American Heroes: The Complete American Heroes Collection (A Contemporary Romance Box Set)

by Teagan Kade

  I’m not going to tell her the first time I skydived I was pretty much pissing my pants, or that I had trouble with my ’chute, or that I ran off course and almost ended up in powerlines. No, think I’ll keep those details to myself.

  “You have been flying before, haven’t you?”

  She shakes her head.

  Oh.

  “Well, there’s nothing to be afraid of, and as for the skydiving, you’ll be strapped to me, safe as a teddy bear. All you have to do is enjoy the ride.”

  She doesn’t look convinced.

  “Look,” I inch closer, pointing up at the sky, “you get up there, you jump, and trust me, you’re going to feel a hell of a lot better. You’ll be untouchable, a real badass.”

  And finally I’m rewarded with a small smile. “Like you?”

  I slap my chest. “Fuck yeah like me. These idiots who took you, all that shit? Gone. You’ll walk out of here a foot taller with actual balls swinging between your legs.”

  “I don’t, ah, think I want balls.”

  “Yeah, kind of a bad analogy, but you know what I mean. At least come inside and meet the guys. They don’t bite. I promise.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I’ll come in, but I’m not saying I’ll do it.”

  A yes is always better than a no. Any salesman will tell you that. Keep them saying yes and they’ll agree to anything. “That’s my girl.”

  She eyes me curiously. “I’m your girl now, am I?”

  I look around. “I don’t see any other burly, handsome guys trying to claim you.”

  Another ex-Army buddy of mine, Gary, meets us inside, coming around the desk to take my hand. “Archer, my boy. Haven’t seen you around here in a while.”

  “He’s brought girls here before?” Winter asks, much to my surprise.

  Gary shakes his head. “Actually, you’re the first,” he says, looking to me, “which means you must be all kinds of special.”

  “How much is he paying you to say that?” she queries.

  Gary laughs, deep and gravelly owing to the bullet he took to the neck in Afghanistan. “On what they’re paying lifeguards these days? He’d be lucky to have two dimes to rub together.”

  “Hey, hey,” I butt in, “I’ll have you know I’ve got plenty of savings.”

  Gary just smiles. “What do they say? A bag of pennies does not a fortune make?”

  I shove him in the chest. “Thanks for that, Socrates. Now, you going to get us up in the air or what?”

  Gary looks to Winter. “You know what you’re getting yourself into here, love?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Yeah, thought as much.”

  *

  We run through the practice, the briefing, Winter still unsure about the whole thing. Thankfully, Gary’s you-can-do-it attitude wins her over. Even I’m surprised when, suited up, she steps towards me beside the plane.

  “You look adorable,” I tell her, and she does in her red-and-white striped jumpsuit, a sexy candy cane come to life.

  She holds the side of the jumpsuit, pulling it out like a bird’s wing. “I look like I’m wearing a diaper.”

  “You want one?” I joke. “It can be arranged.”

  She rolls her eyes again, looking past me to the plane. “We’re going up in that?”

  Gary walks past us on his way to the cockpit. “Come on. That’s no way to talk about ol’ Lucifer here.”

  “O-kay,” she says to me, waiting until Gary is inside the plane, “so he just called the plane ‘old’ and it’s named Lucifer for crying out loud, and again, you want my first flying experience to be in an oversized tin can literally named after Satan?”

  “Hey, he was an angel once,” I note.

  “Right before he lost his wings and crashed down to earth, yes. I’m familiar.”

  I take hold of her, nipping off her next words with a deep kiss. I lean into her ear. “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes,” she sighs.

  “So trust me when I say you won’t regret this.”

  She exhales long and deep. “Okay, but if we die I’m going to come back as a ghost and haunt the crap out of you.”

  I take her hand. “Alright then, but I’d rather you stayed corporal. You know, for later.”

  It’s a short flight up to the jump altitude of twelve-thousand feet. It’s loud, cold, and certainly not the most comfortable way to fly, but Winter’s here strapped onto the front of me. That’s honestly further than I thought she’d get once I discovered she’d never flown before.

  She is unusually quiet on the way up, slightly pale, but I dismiss it as nerves more than anything else.

  Gary turns around and gives me the thumbs up from the cockpit.

  Waddling, I shift us to the open door and set us up to jump. “Are you ready?” I shout, the green go light blinking on and buzzer sounding.

  “No,” she squeaks back, her voice breaking.

  “Good,” I shout back, and jump.

  It’s been a while since I dived, but that first hit of freefall gets you every time. The wind rushes up into your face, your body sending warning signals left, right and center, adrenaline pumping hard.

  Winter gets her arms out, as instructed, her dark hair whipping past me.

  I expect her to remain silent, but she’s definitely vocal. At first I think she’s screaming until I realize she’s actually whooping and hollering, loving every minute. That shy, caged-up girl is gone—at least up here in the sky. She’s free as a fucking bird.

  Below you can see all the way from Bills Baggs to Surfside, the full stretch of coast and the ocean cutting into it bright and blue.

  Before I know it I’m pulling the ’chute and guiding us back to earth, Winter squirming against me and provoking one of the weirdest erections I’ve had in my life.

  “You good?” I ask, raising my voice to be heard over the wind.

  “That was…”

  She’s breathing hard, trying to find the voice. “It’s… I…”

  “It’s awesome, right?”

  “Yes.”

  She sounds like a kid at Christmas, all bubbled-up joy and uncontrollable emotion. It’s beautiful seeing her this way, seeing that look of pensive fear give way to something greater.

  We land a little harder than expected in the drop zone, a skip and a jump finally putting us onto land.

  We collapse together onto the parachute laughing. That joy I see on her face is fucking addictive, pure and unbridled. This could have gone much differently, but I’m ecstatic she’s enjoying herself.

  “Wow,” she says, leaning forward to kiss me, looking at me sideways, half her face tinted red from the color of the parachute below.

  “That was…” She shakes her head, still unsure how to summarize it. “The fall, the flying… I didn’t think I’d enjoy it. I was scared at first, but when we jumped…”

  “Tell me, are you a badass?”

  Her entire demeanor has changed. “Yes,” she says, voice firm. “I am a badass.”

  “Say it again,” I demand. “Fucking sing it. Shout it out loud so all of Miami can hear.”

  She jumps up onto her feet, cupping her hands around her mouth. “I AM A BADASS!” she yells, laughing.

  “Good to know,” says Gary, walking over from the main building.

  He stops, standing over me, the view up at his crotch an instant boner-killer. He reaches down to help me up. “Things went well, I take it?”

  I wink at Winter, smiling wide. “As they say, if you want to experience the elements, get the fuck out of the vehicle.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  WINTER

  My adrenaline is still pumping an hour later. I feel like I could conquer the world, that not even the stupid cartel can touch me. I mean, I jumped out of a freaking plane today. Archer is right: I am a badass.

  We stop at a corner shop restaurant called La Sandwicherie, a popular spot owing to the line near the counter, a strange collection of cars parked out front—a fire engine red Lam
borghini right next to a period-correct Kombi.

  Archer shows me how to order. I opt for saucisson sec, or French salami, on wheat with lettuce, tomato, peppers, French pickles and mayonnaise. Archer goes for something far more manly—a sandwich stuffed with so much meat it’s basically a butcher shop.

  We sit on two stools outside watching the flow of people and eating our sandwiches.

  “I think this is the best sandwich I’ve had in my life,” I tell Archer, talking with my mouth full, two hands wrapped around the sandwich in question.

  He finished his a full five minutes ago; took him all of two bites. “It’s a bit of Miami tradition, this place. There are sub places all around here now, but the difference here is the quality of the ingredients, plus they’re open super late. Trust me, there’s nothing to cure a hangover quite like a bowl of hot chicken noodle soup, chaser Cuban sandwich with pulled pork, swiss cheese, pickles…” He licks his lips. “God damn it I’m getting hungry again.”

  I work my knee between his legs. “You know your ‘Cuban’ sandwich isn’t actually Cuban, right? I don’t know where you Americans come up with these things. That said, I’m kind of hungry too, though it’s not a sandwich I’m after.”

  “More like a foot-long then?”

  “You wish, buddy.”

  He shifts himself a bit closer, the bulge of his cock pressing up against my knee. “You didn’t seem to be complaining earlier.”

  I put my sandwich down, meeting his eyes. “I will admit you have certain… skills in the bedroom.”

  “Baby,” he laughs, “I wrote the book on sex, and trust me, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It is. You must have some fantasies. Some kinky thing you’ve been wanting to try all these years now you’ve lost your… you know.”

  I play coy. “No, I don’t. And what is it I’ve lost now?”

  He just smiles on back, holding up his hand. “There’s a whole chapter dedicated to my pinky finger alone.”

  “You’re going to play ‘This Little Piggy Went to Market’ with me?”

  He sits back. “Well, I’ve never heard it quite called that before, but sure.”

  I laugh back, surprised at how easy-going we’ve become around each other. “Shouldn’t I meet your parents first?”

  Archer sips from his cola. “They’re down in the Keys living large. They retired maybe five, six years ago now, got a tiny place down there you can barely swing a cat in, but they’re happy, you know. The water is a short walk, there’s this trendy vegan café on the corner Dad goes nuts for… They’re happy.”

  “You sound like you have a lot of respect for them.”

  The sun’s getting lower, Archer’s face becoming more golden by the minute. “I do. They’re hard-working people who have devoted their lives to others. Dad was in the Army too, Mom worked in a retirement home for thirty years. I guess I saw all that and wanted to give back in my own way, you know? I want to leave the world a better place than when I found it. I want to make a mark, even if it’s one life saved, one tragedy prevented. You can’t save everyone, I know, but I can sure as hell try.”

  “How many people do you think you’ve saved?”

  “As a lifeguard? I used to keep count. I think everyone does when they start out, but after a while the number doesn’t really matter. The cards of thanks you get do, seeing someone you’ve saved come back three, four years later, some pregnant or with a new partner. Those are the small details I love, where you can see the impact you’ve had, can actually see the tangible result of your actions.”

  “I’m a lucky girl.”

  He leans forward and bumps into me with his shoulder. “Because you fell for a schmuck like me? You could have had your pick of Miami sugar daddies.”

  I shrug. “But I’ve got you, haven’t I? And I wouldn’t trade that for the world.”

  He leans forward to kiss me, the sugary aftertaste of cola still on his lips, his tongue. I melt into it, allow myself to fall slowly forward until I almost send us both skittering over.

  I straighten, laughing, hooking my hair over my ear.

  He stands, helping me up. “Come on. Let’s get back to the apartment and start working our way through the Kama Sutra.”

  “The what?” I ask, knowing full well what it is.

  He gives me a playful slap on the butt as we walk back towards the truck. “Why, my very favorite picture book.”

  “Oh, so it’s not The Little Engine That Could?” I tease.

  He pinches my left ass cheek. “There’s nothing little about my engine, baby.”

  The drive back, the sun setting, is almost a spiritual experience. I never thought I’d be here, in America—illegally, yes, but I am here. Cuba’s known for being bold and bright, but everything here in Miami seems turned up to eleven. It’s the excess, I realize, the money, that unusual contrast between the old and new, the kitsch and avant-garde.

  And I freaking love it.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ARCHER

  Owing to a street carnival, the road is blocked ahead. I decide to park the truck and walk us the couple of blocks back the apartment. It’s such a beautiful night out anyhow it seems a shame to waste it driving.

  Winter’s happy for the exercise, seems wrapped up in the carnival.

  “What’s it living in Cuba like, permanently?” I ask, curious to relate it to my own experience there.

  “Is that a serious question?”

  “It is.”

  She brings a finger to her lips. “Hmm, well, I guess you could say it’s like living in a kind of musical nirvana.”

  “How so?” I press.

  “There’s always music playing wherever you go. People don’t care if it’s loud or boisterous. They dance and sing and move, all ages… In Cuba you can dance anywhere and everywhere, any hour of the day. It’s beautiful. What’s more, you’re never ridiculed if you’re not a good dancer. Even if you’re the world’s worst dancer, but you try all the same, people will embrace you, hug and kiss you. Basically, go crazy.”

  “So, what you’re saying is I’d get a lot of hugs and kisses if I started dancing in the street in Cuba?”

  She bumps into me, looking up into my eyes. “Cubans love to see yumas dancing.”

  “Yumas?”

  “Foreigners.”

  “You don’t think I could pass for a local?”

  She kind of pouts and bites her lips in a quizzical way that’s adorable. “Ah, no.”

  “So it’s just the music you like?”

  “No, it’s the entire lifestyle there. For example, there are no big billboard ads or magazines trying to push a certain type of beauty, this product to cure that or make you look better. No, I tell you, every woman in Cuba loves their body. It doesn’t matter their age or shape, they’re proud of who they are. That is a beautiful thing.”

  “You are a beautiful thing.”

  “Will you take me back there one day?”

  “To Cuba?”

  We stop to cross the road, a cavalcade of costumed performers streaming past. “I don’t think I can. I’m too scared of the consequences. I couldn’t risk it.”

  My cell starts to buzz in my pocket.

  I signal Winter to give me a second, stepping into the shadow of a nearby building where I’m sure she won’t be able to hear. I bring my phone to my ear and cover the other with my free hand to block out some of the noise of the parade. “Liam,” I answer, “long time no speak.”

  I can picture him smiling on the other end of the line. It sounds like he’s at work, the general cacophony that is the central Miami cop shop. “It was great to catch up the other night, brother.”

  “It was. Just like old times.”

  “Only without me having to be wheeled out of there with my pants full of piss and my head full of nails.”

  “Almost like old times,” I correct.

  “You got your phone?”

  “I did, thanks.”

/>   “Look,” he says, “I was thinking about what you were saying the other night, about that girl, was it? The one you found on the beach?”

  I look over at Winter, give her a small wave. “Sure, sure. What about her?”

  “We’ve known each other a long time, right? I can tell when something’s up.”

  I’m not too sure what he’s getting at here.

  “What I’m saying,” he continues, “is that I’d like to help. When I showed up at the apartment, she seemed… I don’t know… scared or something. It is the same girl, right?”

  I don’t know where he’s going with this. “She’s fine. Really, but thanks for your concern.”

  “I saw something on her shoulder, the other night—kind of like a weird tattoo or something. You know anything about that?”

  Liam’s not a stupid guy. He’s probably seen the brand on Winter’s shoulder and made the connection to the cartel, which might make things a whole lot more complex. I know I can count on him to be discreet, and yeah, he probably could help, but Winter said she didn’t want any police involvement. I have to respect that.

  “Can’t say I’ve really asked her about it,” I lie.

  “You down on the strip?” he asks, breaking the silence that follows.

  I look around, my fingers raking through my hair. “Ah, yeah. Just swung by La Sandwicherie, about to head back to my place.”

  “Cool, cool,” he says. “Well, I just thought I’d call anyhow, let you know I’m here.”

  “I appreciate it,” I tell him, “and if I do need anything, I’ll call, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “What about you?” I ask, swinging the conversation around. “Working late?”

  “I could work twenty-four hours a day and not put a dent in the bills I’ve got stacked up. Damn debtors got me by the balls.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It’s my own stupid fucking fault. You go on, have yourself a good time with your mystery mermaid there.”