For the first time since he'd buried his son, his heart didn't twist at the sight. He'd mourned John more than he'd ever had Brenda, which had only added to his sense of grief and loss, not to mention, guilt. Over the past weeks that he'd been with Jackson, his heart had begun to heal. Or maybe it had been doing that all along and he'd been too stupid to notice. Tonight, holding Rebel's son, he realized that moving on wouldn't dishonor John's memory, but would honor it. He'd never be able to replace the son he'd lost, but his heart was whole enough now to risk letting in more children.
Yeah, if he made it out of this mess in one piece, with his Air Force career intact, the time had come to move on.
Casey's image popped into his mind. Hell, yes, he'd love to see where the sparks flying between them would lead. To be fair to her, it had to wait until he knew he had a future. And then he'd have to deal with the general. Anything less was unacceptable. Feeling much better than he'd felt when he got Kelli's call, he propped his feet on the coffee table and stretched out to read. He had a shitload of information to learn if he had hopes of being a halfway decent father.
Engrossed in an article on breastfeeding benefits outweighing the inconveniences, he struggled to prevent visions of Casey's magnificent mounds from distracting him from the serious content of the piece. His head snapped up when he heard a snick, the front door opening. A quick glance at the clock assured him it was too early for Casey to be home. Only midnight, there was no way she'd have gotten out early on a weekend. Diving behind the couch, he positioned himself at a vantage point and yanked his camera phone from his pocket.
The clandestine visitor didn't bother to soften his footsteps, secure in the knowledge that he was alone. This was going to be fun. The shaded figure emerged from the dark hallway and into the light cast by the lamp behind the couch. Thank goodness Casey made a habit of leaving that light on.
Brian Wilkes.
His blood ran cold as he stared at the man. Jackson was the spitting image of his father. He'd been pissed before at the thought that a man could want to sign away his rights to be a father to that wonderful little boy. But to choose money over a kid who looked so much like him he could be a “Mini Me?” He struggled to find a word strong enough for what he felt and that was saying something. He had an impressive vocabulary of insults.
Brian went straight to the video cabinet, proof in Chad's eyes that he'd done this before, and began rummaging through the videos that had been left out of their case as if they'd been recently viewed. That son of a bitch was making a concerted effort to inflict the most harm on his own kid by choosing a video Jackson liked. He sent up a silent vow to buy Jackson any videotape he wanted. Tomorrow. He snapped a picture of the tape being slid into a pocket.
Apparently satisfied, Brian turned his attention to a small curio cabinet tucked in a corner. His hand hesitated over several figurines before he selected one and tucked it in his jacket. Chad clicked off a few more pictures.
As Brian turned to leave, Chad pushed to his feet and blocked the path. Brian swung out blindly, panic made him an awkward opponent, but Chad deflected the right hook with ease. The man must not have passed his survival training classes. Gripping Brian's wrist, Chad brought it up behind his back and jerked. That earned him a pained grunt. Good. Before Chad could shift his feet apart and into a more stable stance, Brian slammed his heel down on the top of his foot. Damn asshole fights like a girl. That move was most effective when the stomping foot was encased in heels.
Chad forced him to the floor, face down in the carpet. As he fumbled for the tie he had in his pocket, Brian attempted to gain the advantage. With little room to roll, his futile efforts only served to tire him, allowing Chad to bind his hands behind his back. He then hobbled his legs together at the ankles. He struggled against the urge to pummel the shit of the idiot, but didn't want to do anything to jeopardize an arrest.
Yanking him to his feet, Chad pushed him in the direction of the couch and watched him struggle to get there without falling flat on his face. “Mind telling me why you're here, uninvited, Wilkes?"
"Who the hell are you?” Brian would have spat in his face if they'd been closer together. With Chad looming over him, the masculine posturing was ineffectual.
"I'm Casey's boyfriend.” So it was a lie. The look on numbnut's face was worth it.
"Funny, you don't look like the type who'd be into fat, sloppy, and frigid."
Chad's right hook connected with Brian's jaw with a satisfying thunk. So much for taking the higher ground.
"I'm pressing charges. That's assault.” He flexed his jaw as he whined. Damn, Chad hadn't broken it.
"You do that. And while the police are here, you can explain the breaking and entering and the theft."
"You have no proof."
"Ah, but you're wrong,” Chad fingered the camera. “I have all the proof I need."
Brian's pasty-faced complexion paled to ghost and his shoulders slumped. Damn bastard, he was supposed to fight more so Chad could knock him around. That one punch hadn't been fulfilling enough. He wanted to knock the shit out of this asswipe for what he'd done to Casey and Jackson. Enough of his rational brain functioned to know that wasn't a good idea.
"So go ahead, call the cops.” The hint of bravado in Brian's voice grated on Chad's nerves.
"Oh, I plan to, after I call the general."
"You wouldn't."
"Oh, but I would."
Brian flopped back against the couch. The colossal moron had enough working gray matter to know the police were the least of his worries.
Stepping into the kitchen, Chad placed the call to Casey's father, who promised to be there as quickly as possible. As he walked back into the living room, he gathered his resolve not to beat the shit out of the fuckwad sitting in there. Facing General Covington and the police was punishment enough. Maybe, if he was lucky, Casey would get home in time to take out a piece of him, too. He took a seat on the chair set at an angle to the couch and picked up the magazine he'd been reading before he was rudely interrupted.
Chad's head snapped up as Brian snorted. “Don't start with me, Wilkes. I'm just looking for a reason to pound you into sludge."
"You're thinking of having a brat with the cow, huh?"
"My relationship with Casey is none of your business."
"I think it is. We're not divorced yet. That makes her an adulteress. I should thank you, man. You've just helped my case."
"And you, man, are a disgrace to fighter pilots and Air Force officers everywhere.” His stomach churned. This dipshit did not represent anyone but himself. He focused his attention on an article, as best he could, anyway, in an effort to avoid his guest until the rest of the welcome wagon arrived.
An hour later, Wilkes sat in a straight-backed kitchen chair, not looking so shit hot. He hadn't uttered a word beyond, “yes, sir” and, “no, sir” since the general and the police arrived. He had a bogey on his six and no amount of advanced combat maneuvers was going to shake it lose. Oh, hell, no, he was going down in a blaze of ignominious glory. The only thing Brian Wilkes would be flying until his dishonorable discharge was a desk. He'd joined the ranks of the penguins.
Once the Air Force got through chewing his ass, the civilian prosecutors got a crack at him.
Chad almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
The dickwad deserved everything coming his way.
After the police officer read him his rights and took his statement, he cuffed the idiot and hauled Wilkes out to the cruiser. Wilkes had tried to implicate Chad in the fiasco but General Covington quickly jumped to his defense. Really, who were North Las Vegas’ finest going to believe, a man with his fingers caught in the cookie jar and the pictures to prove it or an Air Force general? Talk about a no-brainer.
"Did I just see a police car drive away?” Casey came through the door. “Daddy, what are you doing here?"
The general looked at Chad, a subtle nod indicating he should answer.
"Brian was in the bac
k of the car you saw pull away. He showed up this evening. I called your father because I thought someone representing the Air Force needed to be present.” Not a bad cover story, if he did say so himself.
"It really was Brian?” Casey slumped against the wall.
His heart in his throat, he wrapped his arm around her waist and escorted her to the couch. Her father hastened to the kitchen in search of a drink.
"Part of me was hoping it wasn't him. How could I be so stupid? I loved him.” She stared at her hands, twisting in her lap.
"Hey, listen to me.” He used a finger under her chin to tip her head up. “You are not stupid. He looked normal. How were you supposed to know he was lying to all of us?” He hated the self-doubt he saw in her eyes.
"But I—"
"No, I don't want to hear it. No beating yourself up."
"I should have seen—” A glass of water was shoved in her hand and she took a sip.
"You couldn't have seen."
Casey's father sat down next to her and attempted to talk some sense into her. He was only marginally more effective. “I don't want you to be alone tonight. Come home with me."
"I need to stay in my home. I refuse to let Brian chase me out. Chad can stay with me. Won't you?"
Just shoot me now.
Chapter 10
How do you know your date with the fighter pilot is half over?
He says, “But enough about me—wanna hear about my plane?"
What the hell had she been thinking?
She hadn't been thinking, that's all there was to it. She'd been too emotionally drained. Relieved that the ordeal was over. Vindicated that she hadn't been imagining the whole thing. Distressed that she'd trusted the man in the first place.
She hadn't wanted to be alone. And she hadn't wanted to go crawling back to her father after she'd worked so hard to stand on her own. What she could have done—should have done—was go to Jan's. She'd have been welcomed there with no questions asked.
Instead, she had to torment herself with the knowledge that the handsomest man she'd ever seen, let alone talked to, was sleeping on her couch. A man who'd proved he was so much more than a stereotypical jet jockey. A man who made her want him without even trying. A man who made her ache with unfulfilled desire—not that she was going to do anything about it.
She pounded her pillow, a futile attempt to get comfortable. Tugging on her sheet, she tried to fix the rumpled mess she'd made tossing and turning. Is it time to get up yet?
Thud.
What is that? She sat up in bed, the sheet pooling in her lap.
Thunk.
Now what is that?
Climbing out of bed, she cracked her door and peeked out in the hallway. Her heart skidded to a halt, skipped a beat, then began to hammer. Chad stood in the hallway, right in front of her door, his jeans unzipped, no shirt, no shoes—no problem—rubbing his knee.
"Is your knee going to survive or do we need to amputate?"
"Huh?” He glanced up at her as he straightened, his hair a mess of rumpled waves.
"Sorry. That's what I ask Jackson whenever he bumps into something during a middle of the night potty run."
"Thanks. I just love being compared to a four-year-old. Although, if you'll kiss it and make it better—"
Before common sense and sound judgment had a chance to voice any objections, she leaned forward until his warm breath feathered her lips, his wounded joint forgotten in the sensual assault of his proximity. He closed the distance, covering her mouth with his. This wasn't a warm, gentle kiss like the others they'd shared. Oh, no. This was carnal and passionate and curled her toes into the carpet. He pulled her body flush with his. Since she stood about two inches shorter than him, all her happy bits lined up nicely with his. His penis filled the gap made by his unzipped jeans and pressed to her soft belly. The firm wall of his chest flattened her breasts until she felt her nipples boring into his skin.
It was too much, it was sensory overload. When his tongue filled her mouth, she moaned and all of her nerve endings flashed to life. The tingling sensation roared through her body, down her spine and out to her fingers and toes. She imagined this was what it felt like to be struck by lightening. He thrust in and out between her lips, twirling around, teasing her. Coaxing her to come play in his mouth, he sucked on her tongue. He tasted like the cup of coffee he drank before her dad left, deep, dark, and mysterious.
His hands cupped her cheeks, tilting her this way and that for maximum pleasure. His thumbs alternated between stroking her skin and encouraging her to open for him. She clutched at his shoulders, sure that if she loosened her hold, she'd melt to the floor in a puddle of bliss. The hard press of his body felt too damn good to ever let go. They each wore too much clothing but her mind couldn't figure out how to get them both naked fast enough. Her hands slid into his hair instead, savoring the mind-blowing kiss. She explored his mouth, savoring the thrill of the contact. The heat between them built as they engaged in an erotic thrust and parry.
Thrust. Oh. Dear. God. She wanted more thrust. Wrapping her leg around his hip, she opened herself up and rubbed her cotton-covered crotch along his partially denim-covered one. It wasn't nearly enough. She wanted him inside of her with the desperation born of five hundred and forty-five days of celibacy, not that she was counting.
No, she realized as she rubbed her aching nipples against his chest, this need went beyond that, beyond anything she'd ever known. For the sake of her sanity, she'd stick with her year-and-a-half-without story.
The delicious pressure on her lips eased up and Chad dropped his forehead to hers. His breath warmed her face with its uneven pants, matching her struggle to calm her racing heart.
"Casey, we can't do this."
She had a sneaking suspicion he could do this and God knew she could. Right there in the hallway in front of the bathroom and between the bedrooms. But she understood what he meant. She wasn't his type and for some reason he'd gotten carried away. It didn't mean anything, and wasn't any more than a typical male reaction.
"I know, we can't.” She'd gotten carried away. Her hormones finally won the battle over reason and intellect. Thank heavens he hadn't lost his mind, too.
Regardless, she wanted him. She mustn't have been able to prevent her pain from bleeding through to her voice because he grabbed her butt in his hands and hauled her against him.
"Look at me.” He growled at her, his fingers clenching, digging into her upper arms.
Not wanting to see pity and praying she be spared seeing anything worse, she kept her gaze focused on his chin. It was such a strong, masculine...
"I said, look at me, dammit."
Oh oh. She knew that tone of voice. Did the Air Force teach it? It demanded compliance. Raising her head, she was stunned by what she saw. She knew desire and it burned bright in his gaze, turning his eyes almost black with the intensity.
"I can't give you what you want."
Unless she was mistaken, that was a penis—thick and hot and hard—peeking out of his jeans. Since that was what she wanted, there wasn't a problem. “I think you can.” She stroked her damp palm over his erection.
He snagged her wrist, stilling her movement. “I can't give you forever."
"Who says I want that?” Okay, so maybe she did. Eventually. Right now, however, she wanted hot and sweaty wild monkey sex. She wiggled against him to emphasize what she did want.
Groaning, he clutched her closer, trapping her hand between them. “I'm hanging on by a thread, here, Casey. I've wanted you from the first moment I saw you. Good God, you're so freaking sexy I've wanted nothing more than to crawl into your bed since the moment I first laid eyes on you."
Me? He wants me? Miss Single Mom? Miss Size Fourteen on a Good Day? He wants me? The look in his eyes didn't lie, nor did the impressive erection throbbing against her palm. Gripping him firmly, she tugged him toward her bedroom.
"But you're the general's daughter.” He shook his head as he followed her.
"I'm also my own woman and I know what I want.” Walking backward, she led him to the bed. For some reason, he found her attractive. Heaven knew she thought he was the hottest thing around. She'd just been offered the opportunity of a lifetime, one her hormones had no intention of allowing to slip through her hands. Hell, no. She planned to grab a hold and make the most of their time together.
"Last chance to say no, Casey. You've all but cut the last string."
He looked at her as if she were a wanton sex goddess. The look in his eyes made her want to be his wanton sex goddess.
"Make love to me, Chad."
Those were the last words Chad heard. It was an offer Little Chad wasn't about to let him refuse. No way in hell. He'd tried to be a gentleman and give her an out. Now he stood next to her bed, the rumpled sheets calling out to him and he'd be damned if he didn't answer. Despite what she said about not wanting a commitment, he knew she wanted more than the one night, one week, one month he could offer her right now. If he hurt her, and if General Covington ever found out, he'd be walking the flight line at oh-dark-thirty looking for debris every morning until he retired. And that was if he was lucky.
None of that mattered as he stared at Casey. With her hair in a ponytail and bare feet, she looked innocent. But the threadbare t-shirt that just reached the top of her thighs and brushed her breasts, allowing the hard tips to poke out, made her look anything but. He'd never be able to look at a t-shirt from that fighter squadron again without getting a hard-on.
Reaching behind her head, he tugged her hair free and finger-combed the strands as they fell to her shoulders, all golden honey gleam and silk delight. He grasped the hem of her shirt and pulled the garment up and off, tossing it somewhere behind him. Then he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of her panties and helped her step out of them.
Good God, she's beautiful. He'd known she would be, but the reality was better than any of his numerous fantasies. She moved to climb into bed, but he stopped her, wanting to see her like this first. The dim light from the hallway only reached so far into the dark room. Way more than a handful, her breasts were nothing short of amazing, plump and topped by large areolas. Her full hips and rounded ass begged to be clutched as he fucked her. The dark hair at the juncture of her thighs hid her pussy from his view, but he'd savor that sight soon. His mouth watered at the thought of tasting all that delicious flesh. There was more to her than other women he'd bedded and he found he liked the way it made her look sexy and feminine. All those curves revved his libido.
Call of Duty [Class of '93 Trilogy Book 3] Page 15