The Two and the Proud(2)

“Corona Extra, two limes please,” Kim supplied and gave an amused snort after the waitress walked away. “I am not her favorite person.”

“Why is that?” Did she know the waitress personally? He glanced briefly in the other woman’s direction.

“She stared at you the whole time and you didn’t look away from me. Thank you, by the way. It’s a very nice compliment.” Kim moved with the bare minimum of excess. Her relaxed expression couldn’t hide the sharp assessment in her eyes or the air of expectancy wrapped around her.

“You’re welcome.” He linked his fingers together. The date arrangements they’d agreed on said drinks first. They could take their conversation to their reserved room after. Cocktails and conversation seemed a good way to kick off the night. So where did the sudden impatience curling through his gut come from?

“You still look…what was the word you used? Curious?” The low, smoky quality to her voice teased the hell out of him. But then so did her mysterious amusement.

“Definitely curious.” The waitress returned with their fresh beer bottles, served them, and he waited for her to leave before continuing. “Why does a woman like you need a service like this?”

“It’s not about need.” She met his question with complete candor. “It’s about want. We don’t really live in a society where you can walk up to someone and say, ‘nice shoes, want to fuck?’”

He damn near choked on his beer. Coughing once, he slid a sideways look at her. The amusement in her expression increased. “No?”

“Nope.” She leaned forward and looked at his shoes pointedly. “By the way, nice shoes.”

He laughed.

Kim Wakefield was an enigma—but damn, what a sexy one. He lifted his bottle, and they clinked bottlenecks in salute. “I like yours, too.”

It was her turn to chuckle and the sound rippled over him, a sensuous caress like nails stroking his spine. He took a long pull of the drink and settled back against the sofa. “So what do you do?”

“The boring work conversation. Hmm. Not the best opening play.” She winked and took a long drink.

“Hard to top the shoes,” he countered.

“True. But you could at least try….”

Is she challenging me? All right. “Does the rug match the drapes?” Embarrassment pricked him, but he ignored it and tossed the gauntlet down brazenly. She threw her head back and laughed again, the rich sound applauding his effort, but he didn’t count it a success until her amused amber gaze met his again.

“I could answer—but I get the sense you’re the kind of man who likes to fact check.”

Bold. Brassy. Brilliant.

He liked her.

“Yes, ma’am. I do.”

“Good, I prefer a man willing to work for what he wants.” She rolled her tongue over her lower lip. “Moment of truth time.”

“Oh?” After their rather bawdy, albeit bizarre, conversation—she wanted truth?

“I work for NCIS. Is that going to be a problem for you?”

The Naval Criminal Investigative Service. She was a cop.

His whole body revved.



Rowdy’s nostrils flared and his pupils dilated. His visible, physical reaction to where she worked and what she did for a living zinged her like a shock of static electricity. The clenched fist in her gut relaxed. Too often when men found what she did, they retreated or worse, they looked patronizing. The Marine sergeant did neither. He leaned closer.

“How long?” Even better, he didn’t ask the typical follow-up question.

“A few years. I got friendly with the agent onboard during my float on the Tortuga.” She cradled her beer bottle in her hands, twisting it back and forth. The cold moisture cooled the sudden warmth in her palms.

“No way you were a sailor.” The corners of his mouth curved.

“Hell, no. We stole the eagle from the Air Force, the anchor from the Navy, and the rope from the Army.” She lifted her eyebrows and waited. He didn’t need long.

“On the seventh day when God rested, we took the perimeter and stole the globe and we’ve been running the show ever since.” Their bottles clinked together in a toast. “Fighters by day….”

“Lovers by night. Drunkards by choice.” She finished it, joining him in the final act of the refrain. “And a United States Marine by an act of God.”

They tipped their bottles back and drained them before setting them aside. Her face almost ached from the smile, but she was right. All the background info she dug through on the 1Night Stand service and the security clearance request she filed were worth it. They hadn’t made it out of the lounge and for the first time in months, she relaxed.