Hero - The Assignment: A Military Romance (22 page)

When I turned around and scanned the crowd for Leighton, I saw she'd moved. She and Ricky were in the kitchen now, and as I watched, he picked her up and set her on the counter. He slipped her black dress up high enough that he could lean between her legs, giving everyone else an eyeful up to mid-thigh. Whatever he said when he leaned close made her laugh, and my fist clenched again.

Paris joined them, rising up on her tiptoes to kiss Leighton's cheek. Leighton chatted with her happily as Ricky nuzzled her neck and stole sips from her drink. From a distance, they looked like three happy friends, but I knew better now. I knew the kind of people they were. How could she not see it? How could they make her smile?

I wanted to storm across the room and yank Leighton away from those assholes. I wanted to carry her out to the car and tell her what Paris said. She had to know there was a difference between being played with and being cared for. Ricky and Paris didn't care for her or about her. They treated everyone like toys, and Leighton was no different.

I moved across the room. It was ridiculous, I knew. I had no reason to interfere and Leighton would probably hate me for it. Why did I care if her so-called friends were actually scum? Leighton had made it pretty clear that I was little more than an accessory to her.

I watched Leighton jump off the counter and teeter on her four-inch heels. Ricky caught her, and my chest burned. He could barely stand himself, loose from a full night of drinks and drugs, but she welcomed his hands on her waist. They swayed together and laughed, looking for all the world like the perfect Hollywood couple.

I pushed through the crowd without knowing what I was going to say or do. All I knew was that Leighton was better than this, better then them, and all they wanted to do was cheapen her, bring her down to their level.

“Uh-oh, looks like your watchdog is jealous,” Paris said in a not-so-quiet stage whisper. “Down, boy. Heel.”

Ricky laughed, a shrill, barking laugh that went straight through my head. Leighton didn't laugh, though. I was relieved to see her eyes were angry, sharp, and clear. She'd had a bit to drink and a couple puffs on a joint, but she wasn't too far-gone to make smart choices.

“Is there a problem, Mr. Welch?” Leighton asked, pressing herself closer to Ricky.

“Could we have a private word?” I asked, fighting the urge to grab her and drag her away.

“No,” Leighton said with an empty smile. “Now, I may not be retired Special Forces, but even I can see how wide the sight lines are in this party. There's no reason you need to leave the wall. And you certainly don't need to talk to anyone, including my friends.”

I glanced at the smug smile Paris wore. She must have told Leighton I'd been hitting on her, twisting everything that happened. It was all a game to her, to them, a twisted game with no winners, just damage.

Seeing Leighton's impervious expression, flanked by her smirking friends, I reminded myself of my original goal. This job was just a way to prove I could be on my feet and working with no mishaps. That I could be active without issues. I'd earn a clean bill of health and then start working toward being reinstated to active duty. I'd gladly take a village full of insurgents over another LA party any day. Until then, I'd study these awful people and their guerrilla social tactics.

It was the only way to keep Leighton safe whether she wanted me to or not. And that wasn't negotiable.

Chapter 21

Leighton

I
knew what Haze wanted to say. It was written all over his face. He wanted to tell me that Ricky was no good, and that Paris was more of a snake than a friend. The thing was, it pissed me off that he thought I didn't know. He thought I was so naive, so clueless, that I couldn't see what was going on around me.

The instant Paris came into the kitchen and pecked my cheek, I knew she and Ricky had slept together. Not that it surprised me. Of course he'd come on to her. Ricky flirted with everyone. And of course Paris had slept with him. He wanted whatever someone else had. And with me being the idiot who'd agreed to try out an open relationship, I had no one to blame but myself. Not that it would have stopped him from fucking anyone he wanted.

But there was more, I knew. He'd practically salivated at the sight of Paris touching me, and I felt my stomach drop in disgust. Shit. He'd commented for years about how he'd love to have a threesome. More than once, he'd said how hot Paris and I looked together. But he'd never come out and asked the two of us to sleep with him at the same time.

But he wanted it. I could see it on his face.

For some reason, that hurt more than knowing he'd fucked the person I'd always considered my best friend.

“I might need something stronger than this weed, what do you say, babe?” Ricky broke into my thoughts. “Private party upstairs?”

“Let's leave your little watchdog howling at the door.” Paris ran her finger up my arm, and I almost gagged at the look exchanged between them.

I slipped out of Ricky's arms. “Boring. I came to mingle.”

Ricky frowned, already jealous of any man who might catch my attention, while Paris pretended she wasn't pissed off that I'd said a private party with her and Ricky would be boring. With a smile at me, she snaked her arm around Ricky's waist, under his white sports coat, and whispered in his ear. I smiled back at her when he shook her off and followed me into the crowd.

“You're looking mighty fine this evening, Ms. Machus.” A short, black-haired man stepped in front of me. “Your Devlin Pope's granddaughter, right?”

“That's me,” I said, snagging a drink off a passing tray. “Let me guess, you want to be a recording star. Rapper?”

He laughed. “I always thought of myself as the next crooner, you know, melt the girls right out of their panties and all that, but actually I'm interested in being an agent.”

Of course he was. “Good for you,” I said.

Ricky glowered from across the marble floor, but was soon caught up in the body-glittered arms of a pair of girls dressed in identical skimpy clothes. I recognized them as teenage pop stars who'd recently come of age. To no surprise at all on my part, Ricky immediately started panting over them and forgot about following me.

“Those are my girls over there,” the black-haired man said. He gestured toward the girls who were currently taking turns groping the front of Ricky's pants. “They're total tramps, but they can sing, and who doesn't like a little sex in their music videos. Am I right?”

“Wrong,” I said, sidestepping him. “Try cost analysis and projected earnings spreadsheets. My grandfather's not an idiot.”

And neither am I, I thought. No matter what everyone thought of me.

“Hey, now wait a minute.” The man followed me. “How about we have a drink and you tell me what works on you. Maybe I can satisfy your itch, and you could talk to the old man? I have connections.”

I glared at him as I drained my drink and tossed the glass in his general direction. He automatically reached out to catch it, and I walked away while he was distracted. I could feel Haze's eyes on me and grabbed another drink. I was in no mood to deal with his disappointment or accusatory looks. I had a solution for that.

I was going to get horribly drunk.

Might as well make Haze work for his pay, I thought.

As I slammed down the second drink on the closest counter, the laser lights caught my eyes. The music was actually starting to sound good. I spun onto the dance floor and began to sway with my head flung back, not caring whose body ground against me as long as they kept the beat. The strong drinks kept my feet from hurting, and I swung my hips, gyrating against whoever happened to be there.

“Hey.” Paris appeared behind me. “Let's go find Ricky.”

“Who wants him?” I didn't even spare her a glance.

“I guess you're right.” Her voice was next to my ear, her body pressed against mine as we danced. I wondered if Ricky was watching. “I mean, especially not when you have that smoking hot bodyguard. Did you really come when you dreamt about him?”

“Why, jealous?” I tossed a smirk over my shoulder.

“Too bad he can't make it happen with his eyes.” She came around to face me.

“Maybe he can,” I said. My stomach clenched at the thought. I couldn't resist adding a dig. “Too bad he's not looking at you.”

Her eyes narrowed, but I sashayed away before she could respond. Haze was still watching me, his brown eyes so dark they were almost black. No matter what he hadn't said about that night, his eyes told a different story.

A story I wanted to explore. I turned my body toward him and drew my hands up along the silky black fabric of my dress. I watched him tense as I caressed myself. My eyes locked on him, my body teasing him with every pulse of the dance music. Everyone else fell away, reduced to background noise.

And then he was moving, strong, purposeful strides onto the dance floor, never breaking our stare. Thick arms, heavy muscles, and still he moved with a grace that took my breath away.

I could feel my balance loosening, only saved by the constant shifting sway of my dance. My head felt light and dizzy, the room floating around me. I was drunk and a little buzzed from Ricky's second hand smoke, but I didn't care. If Haze wanted to watch me, wanted to judge me, the least I could do was give him something worth seeing.

I was dimly aware of the wanna-be agent trying to step between us, but Haze swept him aside with barely a look. The black-haired man blustered, but didn't make another move to help me.

“Is something wrong, Mr. Welch?” I asked, still dancing.

“You need some air.” His voice was rough.

One wide hand settled on the small of my back, and I was propelled off the dance floor and out onto the darkened driveway before I could register where I was going.

“I don't need fresh air,” I protested as the music faded behind us.

“I think you're too drunk to know what you want,” Haze said, his disappointment clear.

Fuck it.

“Or just drunk enough,” I said.

I turned and pushed myself up on my toes, kissing him.

H
e held me steady, his mouth searing hot against mine. It took me a few moments to realize he wasn't kissing me back. He stood without moving, not pushing me away, but not opening to let me in either.

What the hell was wrong with him?

“You can't tell me you haven't thought about this.” I ended the kiss but kept my lips close to his.

“I won't lie to you,” Haze said. His breath was hot against my mouth. “But I won't take advantage of you either.”

“You've thought about it,” I said and pressed my lips against his again.

He stayed firm for a moment, but then I felt his resolve give. His lips parted and I tasted his tongue. For one brief moment, I had him, and then his iron fingers pulled me back. Gently, but firmly, he set me further away from his body.

“You're drunk.” His voice was soft. “You don't want to do this.”

“What do you know about what I want?” I felt the wall inside me cracking as I snapped at him. My voice shook and I struggled to keep back the tears that wanted to come. I was tired of pretending. “You don't know me. You fucking left me in that hotel room without even telling me your real name. You just did whatever you wanted, so why shouldn't I?”

I thought he'd keep up the pretense, acting like he didn't remember.

“I had to leave, Leighton.” He pushed back a curl that'd escaped one of my clips. “I didn't have a choice.”

“But did you want to?”

It just slipped out and the painful truth of that question unsteadied me. His hands automatically came out to steady me, and I put my hands over his to keep them there. Heat rushed through my entire body and I felt him stiffen. I ran my hands softly down his hard forearms. He'd taken off his jacket at some point and the hairs on his arms bristled under my palms.

“Did you want to leave me?” I asked again, unable to look at him when I repeated myself.

There was a moment of silence before he finally answered.

“No,” he said softly. One hand slid up my neck and back through my hair to cup the back of my head. “No, Leighton, I didn't want to leave you.”

This time he initiated the kiss. The hand not holding my head moved to my back, pulling me more tightly against him. I gave myself over to the kiss as my body melted against his. He bent me back, devouring me, his tongue plunging deeply, stealing my breath and ratcheting my pulse even higher. A wave of safety and desire washed over me.

Then he was pulling away, his body rigid. His eyes were closed, the look on his face saying that he was fighting off something I couldn't see. Concern pushed aside my desire.

“Haze?” I asked, reaching up to touch his face.

He caught my wrist before I could make contact and his eyes opened. “Let me take you home.”

I smiled, leaning forward for another kiss. “Yes, please.”

“No.” His voice was firm again. “Let me take you home. You're drunk and you need to sober up before you do something you'll regret.”

I looked up into his eyes, but they were edged with something I didn't understand. Pity? Remorse? Whatever it was, my chest burned with the rejection, and I twisted my arm away from him as I took a step back.