Iron Soldier
Page 1
Iron Soldier
~A Romance Collection~
© 2018
By Katie Ford and Sarah May
© 2018
Kindle Edition
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DEDICATION
To all the girls who love brawny military men.
This one’s for you!
NOTE FROM THE AUTHORS
Hi! Thanks so much for reading Iron Soldier: A Romance Collection. I hope you enjoy the steam between Claire and her man.
Plus, be sure to join our Facebook group Alpha Males on Top to hear about new releases, discounts, and freebies.
Love,
Katie and Sarah
ABOUT THIS BOOK
Iron Soldier: A Military Bad Boy Romance
The gorgeous soldier doesn’t remember who I am.
Brent Lewis was everything to me five years ago.
But he left me to join the Army without even a goodbye.
Now he’s back.
Devastatingly gorgeous, with a body hardened from war.
But Brent doesn’t remember who I am.
Not the days laughing and holding hands under a bright summer sky.
Nor the nights, sweltering with need.
So how do I tell him my devastating secret when he doesn’t even know who I am?
Hey Readers – As usual, this is another off-the-charts crazy story where a hardened soldier meets his match in our curvy, feisty heroine. But we promise, you’ll love the romance between Claire and her military man. As always, read with an ice cold drink nearby because you’re going to need it! :) Love, Katie and Sarah
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Iron Soldier
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
Extreme Close-Up
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
Bad Cop
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
EPILOGUE
DOUBLE BANG
PROLOGUE
PART I
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
PART II
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
PART III
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
EPILOGUE
A SNEAK PEEK
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
MORE BY THE AUTHORS
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Chapter 1
Claire
“Don’t forget to have the research and analyses for the Davidson case written up and on my desk by Monday morning!” Dave, my boss, booms out behind me from the open doorway of his office.
With his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his jacket off, and his vest slightly rumpled, Dave looks like he’s ready to camp out here for the weekend. His sharp gray eyes look even more alert now at almost six-thirty in the evening than they did when he first arrived at work. His thin and elegant frame hums with energy that didn’t come from a coffee pot. Even his hair looks electric. It’s thick and blond, standing up in wild curls around his head from him constantly running his hands through it.
How can he have this buzz so late on a Friday? By lunchtime today, I was ready to throw the week away and go hibernate for the weekend.
Right now, with my purse on my shoulder and my patience with the paperwork generated by my paralegal job completely at an end, I’m more than ready to head home and just collapse on the couch with a pint of ice cream and some mindless TV.
“The report is already on your desk,” I tell my boss as I keep walking backwards between the rows of empty gray cubicles. Everyone else has already left for the week.
“What?” Dave frowns and looks briefly behind him like the report is just going to magically appear in his hand. “I don’t see it.”
I shake my head and keep moving. If I stop, he’ll catch me and lure me into working for even longer. He’s such a workaholic that he expects the office to be just like him. But most of us are human—I can’t speak for those freaky IT guys—and just bleed regular red instead of the law firm’s signature Prussian blue ink.
If I go into Dave’s office and show him exactly where I put the completed reports, he’s going to somehow rope me into doing something else for him that’ll have me leaving here closer to midnight.
No thanks.
“It’s in the salmon-colored file folder. Under the signed birthday card for the twins, and next to your ‘“World’s Greatest Boss’” mug.”
The frustrated frown on his face almost makes me laugh. Almost. But tiredness has already set in, and I no longer have a single amused bone left in my body.
“See you Monday, Dave!” I wave and then slip out the door before he can ask me anything else. My high heels tap quickly against the marbled floor of the hallway as I book it toward the elevator.
I walk faster when my cell starts to play “Super Freak” from inside my oversized purse.
My fingers quickly fumble to find and then answer it. “What’s going on, Mandy?”
“Are you out of there yet?” my best friend grouses at me through the phone.
“Yes, yes. I’m out of the office and racing to the elevator as we speak. I told you—he’s not roping me into working late tonight.”
“For once.” Through the phone, I can hear Mandy moving around and cloth rustling like she’s digging around in her closet for something. “It’s like you’re one of the lawyers there and not a damn paralegal. Come on home, girl! We have some good weekend fun to get started.”
I frown. “Should I be worried?”
Because Mandy’s fun weekends are notorious.
Booze. Boys. Suspicious baked goods. Those are just some of the things my bestie enjoys as often as she can. Ever since college, she’s always been the girl to try—and sometimes succeed—in getting me into more trouble than I’m ever ready for. And this trouble usually involves—you guessed it—booze, boys, and suspicious baked goods.
Mandy and I are both twenty-two years old now, so college is only a year or so behind us. Sometimes, though, Mandy acts like we’re still in the dorm room we first shared four years ago when we didn’t know each other. It was a random assignment that changed both of our lives for th
e better because these days, I don’t know what I’d do without my crazy best friend by my side.
“No need for you to ever worry around me, baby cakes,” Mandy tries to reassure me. “Don’t forget where we live. There is no fun to be had in Jefferson Meadows, Virginia, population 17.”
A giggle bursts out of me. Every time she talks smack about the town we live in, the number of people who live here gets smaller and smaller. Pretty soon, at least according to her, the town will just have me, her, and the designer label-wearing bum who lives in the basement of our local church.
“Whatever, Mandy. Get off the phone, girl. I’m about to get in the elevator, and you know there’s no reception there. I’ll see you at home.”
“How convenient,” Mandy huffs. “See you in a few.”
I roll my eyes, ending our call with a smile. She acts like we won’t see each other for at least another hour or so. This town is so small that I can walk home in about ten minutes if I don’t stop to grab two pints of ice cream—rocky road for her and butter pecan for me—on the way. Which I do. So instead of ten minutes, I make it home in about fifteen minutes, give or take a few.
“Honey, I’m home!” The door thuds closed behind me, locking automatically.
“That took you forever.” Mandy appears in the doorway of her room in an oversized t-shirt and nothing else. She’s tall and thin, like a model, and just as beautiful, with her wide golden eyes, flawless skin, and shoulder-length jet black hair. The bottom curves of her heart-shaped ass peek out at me when she turns around to head back into her room. “Come help me figure out what to wear tonight,” she calls over her shoulder.
But I’m not in the mood to just do as she says tonight.
“Tonight? Where are you going?” My bag and light fall jacket go on the coatrack by the door, and I head for the kitchen to put up our weekend supply of ice cream.
From behind me, I hear Mandy make a noise of frustration. Her footsteps slap lightly on the wooden floor as she follows me instead of going to her room.
“I am not going anywhere,” she says. “You and I are going out to the new bar that just opened on Main.”
“I told you, I have a date with Law and Order. Detective Stabler is my boyfriend this weekend.” I grab two spoons and two napkins and lay them on the kitchen table in readiness for our sexy detective marathon.
“Nope!” Mandy snatches up the spoons and drops them back in the dish rack. “We’re going to find you a real man this weekend. One who will make you yell the place down like you’re being murdered for real instead of your pretend man on TV.”
Not this again. Mandy knows I don’t date. As long as we’ve known each other, she’s only seen me go out with a couple of guys, and those were usually ones she’d forced to go out with me. Dating does nothing for me. It’s just not something I’m into. Not here in Jefferson Meadows, not anywhere in the rest of Virginia. Hell, no place in the whole world.
“Come on, Mandy! Just let me have my ice cream and my Elliot Stabler in peace.”
“Come on, nothing! You’re not gonna hang around here and cry in your ice cream pint, and you’re definitely not going to return your crazy boss’s phone call about work.”
Dave called? “Oh my God, what did he want?” I knew he’d do something like that. Dave just can’t let work go.
Mandy rolls her eyes. As a dental hygienist, her work hours are set in stone, and she never has any kind of desire to put in overtime. “Your boss tried your cell and called here when he couldn’t get you. He was saying something about some file, but I know you. You probably did twice the work he asked for anyway. Always the over-achiever. And I don’t even know why because that law office isn’t even worth it. Being a paralegal isn’t what you want to do with your life anyway.”
I blow out a gusty sigh. She’s right, and we both know it. “I know, I know. Sometimes I want to do something else and bust out of there. I just don’t know what that something is.”
“Well, tonight is not the time for you to ponder such things, my little chickadee.” Mandy made a clucking sound and then laughed at her own joke. “Tonight is the night you party and leave that office behind. You may not have much of a social life, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let you lie around in front of the TV when you could at least be getting some hot guys to buy you free drinks at the bar.”
Oh my god!
“You know I don’t drink,” is my admonishment.
“Whatever, girl!” Mandy grabs my arm and I yelp, trying to pull away. A quick poke in the side, and she’s got me giggling like crazy, helpless as she drags me through the kitchen and toward my room. “I’ve already picked out the perfect outfit for you, Claire. Let’s go make you small town bar sexy and start those free drinks flowing! If you don’t drink them all, you know I will.”
“I know, you lush!” I giggle when she pokes me in the side again with her bony finger. And with that, we’re off for a night on the town.
Chapter 2
Brent
“Hey, Brent. That chick’s been eyeing you all night.”
The hint comes across the round table full of guys from work, mostly engineers like me, done with tours overseas and enjoying the peace and quiet of living and working in Nowhere, Virginia. At least, most nights it’s peaceful and quiet. Not tonight, though.
Tonight, they’d invited me out on their weekly “night on the prowl,” and although I’m not looking to score any ass tonight, I figure I might as well come out with the guys instead of saying “no” like I normally do. But these guys seem to care more about my dick than I do, pushing me toward chick after chick. But I’m not interested.
I don’t even bother looking at where my co-worker, Deke, pointed. “No, man,” I tell him. “I don’t care about that. I just wanna chill tonight. That’s all.”
The bar is new. It just opened in the last month, and since most of the guys had already plowed through all of the available girls at the other bars in town, they wanted to try someplace fresh. And damn, they love this place already.
The place is wall to wall pussy, and maybe new dick too, for anybody interested in that. Somehow, with this new bar, the town managed to attract some new girls—hell new people—from around the Fredericksburg area, and much farther out if the different license plates in the parking lot are any indication.
“You need to relax, lie back, and let some girl take care of you, Wilson,” Deke keeps pushing on about my sex life. “It’s not good to keep all of that jizz locked up in your balls. You’ll explode, man, and not in a good way.”
Laughter rolls around the table. Even people not sitting with us are laughing.
These guys are obsessed. Even when I was a kid, I didn’t think about pussy as much as these guys do.
I mean, I do all right. When I want somebody to keep my cockles warm, I don’t have a problem. But I’m not interested in anything more than a one-night stand. Relationships just aren’t my thing. I leave that up to Nick, my best friend.
Across the table from me, he’s chatting with one of the quieter guys about the bridge collapse that just happened a couple of towns over. The higher-ups are tossing the structural engineer under the bus for the accident, but we heard that the big bosses had stolen all of the money for the good equipment and had left the guys practically working with mud, crazy glue, and prayers.
Like he is reading my thoughts, Nick looks up. His bright red hair catches the light, and he shoots me a questioning look. You okay?
I give him the so, so look in response. These assholes are getting on my last nerves. I try to communicate that with a shrug and a few pointed squints, but I worry it just seems like I’m in the middle of a seizure.
Nick hides a laugh behind his fist. “Hey, Brent,” Nick says out loud. “Can you get me another beer? I’m kinda stuck over here, and that waitress just disappeared.” He’s got two of the other work guys on either side of him, trapping him at the table and in the corner. Although he could get out if he felt like it, I don’t point th
at out because I know what he’s doing.
Good looking out, buddy. Getting Nick another beer is an easy excuse to get out from under these busy-bodies. They’re worse than old ladies sometimes. Always trying to get in my business in any way they can.
“Yeah, sure thing.” I start to get up from the table with my empty beer bottle.
Everybody else is guzzling from the nearly full pitcher of draft beer in the middle of the table, but Nick is obsessed with this local IPA these days, buying the bottles one by one and savoring the stuff like he is drinking wine or some shit. But I can’t say anything. It’s actually good stuff, and that’s what I’m drinking tonight too.
The table jerks as I stand up, balancing my big hands on wood that’s sturdy but no match for my six-and-a-half-feet packed with two-hundred-and-fifty pounds of pure muscle. I’m a big guy, and since coming back among civilians, I’m trying to be careful about not taking out people and things when I walk. Everything around seems fragile sometimes, including me.
On the way to the bar, I hear the sound of girlish laughter. The sound is so unexpected and so sweet that I look around to see where it’s coming from. But all I can see is the back of some chick’s glossy brown hair, thick and falling to the middle of her back in thick curls. Pretty.
At the bar, I signal the busy bartender with my empty bottle, showing him two fingers.
“Coming right up, buddy,” he says although he’s in the middle of making something frou-frou with a martini shaker, cherries, and ice.
Behind me, I hear the guys yucking it up. A couple of girls have already wandered over to the table of big, strapping ex-Marines and taken my seat. One of the girls is sitting in the other’s lap as they both lean over, showing the guys their tits.
That’s why I don’t go anywhere. It’s damn near impossible to just go out and have a drink without people bothering you for one thing or another. I brace my arms against the bar and drum my fingers against its surface, waiting. Almost patiently.