Page 8 of Fallen Hero

Her. That dress. Those shoes. The hair. Those lips. The sexy column of her throat. All of it together, plus the way she whispered my name, had me rethinking my abstinence.

“Disconnected your phone, babe,” I unnecessarily told her, as I kept pushing my way in farther.

Calista stopped her retreat and asked, “What?”

I didn’t stop my advance until I was close. So close I was in her space, and the smell of her perfume wrapped around my senses. It wasn’t flowery and sweet like a woman would wear. It was spicy and alluring, like something a siren would wear. It was meant to entice. You had to be close to smell it, but once you did, it held you captive. It was the kind of perfume a man wanted to have linger on his sheets.

And it pissed me right the fuck off.

“Told you I was going to call,” I reminded her. “Told you to pick up when I did. You didn’t, you disconnected the number.”

“Disconnected—”

I was too deep in my anger to process the question in her tone. “Disconnected,” I growled. “What the fuck, Calista?”

“Step back.”

That wasn’t a whisper, it was a sharp demand.

I ignored it and pressed on. “You called for backup, then ghosted me. Again, what the fuck?”

“I didn’t call for—”

Seriously? The woman wanted to play word games?

“Honest to God,” I snapped. “Called. Texted. Same shit.”

Calista’s eyes lit up, the blue deepening, then through gritted teeth, she bit out, “Step. The. Fuck. Back.” When she was done punctuating every word, I stood my ground, earning me a scowl and squinty eyes.

“Maybe we should start over,” Pete suggested, reminding me we weren’t alone.

I’d taken one look at the woman, lost my head, and hadn’t even heard the door close. Actually, I’d forgotten Pete and Fallon were with me.

I took a step back, lost her smell, but the full effect of the dress and shoes took its place. I wasn’t sure which was worse. What I was sure of—this woman was trouble. Trouble and sin. She’d lead me astray if I wasn’t careful.

Belatedly, I took in the room.

It was a hotel room—nothing special. Walls, carpet, furniture, bedclothes, padded headboard, all cream. No color except for the angry woman in black standing in the middle of the room. The view was of the parking lot. I could understand that strategically—her wanting to see who was coming and going—but still, the view totally sucked.

“Pete’s right,” Fallon said. “You already know him and Mase. I’m Fallon. Nice to meet you.”

I didn’t miss the humor lacing my friend’s introduction.

“Fallon,” Calista returned, then transferred her stare to Pete. “It seems there’s been a mix-up. I’m sorry you’ve wasted a trip. I’ll see to it that you’re reimbursed for your travel expenses.”

Mix-up?

What the fuck?

“Woman, I can read—”

“I’d hope so,” Calista interrupted. “Unless Pete’s now hiring illiterate baboons on top of assholes.”

My jaw clenched, and I fought to find a retort that sounded less the asshole she accused me of being and more professional. This woman meant nothing to me. Literally nothing. My reaction to her was on me. It wasn’t her fault seeing her in that dress had awoken something in me I’d long ago killed.

There were plenty of attractive women in the world. Hell, I couldn’t escape a shift behind the bar of the Dirty Plank without women hitting on me. Never had it crossed my mind to pull one of those women into the office, yank up her skirt, bend her over my desk, and fuck the bad attitude right out of her. Or in Calista’s case, tear that fucking dress off, toss her on the bed, and spend the rest of the night exploring all those sexy curves before I fucked her to within an inch of her life.

My reaction to her had to be because I’d been worried she was in trouble. I’d spent my adult life protecting people. First in the Navy, then in recent years rescuing women and children from abuse. That had to be it. It had nothing to do with Calista being gorgeous, nothing to do with those lips, those beautiful eyes, hips, legs, and girly pink toenails.