Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Marking Mariah (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Liz Crowe

  Finally, he opened his eyes and flopped down on the bed next to her, pulling her close and kissing her until she saw yet more stars, his greedy hands all over her, his eager lips and tongue owning her. “Liked that strip show, huh, Terrance,” she muttered into his neck, sensing their heartbeats sync up and calm together.

  “Mmm hmmm,” he said. “And how.” He lay back with a sigh and she settled into the crook of his shoulder, draping an arm and leg across him. “I could get used to sleeping like this,” he said into her hair. “You smell and taste and feel so very good to me, Mariah.”

  “Thanks,” she said, running her fingertips along the cut of his abs. “But I can’t sleep over, you know that.”

  “I beg to differ,” he countered, tracing little circles on her arm with his fingertip.

  She sat up, staring at him. “You did not tell my nice neighbor and her son that we were having a sleep over. Please tell me that’s not what you did.”

  He grinned. She tried to frown but couldn’t, then collapsed back down against him, feeling safe, warm, and dare she think it, loved. “You’re bad,” she whispered, angry at herself for tearing up a teenager.

  “That’s the truth,” he whispered back, pulling her hand up to his lips, as he’d done in the truck on the way here. “But something tells me you meet my bad and raise it about a thousand.”

  She giggled. “No, not really. Something about you brings it out in me.”

  He sighed and tugged her leg up so her bare, still warm sex rested against his firm thigh. God help her but she was still horny. She sighed as he pulled her still closer, shoving his leg between hers and stroking her nipple to a stiff peak. “Something tells me somebody wants another O,” he said, tugging her nipple and pushing his leg against her pussy, giving her something to rub against. “That you, baby? Need another?”

  She grabbed his arm, loving the heavy, bunched muscle under her palm and got herself one, rubbing against him faster and faster, her mind going blank as she sought her own satisfaction. He talked dirty into her ear, asking her again and again how she liked it, what she wanted until she yelped as her pussy pulsed against his leg.

  “Very, very nice,” he hummed into her ear, rolling her onto her back and looming over her. She spread her legs, welcoming him back inside. This time rocking their hips in a primal, perfect rhythm, they came together in a loud burst of erotic energy.

  “Je-sus Christ,” he sighed as he pulled out and flopped onto his back. “I don’t think I’ve done that since I was seventeen or eighteen. You are a saucy minx, aren’t ya?”

  She lay there, panting, staring up at the ceiling, unable to believe her good luck at this moment. Her stomach made an embarrassing sound and she giggled, curling into his side once more.

  “So, now that I’ve rocked your world a few times, what say we strap on the feed bag,” he asked, his voice sleepy and warm.

  “Sure,” she said, her eyes closing, smelling his skin and their combined sexual aura all around her.

  When she woke, he had his jeans on and was sitting on a chair, one foot propped on the bed, a beer in his hand, his blue eyes dark. “Ugh,” she said, rolling to the other side. “I don’t suppose you managed to bring toothbrushes as part of your extreme planning,” she asked, stumbling to the bathroom.

  “Yep,” he said. “On the sink.”

  Tidy-up completed, she wandered out, still naked. He grinned and held up his beer. “Let’s eat, lovely, sexy, maiden, lest we waste away to nothing.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Don’t be nervous,” Terry kept insisting as he drove them to a restaurant at Ft. Knox—not the base itself, but the town named for it. The security at the base was way too tight to allow tourists. He had her hand gripped tight as he drove, Raybans on, something very special in his leather jacket pocket. Something he wanted to share with his friends, and the woman he’d now admit he loved.

  He was almost thirty-three. It was time, he figured. He’d made a level of peace with his father and Renee, to the point that his father had fronted him some money the week before. If he took the security job the guy was going to offer him—Ghost had confirmed that this meeting was merely a formality—he’d be able to pay it back inside of two or three months, the pay was so damn good. If he could work out one small detail—that the job would allow him to run practices and games for the soccer team again next fall—he’d be sitting pretty.

  He smiled over at Mariah who sat, looking gorgeous and calm in her cream-colored blouse and light leather jacket over dark jeans and boots. She had on a pair of sunglasses that matched his—something they’d discovered and laughed about until she told him her father was career army, so it made sense. That had set him back at first, but he figured if the guy was military he’d have some respect for an honorably discharged Delta Force Operator, injured in the line of duty and about to start pulling a hundred G’s a year—to start—as IT consultant to a large security business.

  He’d even taken the rash step of seeking out her parents on his own. Not too hard since he knew her father was retired Army. He’d called the man up, respectfully asked to meet him and they’d had him in their home in Louisville. An entirely awkward meeting, thanks to her mother. But Retired Sergeant Bailey had been calm, and welcoming. And had given his blessing.

  “I love you,” he blurted out, as they sat at a red light a few blocks from the restaurant where he’d introduce her to his real family—Ghost and Fletch and Truck—and his new boss, a Mr. Grant Fredricks. The Raybans hid her eyes, but he saw her jaw tighten, felt the way she tugged her hand, trying to free it from his grip. But he wouldn’t let go.

  “Don’t give up,” Ghost had advised him. He hadn’t. He’d planned and set up their B&B encounter right after that conversation, determined to win her, to make her go out with him, to let him make love to her again and again—which she had, and then some.

  They’d been inseparable for the last three weeks since the end of the soccer season—his team was good, but not good enough for district playoffs, not this year anyway. He and Cole played for hours on weekends, took long, rambling walks, made endless Lego towers, and he sensed himself falling as deeply in love with that damn kid as he’d fallen for the kid’s mother.

  Love.

  What a fucking buzz.

  But he didn’t like the way Mariah was pulling away from him now. Granted that was a bit of a bombshell but he had an even bigger one for her in his pocket right now. Comforting himself with the reminder that she had let him stay over at her place, all the way through the night, just last night which had been a huge step for her, he knew.

  He also realized that he was making some serious assumptions, based on the fact that they’d known each other for a grand total of four months and she’d spent two of those months ignoring him, pretending she didn’t care about him, as she’d admitted more than once.

  “Stay,” she’d said, her voice sleepy and sweet with satisfaction that he’d bestowed on her. He loved nothing more than making Mariah come—and she would come, a lot, sometimes fast; sometimes it took a while and he adored every minute he spent making that happen. Because every time he did, he recovered a small piece of himself after the drama and horrors of his past few years.

  They’d fucked themselves silly, truth be told. He’d snuck up on her after hours in her office, locked the door and had her bent over her desk within five minutes. She’d snuck up on him in the locker room, locked that door and said she’d always had this deep, dark but very serious fantasy about locker rooms—a fantasy he’d fulfilled for her.

  She’d even met him after his late shift at the brewery, pulled him back inside to the deserted interior and made him take her up against one of the tall, stainless steel vessels, hard and fast. He’d shown up with flowers, wine, and tickets to a musical she’d wanted to see in Louisville and they’d spent a long, glorious weekend at the Galt House, discovering each other’s bodies and hearts in ways he never thought he’d enjoy, ever.

  And now…
“Stay,” she’d said last night as he started to roll out from underneath her covers. “Please, Terry. I want you to stay.” So he had stayed, holding her close the entire night, rising to make coffee and breakfast and greeting a delighted Cole when he emerged from his room, rubbing his eyes with a dark fist.

  This was right. He was ready. He didn’t want anything but her, all of her, all the time, as his—his wife, and Cole as his son.

  She chewed on her lower lip as he pulled into the parking lot. He hopped out and came around to let her out—so many habits were ingrained in him he insisted on going old school with her, like opened car doors—determined not to be deterred by her reaction. As she stepped down to the pavement, he pulled her into his arms and buried his face in her wild tangle of wiry hair. “I love you,” he repeated.

  “I…I know. I…think I…”

  “Hey, there he is!” The sound of a familiar voice cut through his slightly panicked fog.

  “Trigger,” his old commander’s voice came next, making his heart beat faster as if on reflex. “Don’t be rude. Introduce us to your friend.”

  ***

  Mariah’s head was spinning by the time she looked over Terry’s shoulder and spotted three men, two of them huge, one of them slightly less so, all moving in the careful, observant way she’d come to associate with her—what? Her boyfriend? Lover? Friend with amazing bennies?

  She wasn’t ready for this. Not at all. But she’d agreed to accompany him because he really wanted her to, and she liked making the man happy.

  Was that love? Had that been how she felt about Cole’s father all those years ago?

  “I love you,” he’d said out of the clear blue. Not once, but twice. It had caught her off guard and she’d blown it. Because she did love him. At times when they were apart in the past weeks, she’d felt physically bereft, as if she’d lost a limb. When they were together, she was so happy, comfortable in her skin in a way she’d never felt before. Plus, he always made Cole feel included, but without sucking up to him.

  But…love? Now? And all these guys…

  They stood in a line, grinning at her and at Terry in a way that made her feel exposed, naked.

  “Mariah,” Terry said, his arm draped over her shoulders. “This is Ghost.” He’d explained the nicknames thing to her, telling her that by introducing his friends to her that way they’d know she was someone special. She’d been amused by this, as if he wanted to initiate her into some silly backyard club.

  But standing here now, surrounded by these giant, obviously deadly serious killers, she realized her mistake. This was Terry’s world, his life—a life he’d said more than once he’d still be living but for a piece of shrapnel that had hit his head so hard he’d spent two weeks in a medically induced coma to halt the swelling of his brain.

  “Hi,” she said, feeling shyer than she had in years. “Nice to meet you all.”

  Ghost appraised her—but not in a lecherous way. More in a way she recalled from old boyfriends’ parents. The others waited, as if for his verdict. She stuck out her hand after a while, confused by the scene and how she should take it. “Terry’s told me…um… a lot about you, Ghost. Thanks for letting me tag along today.” The huge, muscled man looked at it as if she’d offered him a dead fish. Then his face brightened and his lips split into a huge grin.

  “I like her,” he said, slapping Terry on the back so hard the man—no slouch in the muscles department—stumbled forward. The he picked her up until her feet dangled and gave her a tight hug. “Be good to him,” he whispered, before planting a big kiss on her cheek and setting her down.

  The others seemed to relax and they too gave her hugs, which went a long way toward easing her anxiety. Terry got his own hugs, then he shook the hand of a fourth man who’d walked up and introduced himself as Grant Fredricks, Terry’s future boss.

  The dinner was a raucous affair, with the men talking over each other, even Grant, who’d been the Navy version of these men, as a SEAL. They gave Terry all kinds of hell for being a “soccer coach,” but she could sense the level of respect they still had for him. At one point Fletch begged her to sing a few lines from “If I Were a Boy,” the Beyoncé song that had won the Singing competition and she obliged him, which made the entire table, and the tables around them fall silent for a few seconds.

  “Hot damn, those are some pipes,” Fletch said with a smack to the back of Terry’s head. Terry shot his former colleague in arms a dark glare.

  “Her pipes are not for your perusal, fuck-wad,” he muttered, putting a hand on her leg under the table.

  Contrary to her typical, knee-jerk response to something so possessive and testosterone-driven, she felt a thrill of happiness at his words. When he turned to her as if checking to make sure she wasn’t pissed off, she smiled and put her hand over his under the table.

  After the men had put away an astonishing amount of food between them, they each had a dollop of chocolate and vanilla frozen yogurt in front of them. Terry kept glancing at her even as he spoke to his friends. “You full?” he asked, indicating her untouched dessert.

  “I’m stuffed, sorry.” She sipped her coffee, enjoying the banter and laughter all around her, her previous dismay at his declaration of love fading as the dinner went on.

  “Oh, well, uh, just one bite? For me?”

  She frowned at him, on edge once again. He looked so handsome—fresh shaven for this meeting after about a week of letting his dark stubble fill in, stubble that had made her squeal when he’d rubbed it against the inside of her thighs. He had on dark jeans, and a tight gray T-shirt that emphasized the killer perfection of his body. His Raybans were pushed up on the deep, chestnut brown hair she’d asked him to grow in some.

  His grin now was eager, a little shy and small boy-like as if he had a secret. Panic settled in her chest as she leaned away from him and the table quieted, all eyes on them.

  He picked up her spoon and put it to her lips, smiling in encouragement. She sucked in a breath, glanced around at all the sets of eyeballs focused on them and took the bite, her gaze back on Terry’s deep blue eyes.

  “What the,” she mumbled, when her teeth hit something hard and definitely not frozen yogurt. She spit the thing into her hand, where it sat in a mess of melty dessert and saliva, like an omen, or a talisman, or a red flag to her brain. “No,” she whispered, staring at it before closing her eyes.

  “Mariah,” Terry said, his voice firm and loud.

  “No,” she said, curling her fingers around the mess—and the engagement ring that lay in her palm. “Terry, what are you doing?”

  “I’m asking if you’ll marry me,” he said, so matter-of-factly it made her face hot with embarrassed fury.

  “Why here?” she whispered, trying to ignore the fact that the men had resumed their conversations in a loud, showy way, as if to prove they weren’t really paying attention.

  “Because,” he said, his face reddening in a way she recognized. Terry rarely got mad. In fact, his ability to stay calm in face of situations that would make most men lose every shit they possessed impressed her. He’d get mad at “the kids” as he called them. “The idiots, dumb asses, douche-nozzles” who peopled his soccer team and who hung on his every utterance since he’d proven himself as a coach, and a mentor.

  When he got mad at them, he let it rip like nobody’s business.

  His face looked like one of those moments now. It frightened her a little, not for herself but for his dignity in front of these other men. “I love you, Mariah. I want us to be together, forever,” he said, keeping his voice even, even as the color rose in his cheeks. “I thought you wanted the same thing.”

  “I … don’t know, Terry.”

  But she did. Oh, she did so badly it hurt, like a spike in the middle of her chest. What she didn’t like was feeling railroaded, pressed into a corner, forced to make a life-changing decision over frozen yogurt in front of a bunch of guys she’d just met.

  Shit, she’d only known Terr
y for four months.

  Four months that felt like a lifetime of perfection.

  Stop, she said to herself. Get a grip, Mariah. Act like a grown-up.

  “Trigger,” Ghost said, as sotto voce as he could manage for a man so large. “Maybe you two should go outside.”

  Terry ignored him, keeping his fierce gaze fixed on her. She swallowed hard, stood, and placed the ring on the table in front of him, willing him to read her mind. When he stayed seated, she walked out, ears ringing and chest aching with embarrassed remorse.

  ***

  “Dude, what the fuck,” Truck said, once the door had opened, then closed behind Mariah. Terry sat, hands balled into fists on his knees. What a colossal idiot he was even to think that she’d want anyone like him. He was just a stupid college dropout, a dumb jock, a redneck grunt of a soldier who’d spent years training himself how to be among the elite, only to let a fucking piece of metal take it away from him.

  “Fuck it,” he muttered. “Fuck this.” He raised his hand to get the server’s attention. “Whiskey,” he said. “Five glasses.”

  She brought it and he poured for everyone, including a double pour for himself which he knocked back before refilling his glass. “Sorry,” he said, at some point. He barely heard their responses.

  “Trigger,” Ghost said at one point as he realized he was completely fucked up, shit-faced, sloshed—which hadn’t taken much, since he hadn’t imbibed hard liquor in months. He looked blearily at his former commander, his friend. “You blindsided her. A tactical error, but one you can remedy. Come on, give me your keys. I’ll drive you home.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Five Months Later

  “Mama,” Cole whined, again. Mariah winced and bit back the urge to snap at him. Channeling what she recalled from the way Terry would manage that urge, she took a long, deep breath, counted to ten, and smiled before answering, letting the smile filter through to her voice.