by Angel Payne
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Sergeant Archer! Over here! Over here, please. Just one more shot. Ms. Chestain, can you get him to look back over here? We’re from People; we want this one for the cover. Good; good! Yeah, make this the money shot!”
The money shot?
Ethan couldn’t take it anymore. With a polite but brusque wave, he turned, ran up the steps and past the two marines standing sentry at the door of Air Force One. Thankfully, Ava followed him. A hostess welcomed him on behalf of President Nichols, then led him into a swanky conference room surrounded by cushy leather chairs, four of which were occupied by Franzen, Rhett, Rebel, and Kellan. The table was already set with five huge trays of assorted food, everything from fried chicken, gourmet pizza, and chili fries to assorted cupcakes and cheesecake slices.
Ethan ran an admiring gaze over the dining choices. The spread looked amazing. But the best thing about this space was how it cut the din of the press throng to nearly nothing. Thank fuck.
“Hey there, Runway.” Franz cracked a grin that split his tanned cheeks, lifting a bottle of something that looked dark, imported and cold. “Nice of you to wave good-bye to your groupies and join us for the special shuttle home, courtesy of your new buddy.”
He leaned forward. “No, no, no, Captain. I’m Runway, not Zsycho. He’s the one with the groupies, remember?”
Rhett snickered. “Groupies, yes. But President Nichols on speed dial and a ride in Big Bird One?” He waggled both pointer fingers across the table, a hipster in Class A’s. “It’s all you, baby; it’s all you.”
Ethan cringed. “Is that your New York side talking, your London side talking, or your dork-on-a-stick side talking?” He peered around. “Speaking of the big groupie magnet, where the hell is he?”
“Z took a few extra days of leave,” Franz explained. “He and Rayna decided to stay so they can help Sage and Garrett with little Racer Joseph during the drive back up the coast.”
Rhett snorted. “Racer Hawkins. That fits, considering the kid’s rush to get here.”
Franzen took another swig on his beer and came out of the quaff more somber. “He was still big as a house. Looks just like Garrett, too. Guess the kid just knew his mama needed him around. We really didn’t know if Hawk was going to pull through.”
“Thank God he did.” The soft murmur came from the woman who sat next to him. Ava was more gorgeous today than he ever remembered, her lush curls falling over a little black sweater that covered the top of a white sundress with a full skirt, with the curves of her legs shown off by a classy pair of black patent pumps. But her beauty was about more than her wardrobe. It began in the satiny glow of her skin, shined from her entrancing eyes, captivated him in every inch of her joyous smile, and especially the sweet words that spilled from it.
After they took off from LAX, he accepted a glass of Scotch from the flight attendant and made sure Ava had some light wine, then leaned his head back and closed his eyes. It had been three days since the insanity at the soundstage. Sometimes it felt like only three minutes, sometimes three years—especially when he relented and gave an interview, only to be hounded by the journalist to give up details about the episode that had been ordered as classified. No, he couldn’t talk about the terrorists or what they’d wanted. No, he couldn’t talk about who’d been killed or how. Yes, he really did cut off the president’s hand to save his life. Yes, Bella Lanza was really that gorgeous in real life. Not quite the truth? Maybe some bubbles were best left unbroken.
Yeah…life needed a few more bubbles, period. If the last ten days had illuminated a lesson for him on top of schmoozing with Hollywood’s elite, spending an unforgettable day with the president and hitching a ride home on Air Force One, it was that life—and love—themselves were made up of bubbles: precious pieces of beauty too often popped in the name of something as stupid as pride, fear, prejudice…or emotional baggage. Bubbles needed to be cherished. Bubbles needed to be defended, guarded, and fought for with all the valiance in a guy’s soul, all the love in his heart.
Rebel’s soft bayou twang tugged at the edges of Ethan’s reverie.
“Franz? Did you get an update about T-Bomb, too?”
Their captain’s features tightened from serious to grim. “Hospital’s keeping him for a while longer. The fucker refuses to stay in bed. He sneaks to Luna’s side every chance he can get. They’re still amazed he walked away from the blast with just a snapped collarbone and a shit ton of bruises. Runway, you probably saved his life by trying to pull him back. Those few seconds made the difference.”
“Psshh.” Rhett loaded his plate with another slice of pizza. “First the president, then T-Bomb. Do we have to get him a cape and a magic ring now?”
Ethan glared. “Stuff that pie into your hole before I give you something else for it.”
“In your dreams, pretty boy.”
“And Luna?” Rhett asked after giving them both a dismissive eye roll. “How’s she doing?”
Franz gave him a look that declared the answer wouldn’t be pretty. “No change. The blast fucked her up something fierce. The docs won’t bring her out of the medically-induced coma yet. They’re hopeful her brain and body will heal from the rest. She’s a fighter, and all the signs are there that she’ll pull through, but there just won’t be a definitive answer for another few days. As we speak, Tait’s brother is flying to LA, so he won’t be alone in all this.”
“Shay’s a good man,” Kellan commented. “Is he still with the seventh, out of Florida?”
Franz nodded. “Good memory. But you know how deep into the shit they still are overseas. Took them a while to find them, even longer to procure the right paperwork for his leave.”
Ethan quietly excused himself, making a beeline for the little hallway that led, if he remembered right, to the president’s senior staffers’ meeting room. As always, the talk about Tait made him restless. Both he and T-Bomb had been the fucking lucky ones during the insanity in LA, each finding the woman that perfectly snagged their heart. He still couldn’t accept the monkey wrench fate had decided to hurl at Tait and Luna on the way to their happy ending. On the other hand, he knew few soldiers who had stronger spirits than Tait Bommer. If anyone could fight for Luna like this and win, it would be him.
“Damn,” he muttered. The staffers’ room was even nicer than the dining room. The couches were leather, the cup holders were backlit, and there was a huge flat screen on the wall.
“Sergeant Archer?” the flight attendant appeared in the doorway carrying more beers and a plate full of jalapeño poppers. Sheez. Hadn’t someone told the woman this flight was only two and a half hours long? “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Sorry,” he mumbled, “Just feeling restless.” Her kind brown eyes and understanding smile gave him a surge of boldness. “Hey, is the president up and about?” He guessed that was how they said it in the rarified air of the oval office, even if it was airborne right now.
“Well, he is,” she answered slowly, “but the doctors have only cleared him for six hours of work a day while his hand heals. He’s lucky they were able to reattach it, and he needs to take it easy.” She laughed a little. “The conference call he’s on right now will officially push him into seven, meaning I’m gonna have to get on my bitch broom.”
“Not that,” Ethan teased. He spread his hands. “No worries. And…sorry. I wasn’t snooping. Just—”
“Restless,” she finished amiably. “I get it. My husband’s on a SWAT team in DC. He gets like this after a shitty op, and he’s never had to cut off the president’s hand before.”
On his way back to the dining room, Ethan concluded that Mr. SWAT Team Husband was a seriously lucky man.
The next second, he counted himself even luckier.
As he walked past the women’s bathroom, he heard soft singing. In Spanish. He felt a smile curling his lips as he braced his hands to either side of the doorway. Without another word, he patiently waited.
It didn’t take her too long to finish up. When she slid back the door and confronted him there, a very startled and damn cute dios mio! popped out of her mouth. Unable to resist, Ethan caught the last of it with his lips.
And as it happened so many times when he kissed her, he couldn’t settle for just a tiny taste. Or just a gentle greeting. He had to have her fire. Her desire. Her passion. Her gasps.
Her surrender.
It involved the work of three steps to get her back into the little compartment. It was bigger than a normal airline bathroom but not by much, meaning he had to be near her, anyway. While dipping his mouth to hers again, fusing their connection with the open thrust of his tongue, he dug his hands into her waist and hiked her onto the little counter next to the sink. As her little squeal of surprise tickled his ear, his dick surged to full attention.
When they dragged free to catch their breaths, he smiled into her face and murmured, “Hello, sunshine.”
Ava giggled, the sound an intoxicating mix of husky and sweet. “I wondered where you’d gone.”
“I was restless.”
“I can tell.”
He dipped his head to lick the sensitive spot below her ear. Ava retaliated by grabbing him by the nape and scoring his scalp with her slender nails. “Fuck!” He hissed as she did it again. “Do you know what that does to my cock, baby?”
She drew up the pointer finger of her other hand and wobbled it in front of his lips. “Uh, uh, uh.” Her singsong was even more maddening when she tugged her bottom lip between her teeth. “The President of the United States is twenty feet away, Sergeant Archer. No inductees to the mile-high club on Air Force One.”
He answered that by rolling the tip of his tongue along her lip, coaxing her to set it free for him. When she released a longing sigh, he sucked it in via a long, tantalizing kiss. By the time he let her go again, her limbs were limp, her eyes heavy…
And her pussy soaking wet.
“Oh!” Her lazy gaze vanished at the first flick of his thumb against her clit. With wide eyes and parted lips, she fumed as he continued to play, clearly ramping up her arousal not in spite of their surroundings, but because of them. “Ethan! Quitaté! We can’t!”
“Your mouth is telling me one thing but your body is telling me another, sunshine.” He pushed back her thighs another inch, spreading her wider for him before he made fast work of his fly, releasing his penis so its moist crown helped his fingers tug aside her soaked panties. “Why don’t we let it have a chat with mine?”
“Ohhh.” Her moan was long, tormented, and sexy as hell. “Dear God, you’re a heathen. No-nobody does this on the president’s plane!”
He rolled his hips, knowing the movement stimulated the entire ring of quivering tissues at her entrance. “I can guarantee you, baby, Craig and his first lady have definitely given it a whirl.”
“That’s—that’s different.”
“How? Why?” He slid in a little deeper, letting her hear his own pleased groan. Fuck, she felt so good. So right. So perfect. So his.
“They’re the president and first lady. They’re married!”
He was only halfway in but he paused right where he was. “And you’re my first lady.” He lifted a hand to her face. “So say you’ll be my wife, too.”
Her indigo eyes went wide. She gripped his neck harder. “Are you—do you know what you just—”
“I know exactly what I said. I love you, Ava. And I need you in my life.” He dipped his head and kissed her soundly but sweetly. Since his cock was already buried halfway inside her, he needed to keep something about this on the level of chaste and serious. “I know we have some things to work out. I’m stationed in Tacoma but I don’t have to live there. I like LA—as long as you’re there with me.” He softly nipped the corner of her jaw. “We can even talk about that little house with the swing set…if you want.”
She moaned once more but this time it vibrated with conflict. “I—I don’t know what to say.”
He ran his mouth over her lips again. Her nose. The lids of her eyes. “Say yes. Surrender to me, Ava. Surrender to us.”
He showered her in more soft kisses. In more of his wordless, boundless love. In the caresses that showed her how he yearned to cherish her for the rest of their lives.
At last, a sigh spilled from her that echoed straight into his soul. Ethan surged his body into hers, turning them into one being. She finished her breath with the word that changed his world the same way she’d connected to his soul, consumed his heart, and captured his love forever.
“Yes.”
###
Turn the page for a special sneak preview of the next exciting W.I.L.D. Boys book:
A W.I.L.D.er Wonderland: Sexy Stories For The Season
--Coming on December 16, 2013--
Coming Soon!
You’re invited to celebrate the season with the W.I.L.D. Boys!
A W.I.L.D.er Wonderland: Sexy Stories For The Season
Coming on December 16, 2013
The weather outside may be frightful, but the Special Forces boys keep things more than delightful, with four short stories that fill you in on what your favorite soldiers are up to at this special time of year. Let the W.I.L.D. Boys keep you warm under the covers this winter…
SPECIAL SNEAK PREVIEW!
* * * * *
STORY ONE:
RAZE THE BARN
Starring Garrett and Sage Hawkins
CHAPTER ONE
“Damn it.”
Sage Hawkins angrily wiped at her eyes. She was crying again. Worse, she was doing it as a beautiful snow fell over the world outside, a sight she’d waited so long to see. From her second floor window seat, the Iowa countryside looked like a Currier and Ives print, the corn fields now lush blankets of white, the trees and fences glistening with the fallen flakes. It was silver and peaceful and magical.
Then why was she so miserable?
Garrett and she had deliberately waited until the break between Thanksgiving and Christmas to come here for a visit with his parents, as well as his beloved Uncle Wyatt and Aunt Josie. Garrett had been adamant that Racer, their baby boy, experience part of his first winter on earth in Iowa, wanting to pass along the joy of a boyhood that included many traditions of the season, especially the snow.
She saw that youthful joy on her husband’s face now, as he and Wyatt returned from their quarter-mile walk to the road to pick up the mail. After dropping off the bundle at Wyatt’s house, they trudged toward the barn situated between the two Hawkins houses. Thanks to Racer being bundled in a baby carrier on his chest, Garrett looked like a reverse hunchback. That didn’t stop the man’s eyes from gleaming like fresh-cut blue quartz, or the tawny stubble on his jaw from giving way to his charismatic grin. Yeah, the one that made her heart tumble over itself, even in her present condition.
Her present condition. Egghh. She longed to scratch her skin off and start all over again in another body. She didn’t do “conditions.” She’d been in disaster zones. Skydived with soldiers. Survived a year on the run from white slave traders. Had her wedding crashed by a lunatic on a revenge campaign.
But none of that had mattered to fate.
It was determined to give her a “condition.”
The logic in the decision shouldn’t have been a huge shock. Just when she thought the cosmic dues had been paid, that her pregnancy would end in a day of stress-free joy and love, a vacation to Los Angeles had turned into a nightmare that brought Racer to them a month early. The “break” that Garrett’s Special Forces Group was expecting? Never happened. They’d ended up assisting the CIA on a terrorist plot to bury the West Coast under a nuclear cloud, with her husband as the first casualty of that feat. Even now, she endured a shudder at the memory of Garrett’s face, so strong yet still, lost to the huge hit of sleeping gas he’d endured to save her. She’d kissed him with so many desperate pleas to wake up as Racer Joseph put the pedal to the damn medal in her belly…
She gasped as the he
lplessness pulled at her all over again. Clawed her soul like it did on that day, a monster on grief’s playground, cackling at her to let go of hope and take the slide down into its pit of desperate fear.
“Go. Away.” She seethed the words, a luxury she hadn’t been given the day Racer was born. Once they’d been able to escape from Ephraim Lor and Cameron Stock, Racer had lived up to his name, clamoring for his grand entrance despite her pleas otherwise. With her best friend at her side as cheerleader, Sage had given birth to her son without knowing if his daddy would ever wake to see him.
It’s over now, girlfriend. Done. Lor is dead and Stock is at the top of the FBI Wanted list. They’ll find him and lock his ass away forever.
Which meant she only had to worry about the next lunatic who wanted to go at her husband with a bomb, knife, gun, rocket or chemical canister. And the one after that. And the one after that.
Over?
It was never going to be over.
She bolted off the seat and onto her well-used pacing path in the carpet of her in-laws’ guest room. “Get a grip. You fell in love with an SF guy. You love him for what he is. You love him for all of it. You knew this drill before you accepted his ring.”
That was all before she’d laid next to him for hours, her head on his chest, wondering if his next heartbeat would be his last.
The tears came again. She pulled in a shaky breath, mentally kicking at the asshole on the slide again. She couldn’t let him win. She wouldn’t.
Why did it get harder to believe that every day?
Why did the battle get even worse when she heard Garrett call to her from outside, his baritone filled with oblivious happiness?