by Angel Payne
Normally, that would be okay. After so many years of being put on display at Mom and Dad’s soirees, paraded into jokes about early marriage offers to someone’s sweet Diana or Lizbet or MarySue, he valued his solitude at things like this. But tonight was different. Tonight, he wanted to be in the middle of the room. Right next to Ava. Telling her to put her damn shoes on and stop looking like she’d killed someone this afternoon, instead of making him the most fulfilled man on earth.
All right, so Bella lived on the beach. And once she and the guys arrived for the party, swimsuits and cocktails made shoes an afterthought for everyone. Not the thought to make him ease on the demonic stare. He wasn’t going to settle for hopping back into Ava’s “afterthoughts” basket, a truth that would start with making the woman talk to him about the real reason behind her cut-and-run this afternoon.
From what he could see, a palm tree would work as well as a pine for pin-down purposes. After that, it was just a matter of creatively guiding the conversation. Thanks to his hook-up with Bernardo Galvaz three days ago, he was scalpel-sharp on that skill, too.
All he had to do was wait.
Just a few minutes longer…
He’d watched her carefully from the juncture of the terrace to the living room. He was dry, having gotten into his trunks but too tense for a dunk with the guys. Her swim outfit went unused too, since she hadn’t ventured past the terrace herself while handling the party logistics. About a half hour ago, she’d stopped for a plate of food plus a glass of white wine and a bottle of water for balance. She was breaking into the second water now because Tait had dared her to a spicy shrimp eating contest. The result ended in a tie but her cheeks were adorably red and her eyes watered as she chugged half the bottle. A trip to the bathroom for relief wasn’t long off.
“Two minutes tops,” he muttered to himself.
She barely lasted one.
The second Ava turned from Tait, who now had ten shrimp tails to his fingers and choreographed them to an off-key version of the latest Lady Gaga hit, Ethan was ready. As he expected, she headed for the palace-sized bathroom off the living room’s upper landing. Perfect. He moved as well, starting down the terrace in a deceptively calm stride. She glanced at his new course—part of her I’m-avoiding-you-but-tracking-your-every-move thing with him now—but the glass between them did its job. After she realized he was outside, her stride visibly relaxed.
She had no idea, as she closed the bathroom door, that he’d be past the slider on the far end of the terrace, through the den beyond that and on the landing waiting after she’d washed up with Bella’s gold-flecked hand soap.
But as they often said on the team, a funny thing happened on the way to the ambush.
Clearing the terrace was an effortless hump. The glitch came once he hit the den—and found the room occupied. Sage Hawkins and Rayna Chestain were relaxing on the plush furniture, looking like new recruits to host one of those midmorning girlie chat shows. Their giggles had a naughty bite, as if they were discussing trendy sex positions or new condom flavors. But for all he knew, the subject could’ve been repurposing dryer lint into Christmas ornaments. Didn’t matter much. They hushed the second he entered. A second later, the edge in Rayna’s laugh climbed into her gaze, gaining a determined light.
Hell. Maybe this was more than a glitch.
“Ladies.” He nodded and attempted a cordial smile. “Good evening.”
“Well hi there, Sergeant Archer.” Sage lifted a hand off her rounded stomach to wave. “Damn. It still feels good to say that.”
“Ethan.” Rayna issued it with a little more purpose. “You’re just the guy I was hoping to see.”
Way more than a glitch.
Shit.
He spread his hands. “Ah, well…here I am. Now you see me,” —he started toward the door— “and now you won’t. Sorry I interr—”
“You’re not interrupting. We were just catching up. We have lots of time to chat again tomorrow.” Rayna shot one of those glances at Sage, comprehendible only if someone had matching chromosomes. “Can’t we, sweetie?”
“Damn straight.” Sage nodded and started scooting off the couch. “Best that I go check in with Sergeant Hawkins anyhow, before he gets paranoid and sends a drone to scout for me and Little Hawk.”
Ethan offered his arm so Sage could rise all the way up. After he helped her toward the door, Rayna motioned for him to shut the door. “You want to sit down?” she asked as he walked past a flat screen and sound system that practically begged for his drool.
“Do I have a choice?”
Rayna answered the smirk he gave it with a little laugh as he lowered into a leather easy chair. If he wasn’t so sure what was coming next he’d groan his thanks to the thing for making butter-soft love to his ass, but Rayna was the closest person on earth to Ava and her scrutiny told him she wasn’t here to banter about the genius of Bella’s interior designer. Realigning his features into a determined stare, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He was ready for this conversation. Had been ready for seven months. Let it rip, woman.
“So hey, Runway.” Her bright tone was a sham and they both knew it. “Did you and my cousin have a fun time this afternoon?”
He let half his smile linger, enough to tell her he’d clearly understood her meaning behind “fun.” Since he hadn’t noticed Ava exchanging more than a fast hug or two with Rayna tonight, he also assumed the query was an informational fishing expedition.
“Ava worked,” he said. “I helped.” He purposely didn’t put anything on the hook but that. If Rayna wanted to make this the share-and-care hour, that was fine, but she’d be the one sharing. He had the caring part covered. After this afternoon, more than he wanted to admit.
“Hmm.” Rayna tilted her head, her dark green eyes probing toward him, her dark red hair falling over the shoulder of her swimsuit cover thing. “She works hard.”
“Yeah, she does.”
“Nothing got handed to her on a platter. The career she has is all because of her efforts. And it’s important to her.”
The talk show banter had progressively vanished from her voice. Though its newest inflections of accusation were slight, Ethan combined them with the woman’s battle-ready body angle, and chose to speak his impression out loud.
“Is this where we cut through the bullshit, Rayna?” He squared his shoulders. “Because I’m ready if you are.”
The woman’s lips lifted. Her pose straightened. He’d expected as much. The collar at her neck declared she was Zeke Hayes’s sole submissive, a distinction requiring a woman of guts, fortitude, and brutal honesty. His statement conveyed he respected her for all that and more.
“Fine.” The word was snippy but her tone was warm. “It was clear to me, after I caught you with my cousin on Sage and Garrett’s wedding day, that washing Ava’s lipstick off your face wasn’t going to get her off your mind.”
“Smart woman,” he murmured.
“Thank you. That makes it easier to reveal that I did a little reading up on you.”
Ethan didn’t shift his mien. Instinct told him she was making this interview a part of that “reading.” He’d learned, not long after donning the Special Forces beret, to obey the hell out of his intuitions. “Hope it wasn’t too boring.”
“On the contrary,” Rayna returned. “Pretty interesting stuff. Let me see if I have this straight. Ethan Aaron Archer. Turned twenty-six last month. Only child of Penelope and Robert Archer of Atherton, California. Played soccer and baseball until high school, switched to polo after that.” Her features caved to a full what-the-hell. “Polo? Seriously? Does anyone on this side of the world play that?”
“In Atherton they do.” He fitted his hands together, fingers to fingers, while trying to maintain his game face. It was his job to dig out shit like this about other peoples’ lives, not have his own exposed. Table in the back for one, waiter. Last name Uncomfortable, first name Very.
Rayna tilted her head on a playful slant. �
��So which one did you like the best?”
“Chess.”
“Huh? Never found anything about you playing chess.”
“Of course you didn’t.” He purposely cocked a brow. “Not something the parental units wanted out in the open. Chess players didn’t make interesting conversation pieces at the summer gala or elegant dance partners for daughters at the winter cotillion. Neither did video game geeks.”
“What? Say it isn’t so!” Her scandalized giggle made him grin despite the awkwardness still parading in his veins.
“My polo coach was a douche, so I’d cut practice and go hang with my friend Parker. Thanks to his software guru dad, who was also a gamer, we got advanced beta copies of all the big ones. Half-Life, Halo, Grand Theft Auto, all the Marios…” He laughed softly. “Even all the Minecraft updates.”
“I love Minecraft!”
“Who doesn’t?”
She sobered a little. “So is that what got you starry-eyed about joining up? Playing the shoot-em-up military games?”
He rolled up on his posture. Stamped her harder with his gaze. Much harder. “The only stars that came near my decision were the ones on the flag I defend, Rayna.” He expected the skepticism that tightened her features. It was why he continued with, “I’ll tell you about the day that decision came. I wasn’t five. I wasn’t fifteen. I was twenty-one. It was June, and I was almost done with my sophomore year at Stanford—and I could barely face the day because I was so hung over. I stumbled to a convenience store after a fraternity rager. It was six in the morning, and I hoped to consume enough coffee and doughnuts to force my liver to forgive me so I could make my way through a hairy midterm that morning.”
He caught her gaze narrowing but expected it. Relaying this story was never easy, but it was critical that he never forgot it.
“Poor little rich kid, right?” he went on. “Had to interrupt the party to do something like school? Well, that’s what I was standing there groaning about, when the door opened to the store and a guy strolled in. Wasn’t much older than me, even looked about the same as me. Difference was, he didn’t stink like a bottle of Patrón and he was actually lucid. And smiling. And excited about the day. He told the clerk about how he was going to hear about his scholarship application that day, about how hard he’d worked on the damn thing, and how much he’d dreamed of getting into Stanford since hearing about the engineering program. Seemed he wanted to design and build better prosthetics for veterans.” He shook his head. “Man, I yearned to be that guy. I wanted to know what it was like to have a dream about something more than me, about the slot I was already guaranteed in the family empire. I wanted to work for something. To care about something. To connect to something…bigger.
“That’s when I looked down. And I saw that the guy had made that happy entrance on two prosthetics of his own. I also noticed the tats on both his thighs, above his attachment sockets. One was the eagle, globe, and anchor of the Marine Corps. The other was just one word. Kandahar.”
Rayna shifted a little and cleared her throat. “So…what?” she queried. “The little rich boy had a sudden epiphany?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged again. “I know it sounds lame, but…yeah.” He rose and crossed the room, looking out at the beach and the waves. “I looked into that marine’s eyes, at his pride in where he’d been and his hope in where he was going, and realized I’d never seen that same light in the mirror. I also knew I never would, if I kept skipping down the pretty crystal path in front of me.”
“So you just dynamited the path?”
He gave a wry snort before turning back. “Pretty much.”
“And your parents were cool with that?”
“They got over it.” He jammed his hands into his pockets. “Eventually.”
Rayna studied him in silence for a long moment. “Pretty gutsy, Mr. Archer.”
“No,” he rejoined. “Not gutsy. Pretty fucking selfish, actually.”
“I don’t follow.”
He twisted his lips. Letting Rayna in on the basics was one thing, but letting her further in, admitting this really tough shit? He had to be a goddamn head case. What was with these Chestain women and their gift for filling the air with some subsonic, give-me-all-your-secrets siren song?
“I had the silver spoon, Rayna, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted more. I wanted to be more, to stand for something more. Things were happening fast in the world. Afghanistan was still a crazy scene. Terrorists were still infiltrating the Philippines, and Korea was—is—a giant pot of insanity.” After the adrenalin wore off from saying all that, a beam of understanding hit bull’s-eye in his mind. He spoke it in a troubled mutter. “But yeah, maybe I did have a few stars in my eyes.”
Her response came equally soft. “There’s nothing wrong with that.” She shifted again, coming forward to lean her forearms on her pressed knees. “And now that I know this about you, it’s much harder for me to say this.”
The siren’s song hit a nerve-racking discord. Ethan gripped the lining of both pockets with coiled fingers. “To say what?” The words, low and taut, came from the pit of his gut.
Rayna twisted the hem of her cover-up. “Those stars, Ethan…they need to stop before they get fixed on Ava.”
Nice. The second he decided to reconnect with his gut, she sent in that bomb of bile. He would normally order the shit into submission and tell himself to get a grip on the melodrama but Rayna wasn’t a weepy megaphone. The stare she wore now was a hundred percent sincere.
“Is it someone else?” After this afternoon he highly doubted that, but diving for the usual suspects was all his mind could maneuver right now.
“No.” Rayna let out a long sigh. “If it was, that might make things easier.”
“Great.” He pivoted back toward the window. The coastal fog layer, a nighttime fixture this time of year, crept over the water like a Radiohead song. Moody, resigned. “And you didn’t think to share this with me back in January?”
“Because it’s not really my shit to share, okay? Besides, I thought you’d get the picture, dumbass. It seemed like you did, too. You finally backed off—”
“It was temporary.” He swore one of the clouds scowled at him. Same to you, buddy. “Sometimes retreating is the best option. Helps for strategy. And stamina.”
She groaned. “Did you get that one from Zeke?”
“No. But I’ll take that as a compliment.”
She nested her head in her fingers and shook it. “So I take it you’ve made Ava aware of your…newfound stamina?” One of her fingers shot up. “Don’t answer that. I forgot about your unique reunion with her at the studio this morning. And your creative self-invite out here, too. And the way you’ve been guarding her—oops, I mean watching her—since we all got here.”
He braced a hand against the window. It anchored him from whirling and pinning the woman with a justified glower. “I’m a goal-oriented man. Sometimes my means are…vigorous. But the end to those means is Ava’s happiness.” The statement acted like an affirmation, calming him enough to turn around. “Ava’s had a pretty good day, Rayna. I can promise you that.”
Good scenario reaction? She’d smile, nod, maybe tack on a couple thumbs up.
Best scenario reaction? She’d rise, hug him, and officially give him her “Chestain Cuz Blessing.”
Greatest scenario reaction? All of the above plus her help in getting Ava away from the party again.
There were a few more setups in his head but none included the woman’s huffing lurch to her feet. They sure as hell didn’t include her piercing glare or twisting lips. “Good day?” she charged. “Yeah, I’ll bet. Like a heroin junkie has a ‘good day’ when they can ride the horse for hours on end.”
He felt his whole face tightening. “What the hell are you—”
She silenced him by grabbing his hands, gripping with pressure that went beyond anger. She was scared. The tremors beneath her fingers verified it. “She couldn’t help herself, Ethan. You’re everythin
g she craves, okay? And everything she’s terrified to want, ever again.”
Voicing his confusion about that wasn’t going to help. He stepped and sat on the couch, wordlessly beckoning for her to do the same. That gave him time to pull in a much-needed breath.
After Rayna settled, he directed, “Start by defining ‘everything.’”
She matched his inhalation before speaking. “She’s like a sister to me. I think you know that already. We grew up together. Subsequently, we hit puberty together. And when a girl starts noticing boys in a city like Tacoma—”
“That includes the guys from the base.”
She popped a finger to her nose, confirming his direct hit. “We drooled over the army and air force hunks together for years but by the time our dads allowed us out on dates, I’d had it with the chest-beating shit, thanks to those seven clods who call themselves my brothers.”
It wasn’t the time or place to point out that the woman’s collar had been bestowed by the world’s biggest chest beater. This was about Ava, and the fact that every instinct in his body was a rocket of anticipation in staring at her cousin. He knew, with burning certainty, Rayna was about to give him a huge key of revelation about Ava’s turf-ripper exit today—and likely the glacier she’d been giving him for the last seven months.
He considered himself a patient guy. But telling her to get the hell on with it was a bark that begged to be unleashed off his tongue.
“Ethaaaaannn. Ohmigod, here you are!”
The delighted squeal, coming from the freshly opened doorway and the woman who filled it, cranked his tension even higher. “Bella.” Screw the bark. He went straight for the snarl. “Look, it’s really not—”
“A good idea to avoid your party hosteth.” She snaked onto his lap while moaning at her slur, giving him a face full of her barely covered chest—and her vodka-laced breath. “Umm, hosteff. Hostess. Yaaayy, I did it!” She waved her fingertips at Rayna. “Hiiii. Are you havin’ fun?”