The Two and the Proud

Chapter One





Rain poured in great sheets as thunder rumbled and the occasional flash of lightning burnt his retinas. Rowdy checked the GPS for the third time when he swung into the carport outside the hotel. The Castillo Washington was a five-star luxury hotel parked squarely in downtown D.C. Fifteen minutes behind schedule; he was still thirty minutes early for his date. He preferred early to late. Handing his keys to the valet along with a tip, he took the claim ticket.

The interior of the hotel appeared as luxurious as all the advertisements boasted. Parquet floors, vaulted ceilings, crystal chandeliers, and a dozen intimately arranged seating areas. Shops lined one wall, offering designer clothes, shoes, purses, and souvenirs for hotel guests. Signs pointed in the direction of the front desk and the hotel’s various lounges.

Rowdy bypassed all of them and took a seat on a comfortable sofa outside the dark, moody Aces. It was after happy hour, but the business crowd inside remained thick.

A waitress scooted over to him. “What can I get for you?”

He blew out a breath. He’d debated this on the drive over. He enjoyed a good glass of wine, having grown up drinking his family’s personal vintage. But years in the Corps turned him on to various types of beer—and he enjoyed those even more. “Sam Adams. Bottle.” He added the last before she asked.

“Of course.” She set a napkin down on the table next to him and strode off, her hips swaying despite the briskness of her pace. Unbuttoning his jacket, he pulled out his phone, thumbing it over to the email box. He checked his watch and nodded. Still early, which gave him time to scan the crowd and observe his date as she arrived.

The waitress returned with his beer, and he gave her a credit card to open a tab. He was on his second swallow when a woman in a dark blue dress sashayed in. She surveyed the lobby, and the tables around him. For the briefest of moments, their gazes collided, but she moved on and waved at someone behind him. He washed back his amusement with another drink.

A trickle of female arrivals streamed past—they glanced at him or gave him a flirtatious smile but continued on to other destinations and plans. At five minutes past the appointed date time, annoyance crept in. Fifteen minutes passed and annoyance settled in his gut along with his beer.

He checked his phone for other messages—still nothing. The tables around him filled. But he wasn’t the only one sitting alone. Two tables over, a devastating redhead with relaxed posture studied the crowd. Dressed in a pair of jeans, suit jacket, and white button down shirt, she faded into the setting—which made no damn sense. She was one hell of a looker. Rowdy’s eyes narrowed—she wasn’t watching the crowd.

She stared at him.

The corners of her mouth curved into a mysterious smile and she saluted him with her beer.

He nodded and glanced down at his phone when it vibrated.

The mail flag signaled and he thumbed it open.

Feel free to join me.

His eyebrows climbed. It was a forwarded message—from the 1Night Stand service.

Slanting another look at the redhead, he lifted his eyebrows and she grinned. Intrigued, he grabbed his bottle and walked over to the sofa she claimed. “Good evening.”

“Good evening.” Amusement twisted between the words. She stood and stretched out her hand. “And let me begin this introduction with an apology…Kim Wakefield.”

“Hello, Kim Wakefield. Rowdy Easton.”

Her firm grip was warm, soft, and perfunctory. A lot like the woman herself. Despite her attempt to cover up her femininity, she only emphasized it. Of course, maybe she hadn’t attempted to disguise it. Women didn’t have to wear dresses on dates.

“You look a little confused.” She held his hand longer than was necessary, but he didn’t mind.

“Curious. Not confused.”

She released her grip and disappointment surged through him. A second curiosity, but he set it aside for the time being. She motioned to the sofa next to her, and he waited for her to sit before taking the center cushion. It put him right in her space—and what an alluring space it was.

“What’s got you curious?” She leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. She wore boots, laced tight, low heeled, and sensible. He knew expensive shoes and he knew combat boots—hers looked like a combination of the two.

“You.” He studied her face. Surprisingly, she didn’t have green eyes so traditionally associated with red hair. Instead, her eyes were almost the color of amber. Under the low overhead lighting, they gleamed like polished gemstones.

“Me?” She lifted her brows.

“Oh, yeah. You.” The waitress paused next to them and he held up two fingers. “Another Sam Adams and whatever the lady is having.”