The Hot Sergeant (Second Chance Military Romance) (Hargrave Brothers - Book #2)

by Alexa Davis

  It was a lie. If she told me it was just a job, like I knew she would, the blow to my ego and to heart would be devastating, and yet I needed to know.

  Looking into my eyes with her bright hazel ones gleaming, I thought she could see straight into my soul. She was looking at me and really seeing me as no one else ever bothered to do. I wanted to shrink back from the intimacy of the moment, yet I didn't and allowed myself to let her see my vulnerable side and my humanity.

  Olivia's voice was soft and serious as she whispered, "It's not about the money. I like being with you Tristan Porter. I'm not interested in your money or your fame. I just want to be with you. The real you."

  She leaned forward and kissed me. Her lips were soft and sweet, and I could feel the mounds of her breasts squishing against my chest. I took her into my arms and kissed her back, slowly and passionately. God, how I loved her. Was it really possible that someone as incredible as her could like me for me? Pulling away, I said, "The real me isn't always very good. In fact, I can be a real asshole. How can you like me?"

  "The tough side of you is just a coat of armor that you wear to shield yourself from the pain of the world. Maybe other people don't see that about you and think you’re an asshole, but I know better. I've seen the generous side of you that is kind and giving. Don't worry, though; I promise not to tell anyone."

  Her easy joke lightened the mood and made me smile. I kissed her again, softly and tenderly as I squeezed her breast. When I pulled away, she was smiling up at me and asked, "How did you get into BDSM? Was that another way to shield yourself from pain?"

  The question made me sit up and think. No one had ever really asked me that before; at least, not in earnest. "I think I've always been interested in it, only the idea was fucking taboo. Up until recently, no one ever fucking talked about it and there no clubs where people could go to meet and share in their passion for BDSM together. I knew that I was aroused by the idea of dominating women, tying them up, and even spanking them, but with no one else to talk to about it with, I thought there was something wrong with me. I feared I was demented or fucking perverted. So I pushed my secret desires deep fucking down inside me and never talked them."

  "So what changed?" Her eyes were wide with curiosity and compassion. I couldn't believe I was telling her so much about myself. It must have been the alcohol loosening my fucking tongue. Otherwise, there was no way I would reveal so much intimate information to a girl – but Olivia was no ordinary woman.

  "It was the beginning of the end for Janice and me, only I didn't fucking know it yet. I still thought our marriage could be saved and I thought finding a way to spice up our bed would make the difference. She had lost all interest in sex, and to tell the truth so had I – at least, when it came to her. So, I drew back on what I had found arousing and that brought me back to thinking about BDSM, only now it wasn't quite so taboo. A look on the internet revealed that there was a whole new culture out there willing to celebrate it. I wasn't a fucking freak, after all. There were tons of people like me and when I found out there was even a local club where I could meet with some of them, I couldn't fucking believe it. I ran down to Whip as fast as I could and made a strong friendship with Craig Varner that has lasted throughout the years."

  "You mean to say that you and he..." Olivia looked aghast, and I was quick to correct her.

  "No, nothing like that. I'm not bi. I just mean he was like a mentor to me. He opened my eyes to the world I had always been meant for, but never knew existed. He guided me through uncharted territory, and I owe all my expertise to him. He taught me the rules of safety, how to properly handle a whip, and introduced to countless women."

  "I see." Olivia looked away, and I realized I had said too much. Shit! Why the fuck had I mentioned all the other women? I needed to do some damage repair and fast.

  "He's the one who eventually lead me to you," I said, squeezing her hand. I wondered if the words sounded too much like a line, and realized I needed to bring the conversation back down to her. "How about you? How did you get into BDSM?"

  "I never was. I'd heard of it, but I didn't really know how it worked. I thought it was something sick and twisted that only monstrous people did; now I know much better. It's something beautiful and intimate that grants people pleasure far beyond traditional sex. I'm glad to be a part of it, and now that I am, I can't imagine ever going back to boring traditional sex again."

  "Good." I grinned and leered at her playfully, making her giggle. Her laugh was musical, and I loved hearing the sound of it. I realized though, just how little about her I really knew and longed to learn more.

  Sitting on my couch, just the two of us, we drank and talked for hours. I told her about my childhood, the death of my mother at an early age, and the strained relationship I'd always had with my father. I told her about boarding school and my drive to succeed, and how my father had taught me that power and success were the only things that mattered in life. I even told her about how lonely I was, how my marriage only made me feel lonelier, and that money and power couldn't fill the void an empty heart made. It was more than I'd ever told anyone about myself –even Janice or even my therapist. I don't know why, but something about those bright hazel eyes made me want to open up my soul to her. I knew instinctively that I could tell Olivia anything. I trusted her with my secrets. I had to, for she had already stolen my heart.

  In return, she told me all about her childhood in Ohio. She told me how lost and lonely she had been trying to fit into the mold everyone tried to squeeze her into and how coming to California and working at Whip had changed her life for the better and finally set her free. We were so different, and yet we were the same: two lost and lonely souls searching for freedom from judgment where we could love and enjoy one another's bodies and finally be satisfied. I was happy to fill that role in Olivia's life and be the man who made her feel happy and whole. It was time to truly bare my soul and confess to her that I loved her. I just needed a little shot of courage first.

  "Do you want an Irish Coffee or a Bloody Mary?" I offered, leading her to the kitchen off the living room. I just needed a dose of something to fortify my strength so I could tell her how I felt. I was sure she would return my love, but it was something I had never said to a woman before, not even Janice. In our marriage, it had been about practicality and tradition, never about love or desire. With Olivia, things were different. It was all about passion, emotion, and matters of the heart and flesh. It took much more strength of bravery to open myself up to that than it did for me to undertake any business deal, even with the toughest negotiators.

  "Sure. I'll have coffee." Olivia smiled at me, sweetly. "Can I help?"

  I bumbled around my kitchen, completely at a loss for how to make coffee. In the past, I always just called for the maid to make it. Shrugging my shoulders and grinning ruefully, I said, "That'd be great."

  I sat on the kitchen counter and watched as she deftly made coffee. It only took her a moment of searching the pantry before she had found the coffee pot, grinder, and beans. As it brewed, she said, "Now, where are the cups?"

  "I have no idea," I said with chagrin, and she giggled tenderly at my incompetence in my own kitchen. I had no choice but to laugh along with her. It felt good; it had been a long time since I'd truly laughed.

  She started opening up cupboards and discovered that one of them had a small television enclosed inside. "Oh, do you mind if I turn on the morning news? I want to see if they show pictures of any of my friends at your party? It will be a good way for you to see if your PR stunt worked."

  "You knew about that?" I was astounded, but I shouldn't have been. She was as smart as the crack of a whip.

  "Of course." She smiled demurely, making me want to fuck her again. I got up and stood behind her, pretending to help her look for coffee cups when really I just wanted to feel her perfect ass flush against my crotch.

  "Here they are," she said, and strained to reach them on the high shelf. It made her ass rub seductive
ly against my crotch and I instantly became hard. After the coffee, we might just have to fuck right here in my kitchen.

  "Let me get that for you." I wrapped one hand around her slender waist while I ground sensuously against her through our clothes and reaching for the cups with the other.

  Just then, my face came up on the television and Olivia squealed with delight. “Here's the story about last night's party! Let's listen."

  We paused to listen, but the words I heard made my heart drop to the pit of my stomach and all the blood drain from my face. I dropped the cups and they fell to the floor, shattering into a thousand bits on the fucking tile floor.

  "A source close to Tristan Porter claims the billionaire and star of the hit show Pick Me is an avid user of cocaine, heroin, and crystal meth. The source alleges that he not only uses the drugs, but has actively worked with dealers in the past to distribute and traffic the narcotics. We reached out to Mr. Porter, but have not received back any comment. Police say they have not made any charges against Mr. Porter and refused to comment also. Of course, his donations to local law enforcement charities are well known. He threw a wild party last night where trucks of alcohol were seen making deliveries and known escorts of the fetish club Whip were seen entering the premises. So how can he ask Americans to Pick Me, when clearly he has so many sinful vices of his own to contend with first."

  My blood boiled with rage at the false accusations. Sure, I used to do drugs with Janice, but that was years ago and I hadn't touched any since. And, I sure as hell hadn't worked with dealers to commit trafficking. Before I could stop myself, I took my fist and slammed it into the television set, punching the lying asshole in the fucking face, shattering the television, and cutting the shit out of my hand.

  Olivia screamed and ran from the room. Fuck! Now I'd ruined things with her, too.

  WHATEVER HE WANTS #5

  Chapter One: Olivia

  I entered the sanctuary of my apartment and locked the door quickly behind me. Tristan's driver Adam had taken me home after what had turned out to be a very long and crazy night. I was still wearing the white Chanel cocktail dress I'd purchased for the party and carried the high heels in my hands. As I collapsed wearily onto my bed, I tried to remember how long it had been since I'd slept, but I was too exhausted to figure it out. I closed my eyes, certain that I would fall into a deep and dreamless sleep, but it was not meant to be. My roommate Suzanne was the first to barge into my room.

  "There you are. We were so worried about you. We tried waiting up for you to come home last night so we could hear all about the party, but Clara gave up and went to be around 2:00 a.m. and I fell asleep not long after. Then, this morning, the phone started ringing like crazy. Everyone wanted to know if we'd heard the news, so of course, I turned it on. Is it true that Tristan is into drugs? Were they all over the party? Did he try to force you take some, too?"

  My head was pounding and Suzanne's barrage of questions wasn't helping. "No, it wasn't like that. Tristan may have been into taking drugs when he first starting getting famous, but he was never sold them or did anything like trafficking. He doesn't even take them anymore. Something happened a while back that made him quit and he's been clean ever since."

  "That's what all addicts say." She rolled her eyes. It made me angry on his behalf and I felt the need to defend him even more.

  "No, it's true. Something traumatic happened that turned his life around and scared him off drugs for good. All he does now is have the occasional drink of alcohol, but nothing out of hand. He was a complete gentleman at the party; gracious and in control at all times."

  "Is that why you're getting home so late the next morning? It's practically time for lunch," she teased me, arching her eyebrows at me mischievously and clearly hoping for some details.

  "After the party, we spent a lot of time talking together, just him and me. It was really nice. Then we saw the morning news; he was devastated. I've never seen him so upset."

  "Well, he's not the only one. It’s a good thing you left your cell phone here. It's been ringing like crazy since the news story came out this morning. You're lucky I didn't throw it out the window to shut it up."

  Surprised, I picked up my phone to look at my missed calls. I couldn't imagine who would be calling me. Clara and Suzanne were my best friends, my parents weren't speaking to me, and I didn't really know anyone else in town. I hoped and prayed the reporters hadn't found me.

  When I saw who it was, I almost wished Suzanne had thrown my phone out the window. Even the reporters would have better. My parents had called me ten times in the past two hours. After refusing to take any of my phone calls since I refused to move back home and utterly disowning me, now they were suddenly dying to talk to me. Well, it was too late. I no longer wanted to speak with them, especially just to hear them lecture me against Tristan when they didn't even know him. All they knew was the gossip and lies the media had been spreading against him.

  As I held my cell phone in my hand, it suddenly began to ring. No surprise, the caller ID said Russell and Marjorie Harte. As tired as I was I just wanted to turn off the phone and ignore them; but then I realized there was no point in trying to avoid the inevitable, and I knew I'd never be able to sleep when I was stressing about them. Perhaps it was better to just get the unpleasantness over with than to have them keep calling me all day.

  "Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad." I answered the phone with a chipper tone that belied how I was feeling.

  "Sweetheart, are you all right?" my mother's voice was a high pitched blend of panic and relief.

  "I'm fine; why wouldn't I be?"

  "We never should have let you run away to the city. I just thank the Lord that you haven't gotten addicted to drugs like you were tricked into a life of debauchery." My mother was rambling, but my father was quick to cut her off.

  In his no nonsense tone of voice he used to use when I was a kid, he said gruffly, "Olivia, pack your things. We're coming to bring you back home."

  "What? No. I am home. I'm not leaving L.A. There's nothing for me in Ohio. I have a life here, and a career, and a man I love."

  "Prostitution is not a career or love, and living in sin is not the life we want for our daughter. I don't care what he's tricked you into believing; Tristan Porter is an animal and a monster and you are not to have anything to do with him ever again. We're bringing you home and that's final."

  "I'm not a child anymore. You can't haul me back home by my ear. I'm a grown woman capable of making my own decisions, and I'm staying here."

  I could hear my mother sobbing in the background and my father said to her, "It's the drugs talking; he's probably brainwashed her with them. That's how they trick good girls like our Olivia into falling into their sick dens of depravity. Once we get her home and put her in detox therapy, we can have her soul cleansed and she'll be our little angel once more."

  I knew they loved me, but I hated it when they talked about me like I wasn't part of the conversation. Speaking loudly into the phone, I said, "I've never taken any drugs and Tristan doesn't take them anymore, either. It is true that we've had sex out of wedlock, but I did the math and I know Mom was pregnant when you two got married, so don't be hypocritical. If you could just meet Tristan and give him a chance, I know you'd like him. He's a good person, and a lot like you, Daddy. He's hardworking, responsible, highly intelligent with a good mind for business, and most importantly, he believes in nurturing and protecting the people he cares about."

  "Oh, you can count on our meeting him. It will take us three days to drive from Ohio to California to come get you. That's how long you have to pack your things. You're right that we can't force you to come home, but if you don't, then you're making the biggest mistake of your life."

  "You're welcome to come visit me. In fact, it would be great to see you both again and get a chance to show you where I live; but I won't be returning to Ohio with you. This is my home now, and if it's a mistake, well, then it's mine to make."

  I hung up
the phone, buried my face in my pillow, and screamed out my frustration. When I sat back up, I saw that Clara had entering the room and was standing next to Suzanne. They both stared at me with sympathetic eyes.

  "So, your parents are coming to visit?" Clara asked with her usual naivety.

  "Yup, I guess so." I rolled my eyes. As she sat on my bed, I poured out the whole story to her, grateful for an empathetic ear. I confided as much as I could to her and Suzanne, sharing most of Tristan's confession to me, but I knew it was a very sensitive secret. If word got out that he had killed those two drug dealers and then paid off the police, it might spark a whole new investigation that could put him prison for murder. I decided just to say that he beat the drug dealers up really bad and left the story at that.

  When I was done, I looked at my two best friends and saw the stunned expressions on their faces melt into ones of sympathy and compassion.

  "Well, if you want to stay here and keep seeing Tristan, your parents will just have to learn to accept it," Clara said, hugging me tight.

  Suzanne was less diplomatic. "Yeah, fuck those prudes."

  Her blunt rudeness made me laugh despite my exhaustion. Clara took Suzanne by the hand and lead her from my room, saying, "Come on; let's allow Olivia to get some sleep."

  I was out before they could even shut the door, dreaming of Tristan and how much he meant to me.

  Chapter Two: Tristan

  "You don't have any proof" my attorney Eddie said to me, straightening his tie with an exasperated sigh.

  "I don't need any fucking proof. I know it was Janice. Who else could have fucking leaked that story to the press?" My hands were balled into tight fists as I paced from one end of Eddie's high-priced office to the other with furious steps. I was mad as hell, and I couldn't have stayed still even if I tried. I needed to move, to think, to fucking do something.

  "You weren't exactly subtle during your earlier years. Countless people saw you take drugs at any number of parties you and Janice attended. The story could have been leaked by any of them," Eddie rationalized in a voice that was entirely too calm. I needed him to be as fucking pissed off as I was.