Saving Simone (Florida Veterans Book 3)

by Tiffani Lynn

  Saving Simone

  Florida Veterans Book 3

  Tiffani Lynn

  Copyright © 2019 by Tiffani Lynn

  Saving Simone

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

  For information contact Tiffani Lynn at www.tiffanilynn.com

  Cover Design by Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs

  Background Photograph: Sunsets by Steven J.

  Editor: Twin Tweaks Editing

  Created with Vellum

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to Jessica & Sean Barnes. Your love and strength continue to inspire everyone around you.

  Contents

  1. Simone

  2. Thomas

  3. Simone

  4. Thomas

  5. Simone

  6. Thomas

  7. Simone

  8. Thomas

  9. Simone

  10. Thomas

  11. Simone

  12. Thomas

  13. Simone

  14. Thomas

  15. Simone

  16. Thomas

  17. Simone

  Note from Tiffani

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Tiffani Lynn

  1

  Simone

  Crossing and uncrossing my legs restlessly, I continue to sneak peeks at the man across the L-shaped bar. He keeps rubbing his hand over the little bit of light brown stubble on his jaw like he wishes it wasn’t there. I strolled in here about 20 minutes ago, slid up on a barstool and spotted him immediately. Definitely the kind of man every woman notices when he’s in the room. Something about him conveys quiet confidence, strength, and masculinity in its purest form.

  I decided that I liked the view enough to stay for a little bit, so I ordered a Crawley on the rocks. The bartender looked at me like I was crazy, so I elaborated. Double shot of vodka—the good stuff—shot and a half of grenadine, two muddled limes and a slice of lime. The husband of a good friend of mine invented the drink and I can’t seem to drink anything else when I’m out now. When I was explaining the concoction to the bartender, I noticed the delicious man across the way paying close attention and I was hoping he would relocate closer—like to the only open barstool next to me—and strike up conversation, but he hasn’t. For a few minutes he fussed with his phone, texting maybe, and then he placed his phone face down on the bar and turned his attention to the Tampa Bay Rays baseball game playing on the large-screen television directly above the bartender’s head.

  The bar is moderately crowded, with the majority of patrons being a bunch of salesman-type guys with rumpled button-down shirts and loosened ties drinking and getting loud. A few women are sprinkled throughout the place, looking at their phones as they nibble on some food or sip on drinks. But overall this is a normal hotel bar and grill, with art deco light fixtures and interesting but uncomfortable furniture.

  While I’m savoring the taste of my Crawley, a guy approaches to my left, rests his elbows on the bar and turns to face me slightly. Drunk may not be the best way to describe this guy but he’s certainly crossing the line to one too many. He grins as he throws out a lame pickup line. “You drinking alone?”

  “No, I’m waiting for someone,” I answer as I eye him cautiously. He’s clearly younger than I am by five or more years, handsome in a frat boy kind of way, but not my type. My ex-husband was just like this dude, which is an automatic turnoff. He turns slightly to the side, still leaning on one elbow but facing me all the way now as he waves his hand in the air to gain the bartender’s attention.

  Everything about this guy screams entitled and overconfident. Not like the man across the bar who looks like he works for a living, spends time in the gym and could make any bedroom into a pleasure palace just by stripping me down to nothing and using his mouth on me. I shake my head a little, trying to lose the image of the guy across the bar naked, and focus on the idiot in front of me.

  When the bartender approaches, the dude glances at him and says, “Get me a vodka tonic.” No please or thank you. Just an order. Jerk. “Can I join you?” He doesn’t wait for my response as he perches on the stool next to me. I need a better resting bitch face to scare guys like this off before they even approach.

  “No, like I said, I’m actually expecting someone.” I lie easily because I’m so disgusted by his rude, pushy demeanor. I have no one coming to meet me, but I don’t want to talk to this guy all night. My words don’t faze him. Great, a douchebag who doesn’t take no for an answer. I’m past the inebriated pretty boy idiot stage of my life, but I don’t want to draw unwanted attention by making a scene if I don’t have to.

  To make matters worse, the sexy, stubble-faced gentleman across the bar stands up, pulls cash from his wallet and tosses it next to his bill on the bar, turns and strides toward the bathroom without a second look my way. Now I’m stuck here with this dork and no hope of meeting the other guy. That’s my luck in the man department. Never getting what I want, always offered second best. The difference now is that I no longer accept second best.

  I slide off the side of my stool, adjust my sundress, and pull some bills from my wallet. The drunk, who was trying to ask me questions that I have no interest in answering, stops and stutters. “Wha, wha, what are ya doin’? I just sat down.”

  He no sooner gets those words out of his mouth when his eyes widen and focus behind me on something above my head. At the same time, I feel a large, warm hand skim my waist and pull me in tight against a very tall, hard body.

  “Hey, Pumpkin. Sorry I’m late. You ready to go to the room?” a warm, manly voice purrs.

  My brain short-circuits a little at the feel of masculine warmth behind me and I turn around so I’m face to face with the hot guy from across the bar. Inside I do a serious happy dance. He’s saving me! It’s no damsel in distress up in a castle tower scenario, but he’s keeping me from having to deal with the drunk dude, and he’s super-hot!

  Then, to really twist my brain, the hot guy’s hand moves up to my neck and threads into my hair. The next thing I know, his soft yet strong lips have covered mine and his tongue is sliding into my mouth. The slightly bitter tang of beer that he must have been drinking mixes with my sweeter drink and I finally respond and engage fully in the kiss. It’s crazy, kissing a stranger. I mean, hell, I don’t even know his name, but when a man can kiss like he does, it apparently doesn’t matter. My body is complete putty in his hands right now. In this moment, my entire world is focused on the way his lips and tongue guide mine along on what I can only describe as an amazing journey of a kiss. It goes on for what seems like ten minutes, but is probably only a minute or two, before he finally pulls away. It takes me a second to blink my eyes open and recover from the lust-filled haze he induced. “I…I...” I can’t quite form a coherent thought, much less a sentence.

  “Hey, man!” the idiot behind me protests. “I was talking to her first.”

  Never taking his eyes from mine, he responds, “But she was mine already. Sorry about your luck, buddy.” Like something out of a dream, the man places his lips against mine once more, softly and briefly this time. Hell, both kisses were so perfect I don’t think I could even give them justice in one of my novels. Again, he’s rendered me speechless.

  I continue to stare at him and an amused half-grin tips his l
ips. “Come on, Pumpkin. Time to go back to the room.” Oddly, I don’t argue with this stranger who guides me with a simple grip on my waist out the door of the bar and across the lobby to the elevators. What the hell just happened?

  When we get in the elevator, he presses the button for the sixth floor and I turn to face him to ask what’s going on, but he kisses me again. When he pulls back, I finally find my voice and ask, “What’s going on?”

  “That’s up to you. You can come to my room, I can go to yours, or I can say goodnight right here and send you on your way.”

  “How did you know I wasn’t with that guy?”

  “I could hear the conversation. I also noticed you watching me from the time you strolled into the bar. Besides, he was a drunken amateur. He didn’t have a chance with you.” The doors open on the elevator and he leads me out. “This isn’t my floor,” I tell him, still a little kiss-drunk and bewildered by the turn of events.

  “No, it’s mine.”

  “Oh,” is all I can think to say. We stop and he waits patiently with a hand on my hip. My eyes search his face, trying to decide if I’m in some kind of bizarre dream. Seems like that’s the case since nothing like this has ever happened to me before. In fact, I’ve never even had a one-night stand before or met a man who is so fabulous he gets my motor running in every way possible.

  Tired of experiencing my fantasies only in the books I write, I pull out courage I didn’t know I had and respond, “Let me send my friend a text so someone knows where I am, and then, yes, I’ll go to your room.”

  A cat-that-ate-the-canary smile spreads across his ruggedly handsome face and I melt a little more inside, despite the little pack of hummingbirds that have taken up residence in my belly.

  2

  Thomas

  The Rays game and a cold beer are the only things that drew me to that bar. I was considering turning in for the night since I have an early start planned for tomorrow, but then she walked in. All the oxygen disappeared from the room in an instant. This beauty was a little taller than average with cinnamon-colored, wavy, above-the-shoulders hair, a lean, slender figure and a confidence that intrigued me. But there was something else...something soft about her. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it was a hidden tenderness most might not see at first glance. I, however, am a pro at reading people, a characteristic that served me well in my Army career and will hopefully do the same now.

  My first instinct was to join her across the bar and see if my first impressions were accurate but something made me play it cool and wait. Listening to her order her drink, I found that she had a slight rasp to her voice, a sensual one, not like a woman who smoked two packs a day, but one you want to hear moan your name in the dark. Her drink order was unique, like her. The smile she flashed the bartender when she took her first sip and realized he got her drink right was breathtaking. You could tell the bartender wasn’t immune to her charm and he likely melted a bit when she thanked him.

  Waiting to join her ended up working well for me because some idiot from a table by the entrance made his approach and as soon as I saw her reaction to him, I knew what my play would be. If he stuck around for a little bit—like I figured he would—he would make this easy for me. And he did. Her agitation grew the more he settled in.

  Claiming a woman as if she were my own in the middle of that bar was risky, but I had to make a bold move to capture her attention and possibly keep it. My play worked and now I’m leading her into my room. When I gave her the choice a minute ago to say goodnight or join me, I wasn’t sure what she was going to choose. She was fidgeting slightly and chewing on the inside of her lip a little as she contemplated. When she chose to join me, I wanted to jump up and let out a holler, but realized that would make me look like an idiot and she would change her mind, so I played it cool.

  I slide the key card over the little panel and watch for the green light. Once it flashes, I open the door, step inside and reach my hand out for her without a word. I want to give her one more chance to back out. Her slight hesitation tells me that she doesn’t do this often, if ever, while her eyes indicate her excitement about what’s coming.

  “Did you text your friend? Tell her room 1421?” I ask to make sure she knows she’s safe with me.

  “I’ll text her the room number now,” she says as she pauses close to me, and I release the door to close on a thud. After a quick slide of her fingers over the keyboard she turns her phone off and shoves it in her purse. Not wanting things to get to an awkward place, I take her face in my hands and gently kiss her. Her mouth opens immediately and her tongue glides out to meet mine while her hands grip my wrists as if to say don’t move an inch. I tilt my head a little more to delve deeper and am rewarded with a soft purr that I swallow. She releases my wrists and lowers her hands to my hips, pulling me closer to her until we’re pressed against one another. The sweet kiss is growing into something intense and all-consuming. God, this woman can kiss. Her hands slide up under my T-shirt, over my back and up, until she can no longer reach any higher, and then her nails glide down my back, not hard enough to break the skin, but rough enough for me to know she’s hungry for more.

  Reaching behind me, I kill the light in the entryway, leaving only a soft glow from the bedside lamp that was on before I went to the bar. I separate my mouth from hers and trail kisses across her cheek, down to an extremely soft spot right behind her ear, and I’m rewarded immediately when she hikes her leg and presses her hips further into me. My groan vibrates between us and her nails dig into my biceps. She’s undoing me with such little effort I need to get control of myself.

  With a quick movement, I spin her to face the full-length mirror, helping her keep balance by placing my hands on her hips. We take two steps forward and she braces her hands on either side of the mirror and lifts her eyes to meet mine. Her lips swollen from my kisses and her hooded gaze, added to the sexy wild hair, have me ready to unbutton my pants for some relief. I lower myself behind her and run my hands from her ankles up her calves, experiencing the smooth skin all the way up to her thighs. When my fingers slide under her dress she shivers and I push it up around her waist. Her sexy little thong peeks out at me along the crack of her firm, heart-shaped ass, and I lean in to kiss the flesh of one cheek.

  “Damn,” she whispers and shifts restlessly. My lips brush the other before tugging her thong down her legs. After she steps out of the little scrap of fabric, I toss it to the side as I stand up behind her and catch her lust-ridden gaze in the mirror. With a quick grip on my collar, I pull up my shirt and toss it over near her panties. Ready for her to be out of that dress, I unzip it and shuffle it down her long, lean body. Now she’s standing there in nothing but a lacy white bra and it’s all I can do to hold on to my composure.

  She lifts one hand away from the mirror as if to hide herself and I grab her hand and put it back. “You’re breathtaking. Give me a little more time to run my fingers on everything I see.” She swallows hard and nods a little. I trace the edge of her bra over her breasts, drawing goose bumps in the process. Her whole body shivers, but she keeps her hands planted on either side of the mirror as I continue around to her back to unhook her bra and trace the line of her spine down to the little dimples between her hip bones on the top of her ass. I help her remove the bra and place her hands back along the mirror. Then I place soft kisses along her neck as my fingers explore the flesh of her breasts and pinch her nipples. A soft moan breaks free of her lips and her head falls back against me as I work her into a frenzy.

  Leaving one hand on her breast, I allow the other to skate down over her stomach and down along the soft, damp strip of hair between her legs. She’s so wet for me I won’t be surprised if I find her dripping down her legs. My fingers slide in between her folds and easily find her nub, pulsing and enlarged. I stroke it one, two, three times and her whole body begins to shake. Her responsiveness is amazing. Not ready for her to come quite yet, I slide further down and slip one digit inside her.

&
nbsp; She squirms and begs. “Please, more, please. It feels so…” She trails off as I slowly pump my finger in and out of her. She begs for more and I move my fingers higher and circle her clit until she clenches up and folds in against the mirror as her orgasm washes through her. “Oh my God,” she breathes.

  Now that I’m beyond ready, I pull my wallet out of my pocket and fish out a condom. Then I drag my shorts and underwear off before slipping the condom on. “Brace your hands against the mirror and tip your ass up for me, Pumpkin,” I instruct her. She adjusts herself and stares at me as I enter her slowly. Her body is tight from her orgasm and I have to think of hockey stats and tennis shoe brands to keep myself in check, she feels so damn tight. I don’t want this to be over before I even really start.

  One I’m seated fully inside of her, I groan and grip her hips. “You are perfect,” I whisper before I pull out and push back in. Keeping my movements steady and slow, I focus on her expression and love that she shares so much just with her eyes. Her pussy clenches around me, milking me, and I speed up the rhythm. Tearing my focus from her face, I watch as the rest of her body reacts. Her thigh muscles clench and unclench, her small breasts bounce, her skin becomes flush and slick with our sex sweat—all making it harder to stay in control.

  My fingers slide up to capture a breast and twist the nipple a little. She moans louder than before so I do the same to the other breast. Her hips buck back against mine, messing up my flow for a second. I adjust the rhythm of my strokes because she’s pushing as hard into me as I am into her. Our flesh is smacking together with a sweet slap and I can’t hold it anymore. I slip my hand around and down to rub her clit again. I’m struggling to keep myself from blowing while trying to get her there again, and I get lucky when she lets out a shuddering cry. I pump my hips a few more times and let go. Next thing I know, we are both leaning fully against the mirror trying to catch our breaths.