Stealth Ops Series Box Set

by Brittney Sahin

  “She thought I was some actor. Forgot who. And hell, I just went with it. I told her you’re like the real version of Tom Cruise from Top Gun.”

  “You’re such an asshole.”

  “Yeah, well, this asshole just got you a date with a model.”

  “You can have her.” Owen started to hand him the napkin but then retracted his hand. “But no . . . you’re celibate right now. Forgot.” He chucked the napkin into the closest trash can before they started down the path for the beach.

  “Anyway.” Asher slapped his palms together. “The bartender says there’s a poolside party tonight. DJ is supposed to be decent. We should go.”

  “Sure.” Owen grabbed his sunglasses from his pocket and slipped them on. “Was it your idea or Jessica’s to distract me with mindless entertainment?”

  “You’re the one who wanted to fish today. Isn’t that like the definition of ‘mindless entertainment’?” he asked while using air quotes.

  “True.” To be honest, he didn’t even know how to fish. He loved being on a boat, though, so it seemed like a natural choice. “Fine. We’ll go to this party tonight.”

  “Promise me you’ll have some fun.”

  “I always have fun.” He stopped walking and crossed his arms, staring off at the Pacific, catching sight of two people parasailing off in the distance.

  “Yeah, but not this time of year. This time of year, you’re a pain in the ass.” Asher raised his palms in the air.

  “Do you blame me?” he asked, his voice dropping low.

  Owen thought about reminding Asher how pissed off and moody he became whenever Marcus’s name was brought up, the teammate he’d replaced.

  Asher swiped a hand over his brownish-black beard and tipped his head skyward, remaining quiet, and he had to assume his mind had swirled to darker thoughts as well.

  “You’re right, though. Maybe I do need to loosen up.” He remembered the woman from the lobby whom he’d love to sink his teeth into. He hadn’t had such a below-the-belt reaction since his early teenage years when he hadn’t even known the meaning of rubbing one out.

  Asher rested an elbow atop Owen’s shoulder and looked off at the ocean. “She’s a thing of beauty, ain’t she?”

  The glittering water held his eye, and he sucked in a sharp breath at the memory that tugged at his mind.

  I’m gonna join the SEALs, bro. You wait and see, his brother had said before tossing the football to Owen on the beach the summer before Jason had gone off to college. I heard they use live ammunition and train in what they call “kill houses.”

  You crazy? Those guys are way too hardcore for you. Owen had caught the ball and flung it back at Jason. Don’t stress Mom and Pops out.

  His brother had laughed. Right, you already do that enough for the both of us. But, seriously—I’m gonna make it happen.

  “Too bad I never met Jason.” Asher’s words took him by surprise and pulled him back to the present.

  “You would’ve driven my brother nuts.”

  “Shit, that’s what I seem to do best.”

  His throat grew thick, he dropped his eyes and listened to the sound of the water lapping the shore. And then the sound of laughter from children nearby stirred something deep inside.

  Jason had wanted kids. A lot of them. Owen had never been interested.

  Now, he wasn’t so sure.

  But the idea of kids, of a family, was a topic he’d have to shelve until justice was served for his brother. And not a damn minute sooner.

  “Cheers.” Asher touched his Corona to Owen’s bottle before looking toward the outdoor dance area, which was partially surrounded by stacked stone and tiki lights. “Hottie at your nine o’clock. She’s eye-fucking the shit out of you.”

  Owen casually sipped the gold liquid and glanced over his shoulder, and his eyes thinned at the beautiful woman in his line of sight. “Sam.”

  “You know that chick?”

  As soon as she met Owen’s gaze, Sam’s lashes dropped, stealing her browns from view. She stared down at the cocktail in front of her and ran her fingers through her short mass of slightly wavy black hair.

  She was in a white V-neck tee that accentuated her curves and had him taking a breath.

  “I feel like I do,” he said in a bit of a daze then blinked away his thoughts. “But, uh, we collided in the lobby earlier today.”

  “Well, it looks like she needs loosening up as much as you. Although, I have a feeling that one is wild beneath the surface.”

  Owen polished off the rest of his drink to try and steel his nerves.

  It’d been too long since he’d approached a woman. In fact, he’d never had to do much of the chasing the past few years. Word had gotten around he used to be a pilot, and for some reason, that made women’s panties soak.

  He swore women were dirtier than men; they just didn’t admit it. Guys, on the other hand, were pretty candid about their appetite for sex.

  “Go. I know how to stay out of trouble.”

  “You sure about that?”

  Asher rolled his eyes and flicked his wrist, dismissing him.

  “Fine.” Owen tossed some money on the bar and then strode around to where she was sitting.

  A slight breeze moved some of her short locks in front of her face, and she tucked them behind her ears, catching his eyes in the process.

  He motioned for the bartender and slid onto the empty seat at her side. “Hi. Sam, right?”

  She squeezed one eye closed as if trying to remember his name. She was better at playing it cool than he was, so it seemed. “Oliver?” A sweet smile created a dimple in her right cheek as she tapped at her lip. “No. Owen?”

  He chuckled lightly and fully faced her, noting the way her fingers dropped to her lap.

  Red linen pants, and he was anxious for her to stand, so he could catch sight of her perfect tight ass again.

  Her fingertips bit into her thighs, and when he looked back at her face, her smile dissolved and was replaced by a tight line. “You okay?”

  She took a long breath, her chest rising slowly before she expelled it. “Yeah, I’m just exhausted. Long trip here.” She polished off the rest of her drink.

  “Where’d you fly in from?”

  “D.C.”

  “Oh, okay. Are you a lawyer or something?” he asked while directing his focus to the bartender. He flicked his finger toward her drink, his silent request to order her another round.

  “Another Corona?” the bartender asked him.

  Owen nodded at the man before his attention met her eyes, which were wrapped in a dark liner, making the light brown pop even more.

  “I’m not a practicing lawyer. But, um, let’s talk about you. I don’t really want to think about work, to be honest.”

  God, the damn way she talked. Had he ever been so aroused at the sound of a woman’s voice? “I don’t want to talk about work, either. Vacation and all.”

  “Ditto, but, what do people talk about if they don’t talk about work?”

  Since he never talked about his job, he’d become a pro at small talk.

  The bartender delivered their drinks, and she took a quick swallow of hers and winced. “I think he put more tequila in it this time.” She set it down and looked at him again.

  “How about some rapid-fire questions to get to know each other faster, so that way when I ask you to dance, I won’t be some stranger grinding up against you.”

  She tipped her head back and laughed. “What makes you think grinding will be involved?”

  “Is there any other way to dance?” He edged a little closer, and he noticed she’d changed perfumes. Earthy with smoky undertones and a hint of leather. Interesting.

  Red crawled up her neck and to her cheeks. She grabbed her drink again, this time, sucking through the straw, and he couldn’t help but envision those lips wrapped around his cock.

  He drank more of his beer. “So, what do you say?”

  She braced her thighs and nodded. “Shoo
t.”

  He released his hold on the Corona. “Hm. Steak or sushi?”

  “Gotta have my food cooked. So, steak.”

  He nodded in agreement. “Dog or cat?”

  Her lips curved at the edges. “That’s tough.”

  “This is very important. If we differ on this answer, I just might have to walk away.”

  “Okay. Good point.” She cut her hand through the air. “Dog.”

  “Thank God.”

  “Do you have a favorite kind?” she asked.

  “Siberian Husky. If I’m ever not traveling so much, I’d love to get one.”

  “A beautiful breed.”

  “You have one?”

  “What happened to rapid-fire?” She raised a brow.

  “You messed it up.” He smiled.

  “True.” She shook her head. “I’m too busy for an animal right now. I travel a lot, too.”

  He was tempted to ask her what she did and why she globe-trotted, but he remembered the conversation was off-limits, and so he asked, “Mountains or ocean?”

  “I have to go with both. I can’t budge on that.” She gave an innocent lift of her shoulders.

  My kind of woman. “Ski or snowboard?”

  “Neither.”

  “We’ll have to work on that.” He rubbed his palms together. “Winter or summer?”

  “Winter. The summer is . . .” She waved a hand in the air. “Next question.”

  “Swim or sunbathe?”

  “Swim.”

  Hopefully, he’d see her already sun-kissed body beneath the tropical rays while on vacation. The idea of this woman in a bikini had his pulse ramping up. “Treadmill or trail?”

  “You assume I work out, huh?”

  He angled his head and dragged his attention from her red pants to her face. “Unless you did something to really win God over, I’m thinking that body is hard-earned.”

  She smiled. “Spin class and yoga. You?”

  “Oh yeah, give me a downward dog any day.” He winked, and she swatted his chest before drawing her fingers back as if surprised by her action.

  He allowed the moment to sit between them for a second, for the music to fade into the background. He wasn’t sure what was going on between them, but he didn’t want to question it, either. “Beer or wine?” he asked after clearing his mind.

  “I hate the taste of beer, but wine gives me a headache.”

  “Hard liquor, then. Noted.” He glanced in the direction of the dance floor. “Sing or dance?”

  “You’d never want to hear me belt out a tune. But I’m a decent dancer. I mean, I took ten years of dance lessons growing up.”

  “Tutu or tap?”

  “Both.”

  He brought the rim of the beer to his lips, allowing it to hover there as a thought crossed his mind. “Lights on or off?”

  “For when?” A small smile touched the edges of her mouth.

  He took a sip of his Corona. “Open for interpretation.”

  Her tongue peeked between her lips like a delicious tease. “Definitely on, then.”

  The bottle began to perspire beneath his palm as he held it, and he stole a second to gather his thoughts by taking another hard swallow. “Boxers or briefs?”

  “For me?” She chuckled, but her focus dropped to his crotch, and it had him instantly stirring beneath her stare. “I’d have to assess the package to make such a determination.” Her long fingers covered her mouth as if embarrassed by her slip of the truth.

  She was probably a polished D.C. woman, and he’d managed to pull her fairly fast out of her comfort zone.

  “Okay. Fair enough,” he finally answered. “Country music or ED—”

  “Electronic dance music.”

  He grabbed her hand and held it between his palms. “The fact that you know that—marry me?”

  She laughed, and he rested his hand over her wrist, feeling the climb of her pulse beneath his thumb.

  “My turn,” she said, her voice whisper-light like a kiss of air across his skin.

  He retracted his hand and finished his drink, trying to brush away the thoughts of familiarity that tried to cling to him. “Bring it on.”

  Her white teeth flashed as she smiled. “Ink?”

  His gaze touched upon her tattoo for a second, which had her pressing a palm to her chest to conceal it.

  “I’m terrified of needles, so I don’t have any.”

  She jerked her head back a touch, her eyes creasing at the edges. “You’re lying.”

  “Honest to God.”

  “I have a hard time believing you’d be afraid of anything.”

  “Really? I give off a certain impression, do I? Well, I’d take jumping out of a plane over a needle any day.”

  “Oh, you jump out of planes a lot, huh?”

  Little do you know. “On occasion.”

  “Occupational hazard?”

  His hand slid to her knee. Only her knee. He’d need permission before it skirted any higher. “Next question, ma’am.”

  “Mm.” She took a long sip of her drink. “Another round, please,” she requested from the bartender. “Okay, let’s see.” She tapped a red nail against her lip. “So, does that mean you prefer to fly? Or do you hate it so much that you get the strange compulsion to jump out?”

  “Definitely fly. Nothing beats being in the air.” His shoulders arched back, and he straightened his spine. “Well, I half-lied. I love being in the water, too.”

  “Yeah, well, I can handle the water. The air—not so much. I gripped the guy’s arm next to me the entire flight here. Thank God I have short nails, or he’d be sporting marks on his skin for a week.” A nervous laugh met his ears this time. That feminine huskiness she had rushed beneath his skin, and he’d swear it kicked up his internal temperature ten degrees.

  “Lucky guy,” he said, a little deeper than he’d meant to.

  “I think he’d disagree.” She smiled and thanked the bartender when he slid her a new drink. “Siblings or only child?”

  A sudden unease blew across her face, mirroring how he felt on the inside from her question. Why’d she ask if it made her uncomfortable?

  “Brother,” he finally said and cleared his throat. “You?”

  She was quiet, which had him focusing his eyes back on hers. A somberness met him, and he wondered what that was all about. Had she suffered a loss like him? He’d seen that look before, because whenever he observed his own reflection, he saw it: pain.

  “Only child.” She rubbed her hands up and down her thighs a few times. “How long are you staying here?”

  “Another five days.”

  “And where do you go after? I mean, where do you live?” she asked.

  “I have a place in Charleston, but I’m in D.C. and New York a lot, too.”

  “Oh. So, you’re familiar with my stomping ground?”

  He nodded, his eyes falling to the bar counter where someone had keyed the initials R.M.H into the wood.

  She must have followed his gaze because her index finger smoothed over the letters. “Ride me hard, maybe?”

  He laughed and looked up at her. “If you’d like to.”

  “Funny.” She smiled. “The initials.”

  “Really? That was the first thing that popped into your mind? Not—Rose Marie Hanson?”

  “Rose? You have a grab bag of women’s names in your head?”

  “I prefer the way you think, actually.”

  Some of the smile she’d lost came back, and her dimple almost reappeared when she looked at him. He’d do anything to get those generous lips to stretch again.

  “Well, I feel like I know you. Covered all the bases, right? What do you say?” He stood and held a palm out. “Ready to dance?”

  “I might need a shot to loosen up first.” She smiled. “Maybe even more than one.”

  “Really?” He quirked a brow. “You seem fairly loose to me.”

  She bit her lip as if fighting a grin. “I do, do I?”

&nbs
p; His palm met his face as he grumbled, “Didn’t mean it like that.”

  She pinched his bicep. “Kidding.”

  He dropped his hand, and she stood.

  “Two shots of tequila.” He faced her and found her eyes, the brown color softening as she stared at him.

  He hoped to salvage the moment, but when she leaned into him, pressing a palm to his chest, he realized he didn’t have to. The moment never left. Hell, he was pretty sure their banter had heated things up a few notches.

  Memories of his past, of his loss, tried to scrape into his mind, but he didn’t want to give in to the pain.

  He just wanted this woman. Right damn now.

  Her eyes lowered to her hand on his chest. Maybe she could feel the racing of his heart? “You as nervous as me?”

  Her whispered words chucked every last thought he’d been harboring out the window—all he was thinking about was her. Only her.

  “Honey, I’m only nervous I might step on your toes on that dance floor.”

  “I can lead.”

  “Not on my watch.” He listened to the sounds of the tropical house music with rich drum beats and a hard bass in the background—anxious to dance with her, to feel her body against his.

  “Your shots,” the bartender said, and they both dropped their hands as if caught joining the mile-high club. Not that he could ever have sex in a bathroom with a woman like her—hell no.

  “You ready?” he asked as he handed her the first shot.

  She wet her lips, and he’d swear he could see the pulse at her neck heightening. She was nervous.

  “Guess we’ll find out,” she said then downed the shot.

  Two more rounds later, they found themselves on the deck, joining the rest of the dancers.

  The alcohol probably caught up with her because she was the definition of laid-back now. Her fingertips traveled up his chest before she hung her arms loosely around his neck and danced with him.

  Her pelvis touched his body in circular movements, creating a permanent hard-on, as he held on to her trim waist.

  “It’s beautiful here,” she whispered as he seized her eyes, noting the hungry look in her browns.

  “You’re beautiful,” he answered instead and edged his face closer to hers, dying to see how she tasted.

  “You’re . . . unexpected.” Her eyes narrowed as if a question hung in her mind she couldn’t bring herself to ask. And then, she inched up higher, so their faces were nearly touching, like an invitation to kiss her.