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“Nice tat.” His voice sounded like a rusty hinge. She looked back at him, and then her eyes dropped to her hip and her lips twisted into a smile.
“My free bird.”
He came over and sat down beside her on the bed, resisting the impulse to reach out and trace the dark blue border of the tattoo. “Free bird?”
She rolled onto her back and he leaned over her…maybe a little closer than strictly necessary…and went to work on the cuff. “Yeah. I got the ink done a few months ago to remind me how much I appreciate my freedom.”
“Well, in that case, I’m happy to report”—he popped the cuff—“you are once again free.”
She tried to sit up at the same time he leaned in to maneuver the cuff off her wrist. They collided a little. Her breath rushed out at the impact of her breasts against his chest, and he breathed her in. His mind indulged in a highly enthralling fantasy of ripping the lingerie off, hiking her knees up over his shoulders, burying himself inside her, and showing her the joys of temporary captivity.
She let loose a little moan, which might have signified she’d read his mind, but probably had more to do with the fact that he was pinning her to the mattress. “Sorry,” he said, but the word was barely a murmur.
“No worries,” she whispered back. He slowly sat up. Those endless gray eyes of hers sucked him in. A part of him knew he was absently rubbing her wrist where her attempts to pull herself out of the cuff had left a red mark. Another part of him acknowledged the heat of her hip against his thigh. But mostly, he just drowned in her eyes.
“I hate to appear unappreciative, but I—I really have to go.”
Go? He blinked. This was her apartment, wasn’t it? Oh, wait…she had to go.
“Right.” He climbed off the bed as quickly as his back would allow.
She darted past him like a black, lace comet. “Thanks. Beer’s in the fridge. Help yourself. I’ll be right there.”
When the bathroom door slammed shut, he released a breath, shifted the missile in his pants to a less prominent position, and then made his way to the kitchen. Thanks to the open floor plan, the candlelight from the living room illuminated the kitchen. He opened the fridge, twisted the cap off a Bud, and drank, pushing aside the oddly uncomfortable realization he was probably swigging Birthday Boy’s favorite beer. He popped the top on another bottle when she joined him a minute later, wearing a short, silky purple robe that did absolutely nothing to erase the image of her dangerous curves barely covered by scraps of lace.
“Better?”
“Yes, thanks,” she said, and smiled slowly as he stepped around the counter separating the kitchen from the living room a
nd handed her the open beer. Their fingers brushed when she took the bottle from him and the casual contact got his blood pumping. “Thanks also for letting me hijack your evening with my little emergency.”
“No problem.” He felt the impact of her smile all the way to the soles of his feet, forcefully enough to have a voice in his head warning him to back off. Everything he knew about Chloe so far suggested she was an impulsive, unconventional, bundle of trouble. After bouncing around between posts and deployments in some of the hotter spots around the globe, he was ready to trade trouble for stability. Maybe even follow Trevor’s example, find a nice girl, and settle down. On top of that, his CO expected officers to set a solid example for the troops, both professionally and personally. Since Harding could put him back in a helicopter or ground him indefinitely, Michael needed to toe the line, and something told him Chloe’s specialty ran more to crossing lines, not toeing them.
“That’s very gracious of you to say, but it would have been a huge problem for me if you hadn’t stopped. You saved my sorry ass.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know about that. The Fenwicks in 2D would have heard you calling eventually and helped you out. I do know for sure one person is going to be kicking his sorry ass tomorrow.”
Her brow crinkled and her mouth tipped down into a confused frown. “Who?”
“The moron who missed out on the best birthday surprise ever.”
Her expression cleared. Then she tossed her head back and laughed, and the candlelight sent gold highlights dancing in her hair. The soft, sultry sound of her laugh grabbed him by the balls, at the same time the robe slid off her shoulder and commandeered his attention. Without seeking clearance from his brain, his hand flew out and moved the slippery fabric back into place. His internal drill sergeant spoke up again, with a short, precise order. Don’t touch. He ignored it and toyed with the smooth silk.
Her laughter died away. She looked up at him with her enormous eyes and took a slow sip of beer.
Screw it; he was only human. “Tell me something, Chloe.”
Her throat worked, and she swallowed with an audible gulp. Her pupils widened. “What do you want to know?”
“You planning to reschedule the birthday party?”
She coughed out a laugh and shook her head. “No. Tonight’s event is officially and permanently canceled.”
“Good.” Giving in to temptation, he trailed his fingers along the back of her shoulder and down her spine, stepping closer to her in the process. Her body heat seeped right through her thin robe and his built-to-withstand-anything uniform. Her eyelids drifted to half-mast and her lips parted as his hand glided past the small of her back, over her hip, and, finally, along the bottom edge of her robe. When his fingers slipped beneath the hem and circled the tattoo, her breath hitched.
He traced the smooth skin. Goose bumps rose where he touched her.
“Thanks for rescuing me,” she whispered. One little step brought her to him. She put her beer on the kitchen counter.
