"Thank you for the coffee." There were ten sarcastic, cutting jabs waiting on my tongue but I held them all back as he watched the words moving over my lips like they had shapes and forms he could distinguish from thin air. "Thank you for remembering what I like."
"You're welcome." He stared at me with those dark eyes of his, as if he could see inside me and page through my thoughts. Except he didn't, he couldn't. I didn't allow it. He saw only what he chose and only the worst of me. "We should go. I don't want to be late."
Professional Development is now available.
Tara Treloff and Drew Larsen hate each other.
They really hate each other.
This would be fine except for the issue of them sharing a job title
…and an office
…and now a five-hour-long drive to a conference their boss has made mandatory to resolve their issues.
And they would’ve been able to muddle through all of those matters but a major snowstorm is heading their way
…and there’s only one bed.
An Excerpt from Missing In Action
Find out where it all started with Tom and Wes in Missing In Action
G.I. Joe was barefoot and shirtless.
And wagging a knife at me.
And didn't remember meeting me before this charmed encounter.
When the reasonable part of me thought about it, I could forgive him. It had been a wedding with free-flowing liquor, and it had been more than five freaking years ago.
But when the vain part of me thought about it, I wasn't as forgiving. The vain part of me was my entirety and I wanted to be memorable. I didn't care if that made me petty and self-centered, and I wasn't sticking around to hoard scraps of his bare-chested attention. I shifted toward the front foyer, giving him a tidy view of my ass in this flawless suit and one more chance to dust off his memory.
And my ass was juicy in these trousers. Ripe-peach juicy.
I was unconcerned with the knife in his hand and the fact he continued wagging it in my direction. He wasn't going to hack me to death or throw it at me, or whatever it was these military types did. But the scar running down his flank and the brace on his arm, those were certainly consequential. I'd heard from Shannon that her brother-in-law was staying with her and Will while he recovered from an assortment of injuries incurred while overseas. I'd heard specifics on neither his wounds nor his previous location.
Wes stared in my direction—specifically, his gaze shifted to my very juicy ass—for another moment before dropping the knife to the marble countertop beside him. The clang of steel on stone vibrated between us.
"Wait. You're not leaving yet." He sounded irritable, as if him forgetting me was my problem. "Who are you again?"
I shifted back to face him but couldn't tear my gaze from his body. He was amazing. A real, live G.I. Joe with scars and fresh wounds and unbuttoned jeans and…no shirt hiding that glorious tuft of blond chest hair.
No shirt.
No! Shirt!
Dammit, I was trying to be aloof. He didn't remember a damn thing about me yet I was salivating over his abs and dreaming about pulling on that chest hair while I sat on his face. Why did I do this to myself? Really, why did I turn into a heart-eyed puddle every time a brawny beefcake blew me off? Because that was the situation now…and always. I got nothing and kept getting in line for more of it.
"Like I said," I started, busying myself with the files in my bag to keep from drooling, "I'm Tom. We've met before. I work for Shannon and I'm dropping off some documents for her." I slapped a purple file folder on the counter. "No need to brandish any weapons on my account, sweet pea."
"Then it's a good thing I don't have any others," he replied, tipping his chin toward the arm encased in a brace. "I should probably start hiding some in here."
In spite of myself, I barked out a laugh. "What is it with you Halsteds and arming yourselves to the teeth? Last I heard, your brother was working on a trebuchet."
"It's the in-depth knowledge of the evil lurking beyond the peace and quiet of this happy suburban town."
His words were easy, almost matter-of-fact, but there was nothing easy about the hard glint in his eyes. And those eyes, they shone like an endless night. Deep enough that I almost fell in and drowned as we stared at each other.
I blinked away, cleared my throat. "Right, well, I need to be in Marshfield before two and—"
"Will you come back?" he asked.
"What?" I laughed to cover my surprise.
"What?" he repeated, his brows quirking. He looked sad. Oh my god, if he didn't knock that off immediately, I was going to papa bear all over his ass. "I just meant, I don't know, I thought you might be coming back and—"
"I mean, maybe? I don't really—"
"No, yeah. It's fine. No worries," he said, shaking his head as we talked over each other. "I just thought you'd—you know, maybe—you'd come back. Here. Again. For Shannon…or something else."
"I can," I said before my attention-starved mouth could consult my no-nonsense brain. "I can come back. Later? Tonight?"
What the hell was wrong with me? What the actual hell was wrong with me?
"Yeah?" A grin pulled at his lips and my belly flipped all the way over. That hadn't happened since I'd tried intermittent fasting last summer. Horrible experience. Then he had the audacity to continue speaking after flooring me with that smile. "Would I be pushing my luck if I asked you to bring some sushi with you?"
"Yes," I replied flatly. "It's broccolini and salmon for me tonight."
Wes cocked his head to the side and rubbed his hand down his abs. Down the thick trail of blond hair and under his waistband. It took real strength to keep from reaching out and petting him. I knew if I did, I'd call him a good boy while I did it and we could not have that. Not at all. And it was bad manners to pet men without their permission.
"You're sure about that?" He tucked his thumb behind his waistband, tugging his jeans down just enough to expose paler skin and muscled grooves and dusky hair that made me stupid. Just fucking stupid.
With a sigh, I asked, "What do you want?"
"I'm sure I'll be happy with anything you give me," he drawled.
"Oh my god, stop it," I snapped, holding up my palm at him.
"Stop what?" he asked, all sweet and innocent.
"You know," I warned, jabbing a finger in his direction. "You know what you're doing."
Those jeans slipped down another quarter of an inch. "Is it working?"
More than it should.
Missing In Action is now available.
An Excerpt from Fresh Catch
If you enjoyed Max and Jory, you’ll love Cole and Owen in Fresh Catch.
"May I join you?" I asked, leaning through the doorway to the porch.
Owen was kicked back in his chair, a book in his lap and a tumbler of whiskey by his side. If there wasn't an interesting ball game to watch after dinner, Owen often settled on the porch and I holed up in my room. I'd made good progress with a handful of new ideas I was testing out, but I was climbing the walls tonight.