by KB Winters
Gemma wasn’t like any of those girls. She had a quiet confidence. A comfort.
She sipped her beer and casually watched the game up on the big screen TV above the bar. She didn’t look around and wonder who was watching her, or who she should go talk to. She didn’t mess with her clothes, hair, or makeup. She didn’t thrust her tits out when guys walked by.
“Hey, Aaron,” Sonya, one of the normal bartenders, spotted me and blew my cover, as she flagged me down from the other end of the bar.
Gemma turned at the sound of my name and a smile lit up her face. She waved me over and I flicked a glance over to see Sonya’s face fall as she realized I wasn’t flying solo. “You got my message?”
“Yeah.” I sank into the chair opposite her. “Thanks for the invite. I was having a rough afternoon…”
She arched a brow. “What’s up?”
I held up my casted hand. “Let’s just say it’s hard to do anything mechanical with this thing on me.”
“Ah,” Gemma nodded. “Sorry. It’s only for a few more weeks.”
“Yeah, well, as you’ve probably picked up on, I’m a little stubborn. I spent three hours trying to make it work.”
Gemma smiled. “You? Stubborn? Nah.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I chuckled. “What about you? Little early for a drink, huh?”
“Hey, it’s five o’clock somewhere,” she said, not missing a beat.
In reality, it was barely creeping towards three o’clock, but hey, who was I to judge.
“In that case,” I said, smiling as I signaled to Sonya. She knew my regular drink and hustled to bring it to me, flashing me her best smile as she placed a napkin down, casually brushing her arm against mine, before setting down the ice cold bottle of my favorite brew. A pale ale.
“This is a cool place,” Gemma said, completely unruffled by Sonya’s “special attention.”
Damn, this chick was either a cool customer, or she wasn’t interested and didn’t care that another woman was positioning for my attention.
“Cheers to…well…whatever day it is. I’ve kinda lost track.”
She laughed and lifted her glass to mine. “Thursday.”
“Right.” We sipped our drinks.
“If I was a good doctor, I’d lecture you about mixing alcohol with your pain meds, but I’m pretty sure you got that speech already and are choosing to ignore it.”
I chuckled and nodded. “Good thing you’re here to save me if I hit the deck, huh?”
Gemma rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything else about the drink in my hand. I’d had a couple of beers the night before while out with Jack and Holly, and hadn’t felt any adverse reaction. I figured it was safe.
“How many days off do you have?”
“I work three on, four off. Twelve hour shifts.”
“So, you have one more day off?” I quickly did the math in my head from the last day I’d seen her at the hospital.
“Yeah.”
“So you never get the weekend off?”
“Not usually. I mean, I can request it off if I have plans, but weekends in the ER are usually the busiest.”
“Aha.” I nodded and took another sip. “Makes sense. Sucks for you though.”
“Not really. This way I get all the best stuff to myself while everyone else is at work. The beaches are quieter, the restaurants less crowded, and I can drink at three in the afternoon and no one cares,” she said with a grin.
“Fair enough.”
“You strike me as a work horse too. That museum of yours is impressive. I did a little Googling.”
I set my beer down. “Well, it was.”
“What do you mean?” She set her glass aside too and pushed her hair behind her ear as she leaned in for the answer.
I looked at her for a moment, wondering how much of my drama I should drag her into. So far, she hadn’t shirked away from anything I’d told her. She’d seen me at some of my worst points, and hadn’t even blinked. I hadn’t known her for all that long, but something in my gut told me I could trust her.
“It’s kind of a long story,” I said, figuring I could decide what to tell her based on her reply.
She shrugged and sat back in her seat. “Hey, I just told you I got all day.”
After another beat, I launched into the story, not leaving out any of the gory details. The bar was pretty empty, as it was a weekday afternoon, but there was enough noise from the music piping through the speakers and the announcers covering the game on the TV that no one was going to overhear me as I laid it all out for her.
“Whew,” Gemma exhaled slowly when I wrapped up. She hadn’t interrupted me as I’d talked, not even to ask questions. She’d seemed to follow along without any issue. “That’s a pickle.”
I laughed at her casual reaction. “A pickle? Hell, I think I passed a pickle a while ago.”
She smiled. “I don’t mean to downplay it. It’s obviously very serious. I just don’t know what else to say. I mean, the crash was traumatic enough. I can’t imagine having to deal with all that bullshit on top of it,” she concluded, the smile fading as the mood shifted back to the serious. “I’m sorry, Aaron. I wish there was something I could do to help.”
“Me too. Ya know, it’s shocking how few people have experience in dealing with evil billionaire tyrants.”
She laughed softly at my joke. “What’s your gut instinct telling you to do? I find that’s usually the best place to start.”
“Well my gut can’t always be trusted. It tends to run hot and not think things through…” I let my voice trail, thinking back to the brawl in the parking lot the day I’d first met O’Keefe. I hated to think that if I’d just given him the F-4, or hell, just let him win the stupid auction, if any of this would have even happened. In reality, he would have found out about the museum sooner or later. He’d been bidding to develop Holiday Cove for months, but still…his tactics and fucked up attitude might have been vastly different had we not started out in the middle of a war.
Not that it mattered. The pin on that grenade had already been pulled and I couldn’t put it back now.
“I don’t want to give up my museum, it was my father’s legacy. He wanted me to keep it in the family. Indefinitely. How could I take O’Keefe’s money and just walk away?”
“Could you move locations? I mean, the business would still be yours, right?”
“O’Keefe said he wants the planes. I’d have to start from scratch. I guess I could fight him on that part…try to negotiate, but from our past interactions, that feels like I’d be negotiating a brick wall with a vendetta.”
Gemma smiled sadly. “I’m sorry.” She dropped her hand to mine and the chill from her glass radiated through to mine. She realized it when our skin met and pulled her hand back to wipe it on the leg of her jeans. “Condensation.”
I smiled at her, still marveling at how calm she was after everything I’d just told her.
“And you don’t want to get your friend…the smuggler guy in trouble…that’s why you aren’t going to call his bluff on that part?” Gemma asked, returning her—now dry—hand to the back of mine.
“Yeah, that would be shitty of me. O’Keefe is my problem. Besides that, Rick has done me some favors, not of the illegal variety, but it would be a smack in the face if I turned on him.”
Gemma nodded, her eyes dropped to our hands and I could see the wheels turning in her mind.
“You know what, let’s talk about something else,” I said, pivoting the conversation. I needed something more light hearted. “Tell me what made you join the Army. Were you a military brat?”
Gemma met my eyes again, her eyes bluer that grey in the natural light streaming through the window beside our table. “Yeah. Both of my parents were Army, actually. That’s how they met. Right after basic.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. It’s a crazy story. They divorced a couple years after my younger sister was born, but they stayed friends,” she continued. “They both en
couraged me to join the military, mainly for the education benefits since I wanted to go to medical school, which, is crazy expensive.”
I laughed. “Makes sense to me.”
“What about you? Your dad was Navy, and then your mother? What did she do? Besides cook awesome food?”
I stared at Gemma, blown away that she’d remembered the small detail I’d shared in the hospital. “She was a secretary at a law office. Up until she got sick. Then she had to quit so she could go through treatment. That was rough on her.”
“I’m sorry, Aaron. When did she pass away?”
“The summer before I turned fifteen. So just about fifteen years ago.” I paused, struck by how close I was to hitting my thirtieth birthday. “Anyways, after that, I had to stay with friends or relatives every time my dad went on deployment, and spent the rest of the time on a naval base, raising hell.” I chuckled.
“I bet.” Gemma smiled at me as she took another sip from her tall glass of dark beer. “I saw the tats…when you were in the ER.”
I nodded, a dangerous smile tugging at my lips. “You like what you saw?”
Gemma blushed slightly and it turned me on. I’d finally gotten to her. She’d so effortlessly batted away all my previous attempts at flirting with her, it was entertaining to have struck a soft spot.
“Ha! You did. What about you? Any tats?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m pretty boring I guess.”
“Hardly.”
She ducked her chin and I grinned all the more.
Half a heartbeat later, she looked up, a renewed fire in her eyes. “The other night, when I was there with you and your friends for dinner, he called you “Player”. Ya wanna tell me what that’s all about?” Gemma grinned at me and ran her finger around the rim of her empty glass.
Damn it if she didn’t flip the tables on me.
“Shit. You heard that, huh?” I ran a hand along my scruff coated jawline.
“Uh huh.” She licked her lips. “So spill. What’s the story? I know those call signs aren’t just given out for no good reason, and I’m pretty sure there’s a bang up story behind yours.” Her eyes were bright and sparkled.
“All right, all right.” I hesitated. It wasn’t like me to shy away from a good story, but the story behind my call wasn’t exactly one that painted me in the light I wanted Gemma to see me in. “Like all the best stories…it started with a bet.”
“Oh Lord,” Gemma said, giggling slightly as she rolled her eyes.
“This Chief Petty Officer bet me that I couldn’t bag the Admiral’s daughter. She was this prissy, high society girl, and I was this young rebellious type. A match made in hell, right?” I paused, carefully considering my next words. “Well, I got her, obviously.”
“Obviously,” Gemma echoed, laughing.
I grinned. “Well, it turned into this game. Guys would bet me that I couldn’t get a certain girl. I’d prove them wrong and take their money. So, I became “Player.”
“Just like Vegas,” Gemma teased, not a hint of disgust on her face. Instead, her eyes sparkled and glowed with amusement. “Did this game have a name?”
“Shit…I should have known you’d ask that…”
“Come on, fess up Rosen.”
“Fuck ‘Em By Friday". Which, incidentally, was the only rule. As long as I…fulfilled that…I’d win and collect.”
She dissolved into uncontrollable giggles and I rolled my eyes playfully. “That’s all you’re gonna get out of me for now. You know all my secrets.”
Gemma smiled and my heart kicked up another few beats per minute. Her hand was still on mine and her thumb had started tracing little circles on the ridge of knuckles.
“You wanna get out of here?” I asked, leaning in close enough that our faces were only a few inches apart.
Gemma smiled. “Time for my tour?”
“I know the perfect place to start…”
Chapter Eleven
“Can we go see the planes?” Gemma asked, when we got up the long drive to my house.
I cut a glance towards the museum. The protesters had disappeared, but something told me they’d be back full force in the morning. Possibly in greater numbers and even more rapid if O’Keefe was the one paying them to show up every day. I had no doubt that he’d kick up the pressure every day until the third day when I was due to sign over the museum.
“I understand if you don’t want to…” Gemma added, at my hesitation.
“No, no. It’s fine. Let’s go.” I turned off the Jeep and hopped out, hustling as best as I could to let her out, but by the time I reached her door, she’d already let herself out.
“You know this is an Army Jeep, don’t you?” She said, grinning as she considered my ride.
I laughed. “I’m aware.”
“What’s a Navy boy like you, doing with an Army toy like this?”
“I like Army toys…” I replied slowly, letting my words curl and twist into a seductive drawl.
Gemma stepped closer. “Oh, really?”
“Mm-hmm.”
She had no idea what she was getting herself into. The more she dangled herself in front of me, the more I wanted her, and the hotter it was going to be when I finally got her in my bed.
I brought my mouth down, ready to kiss her for the first time, but at the last second, she tugged away and stepped back, out of my reach.
Her little bob and weave routine made me want her more.
“Come along, your tourist is getting antsy,” she called back to me, as she sauntered off across the gravel drive. I hung back another moment, salivating over the way her ass swayed with each stride. Her walk wasn’t something she’d practiced or put together in an effort to seduce and distract. But damn it if it didn’t have that effect all on its own. She was wearing a tight pair of dark jeans and a fitted tank top that displayed her curves to perfection, and it took every ounce of strength to tear my eyes from her perky ass and catch up to her.
It was nice to walk through the front doors of the museum—a small luxury I hadn’t been able to take since the pack of protesters had shown up. I unlocked one of the double doors and held it open for Gemma. She slithered past me, just close enough for our body heat to mingle, starting a slow fire that would lead to a roar by the time the night was over.
“Wow!” Gemma breathed, spinning a full 360 in the foyer. The sun was still out and bathed the museum in soft, natural light through the large paned windows all along the perimeter.
“I always like the way they look in daylight. You know, the way they’d look in a field, ready for takeoff, before an epic battle,” I mused, walking to run my hand over the shiny exterior of a World War Two Japanese Zero that I’d restored six months ago.
“It’s incredible, Aaron. I don’t know where to start,” she replied, her eyes scanning the room hungrily.
“Well then it’s a good thing I’m the tour guide,” I said, tossing her a wink. I offered her my arm and she looped her arm through it, resting her hand on my forearm.
“A very good thing.”
I led her through the entire place, just as I would any other client, telling her about each plane, answering all of her questions, and then looped back around to show her the virtual reality booths where visitors could pay to fight an air battle taken straight from the history books. The technology was top of the line and incredibly realistic.
“Where did you get these? They’re amazing!” Gemma asked, pausing in the room where the simulators were stationed.
“A buddy of mine developed the technology after he got out of the Air Force. When he was testing it, he spent a lot of time here, taking notes on different planes, and because of all my help, he gave me a screaming deal on installing two of these babies. They became so popular that I had to add two more and I still have a waiting list most days. Each simulation runs for half an hour, some of them longer, and I charge fifteen bucks a pop. They’ve made back their cost tenfold in the last year. People love them.”
&nbs
p; “Smart.” Gemma broke away and went to get a closer look. Each seat was a replica of a real cockpit, with a full instrument panel, and a large, high resolution screen hanging in front, which, when in action, would project the images of the flight. She spun around and grinned at me. “Whatcha say, Rosen? You wanna play chicken?”
I laughed. “You sure you’re ready to take on the big boys?”
She nodded enthusiastically, her grin spreading wider.
“Okay. Wanna bet on it?”
“Hmmm. Depends. What’s the wager?”
“Well…we could bet clothing…” I drawled.
“Strip chicken?” She wrinkled her nose.
I roared with laughter at the combination of her expression and the odd title. “Let’s come up with something sexier than that…”
She giggled. “Well…I’m game…whatever you wanna call it.”
“Excellent.” Shivers of anticipation ravaged my body. I couldn’t wait to see that tight little body unwrapped from her clothes. “I’ll fire it up.”
With fumbling fingers, I loaded a scenario on two of the simulators. I got Gemma set up at her screen, even going so far as to lock her into the flight harness, as though it were a real flight. Mostly, it was an excuse to get my fingers on her. She shivered when my fingers ran across her thighs as I hooked the final belt. “You ready?” I asked, my voice low and husky.
“Yes, sir,” she replied, her voice just as throaty.
It took every ounce of self-control not to jump her right there. I pulled away and went back to my simulator, tapped in some controls, and took my own seat. “Okay, there will be a tutorial first, a practice if you will, so that you’ll learn to run the controls, and then it will start the battle.”
“Got it.” I looked over as she braced her hands on the controls and began to read the instructions flashing on the screen.
Within minutes, the battle was on, and the room filled with the realistic booms and pounds of the fight, as well as the curses and cheers from Gemma and me, depending on who was winning.
When it was over, I stared at the screen blankly. She’d won. And not only that, she’d fuckin’ kicked my ass.