THE WATCHERS: 6 Military Romance Bundle

by Kristina Weaver

  Umm, I want some.

  “What I found out is that there is absolutely no explanation for this. You’re…”

  “Boring as hell. Yeah, I get that, but you know what Confucius say, don’t ya? A bird in the hand is a song for the ages.”

  My bark of laughter makes her smile, and she abandons her toe to sit up and look at me, her expression serious.

  “I’ve been thinking about this whole mess, and it struck me that, logically, no one should dislike me enough to do this. I mean, honestly, I’m pretty cool, you have to admit that.”

  “Well, I haven’t yet met another female Elvis,” I concede thoughtfully.

  “I know, right? Plus, I’m super nice to like everyone, even short-shirt hairy guy two doors down, who turns his underwear inside out and smells like cheese. I’m a catch. It’s just the truth. No one who meets me doesn’t like me; it’s impossible. So, this just tells me that it’s some freak who probably saw me at the store and decided he didn’t like something about me.”

  “Okay. That’s a possibility. More likely too, because yes, I agree, you’re somewhat too likeable to be hated.”

  She snorts and narrows one eye at me before sucking on her teeth and flipping me the bird.

  “I was thinking; this is a great time to discuss a bait and trap.”

  Jesus.

  “Switch. It’s called a bait and switch, and it’s not at all what you’re probably assuming it is from your description,” I mutter.

  “Whatever. I mean, I should maybe be out and about, go to work, do my normal routine to draw this guy out. No offense, but sitting here all day with only you and Carl as company is possibly one of the worst things I can imagine since you refuse to have sex with me.”

  I choke on my own spit and look back at her, my whole body reacting to her words in a way that leaves me struggling not to show how it affects me to hear her say such things.

  The truth is part of me would really rather just let Carl and his team do all the work while I spend my time showing Sparrow exactly how much I really do want her.

  “I don’t like the thought of you being so exposed. Anyone could shoot at you.”

  “I’ll wear a vest.”

  “Sniper.”

  “Hell, this isn’t freaking Desert Storm or Blade Trinity, Lex, it’s Vegas. I’m just one of thousands in this city, dude. Give it a rest. Besides, you haven’t seen my wig. It’s so full of hair spray and baby oil it’s like wearing a Kevlar helmet.” She laughs loudly, curling her lips.

  I don’t like it, but I have to admit that it’s under consideration after this afternoon’s epic fail gathering intelligence. Unless you consider learning all the ways an Elvis impersonator can curl their lip, I got nothing to work with here, a novelty for a guy like me who can basically get any information I want at the click of a button.

  “I’ll consider it if nothing happens in the next few days.”

  She grins and jumps up when the doorbell rings, going for her purse with a speed that belies her short legs.

  “Oh hey, Arnie!”

  “Goddammit, I told you to stop answering the door! He could have a gun, and then I’d have to break his neck!” I yell, pushing her behind me to hand the pizza guy the money.

  “Oh please, Arnie always delivers my pies, and besides, Carl’s out there hairy balling me.”

  “Eyeballing. Christ, it’s fucking eyeballing,” I groan dejectedly when she just smiles and walks away, completely unaware of my anger or the abject fear I see coming from the pimply-faced stoner currently shaking on the doorstep.

  “Dude, I’m not armed,” he squeaks, backing way slowly.

  “Clearly, unless I consider your bong a deadly weapon. Get out of here and keep the change.”

  He runs, and I watch Carl waylay him before closing the door with a slam.

  “Sparrow!”

  She’s already shoving pizza in her mouth when I stomp into the kitchen, her mouth so full her cheeks look like two fat balloons.

  “Shtot calla m’sprow.”

  “You’re a Goddamn danger to yourself! What the hell is wrong with you?” I demand, grabbing the half of the pizza she’s kind enough to share with me.

  She’s digging into her half like a starving refugee and laughing at me as I glare and close my eyes, dreading the next few days.

  “Look,” she mutters after swallowing loudly, her mouth rimmed with pizza sauce. “I told you, I’m not playing this hiding game. Nana always said the best defense is pulling the wool. So, that’s what I’m going to do.”

  She takes another huge bite of her slice and chews slowly, just watching me simmer with anger. Emotions I know are only amplified because of the denial I’ve been practicing all day.

  It’s fucking ridiculous. How can it be possible to feel this way when I’ve known the woman less than twenty-four hours?

  “You know, half the stuff you say isn’t even logical, but be that as it may, if that…word vomit was meant to convey your intent to go against orders and leave this house, you can think again. The answer is no. You have got to give me some time before you start making plans, Sparrow.”

  Her eyes narrow, but she seems to struggle with whatever she wants to say and then smiles.

  “First off, don’t call me Sparrow, okay? It implies that I’m just another one of your birds, and I don’t like it. What, you thought I wouldn’t get why you call your females that nonsense? I do. Second, I get what you’re saying, and okay, two days. That’s all the time you get before I start going about my business again. I have a job. One I won’t just give up because of some freak out to gut me. Nana’s old boyfriend was a vet, and he taught me how to get away from an attacker.”

  Shit. Two days?

  “Fine, but you stop your shit with opening the door, and you let me call you whatever I want, as long as it’s not Sparrow.”

  She smiles, seeming satisfied and shakes on it, her sauce-covered hands enfolding mine with relish.

  “Deal.”

  “Good, Hummingbird. Now about the sex…”

  Chapter Seven

  Rosetta

  Know what I hate more than a man who’s hotter than I am? A man who’s hotter than I am and enjoys teasing the shit out of me. For instance, that sex comment he made two nights ago was his way of opening up a lecture that had the pizza curdling in my belly.

  I can’t sleep with you.

  I don’t want to sleep with you. Knuckle-bitingly sad, that one.

  You should have more respect for yourself. Yeah, as if I even care that he’s got the wrong end of that branch. It’s not that I don’t have self-respect. I just think it’s overrated when two people are obviously ready to have sex.

  We should focus on the task at hand. Sex isn’t important. Tell that to my vagina, why don’t you? She’s the one who won’t stop crying.

  Oh, and lastly, my favorite, absolutely favorite statement of the two-hour rant….

  I don’t trust women enough to forsake my duty for them.

  What the ever-living banana bread is that supposed to mean anyway? I never once suggested that he should trust me. I mean, many an individual has boned without even knowing the other’s name.

  It’s just biology!

  As for the whole forsaking his job thing…what a Goddamned crock of goo. The man probably screws the wind if he wants it enough, and he’s spouting some duty crap at me?

  Like I even care about his delicate man sensibilities. Okay, so I care! Damn my softer side. But I’m not about to let that stop me from having something I want. Something that seems like fate all wrapped up and handed to me on a plate.

  I want Lex, that’s just the long and short of it. And I’ll have him. Hence operation, “Let’s Play Fifty.”

  I can hardly withhold a giggle when he yawns again, thanks to the very light sedative I slipped him earlier. His eyes droop, that head of his lolling on his neck for the third time before he blinks rapidly and shakes himself awake.

  “Man, you look beat, boy. Why
don’t you scamper off to bed? Carl Junior just got here, so we’re all set for tonight.”

  The look I get is scathing, but another ten minutes and twenty yawns later, my Costner pushes himself up and rises with a slight groan, his eyes heavy lidded and sleepy.

  “Go to bed, Dove.”

  “What? I’m watching The View, loser. No one messes with me and my fix, Lex, no one. Just go to bed, old lady. I’ll be just fine. The worst that could happen is the TV breaks, and then I’ll have a nervous breakdown,” I quip, keeping my smile to myself when he stumbles a little, rights himself and then stomps off to bed.

  Look, I know that as plans go this one is crazy and maybe a little bad, you know, morally. But darn it to the devil, I can’t spend another night having him stare at me, sporting a hard-on with nothing happening.

  Lex wants me, he likes me, and as far as I can see, we’d be great together. At least sexually, as I’ve found the man to be a complete ass a lot of the time.

  He constantly criticizes my housekeeping skills and sneered at me when I shrugged and explained that I’m not a housekeeper or into the whole OCD lifestyle.

  He leaves the toilet seat down, clean and pee-free. I mean come on! He’s a guy. He’s supposed to be genetically programmed to leave the seat up and splattered with pee.

  Not that I mind his thoughtfulness, but it just highlights the true gruesomeness that is my lifestyle, and I find it offensive. Completely, unacceptably…unacceptable that when held up against his perfect behavior, I look some hairy-legged savage that picks her teeth with her toenails.

  I’m thinking a little sex should loosen up that scrumptiously tight butt and maybe redeem my womanhood some. Also, well, I’m horny as hell watching him strut around in those tight jeans, the towel when he comes out of the bathroom—okay, so I could stop “coincidentally” leaving my bedroom just as he’s done showering, but where’s the fun in that?

  And come on, the man wears boxer briefs à la Beckham. Not that I stared at him while he slept, ahem, that would be weird.

  So yeah, my plan is to sedate him a little, tie him to the bed, and play with him a little till he admits that I am so his type. Not that I’m offended by his continued insistence that I’m not his type. I have self-confidence! Most of the time.

  I wait another twenty-three minutes and force myself to watch an episode of Good Eats before rising and tiptoeing to his room, my heart hammering the closer I get.

  Am I really going to do this? I ask myself as I push the door open and peer into the darkened room, my nerves jumping so hard I feel like an electric shock is coursing through me.

  Stop this. Turn around. Go to bed.

  My conscience keeps screaming at me, as well as the tiny kernel of shame my priest drummed into me, but I push it away vehemently and creep forward, tensing when I hear a moan and the rustle of the covers.

  Freezing is dumb. I mean, he could wake up and see me. It’s not as if I’m invisible or anything, but it’s what I do, going rigid before he settles and seems to just go limp.

  He’s asleep, unaware, and come on, it’s not like you gave him a horse tranquilizer. Go get it, lioness.

  I do. I’m shaking the whole time I use old pantyhose to restrain him and only stop once his wrists and ankles are tied down, his body stretched out before me like a feast.

  Stop!

  I don’t. I pull the sheet back and gasp when his naked body is revealed, every muscled inch open and at my mercy as I drink him in. Muscles, so much hardness, and dear Lord in heaven, all that skin with only the slightest smattering of hair leading from his navel down to his sex.

  He’s hard, his erection standing proud and erect, so hard it’s lying tight against his belly. I’ve seen two guys completely nude but nothing, not even that porn travesty Frankie made me watch with her on girls’ night, can compare to what I see now.

  Beauty. Perfection. Mouth-wateringly delicious, yummy and completely lickable, smooth, golden skin that I can’t help but reach out for. When my hand connects and touches his stomach, I moan out loud and feel my body go molten.

  My nipples bead and a rush of desire hits me, making my breath stutter a little. I must be a total creeper because knowing that I have this strong, virile man at my mercy is such a rush that I get wet and start throbbing.

  But he’s not awake yet, and I have a lot to do. Like take off my clothes.

  Stripping takes a lot less time than I anticipated, despite the little striptease I perform to boost my confidence, and before I know it, I’m bare and standing beside his bed, ready…or as ready as I can be.

  “Don’t be a ninny. Just breathe and focus. The porn tape Frankie brought last time should be theoretically sound,” I mutter beneath my breath, just before swinging up onto the bed and crouching between his thighs to wait.

  ***

  Lex

  The woman is adorable and so damn obvious I don’t know how the hell I kept a straight face when she watched me sip my drink with glee. To an untrained pallet, the slightly bitter tang in my drink would have gone unnoticed, but I caught it immediately. I also spotted the little area of unmixed residue floating at the top when I went to sip it.

  I have to say, that sparked my curiosity, and I decided to play it out, biding my time after killing her one surviving plant by dumping my drink.

  Poor Dove, she looked so excited when I started yawning. I had to choke back a smile when she actually tittered and bit her lip to keep from laughing.

  The real test, though, has been lying here silently, not moving a muscle when she started inspecting my naked body after tying me up. Nothing, but nothing in this world makes me harder than seeing a woman lick her lips after eyeing my dick.

  Instant arousal, though God knows, I was hard from the moment I realized what she had planned, and I even struggled at one point not to just take her to the floor in the living room.

  You’re thinking I’m nuts? The woman is so attracted to me she tried to drug me and tied me to the bed. Reminder, teach my girl to tie better knots, these are laughable and a five-year-old could get out of them.

  When she starts stripping, swaying her hips and doing a shimmy—that I’m sure she doesn’t see as Elvis-like, but is—I have to grind my teeth to stop from groaning.

  Her boobs aren’t big, but God almighty, are those firm, succulent globes just gorgeous. By the time she’s done dancing for me and I take my slitted eyes lower, I feel pre-cum beading on the tip of my dick, wetting the skin of my belly.

  I want to break my bonds and lunge, taking her down and doing every single nasty thing I can think of to her curvy, compact body, but I don’t. I keep completely still—no matter how my body screams at me to move—and watch as she carefully hops up onto the bed and gets to her knees between my thighs, her sex on full display for the briefest minute.

  It’s enough though, because I know some very important things now. She waxes just the lower part of her lips and around her clit, leaving a triangle of silky-looking curls on her mound.

  And she’s wet. Just seeing that, the evidence of her want, has me grinding my jaw. I want to spread her out, open those pink lips and fall on her with my mouth.

  I want to sense, taste, and imprint that pretty slice of heaven in my memory and my very being, because if she smells and tastes as good as she looks, I can guarantee I’ll be so lost in her nothing else will matter.

  That thought cools me somewhat, and I pause, pulling my mind from between her smooth thighs. If I do this, if I let her do what I think she’s planning to do, it will change everything.

  Not that it’s exactly committing, I assure myself, but with a woman like my Rosetta, whom I actually like as much as lust after, it’s going to be more than sex.

  I’m not a commitment type of guy. I’ve lived my entire life skating by, never settling, and I like it that way. Not that I think she expects me to commit or anything. I bet she just wants some hot sex while we’re stuck with each other.

  The point is that I like just floating a
round and going from friend to friend when I’m not on missions. It keeps my life hassle-free, and I get to move on all the time, never tied down to one thing for long.

  No, I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong. I didn’t have a messed-up childhood or grow up abused or anything to explain why I’m this way. I had a great life with two great parents and a sister who loved me.

  I played ball in high school and had everything I could ever want.

  There’s no deep, dark reason or hidden angst involved in the way I am. I just like the freedom this kind of life affords me.

  But now, with her, I feel as free as ever—even though we’re tied down for now—and that scares me a little because I have never felt this way when women come on strong. Usually, I run the moment I see that much need in their eyes.

  What the hell am I doing? I need to—

  I can’t stifle a groan when I feel a soft hand glide up my thigh and feel hot breath just before she leans down and kisses my stomach. Everything below the navel goes hard and hot and I twitch, fighting the urge to move and push closer.

  “Oh, Lex, please don’t be angry at me when you wake up. This is your own fault, you know. You called me ugly, and I have to take up that challenge.”

  Never! I never once said that.

  Ah, but I did reject her every advance, sneer at her sleepwear that almost made me rip my jeans my cock got so hard, and I also haven’t stopped telling her to give it a rest because she’s not my type.

  Great, asshole, you basically called her nasty, you fuck.

  When she pulls away and my slitted eyes see the doubt she’s started feeling, I know what I have to do. My mind switches gears instantly, and I start planning—ignoring the warning in my head—to start stretching and make the most convincing waking noises I can.

  That’s when my little mercenary strikes, and fuck me if I don’t want to shout out my joy to the world when a soft, small hand wraps around my dick and squeezes.