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She's his mission.
Elijah
Being in Special Ops, you never know what the next assignment will be. This one was supposed to be simple, but split decisions put me face to face with a woman whose presence threw every plan to shit. My duty was to keep my wits while guarding Raya against every possible threat, including myself. She’s too perfect, too addictive.
If I can’t stay focused, what’s going to stop things from blowing up in my face?
Raya
My objective was to finish what my father started, stay safe, and build a new life at the government's expense. Everything doesn't happen the way we want, though. This leaves me in unfamiliar territory, and not just the location. I've never been alone with a man, now I’m stuck with one protecting my life.
When right and wrong start to blend, I’m forced to trust the only thing I can.
My heart.
Get Sworn to Secrecy here.
Healing Berets Series, Book 2
EMBERLYNN
Sitting in the parking lot of my apartment complex, the severity of the day weighed heavily on my chest. As a licensed therapist, I had to keep certain paperwork on my clients. I’d forgotten to insert notes for two sessions on one of my favorites, and my supervisor wasn’t happy. Had it happened before? Yes. Did I know better? Also, yes. But taking notes killed the energy we had during our sessions. I remembered each of them and the important details. After they let me go, I made the notes they needed for his treatment plan. I didn’t hold a grudge toward them. It just sucked ass!
Sigh.
My phone pinged, alerting me to an email landing in my inbox.
Love Catered. Great timing.
Wrong. It reminded me that I was supposed to be on a flight in two days to meet the man who could be my Mr. Forever. At least, that was what they promised.
When they matched us, he’d surprised me by asking if we could get to know each other for two weeks in a place called Fitzpatrick Place in Bourbon, Texas. He was subletting an apartment there until he decided where to move permanently. After a long conversation with Dr. Cushions and my account manager at Love Catered, they assured me that the stay was safe. It was a three-bedroom suite, and there was plenty of space. They’d also arranged for someone to come and check on me to ensure everything was okay. He’d even paid for everything except my flight and rental car. I had to insist I paid that.
The crazy part was that we’d never spoken before. I’d seen his picture online when they’d sent over his profile, and we’d exchanged some messages, but that was the extent of our interactions.
Regretting the email I was about to send, I took a deep breath and wrote Love Catered to let them know I wouldn’t be arriving. I then messaged him to apologize, hoping he’d forgive me. When I tried to submit it, the box became uncheckable, and a message came over from Dr. Cushions. They couldn’t get a message to Hardison to let him know I couldn’t make it. So he’d be waiting for me if I didn’t show.
I exhaled my frustration in a quick whoosh and jumped out of my car. Grabbing my work bag and purse, I went inside and looked for a bottle of wine. Something red and dry to burn away the fury churning within me. I purchased one of the unmarked bottles from a local winery and settled on the island in the kitchen. Filling the glass above the line of respectful and going straight to the what the fuck level, I took a long sip. I closed my eyes; the freshness fizzled my nerves while the acidity bit at the back of my jaws. A loud smack eased the bite, and I hummed in approval.
“Yes!” I turned on some music and let the rhythm guide my hips.
Truth was… I’d been married before. He’d broken my heart, stomped it into pieces, and made a fool of me. He mocked my devotion to him by parading random women around. Everybody knew but me. I was too blind to see it, or I’d hoped the things that looked suspicious weren’t true. Denial. I’d been the queen of it, and he’d taken advantage, leaving me to piece together my life five years ago.
Bankruptcy had saved me from going under, but now I paid everything in cash or my debit card. It’d been hard enough to get this apartment. The idea of not being able to pay my bills here physically made me sick. My trip was supposed to reverse all the pain stored there, releasing me into a space where love existed. Too much dreaming, I supposed.
More wine. Less thinking.
And I did until I passed out while singing. I remembered my mother singing when I was a child.
* * *
I woke up hungover and more tired than I’d been when I’d fallen asleep. Water, breakfast, and medication made focusing a little better.
Just when my brain caught up to my reality, my phone rang. It was my best friend.
“Yes, Tia,” I answered the phone without enthusiasm.
“I was just calling to make sure that you were all packed for leaving. I’m not there to make sure that you’re packing the right things, so I’m doing the next best thing.”
