Medal Up

by Nicole Flockton

  She turned and speared him with an unimpressed look, her light grey eyes an incredible shade of liquid silver. Man, she was beautiful.

  “Don’t miss me, thank you. I’m not some teenager. Everything is fine. I’ve got it all under control.”

  “Is that right?” he drawled.

  “Yes, it is. You can leave now.” She waved her hand as though dismissing him.

  He ground his back molars. He should turn around and walk away. She said she had a handle on the situation, although she looked too fragile to be able to take on the bald, heavy-set man who sat opposite her. Maybe she could pierce the man with a few well-spoken barbs, like the one she had just fired at him when she all but dismissed him.

  Who did she think she was, a frickin’ princess?

  “You ’eard the lady—leave,” Baldy slurred in a thick cockney accent.

  Well, now, wasn’t this fantastic? If he walked away, he would appear to be a chicken shit, and that’s the last thing Derek Arthur was. A soldier now retired from the business of war, he possessed a black belt in karate, not to mention being a fourth dan who could pull some pretty good Kenjutsu moves with a cue stick if he had to.

  Not that he wanted to. He’d learned both martial arts as a way to discipline his mind and soul. Sometimes it worked, tonight not so much.

  “While I should walk away, I find I can’t,” he replied conversationally as he mentally sized up the man before him. “You see, part of me sees what you’re up to, old man.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s that?” Baldy sneered.

  “Yes, please do enlighten us, Sir Galahad. What is this man up to that puts me in danger?”

  Derek flinched inwardly. He’d read King Arthur’s tale as a teenager and blew all the lightbulbs in the family home in the process. He hadn’t been able to explain it. Hadn’t known how to, in fact. If he’d told his parents that he’d squeezed his fists and a rage he’d never known flowed hot through his veins and out through the lightbulbs, they never would’ve believed him.

  After that, Derek stayed away from King Arthur and any other fairy tale. He’d gone back to studying his schoolbooks where there was less danger of getting angry while trying to work out the anatomy of a cell.

  A chair scraping the floor jolted Derek.

  “I think you need to leave, fella. The lady and I was havin’ a nice discussion until you came along.”

  “If you were having such a nice discussion, you would know her name and not call her lady.”

  Derek darted a glance at the woman still sitting, calmly observing the scene, before returning his attention to the heavy-set man. “And as for what you were doing, I’m betting you’ve got a little something in your pocket you were planning on pouring into her drink when her attention was elsewhere. I can read your type a mile away.”

  The color suddenly drained from the man’s fleshy cheeks. Yep, he’d hit the nail on the head. He’d taken a shot in the dark. A thought that hadn’t really formed until he stood eye to eye with the other man and a sinister light had shown in his beady eyes. A blackness that bespoke a dead soul.

  Baldy opened and closed his mouth, no sound coming out. Derek knew then he had won the battle.

  He inclined his head to the pub’s main door. “The exit’s that way. I suggest you walk there yourself. Otherwise, I’ll be happy to drag you.”

  Baldy blustered, but Derek widened his stance and crossed his arms over his chest, presenting an immovable front. Finally, the other man turned and weaved his way through the tables and out the door.

  He grabbed the back of the chair Baldy had been sitting in and scrutinized the woman who’d remained at the table. Oh yeah, she was pissed at him. Her grey eyes seemed almost translucent, and if, as the saying went, looks could kill, he’d be flat out on the ground, choking on his last breaths.

  How would her eyes appear in the throes of an orgasm? Would they darken? His body hardened.

  Whoa, don’t go there.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, before pulling out the chair so he could sit.

  “I don’t believe I invited you to join me.”

  “No, you didn’t, but seeing as I saved you from a possibly unpleasant experience, some thanks would be nice.”

  The woman didn’t say anything, just studied him intently. He watched, fascinated, as her eyes became cloudy. They were still pale grey, maybe a hint darker, but with a complexity in their depths, like storm clouds gathering before a heavy rain.

  He got the eerie impression she was trying to read his soul. Delve into the deepest recesses of his mind. He found he didn’t like it.

  “What the hell?” she muttered. A small frown puckered her eyebrows. “This can’t be right.”

  “I’m sorry. What can’t be right?”

  With a quick blink of her eyes, the cloudiness disappeared and clarity returned to their depths. She touched a single finger to her lower lip briefly, then shrugged. “Nothing, except for you still sitting at my table.”

  Derek sighed. He never usually had a problem approaching women. In fact, he had a decent score sheet. Time for a more conventional approach.

  He held out his hand. “Hi, I’m Derek Arthur. It’s nice to meet you.”

  The moment stretched between them. She was going to leave him hanging, making him look like the biggest loser in the pub. Hopefully, everyone was wrapped up in their own drinks and friends and not paying the slightest bit of attention to them.

  Just as he was about to put his hand down on the table, her palm slid against his and she gripped his hand. “Sasha White. I’m reserving my judgment on whether it’s nice to meet you or not.”

  His body crackled with energy. He immediately dropped her hand. Not good. He’d never had a reaction like that when he touched someone.

  “Interesting.”

  The word was spoken so softly, Derek swore he’d imagined it. This was turning out to be a weird night. Perhaps it would’ve been better if he’d burned out a few lightbulbs and walked out of the pub instead of playing hero.

  “Can I get you a drink?” he asked. The question popped out of his mouth before he consciously thought it.

  “Can I trust you?”

  He chuckled. Maybe she could’ve held her own against Baldy, at least in the verbal sense of things.

  “Haven’t I proven you can trust me?”

  “It’s going to take more than a lucky guess.”

  She was making him work for it. A rush he hadn’t felt in a long time, the urge to chase, to play the game, fizzed through him. “Well, then, how about this. I give you the money, and you can go get your own drink.”

  “And what about you? I suppose you expect me to get your drink, too?” She leaned forward. “Just so you know, I don’t serve anyone. So, thanks, but no thanks.”

  He sat back. Damn, this woman really believed she didn’t need any help with anything.

  “I wasn’t expecting you to get me a drink. I’m quite capable of getting my own. I figured, seeing as you weren’t sure you could trust me, giving you the option to get your own drink might appeal. No need to get snarky.”

  A small smile tipped up the corners of her cherry-red lips. “Snark is so much more fun.”

  “Not a very attractive feature, though.” He winced; that wasn’t a nice thing to say.

  Her smile fell and a touch of . . . disappointment? . . . flickered in her gaze before her expression closed off. “Then I guess it’s lucky for you I didn’t take you up on your offer of a drink.” Standing, she collected her jacket and purse. “Farewell, Derek Arthur. Weird meeting you.”

  “Likewise.” He slumped in his chair as he watched her walk away. He wasn’t normally an asshole, but he’d certainly acted like one in the last couple of minutes. He owed her an apology. The least he could do. He might never see her again, but if he didn’t apologize, it would bother him.

  Pushing back his chair, Derek strode to the exit to catch her before she disappeared. As he opened the door, a disproportionate relief washed over
him. She stood at the curb, trying to flag down a taxi.

  “Sasha, wait,” he called, and hurried toward her. She glanced over her shoulder, and her eyes narrowed. With a visible sigh, she turned back to the road and waved her hand more vigorously. The fates were on his side tonight. The street appeared bare of the familiar black vehicles.

  His hand on her arm made her turn a glare his way. “Two jerks in one night. Lucky me. What do you want?”

  “I want to say I’m sorry. My comments back there were uncalled for.”

  She inclined her head regally. Hell, she could be a princess with the way she acted. “Fine. Thank you. Apology accepted.”

  She raised her hand again, but he took hold of it.

  “Please at least let me buy you a cup of tea or something. Or maybe we could go grab a bite to eat.”

  He was grasping at straws, and he didn’t know why. He’d just met the woman, and the chances of her saying yes to anything but him offering to get her a cab were slim.

  All he knew was he didn’t want to let her out of his sight. An irrational thought.

  She pursed her lips. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re not my type.”

  Ouch. Not the thing a guy wanted to hear when he was trying to get a date. The street light overhead dimmed. He ignored it. What type did she think he was, anyway?

  “How do you know?”

  She looked him up and down as if she were indeed a queen and he a lowly servant boy. “Believe me, I know.”

  “You really are sure of yourself, aren’t you, princess?”

  If he hadn’t been watching her closely, he wouldn’t have caught the flinch. A tiny movement, a mere flicker of her eyes, but a huge indicator he’d hit his mark.

  She licked her lips, glossing up her red lipstick. Derek bit back the urge to taste her. “Well, if I’m a princess, you’re definitely not a prince,” she said.

  He closed the distance between them, not giving a damn about getting into her personal space.

  He reached out and traced a finger down her soft cheek, flushed with the slightest tinge of pink. “How do you know?”

  “I just do.” Her voice dropped to a husky level, and she didn’t step back.

  He couldn’t pull his gaze away, even if he wanted. This was crazy. Her lips parted beckoning him to sample their lushness. He slipped an arm around her, pulling her in close to his body. Their gazes met, her pupils large in irises turning darker with each passing second.

  “Don’t all princesses recognize princes by their kiss?”

  “But what if you’re just a frog?” Despite the comment, her body was saying yes by softening into his.

  “I think we need to test that theory.”

  He lowered his head and pressed softly against her ruby-red lips, which parted under his on a sigh. Triumph and need slammed through him as her tongue snuck out to tangle with his, her arms winding around his neck.

  Her touch.

  Her taste.

  The way she fit in his arms and against his body stirred more than his flesh. A flicker of familiarity teased his mind, as though they’d spent time together laughing and talking.

  Impossible. They’d never met until tonight. He’d remember if they had.

  Derek wrenched his lips from hers and stepped away. His chest heaved as if he’d run a marathon. He’d never experienced déjà vu before, but he’d been here before, tasting this woman.

  How could a kiss feel so right, yet be so full of warning that frissons of apprehension tiptoed up his spine?

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  Crimson Romance

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  Copyright © 2018 by Nicole Flockton and Fiona Marsden.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Crimson Romance Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

  First Crimson Romance ebook edition FEBRUARY 2018.

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  Cover images © Shutterstock/Diego Barbieri, © 23RF/lightvisionftb

  ISBN 978-1-5072-0826-7 (ebook)

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

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