Fighting For Olivia

by Zoë Normandie

Rule number three: Keep a low profile. Don’t call attention to yourself.

  “Come—a ride,” the man mumbled as he tried to pry away her luggage. “Good price.” He tightened his grasp and pulled her bag away.

  “No!” She clenched her teeth, willing her fury to stay down. “Give it back now.”

  Olivia looked around, but the lobby was too chaotic for anyone to notice. Aggravation rose in her throat. The man didn’t care and was turning to leave—with her fucking belongings.

  “I said stop!” she growled at him. She ripped her luggage out of his hand, causing him to fall back, startled.

  She was officially losing her cool. Fuck.

  Shooting him the angriest look she could muster, she dared him to come closer. With one hand she clutched the luggage, and with the other she formed a tight fist. God help her, she’d be happy to pummel him if he touched her shit again.

  Apparently this message came across in her facial expression. He raised his hands up and mumbled something in Arabic, seeming to surrender. It was a language she didn’t know. She’d spent a long time studying in university for her doctorate, but she never had a knack for languages. English was it for her, in perpetuity. The language barrier only added to the frustration between them.

  “Go!” she hissed, unfortunately beginning to attract attention. “Go away!”

  The airport guards looked over and began to make steps toward her. Goddamn, she was barely an hour on the ground, and she was already breaking the code of conduct.

  She willed herself to cool it. She’d always been a strong and assertive woman, but there was no need to cross that threshold and lose her temper.

  Fuck. Fuck.

  Of course, she wanted nothing more than to punch the idiot who’d caused this, but she knew that would do nothing to help. Hulk smash repeated in her mind like some sort uncontrollable urge. That’s how she would have dealt with assholes in Washington who got too handsy with her.

  As the situation deteriorated, Olivia began to feel like maybe she was in over her head on her first overseas consultancy. She should have taken the language lessons, she scolded herself silently, praying her ride would appear. She should have taken more cultural lessons too.

  She also should have learned how to be demure. Coy. Sweet. Maybe what she needed was a finishing school.

  While she was silently lamenting her situation, the scent of cedarwood and spice wafted in her direction. There was a shift in the atmosphere. A shift in the room.

  “Is there a problem here?” said a deep voice beside her, in perfect American English with a touch of an East Coast accent.

  Olivia took a deep breath. She turned around and found herself face-to-face with a tall, broad-shouldered man with a short but scruffy black beard—the type of beard you’d find on a man who hadn’t shaved in a few days, maybe a week. It was grown in and worn in, like his appearance.

  He didn’t stand out. At a glance, he appeared Arab, perhaps, but on a closer look, he was clearly Western. His dark hair complemented his tanned, sun-kissed skin. He had a classic Mediterranean complexion.

  Clever, she thought. She wondered if the dirt and grime smeared on his arms disguised tattoos on his biceps. The man knew how to blend in, with his dusty black utility pants and Arab scarf hanging over his loose black T-shirt.

  Olivia felt a pang of attraction, which only doubled her annoyance at his approach. How long had he been watching? Had he seen the debacle with the local man? A look of mischief crossed his face. He’d probably been waiting on the sidelines. Sizing her up.

  She shook her head in disbelief. This had to be her gallant driver.

  Where had he been five minutes ago?

  She shot an angry look at the man trying to steal her luggage—he had already begun backing away—and coolly reminded herself not to begrudge him. She didn’t know the culture very well.

  But her ire was up. She was exhausted and cranky. Clearing her throat, it took every ounce of patience to recompose herself and find the professional within.

  Keep a low profile.

  “Not a problem anymore.” She turned back to the tanned, bearded man. He flashed a row of gleaming white teeth in a grin that read trouble.

  He sized her up quickly, eyeing her from head to toe. She wondered what he thought. His grin seemed to be a cover for his true emotions. Her body language hadn’t changed. She was stiff and unmoving: fight mode.

  “Great,” he said in a quieter voice. “Are you Olivia from In Context?”

  He knew who she was.

  “I might be.” Her tone was tougher than she’d intended. “Are you Navy?”

  His grin grew a little more natural. “I might be.” It was clear that he was assessing her.

  She felt more frustration bubbling inside her. This was not the time to play games. She just wanted to get the fuck out.

  “Who are you?” she demanded, gazing at him intensely.

  His grin turned coy, and he stooped in front of her to pick up her bag, unfazed by her gruffness. She noticed a wide expanse of muscle covering his back and shoulders. She also noticed an object hidden under his shirt. Probably a gun.

  But as he grabbed her bag and stood back up with it, he responded to her question with… pure silence. Like he wasn’t even going to humor her question.

  She swallowed a growl. It was not the day to fuck around with her. Maybe she’d have to punch this guy out instead, though she wasn’t sure it would make an impact. Wouldn’t stop her from trying, though.

  She reached out and grabbed the edge of her bag. “Not so fast, my friend. I just went through that.” Her tone was tough, and she continued to stare him down. She wouldn’t be taken advantage of.

  Surprised at her affront, his demeanor changed slightly. She couldn’t read him easily, but clearly she’d gotten his attention. He watched her more closely than before.

  He dropped her bag quickly and crossed his arms. “Would you like to carry it yourself?”

  She shifted her weight between her feet, realizing that she had come on the attack too quickly. But between her ire, her cortisol levels, and her jet lag, she just couldn’t seem to bring it back down.

  “I really don’t mind,” he replied, maintaining a tone that was calm and unreadable, if not a little coy.

  “I think you’d better identify yourself,” she challenged him. “I can’t let just anyone pick up my luggage.”

  “Luckily, I’m not just anyone.” His spine stiffened, and he looked her up and down. His focus trailed the length of her body to her face, sending an unwanted flush up her throat.

  “Then you shouldn’t have a problem telling me what I want to hear,” she snapped, narrowing her eyes at him.

  “Sure thing. You have a funny way of making friends.” She again felt the heat of his gaze.

  “Now would be the time. Are you here to help me?”

  “I’d love to help you, but I’m starting to think that I’m not the help you need.”

  “Apparently not.” She gritted her teeth. She didn’t have to be so sporty with him, but something was driving her to. “I’ve had enough.” She made to walk away. She just wanted to be in a hotel room somewhere, in a bath. Relaxing. Recuperating. Not having this argument.

  Suddenly, like he’d read her mind, he became very amused. With a twinkle in his eye, he clicked his tongue and held out his hand.

  “Hi, I’m Ryder.”

  The mischievous look in his eyes was what killed her. With much trepidation, she took his hand in hers and shook it.

  “Here’s where you tell me your name,” he said as they shook hands. She didn’t miss how he rolled his tongue playfully over his lip after he spoke.

  His grip was hard and firm. She squeezed back stiffly, not willing to let him overpower her. It was obviously a fool’s errand.

  She snorted. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

  Ryder’s mouth swept up in a charming smile, and gentle creases formed by his eyes. A name like Ryder suited him. “God, yo
u’re a pistol.” He laughed. “I like that.”

  With his full attention on her, Olivia felt like she was being sucked in by a tractor beam. In the bustling, busy airport of Bamako, Ryder looked at her like she was the only person there.

  She didn’t want to admit it. She didn’t want to think it. She thought of anything, everything, to distract herself from the private declaration.

  But then she exhaled, and the thought came.

  He was fucking bananas sexy.

  She shook her head to regain composure. The jacked beast in front of her only grinned more.

  She dug her heels in harder. She wasn’t going to let him win. “What is your position, Ryder?” She used her boss voice, her interviewer voice—but she already had a strong guess.

  If he wasn’t with the SEALs, she’d eat her hat.

  “I drive,” he answered in his charming tone. “Do you need a drive, kid?”

  “Yes, I think I do. And I’m not a kid.”

  “Great. Well, I can recommend a good cab. I’m actually here to pick up this lady named Olivia. Since you won’t tell me your name, I’ll call you what I want, kid.”

  “Imagine that,” she said. “My name is, in fact, Olivia.” She eyed him suspiciously. She hadn’t imagined that getting a ride from the airport would be this painful.

  “Gee, that’s great,” he replied. “But you know what? I don’t think you are actually who I’m looking for.”

  “It’s kind of a unique name.”

  He shook his head and shrugged.

  Olivia was exhausted from the trip and tired of shenanigans. He just needed to tell her where he worked so they could get on with it. Bottom line. She wasn’t about to start day one of her project by showing the sailors that she was willing to jump into any old car.

  With any old guy.

  They’d think she was an idiot. She’d never get their respect.

  But his grin was all too consuming. His charm was palpable. Vet bros were dangerous, she reminded herself. Disengage. But she couldn’t. She was in the line of fire. Suddenly, it felt like there was no one else in the airport except him.

  As her attraction grew, so did her determination to stand her ground. She needed him to see that she wasn’t an easy target. That she was tough enough to be there. But before she found the words to push back, he pulled his next stunt.

  “Well, good luck to you, kid.” Ryder saluted her and started to walk away.

  Olivia knew it was all a game. There was no way that he would be allowed to leave without her.

  Right?

  He would have to drag her back to base somehow. By the hair, she hoped. She wanted him to pull her hair. An explicit image involving her and Ryder crossed her mind. She banished it, gritting her teeth.

  She continued holding her ground, planting an unamused look on her face, daring him to defy her. This was business, and she demanded respect.

  But the thing was, he wasn’t intimidated at all by her tenacious demeanor. He’d proven that by poking at her. And the more he teased her, the more she disliked him, and the more she wanted to jump on him and taste his mouth.

  She felt a rush of heat on the back of her neck. Her shoulders threatened to slump. She was tired, but she’d sure as hell come too far to give up. Her ire rose and rose until the steam within propelled her to stomp over to him. She marched behind him and pointed her finger at him in fury, lugging her bag behind her.

  “Is this a game to you?” She seethed. “Can’t you see that I’m exhausted? If you are here to help, just fucking tell me.”

  He cocked his head to the side and beamed at her from nearly a foot above. To her sheer torment, he took a moment to respond. “Would you like my help?”

  She gave him an unimpressed look. “I’d like the help of someone who is being paid to actually come and help me, so that I can report back that I’ve been adequately taken care of.”

  He gave her a bored expression, like nothing she said could bother him at all. But he slowly stood up, stretched his arms, and grabbed her luggage. As he bent down, she heard him mutter, “I’ll adequately take care of you, all right.”

  Before she could say, “Excuse me?” he was already halfway through the lobby, whistling and smiling on his way.

  She grumbled and followed suit. She didn’t dare take the chance that he’d leave her behind.

  Out in the open, he slowed down enough for her to catch up.

  She was no match for his long, muscular strides. Thank god for all those nights she spent running to improve her pace per mile. She couldn’t let him win, so she ramped up her speed and nearly jogged beside him.

  “Are you going to answer me now?” she demanded, keeping up with his pace.

  “What answer?” he asked with a calm and casual smile.

  His arrogance was driving her nuts. “Who the hell are you?” she snapped.

  “I told you. I’m Ryder. Why is this so difficult? I thought you were the smart one. At least that’s what everyone is saying.” He stopped at the edge of the airport parking lot, almost causing her to bump into him.

  She crossed her arms and gave him an expectant look. “Ryder, the kidnapper? Ryder, the hostage taker?” she demanded. “Or Ryder, the SEAL?”

  He laughed and flashed that row of perfectly straight white teeth at her. “You are not going to let it rest, are you?” he asked, a twinkle in his eye.

  She shook her head.

  “Okay, then. Sure. I’m kidnapping you.” He shrugged.

  “No, you aren’t.”

  He faced her squarely. “Maybe I’ll tie you up in the back of the truck.” His voice grew breathy, sexy. Taunting. Threatening.

  “No, you won’t.” She nearly choked on the words, but it wasn’t out of fear.

  “Maybe you’d like that.” His face was deadpan, but his tone grew velvety. He ran his fingers through his thick, dark, slicked-back hair. Reaching up, he exposed a layer of his abdomen near his belt line. Hard, golden skin was marked by a dark trail going south.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Her mouth watered.

  After a brief staring contest, he grinned. He knew. Of course he fucking knew. He was bred to use her weaknesses against her. A pure predator.

  She felt a shiver up her spine as his gaze on her shifted. He leaned in closer, conspiratorially, daring her to flinch or draw back. She wouldn’t give in. She stood firm.

  Olivia held her breath as she took him in, inhaling his warm, amber scent. He smelled so damn good. Too good for someone as dusted-up as himself.

  “You’ve just got to decide… if you trust me or not,” he breathed softly. He winked at her.

  “Are you kidding me?” she scoffed.

  “Absolutely not.” He leaned back, and something about his tone told her that he was dead serious.

  Did she trust him?

  As she let out a sound of frustration, he turned with his easy smile, her bag in hand, and headed toward the long line of parked trucks. By that point, she had no doubt he was a SEAL, that he was there to pick her up, and that he was going to be a fucking poisonous thorn in her side for the entirety of her journey.

  And she knew that the entire airport could explode behind her, and all she would see was his strong, sexy body sauntering away with all the bad attitude in the world.

  3

  The rattling sound underneath Olivia’s seat in the pickup truck unnerved her for a good long while as they drove from the airport to the compound, but she damn well wasn’t about to ask her stoic driver what it was. He probably thought she was some scaredy-cat academic who’d never been anywhere—or seen anything—before, prudish and uptight and nothing but a liability. So she gritted her teeth and clenched her hands on the door to keep herself from bouncing around too much as the truck hurtled northeast down the highway.

  “I admire your tenacity. You give an old man like me a run for his money,” Ryder said into the silence between them, keeping his eyes on the road. His tone continued to be coy and charming, and she h
ad no doubt the game was still on. He admired her tenacity? That was absurd.

  “I doubt that,” she muttered, too tired to put up much more of a fight.

  What a joke. He probably couldn’t wait to tell his buddies just how naïve the consultant was. She needed to regroup. She couldn’t lose any more ground. She needed to be respected. She needed to cultivate a solid reputation. She needed the guys to know that she was strong and wouldn’t be taken advantage of.

  “I’m serious,” he went on. “You might just survive here.”

  “I didn’t expect anything less,” she scoffed, keeping it short.

  “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.” His tone held an unmistakable warning.

  She brushed him off. “Listen, I’m not here for games… or tests.”

  “You’ve made that clear.” He viewed her intensely from the side, a devilish smile crossing his mouth. “So why are you here?”

  Even her drowsy brain could see that the question was loaded. She could see much more, too, as she assessed him. Her tired eyes found themselves hovering on his mouth—so wide and beautiful and kissable. She didn’t doubt he had used them on many, many women. All of the special forces guys were the same. They knew their effect on women. They used it. Abused it.

  That’s why she was there.

  “To help put an end to entitlement and corruption. To help fix a broken culture.” She listed objectives from her statement of work. “Or at least to research, analyze, organize, and categorize the problems.”

  “But the NCIS investigation is over,” Ryder challenged. “We all saw the press release, come on. The Navy is vindicated.”

  “From a criminal standpoint, apparently,” Olivia cut in, taking his bait before she knew it, the blood finding its way through her veins at a quicker pace. “That leaves it with internal discipline. I guess the Navy is taking ethical discipline seriously these days.”

  “So they say,” he muttered, and it caught her attention. His words spoke to the worry at the back of her mind: that her work was a consolation prize, her report an appeasement. The Navy was taking action—they could prove it—with her firm’s contract. The frustration and rawness she’d felt when she fought Ryder at the airport crept back in, and she fought for dear life to remain unemotional and guarded.