Dance With Me (10 page)

Rebecca frowned at him. He’d said that already. Three times. “It’s okay. I know you can’t.”

Major let out an agonized moan and buried his face in her neck. “I can’t stay,” he whispered tortuously in her ear, his voice breaking slightly. And Rebecca understood.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and stroked his neck lightly. Her heart broke for him, for the man that wanted only to be a man, but had committed himself to something far greater.

“Shh,” she whispered, placing a soft kiss to his ear. “It’s okay. You’re here now.”

He let out a frustrated groan and began thrusting again. “One more time,” he whispered. “Just one more.”

Chapter 8

For seven weeks Rebecca expected to find Major every time she walked through her door. But he wasn’t there, and though she’d told him she understood, it still stung a little. Rebecca had never been one to mope and she finally called her friends and scheduled a girls’ night out to boost her spirits. It had been a couple of months since they’d had one, courtesy of Mike monopolizing Tara’s time. They had a chemistry most couples would envy. But enough was enough, and Rebecca was determined to yank Tara out of bed and into a bar. Or club. Or anywhere that had mixed drinks and dancing. Anywhere she could forget, for just a few hours, how much she longed for the dark soul that matched her own; the dark soul she’d only shared two nights with.

Rebecca was ecstatic when her three best friends agreed that it was time for another night on the town. She was a little miffed when Chris insisted on tagging along as a designated driver. Rebecca would much rather have taken a cab. It was easier than having Chris—giant, intimidating, overbearing, lovable bastard that he was—shadowing them the entire night and scaring off every man that approached. Rebecca wanted free drinks and she wanted to dance with complete strangers. She certainly couldn’t accomplish that with Callie’s fiancé acting as a bodyguard. But she shrugged, resigned to accept his presence. Besides, he wouldn’t pay Rebecca any attention as long as Callie was sexy as hell. Chris couldn’t keep his eyes off Callie most of the time, and Rebecca would make sure he had the right incentive to keep his gaze firmly planted on his fiancée.

Then she would dress the part and pretend, for just a few hours, that she was the carefree woman they all thought she was.

* * * *

The major had learned long ago that sometimes a false identity was best cultivated behind closed doors. Out of sight, out of mind and all that. It had taken seven weeks—he’d also learned that patience was imperative—to set up his new status as an off-site civilian IT help desk operator for the SEAL teams at Little Creek. That allowed him to discreetly monitor every communication received and sent.

The tech stuff wasn’t even the hard part. No, it was cutting through all kinds of red tape to get five years’ worth of cell phone records for the entire team and their families…what a bitch. The major scratched his newly shaved head absently and highlighted yet another date/time similarity between family phone calls and terrorist activity despite the fact that he was 99 percent certain he’d already discovered the crack in this particular SEAL team’s armor.

He wanted to figure this out behind the scenes without having to go through Paulson. That had been a bad idea to begin with and he’d known it. The major had been willing to deal with it, until
she
happened. The hell-on-wheels redhead had shaken him, and badly. So much so that he’d spent every night the past seven weeks reliving those few stolen hours. It was fucking irritating, the way her voice stayed in his head, popping up at the least opportune moments.

“Oh, God, please don’t stop. Mmm, harder!”

The major flung the paperwork aside in disgust and grabbed his laptop. He wasn’t going to find anything else in the paperwork, anyway. The major knew how the information was being leaked but had to find enough of a trail to satisfy the SEAL team. Because they were all going to be involved. And they were all getting a lecture. The major wouldn’t take it any further than that as long as there was no need. They were a good team, and none of them, save one, really deserved to be court-martialed for this. And even that one man was probably innocent of everything except being led by his dick.

The major lifted the screen and turned on the computer. He opened the program he used to track current text messages and stared at it. It was fairly new software, and only worked via a bypass of each cell phone carrier’s system. The government had been working on it for years, and though it still wasn’t perfected, it suited the major’s needs just fine.

He stared at the screen for several heartbeats before clicking on Callie Alexson’s phone number for what was possibly the tenth time since the day before. He scrolled through probably a hundred meaningless text messages—
fucking A, just make a goddamn phone call
—before he found what he was looking for.

Rebecca: We still goin out 2morro nite?

Callie: Yeah, Chris is gonna DD. That ok?

Rebecca: Sure. He know we r goin dancing?

Callie: LOL, no, not yet.

Rebecca: Ha! Don’t tell him then. He’ll figure it out. Tara and Sara are still okay with Ozone Club. Still okay with u?

Callie: Yeah, pick you up around 8?

Rebecca: K. C u then. Kisses!

Callie: Back atcha!

The major glanced down at his watch. 2130. They would already be there. Rebecca would be loose and happy with a few drinks in her system, dancing her heart out. He tried to dispel the image of her grinding against other men, those luscious hips swaying to the beat of some stupid-ass song. But the image remained, burned into his imagination.

Snapping the laptop closed, the major stood from the ratty desk in the trashy motel and strode toward the bathroom. He froze, staring at his reflection with his fists clenched against the counter. The mustache and goatee he’d grown stared back at him, taunting him.
Just go. She won’t recognize you. You can get one look at her and leave.

Bullshit. She’d recognize him no matter how much he changed his appearance. Rebecca had a strange way of looking past his skin and worming her way under it. And there was no doubt in his mind that she’d recognize him if he was within ten feet of her.

He could stay far enough away that she wouldn’t be able to see him as long as his self-control held. The major rubbed the back of his neck in agitation.

What the hell am I gonna wear?

The major hadn’t been in a dance club in…shit, ever. He just wasn’t the fun-and-fancy-free type, and never had been. That meant his wardrobe was functional, not fashionable, and he’d have to acquire clothes. Which also meant he’d have to change his appearance long enough to buy some.

Well fuck.

* * * *

The place was fucking packed, people crowding around on every side, spreading the stench of sweat and booze. The major battled the urge to push them away and scream for some personal space. Most of them were kids, fucking teenagers and college students that didn’t even look old enough to have a goddamn driver’s license. A couple of the females brushed up against him, pressing their breasts to his arm or back in the attempt to…well, fuck. The major had no idea exactly what they were attempting, but it grated on his nerves like a chapped ass in a sandstorm.

The music was a hard
whump whump,
causing a steady thrum in his chest that only served to chafe the major’s raw nerves even further. He was out of disguise, using only facial hair and glasses to conceal his identity. Usually that was enough, and in the darkness of the club, the major knew no one would be able to make out his features very well. But he still felt…naked, somehow. Exposed. It was Rebecca that made him feel that way and he knew it wasn’t healthy to keep seeking her out. But he couldn’t stop. She was…different. And the major needed something different.

It was a good thirty minutes before he spotted Paulson leaning against the bar, trying for all he was worth to look casual. The major suppressed a burst of amusement. Paulson looked out of place for two reasons. First, the man was huge. He towered over the crowd, looking like nothing more than a bouncer. Second, no matter how much Paulson tried to look like a regular guy having a good time, he still just looked like a man in charge. Paulson had no idea how to tone down what he really was.

The major glanced down at the tight black shirt he was wearing and adjusted the baggy pants. He might not like the getup, but at least he didn’t stand out. He did look a little old for this scene, but not creepily old. Just…old. The major rubbed his neck warily.
Thirty-fucking-seven. Too old for the club scene, too old for a twenty-six-year-old ginger with perfect tits.

The major shook the thought away and made his way to the bar, careful to keep his face constantly out of Paulson’s line of sight. He sat seven stools down from Paulson and motioned for the bartender. He ordered a draft beer and waited.

A buxom blonde wearing entirely too much make up and too few clothes slid up beside him. She leaned against him until her breasts were flat against his forearm and placed her mouth next to his ear. The major struggled not to gag against the toxic alcohol fumes she exuded and the moist heat of her breath as she whispered to him, “I’ve got something better to put in your mouth back at my place.”

The major shuddered.
Fuck, no.
He pitched his voice a little high and responded flippantly, “Sorry, sugar, you’ve got the wrong equipment for me.”

She pouted, her bottom lip stuck out like a fucking child.
Jesus Christ, I fucking hate these places.
“Pity,” she said, placing her hands on her hips. “You’ve got potential.” With that remark, she tossed bleach-blonde hair over her bare shoulder and flounced away.

I’ve got potential? What the hell does that mean?

“Three-fifty, buddy. Or do you want to start a tab?” The bald bartender was back with the draft beer; the major slid a five across the bar.

“I’ll pay as I go, thanks.” As the major took his first swig, a familiar song blared from the speakers and a small smile tilted one corner of his mouth.
AC/DC. Nice.
He sipped the beer until it was nearly half gone.

The major glanced back over at Paulson and followed the direction of his gaze to the dance floor. Callie was dancing with Winslow’s wife. What was her name? Sara. That’s right. The major searched the dance floor, looking for the flash of red.

“She told me to come, but I was already there…”

Just as AC/DC sang the sexual line, the major spotted her and his stomach sank to the soles of his feet.
Holy fucking miniskirt, Batman.
Rebecca flipped her red hair around and shook her ass with her hands in the air as the sound system blasted.

“You shook me all night long…”

The skirt was barely there, just a black strip of fabric concealing the curves of her ass. A tight green shirt shimmered as she vibrated and shook with the music. She turned then and pressed that amazing fucking body against some dickwad frat boy, rubbing her ass against his crotch.

The major didn’t notice the beer glass shattering in his hand, nor the exclamations of the people around him. He stood and pushed his way through the throng of dancers until he came up behind the gyrating couple where his attention was focused.

His vision was obscured by an unfamiliar emotion and he placed his hand on the fucker’s shoulder that was rubbing his cock against Rebecca. “Get your fucking hands off her.” Without waiting for a response, the major jerked the guy away and took his place.
If she wants to dance, she can damn well dance with me.

Chapter 9

Rebecca sang at the top of her lungs and moved her body to the AC/DC song. She tried not to let the lyrics remind her of Major, but God, they did. He
had
shaken her all night long, twice. And she still shook when she thought about it. Rebecca pushed it aside and focused on dancing. That’s what she was here for, after all.

The guy dancing with her disappeared for a moment and was immediately replaced by someone else. Rebecca smiled. This one was a hard body, the muscles evident against her back and thighs as they moved to the music together.

He was a little awkward in his movements, almost stiff. But that was kind of cute…after all, if a man braved a dance floor just to be near her, Rebecca had to give him at least a few points. They danced for less than thirty seconds before she noticed the erection pressing between her ass cheeks.

Caught in the music and more than a little tipsy, she shook her hips more slowly against his and smiled when a tortured groan escaped the man’s lips. His hands came around her waist and rested just below her breasts, pulling her tighter against him as he ground his hard cock against her soft ass.
Pretty well hung, too.

The song ended and immediately segued into another song, beginning with a fast drum solo and a man’s husky voice speaking. Before the lyrics started though, the man dancing with her grabbed Rebecca’s arms and spun her around.

She looked up at him from beneath her eyelashes, giving him a sensual smile. If she was going to have a dance-floor romance, she wanted a good look at her partner. Plus, she wanted him to know who that hard-on was for later tonight when he was taking care of it by himself.

But the angry eyes staring back at her were nearly black in the flashing lights of the dance floor, and the tense biceps beneath her fingertips flexed and jumped. Rebecca froze. He was bald, had a mustache and goatee, and was wearing wire-rimmed glasses. But it didn’t matter. She knew him the instant her eyes locked with his.
Major.
Rebecca didn’t realize she’d whispered his name—title, whatever it was—until his eyes widened.

“Yes,” he hissed between clenched teeth.

Rebecca stood stock-still, frozen in shock. He wrapped his arms around her waist and gripped the cheeks of her ass, his hands hard and unforgiving. As the lyrics began Major held her gaze and forced their hips together again. He had to bend his knees to do it, but his erection surged against her mound as he moved with the beat. Spurred into action, Rebecca began to dance again, mimicking the sensual motions of his hips.
Did he come here for me?
She knew it was silly to think so, but she wanted it to be true, wanted to be the reason he showed his face. She wanted to know that she got to him, at least a fraction as much as he got to her. She slid her hands up his chest and shoulders and rested her fingers at the back of his neck. He shuddered.