Surrendering To Her Sergeant (14 page)

“I love Minecraft!”

“Who doesn’t?”

She sobered a little. “So is that what
got you starry-eyed about joining up? Playing the shoot-em-up
military games?”

He rolled up on his posture. Stamped
her harder with his gaze. Much harder. “The only stars that came
near my decision were the ones on the flag I defend, Rayna.” He
expected the skepticism that tightened her features. It was why he
continued with, “I’ll tell you about the day that decision came. I
wasn’t five. I wasn’t fifteen. I was twenty-one. It was June, and I
was almost done with my sophomore year at Stanford—and I could
barely face the day because I was so hung over. I stumbled to a
convenience store after a fraternity rager. It was six in the
morning, and I hoped to consume enough coffee and doughnuts to
force my liver to forgive me so I could make my way through a hairy
midterm that morning.”

He caught her gaze narrowing but
expected it. Relaying this story was never easy, but it was
critical that he never forgot it.

“Poor little rich kid, right?” he went
on. “Had to interrupt the party to do something like school? Well,
that’s what I was standing there groaning about, when the door
opened to the store and a guy strolled in. Wasn’t much older than
me, even looked about the same as me. Difference was, he didn’t
stink like a bottle of Patrón and he was actually lucid. And
smiling. And excited about the day. He told the clerk about how he
was going to hear about his scholarship application that day, about
how hard he’d worked on the damn thing, and how much he’d dreamed
of getting into Stanford since hearing about the engineering
program. Seemed he wanted to design and build better prosthetics
for veterans.” He shook his head. “Man, I yearned to be that guy. I
wanted to know what it was like to have a dream about something
more than me, about the slot I was already guaranteed in the family
empire. I wanted to work for something. To care about something. To
connect to something…bigger.

“That’s when I looked down.
And I saw that the guy had made that happy entrance on two
prosthetics of his own. I also noticed the tats on both his thighs,
above his attachment sockets. One was the eagle, globe, and anchor
of the Marine Corps. The other was just one word.
Kandahar
.”

Rayna shifted a little and cleared her
throat. “So…what?” she queried. “The little rich boy had a sudden
epiphany?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged again. “I know it
sounds lame, but…yeah.” He rose and crossed the room, looking out
at the beach and the waves. “I looked into that marine’s eyes, at
his pride in where he’d been and his hope in where he was going,
and realized I’d never seen that same light in the mirror. I also
knew I never would, if I kept skipping down the pretty crystal path
in front of me.”

“So you just dynamited the
path?”

He gave a wry snort before turning
back. “Pretty much.”

“And your parents were cool with
that?”

“They got over it.” He jammed his
hands into his pockets. “Eventually.”

Rayna studied him in silence for a
long moment. “Pretty gutsy, Mr. Archer.”

“No,” he rejoined. “Not gutsy. Pretty
fucking selfish, actually.”

“I don’t follow.”

He twisted his lips. Letting Rayna in
on the basics was one thing, but letting her further in, admitting
this really tough shit? He had to be a goddamn head case. What was
with these Chestain women and their gift for filling the air with
some subsonic, give-me-all-your-secrets siren song?

“I had the silver spoon,
Rayna, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted more. I wanted to be more, to
stand for something more. Things were happening fast in the world.
Afghanistan was still a crazy scene. Terrorists were still
infiltrating the Philippines, and Korea was—
is
—a giant pot of insanity.” After
the adrenalin wore off from saying all that, a beam of
understanding hit bull’s-eye in his mind. He spoke it in a troubled
mutter. “But yeah, maybe I did have a few stars in my
eyes.”

Her response came equally soft.
“There’s nothing wrong with that.” She shifted again, coming
forward to lean her forearms on her pressed knees. “And now that I
know this about you, it’s much harder for me to say
this.”

The siren’s song hit a nerve-racking
discord. Ethan gripped the lining of both pockets with coiled
fingers. “To say what?” The words, low and taut, came from the pit
of his gut.

Rayna twisted the hem of her cover-up.
“Those stars, Ethan…they need to stop before they get fixed on
Ava.”

Nice. The second he decided
to reconnect with his gut, she sent in
that
bomb of bile. He would normally
order the shit into submission and tell himself to get a grip on
the melodrama but Rayna wasn’t a weepy megaphone. The stare she
wore now was a hundred percent sincere.

“Is it someone else?” After this
afternoon he highly doubted that, but diving for the usual suspects
was all his mind could maneuver right now.

“No.” Rayna let out a long sigh. “If
it was, that might make things easier.”

“Great.” He pivoted back toward the
window. The coastal fog layer, a nighttime fixture this time of
year, crept over the water like a Radiohead song. Moody, resigned.
“And you didn’t think to share this with me back in
January?”

“Because it’s not really my shit to
share, okay? Besides, I thought you’d get the picture, dumbass. It
seemed like you did, too. You finally backed off—”

“It was temporary.” He
swore one of the clouds scowled at him.
Same to you, buddy.
“Sometimes
retreating is the best option. Helps for strategy. And
stamina.”

She groaned. “Did you get that one
from Zeke?”

“No. But I’ll take that as a
compliment.”

She nested her head in her
fingers and shook it. “So I take it you’ve made Ava aware of
your…newfound stamina?” One of her fingers shot up. “Don’t answer
that. I forgot about your unique reunion with her at the studio
this morning. And your creative self-invite out here, too. And the
way you’ve been guarding her—oops, I mean
watching
her—since we all got
here.”

He braced a hand against the window.
It anchored him from whirling and pinning the woman with a
justified glower. “I’m a goal-oriented man. Sometimes my means
are…vigorous. But the end to those means is Ava’s happiness.” The
statement acted like an affirmation, calming him enough to turn
around. “Ava’s had a pretty good day, Rayna. I can promise you
that.”

Good scenario reaction? She’d smile,
nod, maybe tack on a couple thumbs up.

Best scenario reaction? She’d rise,
hug him, and officially give him her “Chestain Cuz
Blessing.”

Greatest scenario reaction? All of the
above plus her help in getting Ava away from the party
again.

There were a few more setups in his
head but none included the woman’s huffing lurch to her feet. They
sure as hell didn’t include her piercing glare or twisting lips.
“Good day?” she charged. “Yeah, I’ll bet. Like a heroin junkie has
a ‘good day’ when they can ride the horse for hours on
end.”

He felt his whole face tightening.
“What the hell are you—”

She silenced him by grabbing his
hands, gripping with pressure that went beyond anger. She was
scared. The tremors beneath her fingers verified it. “She couldn’t
help herself, Ethan. You’re everything she craves, okay? And
everything she’s terrified to want, ever again.”

Voicing his confusion about that
wasn’t going to help. He stepped and sat on the couch, wordlessly
beckoning for her to do the same. That gave him time to pull in a
much-needed breath.

After Rayna settled, he directed,
“Start by defining ‘everything.’”

She matched his inhalation before
speaking. “She’s like a sister to me. I think you know that
already. We grew up together. Subsequently, we hit puberty
together. And when a girl starts noticing boys in a city like
Tacoma—”

“That includes the guys from the
base.”

She popped a finger to her nose,
confirming his direct hit. “We drooled over the army and air force
hunks together for years but by the time our dads allowed us out on
dates, I’d had it with the chest-beating shit, thanks to those
seven clods who call themselves my brothers.”

It wasn’t the time or place to point
out that the woman’s collar had been bestowed by the world’s
biggest chest beater. This was about Ava, and the fact that every
instinct in his body was a rocket of anticipation in staring at her
cousin. He knew, with burning certainty, Rayna was about to give
him a huge key of revelation about Ava’s turf-ripper exit today—and
likely the glacier she’d been giving him for the last seven
months.

He considered himself a patient guy.
But telling her to get the hell on with it was a bark that begged
to be unleashed off his tongue.

“Ethaaaaannn.
Ohmigod,
here
you
are!”

The delighted squeal, coming from the
freshly opened doorway and the woman who filled it, cranked his
tension even higher. “Bella.” Screw the bark. He went straight for
the snarl. “Look, it’s really not—”

“A good idea to avoid your
party hosteth.” She snaked onto his lap while moaning at her slur,
giving him a face full of her barely covered chest—and her
vodka-laced breath. “Umm, hosteff.
Hostess.
Yaaayy, I did it!” She waved
her fingertips at Rayna. “Hiiii. Are you havin’ fun?”

Rayna gave her a polite smile. “Yes,
Miss Lanza, we are. Thank you so much for the invitation. Your home
is beautiful.”

After flashing a “grateful” smile that
looked as natural as the lacquer on her nails, Bella swept her gaze
back to him. “Do you like it too, my golden arrow?”

“Golden arrow?” Rayna smirked in
curiosity before Ethan could hit her with his don’t-go-there
glare.

“He’s the Archer, right?” Bella
shifted so she could run a hand across his chest. “Which means he
has to have an arrow.” She skated her caresses lower. “A long, hot,
solid gold one.” Her fingers closed over his crotch.

Rayna wisely stowed her
snicker behind a hand. Not that she had the ammunition for long.
Ethan snared Bella’s wrist and surged to his feet, meaning she had
no choice but to follow. “It’s time to take this outside,
Miss Lanza
.”

“Mmm hmm,” she singsonged. “Whatever
you say, Sergeant.”

Once he’d hauled her to the terrace,
he plunked her onto a padded deck lounger. The sky and the ocean
had gone dark now, making electric sconces turn on. Their golden
light made Bella’s skin look luminous, even in her well-juiced
state. Why wasn’t he surprised?

He paced to the edge of the terrace
and back before looking at her again. “You want me to get you some
water? Maybe a pot of coffee?”

“Negatory, sergeant gorgeous.” She
swung her legs open, one on each side of the chaise, and patted the
cushion between them. “I want you to come here and sit with
me.”

“Not a great idea.”

She pouted, again a look rehearsed to
perfection. “You used to fink—think—it was a good idea.” She slid
down until she was prone, hands roaming over her toned,
poster-ready body. “You used to like fucking me
outside.”

“Once,” he clarified. “It was once,
during Spring Break, on a beach in Cabo, at two in the
morning.”

“And it was wonderful.”

“It was long ago. We’re different
people now.”

“Uh-huh.” She licked her
lips. Rubbed her inner thighs. “We certainly are.” Her gaze climbed
up his form. “
You
are.” She stopped at the front closure of his swim suit.
“Sweet
madonna
,
Ethan. Have you gotten bigger…everywhere?”

It might be a good thing that she went
for the celestial plea. He considered seeking out the saints to
boost his own fortitude now. The woman had persistence for a middle
name, especially when she’d been drinking. He might need a miracle
to get out of this one without pissing her off. A hung over Bella
was already going to worsen Ava’s day tomorrow; she didn’t need a
diva who screamed at her every two minutes, as well.

Seemed Bella decided not to wait on
the screaming. A shriek erupted from her, shattering the festive
mood in the villa—and damn near the windows.

Ethan huffed, wondering what toe she
stubbed or nail she splintered. When he saw she’d sat up, scooted
back and curled into a trembling ball, instinct drove him to drop
next to her. “Bella, what the hell is—”

Her second wail was more ear-piercing
than the first.

He was about to run a mental list of
what drugs, when combined with vodka, did this to a
five-foot-three, ninety pound woman. But then he heard the boot
steps. A lot of them.

What the fuck?

He twisted to glare at least ten men
who seemed formed from the dark sea itself. They were dressed
completely in black, including hoods only exposing eyes. They held
their rifles in well-trained grips and advanced on the villa with
coordinated precision.