Surrendering To Her Sergeant (36 page)

Barely tamping a growl, he shucked the
cotton T-shirt but couldn’t bring himself to put on the disco
scorpions again. With the silver thing wadded in his fist, he
wrenched the door open and stomped back down the hall toward the
playrooms.

The air smelled like
leather and he smelled like a goddamn makeup counter.
Outstanding.
Clear the way. Dick-less
wonder coming through
.

How the hell had this happened? Ten
days ago, he’d smelled liked fuel fumes and desert dust, slinging
trash talk with his teammates before fast-roping into the little
complex in the Mexican desert where Galvaz was holed up. Two nights
after that, Franzen had pinned on his new ranking and offered a
ticket to Tinseltown in celebration.

That was the moment he
should’ve remembered the word
no
. The instant he should’ve realized
that fate only let a guy play so many risky hands before it
bitch-slapped him in the face, reminding him of just who was boss
at the cosmic poker table. He should’ve cashed in his winnings as
soon as those stripes hit his collar and left the game a content
man. Instead, he got greedy. Wanting a woman he should have
forgotten months ago.

Craving her exactly as he did right
now…pummeled anew by her burnished beauty.

She sat beneath one of the dungeon’s
recessed lights. It had been tinted in a light flesh tone, making
hers look like mocha ice cream poured over the most tempting body
God had created. A lucky bar stool supported her, and she had one
heel-clad foot hooked to one of its rungs, making her dress hike up
so he caught a peek of her thigh beneath the smart pad she was
tapping on. All of her hair was pushed over to one side, tumbling
into the V of her cleavage like a sexy, soft waterfall.

And she seemed to be alone.

In the same room as the Cadillac of
bondage beds.

Not a great thing for him to notice.
Or hope for. Not with the solid case of pissed-off-at-the-universe
decimating his gut right now. No sense in beating around the bush
about it, either.

“Where the fuck is
everyone?”

She looked up at him with a
grin—
a grin
—that
formed an adorable dimple in her right cheek. “That must’ve been
one hell of a bathroom break, Sergeant. Do I get to ask if someone
was doing the nasty in the next stall, or has a more personal
problem dragged out your inner asswipe?”

He peeked around the corner, into the
room where they’d been setting up for the next half of the photo
session. Grant and his crew, along with their floodlights and
reflectors, were packed up and gone. “It’s a crime to ask a
question?” he flung back. “Especially one that clearly needs an
answer?”

She gave him a look that made him feel
like a kid who’d pushed his mother too far. He didn’t like it one
damn bit. Her conciliating tone didn’t hit the happy spot, either.
“Enzo got a call from the writers’ room. They had a brainstorm and
wanted a huge script change for Tuesday night. He approved it,
which means he and Bella are needed back at the studio for new
rehearsals. Grant rolled up his own crew and was out of here five
minutes ago.”

Hudsy picked that second to
drift in behind him. “Didn’t that all work out conveniently?” she
murmured for his ears alone. Before he could throw back even half a
glare, she lifted her voice to call to Ava. “It was great meeting
you, but one of my boys is taking me to dinner at Opaque. We’re
dining completely in the dark. I’m
certain
he won’t be late picking me
up.” Her green eyes danced with naughty glee. “My maintenance guy
is in the back fixing some equipment, so yell at him when you leave
and he’ll lock up behind you.”

“Will do.” Ava sent a warm smile at
the woman. “Thanks for everything, Hudsy.”

He felt oddly rooted in
place while the woman’s footsteps grew faint then were replaced by
the
whump
of the
back door. Lingering on the air, silent and potent, were the words
she’d issued to him like a kinky gauntlet.
Didn’t that all work out conveniently?

He took a heavy breath. There was
nothing convenient about this. There was nothing about this that
was easy, lucky, auspicious, or advantageous—because there wasn’t a
goddamn thing he could in this place, with this woman who looked at
him with her magical indigo eyes and her luscious lip caught in her
teeth, that wouldn’t haunt them both in the end. The only thing
missing to this ongoing torture session was the itchy silver
T-shirt, which he gladly ditched in a trash can.

I’m not even her Mr.
Right
Now.

The words had come out of his mouth
yet he hated them. He turned his hands into fists with the longing
to crush them out of existence. And fought back at them with the
vicious snarl he threw at her.

“So what the hell
are
you
still
doing here? Lemare didn’t offer a lift back in in his Lamborghini?
Or was he slumming it in the Rolls Royce today?”

Her eyes flashed, but he couldn’t tell
if she was peeved or hurt. “I came in my own car. And I was waiting
on you.”

Hmm. Peeved
and
hurt. Where was the
Chinese symbol for
I’m a jerk-ass
when a guy needed it? And why did he care? She
clearly didn’t. The path he’d yearned to take to her heart had been
blazed and shit on twice already, so she roped off the lane before
he had a chance to start. The best thing he could do now was his
goddamn job, to get Ephraim Lor out of her life before she decided
to let down the barrier for his slick, smarmy ass.

“Why?” he finally
challenged.

“Because—” She let out a petite, and
damnably cute, snort. “Because I’m concerned about you.”

“Why
?”

“I’m not fucking Lemare.”

He was both troubled and grateful for
the relief that flooded him. “Thanks for the status update, but you
still didn’t answer my question. Why are you ‘concerned’ about
me?”

She dropped her gaze to the floor.
“You’ve seemed sad.”

The confession stopped him cold. And
for some reason, made him want to laugh. “Sad?” His voice went
quiet as he took a step toward her, though it was a compulsion more
than a decision. He was fascinated by why she’d said it. And by why
she there was such a melancholy note in her own voice.

“Uhhh…yeah. Like your head’s not all
here most of the time.”

Hell. Was she actually worried about
him? God, not now. He fought against the husk of her voice, the
somber oceans in her gaze. “I’m not your concern anymore Ava,
remember? You told me it was for the best. We had ‘closure.’” He
bracketed the last word in sardonic air quotes.

She straightened her spine. “So that
means I can’t care at all about you? That we can’t still be
friends?”

“We’re not friends!” He
hurled it back the second it left the incredible curves of her
mouth. “From the second we knocked noses on the floor at Garrett
and Sage’s, we weren’t friends, Ava. You know it as clearly as I
do, and don’t you dare put it into pretty words to make yourself
feel better This,” —he raced a finger between his chest and hers—
“
isn’t
words. And
it sure as hell isn’t ‘friends.’” As much as he longed to let that
serve as their finality, the tears that gleamed in her eyes were
like beacons, pulling him closer until the curves of her jaw were
fitted between his hands and her cheeks were warm, wonderful, and
soft beneath his combat-roughened thumbs. “I know it’s hard for
you. I know you still carry the ache from what happened with Colin
and Flynn, and that you don’t think you can handle a third blow. So
don’t. Let me take the hit, instead. But goddamnit, don’t cheapen
it by slapping on a label that isn’t true and never will
be.”

She drew in a shaky breath. He felt
every shudder of it. “I won’t use the label,” she whispered, “but
you can’t take all the pain.” She squeezed her eyes. The salty
drops fell and puddled against his fingers. “It’s
impossible.”

Against every instinct of survival he
possessed, he shifted closer to her. The smart pad on her lap
slipped to the floor. He stepped in again, pressing their bodies
together. Dear God, she was so sweet, so silken, so right. “I’m
Special Forces, sunshine. We specialize in impossible.”

Her eyes darkened even more, pulling
him down like dual whirlpools of her raw emotion. “You can’t take
away something that’s already sewn into my heart.”

Her words heated the few inches left
between their mouths. As Ethan bent to close up that space, he let
his senses cave to a single, inexorable certainty. If his heart was
killed tonight in her hands, then so be it. It wasn’t a bad way to
commit suicide.

He didn’t say a word about the
decision. He let her see it in his eyes—in the two seconds before
he crushed her mouth in his conquering kiss.

Yes.

It was the only word, the only thought
that filled Ava’s being as Ethan filled her mouth, ignited her
blood, accepted her tears…consumed her heart. With a surrendering
sigh, she gave it all to him. Opened herself for him. Rejoiced in
the completion of his embrace, the rightness of his kiss, the heat
of his passion. One moment, this perfect moment, and the world fell
away. It was as if they stood in a magical forest again and he was
touching her for the very first time. Just like that misty morning,
she lifted her face and offered him one word in
supplication.

“Tighter.” She guided his hands down,
against the small of her back before wriggling her wrists inside
them. “I need it tighter, Ethan…please.”

A growl rolled out of him in degrees
that matched his constriction around her wrists. He dipped his head
and sank possessive teeth into her throat, chopping her aroused
sigh in half. “What else do you need?” He spoke it against her
jugular before lapping away the burn of his bite with the flat of
his tongue.

Her head fell back and her lungs
struggled to keep up with her racing pulse. “You—you already know,”
she uttered. After a purposeful pause, she added, “Sir.”

He squeezed her wrists harder. “If
you’re going there, sunshine, then you’ll go the rest of the
way—and you’ll tell me, clearly and proudly, what you need from
me.”

Every syllable he issued sent a new
wave of arousal through every inch of her pussy, unfurling ribbons
of giddy fire down her legs. But gee, it all still found ways to
lend some of that heat to her face, which flamed anew from his
command. She flushed deeper as he brushed his mouth across both her
cheeks, gazing at her with unflinching purpose, unmitigated
desire.

“I need the words, Ava. Six days ago,
you called us ‘closed.’ I’m not going back in unless you open the
door.”

She lifted her gaze to look fully into
his. She had to see in there she’d heard in his voice. The visceral
need. The brutal honesty. That “going back in” wasn’t just a
physical action for him. He wasn’t just summoning the obedience of
her body. If she opened again to him, he’d demand access to the
bridges of her mind, the connections to her soul.

As if she could give him anything
less.

She longed to preface her next words
by stroking his strong, perfect face. With his hands binding hers,
she did it with her eyes instead. “I’ve never been able to fully
close it. And I think you know that, too…Sir.”

For a long moment, nothing in his mien
changed. When he let out a long breath through his nose, its
trembling cadence told her he’d not only heard her honesty but
absorbed it, cherished it. Ava smiled as he slowly lowered his lips
to hers again.

Her heart crashed against her ribs.
The last time he’d kissed her with this tenderness, they’d been
picking wedding bouquet flowers in the woods. Just like then, his
embrace filled her with a thrill of awakening…and desire old as the
ages. Also like then, his muscles coiled from the pressure to keep
the pressure chaste. It was all too easy to remember what she did
next…the tiny cry she’d released into his mouth, telling him the
gentleness wasn’t what she craved, wasn’t what her body and soul
needed. That in his arms and beneath his control, she longed for
more. So much more.