his practiced eyes Dameon saw her wariness. She was edgy, uneasy. If he didn’t know better, he might think she was afraid. She glanced frequently at the door and then back at her watch, clearly nervous. She looked his way and briefly met his eyes, but then quickly averted her gaze. Hmm, was she anxious? Or maybe shy? A woman who looked like she did? It was an intriguing thought.
~~~
Jesse glanced at her watch, trying to appear nonchalant. Damn. Where was Raoul? She hated standing here by herself. Could she look any more out of place? She groaned silently. Bad enough that she was dressed like a hooker. Obviously that’s why all these men were ogling her. She kept them at bay with her well-honed brush off but she could handle only so many at a time. For God’s sake, had these yokels never seen a redheaded woman in a green dress so tight that her boobs were about to pop out? God, why did she choose this dress? It looked tame on the hanger but added to her shoes and with a little make-up, tame was not the word to describe her.
A better question was why she’d agreed to come to this damn party where she didn’t know a soul. And one of the two people in the town that she did know should have been here fifteen minutes ago. For the sixth time, Jesse reminded herself. ‘You came, girl, because if you can pull off this gig, you will make $10,000.’ Raoul hadn’t batted an eye at her price. She chortled thinking about that, the closest thing to a smile since she arrived. Guess a handsome Latino with questionable ties to the Mexican mafia had different financial standards than most. Good. Now if her delinquent client would just arrive, maybe she wouldn’t feel quite as out of place. Hell, her new profession might actually be fun.
That thought evaporated when she caught a glimpse of the brown-skinned man across the room. Damn, who was he? Gorgeous didn’t begin to describe him. His light brown skin and sharp strong features spoke to a mix of heritages. Latino? Maybe African-American with some Asian thrown in? His high cheekbones and chiseled jaw indicated there might be Indian blood in the mix. His eyes were an aberration. A piece of the puzzle that didn’t fit. How the hell could a warm-skinned Adonis have cobalt blue eyes that gleamed from ten feet away?
His lazy stance didn’t hide his commanding presence. He had ex-military stamped all over him. Jesse stopped taking inventory when she caught his gaze. He was studying her through narrowed eyes. She groaned and quickly looked away. Damn, another bad boy. She attracted them like ticks on a hunting dog. His quirky grin said he knew what she looked like without her clothes. Of course. Her damnable body. That’s all any of them saw.
Jesse stiffened when she saw him approaching. His casual stride belied the power radiating off of him. Drawing her protective cloak around herself, Jesse assumed an indifferent pose. Her heart thudded so hard in her chest she was sure he would hear it. Refusing to be intimidated, she raised her chin and met him with a glare. It was a look designed to repel the most intrepid would-be suitors. The easy grin on his handsome face confirmed he wasn’t impressed or intimidated by her fierce glare.
Dameon had watched a parade of men surreptitiously find an excuse to move in the redhead’s direction. In each case they were met with a stony glare. Visibly shriveling, they slunk away. If any were brazen enough to make it through the first gauntlet, within thirty seconds they also turned tail and ran. Dameon didn’t know what she said to them but whatever it was, it was potent. It stopped eager prowling men in their tracks. Which made her all the more interesting to him. He shrugged. What the hell? Why not throw his hat in the ring? All she could do was stomp on it, and hats were cheap enough.
Ignoring the icy glare she turned on him, he came just close enough to invade her personal space without overtly threatening her. Resisting the urge to touch her, he kept his voice casual, pleasant.
“You’re new here.” It was a statement not a question.
She responded as tersely as he expected.
“Yes, and?”
He smiled. “That was a rhetorical question.”
She merely raised a bored eyebrow and turned away.
Dameon persisted. “We don’t get a lot of newcomers at events like this.”
“I guess I should be honored to have been invited.” Her snippy response was accompanied by a further lift of her chin.
Given that he got more than a two word response, Dameon declared progress and decided to up the ante. Ignoring the brush off, he narrowed his eyes and thoughtfully studied her. The smile lurking in the corner of his mouth was the only give away that he was teasing her,
“Yes, you’re definitely new. No way I would have forgotten you if I’d seen you before.”
To his surprise, she whirled on him, her eyes flashing. It was the first time he was close enough to appreciate the color of her eyes. He had seen stormy oceans that green, that turbulent, but they had never been this bewitchingly beautiful. Facing her full on, he was stunned. She was even lovelier close up. And her fragrance was as enticing as the rest of her. She smelled like lemon and exotic verbena, two of his favorite fragrances.
Her stony glare hardened. “Let me help you. The answer is no.”
“Hmm. And the question?”
“No—to any of the suggestions you were about to make.”
Dameon’s eyes crinkled and he shot her a devastating grin. He kept his response as curt as hers. “I see.”
Obviously determined to get rid of him, she clarified. “I’ve found that a blanket ‘no’ cuts short the conversation. As well as getting rid of all the unwanted suggestions and unwarranted assumptions.”
Holding her gaze, he perused her attentively managing to stifle his grin.
“Hmm. May I presume, miss, that you get a lot of unwanted requests and unwarranted assumptions?”
She tossed her head. “That’s an accurate presumption.”
Dameon couldn’t help but smile at her. She reminded him of Sheba, his Siamese cat, who arched her back whenever he came near. If he startled the feline princess, he was lucky if he got a growl or a hiss instead of a swipe of her paw. But this was the same cat that crawled up and slept at his feet every night. Knowing how unlikely that was, Dameon moved a few steps closer to the prickly woman and offered a truce.
“I’ve got a better suggestion. Instead of questions and one word answers, how about we start our conversation like normal people do—by introducing ourselves?”
She gave him a dismissive shrug.
“That’s not necessary. I already know who you are.”
Dameon reared back in surprise. “You do, huh? So in addition to being beautiful you are psychic?” He raked his eyes up and down her bodacious body and winked. “Why am I not surprised?”
She took an additional step back and tossed him a frosty smile.
“Trust me. I know you. You’re the arrogant asshole who sees a redheaded woman with big tits and automatically assumes that she’s a whore. And… you’re wondering how much it will cost you to get a look at these.”
A sneer tugged at the corner of her mouth.
“Do I have that about right?”
Dameon’s eyes flared. His voice was cool.
“Actually, no. You don’t. But I do have a question for you.”
At that moment, a tall, good-looking Latino man came rushing toward them.
His dark, almost black eyes flashed with appreciation. He grabbed Jesse’s arm and pulled her close. “My dear, I’ve been looking for you. I’m sorry I was late. Forgive me.”
Dameon retreated, annoyance flooding him. Christ, he should have known. A woman like this? Brazen, beautiful, standoffish? Of course. A woman who looks and acts the way this one does would have to belong to some rich bastard. A man who owns a string of gold-plated Texas oil wells perhaps—or is merely as well-connected to the Mexican mafia as his old buddy Raoul Morales.
Nodding to the strikingly handsome dark-haired man, Dameon greeted him with a cool smile.
“Good evening, Raoul. Nice to see you.”
The Latino’s eyes danced with amusement.
“Likewise, Dameon. I see you’ve met my gorgeous escort, Jesse O’Donnell. I’m not surprised that you discovered her, bro.” Turning to Jesse, he grinned. “So, Jess, you’ve met our handsome and charming police chief?”
Jesse threw Dameon a startled glance then quickly looked down.
Dameon interjected. “No, Raoul. We haven’t met. I was just about to correct an assumption Ms. O’Donnell made.” He captured her gaze and refused to relinquish it. “Your escort mistook me for other men she’s known.” Gratified to see Jesse’s cheeks flush, Dameon extended his hand. When she reluctantly offered hers, he grasped it firmly with a slight bow. “Let me formally introduce myself. My name is Dameon Macarios. I’m the police chief of this fair city.”
Raoul wrapped a big arm around Jesse’s shoulders and gave her a mock warning.
“Don’t let all that charm and Hollywood good looks convince you otherwise, Jesse. Dameon is the meanest, toughest son of a bitch you’ll ever meet.”
A smile fought with Dameon’s stern expression. “May I return the compliment, Raoul?”
Hearing a man on the other side of the hallway shouting for him, Raoul huffed an annoyed grunt.
“Jesse, I’m sorry. Please excuse me for a moment. Let me get that emotionally and professionally needy asshole off my back, and then I’ll introduce you to all the makers and shakers in this bustling metropolis of ours. Although, I have to admit, you’ve already met our most famous star, my old buddy Dameon. We call him ‘Wolf.’ “
