Ready For His Rule--A WILD Boys Novel (The WILD Boys of Special Forces Book 10)

by Angel Payne

  * * *

  “Captain Franzen?”

  He smiled before even answering. To be honest, he hadn’t stopped smiling since they left the California coastline behind, but this moment was worthy of an even bigger smirk.

  The awe in Tracy’s voice, as she gazed at the gentle waves, azure sky, and tawny shore of Barking Sands Beach, was already the perfect start for a Kaua’i-style twilight. She looked more incredible than he’d anticipated in one of the light cotton dresses he’d asked Lino to pick up on the way to the base, with a few adorable freckles already appearing across her nose.

  By the gods, she belonged here.

  All right, maybe not right here. Though the base was, as bases went, pretty damn cool with its oceanfront cottages, it was still a military facility, offering the Navy’s barest fundamentals for operating the globe’s largest missile training and testing range. And there was the whole thing with being around so many squids, but he had to overlook that sand in his oyster at this point, as well.

  Right now, only two priorities mattered.

  Keeping Tracy alive. And learning why Sol Wrightman had been in on the plans to achieve the opposite.

  A protective growl climbed his throat as he responded, “Yes, Madame President?”

  Her lips pursed but her eyes smiled. In the setting sun, their gray irises were as bright as the silver foam atop the waves. “I’m enjoying your home turf advantage so much, I’m not even going to glare you down about that.”

  He let the growl become a low laugh, hooking an arm over her shoulder before smashing a kiss to her temple. “And the nap you got in on Ethan’s private plane has nothing to do with it?”

  “The nap you interrupted?”

  “By repaying your ‘adulation’ from the oak grove?” He tossed down a skeptical side-eye. “Didn’t hear a lot of complaining, kitten—unless that shit suddenly sounds a lot like ‘Oh yes, Sir. Yes, Sir. Fuck me harder with your tongue! Harder.”

  She giggled to the point of snorting, retaliating with a fierce scratch across his back. “Hey. While the kid is away, Mom needs to play.”

  “Outstanding motto.” It finished on a lusty snarl as the wind tossed a bunch of her auburn waves into his face. They smelled like the vanilla shampoo she’d used during her shower at the ranch, bringing back every moment of what she’d done to him in the oak grove right before it—as if he needed a reminder, after recalling what he’d done for “repayment”. Good times. Fucking good times. Amazing times. He missed them as if eight months had passed instead of eight hours. Craved them. Craved her. Hungered for her screams in his ears, her taste on his lips, her heat in his soul…

  His body readily agreed. His senses were alive with her. His heartbeat practically matched their steps. His dick throbbed, more than ready to support a tromp to one of the palm trees on the berm, where he could hike her dress around her waist, her legs around his waist, and get inside her until the moon was high and the stars caught fire from their passion…

  “Glad you approve, ku’uipo.” They strolled a few more steps, their feet mushing into the sand as the rising tide rushed the shore. “So…not missing Luke as much?”

  “Of course I miss him.” She tempered it with a tiny laugh. “Half my soul is gone.” Then sobered it with a sigh. “But he’s safe and happy at the ranch with Ethan and Ava—and Sam is personally flying in Mia’s parents to reunite with her too. It’s a win-win for all.”

  “Except momma bear,” he pointed out.

  “Yeah.” She sniffed, clearly fighting back tears. “But momma bears learn to deal with this kind of shit.”

  He tugged her a little closer, as much for his own comfort as hers. Watching how this separation affected Tracy, if only for a few days from a son who was happy and alive, gouged him with remorse for what his beautiful makuahine must be enduring. To this very minute, the woman who’d given him life, in more senses of the word than one, still thought she’d memorialized her eldest son three days ago. She wasn’t dealing with it well, either. Lino’s minimal words on the subject, when he’d finally gotten around to saying anything at all, were blatant as blood on rice paper about it.

  He steeled his jaw.

  He couldn’t mourn the unchangeable circumstances right now.

  Forward.

  Move forward. Focus on what you can change.

  That meant no more playing South Pacific with his adorable wahine. Time to get his ass back up to the cottage, where Lino was working to transform the living room into a miniature command center capable of helping him comb out every speck of cyberspace lice there was about Sol Wrightman.

  Wasn’t going to be just a two-man job, thanks to Tait Bommer and Kellan Rush. The attached-at-the-hip camarades, once his ace sniper team for missions, had expanded their skill set considerably since joining SHRC, an ultra-elite team of covert operatives made up of the most tenacious bastards from all the branches of Special Forces. Franz had hated signing the pair’s transfer requests to the Sharks but was still happy as hell for them, since the opportunity allowed them to stay in Hawaii, where they both found personal fulfillment. The fact that they found it with the same woman, who had been like a third little sister since he and she were kids, had definitely been the harder “paperwork” to “approve”—but when Lani Kail arrived with the guys a few hours ago, Franz admitted he’d never seen her look happier. She’d found her unique version of true happiness—and who was he to call bullshit if that involved two lovers instead of one? Hadn’t he been closer to heaven than ever just a day ago, getting to fill up his subbie as an audience of dozens approved?

  A person didn’t get to pick how they were hard-wired. Hell, the wires were usually the easiest part.

  The hard part?

  Finding the one with the circuit board that didn’t short yours out.

  Circuit boards feeling as right as the woman under his arm.

  Wires as awesome as her hand roaming under his tank then skating fingernails up and down his back. Connections inspiring his contented sigh, as he rubbed his cheek against the top of her head. “At least you’ll have some good girl time tonight. Gem and Ronnie already seem to like Lani.”

  “What’s there not to like?” She swirled fingers across his lower back, teasing at the top of his board shorts. “Besides, I’m looking forward to plying the woman with wine and hearing a few stories from the childhood annals of the Franzen family.”

  He groaned. Halted. Circled her around, into a deep, wet, tangle of a kiss. Her answering moan came with her bolder touch, slipping beneath the shorts to cup his ass. He groaned in return. Fuck, this work attire was way better than BDUs, body plates, and eighty pounds of weapons and survival equipment. Thank the gods for brothers like Tait, who brought spare clothes along with a six-pack for the evening’s fun.

  Borrowed clothes. Borrowed jets. Borrowed condos. Borrowed time. The wild boys of his battalion, as well as the amazing females they’d chosen for their lives, were literally giving everything they could to help him figure out this insanity, all while pretending his ass was still a cremated pile of ash at the Bellagio villas. They astounded him. Humbled him. CAme through like true brothers, without any questions. Without any doubts. With complete trust.

  The same trust resonating through his woman’s deep sigh now—

  Just before she moved back from him by a small step.

  Just before she tried mitigating that meaning with a soft smile.

  A smile never making it to her eyes.

  An anomaly she obviously hoped he’d catch.

  A smile kicked up his lips too. She was so easy to understand. Even easier to adore. But best of all, to really help, beyond being her bodyguard or hired gun. This was the job description he liked best of all. Being her heart’s hero too.

  “Popoki.” He gave her hips a pair of gentle tugs, itching for her hands to find their way to his ass again. No dice, but that was okay too. As her palms flattened to his chest, more new details betrayed her changing mood. The hesitant twitches a
t the corners of her mouth. The drop of her gaze to the tips of her fingers, jabbing a little against his heartbeat. “Hey. What is it?”

  She snuck her tongue across her lips. “John.”

  “Tracy?”

  “I’ve been thinking.”

  “Gods help me.”

  She didn’t take his humorous bait. Shit. Maybe the gods really did need to get their asses down here.

  “When this is all over…I’m going to be out a Director of Security.”

  His pulse revved but then skidded to a stop. That was usually what pulses did when the gigantic writing on the wall was revealed, right?

  “Yes,” he murmured with deliberation. “I imagine you will be.”

  Her kitten tongue jutted again. Enticing him, even now. Captivating him, as she visibly fidgeted for what to say next. “I was hoping—well, after everything that’s happened and how perfectly suited you are for the position—”

  He cut her short with his sizable grunt. She was really going to make him read the wall out loud, wasn’t she? “You want me to consider the job.”

  Her head jerked back up. No more lip wetting. She was too busy blinking, an open broadcast of bafflement. “Don’t be overly thrilled on my account.”

  “No worries there.” His snark was drier than hers, but it worked for the point. The forest she was still missing through a lot of damn trees—none of which got in her way as she flattened her hands and pushed off, stumbling back by two big steps.

  “What the hell? I thought you’d jump at this.”

  “Jump? Like a shiny new pony?” Again, more wry control—instantly earning a new chunk of self-hate. Yeah, hating himself. Fucking flogging himself for defaulting to this sarcasm, instead of summoning the balls to order all the bullshit out of his soul’s cellar—out to where she’d see it. Know it. Understand it.

  “Okay, murder the bee in that bonnet.” She tossed her head impatiently, as the wind whipped a glistening brown chunk into her face. Throughout it all, her gaze never lost its incensed fire. “Is that what you really think? That I’m offering this to you as my token stud pony? ‘Payment for services rendered’?”

  He dipped his own head. Unbelievably, he didn’t have a comeback. For the first time since their hands had first clasped, this wasn’t a reaction he’d expected from her.

  For this first time since they’d met…he had no damn idea what she was thinking.

  “Turn the camera around,” he finally leveled, folding his arms. “If you were looking through the lens, what would you see? How would you feel?”

  Her hands braced to her hips. “Grateful,” she spat. “I’d feel completely, overwhelmingly thankful, dammit.” The tops of her shoulders trembled with ire—a move that, in any other time or place, would’ve had him dying to soothe that tension with the flat of his tongue. Right now, his whole mouth was school paste as she kept going. “I’d feel like a well-qualified, highly skilled soldier, newly shafted by the brass who were always supposed to have his back, now offered a chance to serve at the pleasure of the President of the United States.”

  “Ahhh, yes. Serving at your pleasure.” He added a laugh to the drawl, unable to help himself—probably having to do with the inescapable bitterness behind the sound. Shittiest thing? Most of it was self-directed. She was right. He should be grateful. He had exactly what he’d been asking the universe for. A direction. A purpose. But all he could fixate on was the metaphorical bridle around his head, along with the saddle on his back. “Gotten the pony to the water, haven’t you?” Annnd why not go totally for the asshole factor, as long as he was at it? “But will he drink?”

  Yep. Asshole. Her face crumpled in, confirming it in spades, before she wrestled her composure back into place with a tigress mode glower. “I’m not swimming in your metaphorical mess this time. John.” Her eyes flared, battling tears, to no avail. “Because I’m already drowning here, okay? I’m—” Her hands dropped to her sides. Fisted to the point of tremoring. “I’m trying to figure out something here. Something…anything to…”

  The tiny chokes between her words were massive stabs to his soul—and his control. He surged to her, fiercely sweeping her close once more. To his joy and sorrow, she melted into him. Wrapped her arms around him, twisting both hands into the back of his shirt. “I’m…sorry,” he grated into her hair. “I’m so fucking sorry. It’s not my intention to…drown you. Ever.”

  She sniffed against his chest. “So what’s the issue, you big kanapapiki?”

  He groaned then laughed—though this eruption contained true amusement. “Just a few hours after meeting Lani, and she already knows the dirty stuff.”

  She returned a light giggle. “Damn right, okole puka.”

  “All right, all right,” he groused. “So I deserve that.”

  “And you’ll accept the job?”

  He hated—hated—deflating her shining joy with his somber, steady gaze. Didn’t matter. Couldn’t matter. He had to say this. He had to make her see all the moss on the stones she walked—before either of them slipped and fell on the treacherous shit.

  “My beautiful ku’uipo. I am grateful for your offer. But we need to stop and think. If we really started singing this song, what would it sound like? Are the notes going to make people rise up and cheer—or cover their ears and flee the show?”

  She huffed. “The show? Who the hell says it’s—”

  “It’s a show, Tracy.” He stamped a growl beneath it. “We both know it. Hiding in the dressing room isn’t going to stop this curtain from rising. That means we have to think about what the scene looks like, even from the nosebleed balcony seats. Translated into street side terms, that means the whole fucking world will be watching.”

  Her chin jutted and her eyes flashed. “I’m well aware of what that means.”

  “Good. So you know you no longer get to be Tracy, and I no longer get to be John. You become the president, and I get to be the guy with the dark glasses and don’t-fuck-with-her scowl. I’ll be invisible—which means I have to stay invisible.”

  Her face jerked up even higher. Her gaze anxiously crisscrossed his face. “Which means…what?”

  He pulled down a measured swallow. “That if you let me accept this job, you’ll no longer let me in your bed.”

  Her breath audibly hitched. She blinked, dazed as if he’d belted her with a two-by-four. “That’s ridiculous.”

  He cupped her shoulders. “No. That’s necessary.”

  She squirmed against him. Stopped when she realized he wasn’t about to release her. Not by a goddamn long shot.

  “John.”

  “Tracy?”

  He jumped a brow. She thrusted a pout. “We—we’ll be discreet.”

  “Fuck discreet.”

  Her scowl intensified. The two-by-four changed from splinter board to ironwood, and he was glad of it. No. He was elated. Maybe this time, she got it. Really got it.

  Shit.

  Damn.

  No.

  It was time for him to get it. Like a shiv of lightning through his heart. Like a blast of thunder inside his soul.”

  “Fuck. Discreet.” He forced it out through tight teeth, if only to test if it’d bring on the storm again. Christ. Christ. It was a fucking Cat Five disaster. An intergalactic cataclysm. The Death Star, Krypton, Alderaan, and the Borg cube detonating inside him at once. Every pore in his body started sweating. Every molecule of air left his lungs. His heart, heaving hard, kept him going.

  His heart.

  His heart.

  Pushing him closer to her. Tightening his arms around her. Pushing him…pushing him…

  Until he was taking her mouth under his. Parting her lips with his. Sweeping his tongue inside, attempting to consume her just like she’d taken over him. Over all of him. His body. His spirit. His soul.

  His heart.

  When he finally thought he could attempt it, he dragged away. Even then, with just an inch of space between his face and hers, it felt like miles. How did guys
do this when they had to actually leave for months at a time on missions? How the hell was he going to do this, just to get his ass back into the cottage to join Lino, Tait, and Kell?

  But first things first.

  And the answer he had to give her—had to give her—sure as fuck came first.

  “I’m done hiding, Tracy.” One of his hands splayed across her back. He lifted the other to her face, pressing his fingers to her gorgeous skin, telling himself to memorize the shape and feel and warmth of her, only to realize he already had. Days ago. Days that now all seemed but minutes. Minutes he’d sacrifice his goddamn soul to get back. Why had he taken them all for granted? Why hadn’t he known?

  Known exactly what his lips now confessed.

  “I’m in love with you, Tracy Livia Rhodes.” His voice was a rusty sawblade of stark emotion, and he didn’t care. He cared about nothing but the woman in his arms. The miracle the goddamn universe had finally given to him. And yeah, he cared about telling her exactly that, in his clunky way. “I’m in love with you, and I don’t want to be ‘discreet’ about it. Ssshhh.” He emphasized the dictate by shoving his fingertips into her hair and yanking hard. “I know this is a shitty thing to lay on you right now. I know the timing couldn’t be worse, and that neither of us can do a goddamned thing about it. I know you can’t offer me anything more than what we’ve had this last week…which has been more than what I ever dreamed of.”

  He only took a pause because he had to. Because getting the words out meant letting the feelings spill too. All the feelings. So many. Too many. They rushed him like an army of cosmic insurgents, hellbent on killing him with bullets bearing her name. Exploding with her magic, her life, her light, her passion…

  And now, her tears. Streaming down her upturned face, each of them searing a hot, wet trail through his soul before hovering on her parted, quavering lips. “John…oh God…I don’t know…”

  “But I do.” He stroked down her jaw and took her lips again, simply brushing them this time. “I do know, kitten.” With a thumb, he swiped the salty wetness off her upper lip. “And because I do…I’m turning your offer down. But I’ll still be watching, okay? Whatever bastard does get lucky enough to preserve your safety, he’d better be ready to answer to me for every fucking move he makes—keeping you safe, for me.”