Hard Target

by Pamela Clare

  “Your guns get their own bedroom. That’s cute.”

  “Most of my firearms are locked up at the Cobra facility. This is for tactical gear, body armor, and personal firearms—concealed carry pieces, mostly.”

  “Concealed carry?” She looked him up and down. “Are you armed now?”

  “Yes.” He raised his shirt to show her the holster tucked into his trousers.

  “Good to know.”

  The third bedroom was his home office and locked.

  “This is where the state secrets are kept?”

  There was something in there he wanted her to see. “I’ll show you.”

  He entered the combination code, flicked on the light, and led her inside. He took the small album of photos off the shelf and handed it to her.

  She looked up at him, curiosity on her face, then opened it. “Oh, God.”

  Derek and Jimmy smiled out from the photo, both wearing ACUs, a soccer ball in Jimmy’s hand, a group of young Afghan boys around them. “He took a lot of photos. Sometimes he’d hand the camera to me. I wasn’t very good.”

  Jenna sat, turned through the pages, smiling through her tears at the photos. Derek and Jimmy playing soccer with village boys. Jimmy sitting on the hood of a Humvee, M4 in hand. Derek sitting shirtless in the shade at some forward operating base, cleaning sand out of his weapon, a long beard on his face.

  “I miss him so much. I remember the moment the reporter told me he’d been killed in action. It was like losing my entire world. I felt so alone.”

  The despair in her voice opened up the pain inside Derek, his grief still sharp if he let himself think about it.

  “It crushed me. It almost broke me.” Derek had never admitted this to anyone, but then Jenna wasn’t just anyone. He’d never felt more connected with another person, more intimate, more comfortable, than he did with Jenna. “I’ve spent a lot of days since then wishing that I had taken those rounds, not your brother.”

  Jenna set the photo album aside, stood, wrapped her arms around him. “My brother wouldn’t want you to feel that way. You were his best friend. He loved you, Derek. I have to believe that he saved you so you could save me.”

  Some part of Derek wanted to reject that idea. He didn’t believe in God. He didn’t believe in fate. Even so, something about her words felt right. They slid inside him, took hold, warming the cold, desolate emptiness that was his soul.

  He made love to Jenna after that, peeling off her clothes, spreading her out on his bed, and going down on her before driving himself home inside her. Then he held her, his head and heart full of her—her taste, her scent, the feel of her in his arms.

  He didn’t know if Jimmy could hear him, but he sent a thought winging skyward anyway.

  I’ve got her, buddy. I’ll watch over her.

  Jenna woke the next morning to find Derek getting ready for work. She watched him button his white dress shirt and put on a gray silk tie.

  When he saw she was awake, he walked over to her and planted a kiss on her forehead. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Yes.” No nightmares. “You’ve got physical therapy today, right?”

  He scowled. “Don’t remind me. Cobra is hosting its official holiday party tomorrow night. I completely forgot about it. I want to take you as my date and introduce you around.”

  “Ooh. A date.” She sat up, holding the sheet to her bare breasts.

  “It’s a black-tie thing.”

  “I don’t have anything to wear.” Her belongings wouldn’t be arriving until tomorrow, but she didn’t own any fancy dresses anyway. “Is there a mall around here?”

  “I don’t want you going out unescorted, not with all the press surrounding your father. That’s my official advice as your former bodyguard.”

  Jenna knew that a small cadre of reporters had been hanging out on the sidewalk out front, waiting to interview Derek. “I could call a cab.”

  He shook his head. “I’ll have my personal shopper at Saks get in touch with you. She can bring the store to you.”

  “Your personal shopper? Saks Fifth Avenue?”

  He pointed to his tie. “Do you think I go out and shop for this stuff myself? I’d be clueless. I can tell you how to accessorize for battle and know which body armor is chic this season, but I don’t know jack about—” he flipped over the tie to look at the label “—Calvin Klein.”

  Jenna laughed but shook her head. “I think Saks might be out of my price range. I haven’t been paid for six months, remember?”

  She had financed her work in Afghanistan by herself, not the hospital, an NGO, or the Afghan government. Yes, she still had money in savings from the sale of her D.C. condo, but she needed that to buy a new place. And after six months in Afghanistan all of this—the luxury of Derek’s condo, the limos, Saks—seemed frivolous, out of touch, even overwhelming.

  It’s reverse culture shock. That’s all.

  The midwife who’d worked at the hospital prior to Jenna had warned her this would happen.

  “The personal shopper is free. Saks is on me.”

  She started to object, but he bent down and stopped her with a kiss.

  “You might not have noticed, but I have a lot of money. Let me spend some of it on you.” He kissed her again, grabbed his sports jacket, and gingerly slid his left arm into it. “I made coffee. There’s a restaurant on the ground floor that makes incredible eggs Benedict. Just give them a buzz, and they’ll charge it to me and deliver.”

  “Like room service.”

  “Just like room service. I think there’s a menu by the phone in the kitchen.”

  “Have you eaten?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll grab something at the office.”

  This was what his life was like outside of war zones. He lived as if his home were a hotel. The revelation gave Jenna an idea.

  She got out of bed, slipped into her robe, and walked him to the door. “Have a good day.”

  He raised a hand to her cheek, gave her a lopsided grin. “You, too.”

  She ordered breakfast, catching up on emails with her friends as she ate and sipped her coffee. Yes, she was back in the U.S. It was a long story. She had learned so much in Afghanistan—about herself, about the world. She was looking for a job now but wanted to focus on the Denver area. Yes, she would love to get together with them, too.

  By the time she had showered and dressed, there was a message from Derek’s personal shopper, Carolyn, on her phone. She returned the call, answering all of Carolyn’s questions as best she could about her measurements, height, weight, and coloring. “I want a dress that will bring Derek to his knees.”

  Carolyn arrived in the early afternoon with a rack—a rack!—of dresses. Dresses with sequins. Velvet dresses. Silk dresses. Illusion dresses.

  “You won the boyfriend lottery.” Carolyn searched through the dresses for the ones she thought might suit Jenna.

  Jenna stopped herself from telling Carolyn that she wasn’t Derek’s girlfriend. She could enjoy the fantasy for a while, couldn’t she?

  As long as you don’t lose yourself in it, go ahead.

  “But with that figure, those eyes, your hair… Let’s just say that if I were your age, I would have tried to snap him up, too.”

  Jenna wasn’t sure how to respond to this, so she let it go, trying on dress after dress until she came to a short, off-the-shoulder dress in dark blue velvet. “Oh!”

  It fit her perfectly, making the most of her bustline, waist, and hips.

  “He won’t be able to take his eyes off of you.”

  Jenna studied her reflection, lifted her hair on top of her head. “I hope not.”

  “You’ll need the right lingerie, of course—a bra that accentuates your bust and maybe some matching panties. I took the liberty of bringing some.”

  Carolyn was right, but Jenna insisted on paying for the lingerie herself.

  After Carolyn left, Jenna went ahead with her plan. She put together a menu, then looked in Derek’s fr
idge and cupboards—only to find them bare, apart from coffee beans, some milk that was close to its expiration date, and mustard. He had pots and pans, but they looked brand new and unused, as if they were nothing more than props. But, apart from his office and the room where he kept his gear, the entire condo was like that—beautiful like something from a magazine but not homey.

  She ordered groceries and wine online and let security know to expect a delivery. She wasn’t a great cook or particularly domestic. She’d eaten a lot of carry-out during her life, too, but she could make a roast chicken as well as anyone.

  It was time someone put this beautiful kitchen to use and gave Derek a home-cooked meal in his own home.

  Derek shot Jenna a text to let her know he was on his way home. He would see what she felt like having for dinner and maybe pick up some take-out from the sushi place downstairs. He drove home in his Range Rover, parked in the garage, and took the elevator up to his floor.

  When he opened his door, he was hit in the face by the delicious scent of roasting meat. He stepped over a pair of Jenna’s shoes, walked through the entryway—and found his immaculately clean kitchen a mess. There were dirty dishes in the sink, pots and pans on the stove, a dish towel in the middle of the floor.

  Unaware that he was there, Jenna stood at one of the counters, slicing vegetables for a salad and wiggling her sweet ass in time to music playing in little pink earphones. He stood there for a moment, took in the scene, watched her, warmth stirring in his chest. The last time someone had cooked a meal in this kitchen was …

  Yeah, never.

  “Hey.”

  She jumped, shrieked, and tugged out the earphones.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” He walked over to her, wiped a smudge of flour off her cheek. “You’ve been busy. What’s all this?”

  She looked around, too. “I thought it was time you had a real meal and not MREs or take-out. Sorry about the mess. I meant to have it cleaned up and the table set before you got home.”

  Hell, he didn’t care. “It smells delicious.”

  “How was PT?”

  “Painful.”

  “I can massage your shoulder after dinner if you like.”

  “Will that help?”

  “It might.”

  The food was delicious—roast chicken, buttered potatoes, a fresh salad, white wine, and a chocolate cake she’d made from scratch.

  He shared news he knew she’d be happy to hear. “Malik was discharged today. He’ll be on a flight home tomorrow.”

  He’d been the last of the five of them still in the hospital.

  “I’m so glad to hear that.” She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, tracing her fingertips along the stem of her wine glass in a way that immediately had Derek thinking of her stroking his cock. “I picked out my dress.”

  “Your dress? Oh. Right. Good.”

  “You don’t get to see it till tomorrow night.”

  Now he was intrigued. “I can’t wait.”

  They were in the middle of loading the dishwasher when Derek’s cell rang.

  “Turn on CNN,” Corbray said. “Hamilton has just resigned. Word is investigators agreed to end their probe if he left office.”

  Shit. Typical.

  “Thanks.” Derek ended the call. “That was Javier. Your father just resigned.”

  “What?”

  He turned on the TV, and there on the screen was Senator Hamilton.

  “—has been my pleasure to serve the people of this great nation these past thirty-five years. Rumors that I conspired with foreign entities to the detriment of U.S. citizens, including my daughter, are blatantly false. I refuse to let politics and media lies ruin my legacy.” Hamilton flashed a big smile. “I’m going to focus on my golf game instead.”

  Laughter. The clicking of cameras.

  “Senator, is it true that you bribed an Afghan warlord—”

  “The senator will not be taking questions,” said some guy in a suit—probably an aide—into the microphone as Hamilton beat a hasty retreat. “Thank you very much.”

  “His legacy? What legacy is that?” Jenna picked up the remote and turned off the TV, her cheeks pink, rage on her pretty face. “He can never admit when he’s wrong. He just lied to the American people, and most of them will never know that. Is Cobra going to issue a press release to refute what he just said?”

  “We’ve already said all we’re going to say to the public, but we are suing him for damages. He can’t hide. The truth will come out.” Derek took her hand. “Do you want to issue a statement?”

  She let out a breath. “What would it say? ‘Hey, everyone, my dad lied. He’s a jerk.’ I just want this to be behind me.”

  Derek could understand that. “Do you want to go for a drive and look at the Christmas lights? The City and County Building always puts on a pretty show.”

  She smiled. “I’d love that.”

  He drove her downtown, circled the capitol with its gold dome and then headed down Colfax past the City and County Building.

  She craned her neck to see all of it. “That’s beautiful. I love it! We should get a tree for your place.”

  Derek could refuse her nothing. They got a small Christmas tree and then bought lights and some ornaments at Target, Jenna putting everything from delicate glass balls to tinsel to kitschy plastic baubles to candy canes into the shopping cart.

  “When I was a kid, our tree always had to look a certain way. Everything had to match and be placed just perfectly. This is going to be the craziest Christmas tree ever.”

  “I can get behind that.” He tossed a plastic ornament that looked like a whiskey bottle and one that looked like a trout into the cart. “Let’s do this.”

  They drove home, put up the little tree, and trimmed it, then sat back with the fireplace running and enjoyed the sight, the air scented with pine.

  “Thanks, Derek. I needed this.” She took off his shirt, sat on his left side, and went to work massaging his shoulder.

  Derek sucked in a breath, her touch painful but mostly in a good way. “It’s my first Christmas tree here.”

  She laughed. “Why am I not surprised?”

  As she worked the stiffness out of his shoulder muscles, he battled a tangle of emotions that threatened to make him say stupid things—things like “No one baked me a cake before,” “I love you,” and “Stay with me.”

  How a cold-hearted, selfish bastard like Hamilton had managed to raise a daughter as warm and loving as Jenna, Derek couldn’t say. It must have been her mother’s DNA. In a single day, Jenna had transformed his immaculate condo into a messy, festive, and sweetly scented home.

  22

  Jenna finished with her mascara then checked her reflection in the mirror, her pulse thrumming with excitement. She’d put her hair up in a twist, letting a few tendrils hang free at her nape and temples. It wasn’t a professional up-do, but it was good enough. The cocktail dress clung to her curves, showing a tasteful amount of cleavage and leaving her shoulders bare, its velvet fabric shimmering.

  She stepped out of the bathroom to find Derek partially dressed in an all-black tux, struggling with cuff links.

  He looked up and stared, his expression slowly changing from surprise to sexual hunger. “Holy fuck. God, you look beautiful.”

  His cuff link fell to the carpet.

  “Let me help you.” She knelt and picked up the little thing then stood again to find his gaze fixed on her breasts.

  “I’m not sure we should go to this party.” He bent down, nuzzled her throat.

  “What do you think we should do instead?” She popped the cufflink through the fabric and twisted it so that it would stay.

  “Fuck. We should fuck all night.” He reached for her. “On the floor. On the bed. On the kitchen table. Everywhere.”

  His words sent a shiver of arousal through her.

  She stepped away and picked up her clutch and heels, looking back at him over her shoulder as she walked
out of the room. “Hurry, or we’ll be late.”

  He bit his lower lip, his brow furrowed, his gaze on her ass now. “Damn.”

  She slipped into her heels—she hadn’t worn heels since before she’d left for Afghanistan—and waited at the front door. He appeared, two black woolen dress coats draped over his arm, hers and his.

  He helped her into hers. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “You think that just because I have testicles, you can put on a sexy dress that shows off your breasts and sweet ass and turn me into a raging mess of pheromones.” Then he whispered into her ear, his breath hot on her skin. “You’re right.”

  Another shiver.

  Oh, she was right there with him.

  But first, there was a party.

  They rode the elevator down to the garage and walked hand in hand through the cold night air to Derek’s vehicle. But if Jenna thought Derek was going to let her off the hook, she was mistaken. All the way to Cobra’s offices, he kept at it.

  “I’m going to go down on you until you scream. I’ll rip those panties off and suck your clit. Then I’ll get you on your hands and knees and fuck you hard from behind.”

  Warmth rushed into her cheeks. “Promises, promises.”

  “Or maybe I’ll bang you up against the wall and mess up your dress.”

  Her inner muscles clenched.

  “Maybe I’ll tie you to my bed and fuck you so slowly that you lose your mind.”

  By the time they reached the office, she was horny as hell, aching and wet. They parked and walked to the elevator. As soon as the door closed, she was on him.

  He caught her wrists, stopped her. “Surveillance.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “Can we have sex in a conference room?”

  He laughed, seeming to find the idea hilarious. “God, no. Surveillance.”

  “Where then?”

  He leaned down, a sexy grin on his face. “You have to wait—just like I do.”

  She gave a frustrated moan, took the hand he offered, and walked with him out of the elevator and into a long room or hallway crowded with people. The walls were made of burnished steel, the floors white marble, several tables of catered food set up on one side, a bar in the corner.