Melting Ice(2)
“Can the bitching and make it happen.”
“Seriously? I don’t get how some terrifying terrorist hasn’t managed to slit the jerk’s throat yet.”
Syn tried to ignore Karen’s all too familiar grumblings. Her childhood friend-turned-assistant had never met Ice but held a huge grudge over his uncanny ability to turn their schedule, along with Syn’s heart, upside down.
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to change dates on city permits? Dealing with bureaucratic red tape is so not part of a fluffer’s job description?”
Covering her laughter with a cough, Syn debated the idiocy of having hired her snarky friend when the workload had become overwhelming. Interacting with the handsome steroid-laden models had thrust Karen’s hormones into overdrive. She lived for each and every chance to get close to them. Good thing she’d never met the gorgeous men of SEAL team Arapahoe. Poor girl would be blown away. Syn hardly managed to form a coherent sentence when surrounded by the whole team and chalked it up to an overdose of testosterone short-circuiting her brain.
“Give it a rest already. For the final time, I am not shooting porn and misting the models with water does not make you a fluffer.” She bit back a smile, refusing to reveal her amusement.
“Does too,” Karen stubbornly insisted under her breath. “I so totally fluff those studs up. And as if you are such a high and mighty professional. Ha! You shoot people for a living then take them into dark rooms and blow them up.”
Rather similar to Ice’s job.
Okay, that one was too funny to hold back her laughter. “I’m not paying you to provide comedic relief. Get to work.”
Karen might complain while doing it, but she’d efficiently get the job done. Syn ignored the rest of her friend’s ranting and instead focused on how she wanted to handle the situation with Ice. Picking up her iPhone, she entered the passcode, tapped the screen a few times, and soon stared into his breathtaking blue eyes.
He had no idea she’d snapped the candid picture, yet another no-no when it came to Ice. The man had serious issues about having his picture taken. Syn hadn’t been able to resist the urge to capture the somewhat grainy contraband image she cherished above her perfect studio photos. She’d caught a rare unguarded moment in time. His rough-hewn features were relaxed, harsh angles softened by a few days beard growth, sensual lips curled with the slightest hint of a smile. His heavy-lidded eyes were free of the shadows often clouding over the blue and were instead filled with intense hunger as he casually observed her.
Gazing at the picture had gotten her through many long, lonely nights and gave her the sense of connecting with him when thousands of miles separated them. Silly, but the photo was her personal crack, an addiction she refused to give up. There was no twelve-step program for getting over Ice.
Being with him in person, looking into his calm, cool eyes, and saying the words to end their eight year relationship was going to be the hardest thing she’d ever done.
****
Watching the antics of idiot civilians dressed-to-entice as they vied for notice in the noisy and crowded bar briefly amused Master Chief Sam Westervelt, but nothing distracted his attention from each new person entering the door. The team had arrived in Key West only a few hours ago and already everyone was out letting off some steam. While he appeared relaxed, if somewhat detached from the Friday night debauchery surrounding him, he was ever aware and alert. That’s how he got his code name—Ice.
Hell, even in a bar he limited his exposure, positioning himself where he had a clear view of his surroundings. He knew the placement of every window and door with predetermined escape routes should anything go down. Off duty and his hands still itched for the weight and shape of his rifle as he mentally picked out the choice vantage points, calculating distances and angles of trajectory. Had he been outside, he’d have estimated the wind speed and factored it into the process.
So without turning his head, Ice knew the moment she walked through the door. He sensed the distance closing between them, judging the remaining space by the increasing strength of the tingling in his spine. They’d been apart for months, yet his awareness of her was instant and complete, crackling in the very air. While inside his head every instinct screamed for him to take action, outwardly he remained a placid, unreadable surface.
He hadn’t been sure she’d come. Not after witnessing the pain piercing her expressive green eyes the last time they got together and the team got recalled less than twenty-four hours later. She hated his lifestyle, the endless months alone not knowing if he was dead or alive. He couldn’t blame her. Being with a SEAL was not an easy life.