“I’m not sure that’s how it’s supposed to work.”
“It’s a game, Lyla,” Tate explained irritably. “I take the right steps, and they let me move forward. But because it’s the Army, they like to make the actual rules kind of murky. Keeps it interesting for them, I guess.”
Lyla took a deep breath and held it, and Tate didn’t like the look of that furrow in her brow. “Tate—” she began.
His cell phone went off again, bleating out the old-school reveille ringtone that signaled an unknown caller. Talk about being saved by the bell—Tate was pretty confident this counted as divine intervention.
He glanced at the screen but didn’t recognize the digits. Just in case, he answered, “This is Captain Monroe.”
“Tate the Great!” his teammate Tank yelled. “How the hell are you, buddy?”
“Tank?”
“You know it, baby.”
“Oh my God, who was stupid enough to give you a phone, man?”
“Don’t ask. They gave us a couple days of R&R, so I caught a ride to fucking Amman with a friend. I promised the other guys I’d try to catch you while I was here.”
“I’m glad,” Tate said. “How are they?”
“Oh, you know. The usual. Food sucks and the chicks all have guns. Monkeys running the zoo. Nothing’s changed, believe me.”
“Jesus.” Tate did not miss any of that, not at all.
“You know, we keep trying him, but the dude’s stopped taking our calls. We’ll keep at it, though.”
“There ya go.”
“How are you? Geez, Tate…it’s been a while, you know?”
“I’m all right. I got sick of hanging around my parents’ house like a waste of space, so I picked up a temp job working security.”
“No shit? Like a mall cop?”
“No, more like a bodyguard gig.”
“Anyone I know?”
Looking at Lyla in her demure cardigan and sexy heels, Tate not only didn’t want to share her name with Tank, but he also didn’t even want his teammate to know she was a woman.
So, he only said, “This mystery author that works with my college roommate.”
The instinct to keep Lyla to himself for a while longer was powerful, and reminded Tate of the way some of the other guys used to absolutely refuse to share a single detail about their women back home.
He’d never understood what the big idea was before, but he sure got it now—the notion of tainting someone as fine as Lyla with the ugliness of war repulsed him.
“That’s cool,” Tank said, once it was clear Tate had nothing further to add. There was a long pause, and then he asked, “So…have you gotten any word on when they’re gonna let you come back yet?”
“I’m still waiting,” Tate lied. “I had a second evaluation a few weeks ago, but…no results yet.” He couldn’t bear to tell Tank he’d been turned down only moments ago, but it didn’t help that Lyla was obviously listening to him to sit there and deceive his friend.
“Dude. What the fuck’s the holdup, anymore? You said you’re tight now, yeah?”
“I think so. I guess maybe they believe my brain’s still healing? Who the hell knows.”
“I mean…it’s not like you need to do calculus here. You just need to be able to hump yourself across some sand and pull a trigger. How is that hard?”
“You think I don’t know that? Tell them, Einstein.”
“No, you tell them and then get yourself back here fast. We need you for the next…thing we’re supposedly doing.”
Tate’s whole being perked up at that bait in the water. “What thing?”
“Nothing definite yet. But there’s been some talk.”
“Tank, don’t be a cagey asshole. Just tell me.”
“Hang on.” There was some muffled whispering, an assurance to whoever Tank was with that he’d be right back, and then a door slammed and the background noises faded to silence. “You there?”
“Yeah.”
“Word is, we might be moving on Asif Abd-el-Kadir, sooner rather than later,” Tank said low and fast. “HQ got some fresh intel on his location, and people are saying we’re the guys who are going to get him.”
“No fucking way.”
“Way.”
“Tank—” Tate forced himself to take a deep breath. “When?”
“Soon. Maybe right after we all get back from leave.”
“But you said you only got two days.”
“Why do you think I’m trying to get you to hurry back? Just for shits and giggles?”
Tate had just flunked another evaluation, however, and his next one wasn’t for six or eight more weeks. There was no way he could hurry back, no matter how much he wanted to be in on this mission.
They’d been hunting that freaking zealot for years. Tate wanted to scream and kick things knowing he would miss the man’s possible capture, but all he could say to Tank was, “Trust me, I’m trying, man.”
“Hell, I know that. I’m not looking to make you feel bad—I just wanted to give you a little incentive. You know, in case you hadn’t already tried to beg, borrow, and steal your way back. Or whatever else you have to do.”
“Roger that. Are the other guys…is everyone else doing okay? You think they’re up to this?”
“Oh, they’re ready. They’ve been chomping at the bit after what happened to you, Robinson, and…the rest.” Tank choked on the names of the other men who hadn’t been as lucky as Tate. His voice cracked when he added, “You’ve never seen them all so murderous. Kadir won’t know what hit him.”
“Well, damn. Try not to get your asses shot off, would you please? You don’t have anyone there to babysit you anymore.”
Tank laughed, but it cut off fast. “You’re not coming back in time, are you?”
“Not yet, Tank,” Tate admitted. “I’m sorry. You know I want to.”
“Don’t worry about us, brother. You work on getting better, and we’ll go out and show you how it’s done, all right?”
“No mistakes, man. March in, do the job, march out.”
“Whatever. You act like we’re going to elementary school. You and I both know it’s bound to be a complete shitshow if it’s anything like the last few years. I just want to live through it so I can go home and meet my new niece one of these days.”
“I’ll hope for the best.”
“And we’ll prepare for the worst, you grim fuck. Call me if you hear anything in the next few days, though, okay? Maybe I can delay until you get here.”
“You bet.”
“Ready and Deadly.”
“Hooah.”
Tate hung up the phone and didn’t know what the hell to do with the overwhelming sense of helpless frustration brewing in his chest. He knew Tank hadn’t meant anything snide by signing off with their unit’s motto, but could it feel any less applicable than it did right now?
What the hell was he even doing in this fancy hotel room, sitting across from a smart, beautiful woman who—for some unknown reason—occasionally wanted to get in his pants? Hunting extremists, this was not.
Tate didn’t belong here. He wasn’t any good at civilian life and hadn’t been for too long.
What had Becky called him all those years ago? Easy to fuck, but hard to love? God, that was the truth.
Sequestered in the Army with all the other knuckleheads was undeniably the best place for Tate to be. So, why couldn’t anyone but him see that?
Lyla set aside her soda can and eyed him warily. “Let me guess—more bad news?” she asked. “And please don’t turn this into some kind of joke.”
Tate retorted, “Hey, did you hear the one about the badass soldier who had to sit out the fight of his life?”
Lyla’s eyes went soft and her plump bottom lip stuck out in a pout. Understanding was written all over her face.
“No?” he demanded, forestalling whatever pity-party she was about to try selling him. “Yeah, me neither.”
“Tate.”
“T
hat’s because badasses don’t sit out fights,” he explained testily. “Right now, I’m here, and my team is there. So, what does that make me?”
“Human. It makes you human.”
Tate talked right over her. “Not a badass, that’s for damn sure. Christ, at this rate I might as well have joined the Chair Force, instead of the freaking Army.”
“My grandpa was in the Air Force.”
“Did he spend his tour sitting in hotel rooms thousands of miles away from the action?”
“No, he fought honorably in Korea and when his service was done, he came home to raise a family and be a productive member of society.”
“Good for Gramps.”
“Tate, don’t be mean,” Lyla said. “It’s beneath you.”
He swallowed back the bile trying to climb his throat and stared down the woman who was rapidly becoming one of the most important people in his life. He forced himself to calm down—to treat her like she deserved to be treated.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Come here,” Tate said and pulled her into his lap. “I feel so freaking helpless. I should be over there making sure none of them get killed, not eating takeout every night in ritzy hotels.”
“It’s not in your control, Tate. And not for nothing, but…you’re doing something big here, too, in case you’ve forgotten. If it weren’t for you, who knows what I’d be dealing with right now.”
“Maybe things would be better. Maybe without me here, your stalker wouldn’t have gotten so mad at you.”
“Do you really believe that?”
Tate admitted, “No.”
“Neither do I.” She pressed a soft kiss to his lips and just that quickly, his body ignited.
“Lyla,” he groaned. “You don’t know what you’re starting. You should stop.”
“Is that what you want?”
“No. But you’re biting off more than you can chew, sweetheart. I’m a little unbalanced right now.”
“I don’t care. I need this with you. I think you might need it, too.”
She had no idea.
When Tate didn’t respond, Lyla slid off his lap and knelt on the carpet between his legs.
“Let me make you feel good,” she said, setting her glasses aside. “Can I?”
She was definitely not expecting to be refused, because Lyla reached for the waistband of Tate’s sweatpants immediately. He’d already gone hard at the sight of her on her knees, but he got even harder now.
Still, Tate grabbed her hands and held them away from the family jewels.
“You don’t have to do this,” he told her. He sure wanted her to, though.
The sight of those perfect lips in such close proximity to his cock was nearly enough to push him over the edge completely.
Tate wouldn’t be forgetting how Lyla looked right now, that was for damn sure. Not any time soon, anyway.
He couldn’t pretend to understand all of Lyla’s reasons for wanting to do this now, of all times, but what he did realize—albeit belatedly—was that once she’d reached for him, the path of retreat had ceased to be a viable option.
“I know I don’t have to. I want to,” she said. Her eyelashes flickered as she gazed up at him, her expression steady and composed. He didn’t have the resistance to say no to her.
Tate let out his breath, helped her push down his pants, and moved his hands unsteadily out of her way.
There was only one way forward now, and he’d have to navigate it carefully. If he didn’t, Lyla might beat herself up over this later—and Tate would forever be something she regretted when it was all said and done.
He had to make this time—and every other time they had left—good for her.
Lyla set her palms on his thighs and moved in. She took Tate deep into her hot, wet mouth in one stroke, her tongue molding to the sensitive underside of his cock, her lips tight against his skin.
He growled her name and wound his hands into all the shiny, silky mahogany hair flowing over her shoulders. Lyla smiled, then set a firm, fast pace. It felt so fucking good—sending electric shocks down his spine and sparks through his limbs. Tate couldn’t have stopped her, even if he’d wanted to.
His balls drew tight far sooner than he wanted. He tried to warn her.
“Lyla, sweetheart, stop. I can’t wait any longer.”
She wasn’t deterred, though. She gripped the base of his cock with her fist, moved her mouth up and down smoothly, and executed some crazy swirl with her tongue on the tip with every quick stroke. Tate was a goner, and then some.
He squeezed his eyes shut, grabbed her head to hold it still, and gave himself up to the shattering climax with a long, stunned groan.
This woman. She was everything.
He hauled Lyla up and shuffled her to the bed, then tipped her back onto the bed so he could climb over her. Lyla’s eyes were watchful, but whether she was simply studying him for kicks or parsing Tate’s state of mind remained to be seen.
If Tate had his way, she wouldn’t be analytical for much longer. He contemplated her long, luscious body and tried to decide where to begin. It wasn’t easy—as always, all of his choices looked equally enticing.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he told her, and registered the immediate flare of push-back in her eyes a split second before he leaned forward to brace his hands next to her shoulders.
Lyla opened her mouth, no doubt to school him on what a hot mess she was after such a crappy couple of days.
“Don’t argue,” Tate instructed.
She arched a brow at him but wisely pressed her lips together.
He brushed his own lips over the skin near Lyla’s shoulder and cataloged her full-body shiver. She might not be good at losing herself in the moment, but he was not a man who was used to failure.
Tate had been determined since the day he was born. He would march or trudge—or even limp doggedly forward, if necessary—but come hell or high water, Tate got where he wanted to go.
And so, by the time he was through with Lyla tonight, she’d better have no doubt in her mind what Tate thought of her. He only hoped it would be enough to keep her from hating him once he was gone.
Tate pressed open-mouthed kisses to the delicate skin of Lyla’s neck, and inhaled the warm fragrance near her ear. “So beautiful,” he repeated, then went for her mouth before she could try to explain about long days or limp hair.
He must have been off his game, however, because Tate could tell, somewhere around the time he reached the tantalizing plain of Lyla’s lovely stomach, that her brain had kicked into overdrive again. While he was busy marveling at the softness of her skin against his lips, he could almost hear the gears start turning in her never-dormant cranium.
Damn it. He wasn’t about to concede defeat now. Tate narrowed his eyes, knelt between Lyla’s knees, and ran his palms up the insides of her silky legs. His rough hands seemed like an affront to all that pretty female skin, but he used them to push her knees wider apart anyway, making room for himself.
No way was his woman going to feel one iota of doubt about him. Fuck that.
Quick on that thought’s heels came a wave of possession that startled Tate. His. This extraordinary woman felt like his, as freaking unlikely as it seemed.
He was going to have to do something about that really goddamn soon. Not yet, though. First, he had to deliver what she wanted.
TWENTY-TWO
“I’M AFRAID I’M going to be too rough,” Tate murmured, pulling himself up Lyla’s body to brush her hair away from her face.
He’d been working her into a frenzy for what felt like an eternity, coiling the want inside her tighter and tighter until she couldn’t take another second of it. She’d had to pull on his shoulders and beg him to stop.
Or rather, beg him for more than his mouth.
“I just want to be with you, Tate—however it’s going to be,” she said.
His blue eyes went dark. “Then roll over,” he told her, helping Lyla turn onto her stomach.
He arranged her on her hands and knees, until her ass was in the air and her forehead was resting on the bed.
“You okay?” he checked.
“Fabulous,” she laughed.
Lyla heard him rip a foil packet open, and then Tate was dragging his fingers between her legs. “Fuck, you’re so ready for me. Did you like getting me off, sweetheart? Were you thinking about how I’d feel buried deep inside you?”
“Oh God, yes,” Lyla whimpered into the mattress.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” Tate continued. “Perfect ass, pretty legs…such soft skin.” He stroked a hand up her spine and moved her hair to the side. “Look at me,” he commanded.
Lyla peeked over her shoulder to find Tate on his knees behind her, his long, erect cock gripped in his hand. Impossibly, it looked even bigger than it had moments before.
“I can’t go slow or soft,” he warned her.
“I don’t want it that way.”
“But you do want it?”
Lyla dropped her head back down. “More than I want to sit here with my ass in the air debating it,” she grumbled.
Tate chuckled and smacked her lightly on the butt. “Someone’s feeling pretty full of herself right now.”
“I’d rather be full of you.”
He growled and grabbed onto her hips, driving into Lyla in one hard thrust. All the breath rushed out of her lungs. So big. So full.
“How’s that, Slick?”
“More,” she pleaded. She gripped the covers in her hands and pushed back against him.
Tate leaned forward, caging her in and surrounding her with his heady, masculine scent. He braced on one forearm and held her steady so he could pound into her, relentless and demanding.
Lyla wanted to sing with elation. It had never been like this with anyone else—never so good, so all-consuming, so earth-shattering. Tate was a tempest, wreaking havoc on her body and her heart.
“Can you still taste me, sweetheart?” he rumbled in her ear, “Because I still have the taste of you all over my tongue.”
The Hero Was Handsome (Triple Threat Book 3) Page 20
