What About Love (Club Decadence Book 6)

by Maddie Taylor

T patted her cheek. “Don’t fret. They go well together. She keeps him on his toes with her antics and sass while he calls her on it every time.”

  “Every time?” Angie knew they played and that Megan got spanked; she was very vocal about it. She was also full of piss and vinegar, always had been. Angie imagined that equated to a lot of spankings.

  “Yep,” T replied. “But she loves it and he loves giving it to her, so as I said, they go well together.”

  “This is all very strange.”

  “Hm… I hope strange doesn’t include what happened on the cross a few minutes ago, little bit. That was nothing short of beautiful.” He dipped his head and kissed her lips softly. “I told you my lash would have you soaring.”

  “No one likes a braggart, Sir.”

  “You flew and you loved it. Admit it.”

  Although her cheeks burned bright she remained silent. It wasn’t lost on her that he got her off in spectacular fashion, yet made no demands himself, despite the evidence of his arousal pressing hard into the back of her thigh. She looked up at him, impressed that he was honoring her limit on no sex. Though she hadn’t ruled out touching, which he’d done quite thoroughly during the height of the scene, but he’d made sure that she was the one who requested that intimacy before going further.

  He kissed her nose. “All right, little sub. Don’t admit it, but you flew tonight, in more ways than one. We both know that I’m right.” Lifting her off his lap, he steadied her with his hands on her waist. Then, he produced her dress which had been draped across his bag. The elusive attendants at work, she supposed. “I think you’ve had plenty for tonight. Get dressed. We’ll have a drink in the lounge and catch Elena’s last set. Afterward, I’ll see you home. We’ve got an early run planned in the morning.”

  She groaned, not liking the sound of that. After she stepped into her dress, she shimmied it up her body beneath the cover of the blanket. Slipping the arms through the sleeve holes and fitting it over her shoulders, she let the cover fall to her feet. Gathering her hair to one side, she gave him her back in an unspoken and universal request to be zipped up. He quickly obliged. When he was done, she spun and looked up at him with a plea.

  “You’ve seen the girls in all their glory now, Sir.”

  His surprise was followed by a quick grin as his eyes dipped to her chest. “I have, Angie, and I thank you for that.”

  She lifted beleaguered eyes toward the ceiling as he chuckled. “My point is they are not compatible with running. Seriously, T.”

  “Darlin’, your belly is flat and your thighs are sleek, although you have curves in all the right places, your body does not scream couch potato. How do you stay fit?”

  Caught off guard by his flattering inventory of her body, she stammered a bit while warmth coiled in her belly. “Um… I, uh, swim four days a week at the gym.”

  “You in a wet swimsuit? I’m in.” His eyes sparkled with an eager light as he draped an arm around her neck and guided her to the main doors, heading back to the lounge.

  “It won’t be a bikini, T.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m all in.”

  Quick as that, desire resurged between her thighs creating a flutter low in her belly. Falling into an easy rapport with him, she’d clearly forgotten where his hands had been thirty minutes ago. Holy crap! For all her avowals that it was only a job, she knew her heart was doomed.

  Chapter Seven

  Bright and early the next morning, Angie grabbed her towel out of her locker and after slamming it shut, spun the combination lock twice. As she moved down the aisle dreaming of another cup of coffee, her flip-flops slapped against her heels with a loud thwap on every step. Sluggish from a restless night while images of the prior evening replayed constantly in her brain, she’d probably need an entire pot to feel human again. When she had dozed off sometime around four o’clock, her dreams were interspersed with images of T strapping her to a cross and making her scream with ecstasy. When that wasn’t the featured attraction, she was haunted by the scene at her door, when he’d planted a brotherly kiss on her forehead as if unaffected by what he’d done to her near naked body. That was the image that made her lashes flutter open less than two hours later, her mind whirling in confusion, as she stared at the dark shadows on her bedroom ceiling.

  She heaved a heavy sigh. In the course of a day, he’d gone from cool and aloof to sweet and attentive. They’d moved from co-workers to teacher and student, both at Rossi and at the club, then to lovers. Well, sort of lovers. What did you call a man who’d had his hands all over you, his fingers deep inside you, then in the end wanted to be best buds?

  “This is his job, you fool,” she muttered to herself. “Did you really expect that one night with a newb would change his convictions and that he’d prostrate himself at your feet having fallen madly in love with you? Sheesh! What an ego.”

  At the end of the row of lockers, she paused in front of the full-length mirror. Her utilitarian one-piece swimsuit wasn’t going to attract a second look from anyone. Mostly black, the boring, high-necked tank style suit was something her fifty-two year old mother would wear. The only detail an unexciting white racing stripe up each side. In a word, it was forgettable. She had a sexy bandeau bikini at home in eye-catching fuchsia, the mesh overlay covering as much as it revealed, including a great deal of cleavage, but she couldn’t very well swim laps in a strapless bikini top without both boobs popping out. It was adult swim hour at the fitness center, although she was quite sure that wasn’t what they had in mind.

  As she stared at her reflection, she asked herself why it mattered.

  “It’s not a date, idiot,” she muttered. Twisting to ensure neither ass cheek was hanging out, she eyed the exposed skin of her thighs and upper back. Amazingly, it was unmarked despite the number of lashes she took. Not a hint of pink remained. And why did that make her sad? She shook her head at that ridiculous notion and stomped out of the locker room.

  As she approached the pool, she easily located T. He was surrounded by women, four in all. Two near her own age, one with graying hair, and one stunning knockout of indeterminate age. From a distance, Angie placed her anywhere from thirty to fifty. Her killer body was impressive with big tits, flat abs and toned thighs, all of which were bound to attract a second glance from T. Irritated by their fawning all over him, she was more put out with herself for caring.

  He’s not for you, she reminded herself for the millionth time that morning. Without a greeting, she tossed her towel on a chair and kicked off her shoes. Selecting an empty lane, she dove in. Falling into a brisk, but steady pace, with each stroke she kept up an internal chant; don’t lose your heart to Antonio Minelli. At every flip turn, she reminded herself, he doesn’t have it to give.

  Twenty laps of freestyle had passed when she slowed, grabbing the edge of the pool for a short breather. Trying not to seem obvious, she scanned the pool deck for T. When that didn’t pan out, she twisted to where she’d last seen him and eyed the lanes on either side of her. She saw a wall of water surging toward her in the lane on her right as a swimmer approached. Mesmerized, she watched as a dark head lowered while thickly muscled arms and broad shoulders rose out of the water. As he neared, he executed a perfect butterfly turn and dolphin kicked back the other way. Once she’d pried her jaw from the pool floor and wiped the drool from her chin, she scowled and pushed off, following in a much less powerful and inelegant butterfly. Leave it to T to do the hardest stroke flawlessly and make it look effortless.

  Ten more laps—two of the butterfly, which was all she could manage, the remainder a moderately paced freestyle—and she was done in. Swimming crosswise over the lane ropes, she headed for the ladder and climbed out. Finding her towel, she leaned against the cool tile wall as she tried to catch her breath.

  T was going strong and still swimming the fly. Mesmerized, she watched for another ten laps, impressed by his endurance. At the tail end of the tenth, as he approached the far end of the pool, he slowed and di
ving under, performed another textbook turn. He resurfaced a good six or seven meters from the wall thanks to his long body and began a slow crawl back to her end. A cool down lap, she assumed.

  Reaching the near wall, he stopped and popped up. Pushing off in the opposite direction, he floated on his back as he allowed his breathing to slow. Angie watched his slick, tanned body gleaming golden under the lights as it floated atop the water, his chest rising and falling from his exertion. Out of breath, she thought with more than a bit of wonder, he is human after all.

  As she dried herself off, he dove under the ropes and swam to the ladder. Emerging in a sheet of water, she tried not to salivate over his dripping, practically bare body. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t keep from staring at the smoothness of his broad, powerful chest, or the dark hair of his underarms, exposed when he lifted both hands, biceps and forearms flexing as he ran his fingers through his drenched hair, brushing it off his face. She didn’t dare drop her gaze below his waist, sure his wet trunks clung like a second skin. She couldn’t anyway with her brain locked onto the washboard on his abdomen, counting way more than a six pack.

  Moving across the pool deck toward her, he lifted both arms over his head and with hands clasped together, arched his body from side to side, and then forward and back as he did his post-swim stretches. Angie nearly came on the spot from the lust inspiring perfection that was Antonio freakin-hot Minelli.

  “Your boyfriend is freakin’ hot, sister,” a voice declared, closely echoing her thoughts.

  Dragging her eyes away from the water-god who had emerged from the pool, Angie cast a sidelong glance at one of the young women who had been flirting with him earlier. She didn’t spare Angie a glance as she walked by, her attention zeroed in solely on T. Not saying a word, she didn’t correct her inaccurate boyfriend assumption, convinced that her tongue had suffered a stroke and she would blather unintelligibly.

  T was close enough to overhear, however, and stopped stretching. He leaned over and grabbed a towel that had been lying unnoticed beside her own on the same chair.

  “Morning, darlin’,” he drawled in a low greeting, his voice a little gruff from his exertion. Her eyes followed the towel as he ran it over his face and began to rub down his chest and arms. “You didn’t come to say hi when you arrived.”

  “Um, you, uh, seemed otherwise occupied.” Mentally kicking her ass for acting like a love-struck fool, she silently chided herself to snap out of it.

  “Shame on you. I needed rescuing and you dove into the pool without batting an eye.” He gave her a teasing wink while lightly swatting her behind with the towel before draping it across his shoulders and hanging onto the ends. “Swimming was awesome. It’s been a while.”

  The light swat on the butt reminded her of the many he’d given her on the cross. She turned away and hurriedly began repacking her pool bag. Anything to distract herself from his glistening wet chest. “It looked to me like you could give lessons. Your technique was perfect. Did you swim in school?”

  “No. Football was my game.”

  “Ah,” she nodded, still not looking up. “Middle linebacker, I’ll bet.”

  “You know football?”

  That drew her eyes back to him. “Seriously? Are we in Texas?”

  “Yeah, what was I thinking?” He smiled ruefully. “This was nice. Cross training might be the way to go to mix things up for a while. We had a pool growing up. I was like a fish back then, practically living in it during the summer. Although I didn’t really learn technique until the Army.”

  “They teach swimming in the Army?”

  “I was Special Forces. They don’t let you in if you can’t swim. I had the basic knowledge; they helped me perfect it. I also dive and jump out of planes on occasion.”

  “For some reason I thought the Seal teams did all the diving and swimming.”

  “Navy frogmen,” he scoffed. “More like glory hogs. The difference between the Seals and SF is that we work harder, kick more ass, and run more ops, but don’t act like roosters and crow about our successes on the six o’clock news or try to get someone to turn it into a fuckin’ screenplay.”

  “Oops!” Her hands came up in surrender. “Sorry, a touchy subject, I see.”

  “You have no idea.” His irritation morphed into a grin as he took in her suit, from the high scooped neck to the regular cut thighs, skating on down her legs and back up. “I see swimming four times a week does a body good.” He stretched his arms above his head once more, dropping a hand behind his head one at a time and pulling on his elbow with the opposite hand in lat and arm stretches. “The butterfly is a great entire body and cardio workout, but killer on the arms.”

  “Yeah,” she breathed, mesmerized by the display. “And low impact.” Swallowing with difficulty, she wrapped her towel around her torso, covering her nipples, which weren’t hard from the cold. “Um, I’m gonna hit the showers.”

  “We’ll grab something to eat on the way to the office. Got a text from Cap. He scheduled a meeting at noon, which gives us time for target practice and another round in the simulator before that.”

  The simulator. Crap! Wasn’t that just great? Nothing like a healthy dose of humiliation to start the day. Suppressing a groan, she focused on the meeting with Cap. “Has something else come up since yesterday?”

  “No clue, little bit, he didn’t say.” He tweaked her chin, like a big brother would, then headed off to the men’s locker room.

  When he’d disappeared, the woman from earlier came up to her again. “My mistake, I thought you were a couple. Is your brother single, sweets? If so, can you introduce me, please? He is fah-reaking gorgeous.”

  Irritated by her assumption, although she’d thought the same only a second ago, she cast a smug look at the pretty younger woman. “Sorry, sweets, but if you think big brother is hot, you should see his boyfriend.”

  “No!” she squealed, holding her stomach as if she’d been dealt a mortal blow.

  “Isn’t that always the way?”

  “Figures,” she scowled. “All the best looking ones are gay. Hell, if I was a man and that sexy wall of muscle glanced my way, I’d change sides too.” She stomped away with a frustrated, “Damn!”

  Angie didn’t feel the slightest bit of guilt, more like a good healthy dose of vindication as she too hit the showers.

  *****

  “Show me what you’ve got, trainee.”

  Rather than observing from the control booth, T stood beside her and a few inches back, his long arm easily reaching the touch pad on the wall that started the simulator.

  “Are you going to stand right there and watch?” she complained. “You’ll distract me.”

  One dark brow quirked upward. “If you can’t focus with me quietly observing, we’ve got problems.”

  She turned back without another word. He was right. She had to concentrate and block out the distractions around her, no matter how infuriating, and incredibly sexy they were. She took a deep breath to steady herself as the lights flashed a countdown. Her mind went through a list of what he’d be observing, her stance, her grip, her concentration and most importantly her aim.

  The lights overhead flashed green as a buzzer sounded. It was go time. Instead of a street scene, he’d programmed the pop up target mode, beginner’s level. Randomly, a head and upper body outline, like on the firing range, would appear holographically for about two seconds.

  She pulled the trigger and missed on her first try.

  “Keep your eye on the target.”

  She bristled. “I’m not a rookie, T.”

  “You scored thirty-seven percent last time, Angie.” He didn’t need to add what she already knew, that pretty much sucked.

  She completed the round without further comment, or at least what she could before the simulator shut off, flashing red. Another fail.

  “Dammit,” she cursed, hollering in frustration.

  T walked to the control panel on the wall and pulled up a sum
mary of her session. “Fourteen hits and twenty-six misses. It calculated a no win scenario and shut down.”

  “Well, crap. That’s worse than the last time.”

  “No worries. I’m going to fix you.”

  “How? Dan tried and couldn’t.”

  “I noticed straight off there are three things you’re doing wrong. Grip, focus and follow through.”

  “That’s pretty much everything.”

  “Yeah, pretty much.”

  She huffed a soft laugh of capitulation. “So fix me, oh guru of the gunnery.”

  “Weapons Sergeant, and I plan to.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “For eight years I was the team’s weapons specialist, meaning I got to shoot and blow shit up. I also got to teach and problem solve for the guys, which is why Cap has me train the new recruits.”

  “What was Dan?”

  “A freakin’ Jarhead, baby. As if…”

  She laughed at that, having heard his opinion of the other military branches. Little did she know he was only half-joking.

  “Don’t get me wrong, Dano’s a good man, but he didn’t have the training I did. Nothing compares to the forty plus weeks of classroom and field training the Army put me through.” He punched a few keys, resetting the simulator for another round. “So, trainee, are you ready to lay off the sass and get serious.”

  She saluted crisply, replying sharply. “Sergeant, yes, Sergeant!”

  “Smart ass,” he shot back, although with little heat. “I’ll let it slide this once because you’re cute, despite the attitude.”

  Instantly, she deflated more than another fail at the simulator could do. He thought her cute. Yep, he had definitely put her in the friend or kid sister zone. Hell!

  “Listen up,” he said near her ear. Angie hadn’t seen him move and jumped slightly. “First, grip. If correct, you will fire where you look. Second, focus. You’re not keeping your eye on the target. You line up the shot, but recheck your aim at the last instant before you fire. If only for a split second, this will affect your shot. A stationary target, gives you that time. For a moving one, you don’t have the leeway and it causes you to miss. Lastly, is follow through. You lift your head to check your shot when you should be keeping your target in sight for a follow up or moving on to the next threat.”