by Becky McGraw
The little man on the post turned green and Keegan followed the little green woman as she stepped off the curb. He idled into the intersection beside her and she stopped to spin and slay him with her eyes.
“You’re really going to follow me all the way to the apartment?” she shouted, pushing the hair out of her eyes with her wrist.
Keegan nodded his head and smiled.
She rolled her eyes, and a sense of victory surged through him when she strode toward the bike, her face a mask of fury. After pushing her bag behind her, she stomped on the back peg and threw her leg over the seat behind him.
She didn’t slide her arms around his waist, though. She sat stiffly behind him—until he squeezed the throttle and she had no choice. He hoped she didn’t hear his laugh over the roar of the engine or there would be hell to pay when they got home.
Never play the stubborn game with a SEAL, honey, because you will lose.
CHAPTER NINE
“Where are you going?” Jules asked with a yawn late Sunday morning, as she curled up on the sofa with a cup of coffee wearing black flannel pajama pants and a white tank top. “I was going to cook breakfast for us, but I guess I’ll just settle for a Pop Tart.”
Now, she was offering to cook him breakfast? He was starting to suspect his unexpected partner was resorting to the same guerilla tactics he’d planned to utilize, if necessary, to get information from her. Her tactics were subtler—but effective—if that was the case.
Keegan tried not to notice that she wasn’t wearing a bra under the tight tank. He failed because her dime-sized nipples, which tipped her perfect size B breasts, were saying good morning to him, and his cock wanted to say good morning right back.
It was a very good thing he was getting out of here, he thought, sliding his belt through the loops on his jeans, which were entirely too tight right now. The cease fire they’d settled into since the other night was really fucking with his mind, and he suspected Natasha knew that.
He might have won the battle of wills, but she was winning the war. She was entirely too passive and amenable now, which made this whole setup suddenly seem entirely too…domestic. Images of eating breakfast with her, then having her for dessert flashed through his mind, and he bit back a growl.
With her snark in remission, Keegan was defenseless.
He wished like hell now he hadn’t suggested sharing an apartment with her rather than letting Greg set him up in a hotel—just to spite her—because the joke was on him.
“I’m going to the base to have brunch with a few buddies,” Keegan finally replied as he fastened the buckle. And get my head right. He attached the chain from his wallet to his belt loop, then forced himself not to look at her as he sat down on the sofa to pull on his boots.
“You see Ari at the bar lately?” he asked, trying to refocus on business. She surprised the hell out of him when she responded.
“Nope, he hasn’t been in since last Thursday when you saw him. He usually only comes in once a week, so I’d bet he’ll be in this Wednesday or Thursday.”
He didn’t want to wait that long. Hopefully, he could get some good intel from his buddies at brunch so he could finish this and go back home where he belonged. But just in case he got nothing today, lap-dance-loving Ari was next. But right now, since his sexy roomie was in a talkative mood, he was going to keep her talking.
“Does he ever talk to anyone other than Ruby when he’s there? Meet with anyone else in that room?” Keegan asked as he sat up.
“He’s sat with a few other men to watch the show, but I’m not sure they were with him,” she replied.
“Any idea what they talk about when they’re in the private room?” he asked, thinking again he might want to ask Greg for some com equipment.
She laughed, and he looked up at her.
“No, but if I did, I wouldn’t be telling you, Boris.” She batted her eyelashes over playful blue eyes as she took another sip of her coffee. “I’m still not even sure we’re on the same team, so you’ll have to do your own surveillance…unless you want to be more forthcoming.”
Yeah, not going to work for the ninth time either, Natasha. Not even with the added ammunition of those big, blue eyes framing the question.
“OpSec—so not happening, babe,” Keegan said as he pushed up to his feet.
“What is that, Boris?” Her voice brimmed with agitation as she stood too. “Secret Squirrel SEAL code or something?”
The soft-kitten was gone and her claws had come out again, which thrilled him, because Keegan could deal with that wildcat.
“Operational Security, and yes, military protocol. It’s on a need to know basis with proper clearance, which you don’t have.” Her growl tickled in his midsection, then zipped down to the end of his dick. Oh yeah, needling still did it for him in a big way, but there wasn’t a damned thing he would do about it with her.
“I have top secret clearance, asshole!” she shouted, following him to the door.
“But you don’t have special access clearance.” He grabbed the door knob, but her hand covered his and he released it to turn around to face her.
“You said you want to be partners, but I can’t be your partner unless I know who I’m working with—I have to know I can trust you.” The kitten was back with hurt in her deep blue eyes. “I want to trust you MacDonald, so we can work together and solve this quickly.”
Those eyes sucked him right in and he swam there for a minute in her disappointment and confusion. She was right—not knowing who you were working with didn’t make for a very good partnership, but it was the hand he was dealt.
“I’ll tell you what I can, Lawson. I promise.” Keegan sighed and put his hand to her face. “But who I work for is not something I can divulge.”
That was in his contract and Keegan knew why. Greg Lambert and his cronies wanted plausible deniability if something went south on an operation.
She took a step closer to lay her hand on his chest and it burned through his t-shirt. Something magnetic flowed between them as her lips came closer and her breath fanned his mouth. A hot tingle raked through him, but Keegan fought the draw.
“Even if I said please and promise not to tell anyone?” she whispered, her eyelids drooping to half mast, which made his cock go full sails ahead.
Those eyes begged him, that mouth tempted him beyond his limits. His hand slid to the base of her neck and he pulled her to mouth to his. Her moan vibrated his tongue as he tasted her flavor. Rich, dark coffee, mixed with peppermint, and her own unique sweetness. It was an erotic combination that immediately set him on fire.
She leaned into the kiss, pushed him back into the door and settled her body into the space between his legs. She opened wider and his tongue fit perfectly into the cradle of her hot mouth as she shoved her hand into his hair to kiss him harder.
Keegan’s toes curled in his boots as her heat burned though his jeans and her hips made needy little circles against him, making him harder than he’d ever been in his life. A craving to be inside of her slammed into him and almost brought him to his knees.
This woman did not play fair, he thought, as his hands found her hips. Without breaking the hot kiss, he lifted her up and turned to ram her into the door. His control snapped but he knew he couldn’t finish this. He couldn’t pay the price she’d ask from him for that pleasure.
Taking over the kiss, he ravaged her mouth, ground his cock into the wet heat between her legs and soaked up the pleasure from each moan and mewl of hers that he swallowed. It cost him a lot to finally pull away, to lower her to her feet and step back on shaky legs to run a hand through his hair.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her face flushed and her eyes molten.
“I’ve got to go,” he said, dragging in ragged breaths. “I won’t be back tonight. I’m going to bunk with a friend off base. You have my number if you need me.”
Keegan opened the door, rushed out and double-timed it down the steps. Letting himself be used again was n
ot something he was willing to allow—and he knew that is exactly what Jules Lawson had in mind to get information out of him. Having his own intended tactics used against him didn’t feel so good.
CHAPTER TEN
“Hey, guys, sorry I’m late,” Keegan said as he sat down at the table with his former teammates Loren Wilson, Pete Garrison, and Mike Lawrence. They were a sight for sore eyes, but looked pretty damned worn out at the moment.
“You’re always late, MacDaddy, which is why you ran so many extra rucks,” Wilson said, as he tore off half a roll and shoved it into his mouth.
“Yeah, and you ran with me for trying to cover my ass,” Keegan said as he grabbed a roll too. “That was pretty stupid.”
“You trying to boost me over that wall in BUDs so I didn’t have to take a surf torture was pretty stupid too.” Wilson grinned. “What the fuck were we thinking, signing up for the winter class? We almost fucking froze to death.”
“What didn’t kill us, just made us stronger. Nothing could stop us by the time we got our Budweisers,” Keegan replied. He wished he still had that same drive and belief that he was invincible. His shoulder injury brought him back to reality fast.
Wilson’s eyes sobered. “How’s the shoulder? You thinking of rejoining? Is that what this is about?” He hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “If so, I have an extra set of BDUs in the truck.”
Keegan laughed, but his insides clenched. “No, I’m not coming back, but I wish I could. I miss you guys.” And that was the truth. So damned much. These guys were more than his teammates, they were his brothers and best friends.
“Wishing never got anything done,” Garrison said with a snort. “Get your flabby ass back on the grinder and get ‘er done, instead of sitting on the sofa eating bon bons.”
Keegan’s hand moved to his stomach and glided down the ripples under his shirt. Even though he wasn’t on the teams anymore, he still kept up his PT, so he knew he wasn’t flabby.
“The only thing flabby is that muscle between your ears, Gars. Might want to exercise that a little more and lay off the beer.”
“Beer is the only thing keeping me sane,” he replied, picking up his glass to finish it. He slammed it down on the table and waved to their server. “Wife decided she was better off without me, since we’ve been gone so much this last year. Bitch has my money to keep her warm now, so she doesn’t need me.”
His wife had slept with almost every sailor on base, if the rumors were true, so he was better off without her. It had nothing to do with how much he was away. Everyone in their squad knew it, but never said anything because they knew it would only hurt and distract him.
“Do any of you know a CO named Blane?” Keegan asked, after the server set another beer in front of Garrison.
“First or last name?” Lawrence asked, sipping his tea.
“I don’t know,” Keegan replied, picking up his menu. “He drives a red Vette, if that helps. I think he is or was a SEAL.”
“Only SEAL I know who drives a red Vette on base is Joel Craddock, but he’s no longer on the teams,” Wilson said, shaking his head. “He was a CO but they relieved him of command.”
“Why is that?” Keegan asked, as a spark of excitement zipped through him.
“He got caught fucking a junior officer in an equipment shed at a forward base during a mission,” Lawrence answered, shaking his head. “They tried to keep it under wraps, but someone leaked it to the wives’ club hotline. I heard about it from my old lady.”
“No shit? Wow, what a dumbass,” Keegan said, that spark growing brighter.
“Yeah, he’s lucky they let him finish out his time being an errand boy for the base commander. I think he still has twenty-two months or so left for twenty,” Wilson said.
“No, he was lucky his wife didn’t find out the first time he did it,” Garrison added. “If that female officer hadn’t dropped the harassment charges when she caught him with someone else, he would’ve been court martialed and divorced two years ago. He was a moron for pushing his luck.”
“Word has it that Vette is the only thing he got from the divorce, because he still owed money on it, poor bastard,” Wilson added with a low-pitched whistle. “And that is exactly why I will never get married.”
“Even if you did get married, I doubt you’d be stupid enough to fuck a subordinate in the field on a mission—that is just insanity,” Keegan said. They all knew very well the dire punishment for fraternization, especially in the field. “So his wife took him to the cleaners?”
“Yep, female judge. She got everything except the car and he has to pay for it and the two kids he no longer sees unsupervised,” Lawrence replied. “The abuse allegations could have something to do with that, though.”
“How in the hell do you guys know all this?” Keegan asked with a laugh, but that information further solidified he had the right guy.
“Wives’ club,” Garrison and Lawrence replied in tandem.
“Which is another reason I’ll never be getting married,” Wilson said, with a salute. “I never want to be fodder for that grist mill.”
“Are we going to eat? My stomach thinks I slit my throat, and I have that feeling,” Lawrence said rubbing the area between his eyes.
“Fuck,” Garrison said, shoving his beer aside. “I think that metal plate in your head is picking up signals from Mars, dude. We are not going wheels up today. I have plans to stuff my gut, then sit in a fucking Jacuzzi at the gym and soak my balls.”
“Jesus, man, just the thought of that makes me not want food now,” Lawrence said.
“Nothing can keep you from eating, Lawrence, not even thinking about Garrison’s ball soup,” Wilson replied with a laugh.
Lawrence waved at the server and she came over with her pad. Before she finished taking their orders, though, three cell phones when off at the same time. Keegan’s did not go off, but he tensed and started to push his chair back as a dose of adrenaline pushed through his veins.
“Sorry, dude,” Wilson said as they pushed back their chairs. “Blame Lawrence—it’s all his fault,” he said, grabbing the last three rolls from the basket on the table.
A black cloud descended over his mood as he watched his teammates hurry out of the officer’s club, because he should be with them. When they walked out the door, it felt like they took all the oxygen in the room with them. His chest was so tight, he couldn’t breathe.
“Would you like to order anything, sir?” the waitress asked, and Keegan shook his head as he pushed back his chair to stand.
No, what Keegan needed right now was to ride as fast and far as he could away from this place, which was about twenty-eight miles to his favorite board rental shack in Virginia Beach. He pulled out his wallet, handed her a twenty, then walk-ran for the door.
As soon as he could breathe again, he would call the commander and tell him he thought he’d found his traitor. That could only be verified though when he saw him again at the bar next week. Hopefully, he could figure out how to get close enough to him and his friend to do that.
But first, while his buddies were going wheels up to fight tangos, he was going surfing and think about nothing except riding enough waves to get past the new funk he felt coming on.
One step forward and three back.
It looked like his shoulder was the least of his problems at the moment. Maybe it was time he addressed that too, and he would as soon as this operation was over. Something had to give, because he definitely wasn’t feeling right.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Tuesday night, Jules was determined not to even look at Keegan MacDonald, who sat brooding on the stool by the front door. When he walked in fifteen minutes late, that was the first time she’d seen him since Sunday. That fact made his position clear on how he felt about the kiss that had almost melted her into the door before he left the apartment. Totally unaffected and embarrassed maybe, that she’d initiated it.
He couldn’t be any more mortified than she was that she had taken t
hat first step. He wouldn’t have to worry about her doing that again, though. From here on out, his lips were off limits—no matter what her body wanted or her mind conjured as to his wanting the same thing. She had totally misread his signals and paid the stinging price of rejection.
There would be no more softening toward him, or thinking he had loosened up with her. He could tease, flirt, and kid with her all he wanted, but she wasn’t falling for his games again. She’d thought about it all weekend, and figured out that’s what he was doing—coming on to her to get information. Why else would he have run off like a scalded ape when she turned up the heat and accepted what he was offering?
As for a partnership between them? There wouldn’t be any. He could do his own thing, and she would do hers. If she was lucky, he’d continue to shack up with his buddy, so she wouldn’t have to see him outside of the bar.
I’ll tell you what I can, Jules. I promise. Yeah, right. Is that why you rushed right back to tell me what you found out from your buddies at brunch?
If she wanted a permanent spot on the counter-terrorism team, Jules needed to get on the ball or MacDonald would beat her to the arrest. It was on like Donkey Kong now, so he’d better put on his track shoes and his thinking cap.
Another conclusion she’d come to, since she’d been able to think while he was gone, was that whoever sent him here had done so because she’d given nothing to Brand so far. They were tired of waiting. His comments at breakfast about her being on the case three months and finding nothing told her that.
With a case like this, which could endanger more military men overseas, the brass would want the traitor found quickly. She wanted that too, and if she hadn’t been alone there and slinging drinks while she was trying to investigate, she’d probably have found the leaker by now.
But the military didn’t care about excuses, or that she wanted to verify her facts before she presented them. The military wanted answers, so they sent in MacDonald whether Brand or she liked it or not.