“We’re not doing this.”
“Yes, we are.” He kissed my throat. “Come on, West. Fly by my tower.”
I choked. Physically choked. “Okay. I’m not even hard now.”
He tilted his head, completely unbothered. “I am. And for what I have in mind, I don’t really need you to be.”
His hands dipped dangerously low. I pushed him off with a groan. “Brandt, no.”
“Don’t lose that loving feeling, West.”
“Oh myGod.I hate you.”
He waggled his eyebrows. “Would it help if I rattled off the specs of a Sherman tank?”
I cracked. Laughed despite myself. “Maybe.”
Brandt leaned back, smug. “I wonder if we could get Anthony Edwards to narrate a military documentary. That would satisfy both of us, wouldn’t it?”
“How,” I asked, deadpan, “is this supposed to be sexy?”
He held my gaze. “It’sTop Gun.Everything is sexy if you don’t overthink it.”
“That’s exactly the problem,” I muttered, adjusting the sunglasses he’d shoved back onto my face. “I was born to overthink.”
He was on his knees now, crawling across the bed like he thought this was some kind of sexy runway. “Which is why I’m here. To save you from yourself. And from cargo shorts.”
“I don’t wear cargo shorts.”
“Not anymore,” he said smugly.
He reached for my shirt buttons, but I caught his wrist.
“Brandt.”
“West.”
“This is a military kink.”
He shrugged. “It’s anaval aviation fantasy.There’s nuance.”
“I swear to God?—”
“Flyboys are hot! Come on, West. Live a little. Let me be your wingman.”
I stared at him, glasses halfway down my nose. “If you quote one more line from that movie, I will cite you under the Geneva Convention.”
He leaned in, lips grazing mine, warm breath teasing. “You can’t handle the truth.”
“That’sA Few Good Men.”
“Same vibe.”
“You’re deranged.”
“And yet,” he murmured, kissing just beneath my ear, “you still haven’t thrown me out of this room.”
I exhaled sharply, closing my eyes. Okay, fine. He smelled good. He was warm and persistent and stupidly hot when he was annoying.
